The Bullied and the Raven

By Jamie Emery

This is a thriller based on events that take place daily. Bullying is a disease that plagues us every day. In every school, home, and job, we will find some sort of bullying. This book shows the possibility and or the cause and effect of such actions. Rage. Revenge. Love and hate, and then finally forgiveness are all captured in this fictional portrayal of life and death.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Trafford Publishing
• Release date: Jul 26, 2012
• ISBN: 9781466947603

Jamie Emery

Jamie is the author of the Bullied and the Raven series. He is a born and bred Arkansan and was born the ninth child of a family of ten. He lived in Northeast Arkansas for the majority of his life. Jamie and his wife, Pam, are the parents of a precocious daughter named Kara. Although he had many influences growing up, his mother, Joye Chism Emery, remains the greatest by far.

Book preview

Contents

Chapter 1        The Bully and the Victim

Chapter 2        Payback

Chapter 3        Reunite

Chapter 4        The Vampire

Chapter 5        The Old Smith House

Chapter 6        Love and Hate

Chapter 7        The Choice

Chapter 8        A Normal Life?

Chapter 9        Freedom

Chapter 10        A Reminder

Chapter 11        Blindsided

Chapter 12        The Raven

Chapter 13        Released

Chapter 14        Close the Book

Chapter 15        Life

For my wife and daughter

and

in memory of my mom

Chapter 1

The Bully and the Victim

I caught the glint from his eyes across the room. Yeah, once again, he was looking, looking desperately in search for his prey, and he smiled for he had found yet another victim in me. I was a loner, quiet, and just over five feet tall, and I weighed 120 pounds soaking wet. I had the reflexes of an old sloth and the strength of a broken-winged moth, but what I lacked in these areas I made up for with intelligence.

Jake Neely, however, was my opposite; he was six feet two inches tall and ripped with over two hundred pounds—mostly muscles from football where he put fear into all who faced him. Jake did not save his strength however for the game that night; he would use it on me, the weak one.

My body started trembling. The sweat poured like a natural spring. I raised my head to face him, and before the drop of sweat that appeared to move in slow motion could hit the ground, he punched me. Smack! Not just the sweat, it all seemed to have been in slow motion. My whole body hit the ground hard and with a slight bounce as dust rose from my fall. Before I knew it, the kids were chanting, Fight, fight.

I knew what a fight was. This was no fight, but a slaughtering, and I never got to throw a punch as if a punch from me could have made a difference. He would not have even felt it, and before I knew it, Principal Dean pulled Jake off me. I was bleeding, but not crying. I looked him in the eyes as he smiled and walked toward the office. I felt hate for the first time, actual hate—not the childish dislike that we all feel. It was pure, deep, unadulterated hate.

You OK, son? Principal Dean said as he held his hand out to me.

I did not take his hand; I dusted myself off and made my own way to the office. We were put across from each other as the principal and counselor sat on the opposite side of us.

OK, boys, who started this fight and why? Principal Dean asked as he glared at the both of us.

I started it, sir! I said this without blinking an eye. I was making fun of Jake, and he just stood up for himself.

Is this true, Jake? Principal Dean asked as he looked a bit confused.

Jake just poked his lower lip out like the baboon that I felt he was. Yeah, I didn’t want to fight . . . , he said still looking at me bleeding.

OK, Jake, you can go, but you have a week of in-school detention just because of the games. Any more fights and you will not be playing at all. Do you understand?

Yes, sir! Jake said and stood up; still looking at me, he walked out the door.

Brian Camp, now that Jake is not here, what really happened?

That is what happened! Just ask the people who watched.

OK, that is three licks and two weeks’ detention as well.

Just do it and get it over with.

The principal was an old military type who hated weakness as much as he hated liars, and he knew he had both in me, so the three licks were hard. The licks hurt more than the fight itself. I did not show the pain or shed a tear. I went to class, listening to the others call me names: wimp, sissy, loser, freak. I guess I was most of those things but a loser I could totally relate to.

My family consisted of me and my mom, the one who stayed drunk all the time and dated whoever was available or whoever had fifty bucks.

I had a twin brother that died. He got ran over by a car while we were playing. We were five years old and very close as most twins are. I had always felt it should have been me that was killed. My dad felt it should have been me too. I guess that was why he left soon after the death. My mother blamed me for him leaving. Yeah, it was great being me, the loser. I had always felt a step closer to the edge, wanting to jump, so close to the breaking point. All of this was just a daily reminder of the failure I am.

The sound of Creep by Radiohead was playing on my radio. The words touched me as if they were made just for me. I don’t belong here . . .

I felt my temper boil silently as I sat alone. I walked daily among family, classmates, and teachers, but still I was alone. I screamed silently, crying out on the inside. If only I could hide—or die. I longed for the latter, but I would not go alone. I would take the scum and weight of society with me. I felt my sacrifice would be worth it as long as I removed some of the wasted space used by these jerks, these bullies.

My grades were always good A averages, and I never had to try or take a book home. I never studied. I picked up things faster than most even with ADD. Although school was easy, I knew my place was not here, so why waste my time?

The only thing that I could think of was pain, and no longer my own but that of the payback. The counselor advised me to keep a journal. My notebook was full of many things: my own poetry, the words to songs, and a list of names—my bully list. Everyone that could be labeled as a bully was on this list, and my life goal was to avenge the weak. I would start out clumsy but would take out the trash. I would begin with Jake Neely. The thought that allowing him to live could be the greater punishment crossed my mind but only briefly; the pain that he would have to endure brought a smile to my face. He would suffer. Oh, would he suffer.

Jake Neely was spoiled in every way; he was the first in his class to have his own car. He was the first, the first in every way, so I felt he should give back a little, if not only in flesh. He once again would be first.

Chapter 2

Payback

Jake’s dad worked in sales and was away from home a lot, which could account for his behavior. Jake’s mother had her own jewelry store right in the middle of downtown. His house was the nicest on the block; I knew this because our house was the smallest. I could look out my window and see across to his house; you would think that since we’ve lived here for so long right across from one another, we would have been friends instead of mortal enemies.

I waited until that perfect time, when I had seen that Jake was home alone. The time change made it darker faster, so I had very little time. My mother almost passed out already from drinking. I kissed her and told her that I would be in my room, doing homework, which should have been a sign since I never did homework. She shrugged and said OK. I made it upstairs, my face almost hurting from the uncontrollable smile that I had on my face. I eased out my window. I had my Ed Hardy hoodie and gloves on. I looked like a ninja.

I crossed onto Jake’s lawn undetected. I went to every window of Jake’s house; he looked right at me but did not see me. Then he went to the window and looked outside. I knelt down, so he looked right over me. He turned on the television, some football game of course; I could hear him shouting as if he already had time to see what was going on or even who was playing. I opened the patio door; it was open and so was the kitchen door. He felt secure and strong enough to not have to lock a door. After all, who would dare enter and face him?

I walked in as if it were my own house. I pulled the largest stainless steel knife out of the holder, which was set on the granite countertop below the stainless steel microwave. I walked slowly, my heart pounding, hearing only him and the game playing. His back faced me. I stood behind him for the longest time, just waiting, maybe hoping for him to turn, but I could not turn back—not now.

The television flashed, and when it did, Jake saw my reflection on the screen. He jumped up. Having just his socks and white briefs on, he screamed, What the?

Before he could finish, I said, Quiet or you will die!

He held both hands up; you could see his knees shaking.

Where is your car? I said, making him think that the car was what I was after.

"In . . . in the garage," he said with a shaky voice.

Show me! I said softly.

Let me get some pants—

"No . . . the