Chapter 2
My side is almost completely healed, the wound now just another blemish amongst many. The time in between now and me receiving it has been fairly uneventful, my only real challenge being a new gang in town that tried to mark it's territory by organizing a series of midnight smash and grabs at jewelers. The clientele of the bars I frequent are low enough on the totem pole to be knowledgeable about the gangs movements, so a few nights of eavesdropping earned me the location of their next likely hit.
I put four of them in hospital, and their leader will most likely walk with a pronounced limp for the rest of his life, but they left no permanent marks on me. Since my last patch up job I've tried to avoid the bathroom mirror, leaving the light off whenever possible. Rationally I know this path is heading nowhere good, its not like there is a vigilante retirement plan in my future, but right now I need it, its the only thing left to give my life purpose. My gaze into the mirror made me admit some home truths to myself; right now I am just too damn broken to even consider trying to have a normal life.
So I stalk the nights, waiting for the evil that is inherent in this world to show its face, and then I kick the crap out of it. This city is no different to any of the countless others that I've made my way through the past couple of years I think to myself as I make my way across the roof of an apartment building. Street names interchange from city to city, but every single one of them has its damn shady elephants graveyard. I chuckle mirthlessly and shake my head; so jaded, yet still able to use the Lion King as reference material.
I look at my watch, noting it is just past three am. Another Tuesday night with no baddies to injure, looks like I won't be getting my gold star this evening. I turn around, intending to head back when a noise stills me. I tilt my head, trying to get a bead on where it is coming from. The early summer breeze helps me, carrying the unmistakeable sounds of a fight in progress to my finely attuned ears.
I bolt in its direction immediately, leaping from roof to roof with the sure footed agility of a cat. I land on the roof of a seven eleven and sprint across its flat roof, sliding down the building in silence to land on the garage at its rear. I flatten to its roof, given myself a moment to assess the situation before wading into the fray. If there are guns I will need stealth over aggression; no amount of righteous anger is going to protect me from a bullet, and I'm still a long way away from being able to purchase Kevlar without drawing attention to myself.
Thirty feet from me I see a group of lads standing in a loose circle, their attention focused in the center; at a skirmish I can't quite make out. I count nearly twelve in the circle, with more clearly in the center, and I immediately fear I am too late for the person at the center of their attention. I drop to the ground and use the shadows to edge closer, a low overhang providing me with adequate enough cover to get within ten feet without detection. I reach my hand over my shoulder, gripping my staff, and am about to pull it free when a break in the circle freezes me.
Two of the guys in the part of the circle nearest me suddenly topple over, a third sprawled across their chests giving reason for their collapse. The gap this creates allows me to see inside, and I gape at what I see. The figure I feared for, the poor innocent I am here to save, is actually kicking ass. The figure, dressed head to toe in dark clothes (not unlike myself), is holding their own against a bank of five guys, not including the one currently laying prostrate atop his pals, with what looks like numchucks flying every which way.
I watch in amazement as they bob and weave, fending off advance after advance from the group. Their technique is flawless, a little too tight for my style of fighting, but I have to tip my metaphorical hat to whoever they are; they've got mad skills. I'm so entranced by this new player, a fellow vigilante by the look of the group they're fighting, that I don't see the guy pull a gun until its too late. It's the glint of moonlight off the barrel that pulls me from my awe inspired trance, and I'm moving before I consciously register what it is. I rip the quarter staff from its pouch on my back as I run, my hands completing the complex series of turns to unfurl it without conscious thought. My eyes are locked on the gun, my sole purpose is to disable it before it has a chance to discharge.
I almost make it.
I'm half a pace away when it fires, the flash indicates the bullet has already left, and it rips a scream of warning from my throat. I see the guy holding the gun turn towards me, surprise covering his face. He is a lean guy, wiry would probably be the best description, but with clearly defined muscles filling out his arms. The copious tattoo's covering them look gang related; a large cobra pulled back into a strike position takes pride of place on his right arm, which is now dangling the gun stupidly in mid air as he gawps at me.
The split second it takes to register this moment feels like an age, but I am not idle while I digest this information. My staff has completed its arc, and now smashes into his wrist, shattering the bones into dust. The world speeds up again as his scream of pain alerts the others, but before they can even register the new threat I am already cutting a path through them. My aim is to put them all down as quickly and as efficiently as possible, so my staff connects with the most vulnerable places on the human body. Noses are shattered, knee joints are obliterated, and one lucky fellow is on the receiving end of a rib crushing/jaw breaker combo.
I spin to a stop, my breath coming in ragged pants. My heart is thundering in my chest, the adrenaline buzz making my blood sing in my veins. I feel amazing, more alive than I have in a long time, and a stupidly pleased smile finds its way to my face as I survey my surroundings. The night is still and quiet, only the pitiful groans and whimpering of the fallen shattering the now peaceful alley.
I suddenly frown, a feeling that something isn't right with this picture invading my happiness. I've just put almost twenty men down single handedly, there isn't a single one left standing, what could be...the other vigilante! My eyes widen as I realize they aren't standing either, the bullet must of found them.
I run to the spot where I last saw them, leaping over the bodies of blood soaked and injured gang members as I go. I almost trip over them before I spot them, their outfit blending them into a shadow amongst the debris littering the alley. They are laying half on their side, their face pressed to the ground. I drop to my knees next to them, my eyes scanning their body.
I growl in frustration as the light is too weak to distinguish anything against the utter darkness of their outfit. I rip my gloves off, stuffing them in my pocket so I don't lose them, then run my hands over their back, conducting a physical examination as my visual one is compromised. My palm finds a sticky patch as it skims over the back of their right shoulder, my fingers picking out the jagged perforation of a bullet hole. I probe the hole gently, earning a groan from the unconscious figure, and I breath a sigh of relief, at least they're still alive.
I explore the front of their shoulder, trying to find an exit wound. Unfortunately for my fallen comrade there isn't one, which means the bullet is still lodged in their body. The bullet needs to come out, and from personal experience I know it's a painful process. I hesitate with indecision; this is a complication I was not expecting to have to deal with. All my first aid equipment is back at my place, the location of which I am not eager to share with a stranger, even if they seem to be on the same path as me. I am, of course, incredibly curious about this figure. Is their reason for doing this as dark as mine, or do the have nobler motivations? Maybe they could become a confident of sorts, a partner in the night. Maybe then I wouldn't feel so incredibly alone in the world.
Yet the risk of them exposing me to the world can't be denied.
Dumping them outside the hospital is a tempting idea; they would be taken care of, and have more pain medication at their disposal; plus there would be no risk of exposure to me. I could remove any incriminating items from their possession, and they would be able to spin any story they wanted to the cops. They would lose the numchucks, but I figure that would still be preferable to getting arrested for working outside of the law.
Plus I'm alone for a reason; I've deliberately isolated myself from society, from comfort, because of how damaged I am. Letting this person in would do no good in the long run; I'd end up driving them away anyway, it's what I do.
I've almost convinced myself, and I keep repeating the mantra you don't need them Paige as I use my boot knife to cut a hole in their outfit. I apply a temporary patch to the wound, making sure the blood loss is minimized during transportation. Once I'm convinced the patch will hold I roll them over on to their back, intending to do a search for incriminating items. The movement causes their hood to slip off, exposing their face to my gaze for the first time, just as the clouds part and the moon shines a beam of light down on us.
All the breath in my body disappears, and I feel like I've been sucker punched right in the gut. 'Holy fuck!' I whisper, my voice stolen by surprise. I feel dizzy, like I've just been spun into an alternative universe, staring down into the face of a person I never imagined seeing in these circumstances. Despite the welter of a bruise slowly blooming on the side of their jaw, their face is just as I remember; elegant and dignified.
As I stare down into the face of a one time friend, I think back to my old life; to the people of Rosewood, Pennsylvania; and for the first time in a long, long time, I let myself wonder what became of them. I slide my hand along the uninjured side of their face, cupping their jaw. My thumb strokes their cheek, the callused pad feeling the softness of their skin, and I am acutely aware that this is the first human contact I have initiated in over two years.
My words are barely audible, but it doesn't matter, my audience is not in a position to hear anyway. 'What the hell are you doing here? You were doing so well, had put everything in your past and were moving forward again. You were meant to conquer this world, not fade away into its shadows. What happened to you Spencer?'
