10/9/10

Rectify
by Elliot Richard Dorfman
　

It was a warm June day. Zena wiped her brow as she took the rib roast out of the oven and meticulously cut the meat into thin slices just the way her husband Gordon liked it. If it wasn’t done to his satisfaction, he would become enraged and throw the entire meal on the floor. Afterward finishing the task, she seasoned the mashed potatoes, made a salad, then set the table and called out to Gordon that dinner was ready. She waited ten minutes, but the television in the den kept blasting away, so she went in to fetch him.

" Gordon, dinner is ready."

"Oh shut the hell up," he answered, glaring at her from the sofa and shutting off the television. "I’m sick and tired of your constant naggin’! I’m goin’ out for some fresh air before I lose my temper. It’s women like you that cause their husbands to become violent."

Zena felt miserable. "But all I asked was for you to come and eat."

The man grunted. "Take the food and shove it. I’ll pick up somethin’ later at the diner."

Stomping out, Gordon slammed the front door so hard, it almost fell off its hinges.

The twenty-four year old woman glanced at herself in the hall mirror and frowned. While still pretty, Zena was getting a haggard look that came from living such a tense life for the past year. Gordon hadn’t been like this when she first met him. He seemed so loving and attentive then. However right after they married, he began steadily drinking which made him dark and mean. He would humiliate her, taking pleasure in finding all kinds of faults with whatever was done for him. There never seemed to be a let up to his criticism.

"Gordon never had such a bad temper before he started drinking," she sadly thought. Her arm still hurt after he had bruised it when pushing her against the wall the other night after she simply asked him why he had come home so late.

Zena sighed and put on the radio. Her own appetite gone, she wrapped up the food and put it in the refrigerator. Suddenly, a hallowed voice spoke over the music. " Zena, leave the house before Gordon returns."

"What’s going on with this radio?" she nervously asked herself and quickly shut it off.

Falling asleep at midnight, she was awakened by her husband bellowing outside. It was extremely embarrassing. He was shouting loud enough to wake up all the neighbors.
" Unlock this frigin’ door before I break it open, you bitch."

A moment later there was a shattering of glass from a side window.

"Wait ‘til I get in. I’m goin’ to smash your skull in. You’re nothin’ but a worthless hag."

Fearing physical harm, Zena hastily dressed and left the house through the side door.

The streets looked deserted and gloomy at this time of night. Taking a path up the hill, she stopped at the entrance to the local cemetery and pulled out a cigarette from her bag. Smoking was a bad habit, but how could she stop? Not now when there was so much pressure at home!

A dense fog swirled in the wind. Becoming chilled, Zena bundled up.

"Well it’s no use standing here and catching a cold. I’d better return home," she thought. "Gordon must have calmed down by now and is probably sleeping it off. He won’t remember anything in the morning anyway. "

A shadowy figure stepped out of the shadows near the old wrought iron gates."You’re wrong, Zena. You’re in terrible danger."

Zena almost fell over when she recognized the man as he moved closer to her. "Vaughn, how can it be you!"

She and Vaughn Benson had once been engaged. The woman still regretted their break up over something so senseless she couldn’t even remember it anymore. This handsome, intelligent, vivacious man immediately enlisted in the army and was sent off to Afghanistan. Six months ago while on patrol, a bomb was thrown at his platoon by some taliban insurgents hiding in a vacant building. The only way the army could identify him was by the college ring he always wore.

She could actually feel Vaughn’s touch as he tenderly put his hands on her shoulders.
"I have come to help you."

She was not in the least afraid. In fact, somehow the specter made her feel secure. "Was it you that I heard on the radio?"

"It was. I just had to get through to you." He sighed. "Oh, my dear, how silly we were to part from each other. We were meant to be together."

Zena lowered her head, trying to hide the tears in her eyes. "I realize that now, but it’s too late."

The phantom looked concerned. " You need immediate help and I’m here for that reason. If someone doesn’t intercede, that lunatic is going to kill you tonight. His drinking has turned him into a heartless fiend. There’s not an ounce of decency in him. Couldn’t you see his problem before you married him?"

She shrugged. "I guess he hid it well enough to fool me. I was so naive."

Vaughn lifted her chin. " Zena, do you have somewhere else that you can stay tonight?"

She nodded. " Yes, but why?"

"Don’t ask questions. Do what I ask. Tomorrow you can safely go back home."

The figure kissed her and disappeared.

For a moment she thought the whole incident had been imagined, but she still felt his kiss on her lips. A few minutes later she was at a friend place down the block.

****

At home, Gordon was laying on the bed. In his hand was a strap that he intended using on his wife when finding that Zena was not at home.

"Where the hell is that woman," he had mumbled in a drunken stupor. "Probably ran out of the house like a scared rabbit. Wait till she gets back. I’ll teach her a thing or two!" A moment later he was asleep.

Suddenly someone roughly shook Gordon awake. A luminescent face stared down at him. At first he didn’t recognize who it was, but then he somehow remembered a photo that Zena kept in her bottom draw. It was of a man she had once been engaged to before they met. But according to her, that guy was . . .

He jumped out of bed. "What’s goin’ on?" he screamed. "You were blown to smithereens in Afghanistan six months ago!"

The figure ignored his outburst. "You’d better keep your hands off Zena. In fact I think it would be best if you packed up and left for good."

Gordon laughed. " Am I supposed to listen to some figment of my imagination? Some people see pink elephants when they drink too much; I get to see my wife’s dead ex-lover."

The figure of Vaughn became angry. "I’m giving you one more warning to pack and leave."

Gordon stumbled to the bureau and took a long drink from a bottle of whiskey. "And whatcha’ gonna’ do? Even if you are some kind of ghost, you’re nothing but a thin layer of floating vapor. When Zena returns, I’m gonna’ give her a lickin’ twice as badly as I first planned."

He grabbed his belt and swished it at the ghost and laughed sadistically.

The spirit of Vaughn pointed his figure at him. "How many times have you beaten up Zena and gotten away with it? Well, not anymore. You’re a man who the world would be better off without. Get ready to feel all the physical pain you inflected on her."

At first Gordon felt nothing, then the pain began to spread throughout his body like molten led. As it intensified, he double up and let out a scream. Five grueling minutes later, his heart gave way and he lay still on the floor.

Gordon’s death certificate said he had died of a heart attack that was induced by his heavy drinking, but Zena knew that Vaughn definitely had something to do with it.

*****
After Gordon’s passing, Zena started getting her life back in order. She got a decent job as a manager at a local supermarket in the mall, moved into a more pleasant apartment in town, and began taking more care of her personal appearance. Soon there were plenty of suitors, but after her experience with Gordon, she was mentally scared and could not get herself to date again.

"I’ll probably become a lonely old widow," she miserably said to herself.

September was a rainy month, so on the first nice day, Zena decided to take a long walk and enjoy the sun. Something drew her to the cemetery on the hill. The leaves had begun to change and it was so all picturesque and dreamy. Behind, a soft voice called her name and she turned. There stood Vaughn Benson in an army uniform. He ran up to her and gave her a kiss that made her tingle. This certainly was no dead man!

"Vaughn, you’re alive!" she shouted.

The soldier laughed. "I am. You see, when the insurgents threw a bomb at my crew, I was just wounded. In the aftermath, the inspectors saw my dog tag lying on the ground near the gruesome sight and assumed I was among those blown up. Actually I was taken a prisoner and placed in the enemies compound somewhere in the desert. For over a year they kept trying to brainwash me into become a suicide fighter to show up and disgrace the Americans. I don’t have words to describe the torture. Giving me just enough food to exist, at night I was thrown into a small hole where I could hardly move. It was during these times I would start thinking about you to maintain my sanity. Then a few months ago, I suddenly began having dreams of what Gordon was doing to you, I knew he was going to kill you and wished with all my might to return home so that I could help you. I guess my determination was so strong that it created a miracle."
Zena nodded. "It certainly did, except you looked like some sort of transparent ghost when you transported yourself back here. Still, I could feel your deep love and wasn’t afraid."
Vaughn took a big breath. " I had to make sure that your lousy husband would never harm you again. Once I accomplished that mission, I was zapped back to my miserable hole. I was thankful for that miracle since I knew I wouldn’t be able to hold out with the insurgents for too much longer. Fortunately, the Americans discovered the compound a month later and freed me after waging a fierce battle. After a stay in the hospital and debriefing, I was flown back to the States this past week." He paused, "Well, let’s forget the past and talk about our future. I am back and here to rectify our mistake."
From his pocket the soldier took out an engagement ring. "Zena, would you wear this again?"
Of course we all know what the answer was. And as most romantic fairy tales end, "They got married and lived happily ever after."


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Elliot Richard Dorfman, retired teacher, theatre director & musician for over thirty-one years, has had over seventy-four short stories published in the past three years. For further detailed information go to elrite.webs.com