Page 108 - full

The Journals of Raymond Brooks 107
brief moment before I took a long step backwards and slammed
the door shut with all my might. I heard the spear-head strike

the door and didn’t wait for what was to come next, but ran
with all my might away from the cabin, into the woods. The
three gave chase like hounds, obviously in better shape than I.
Yet I was running for my life and so did not tire or slow for all
the world.
I ran straight for the brook, trying to zigzag my way between
trees to make chasing me as difficult as possible. I looked to
the ground only for brief glances. My feet moved so fast that I
could scarcely see them at all, only feel the earth beneath me.

As soon as I reached the brook I bounced across the bank to
the other side, hid behind a tree, and prayed that the bandits
would think I had continued on, swimming.
The sound of the running water masked the sound of
my labored breath, or perhaps the bandits were dimwits.
Regardless of the cause, they strayed in their chase and sought
me elsewhere.

I waited until it grew dark, standing motionless with my
back to a tree. My thoughts at first were too frightened to be
coherent, but they became clearer as I calmed down. I thought
of the bandits’ faces, memorizing their every feature. I would
not forget those faces, I swore to myself, so help me God.
As I carved their images into my memory, I imagined what
sweet vengeance would be like, fantasizing unlikely situations in
which I would kill them all after making them suffer first. At last
I forced my mind to stop its idle fantasies and focus, knowing

I would make sure that those who had killed Raymond would
pay, pay dearly with their lives.
Raymond had been a saint; a true saint — one who was kind
and good-hearted. When he had helped me, it wasn’t because