Vigilante Justice Thriller Quotes

“I half expected to hear that stupid cackling laugh again, but there was just the fluttering of new leaves blowing in the cooler breeze. The sunken moon sat on the cosmic ledge like a judge sentencing me to doom. In the bright moonlight, I felt the depth of my ineptitude. To throw off my rage at the world, at myself, I picked up a rock and chucked it across the field, and then I went back home.”
― Jonathan Epps, No Winter Lasts Forever

“I had to keep living as much as I fought against that fact. I quit my job. And I hit the road. I figured I would do nothing but wander, for however long I could manage it, spending a month here and there, wherever. Maybe to relax. Maybe to escape. Maybe to sort through the turmoil within me.”
― Jonathan Epps, No Winter Lasts Forever

“I imagined there were people out there in the darker shadows, some dragging their feet like the walking dead, some scanning like predators, some cowering like victims. I wanted to absorb it all, suck it down, destroy it—the vision, the scene, the barbarism.”
― Jonathan Epps, No Winter Lasts Forever

“Driving around town, I found myself staring down older teenagers and college-aged boys and young men. Any sign or signal less than mindful obedience to the law, to orderly conduct and my rage ticked up one notch higher.”
― Jonathan Epps, No Winter Lasts Forever

“Everyone kept moving along, like no bad thing would ever happen to them; that sort of thing was only on Twitter or the news feeds. They were safe. Nothing would happen to them. Even in the very spot where it had happened, people moved on with their lives. It was either impressive human-spirit stuff or just total, impenetrable ignorance: the belief that death naturally wasn’t a part of their lives.”
― Jonathan Epps, No Winter Lasts Forever

“My heart beat faster because I didn’t know what I would see or read, and I knew Luke might be in there, and I didn’t want to imagine or to confirm anything bad about him. I scanned the right margin, where all the names or aliases of the room’s members were listed. Weird-looking names, most of which made no sense to me. And then I spotted Fonzie at the bottom.”
― Jonathan Epps, No Winter Lasts Forever

“I couldn’t believe what I was reading. Did young guys talk like this? For real? I didn’t remember knowing any psychopaths when I was twenty years old. Jesus Christ. Who talked like that? Then I remembered when I was a kid I had watched Faces of Death with the other neighborhood idiots, and I calmed down a bit.”
― Jonathan Epps, No Winter Lasts Forever

“The same old debate was all over the news within the hour. The headline on the next day’s newspaper read, “KILL EVERYTHING.” This simple phrase was cut from a longer statement posted online from the killers. Kill everything? I thought. Not even kill everyone? Just obliterate everything?”
― Jonathan Epps, No Winter Lasts Forever

“That evening, Penny came over with dinner and ended up staying the night. Each of us found comfort in the other, I would say. We didn’t say I love you, but we were very careful with each other. Maybe I loved her. I imagined I did. I imagined she loved me too. ”
― Jonathan Epps, No Winter Lasts Forever

“Everything seemed to be falling apart. I had to stop myself and recognize all the good, plain people around me. But it seemed that more and more people were spoiling. And this gut feeling was hard to shake. Just listening to the news, I found myself throwing things across the room, full force—the remote, my work pager, small things I resented.”
― Jonathan Epps, No Winter Lasts Forever

“I could feel my aged, hard-won masculinity being eroded each millisecond I stayed. It got to the point that only the depths of their vileness gave them any kind of status, and this was both the most pathetic but most dangerous of all. This was the kernel of my intrigue: did this sort of daring morbidity escalate, cross over from virtual to real? And when?”
― Jonathan Epps, No Winter Lasts Forever

“I pull the fire escape door open, scoop my eyeshadow palette off the ground and slip back inside. For a moment, I pause in the corridor and catch my breath. Adrenaline is surging through me. Rage. A normal woman would call the police at this point. But a normal woman would never have been paranoid enough in the first place to pretend to go to the toilet, only to sneak out of the fire escape and spy through a window to watch what her date does when he has five minutes alone with her drink. Nope. A normal woman would have gone to the loo, done a pee and topped up her lipstick. Or she’d have texted a friend about her hot date, feeling giddy with hope and excitement.
Now, let’s think about what would have happened to a normal woman.
A normal woman would have headed back to her date, smiling prettily, before sitting down and drinking her drugged drink. Then, a short while later, that normal woman would have started feeling far more drunk than she normally does after just a couple of drinks, but she’d probably blame herself. She’d wonder if maybe she’d drunk too much. Or maybe she’d blame herself for having not eaten earlier in the day because she didn’t want to look fat in her dress. Or maybe she’d blame herself because that’s just what she does; she blames herself. And then, just as she started to feel woozy and a bit confused, her date would take her outside for some fresh air and she’d be grateful to him. She’d think he was caring and responsible, when really, he was just whisking her out of sight, before she started to look less like she was drunk and more like she’d been drugged. And then the next thing she’d know, she’d be staggering into the back of a cab and her date would be asking her to tell the driver where she lived. And when she’d barely be able to get the words out and her date made a joke to the driver about how drunk she was, she’d feel small and embarrassed. And then she’d find herself slumping into her date’s open arms, flopping against his big manly body, and she’d feel grateful once more that this man was taking care of her and getting her home safe.
And then, once the taxi slowed down and she blinked her eyes open and found they’d pulled up outside her flat, she’d notice in a fleeting moment of clarity that when the driver asked for the fare, her date thrust two crisp ten-pound notes towards him in a weirdly premeditated move, as though he’d known this moment was going to happen all along. As though he’d had the cash lined up, the plan set, and she’d feel something. Something. But then she’d be staggering out of the taxi, even sloppier than when she got in, and her legs would be buckling, and she’d cling to her date for support, her make-up now smudged, her eyes half-closed, her hair messy.
She’d look a state and he’d ask her which flat was hers, and she’d walk with him to her front door, to the flat where she lives alone. To the place that’s full of books and cute knick-knacks from charity shops and colourful but inexpensive clothes. She’d unlock her front door, her hand sliding drunkenly over the lock, and she’d lead him into the place she’s been using as a base to try to get ahead in life, and then he’d look around, keen-eyed, until he spotted her bedroom and he’d draw her in.
And then all of a sudden he’d be in her bedroom and she wouldn’t be able to remember if she’d asked him back or not or quite how this happened, and it would all be moving so fast and her thoughts would be unable to keep up – they’d keep sliding away – and he’d be kissing her and she’d be unsure what was happening as he pulled off her dress and she’d wonder, did she ask for this? Does she want this? Has she been a ‘slut’ again? But the thoughts would be weak, they’d keep falling away and he’d be confident and he’d be certain and he’d be good-looking and he’d be pulling off her bra and taking off her knickers. He’d be pushing himself inside her.
The next day, he’d be gone by the time she woke up. She’d be blocked, unmatched...”
― Zoe Rosi

“How could I expect her to understand if I couldn’t explain it? It was not a secret that I struggled with anger at times in my life, and I didn’t want anyone misinterpreting my motives for tracking this kid. I had a gut feeling and nothing more.”
― Jonathan Epps, No Winter Lasts Forever

“I never knew revenge could be beautiful,” Max said.

“It will be.” Ryan smiled and raised his glass, “Worthy of its place in poetry books and art galleries.”
― Neil Peter Christy, Head Lion

“I sigh, peering out of the window. We’re far out of central
London now and I scan the streets, trying to get my bearings. We’re
getting nearer to Julian’s resting place. I recognise an old police station, converted into cheap flats. This part of London feels darker
than Mayfair. It’s as though the streetlights don’t shine as brightly.
Cheaper models, not as many. I like it. Every time I come here, on
a certain level, I relax. It almost feels more like home than Mayfair.
Mayfair is who I want to be, Hayes is who I am. My veins are the
dark streets, pulsing with traffic. There’s wreckage all around: craterous potholes, crumpled railings, abandoned cars, derelict homes.
Nothing’s ever repaired. It’s all broken. The poverty’s inescapable.
The air perpetually stinks.”
― Zoe Rosi, Pretty Evil

“Vigilante justice. People debated the appropriateness of terrible individuals who did terrible things to their supposed loved ones facing retribution outside a formal system. What was fair? What did justice require? No one ever asked the victims those questions. The burden to survive rested on them while the attacker could depend on the prejudices and faults within the system and the fickle demands of society to escape culpability.
Despite that, we had choices. We were sitting in a house, not operating in a courtroom with all its rules and limitations. This was real life, where the answers weren't so clear. If you felt alone and no one stepped up to help then that bright line between right and wrong could blur.
Maybe that's why I would have made a terrible lawyer. From my vantage point, the law malfunctioned many times when needed and delivered harsh blows often when unnecessary.”
― HelenKay Dimon, The Usual Family Mayhem

“We do not deliver poison or funeral pie directly to a woman's door during an initial contact." Celia sounded pretty sure about that.
Gram rushed to clarify. "But we do give ideas on what a woman can do if she can't escape."
"So, poison." The way they danced around the poison question, taking it off the table then adding it back in again, switched my senses to high alert.
Gram shrugged. "Some men deserve a horrible end."
"It certainly sounds that way," Jackson mumbled under his breath.
I wanted to shout with pride about their ingenuity. I couldn't, of course, this would have to be a family secret.”
― HelenKay Dimon, The Usual Family Mayhem