Frozen Justice for My Abuser

He walked perfectly in my footprints just to avoid stepping in the deep snow, and then, inevitably, he slipped.

He blamed me. He claimed I had packed the snow down too hard, making it slick. He demanded fifty thousand dollars in damages.

It didn't stop there. He bled me dry. Through a relentless campaign of harassment, he cost me my job, drained my savings, and finally, in a fit of manufactured rage, shoved me into an open excavation trench at a construction site. I was knocked unconscious. I froze to death in the dark.

And then, I woke up.

I respawned at the exact moment before we walked out of the apartment building's lobby into the winter storm.

Without a second thought, I pivoted on my heel, marched back upstairs to my apartment, and slammed the door shut.

The old man was stunned. A few seconds later, he followed me up and started hammering his fists against the wood.

Bang! Bang! Bang!

My front door rattled violently in its frame, but I couldn't focus on the noise. I was hyperventilating, my back pressed against the cold wood. My heart thrashed against my ribs like a trapped bird.

The phantom agony of freezing to deaththe slow, creeping numbness, the feeling of my blood turning to slush, the final, terrifying lethargystill clung to my bones.

"Michael! Why did you turn back around?"

Old Man Pendletons voice was muffled through the door, grating and utterly entitled. "The snow is too deep out here. Im not risking it. Come back out and blaze a trail for me."

I closed my eyes, wrapping my arms around myself.

"My grandson wants bacon for breakfast, so I need to get to the grocery store," he whined, the banging resuming. "You're young. You've got good knees. You really going to refuse to do a simple favor for an old man? Whatever happened to respecting your elders, huh?"

Arthur Pendleton. The neighborhood nightmare. He just kept rattling off excuses, trying to guilt me into stepping back out into the freezing cold.

Like hell I am.

In my previous life, I had obliged. He had stepped exactly where I stepped, slipped on the compacted ice, and then launched a lawsuit from hell, demanding fifty grand. When I refused to pay, he showed up at my corporate office every single day, screaming until HR finally let me go just to avoid the PR nightmare.

But losing my job hadn't been enough for him. He tracked down my parents in our quiet rural hometown upstate. He made them the laughingstock of the county, filing bogus police reports against my dad, who had been the towns bookkeeper for thirty years. My dad was brought in for questioning. Even though he was completely cleared, the whispering and the stares from people theyd known their whole lives broke my parents. They sold their house at a loss and moved across the state, shadows of their former selves.

Bang! Bang! Bang!

The pounding grew more aggressive.

I pushed away from the door, my mind snapping into sharp, crystalline focus. I cleared my throat.

"Arthur!" I shouted, making my voice crack. "I have Covid! The really bad strain! Cough, cough, cough!"

I ran to the kitchen. "Hold on, just give me a second to cough up this blood, and I'll open the door! Cough, cough!"

I grabbed a paper towel, squirted a generous dollop of ketchup onto it, and smeared a little at the corner of my mouth for good measure.

Arthur must not have heard me clearly because the relentless banging didn't stop.

I took a deep breath, yanked the deadbolt back, and threw the door open, launching into a violent, chest-heaving fit of coughing that sounded like I was hacking up pieces of my lungs.

"Cough, cough, cough! Arthur, I told you, Im severely infected. I'm burning up. What do you need?"

As I spoke, I pulled the paper towel away from my mouth.

It was a mess of crimson red.

"Look, it's not that I don't want to help," I wheezed, leaning heavily against the doorframe. "I genuinely have a terrible respiratory infection..."

I shoved the ketchup-stained paper towel toward his face. "Smell it! That's the smell of fresh, highly contagious lung tissue!"

Arthur shrieked, executing a backward jump that was shockingly athletic for a man of his age.

"Get away from me! If you give me pneumonia, Im suing you for medical bills!"

He pressed his back against the hallway wall, but then, I saw his cloudy, calculating eyes dart back to me. His greed was a living, breathing thing.

"Listen, Michael," he wheedled, pulling his coat tighter around his neck. "Can't you just push through it? Just walk me to the end of the block. Im terrified of falling."

I stared at him. The sheer audacity was staggering.

"My grandson looks up to you," he continued, laying the guilt on thick. "You can't just abandon us over a little cold. Put on a double layer of N95 masks. I won't hold it against you!"

Then, the kicker.

"You're doing so well for yourself. I heard you talking on the phoneyou just got a fifty-thousand-dollar year-end bonus! Surely a successful young man like you can afford to do one tiny favor?"

This stubborn old vulture.

I was standing here supposedly coughing up a lung, and he still wanted me to be his human snowplow.

In my past life, I had always wondered how long it took him to select me as his perfect victim. Now, the pieces clicked together.

My bonus.

Just before we had walked out of the building earlier, I had taken a call from my manager confirming my year-end bonus. Arthur had been lurking in the lobby. He heard the whole thing. He hadn't just accidentally slipped; he had targeted me because he knew I was holding a fresh, fat check. No wonder he was so desperate to get me out there.

Seeing that I wasn't moving, Arthurs faux-polite mask slipped. He let out an exaggerated huff and dramatically lowered himself to sit right on the freezing tile floor of the hallway.

"Fine! If you won't help me, I can't leave. So I'll just sit right here!"

I narrowed my eyes, studying his pathetic, petulant display for a long moment. Then, the corners of my mouth curled into a bright, terrifying smile.

"No problem, Arthur. I'll lead the way. Just stay close!"

I stepped back inside, pulled on my heaviest down parka and a pair of thick, treaded snow boots.

Arthur scrambled to his feet, shadowing me closely as we headed out.

In my previous life, I had walked slowly, out of an abundance of caution, and he had matched my agonizing pace. The apartment's security camera had captured the whole thing. Later, he strong-armed the property manager into giving him the footage, using it to blackmail me at my office. The angle of the camera had been terribleit looked exactly like I had kicked a patch of ice backward, causing him to fall.

I wasn't about to let history repeat itself.

The moment the heavy glass door clicked shut behind us, and I saw the red light of the security camera in my peripheral vision, I threw my arms up in the air and screamed.

"God, I love the snow! Hahahaha!"

I glanced over my shoulder. "Keep up, Arthur!"

And then, I bolted.

I sprinted down the sidewalk like an Olympic sprinter, kicking up a massive wake of white powder.

Arthur froze, completely blindsided. By the time his brain processed what was happening, I had already rounded the corner of the building and vanished from sight.

"You little bastard, what are you running for?!" I heard him screech from a distance.

"WhoaI'm slipping! Get back here! If I fall, you have to pay!"

A dull thud echoed through the frigid air. He had gone down.

I stood hidden behind the brick wall of the next building. One minute passed. Two minutes. Three.

No one came to help him.

Eventually, the biting cold became too much for him. I peeked around the corner just in time to see him scramble to his feet, dusting snow off his coat. He glared up at the security camera, spitting into the snow.

"Dammit! Didn't catch a thing," he muttered viciously.

I turned and jogged away from the complex, my breath pluming in the freezing air.

The camera definitely wouldn't have us in the same frame this time.

But would Old Man Pendleton let it go that easily?

I highly doubted it.

In my past life, even after I had drained my bank accounts to pay his extortion demands, he hadn't stopped. He had demanded I sign over the deed to my condo so his deadbeat son could use it as a marital home for his second wedding. The man's greed was a bottomless abyss.

If he thought he could use his old playbook to control me in this life, he was out of his mind.

My first stop wasn't the office. It was a coffee shop. I pulled out my phone, scrolled through Zillow, and found a fully furnished, short-term luxury apartment just a few miles away. I wired the deposit immediately and got the digital door code.

This was step one of my revenge.

If he couldn't find me at home, he would inevitably show up at my office to cause a scene. I needed to be ready for him.

After securing the apartment, I circled back to my old place to grab my laptop and a few essentials.

The moment I stepped through the front gates of the complex, I noticed the security guard at the booth looking at me with wide, panicked eyes. He was violently mouthing the words, Run.

Before my brain could register the warning, a shadow lunged from behind the brick pillar. A heavy weight slammed into my side, tackling me straight into a snowbank.

"You little punk! Thought you were fast, huh? Let's see you run now!"

I blinked snow out of my eyelashes. Hovering over me, face twisted in rage, was Arthur Pendleton.

"Listen to me," he snarled, digging his fingers into my jacket. "When you ran off this morning, you tripped me! I nearly broke my neck!"

He leaned in closer, his breath smelling of stale coffee and decay. "So, you tell me how we're going to handle this. I'll give you a hint: if you don't fork over fifty thousand dollars right now, this doesn't go away!"

I laughed inwardly. The old bastard was just throwing darts in the dark, hoping to hit a jackpot.

I had watched that security footage hundreds of times in my past life. I knew with absolute certainty that the camera had captured nothing of use today. He was bluffing.

I wasn't about to play by his rules. Instead of arguing, I threw my head back and let out an ear-piercing, blood-curdling scream.

"My ribs! Oh my god, my ribs are shattered!"

I writhed in the snow, clutching my side.

"My head! I'm going to throw up, it's a severe concussion!"

I kicked my leg out at an awkward angle. "My femur is snapped! Call an ambulance! Call 911!"

I grabbed my lower back, screaming louder. "My kidney! You ruptured my kidney! I'm passing stones!"

Arthur leaped off me as if hed been electrocuted, stumbling backward.

"I'm warning you, don't try to pull an insurance scam on me!" he yelled, panic edging into his voice. "I'll call the cops and have you arrested!"

Before he could even reach for his pockets, I already had my phone pressed to my ear. I had dialed 911 the second he tackled me.

Arthurs face went pale. He lunged forward to snatch the phone, but it was too late.

"Are you insane? You actually called them?"

I looked up at him from the snow, my eyes wide, and gasped theatrically.

"Oh, no... my heart. I have a heart condition! This old man triggered an attack! Everyone, look! Don't let him get away!"

In my past life, the psychological warfare he had waged against me was etched into my soul. It had become a waking nightmare. Now, I was simply returning the favor, page by page from his own playbook.

When the police arrived, Arthur immediately tried to play the sweet, confused grandfather. "Officers, it was just a misunderstanding! We were just messing around, right Michael?"

I didn't answer him. I insisted on being loaded onto the stretcher and taken in the ambulance.

Arthur tried to push his way through the paramedics to grab my arm, desperate to avoid paying a dime for my hospital transport.

I pointed a shaking finger at the security booth. "Officers, please secure the gate footage immediately! Before the cameras conveniently 'malfunction'."

The footage was undeniable. It clearly showed Arthur ambushing me, shoving me violently to the ground, and my head snapping back against the ice.

He was forced to pay my three-thousand-dollar emergency room bill out of pocket.

When he handed the money over at the precinct, the hatred in his eyes was so intense it practically burned.

I ignored it, pocketed the cash, and walked out.

Later that evening, I took the complex's security guard out for steaks. Over dinner, the guard shook his head, looking at me like I was a dead man walking.

"Man, out of everyone in the city, you had to cross that old psycho," the guard sighed.

He told me things about Arthur I hadn't known. Years ago, Arthur had stolen the heavy iron storm drain covers from the complex's streets and sold them to a scrapyard to buy toys for his grandson. A resident had fallen into an open drain and shattered their leg. When the HOA reviewed the cameras and confronted Arthur, he didn't even deny it. He claimed that because he paid his HOA fees, the neighborhood property belonged to him. When the HOA pointed out he hadn't paid his fees in three years, he argued that since he paid them once, it counted forever.

"It gets worse," the guard said, taking a sip of his beer. "He used to steal women's underwear from the laundry room and have his son sell them online. When one of the female residents caught him, he threw himself on the floor, claimed she assaulted him, and tried to sue her."

"Eventually, he figured out that college girls were easier targets," the guard lowered his voice. "So he started lurking around the basement apartments where the university students rent."

The guards voice was heavy with disgust. "He would press his face against the half-windows of the basement units in the middle of the night. Scared one girl so bad she called the cops. When they showed up, he suddenly 'forgot' where he was and played the dementia card."

"And his son is just as bad. When he showed up at the precinct, he had the nerve to say the girl was trying to seduce his rich father through the window, and threatened to sue her for emotional distress."

"The cops couldn't do anything but tell the son to keep an eye on him. But Arthur didn't stop. He basically stalked her, pacing outside her window every night. She was too terrified to leave her apartment. She missed her finals, dropped out of college, and moved down South to work in a factory. I heard a rumor she got her hand crushed in some industrial machine down there."

The guard shook his head. "Everyone knows Old Man Pendleton ruined her life. And he just struts around the neighborhood, untouchable."

Listening to this, a cold, hard knot of resolve tightened in my chest. If I harbored even a shred of guilt about my revenge plan, it evaporated instantly. This man wasn't just an annoyance; he was a predator.

"Don't worry," I told the guard, raising my glass. "His luck is about to run out. Karma is coming to collect."

The very next morning, my prediction came true. Arthur showed up at my corporate office.

He stood right outside the glass walls of my boss's corner office, clutching two cheap bottles of wine.

My boss looked bewildered. He stepped out and asked Arthur who he was looking for.

"I'm Michael's great-uncle," Arthur announced loudly, ensuring the entire open-plan office could hear. "I know my boy can be a burden, so I brought you a little something to thank you for putting up with him."

Then, leaning in conspiratorially, but still speaking at top volume, he dropped the bomb. "You see, hes had a severe, highly contagious case of Hepatitis B for years. Im sure its been a nightmare for his coworkers."

My boss's face drained of color. He immediately summoned me to his office, shutting the door behind us, and asked if it was true.

Through the glass, I could see Arthur looking at me with feigned, grandfatherly concern, though his cloudy eyes danced with pure, venomous triumph.

I had fully anticipated he would pull a stunt like this, though the specific tactic was impressively unhinged.

I watched as Arthur pointed at the 'Team Lead' badge on my lanyard and smiled greasily at my boss.

"You truly are a saint, sir," Arthur proclaimed. "Letting a boy with such failing, infectious health be in charge of people."

My boss looked like he wanted to vomit. Outside the glass, I could see my team members slowly rolling their desk chairs away from my cubicle.

I didn't panic. Instead, I threw the door open, rushed out, and threw my arms around Arthur in a massive, crushing bear hug.

"Uncle Arthur!" I bellowed, my voice thick with emotion. "Why didn't you tell me you were visiting?"

"I missed you so much!"

I deliberately let a generous spray of saliva hit his face as I shouted. Arthur froze, completely short-circuiting.

He had not expected this reaction.

In my past life, he had used a similar rumor to ostracize me, driving a wedge between me and my coworkers until the isolation forced me to quit.

Given a second chance, there was no way I was letting him control the narrative.

Right now, I was clinging to him like a desperate, long-lost child. He had just publicly claimed to be my blood relative; all he could do was stand there, his face contorting into a gruesome, strained smile.

I stared right into his weathered face and laugheda manic, joyful laugh that lasted for a full, uncomfortable minute, thoroughly playing the part of a man overjoyed by a family reunion.

Just as Arthur looked like he was about to physically shove me off, I stepped back, gripping his shoulders.

"Uncle Arthur," I said, my voice dropping to a dramatic whisper that carried across the silent office. "You found out about the Hepatitis B?"

Arthur instantly perked up, sensing an opening. He puffed out his chest and spoke loudly.

"That's right! I couldn't just stand by and let you hide your condition! It's not right to keep secrets that could hurt other people, is it?"

He sounded like a martyr making a difficult moral choice.

My boss's expression grew even darker. He stepped out of his office, his arms crossed tightly.

"Michael," he said, his tone heavy with disappointment. "Why wouldn't you disclose something like this to HR? We could have made accommodations. We could have set up a separate break area for you."

My boss was a decent guy. In my previous life, when Arthur had come to the office to throw his tantrums, my boss had actually tried to protect me. But Arthur had escalated it, eventually threatening to hang himself from the corporate logo in the lobby. By that point, I had been financially ruined and entirely broken. I resigned just to spare the company the liability.

Hearing my boss try to accommodate me, Arthurs eyes bugged out.

"Sir, we can't let him be a burden to your fine company just for a paycheck!" Arthur interjected, looking genuinely alarmed that his plan was failing.

I laughed inwardly.

"Uncle Arthur," I said softly, looking at him with wide, tragic eyes. "Who told you I only have Hepatitis B?"

Arthur blinked.

"Since the secret is out, I guess I have to come clean," I said, my voice trembling with fake sorrow. "It's not just the Hep B. It's the Tuberculosis. And the chronic blood flukes. Oh, and the Syphilis. And the untreated Gonorrhea. And the highly aggressive HPV..."

With every disease I listed, Arthurs face grew a shade paler. His jaw dropped. He pointed a trembling, arthritic finger at my chest.

"Y-you... are you telling the truth?"

I inhaled sharply, threw my head forward, and sneezed violentlytwice. Both times, right into Arthurs face.

"Ahhhh!"

Arthur shrieked in genuine terror, scrubbing frantically at his cheeks with the sleeves of his coat.

"You infected me! I came here out of the goodness of my heart, and you infected me!" he wailed, backing away toward the elevators. "You monster!"

My boss, however, wasn't an idiot. He was watching the exchange with narrowed eyes.

Who on earth contracts half a dozen Victorian-era plagues at the same time? Was I moonlight as a lab rat for the CDC?

He realized immediately that the old man was entirely full of shit.

Arthurs face twisted into an ugly snarl. He wanted to lunge at me, but the sheer terror of my imaginary pathogens kept him glued to the spot.

"You can kiss this job goodbye!" Arthur spat. "I won't let you infect these good people!"

Then, he took a hesitant half-step forward and hissed under his breath, just loud enough for me to hear.

"Unless you wire me that fifty grand right now. If you do, I'll tell your boss I have dementia and I made the whole thing up. I'm not even your uncle. You keep your job, I get my money."

I stared at him, my heart turning to ice.

It was the exact same script. Word for word.

In my past life, terrified of losing my career and the stability it provided, I had caved. I had transferred two thousand dollars to his account right then and there just to make him leave.

That was the mistake that sealed my fate. Once you pay the Danegeld, you never get rid of the Dane. Two thousand turned into five, then ten, until I was bled dry.

Now, looking at his greedy, venomous eyes, I just smiled brightly.

I reached into my blazer, pulled out a folded piece of paper, and handed it to my boss.

"Sir, this is my formal resignation."

Arthur froze. My boss looked equally stunned.

"Michael, have you lost your mind?" my boss asked, refusing to take the paper. "I haven't said a word about firing you. We don't terminate people over health rumors. Let's just have you work from home for a few weeks until this blows over"

I held up a hand, feeling a genuine rush of gratitude for the man.

"Thank you, sir. Truly. But I refuse to be a liability to this company."

I placed the resignation letter on his desk. I had already packed my personal belongings into a small box that morning. I picked it up from my cubicle and walked straight past Arthur toward the glass doors.

Arthur finally snapped out of his shock and scrambled after me, blocking the elevator bank.

"Boy, what kind of game are you playing?" he growled, dropping the sweet-old-man act entirely. "I'm not falling for this!"

I ignored him, my eyes fixed on the elevator floor indicator.

"Hold it right there!" he barked, stepping into my personal space. "You're not going anywhere until you pay me what you owe me! Where do you think you're going?"

I let out a soft, mocking laugh.

"I'm going to buy a lottery ticket."

Arthur sneered, his face wrinkling in disgust. "Don't bullshit me! A lottery ticket? What, you think you're going to magically strike it rich?"

"Actually, Arthur," I said as the elevator doors chimed open. "For a guy who supposedly has dementia, you're pretty sharp. That's exactly what I'm going to do."

In my past life, on the exact day Arthur had ruined my career, I had hit absolute rock bottom. Desperate, I had bought a Mega Millions ticket on my walk home.

When the numbers were drawn, I had missed the jackpot by exactly two numbers.

The jackpot had been five million dollars.

With five million dollars, why the hell did I need this corporate grind anyway?

I stepped onto the elevator. Arthur squeezed in right behind me, his chest heaving.

"You think you can outsmart me?" he sneered as the doors closed. "I'm going to watch you buy that ticket. Let's see how lucky you really are."