Per requests, an excerpt from my recently published book, "Murder at the Old Central":
It was one of those dreams in which you know you are dreaming, and yet, you accept the dream's narrative as if it was a natural part of reality.
A ghost was marching majestically along my room, passing time and again near the sofa on which I was lying. It was not Hope as I first thought, but a scary looking Nordic type. He wore a heavy-looking armor which looked quite impressive despite the dents and the marks of battles it has obviously been through.
Thinking again, I guessed that the armor was probably not heavy at all, considering its current ghostly nature. He had an intimidating frown on his face. Such a frown, I imagined, one wears before one smites someone or something. And yet, for some reason, I knew I was not his enemy.
This knowledge and the strange combination of an armored ghost walking up and down my living-room are probably my best excuses for not being able to help myself. It might also be that his constant nearly undetectable self-mumbling was starting to annoy me.
"Is it heavy?" I wondered.
As his intimidating frown was replaced by one of wonder, I quickly explained my question. "Your armor? It looks heavy but you are a ghost. So, is it heavy?"
He looked at me with distaste.
"Do you really think that this is a proper way to strike a conversation with the King of Denmark?"
I stuttered something about not knowing his identity previously, as we have never been formally introduced.
"Let us talk about something more important than my armor, my dignity or your ignorance," he cut into my speech. "I bear a much graver mission, of which I wish to speak to you now."
I looked at him curiously.
"You see," he began, "I came to you in your dream because I have heard about your dilemma: To avenge or not to avenge the death of your friend."I was baffled. I could appreciate my subconscious attempt to deal with my decision, but why was this apparition talking about vengeance and not about justice?
The ghost smiled pitifully in response. Obviously, he could read my thoughts.
"Don't you know what the true purpose of law enforcement is?
It is Retribution.
It is Vengeance."I was going to try and argue, but he raised his hand.
"Hush! I have little time. You must agree with me that there is no point in talking about purposes such as protecting society."I kept my silence, and he went on forcefully, "You know that the murderer acted only after your friend pursued him. It is safe to assume that he lived a peaceful, constructive life, not murdering anyone else, until the knowledge that your friend is following forced him to return to his old murderous ways. Now that your friend is dead, who else is he going to kill? "I stared at him.
He went on "Your friend told you he was the only survivor. Now that he is dead, there are no other persons endangered by the murderer."
I wasn't completely convinced by the ghost's rather fuzzy logic. He seemed to be pleased by my silent stare and carried on, failing to recognize my mute criticism.
"No! I tell you. This is only about vengeance. I know everything there is to know about vengeance.
Listen to me!
What good has retribution done to me!?
I told my son of the wrongs that were done to me by my murderer.
What was the outcome?"I assumed this was a rhetorical question, and anyhow, had no idea where he was heading. He remained silent for a while, and, then shaking his head with a disappointed look, continued. "My son felt unable to do anything before he made sure who was really to blame. He had to see the guilt on the faces of my murderers. He had to be meticulous and decent and just. And how has it helped ME in the end?"Once again, I kept silent.
"My own son died!
My kingdom was taken from the hands of my dynasty!
And where to? Straight into the hands of the son of my greatest Enemy!
Was it really worth it?
Such a price for justice?
Nay, I tell you!
I should have …."
Having slowly made my path through the maze of facts, it was only then that I figured the identity of my ghostly visitor.
"You are Hamlet's father!
The ghost from the opening of Shakespeare's famous play!"
The ghost looked at me. He seemed to be astonished for some reason.
"You aren't the brightest marble in the jar, are you?" he remarked sadly. The fighting spirit seemed to have dwindled.
But before I could respond to his insulting metaphor, he waved his hand as if he was driving away a fly and repeated his speech. The man seemed to have endless resources of anger, and his ability to recuperate was impressive.
"Let us concentrate on what matters!
My own son died!
My kingdom gone to the hands of the son of my Enemy!
Was it really worth it?
Such a price for justice?
Nay, I tell you! I should have chosen the safest path of vengeance, that of patient waiting. Biding my time, I would have seen my murderers slowly being ruined by the merciless decay brought upon all mortals by the flow of time. Afterwards, my kingdom would have passed to the hands of my beloved son.
Vengeance turned out ruinous for me.
I warn you, people may die when vengeance is sought, and too often, those dying are not the ones whose death was demanded by justice!"
And then, before I could ask any question about what he meant by his last sentence, he disappeared, and I found myself awaken.