Of all the wonderful feelings in the world, none could probably give a person more dominating satisfaction than standing out in the middle of an empty football field, smelling the blood and flesh that has been impacted into the dirt only moments before. The stadium lights are dark, but if one knows how to tilt their head just right, they can feel that the radiation is still vibrating off of the massive lights.

The late night dew had already formed on the glistening grass, which seeped around my steel-toed boots and nibbled at the bottom of my blackened jeans, but I ignored it, concentrating on the task at hand instead.

After so many years, Jack would be free of the anomalies, which had eaten him alive. Jack would live again. God, it nearly brought tears into my psychotic little eyes.

Still, I flicked the cigarette ashes off to the side, letting them fall like snow down upon the wet grass. Grayish snow, though, the kind that would pollute the earth instead of nurturing it like real frozen ice. Screw the earth. People said that if you helped the earth, it would help you in return. Bull-shit. It had never helped me other than to supply a burial ground for my siblings.

Bringing the smoldering cigarette to my lips, I inhaled deeply, letting the acrid smoke warm my lungs before I expelled it out only to continue polluting the air. I slid my sleeve back, checking the time, although I mentally regulated the time better than any technical wristwatch could ever hope. Regardless of that fact, though, reviewing the hour gave me something to do, other than absorbing the almighty rays that flooded down from dead stadium lights. Fortunately, Jack still had five more minutes. If he was late, I was almost positive that the Blue Lady wouldn't appreciate that, and I would be required to show him what happened to those that were late.

So, I waited.

Finally, after ten very long minutes, Jack came hurrying across the field, puffing out hot air like I was emitting smog from my cigarette. I knew that in the obscure blackness, he could only see the golden end of my burning cigarette and perhaps some poor illumination upon my face, but that was it. Yet, he-being the smart jock that he was-stopped a couple feet away from me, panting too heavily for someone who was the varsity football's captain.

"It's midnight," he stated, resting self assured hands on his broad hips. "And I'm 'ere, now it's your move."

"Actually," I quipped as I flicked the remainder of my cigarette to the wet grass and ground it underneath my powerful heel like a bug, "it's your move, Jack."

"What?"

In a flash too rapid to follow with normal human eyes, I whipped out of my vest a sleek new pistol and tossed it to him with the mocking call of, "Catch it".

Jack, obviously having been trained in catching a dead pig's skin, scrambled to latch onto the whirling firearm and caught it, cupping it between the palms of his hands. At first, he apparently didn't realize what he was holding onto, but as he brought the weapon closer to his face, he gasped aloud in shock, betraying true human weakness: the fear of violence.

"This is a gun," he stated stupidly.

"Yeah," I replied with my usual bland "I don't care" attitude. "Haven't you ever seen one before?"

"Of course I 'ave," he snapped back with fire in his eyes. "It's just that…I…"

"You what?"

Jack looked up from the weapon and peered into the night, attempting to grab hold of my eyes. "Who the hell are you? What do you want from me? I want ans'rs or else I'm not working with you and your sick little mind game-aiight?"

I laughed in the back of my throat, wishing I hadn't discarded that cigarette quite so early in our conversation. "You may call me whatever you want. I have been labeled as the devil, fiend, bastard…and names that don't matter anymore." I shrugged aimlessly, balancing on the balls of my heels, while I crossed my arms loosely about my chest. "Call me what you please…it doesn't particularly matter. And from you, Jack, son of Kyle? I want your faith," I sneered in vicious whisper, "I want your blood smeared on this field tonight, to save my brother who died. I want you to feel the pain of losing someone that you love. I want you to be told that what you are doing is wrong, and you're wrong for doing so." Chuckling hoarsely to myself, I turned away so that he couldn't hear me say, "I want Jack alive."

"Look man," he was replying, but his voice was so far away and distant that I barely noticed he was even there with me, "I don't know what your prob'm is, but I can give you anythin' you want. My mom's loaded. Tons of cash. Chicks to screw, beer to drink, comp'nies to control…I can get you pretty much anythin', but I don't want to be dragged into whatev'r you 'ave planned. I'm the wrong guy, ya see? I don't know anything about your brother. I don't even know who you are. Just, please, man, you 'ave to listen to me," he babbled.

Whipping around so sharply that, in one frozen instant, my face was plastered into a cynical smile, I hissed, "And why would I want to do that?"

Without hesitation, Jack dropped the gun I had given him which would have presented him with a chance to save his miserable life, and he began to run. He blasted down the deserted field, throwing up tiny beads of dew beneath his rubber heels as he sped away, screaming for help. For somebody with a bum ankle, he could move pretty damn fast. And, if he hadn't been screaming so loud, I would have let him keep on running and relished in the joy of the hunt.

But, unfortunately, he was yelling that a madman was after him and wanted to murder him, which certainly did interfere with my delicate plans, so I did the only logical thing I could do at that moment: Went after him.

My feet left the ground before the rest of my body even had time to realize that I was in motion. The muscles contracted, snapping tendons and ligaments, while my brain rapidly fired intricate messages to the remaining organs that had been left in a standstill. I was down the field just as Jack had barely left it. My lungs were burning from the extreme lack of oxygen because I hadn't even thought of breathing, while my muscles began to shake with horrid fatigue.

Yet, I would not give up.

I propelled myself off the ground, in one massive jump so that I managed to tackle him roughly to the ground. We hit the damp terrain together, repeatedly rolling over, letting the wet dew soak through our clothing. Finally, in one furious moment, I flipped him roughly onto his back as he still continued to bellow, and I thrust my hunting knife out, positioning it ominously above his meager head. "Shut the hell up, you fool," I hissed. "Or else I'll cut your vocal box out and you'll be left with nothing but bubbling blood-got it?"

He nodded blankly.

"Good," I snapped, and in one violent motion, I slammed his dumb head back against the thickly packed ground, knocking him unconscious.

For a moment, I stayed where I was, straddling his inanimate body. In the pale lighting, which only I could catch, I could see how pure his skin was and how his teeth glittered so wonderfully between pink lips. The knife in my hand was becoming sweaty, and I clenched and unclenched my hand on the handle, wanting to rip his heart out and drink his blood. Wanting to pull his gorgeous teeth out so that the Blue Lady could rise again. Wanting to slice him apart like the men back at Manticore had done to my brother.

I raised the blade high above his chest, burning with anticipation and fury. Kyle, you killed my brother, now it's my turn. Yet, just before, I sunk the glittering steel into Jack's chest, I dropped the knife to the ground, knowing that I couldn't kill this Jack, despite the yearning inside of me to avenge my brother's death.

Slowly, I rose to my feet, hating how horrid I felt because I had to leave the person that I desperately wanted to destroy. He didn't deserve to die, but then again, my brother didn't deserve to die either. Crumbling foolishly to the ground, I clutched my despicable face in my hands, crying, "Jack…come back…"