April 12th

New York City

I had cried myself to sleep that night.

When I awoke in the morning, I looked back over the night's disaster. In retrospect, it had only been my first night, so it was kinda expected to go badly. Maybe if I had taken a shot at the men, they might have run – only I froze and almost pissed myself! I could have done so many things; only I did none of them and a woman was left to fend for herself.

'What a great fucking vigilante, you are, Morgan!' I though angrily.

I had not frozen when my parents had been murdered right before my eyes; I had been able to fight and kill that man. Why had I frozen in the park when I could have helped that woman? Maybe I was not ready...

I was ready!

Was I?

I could do it... I was going to do it... I would wait until next weekend and then on Friday night I would try again... I would keep trying until – until – until I succeeded!

As usual, I met up with Josh for breakfast.

We had met up at least once every week over the preceding month. I liked Josh, he had a good sense of humour and I loved his British Accent; it was to die for, he was cute, too! However, if I was uncomfortable that morning due to the previous night's events, it was absolutely nothing, compared to how uncomfortable I was when Josh suddenly started to cry in McDonalds. Talk about embarrassing, for so many reasons!

The kid was suffering, but about what, he would not say at first.

Eventually it came out that both his parents were dead – his father the previous year; murdered by some New York Mobster. He was alone, living in an apartment, he said, in Brooklyn. I explained about my parents. Thanks to the murders happening in Miami, nobody in New York knew that the murders had involved young Morgan Hella; all my schoolmates knew was that my parent's had died and I had moved to New York. I was pleased to have anonymity; I hated being somebody of public interest. I was also ashamed that I had killed.

Josh was very shocked to hear about the deaths and the circumstances; however, I left out the bit about me killing one of the men. He said he was able to relate and he apologised profusely for going to pieces in front of me, but I assured him that it was not a problem.

I kissed him on the cheek before he left.

April 18th

Friday

I was going to try again – and I was going to succeed!

As before, I pulled on my dark clothes and equipment, checking that the Beretta was correctly prepared. I was prepared for verbal abuse and could expect it and I was not about to let it shock me again, even if it was very personal and embarrassing.

I steeled myself, climbed out of my bedroom window, and climbed down the balcony to the ground. A quick check to see that there was nobody watching; all the windows of nearby properties were dark. Vaulting the fence was easy and I made my way towards Old Glory Park, as before.

I kept telling myself that everything would be different. I would make a difference.

..._...

There was less activity than the previous weekend.

The usual people exploring their sexuality against a tree, but not much more. Then I witnessed what had to be a mugging. The man was large, his target a young woman who was instantly intimidated and did not need much coaxing to hand over her purse.

I was furious, so I ran forwards and stopped a few yards away, before she could hand over the purse.

"Leave her alone!" I yelled out.

The man did not laugh at me; he just lunged in my direction, catching me off guard. The woman very smartly vanished, leaving me facing the large man on my own.

"You are mine, bitch – I'm gonna rip you apart for losing me my score!"

"Just try me – you're not the first I've killed..."

The man hesitated a bit at that, but then shook his head and smirked.

"Yeah, right!"

His first punch was easily deflected, though, as he came for me not expecting me to dodge. I followed through with a kick to his gut, which only seemed to enrage him. Then I received the first punch, which hurt! I almost fell; the punch had been very hard. I struck out with my gloves, the extra weight helped and I caught the man on the chin. He stepped back a little shocked.

"Full of surprises, aren't you!"

"Plenty, asshole!"

I span around, executing a high kick, aiming for the man's head. I made contact, sending the man off to one side. I smiled – I was succeeding; but there was still a long way to go... I advanced on the man as he tried to get up again, kicking him hard in his side. He yelled out and regained his feet rather quickly, reaching out and flipping me to the ground. The ground was a bad place to be; you could not fight effectively on the ground.

I struggled to get back to my feet, but the man started to kick me in the side, then he reached down and punched me in the stomach. I doubled over in agony and screamed out. Then I heard a yell.

"Police, stop!"

The man ran.

Shit! I scrambled to my feet and ran too.

I ran through the darkness, oblivious to everything.

I had to get away.

I was hurting.

My stomach and side burned where the man had punched and kicked me and the bruising made it painful to breathe. I struggled and almost failed to climb the fence into my backyard. I barely managed to climb up to and then through my bedroom window, but I landed with a thump on the floor.

I froze for a moment, hoping that I had not woken anybody up. There was no sign of activity in the dark house. I pulled off the belt with the heavy Beretta and rapidly stripped out of my clothes and staggered into my bathroom, turning on the shower. I was exhausted and I must have fallen as I found suddenly myself in the base of the shower, half drowned. I looked down my naked body and saw that both my stomach and left side was developing into one large purple bruise.

Every movement hurt, every touch was agony.

Then I got the shock of my life… A voice called out...

"My God, Morgan!"