Samuel stared through the window of the remote cottage owned by his former tormentor and teacher, Mr. Woods.
The words uttered to him countless times by Mr. Woods played on a loop in his head, "You'll never amount to anything, Samuel Lamington."
Samuel reached to his side and pulled out a 9mm gun, prepared it for action, and carried out a final check on Mr. Woods location in the cottage.
The teacher, now older, more wrinkled and balder than when Samuel last saw him, was sitting in a chair pulled close to a TV set in his living room, a plate set in his lap.
Samuel recalled how fifteen years ago, Mr Woods would lurk behind his desk, whispering to him with his stale breath so close he could feel the particles on his skin, "You should be dead, not your sister."
Samuel kicked Mr. Woods' back door in with one powerful smash. He charged through the small kitchen into the living room with his gun pointed.
His former teacher turned, wide eyed, face white as chalk. The plate fell from his lap and smashed on the floor.
"Get on your knees now," shouted Samuel. "You're under arrest for the murder of Samantha Lamington." Other officers had burst through the front door, pointing their guns at Mr. Woods as Samuel finished the mandatory arrest statement.
"I never killed that poor girl, I never touched her," Mr. Woods screamed as Samuel dragged him to a waiting police van. Samuel opened the back door, leaned close to Mr. Woods and whispered, "I know you didn't kill her, I did."