What He Deserves

By RJ Crayton

We are all the heroes of our own stories … but what if we're wrong? A deliciously chilling novel that keeps you guessing until the very last page.

Richard Lyons knows his story. He is a good man--a good husband, a good provider, a good father.

When he finds himself in the hospital--unable to speak and open his eyes, but able to hear those around him--he's desperate to awaken. Desperate to return to the life he remembers with his wife, Clarissa, and son, Andrew.
Only his life now doesn't seem to fit. It's like a jigsaw puzzle that he can't quite piece together. The nurses wonder aloud why Clarissa visits given what Richard did; Andrew never comes; and the police investigating whatever put Richard in the hospital leave him with more questions than answers.

Richard knows putting together the pieces of his memory are the key to waking up. As flashes of life come back to him, Richard sees the life he thought he knew fade away after a shocking revelation about Andrew. In the aftermath, Richard does things that don't fit his image of himself.

More snippets of his past come back to him, and Richard begins to wonder which will be worse: never knowing what happened or remembering the whole story ...

If you enjoy taut, psychological suspense that peels away layer after layer of tantalizing detail and keeps you guessing until the very end, then you'll love What He Deserved.

Grab this stand-alone novel right now!

• Language: English
• Publisher: RJ Crayton
• Release date: Dec 28, 2018
• ISBN: 9781393826200

Book preview

Chapter 1 - Limbo

(Present: August 12)

Richard knew something was wrong, but he didn’t know exactly what. He just knew that things weren’t right. His body didn’t feel right.

He couldn’t see, he realized. It was such a strange thing to suddenly notice. Seeing was the default, so not seeing should have been alarming. Like, jump up and scream HELP alarming. Yet Richard didn’t jump up and cry for help. He just lay there knowing things weren’t right. He had to figure out why. What was going on? Why couldn’t he see?

After a moment, it came to him. He was sleeping. That’s why he couldn’t see. His eyes were closed. That explained it. Easy.  But no, it wasn’t easy. He wasn’t sleeping. It was like sleep, but this felt different. His body felt heavier than ever. He couldn’t move. He wondered if this was sleep paralysis. He’d read about the condition in a magazine once. By all accounts, it was a terrifying experience: the feeling of consciousness, but the inability to speak or move. It was what he was experiencing right now. He was awake, but he couldn’t move. He couldn’t speak. He couldn’t open his eyes. Was he suffering sleep paralysis? And if so, why now? In his past 52 years, it had never happened. So why would his body now suddenly decide to be paralyzed during sleep?

Richard decided to concentrate, to listen. He could hear strange, steady sounds. Machines. Sounds he’d heard before. Heard way too often in his life. Hospital machines. Monitors of some sort. He was in a hospital. He felt the urge to gulp, to swallow down the panic that was setting in. He didn’t want to be in a hospital. Not again. But why was he here?

Mrs. Lyons, he heard an unfamiliar female voice say.

Call me Clarissa, Richard heard his wife of nearly 30 years say back to the woman.

Clarissa, the unfamiliar woman said. I just wanted to know if I can get you anything. A coffee, maybe?

There was no response, but he imagined Clarissa, her beautiful blue eyes stained with tears, shaking her head. That was the way she was: always so selfless and dutiful. A good wife. ... Only, something about that sentiment nagged him, as if he was forgetting something. Though, of course he was forgetting something. How had he gotten here? Why was he in the hospital? His brain was failing him now as much as his body.

It’s only been a day, Clarissa, said the unfamiliar woman, who Richard now assumed was a nurse. Patients have come out of comas in the early stages. We have no reason to believe this is permanent.

Richard wanted to gulp down again, but his body didn’t work, and his mind felt off-kilter. Coma. No. He couldn’t be in a coma. What had happened to him? And how?

Chapter 2 - Quintessential Richard

(Past: 8 months ago, December 19)

Richard believed himself to be a good man. He hadn’t had a perfect life, but he’d worked hard and driven himself to the limits to get all the blessings he had.

He adjusted his shoulders and straightened the hem of his blazer as he walked through the crowded mall. He was walking quickly for a reason: to see how well Andrew would keep up.

As he’d hoped, Andrew acquitted himself excellently. Richard smiled to himself. His son was turning out well. When given a task, to keep up, he did it without difficulty, without distraction. He’d seen some of the boy’s classmates. They were rough and undisciplined and listened poorly, even to simple things, easily distracted. And the mall at Christmas time was a place filled with distraction. Only, Andrew tuned it out and focused. He would grow into a stellar young man, Richard was certain. At 13, his son was already 5’11 and growing. No one in Richard’s family was super tall, but his son was already the same height as him. Andrew had accessed some stellar recessive genes that were going to push him to a good 6’3, according to the pediatrician.

Tall or not, though, his son would still have to work hard. And Richard was determined to teach his boy the importance of working hard and staying focused on goals. He wanted Andrew to understand the rewards he would reap if he kept at it. Even now in the mall, a simple task — keep up—and Andrew excelled, even as his father dodged and weaved through throngs of angst-ridden shoppers.

Richard smiled. They were almost at Jenny’s. It was a local jewelry shop that Richard made an effort to buy from. The company he was with now had started as a small business and grown. If people didn’t support the little guys, they couldn’t grow to be big guys, so Richard preferred to shop at the local stores, rather than the big chains, when he could.

Richard! someone called in the distance, the voice hard to make out over the noise of exuberant shoppers and Christmas songs.

Richard slowed his pace and turned to see who had spoken. He made eye contact with Oliver Nickel. Ugg. He wished he hadn’t looked. Wished he’d kept walking. But he had slowed down, and now the man was heading straight toward him. Richard forced a smile. He didn’t particularly want to talk to Oliver, but Richard wasn’t a rude person, so he couldn’t just walk away.

Oliver was a fellow parishioner at their church and led the teen youth group. While Oliver was a nice fellow, their politics didn’t mix.  Richard was happy enough to agree to disagree, and avoid discussing the issues with Oliver, but the man tended to speak his cockamamie liberal ideas to the kids in the youth group. Richard was planning to speak to the pastor about finding another youth group leader. While it was Oliver’s right to give all his hard-earned money to lazy ne’er do wells, he didn’t care for the man trying to warp the children into thinking that the government ought to take hard-earned money from working people to pay for people who didn’t want to do anything to support themselves. Churches were for charity and not the government. Richard tithed plenty, and the youth group should have been focused on church activities, not veiled political activism.

Oliver had reached them, finally, and Richard’s cheeks hurt from the plastered smile. He nodded by way of greeting, while Andrew gave a genuine smile.

Hi, Mr. Nickel, Andrew said, beaming.

Oliver let out a low whistle, and said, I think you’ve grown an inch since I’ve seen you last. He turned to Richard. Can I get some of whatever you guys are feeding to him?

Andrew laughed. Richard managed to force out a chuckle. Ah, we could feed you the same thing, but I’m not sure it would help you grow.

Oliver nodded. You’re probably right about that. He looked around at the passing crowds, and asked the obvious: You two out Christmas shopping?

Andrew nodded. Just a few days left, so we’re trying to get one last thing for Mom.

That’s great, Oliver said. And you’re still going to come help hand out meals at the shelter this weekend?

Yes sir, Andrew said.

Richard smiled. Just as he’d taught his son. Polite and courteous to a fault. Not like some of the no-good, shiftless folks he saw out there.

Richard was about to cut things short, when Oliver turned to him. Would you like to come, too? We can use all the hands we can get.

I would if I could, Richard said, but I’ve got some work stuff that has to be finished.

Oliver nodded. Completely understand, he said with a smile. And Andrew, he added. If you’ve got some extra time over the holiday, we’re going to be writing our senators and representatives to ask them to implement healthcare legislation for the poor.

It was definitely time to cut this off, Richard thought. He’s going to be rather busy, Oliver, he said. And we’ve got to get going, but good seeing you.

Oliver nodded, and Richard stalked off, his pace double what it had been. Andrew took a moment, and then jogged to catch up.

As they got further from Oliver Nickel, Richard leaned closer to his son, and said, If he asks you to write a letter to your Congressman on Saturday when you’re feeding the homeless, tell him you will. But you’ll be writing a letter against all this free healthcare nonsense.

Andrew didn’t speak. He just walked alongside his father.

They were at the jewelry store. They went inside, where they were greeted by Lester Freeman, father of Jenny, and proprietor of the store. Jenny, the ungrateful daughter, had moved away to the East Coast because she thought the Midwest too pedestrian. The shop had borne her name since she was an infant, yet she wanted nothing to do with it. Her parents, Lester and Felicia, had kept the place in good shape.

I’ve come for a gift, Richard said, as he approached the counter. There was only one other customer browsing in the store.

Of course, said Lester, a rotund man with a long white beard and a big smile on his face. A gift for the lovely missus?

Richard nodded. It’s been a wonderful year, and she loves your pieces so much; I was hoping to get her something special.

Lester showed Richard several necklaces; Andrew watched without saying much. After seeing a dozen or so pieces—some set with diamonds, others with aquamarine, Clarissa’s birthstone, Richard settled on a $2,400 necklace that combined diamonds and aquamarine, and paid the tab. He and Andrew slogged back through the mall to the parking lot, through the biting winter air and into the Mercedes. The car hummed to life and Andrew sat silently in the passenger seat.

Your mother is going to love this, Richard said. And she deserves it. This year, she’s driven you all over Kansas, Missouri, and Nebraska area for your soccer tournaments. She never complains and is always there to help you with homework, to make us a delicious dinner, even to volunteer at the church. While we tell her we appreciate her, it’s important to also show it with a nice gift. You understand?

Andrew nodded. Yes, sir.

Good, Richard thought. His son needed to understand how the world worked. Only, as he glanced at him after he gently edged the car from the space, he realized perhaps his son didn’t understand. Andrew looked confused. What’s wrong, son?

Nothing.

Ah, Richard had heard that before. It seemed the answer every teen offered to the question of what’s wrong. Though Andrew was just barely a teen. His birthday was Nov. 20. Just a little over a month before Christmas. Their little holiday miracle. The baby they’d had trouble conceiving, the one God had waited to bless them with, so they’d appreciate him all the more. And here he was tall, strong, brown-haired, blue eyed. But, apparently troubled, based on Richard’s reading of the boy’s expression. Son, say what’s on your mind.

Andrew turned and looked out the window. The sides of the road were piled with snow that had turned gray from winter treatment chemicals and road scrapings. Andrew turned back to his father. Why can’t I write a letter, like Mr. Nickel suggested? I mean, there are people who are sick and dying, and it’s because they can’t afford healthcare.

Oh, he had known this was going to happen. He liked Oliver’s enthusiasm for working with the kids, but this was too much. Richard wished he had time to lead the church youth group himself, instead of letting his son be misled by someone who, while giving with his time, had no idea what was right, what was American.

Richard took in a breath to compose himself before speaking. Son, the church is for charity. When we go there, we give, we tithe, we do what we can for those who are less fortunate, he said. But we cannot go around taking money from our pockets to give to people who refuse to work, or who refuse to get an education. They could get better training and find a better job or just work harder, but they have no interest in that.

But aren’t there people out there who want to work and can’t find a job?

Richard took one hand off the wheel and rubbed his temple "Those people are just being lazy. If they can’t find one good job, then they should take two mediocre jobs and keep looking until they find the job they need. I worked to put myself through college. I worked two jobs before finding a job at the firm. I didn’t have a silver spoon in my mouth or fancy connections. I got my job through hard work, and I started pretty low on the totem pole. And now I’m a senior manager. That was all because of my hard work. Yet, others expect a handout all the time."

Andrew looked out the window again. Richard had just turned onto the highway. It was a 20-minute drive to the house. He’d worked hard to get that house. The entire subdivision sat on half acre plots, and the houses were no less than 3,500 square feet. Richard had a nice home because he’d put in the work to achieve it. He’d be damned if all his toil would go to helping indolent ne’er do wells.

Dad, but isn’t health care expensive?

Richard nodded It is, son, but it’s also a modern concoction. People went ages where they didn’t have so-called healthcare. They went to the doctor when they were really sick. Nowadays, people want to go for every sniffle and make others pay for it. It’s not right. People either need to get rich, get healthy or just live or die with what they can afford.

Andrew frowned slightly, but then nodded. I guess so.

Do I get to go to all of your games? he asked his son.

Andrew hesitated a moment, as if trying to work out why his father was asking the question. After a moment, he shook his head. No. You’re working for some of them.

That’s right, Richard said. I put in 10- to 12-hour days many times. That’s me working hard for this family, for you and your mother. I work hard every day, and I don’t work hard to support people who aren’t willing to work as hard as me. Let’s say you studied hard for a test, put in hours to make sure you knew everything back and forth, and then you took the test and earned one hundred percent. And then there were three kids who didn’t study at all, didn’t even bother to answer a single question on the exam. Now, what if the teacher decided, rather than giving you the one hundred percent that you earned, she would take 20 points away from your test score and give it to one of the kids who had done nothing? You wouldn’t think that was fair, would you, son?

Andrew bit his lip. No, I wouldn’t think that was fair.

That doesn’t mean we can’t feel bad that those kids got a zero on their tests. It just means we understand it was their own fault, that they made their beds and now they had to lay in them. They don’t get to take 20 points from the highest scorers, so those who worked their tails off are left with 80 percent, while the do-nothings improve their score to 60, even though they’ve done nothing to deserve that score.

Andrew nodded again, this time more vigorously. When you say it like that, it makes sense, Dad.

Of course, it does, he said, triumph in his voice. Your good ole’ dad is always right.

Chapter 3 - The Accident

(Past: December 22)

It was three days before Christmas and Richard had entrusted Andrew with Clarissa’s necklace. She never went in Andrew’s room to rummage around, so he’d had the boy put it on the top shelf of his closet. Richard planned to present the gift to her on Christmas Eve.

In years past, Richard had realized that when they visited Clarissa’s family on Christmas day, his gifts tended to get lost in the hubbub. So, exchanging the meaningful gifts on Christmas Eve had become their tradition. Even though they weren’t traveling this year, they’d gotten used to doing things this way and really adored it. He was looking forward to finishing up here at work, so he could get home. He was earning every penny of his bonus by putting