 
The Legend

Written by G. A. Augustin  
Smashwords Edition

Copyright © 2013 G. A. Augustin

### Table of Contents

"She has been the sole presence that's keeping me balanced."

"We all have wretched memories."

"And from ashes a Phoenix shall rise..."
"She has been the sole presence that's keeping me balanced."

Prelude

"Duane, can I ask you a question?" The doctor suddenly inquired while examining my vitals on the heart monitor.

"What?"

"If I took these leather restraints off your wrists and ankles, what is the first thing you would do?" He sauntered towards my bedside. His right index finger and thumb caressed the stubble around his chin while his arms crossed over his stomach. The inquisitive doctor seemed interested in hearing my response.

"These restraints are the only reason why the man that killed her is still alive."

"Do you really think retribution will make you feel better?" The doctor asked.

"I'm certain it will."

"How can you be so sure?"

"Because I can't feel any worse than what I'm feeling now."
"How have you been Duane?" Detective Bernhardt inquired ending the awkward silence. We're sitting in a packed downtown café just a few blocks from the dry cleaners I work in. He's been asking to meet with me for some time now. I finally took him up when he offered to buy me dinner. With the salary I'm making, I'll take anything free nowadays.

"I'm hanging in there." I responded.

"Have you been able to sleep lately?" The heavyset detective followed with a mouth teeming with chewed up pieces of cheeseburgers and fries. He doesn't even look at me while he's speaking. He's too caught up in his eight dollar lunch. I'm too disgusted to finish mine.

"No."

"My psychologist friend said you haven't been answering his calls."

"Been busy."

"Duane, you need to talk to someone."

"What is there to talk about? I got beat up! They took my money!" I snapped at him. Detective Bernhardt responded with a dissatisfying sigh.

"You still taking the medication the doctor prescribed?" He asked.

"I can't run the machines at the dry cleaners while I'm on th..."

"Duane, do you remember any of the suspects' faces? Any one of the muggers?" Bernhardt blurted out; interrupting me and concluding his roundabout inquires.

"No."

"Duane, please! Try your best to remember something. Anything... Height, weight, complexion, hair color, clothing, something please!"

"I can't remember."

"WAITER!" He barked. "I'm ready for the check. I'm paying for his and mine!" The waiter approached and placed the tab on the table before the detective. He sucked the ketchup, mustard and grease off his fingers then wiped his hands dry on his white button down shirt. He snatched a twenty dollar bill out of his bulky worn brown leather wallet and slammed it on the check. "You still have my card don't you?" Bernhardt barked.

"Yes." I replied. Even if I didn't I wouldn't take another from him.

"Call me if you remember anything. I can't help get these muggers off the street if you don't help me out!" The detective demanded. He jostled the table with his large belly as he slid from the booth. He yanked his black trench coat and matching fedora hat off the coat hook. He then bustled past the servers and patrons and headed towards the exit. You'd assume if someone was so concerned for my well-being they'd offer me a ride home.

I glanced out the steamy café window and followed the detective's rapid departure in his unmarked navy blue '95 Crown Victoria. Dark clouds started masking the city sky. Cracks of lightning and distant roars of thunder began to emerge. The perpetual rain; as if it wasn't gloomy enough here. I exited the café and quickly headed to the elevated train station.

A week ago, after locking up the dry cleaners where I work, I was jumped and robbed. I always thought I'd be able to handle myself in a situation like that. After all, I studied Judo for five years at a neighborhood YMCA back in my hometown of Brooklyn, NY. I also stand at six feet two and weigh just under two hundred pounds. What I didn't know is when you're frightened you hesitate. When you hesitate, you doubt your abilities. I was also outnumbered. Three ruffians snatched me up from behind, dragged me into a desolate narrow alley and shoved me to the ground. I made desperate attempts to get to my feet but the barrage of punches and kicks kept me at bay. Unsure of how to fend off the blows, I curled up and shielded my body and face. I got a brief glimpse of the individuals. They were all slim males and appeared to be around my age; twenty three, give or take a year or two. They were shirtless but sported black leather vests. One was unusually pale-skinned. He had a five inch spiky red mohawk with a sleeve of skull tattoos on both arms that extended past his neck up to the lower half of his cheeks. The second was a black male and the other appeared Hispanic.

While being pummeled, I felt one of them rummaging through my pockets. Seconds later he snatched my weekly pay and signaled the others by belting out a sharp whistle tune. The barrage suddenly stopped and I heard departing footsteps scamper deeper into the alley. I noticed the words "Fallen Saints" spray painted on the back of their vests. Their laughter echoed off the tall brick walls as they disappeared in the dark. A witness alerted the police and that's how I came to meet Detective Bernhardt.

Just as I paid my fare, the red graffiti tainted elevated train rumbled into the station. It made a grating squeal when the conductor applied the brakes. I made my way through the turnstile and bustled into the center car after the double doors parted. I searched for a seat amongst the discarded snack wrappers, newspapers and vagrants lying on the benches. I found a vacant one by a window. The double doors closed and the train rolled out of the station.

A heavyset uniformed Capitol City police officer strolled into the car as the train trundled to the next station. He kicked the trash in his path aside and twirled his nightstick as he sauntered past the passengers. He was a seasoned officer; his leather belt was worn, brass was dull and his shoes no longer had a luster to it. His uniform was two sizes too small; his short sleeve light blue button down shirt struggled to hold his potbelly in. The only piece of his uniform that fit was his eight-point hat that leaned off the right side of his head. I doubt he could catch a fleeing purse snatcher but his mere presence still made me feel safe. I hoped he stayed in the car until I reached my stop.

I glanced out of the window as the elevated train made its way over the downtown brick buildings. The billboards fixed on the rooftops are still displaying ads from a decade ago. Some are torn and others are covered in graffiti. No one invests in advertising on this side of Capitol City anymore. They know the residents here don't have any money.

"Capitol City": a humble seventy square mile rhombus shaped city just north of Virginia. Its population is six hundred thousand. It's cut perfectly in half by the George Washington River. The northern half of the city adopted the moniker "Uptown." It's home to some of the wealthiest people in the region. A vast amount of the nation's historical landmarks, memorials and monuments are located there making the land value one of the highest in the country.

South of the river is the complete opposite of uptown. Unfortunately, it's also where I live. This side of town is known for its violent crimes. My boss, Mr. Delancey, took his employees out for drinks one night on his tab. Sal, a bartender and a childhood friend of my boss, told me downtown wasn't always like this:

"About seventy years ago Capitol City was an industrial city. The majority of the citizens were laborers. We farmed, sewed, welded and hammered for a living. It wasn't until recently where businesses and office buildings starting replacing the factories. Then the wealthy business owners started investing in real estate here. It drove the property value up. If you didn't own anything already, you couldn't afford to move in. But there is something about those white collar folks that I just don't understand. They don't want the working class living amongst them. They want to feel exclusive.

Councilmember Dooley was running for mayor. There was no way he could knock off Mayor Vesey from getting a second term. However, the wealthy had established forty two percent of the Capitol City's population. They told Dooley they'll get him into office if he gets rid of us working class. Dooley agreed to the promise and he becomes mayor. Next thing you know taxes goes up, rent goes up, taxi fares goes up, subway fares goes up... People were outraged. He increased the fees for everything but put a financial freeze on the city that prevented workers from getting raises. With the factories closing, a lot of people went unemployed. Most of the laborers didn't meet the educational requirements to work in an office. So they staged a 'Blue Collar Protest.' The protest lasted several weeks and it made the new mayor look incompetent. In order to bring peace back to the city, Dooley developed low income housing on the southern side of Capitol City; opposite the river. We all go flocking over there like birds flying south. Dooley then put a toll booth on the bridge charging twenty two bucks to cross it. We don't have that kind of money to travel uptown. Dooley's plan worked and the upper class citizens were happy.

But do you know what happens when you put a bunch of starving rats together? They start eating each other. With the factories closing down and the only available jobs pays minimum wage, crime downtown skyrocketed. Everyone is looking to make money anyway they can; drug dealing, prostitution, robbery, extortion, bribery, you name it. Homicides are at an all-time high. Violent crimes are the norm here. But as long as we're all caged downtown, everyone uptown is content."

I arrived home preceding the storm. Ten dollar bills, dice and Styrofoam cups filled with vodka were placed on the front steps of the narrow three unit apartment building I dwell in. Four neighborhood thugs are laying money on a craps game. I fastidiously navigated about. God forbid my feet struck anything.

The second I stepped through the building door I got an earful of blaring funk music coming from the first floor tenants' apartment. My neighbors are throwing another party. They have one just about every night and I've yet to figure out what calls for the celebration. It's impossible to get any sleep here. Benevolence isn't practiced in this building. As I made my way to my apartment, I noticed scantily clad women frolicking around the hallway. Alcoholics stumbled down the staircase as well. They normally post up before the liquor store across the street but they saunter into the apartment building when a police cruiser drives by. I feel like I live in some ratty Irish Pub.

The hallway is dark. The tenants unscrew the light bulbs so passing police officers aren't able to catch sight of the vice occurring inside the building. The flickering red exit signs give some visibility. It reeks of fresh urine and smoked marijuana in here. I've made numerous complaints to my landlord's voicemail. I never get any responses from him unless my rent is late. I continued up the steps, navigating around the garbage and spit, and made my way to my third floor apartment. While sifting through my pockets for my keys, I heard a faint noise over the blaring music. It sounded like moaning. I glanced back and noticed a large male wearing a beige trench coat pinning a female down right underneath a flickering exit sign. They're on the stairs that leads to the roof. His pants and a pair of stained white briefs are scrunched down to his ankles while he laid prone in-between her legs. One of his husky arms is entwined around her left thigh forcing it open. His other hand smothered her mouth. He was belligerently thrusting his pelvis against hers. She peered at me with hemorrhaged eyes saturated with tears. Her mascara seeped down her cheeks as if she was crying black ink. His hand muzzled her screaming. She was pleading to me with her stare. She wanted to be saved from the rape.

I'm petrified and don't know what to do. I just gawked at them. Suddenly the burly male pivoted back and caught me staring. His face is buried behind a full white beard. His black skull cap was drawn down to his white bristling eyebrows. Only his broad red nose and blue eyes were exposed. He unraveled his burly arm from her thigh, sifted through his coat pocket and produced a vintage black snub nose revolver.

"MIND YOUR FUCKIN' BUSINESS BOY!" He barked while aiming his pistol at me. His voice was aged and raspy. Without hesitation, I spun around and exerted much effort into unlocking my door with unsteadied hands. After several fumbling attempts I opened it and darted inside.

I can't even notify the police because I'm so petrified. I sat on my bed trying to turn a deaf ear to the young girl's cries but even with the blaring music I can still hear her. Or is it my imagination? I was filled with guilt and remorse. I tried to reassure myself by assuming she incited the rape; hoping to find contentment. But, that was an egotistical way of thinking. It made me feel even more shameful of myself.

While sulking on my bed a sudden "BANG" resonated over the blaring music. I sprang to the peephole and caught glimpse of the assailant bustling down the stairs with his flailing trench coat trailing him. I noticed the female staggering down the hallway with one hand using the wall to stay balanced and the other clenching her chest. At second glance I recognized her. She's the seventeen year old prostitute that lives in the apartment beneath me. She was nearing my front door. I timidly gaited away from the peephole. Seconds later there was a languid knock on my door. That weaken knock epitomized her moribund state. It was unsettling and I didn't know what to do. So I just stood by my door and stared at it.

"HELLO, HELLO! IS ANYONE HOME?" A female detective barked while pounding on my apartment door. "MY NAME IS DETECTIVE WU. I WORK FOR THE CAPITOL CITY HOMICIDE UNIT. I NEED TO TALK TO YOU!" I sat on my bed while clasping my ears with both hands. "I don't want to get involved! I don't want to be bothered! Please, just go away!" I kept crying to myself. The guilt I felt was oppressive. The teenage prostitute died right by my door from a single gunshot wound to the chest after being brutally raped. I could've saved her. I could've called the police. I was too frightened.

After hours of probing, the police concluded their preliminary investigation. I peeked out my bedroom window and caught glimpse of an attractive Asian female detective departing from the crime scene in an unmarked maroon colored 1995 Crown Victoria. How much more can I endure? I was convinced moving to Capitol City would be a personal betterment; establishing my own identity while no longer under the watchful eyes of my parents and taking the initial steps towards my lucrative career. Lately I've been coming to the harsh realization that I was a terribly mistaken.

I sauntered into my closet sized bathroom and stood over the small wall mounted basin. The blaring music ceased and was superseded with vehement cries and hollers from her mourning family. I peered into the cracked medicine cabinet door mirror. This person I'm staring at is a complete stranger to me. My once wide and rounded face is narrow and bony. My nose, however, has kept its broadness. My dark brown eyes were underlined with hefty black circles. They used to be semicircular but now drooping. I found the faintest strands of gray in my bristling eyebrows. I also found some along the wide hairline on my Caesar haircut. My mustache is cut too low to notice any. My beard is cleanly shaved off. My dark complexion is no longer as dark as it used to be. I no longer smile as much as I used to either. Bearing the stress from this city has changed me.

After a warm shower I sulked in my bed. The violent assault appears when I try to sleep. Reading the novel I've been caught up in didn't hinder the thoughts either. I just kept going over the same sentences. Maybe I needed something light like the daily newspaper. I grabbed it off my nightstand and suddenly a comic book, sheathed in a sealed plastic sleeve, slipped out from the pages. "The Urban Legend!" A caped-crusader I remember reading as a child. It's the ceremonial edition from its 50th anniversary. A free issue was put inside the paper. I decided to read that instead.

The lack of sleep I've gotten last night is causing me to be weary at work. Two hours to endure before I trek back to the cesspool I dwell in. Thursdays are the worst days. The overly zealous patrons drop off their weekend nightlife attires to have them dry cleaned in time for the Friday and Saturday night parties. They barge in with their entourages and embellished stories about how popular they are. "When I walk in the club, all of the women start looking at me. I get at least seven phone numbers a night. No bullshit, they love me." "All of the guys always try to talk to me. I can't even walk to the bar without someone in my ear. It gets annoying sometimes but I guess that's what happens when you look this good." I'll admit rooted inside I am a little envious. Sometimes I wonder what it would be like to mingle and dance but my minimum wage salary doesn't allow for expendable activities. Besides, it can't be as fun as these actors make it out to be.

In these bleak times, a ray of sunshine emerges in a white spring dress patterned with orange sunflowers. Her name is Lolani. She's a routine patron and also the most attractive female I've seen in Capitol City. Her name was picked by her mother who is a native Hawaiian. It also explains Lolani's comely Polynesian features; her high cheekbones, her slightly slant sandy color eyes that disappears when she smiles, her narrow face and pointy chin, her long nose that curves at the nostrils and her full heart-shaped lips that she keeps coated with orange lip gloss. Her bronze complexion and long deep brown curly natural hair comes from her Barbadian father. Her scent is always pleasing. It lingers around even after she leaves. She stands at a noticeable five feet nine. She's slim but not skinny; all of her weight falls in her hips, butt and breasts. She's complained about her curves to me before. She says it draws too much unwanted attention from both men and women. I, however, have never found anything wrong with it.

"Hey Duane!" She greeted with her perpetual smile. For the past two years since I've been working at the dry cleaners, she's been dropping off her business attires to have them cleaned and pressed for the succeeding work week.

"Lolani, how have you been?" I asked.

"Fine. So, have you gotten any job interviews yet?" She inquired while resting her laundry on the counter.

"Nope, still no calls back. The college recruiter told me ninety percent of graduates find work in their field within a year. It's going on two years for me."

"Hang in there Duane. You'll find something."

It's the norm for us to reacquaint ourselves with a brief conversation every time she enters the cleaners. I've been longing to ask her out but I'd be embarrassed if she saw the sub-standard apartment building I dwell in. It's the best I can do with a measly twelve hundred bucks a month salary.

After locking the rolling steel storefront shutter doors, I quickly treaded home in the thick of the thunderstorm. While scampering towards the subway station with my head slightly slouched down, I noticed three males standing on the corner ahead of me. I thought it was odd to be outside in this weather. As I approached the individuals, I suddenly noticed the black leather vests they were wearing. Then I caught sight of the black knitted ski masks concealing their identities. A sudden jittery wave of butterflies rushed from the top of my head to the bottom of my feet. I'm almost certain it was the same three ruffians that mugged me.

I decided to sneak past them by discreetly crossing the street. I slowed my pace and waited for the opportunity. When I noticed they weren't paying me any mind I darted across. Once on the other side I hurried towards the train station.

When I reached the corner, I had to make a mad dash across another street. I didn't even bother looking for oncoming traffic. With my luck, however, an approaching city bus driver sounded his deafening horn while I bustled across. I was so nervous I didn't even notice it nearing. I was startled but continued my hasty sidestepping. I hoped I didn't bring any attention to myself. I was too afraid to look back. I just continued towards the subway station. Suddenly, I heard hasty wet footsteps nearing me from behind. My plan failed.

"EY!" One of the hooligans hollered while yanking on the back of my shirt. The other two quickly confined me and blocked my path. "What you got in your pockets?" He demanded.

"Nothing." I responded after reluctantly turning towards him.

"Wait a minute. I remember you!" He said tormenting me. "You're the guy from the cleaners. You got any more cash?"

He suddenly reached towards my pants pocket. I instinctively jolted my leg back. At that second, I was pelted with something callous on the back of my head. I didn't catch what it was but it staggered me. I was then battered with right hooks and jabs. I tried to fend off the fists but was unable to. Without warning I was bear hugged from behind, hoisted up and hammered onto the concrete sidewalk. The impact stunned me and knocked the breath out of my lungs. As the punches persisted to pummel me, my pockets were once again rummaged through. The second my wallet was snatched one of the hooligans hollered "I got it!" At that moment they concluded their assault and fled down the street.

I propped myself up on the sidewalk as the heavy rain pommeled me. I was wet, cold and in great pain. It took great exertion to get back on my feet. I started sniffling to keep my nose from running. Then I suddenly tasted the coppery flavor of blood. I wiped my nose with my hand and noticed it all over my palms. Without my wallet, which held my fare card, my only way home is a grueling forty five minute trek in this thunderstorm.

After fifteen minutes of walking, my clothes were completely drenched; down to my underwear and socks. A bus careened towards the bus stop and sent a wave of rain water six feet into the air. I lurched just as it came my way and barely avoided it. I glanced at the bus driver and he had a slight smirk on his face. A group of juveniles huddled underneath a storefront awning began to cackle. "Ahhhh ha! He gotta walk home in this rain!" They mocked while bustling onto the city bus.

During my journey I began to wonder if I belonged here. I grew up in a well-kempt middle class neighborhood. Brooklyn was far from perfect but downtown Capitol City was on an entirely new level. This is foreign to me; the unruly and brash tenants and the graffiti that tainted the neighborhood. It's as if anything could be a canvass; from storefronts and apartment buildings to abandoned vehicles to city buses and passing cargo trucks to subway cars. Almost every building had a decrepit fire escape and a sleazy red neon vertical sign fixed to it. Residents tossed their snack wrappers and takeout food cartons onto the streets without regard. Dealers crowd the entrance to the elevated train stations and hustle crack, heroin and marijuana. Ladies of the evening post up in the many back alleys of downtown. The piles of malodorous garbage bags are stacked along the curb while sewer rats scurrying through them. The stench of urine frequents the breeze more than fresh air. The police department is overwhelmed and can only do the bare minimum. They are only a band aid to this dire issue; just a temporary fix.

My journey felt longer than it should. Venturing through this downpour after getting jumped by the gang members was strenuous. But I made it. The deafening music from my neighbor's stereo rattled the walls in my bathroom. I noticed more wall tiles have been dislodged because of it. I glanced at my reflection in the pulsating cracked mirror on my medicine cabinet door. My face was slightly swollen. A subtle stream of blood seeped out of my nose and the corner of my mouth. I rinsed a hand towel with warm water and tended to my wounds.

My lack of sleep for the past week has continued to cause me to be weary at work. I was steadily awakened while nodding off at the counter by an unruly customer. One in particular was a routine patron named Bailey. He's an infamous thug in the neighborhood and a known prick. He stands six feet four inches tall and borders a husky three hundred pounds. His hair is jet black and he keeps it slick. He also has a noticeable mole beneath the corner of the right side of his mouth. Bailey has adulation for his gold ancient tile patterned silk shirts imported from Italy. The slightest fade will send him into a frenzy.

"YO!" Bailey barked while pounding the bell on the counter. He startled me awake.

"How can I help you?"

"I need my shirts dry cleaned. A little bit of starch. Ya'll better not mess up my shirts either." He demanded. I rang up the total and printed out his receipt. He churlishly snatched it from my hand and bustled out to his double parked cherry red '76 Stingray. At that moment, Lolani stumbled in with her business attires.

"You know you still owe me a birthday present right?" She blurted while dumping her hefty clothes on the counter.

"Birthday present? Ahhhh... What do you want?" I inquired.

"Let's go out Saturday! To a movie."

"Saturday? Movie? Ummm... I would but..."

"Nevermind." She uttered cutting me off.

"No, it's not like that. Honestly, I've been wanting to ask you out for a while now but my problem is... I'm broke."

"What do you mean you're broke? You work here for free?" She sarcastically inquired.

"Of course not. I get paid but not that much."

"So I'll pay for the movie."

"You can't pay for the movie. That's my job."

"Duane, it's two thousand three not nineteen oh three. Women can pay for the movie."

"It's more than that. I don't even own a car and my apartment building is a dump. It's embarrassing." I conveyed.

"Your apartment building? Ahhh... Don't you think you're moving a little too fast?"

"You know what I mean."

"You're going to find a great job soon. But just because you aren't where you want to be doesn't mean you can't have fun."

"You're right." I agreed.

"So I'll pick you up and pay for the movie but you'll pay for dinner." Lolani decided.

"All right, cool."

"All right, well you have my number. Give me a call. Let's go out Saturday night."

"All right, Saturday... It's a... Date?" I stammered as she strolled out of the dry cleaners. I couldn't believe it was finally happening. I've been waiting two years for this.

It's seven o'clock in the evening. Two hours until our date and I'm eagerly dressed. I'm purposely wearing my slightly shrunken gray short sleeve button down shirt that reveals much of my biceps. Although I haven't been in the gym in two years, I still have some muscle definition lingering around. I'm also sporting a black pair of slacks and matching leather shoes. I've been uncomfortably pacing about bent on not getting my dry cleaned outfit wrinkled. I got a fresh haircut and purchased cologne solely for our date. I've been longing for this night the second I met her. I can't help thinking how awkward it's going to be when she arrives and sees the cesspool I live in.

I'd better carry my passport to verify my age in case I decide to indulge in an alcoholic beverage. My ID card was in my wallet that was stolen from me. After retrieving it from my dresser drawer, thoughts of her flaking out began to transpire. "Why would she want to hang out with someone like me? She's a receptionist that spends eight hours around dentists who make my monthly salary in a day. She's not going to come."

After two hours of sulking, my cellphone suddenly began to vibrate. It's her. I was so roused my unsteadied fingers could barely answer it. "I'm outside!" She blurted. "All right." I replied struggling to keep my zealousness at bay. I bolted out of my apartment and locked the door. I scrambled down the stairs past the half-dressed floozies, inebriated drunks and neighborhood thugs and bustled to her car.

After setting foot in her tan 1999 Toyota Camry, I couldn't stop myself from staring at her. There are no words that can describe how stunning she looks. Her deep brown curly hair was fashionably bolstered with a stylish tangerine colored pin. Her bronze complexion complimented her light orange eye shadow and lip gloss. She wore a trendy orange sleeveless blouse and white tights with orange platform shoes. I couldn't grasp why she wanted to date me. I was incontestably out of her league.

"I thought you were going to stand me up for a second." I disclosed after complimenting her appearance.

"You think so lowly of yourself." She replied.

We decided to escape the downtown area for the night and catch a movie across the river. The second we made our way over the bridge, the contrast became apparent. The neighborhood was taintless. Free from litter and graffiti. There were no sleazy red neon vertical signs fixed to the buildings. Instead, there were historical street lamps posted on every block that had decorative flower pots hanging from them. They emitted an amber colored light that gave the neighborhood a soft golden hue. A group of individuals sporting Italian blazers, designer dresses, lavish handbags and ritzy wrist watches mirthfully roamed along the sidewalks searching for a pub to lounge in. The residents looked jubilant. It was as if they didn't have any worries in the world.

We drove through a strip of row houses, built in the 1890s, that was tastefully renovated into storefronts and pubs. The streets were constructed with cobblestone. The avenue signs had an early 20th century depiction. The neighborhood perpetuated its historical ambience.

Drivers profiling in their convertible Lamborghinis, Aston Martins, Bentleys and Ferraris brought traffic to a crawl. It allowed me to get a good glance inside the restaurants. They were teeming with animated patrons cheering at the baseball game being shown on the many flat screens. They all appeared to be filled to capacity.

After the movie, Lolani and I stumbled upon a packed Mandarin restaurant next to the theater. There was a lengthy wait to be seated but a jocular conversation made time pass quickly. The chic Asian decor including the oriental lamps and the ancient artwork drew patrons into an Imperial Chinese era. The ambience along with the savory food and live band made for a joyous time.

Even after we fulfilled our appetite we continued to sit in the restaurant and acquaint ourselves with one another. This evening couldn't get any better. I've had many misfortunes since the day I moved to this city; my insolent neighbors, getting robbed of my pay, unable to find work in my field and unruly customers at the dry cleaners. But now, I have now found peace with her.

Eventually the band concluded and expressed their gratitude for listening to their music. We glanced around the restaurant and noticed most of the patrons have left. Soon after the host announced the "Kitchen is now closed for the night." Servers came out with white rags and started wiping the dining tables. Then they flipped the chairs upside-down and rested the seats on top of them. We decided to head out.

While walking along the promenade, holding hands and gazing at the ships in the George Washington River, I looked across at the downtown area. The dull skies, grimy facades of the buildings and sleazy red neon lights gave the divided southern end a dismal feel. I wasn't ready to go back.

"I don't want to leave yet. This has been so fun." I expressed to her.

"I know, I'm having so much fun too. Let's go to a nightclub?" She suggested.

"Yeah, I'm down for it."

We found a nightclub in walking distance, with no admission fee, and stood in line. The upbeat music seeping outside made the partygoers two-step while waiting to enter. A security guard requested ID. I discreetly flashed my passport and she handed him her driver's license. We were then frisked for weapons then allowed in.

The club was dimly lit. Indigo fluorescent lamps gave the establishment a violet hue inside. The patrons were all well-dressed. The men sported tieless suits with butterfly collars; but not as ridiculous as the ones during the disco era. Some of the women wore skinny designer jeans and tops that revealed much of their cleavage. Others wore fashionable mini-dresses that exposed their backs. The DJ was spinning mixed tracks on an elevated stage. The servers looked as if they could be runway models. They were all slim, lean and muscular. They wore fitted black silk shirts and matching slacks. The females' outfits were tighter. A colorful array of flickering lights, reflecting off the vapors from a smoke machine, illuminated the dance floor. It made the dancers appear as if they were an animated cartoon in a flip book. "Let's get a drink!" She hollered over the deafening music. I clenched her hand and maneuvered through the vibrant dancers towards the bar.

The bar was crowded with patrons waiting to be served. After jostling my way to the counter, I immediately caught sight of a lofty mirror wall, behind the bartender, holding a vast amount of liquor on its shelves. After gesturing for the bartender, I placed our orders for drinks. "I'ma have a Long Island Ice Tea and she'll have a Strawberry Daiquiri!" The bartender retrieved several liquor bottles and concocted our drinks by tossing, spinning and flipping the bottles and shakers. The showboating alone warranted him a valuable tip.

After we finished our drinks, she grabbed my hand and pulled me to the dance floor. She disclosed during dinner she developed delectation to dancing as a child. We stumbled upon an unoccupied spot. She stood before me and her hourglass figure began to sway correspondingly with the music. She caught glimpse of me admiring her body and flirtatiously spun around so I could see the rest of her curves through the white tights.

After every song our bodies drew nearer. Soon we were embraced and rocked to the rhythmic blends from the DJ's mixes. While holding her I slid my hand up her blouse and massaged her lower back. She clenched me tighter and gazed up at me. I leaned towards her and we started kissing.

"This is the first time I have ever slept with a girl on the first date," I thought to myself after waking up in her queen size bed. My head was resting on the fluffiest white pillows I've ever felt. Actually her entire bed was cozy. Her matching sheets and flocculent comforter were warm and cushiony. They had a fresh scent of sweet-smelling fabric softener. It was the best sleep I've had since moving to Capitol City.

Our chemistry was strong. At no time in my life have I ever been so fond about someone. I rolled over just as she walked into the room with a glass of orange juice in her hand. She was wearing a white t-shirt that came down to her thighs.

"I think we got carried away. I never slept with a guy on the first date." She disclosed.

"Yeah, I was just thinking that. This was my first time too. I don't have any regrets though." I responded.

"Of course you don't, you're a guy."

"No, seriously. It just felt right. Our chemistry."

"Yeah, I know. I don't know what that was about but I felt the same connection."

Lolani retrieved a fresh toothbrush from her medicine cabinet and handed it to me. While I was brushing my teeth, she ordered breakfast from a neighboring café that delivered. It wasn't too long before they knocked on her apartment door.

I lingered at her place for a few more hours before leaving. I commuted home on the subway because I wouldn't be content with having her venture into my neighborhood again. During the entire ride I thought about our night together. Our date couldn't have been better. It was flawless. After exiting the subway station, I headed to my apartment.

Oddly, the hustlers weren't outside laying money on a dice game. There were no cups with Vodka on the steps. The front was actually the cleanest I've seen it since I moved here. After setting foot inside my building I was surprised there wasn't any deafening music playing. There were no floozies frolicking about, no alcoholics stumbling in the hallway and the stench of urine and marijuana was barely noticeable. Could my life have been reformed this drastically overnight? I paced up the steps to the third floor. While sifting through my pockets for my keys I noticed my apartment door was ajar. It was baffling. "I thought I locked my door." Then I perceived the footprints and dents in it. It was kicked in. I reached inside and felt for my light switch. I was then suddenly taken aback. My apartment was ransacked. I've been burglarized.

The crime scene technicians sifted through my apartment with a forensic fingerprinting bush and powder. They stole my thirteen inch box television, laptop and my watches; a combined value of a mere two hundred bucks. Officers canvassed the building for witnesses however no one was willing to answer the door knocks. I'm sure my neighbors were present during the break-in but have absconded because they don't want to get involved.

"Duane..." Detective Bernhardt uttered while straining to take a seat next to me on my couch. "Whew! I heard this address come over on the radio so I came by. How are you holding up?"

"Not too good." I conveyed.

"I know this must be hard. You're going through a lot."

The detective then mustered up much strength to stand up. He snapped on a pair of latex gloves and probed around. He returned moments later with a wallet in his hand.

"Is this yours?" Detective Bernhardt inquired. It was my wallet that was taken from me during the robbery.

"Yes it is."

"The only thing in here is your ID." He disclosed. Those hooligans found my place from my ID. The fare card wasn't enough? They had to ransack my apartment too?

After crime scene officers sifted around my apartment for fingerprints and snapped photographs, they concluded their preliminary investigation. They packed their tools into a black equipment case with metal rivets. Then I guided them out. "Duane, if you find out anything, anything at all, call me." Detective Bernhardt declared before departing.

This city's bane is bluntly stripping what's left of my sound mind. How much more torment could I endure before I lose my sanity? Suddenly my cellphone vibrated. I flipped it open. "Have you gotten home yet?" Lolani texted. She has been the sole presence that's keeping me balanced. I refuse to tell her about the dire straits that follow me around like a dark cloud. I don't want her to presume me for some coward. I also don't want her to be afraid of being around me.

Hours have past and I lied in my bed daunted. I questioned if I was approaching my problems appropriately. If I cooperated with Detective Bernhardt and the suspects were apprehended, I might not have been targeted again. On the other hand, what if the muggers' gang retaliates against me for snitching? Either way, something has to be done or I would continue to be a victim.

"Detective Bernhardt." I uttered after he answered his phone.

"Duane?" He replied.

"I'm ready to talk."

"You sure you're up to this?" He asked.

"Yes, I am."

"Well you have my card. Come to the station."

"All right."

I couldn't keep my knee from bobbing. I've been sitting inside Detective Bernhardt's cubicle for an hour contemplating if I'm doing the right thing. I wish I'd known beforehand that I'd be interrupting his dinner. He devoured a hot dog fifteen minutes ago and the stench lingers in his breath. I never liked the smell of hot dogs, especially when it comes after someone belches.

He's been asking me about the robbery. I told him what happened. He followed by disclosing of a local gang known as the "Downtown Fallen Saints." "Several people in that neighborhood have gotten mugged and they all described the same three individuals and modus. Three shirtless guys wearing black leather vests approaching them from the rear, striking them, throwing them to the ground and someone snatching their wallet." He informed me. His greasy fingers tugged, pushed and clicked on his computer mouse. He left oily fingerprints on it. Seconds later, a photo lineup started printing on a printer underneath his desk. He retrieved it, slid it my way and asked me if I can identify the suspect. I refused to touch it. I don't want to touch anything he hands me. I shifted my chair so I could get a better look.

"That's him! That's one of the guys that robbed me!" I confidently blurted out while pointing at the center mug shot. There was no mistaking that pale skin complexion, five inch spiky red mohawk and skull tattoos on his neck and lower cheeks.

"Hoytsworth, huh? Also known on the street as 'Hollow Point Hoyt.' I had a feeling it was him." Detective Bernhardt uttered. "I've had a few run-ins with him. He's been arrested twice for robbery and has a couple of burglary charges. Amazing how he's still out. No matter how many times you lock these guys up they end up right back on the streets. Thanks for your cooperation Duane. Do you need a ride home?"

"No thanks, I'll take the train." I acknowledged. Detective Bernhardt escorted me down a corridor to the exit.

"No matter how many times you lock these guys up they end up right back on the streets," Detective Bernhardt uttered before I left. I wondered if I just made a big mistake by squealing. "If he gets locked up and then released in a couple weeks, I'm done!"

Later on that night, while lying on my bed, I couldn't stop myself from recollecting the conference I had with Detective Bernhardt earlier today. I attempted to read the novel again but I kept revisiting the same sentences over and over. The comic book distracted me before and I haven't finished it yet. I snatched it off my nightstand and decided to complete it.

Just as I read the final page, I had an eerie feeling that I was being watched. I rested the comic book on my chest and glanced around my room. Suddenly, I was startled by a pair of flaming red eyes peering at me from a shadowy corner. "Who's there?" I hollered while promptly erecting myself. When my eyes got acclimated to the dark, I could suddenly make out his inky silhouette standing before me. His black ensemble blended in my dark room. The figure sauntered into the red light that seeped through my tattered window blinds from a vertical neon sign fixed to the liquor store across the street. He was towering. His body was veiled by a long cloak that flowed over his shoulders. The bottom of the cloak was disposed on the floor in a perfect crescent. His identity was concealed by a black mask that outlined his chiseled jaw line and broad nose. "The Legend?" I inquired. The superhero from the comic book I just read? He posed in the light and continued to stare at me with those flaming red eyes.

"Who are you?" I asked. He gently raised his hand to his head and clenched his mask. Just as he was about to reveal himself, rapid sounds of gunfire reverberated off my walls. It startled me awake from the dream I was just having. I quickly realized it was coming from the front of the apartment building. I plunged to the floor and inquisitively scrambled to my window.

A brand new white 2003 Cadillac Escalade careered down the street as a rear passenger was poised out the window gripping a fully automatic AK-47. The hustlers shooting dice in front of my building took cover behind parked cars. Once the onslaught ended, they all scattered. Some fled into the building, others up the street. For a second, I thought the gunshots were intended for me.

Six months have passed since I pointed out Hoytsworth in the photo lineup. However, I have not heard from Detective Bernhardt since. I haven't received a subpoena to appear in court. I no longer see Hoytsworth around either. My inquiring mind wants to call the detective and ask to be updated. Then again, it might be best just to put this whole thing behind me.

In those six months, Lolani and I drew close; relationship close. She's officially my girlfriend. She has invited me to her parents' house for dinner one night. She's a youthful rendering of her mother. Her father is very particular about the company his only daughter keeps. However, I think I managed to gain his acceptance. In the course of time I will introduce her to my parents.

Every Thursday at five fifteen Lolani routinely springs into the dry cleaners. I glanced at the creeping hands on the analog wall clock. She'll be making her appearance any second now. While anticipating her arrival, Mr. Delancey suddenly asked me to take the trash out to the dumpster in the back alley. Of all time he waits until Lolani is scheduled to come in. I raced through the back door, hurled the trash bag into the dumpster and made it back to the counter just as she walked in.

"Hey Duane!" Lolani greeted. She's sporting a white spring dress with orange accessories correlating with her shoes. She clenched her outfits with her left arm and aimed a cellphone at me with her right hand.

"Lani, what's up?" I gasped. She set her clothes on the counter while continuing to aim her cellphone at me.

"You like my new phone?" She inquired

"I guess. Why are you holding it up like that?"

"Because I'm recording you. It has a built in video camera. Isn't that cool?"

"Lani, c'mon, put the phone away." I directed while playfully trying to snatch it out of her hand from behind the counter. She smirked and jerked back just enough so my fingers were out of reach.

"C'mon, smile for..." She was suddenly interrupted. The storefront glass door violently swung open causing it to shatter as it collided against the wall.

"YOU THOUGHT WE FORGOT ABOUT YOU MUTHAFUCKA!" A gunman barked while storming into the cleaners clinching a semi-automatic sawed-off rifle. He was followed by two other unarmed men. All of their identities are concealed by black knitted balaclava ski masks. They are also sporting dark wool sweaters.

"WHOA, WHOA!" I hollered with my trembling hands extended before me trying to ineffectively defuse the situation. I was greatly concerned about Lolani.

The gunman glanced at her and she apprehensively lost grip of her cellphone. It fell onto the white tiled floor as she backed into a wall. She pressed her palms against it. I've never seen her so frightened.

The gunman suddenly hoisted up the rifle and aimed it at her. My heart suddenly sunk. I vaulted over the counter and darted towards Lolani. Just before I embraced her, three gunshots resonated throughout the room. She wailed and collapsed into my arms. I couldn't hold her flimsy body. We both fell onto the floor.

Her cries persisted as I held onto her. I peered at the gunman hoping he was content with just trying to scare us. Then I felt my hands becoming wet with something warm and thick. I glanced down and the side of her white dress was quickly turning red. She'd been shot.

"LOLANI!" I bawled as persisted to embrace her. "PLEASE MAN PLEASE!" I desperately pleaded to the gunman.

"Hoyt! Let's go!" One of the accomplices blurted out in a remorseful tone as he fled out the door. The second accomplice ensued.

"You snitching mutha..." The gunman uttered while aiming the rifle at my head. Then I blanked out.

A steady beeping tone awakened me from a deep sleep. As my blurred vision cleared I noticed Detective Bernhardt sitting in a chair besides my hospital bed. A familiar looking Asian female, with shoulder length jet black hair, stood next to him. She was short and slim yet appeared to be athletically built. She was dressed in business attire. She had a youthful face; if I had to guess her age it would be in the range of mid to late twenties. Her badge hung on a beaded chain around her neck.

"How long have I been in the hospital for?" I asked Detective Bernhardt. I glanced into the hallway and saw my parents tensely pacing about.

"You've been here for almost a month. You just finished your second surgery." He conveyed.

"Second surgery? A month? What? What happened?" I was completely oblivious.

"You got shot. Don't you remember?"

"No, I don't."

"You were shot in the head. It's a miracle you're still alive and talking. The doctors are cautiously optimistic that you'll recover after therapy. There are no signs of swelling which is a good thing. Your family wants to talk to you for a second." Detective Bernhardt stood up and gestured with his hands for my parents to enter. My mother bustled into the room as if she couldn't wait any longer. Her eyes saturated with tears. My father was composed as always. He sauntered in after her.

"How do you feel?" My mother inquired after embracing me.

"My head hurts."

"Besides the headaches Duane, how are you doing?" The doctor asked as he stepped in.

"Fine." I responded.

"Can you move your feet for me?" He inquired. I did. "How about your arms?" I moved them too. "Very good. Well, first you are very lucky to be alive. The gunshot wound damaged a section of your brain called the amygdala." The doctor relayed while hoisting up an x-ray photo towards the fluorescent light. "This part of the brain processes memories of emotional reactions which is probably why you don't remember getting shot in the head. Without this part of the brain functioning properly you might also start noticing different behavioral patterns."

"Different behavioral patterns? Like what?" My father asked.

"Well the amygdala's also gives us the ability to be afraid." The doctor replied. "Our body responds to fear in several ways: increased heartbeat, sweating, immobility, heavy breathing. You probably won't experience any of those reactions anymore. But to be safe it's imperative you stick to the medication regiment I am going to prescribe."

"Will the medication make me normal again?" I inquired.

"Well like I said, you 'might' start noticing different behavioral patterns. It's not certain at this time. It's too early to tell. If you have any more questions feel free to ask." The doctor's pager suddenly went off. He hoisted it up to his eyes then bustled out of them room.

"Do you mind if I ask Duane a couple of questions about the shooting?" Detective Bernhardt amiably asked my parents.

"No, that's fine." My father responded while embracing my mother and escorting her out the room.

"Duane, I want you to meet Detective Wu. She works in the homicide unit."

"Homicide?" I inquired. "Did someone die?"

"Duane, you don't remember what happened at all?" She asked.

"No I don't, who died?" I persisted to inquire. "Was it one of the employees I work with?"

"No, it wasn't them. Duane, I'm going to play back a recording. It's from a cellphone that was recording during the shooting. It may jog your memory a bit." Detective Wu said while retrieving a small tape recorder from her blazer pocket. She pressed the play button.

"Hey Duane!" "Lani, what's up?"...

"Wait, wait. That's my girlfriend's voice. OH GAWD PLEASE NO! PLEASE TELL ME SHE'S OKAY!" I blurted out interrupting the recording.

"Duane please, try to listen to the recording." Detective Wu pleaded.

"You like my new phone?" "I guess. Why are you holding it up like that?" "Because I'm recording you. It has a built in video camera. Isn't that cool?" "Lani, c'mon, put the phone away." "C'mon smile for..." (In the background I heard a loud banging noise and the sound of glass shattering) "YOU THOUGHT WE FORGOT ABOUT YOU MUTHAFUCKA!" "WHOA, WHOA!" (I then heard some rumbling. Then I heard three gunshots followed by screaming and more rumbling) "PLEASE MAN PLEASE!" "Hoyt! Let's go!" "You snitching mutha..." (Then I heard another shot, the screaming grew louder. It was followed by two more shots and the cries suddenly stopped) "Call nine one one!" (The voice sounded like Mr. Delancey's) "Oh my God, they're dead. I think they're dead. Duane! Duane..."

"DID HE KILL HER?" I growled.

"Duane, Lolani is... She's dead!"

Never in my life have I ever felt a surge so strong; so filled with fury. Anger overwhelmed me and I had no control over it. I suddenly let out a roar so loud and disturbing the detectives lurched from my bed. My concerned parents, the nurses and the doctor rushed back into my room. "Get security!" My cries convinced the staff to put me in restraints. Just as I lunged out of the bed, I was met by able-bodied guards that tackled me back onto it. "NO!" I hollered while trying to fend them off. My attempts were short lived as all four of them collectively managed to confine me. They fastened my wrists and ankles to the bed railings with padded leather restraints. But my roars persisted. My parents' efforts to calm me down were useless. I remained combative and struggled with the restraints until I managed to loosen one of them up. The security team continued wrestling with me as the doctor retrieved a syringe and injected it into the intravenous drip feed. Moments later I felt unsteady and weak. Then I drifted off.

I came to after the doctor flipped a light switch on. The fluorescent light fixture is directly above my bed and it's awfully intense. It triggered a headache. I must've been out for a couple of hours. I don't feel as angry anymore. Whatever he injected into the intravenous drip feed must've calmed me down.

The doctor sauntered in with four individuals. All but the doctor wore disposable 4ply face masks. The four of them also sported white lab coats but theirs were much shorter than the doctors. I'm guessing they were interns. The individuals approached my bed and stood over me. All four pairs of assorted eye shapes and colors peered at me like a lab rat. It was irritating. One of the interns took hold of the hand controller from my side and adjusted my bed. The back rose until I was just about sitting upright. He then removed a pen light from his pocket and shined it into my eyes. I attempted to smack his hand away but suddenly realized I was still in restraints.

"Get the fuck away from me!" I growled at him. However, he persisted to aim the light into my eyes.

"All right, that's enough guys. I'll meet you in the hallway." The doctor directed. The intern continued for another three seconds then followed the rest out of the room.

"Duane, can I ask you a question?" The doctor suddenly inquired while examining my vitals on the heart monitor.

"What?"

"If I took these leather restraints off your wrists and ankles, what is the first thing you would do?" He sauntered towards my bedside. His right index finger and thumb caressed the stubble around his chin while his arms crossed over his stomach. The inquisitive doctor seemed interested in hearing my response.

"These restraints are the only reason why the man that killed her is still alive."

"Do you really think retribution will make you feel better?" The doctor asked.

"I'm certain it will."

"How can you be so sure?"

"Because I can't feel any worse than what I'm feeling now."

After the doctor readjusted my bed, he turned the light off and strolled out of my room. I tried to continue sleeping. The recording, however, lingers in my head and it's haunting. Every time I dozed off I was startled awake by her cries and the resounding gunshots. When I finally drifted off I relived the harrowing events in my dreams; pleading to the gunman to "Let her live! Just shoot me!" But he still refuses and it plays out the same way.

The doctor prescribed me with antipsychotic and antidepressant medications. It's supposed to suppress my hallucinations and tempers. I hate having to take the prescriptions. It feels like I'm being muzzled. My girlfriend was murdered and I can't even grieve. I missed her funeral because I was getting a bullet surgically dislodged from my brain. The bastard shot her two more times after he shot me. "TWO MORE GOT-DAMN TIMES!" He wanted to be certain she was dead. He executed her. Hoyt! He's still on the loose. He'd be lucky if the police find him before I do.

I'm scheduled for physical therapy in the morning. I have been confined to this bed for a week. I'm eager to have these restraints removed. It's mortifying to have a nurse put a bed pan underneath me so I can remove my bowels or have them hold a plastic container while I urinate in it. Even having them scrub my body with a sponge, brush my teeth and feed me like I'm an old helpless man humiliates me.

Later on at night, I awakened from a nap and found myself lying on the frigid concrete ground in a narrow downtown alley. "How did I get here?" It was the typical downtown alley infested with rats scurrying through sizable piles of garbage bags. There were potholes the size of canyons that I'm certain have busted many car tires. There also was an abhorrent stench of urine. It's drizzling but the distant flashes of lightning in the black clouds reveal an approaching thunderstorm. I'm still wearing this ridiculous hospital gown and I'm bare foot.

Suddenly I got an earful of wet footsteps behind me. I spun around and caught sight of a man wearing a black balaclava ski mask clenching a sawed-off rifle. It's Hoyt. Just as our eyes met he lurched. The rifle fumbled out of his hands and plunged into a puddle. He took a couple of subtle steps backwards while holding out his quivering hands before him. Then he pivoted around and bolted into the aphotic alley. I leaped onto my feet, retrieved the rifle and pursued after him; following the sounds of his fleeting steps splattering against the wet ground.

Hoyt fled until he ran into a sudden dead end. A lofty brick wall impeded his path. He stopped before it and gawked at the towering layers of bricks as if he was defeated. He then spun around quivering and flattened his back against the wall.

"PLEASE DON'T KILL ME!" He begged while snatching the mask off his face and clasping it in-between his folded hands.

I sauntered towards Hoyt with my right arm extended and aimed the rifle at his forehead. He suddenly faltered to his knees quivering and pleading for forgiveness. I stopped a couple of steps from him and watched him beg. The rain caused his spiky mohawk to collapse and red dye ran down his face. I can't even muster up the slightest bit of remorse for him. I drew back the safety mechanism. He flinched and shielded his face with his arms and hands. At that moment, a sizeable shadow of a figure scampered along the brick wall. I quickly spun around and surveyed the alley. There was no one there. I turned back and began to depress the trigger. Suddenly the shadow returned along the lofty wall. It broadened as the footsteps drew closer. I turned around again and caught sight of the towering inky caped figure emerging out of the darkness and peering at me with his devilishly red eyes; The Legend. "Get out of here!" I demanded. He continued advancing with his cloak flowing off his shoulders and disposing on the ground in a perfect crescent. "I swear I'll shoot you too!" Without warning, The Legend swiftly sprinted towards me with his rampantly flailing cape trailing him. I fired a shot at him but he somehow managed to elude it. Once within range, he leaped in the air and tackled me onto the wet ground. The sawed-off rifle was knocked out of my hands. It drifted along the slippery concrete until it plunged through a sewer drain. We wrestled until I racked up enough strength to hurl him off of me. I made an effort to get to my feet but was suddenly bashed by a knee to my face. The stunning blow caused me to stagger. The Legend then clenched my gown and pinned me up against the brick wall. He drove his forearm into my throat. It hampered my breathing a bit. While being held, Hoyt got off his knees and took off running until he vanished into the dark alley. I struggled to break The Legend's grip but it was too firm. "Why are you letting him get away?" I gasped. He didn't respond. "Get off me, he's getting away!" He refused to acknowledge me. I clenched his mask and snatched if off his face. Before I could get a glimpse of him, I was suddenly awakened by the doctor.

The security guard unfastened the restraints from my wrist and ankles. "Can I use the restroom?" I asked. The doctor nodded his head. I climbed out of the bed and stepped onto the frigid white tiled floor. The nurse gave me a hand and assisted me in. Once inside, I flipped the light switch and looked into the mirror. I haven't seen my face in over a month. It was buried in a dark coarse beard. My head was cleanly shaved with a five inch scar going alongside of it. Then I took notice of my eyes. They were bloodshot; piercing red demonic-like eyes. Although rather unusual, it was intriguing.

"You must be wondering about your eyes?" The doctor assumed as I stepped out of the bathroom.

"What happened to them?" I inquired.

"The trauma from the gunshot wound caused the blood vessels in your eyes to burst."

"Is it permanent?"

"I can't say at this time." The doctor answered. "There are other side-effects you should know of. Like we mention you won't experience fear like you used to. Also your aggression will sometimes be uncontrollable as you noticed. You will experience hallucinations as well. You might not be able to decipher what is real and what isn't. Duane, these combinations could make you a violent person without proper medication. I strongly recommend you take the prescriptions as prescribed. It is imperative. I don't want you hurting yourself or someone else. A man that knows no fear is a dangerous one."

Detective Bernhardt and Wu returned to the hospital later on in the day. They asked about the shooting once more. A large portion of my memory has returned but the tiny details they inquire about are still vague. Trying to remember causes a scathing headache. "All right Duane. We won't bother you anymore. Just give us a call if something comes back to mind." Detective Wu advised while handing me her business card.

After enduring several days of physical therapy, I was finally being released from the hospital. Before the doctor signed my discharging papers, he insisted I ingest my medication while he watched. After downing the pills, he reiterated to my parents "It's imperative he continues to take the medication." The hallucinations have stopped. My demeanor has also become tranquil. I don't care for the medication though. I feel like I'm being muzzled.

In order to be closely monitored I had to move back to my parent's home in Brooklyn, New York. Before leaving Capitol City, my parents drove me to Lolani's grave. I never got a chance to tell her "Goodbye."

My parents stayed behind while I made my way to her resting place. After hiking up a grassy hill, I caught sight of a grave site with white and orange carnations draped over a marble headstone. It's hers. I'd thought I'd be able to feel some kind of emotion; sadness, anxiety or anger. However, there was nothing. My eyes couldn't even muster a tear. This medication doesn't allow it. I'm just a blank canvass.

I kneeled before the headstone and rested my right hand on it. The first words that came out of my mouth were an apology. I selfishly brought this on her. I should've told her about the dire straits that followed me around. It was those secrets I kept that cost her her life.

After moments of prayer, flashes of lightning began to ignite the city sky. They were followed by distant roars of thunder. Gentle raindrops began to fall on me. I stood up, glanced at her site one last time then sauntered down the grassy hill to my father's car. My parents were waiting for me outside the vehicle. Before I could get in, they both embraced me with a firm hug.

My parents own a three family brownstone renovated into a lofty single family house in a prosperous middle class neighborhood in Brooklyn, New York. The second I made my way through the front door I caught whiff of Caribbean Breeze air freshener. The hallway is immaculate. It's a complete contrast to the cesspool I have been dwelling in. The wood finished floors had a luster to it. It looks like my father managed to refinish the vintage wood trimmings along the walls as well. I had a sudden feel of nostalgia; back to my childhood when life was simple.

I spend my days sulking in my room. My parents left it precisely how I did before moving; in case I decided to move back. They haven't removed the pull-up bar that hung in my doorway. My sparring dummy is covered in dust but continued to lean against the corner by the window and my dumbbells are still underneath my bed. I pass time by working out. Every morning I stretch for ten minutes then warm up by throwing strikes and grappling with the dummy. I do five hundred push-ups, sit-ups, squats, lunges, calf rises, military presses and pull-ups a day. It helps the time pass and keeps my mind off Lolani.

Since moving back to Brooklyn I seldom leave my room. I ignore the phone calls from my former college classmates checking on my well-being. I have no need for friendships. I'm not in the mood for it. I haven't tried dating again nor have I tried looking for a job. My parents are worried about me. "It's not normal for someone your age to be so antisocial." I don't feel like socializing. I just want to keep to myself.

I haven't dreamt since moving back home. The medication prevents them. It's probably for the best. Reliving her homicide every night would drive me to hang myself. It's been nine months since Hoyt barged into the cleaners and shot her. I haven't heard anything from either of the detectives since. Detective Bernhardt assured me I'd be kept posted this time. That only means one thing; Hoyt hasn't been apprehended yet.

It's now minutes to midnight. Just before calling it a night, it dawned on me that I haven't taken my medication today as prescribed. They're kept in the kitchen on the first floor and I'm too weary to walk down two flights. I've been taking the medication for the past eight months. Neglecting the pills for a night can't possibly cause any grave ramifications.

I fell asleep like any other night. There were no hallucinations, no violent tendencies or voices in my head, initially. My slumber suddenly made a turn for the worse. In the middle of a deep sleep, I heard a disturbing scream and it startled me awake. It sounded as if it were off in the distance. I lurched upright and glanced around the room. The cries continued but I was unable to find the source. "Is someone there?" I frantically inquired. They began to grow louder. "Is someone there?" I persisted to ask.

The cries have now become unbearable. I clasped my ears in efforts to hinder myself from hearing it. It was ineffective. I jolted off my bed and backed into a corner. The cries wouldn't stop and it was disturbing. Suddenly, my bedroom closet gradually creaked open. "Who's there?" I hollered. A man wearing a black balaclava ski mask cambered from behind the door. He aimed a sawed-off rifle at me. He had a trifling squint in his eyes. Before he managed pull the trigger, I awoke. I sat up in my bed and glanced over at my closet. It was empty. The clock on my dresser displayed four in the morning. "What's happening to me?"

The homicide kept running through my mind for the duration of the morning. The guilt of hiding in my parent's home while Hoytsworth still roamed the streets was becoming inundating. I can't stay here any longer. Not while he's still out there.

Later on that night, I wrote a letter to my parents. I disclosed how much I appreciated them for what they've provided me with. I apologized in advance for what I was about to do. But I have to do it. It needs to be done! I fixed the note on my arranged bed and then skulked out of the house.

I arrived at the bus terminal inside Grand Central Station just in time to secure a nine o'clock ticket to Capitol City. "What happened to yours eyes?" The clerked inquired. I ignored him, snatched my receipt and headed to the coach. The passengers began boarding just as I left the ticket booth. I didn't have any belongings other than the black hoodie and black jeans I had on; my wallet, keys and cellphone were in my pocket. After being jostled by impatient ticket holders, I managed to get onboard and secure a seat in the back. I pulled my hoodie over my head and rested against the window. I couldn't help notice how magnificent and full the moon was tonight. I've never seen it so brilliant in my life.

The bus was filled to capacity. The tight seating allowed for no leg room. A heavyset male sat beside me cramping me even more. Just as the driver departed from the terminal he informed us the air condition was inoperable. The antsy passengers began to protest and request a discount on their ticket prices. Just as I thought things couldn't get any worse, the husky male besides me unwrapped a homemade tuna and ketchup sandwich that left a foul odor on the bus for the duration of the trip.

After enduring the torturous five hour ride, I finally arrived at downtown Capitol City bus terminal. The heavy rain pelted the roof and windows of the bus. The line to the exit was hampered by the elderly and passengers struggling to retrieve their bags stored on the overhead compartments. The antsy passengers became unruly as their escape from the malodorous and blistering bus was hindered.

I felt alleviated the moment I stepped off the bus. However, it wasn't too long before I was bombarded by overbearing taxi drivers badgering for a fare. I jostled passed them and headed to the ATM. I fetched my entire savings, a measly three hundred bucks, then treaded to the subway station and waited on the platform for the next arriving train.

Twenty minutes past before a red graffiti-tainted train trundled into the station then screeched to a stop. The double doors parted and I stepped into the rearmost car. The puddles of grime from the passengers' wet shoes smeared the floor. There were unruly hooligans inside the car all sporting black leather biker jackets with a red horizontal strip going across the back. They were speaking brazenly amongst one another and scribbling graffiti on the walls and doors. One was carving his street name into the window with a large serrated blade; "Domino Sullivan."

I came upon a decent seat amongst the piles of gum wrappers, newspapers and snack bags discarded on the benches. I leaned back and hunched my head over my chest. Just as the train left the station I overheard one of the individuals belt a sharp whistle tune and the rowdy crowd drew quiet.

Suddenly, while my head was slouched down, I heard footsteps approaching. "What's in your pockets?" Domino Sullivan demanded. I brushed him off and persisted to stare at the floor. "You deaf?" He barked while revealing his pristine six inch silver knife. The blade reflected an elongated image of me as he hoisted it before my eyes.

"Empty out your pockets!" He suddenly clenched my hood that was still covering my head. He was bold and I felt disrespected by him touching me. It had gotten me mad. I swiftly smacked his hand off my clothes and pelted him in the sternum with a right uppercut. He buckled over, fumbling the knife and then faltered to his knees. He clenched onto his chest while coughing harshly.

"WAH-DAH FUCK?" Another one of the gang members barked. The other three suddenly began barreling in my direction. At that moment, the bane this city caused me to endure resurfaced. It infuriated me. I wanted retribution: violent vengeance. I wanted to inflict deep pain. I wanted to scar their faces so at any moment when they peered at their reflection they remembered me.

I bent over, snatched the serrated knife off the floor and firmly gripped the handle. I held it up and got into a fighting stance. One persisted to rush me as the others became hesitant. Once in arms reach, he cocked his right fist back and pitched a right hook towards my face. I eluded the punch then slashed him on his thigh. The keen-edged blade caused a profound gash. He staggered to a bench clenching onto his leg as it began bleeding profusely.

"GOT-DAMMIT!" The hooligan bawled while tending to his wound.

I clenched the knife tighter and sauntered towards the individuals. "Chill out!" They pleaded as I persisted to advance. The train screeched to a halt at the following station. The hooligans urged me to "Put the knife down" as I neared them. Suddenly, through the window, I caught sight of a dark figure poised on the platform; that black cloak that flowed off his shoulders and disposed on the floor in a perfect crescent, that black mask that concealed his face and amplified his devilishly red eyes. He held me against that brick wall while Lolani's killer escaped through the alley. "You bastard!" I growled and darted off the train.

Once on the platform, The Legend was no longer in sight. I glanced around the station and couldn't spot him anywhere. The double doors shut and the train began rumbling down the tracks leaving me behind. It was unsettling. Once again he managed to outwit me. My frustration grew to a peak. I lunged towards a subway platform billboard and stabbed it with the knife. The blade drove so deep only the handle was visible. I then began pelting the walls with vigorous combinations. I kicked over the garbage cans and ripped the movie posters down. "LOLANI!!!" I bawled as I faltered to my knees. My cries resonated throughout the tunnels. Tears drifted down my face. No longer being restricted by the medications, I was finally able to mourn.

A number of trains passed while I sulked on the bench inside the station. "...You might not be able to decipher what is real and what isn't. Duane, these combinations could make you a violent person..." The doctor forewarned me. My headache resurfaced with a vengeance and caused my nose to bleed. A train arrived and I brought myself to board. The car was vacant. I sat with my hood mantled over my head and wiped the blood from my nose with the back of my hand. The double doors closed and the train trundled towards the succeeding stop.

I didn't have a clue as to what I was doing here. I just stood before the dry cleaners as the heavy rain drops pelted me. The red vertical neon sign was left on; "Delancey's Dry Cleaners." Both "D's" still flickered. The boss still hasn't replaced the bulbs.

I started reminiscing about eagerly waiting behind the counter for Lolani's arrival every Thursday. Then I started thinking about our first date. Soon I was hauled off to a time where we were together; a time when we were happy. I was no longer outside the dry cleaners but in her soft bed lying next to her. We're munching on popcorn and watching a '70s Kung Fu flick. I revealed the ending to the movie and she pummeled me in the head with a pillow. I playfully dove on top of her while imitating one of the characters. She laughed so hard she began tearing.

Suddenly the resounding thunder awakened me. I was back standing in the storm before the dry cleaners and she was gone. I'd give anything to be with her one last time. Moments later I started to saunter towards the subway station wondering "What am I doing here?"

Just as I turned the corner, a slim black male bustling to seek shelter from the rain jostled me. "Watch out man!" He barked. His scathing remark struck a note. That voice. Just as I started to put it behind me I noticed his black leather vest with the words "Fallen Saints" spray painted on its back. It suddenly registered that he was one of the thugs that mugged me. He wasn't Hoytsworth but he was there with him. I turned around and watched him as he fled up the street. I was momentarily awed. He literally fell into my lap. It was as if I was meant to find him; as if something brought us together. I began tailing him.

He raced through a number of blocks then ducked into a narrow alleyway. I shadowed him from a distance. By the time I reached the alley I lost sight of him. I walked through hoping to relocate him or find a lead to his whereabouts. Suddenly I got an earful of funk music playing in the distance. I followed the sound until I spotted a towering, stout, dark complexioned man sporting a fitted black t-shirt standing by a door. His frame was taller and wider than the doorway. He was dallying with a Caucasian female sporting a racy schoolgirl uniform. She couldn't be more than five feet tall. She's slim yet busty. Her hair was dyed pink and done up in stylish pigtails. Her lips were full and coated with matching pink lipstick. The funk music I'd heard was seeping out the door where they were standing. It must be some type of nightclub inside.

"Can I help you?" The burly male inquired as I neared him. He must be a bouncer. The female peered at me with a slight smirk. Without even uttering a word, she flirted with me; her blue eyes said it all. I bet she suckers in most Johns with that stare.

"I'm trying to get in." I didn't want to ask him if he just let someone inside. He might take me for a cop.

"Twenty bucks!" He requested while holding out his hand. I didn't want to pay him for a dead end but where else could the assailant have went? After briefly hesitating, I snatched twenty bucks from my wallet and handed it to him.

"Say, what happened to your eyes? They look cool." The floozy asked me.

"I had an accident."

The bouncer sifted through his pocket and retrieved a stack of twenty dollar bills. He fixed mine with the bundle. He then heaved the iron door open and the music amplified. I sauntered inside and headed down a staircase where the music seemed to be coming from. I stepped past an elderly male and a younger scantily clad female dallying on the stairs and made my way to another door. After gripping the knob and pushing it open, it revealed a humble, apartment-sized unsanctioned nightclub. The lights are dim but the bar is illuminated by a red neon sign fixed to the wall behind it that read "The Shack." Red bulbs were screwed into the recessed lights and gave the nightclub a sleazy, cheap motel feel. The walls, furniture and ceiling were painted black except for a small polished hardwood dance floor in the center of the establishment. A small crowd of sleazy women and horny men were gyrating on it. There were several sofas along the walls where older Johns were conferring with much younger floozies. The stench of smoked cigars was inundating. I began to discreetly scour the establishment for the suspect. After probing about, I spotted him at the bar flirting with a blonde bartender.

After guzzling numerous shots of gin, the assailant stumbled into the bathroom. I followed in behind him. When I entered, I caught sight of him slouching by the urinal exerting much strength to keep his balance. I passed myself off as washing my hands. When he was done, he staggered over to the sink besides me. Before he could turn on the faucet, I swiftly placed him in a choke hold and hauled him into a stall. He attempted to put up a fight but he was too inebriated. I then plunged his head into the toilet bowl.

"WH... WAH... WAH-DAH FUCKS YOU DOIN'?" He stammered.

"Where's Hoyt?" I demanded.

"Who?" He blurted out. I plunged his head back into the bowl.

"WHERE IS HE?" I growled yanking him up. Urine ran down the top of his head and face and drenched his attire.

"I don't know any Hoyt! C'mon I'm swallowing piss and shit!" I dunked his head back into the bowl.

"WHERE IS HE?"

"Oh... oh... ok... ok man, calm down... ca... calm down! I don't know where he is right now. The cops are looking for him. He's laying low."

"That's not good enough. I swear I'll drown you in this piss. You better tell me somethin' muthafucker!" I warned.

"The last thing I heard he was staying at one of his girlfriend's house over on Congress Avenue. Thirty four.... thirty four.... ah... thirty four twelve Congress Avenue, apartment B. I don't know if he's still there. Wait a sec, I've seen you before. You a cop or sum'in?" He inquired while peering at me.

I sifted through his back pocket and snatched his wallet. I then shoved the pathetic bastard to floor. "You gonna steal my money man?" He asked. I retrieved his driver's license and tossed the wallet into the toilet bowl. "If you're lying to me, I know where you live." I growled then fled out of the bathroom and bustled towards the exit.

"It picks up in about an hour." The bouncer disclosed as I left the nightclub.

"I found what I was looking for."

The rust colored row house apartment building revealed to me was narrow and only three stories high. It was one of the nicer ones in this neighborhood. I wouldn't expect a street-level thug to be shacking up with a female that lived here. I waited in an alley across the street as the morning sun began emerging. I had an inclination the thug I just pressed out gave Hoytsworth the heads up. I had to play this out vigilantly.

While contemplating on a course of action, a man bustled out of the three floor row house and jumped into a burgundy '77 Buick Regal with a white soft top. It was Hoytsworth. Before I could get to his car, he peeled out of the parking spot and sped down the street. He drove with haste as if he was warned that someone is after him. I couldn't pursue that V8 engine on foot but I could make an effort to ascertain where he was going.

I discreetly paced to the rear of the apartment building through the alleyway. I noticed a slightly opened window on the second floor. I'm guessing the row house only has three units and that must be apartment "B." I scaled up the fire escape using what's left of the night to conceal me. The decrepit metal escape way made a grating squeal after every step. I was certain it would've alarmed one of the residents. I hoisted up the window and made my way inside.

My eyes got acclimated to the dark apartment and I soon became aware I was in a bedroom. The room was vacant but I heard footsteps outside nearing. Then the door drew open and a dark complexioned slender female wearing a lacy white bra and matching panties sauntered in. It took her a couple seconds to realize she wasn't alone. She frantically wailed then stormed out of the room after noticing the dark silhouette peering at her with flaming red eyes. I pursued after her and clenched onto her from behind before she could exit the front door. I muffled her cries with my hand and restrained her against a wall.

"Stop screaming!" I warned.

"He's not here." She blurted after I removed my hand.

"Where'd he go?" I inquired.

"Some guy called Hoyt's phone saying someone is coming here to look for him. The guy said he thinks he's a cop. Hoyt had the phone on speaker. I heard a little of their conversation. Hoyt grabbed his stuff and left a few minutes ago. He said he needs 'To go to a motel or something.' I don't know which one exactly."

"You better not be lying to me."

"I'm not."

"Sit down and don't move." I directed while pointing to the sofa in the living room. She complied.

I made my way back into the bedroom and ransacked it for the modest indication to where Hoytsworth was headed. There was a vintage red push-button phone on top of a dresser with a caller ID box attached to it. I skimmed through the numbers. "Hoyt!" He called her numerous times over the past couple days. I flipped my cellphone open and stored his number in it.

I sifted through her dresser drawers and my hands ran over a weighted object. I grabbed it and drew it out. It was bundled up in a black grocery bag. I uncovered it and revealed a sawed-off .22 caliber rifle. "The murder weapon!" There was also men's clothing along with the firearm in the drawer. I ferreted out a pair of jeans and felt a key chain in the front right pocket. It was a souvenir from the Meridian Motel on Lincoln Ave. Perhaps the modest indication I was searching for. In the same pair of jeans I also came across two tickets in the rear pocket. They were to a funk concert on the Fourth of July. Might be something I should take note of.

Just as I found the leads, I overheard the sound of the apartment door slam shut. I knew she'd bail I was just wondering what took her so long. I placed everything back how I found it. Then I scaled out of the bedroom window, down the fire escape and fled into the alley.

While heading towards the subway station, my cellphone started to vibrate. I was betting on it being my parents calling me. They should be up by now. I retrieved my phone and to my surprise it was Detective Bernhardt.

"Detective?" I answered.

"You've been busy haven't you? Interrogating people. Looking for Hoyt." He uttered.

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"The streets are talking. Some guy running around with bloodshot eyes appearing out of nowhere and pressing people out. Dunkin' heads into toilets? Breakin' into people's apartments?" He conveyed.

"You have the wrong person."

"No no no, I'm no rookie. Don't insult me. I've been doing this for twenty years. You also match the description of a mugger who slashed someone on the subway. They said you stole their wallet." He disclosed. Those lying bastards tried to rob me!

"I'm sorry detective. I don't know what you're talking about."

"Leave the cop stuff to us. You understand that!" He barked. I slapped my phone shut.

Just as I exited the subway station, I caught sight of a narrow seven story brick building across the street. It has a vertical red neon sign fixed to it that displayed "Meridian Motel." Through the windows I noticed the rooms were illuminated with red lights. There were dark silhouettes of busty women erotically gyrating their hips inside them. On the sidewalk before it was a line of prostitutes wearing scantily clad skirts and tube tops. "You look'in for-rah date sweetie?" They badgered as I stepped past them towards the entrance.

A middle-aged scrawny clerk sat on a stool inside a Plexiglas booth gawking at an adult magazine. He sported a bad comb-over that made me feel a little sorry for him. A pair of vintage black glasses frames, probably from 1960s or earlier, rested just above the tip of his pointy nose. The thick lenses magnified his eyes. Adjacent to the booth is a six foot three, two hundred fifty pound burly security guard posing a tough guy facade with his arms crossed. There's a stand in the corner of the lobby displaying several key chains resembling the one in Hoytsworth's pants pocket.

"Yes!" The clerk agitatedly greeted when I fronted the booth.

"I'm looking for a guest by the name of Hoyt or Hoytsworth." I inquired.

"You a cop or sum'in?"

"No."

"C'mon, get out of here." He blurted brushing me off.

"Excuse me."

"You wanna room or not? I'm busy."

"I'm looking for..." I started to say before he interrupted me.

"You stupid or sum'in? You wanna room or not?" The clerk barked. Speaking to him through this window wasn't getting me anywhere.

I bustled around to the door and gripped the knob. It was locked. "HEY... HEY... WHAT ARE YOU DOING?" The panic-stricken clerk barked. I paced back a couple steps then charged the door with a sturdy kick. The flimsy door is on the brink of giving way.

Just before I delivered a second strike, the security guard clenched me from behind in a bear hug. His grip was firm and I couldn't free myself. He then lifted me off the floor and pitched me into a wall. Before I could get back to my feet, I was snatched up by my sweater and pinned against it. The security guard held me with his left hand while cocking his right fist back. I couldn't allow him to deliver the knockout blow. I've come too far to get caught now. Just as his hand came forward I had enough slack to elude the punch by tilting my head to the side. The security guard's fist cracked against the wall behind me. After a lengthened agonizing moan, he staggered back a couple of steps then faltered to his knee. He clenched his right hand. It appeared to be broken.

I turned back towards the Plexiglas booth. The clerk snatched a vintage red rotary phone, shaped like a high heeled shoe, off a desk then rested his back against the door. He frantically dialed a number. It didn't take a brilliant mind to figure out he was calling the police. I raced towards the door and bashed it with a vigorous kick. It broke off the hinges and the impact knocked the clerk across the booth. The phone fumbled from his hands.

"Is Hoyt staying here?" I growled.

"Th... Th... That's the log with all of the guests." He stammered while his unsteadied index finger pointed to a binder on the desk.

I snatched the binder then sifted through the pages but was unable to find his name. I checked, double checked and triple checked until I was certain I didn't overlook anything. My eagerness tapered off; I was lead down a blind alley. I bustled out of the lobby before the police showed up.

The sunlight deepened my headache. It prevented me from keeping my balance. I staggered through the congested downtown rush-hour sidewalks jostling past pedestrians as they gawked at me. "Are you okay?" "Do you need an ambulance?" I was drawing too much attention. I needed to find a place to lay low.

After scouring the neighborhood, I stumbled upon an abandoned vintage movie theater. A red letter duct taped to the doors stated "Warning: Do Not Enter. Hazardous Materials Inside." The chain lock had been snipped. I pulled the tall weighted brass door open and sauntered in.

The stench of mold was inundating. Probably wasn't good for my lungs but I doubt I could stay up for another minute. A spacious stained glass skylight allowed the morning sun to seep in. It provided me with ample visibility. The ceilings were high. Fragmented paint chips fell from them; probably contained lead which also wasn't good for me. There was a mural of graffiti on the walls. I heard footsteps pacing about on the balcony above; probably junkies tying one on.

I continued to survey the closed down theater. There was a lofty wall with autographed black and white photos of celebrities hanging from it. As far up as I can see were snapshots of notable '60s movie stars, comedians, athletes and entertainers. Collectors would pay top dollar for the nostalgic artwork disregarded in this theater. It seems there once was an era where citizens weren't swindled by politics. Life was easy back then. Those days are long gone.

I continued on and came upon a movie display. "You!" I growled with deep animosity. It was a towering manikin of The Legend. He donned a black cloak that veiled over his shoulders and covered his body. The cloak disposed on a stand in a perfect crescent. His face was concealed by a black mask that amplified his devilishly red eyes. The display was aged. The ensemble appeared to be moth-eaten. Behind the figurine was a cardboard cutout of a dark city with the words, "The Urban Legend" on top of one of the buildings. "The elusive ghost that has been haunting me." He allowed Hoytsworth to get away in that alley. There's nothing I want more than to confront him but this was just a lifeless movie display.

I sauntered down a staircase that led me to a basement. It appears renovation work has begun down here. Fluorescent lamps illuminated the white painted walls, ceiling and white tiled floor. The intensity was unbearable. I staggered through a corridor until I came upon a door with a frosted rippled glass window. Bold black lettering decals spelling "Manager's Office" adhered to it. The door was unlocked. I made my way in. There was a bare vintage oak desk and a grubby red leather couch inside. There were also torn vintage movie posters hung on the walls. The stench of mold wasn't too bad in here. I considered the room to be a suitable place to sleep.

Ten hours passed before I awoke. I didn't anticipate I'd be out this long but I was up for twenty four hours. My headache was gone. I noticed three missed calls from Detective Bernhardt. He left me a voicemail. "Duane, I have issued a warrant for your arrest. You need to turn yourself in. That stunt you pulled at the motel was all caught on a surveillance camera..." I deleted the message before listening to it in its entirety.

Just then, the door to the office began to creak open. "It's occupied!" I barked but it continued to gape. Suddenly, the dark caped figure sauntered into the door way. He peered at me with flaming red eyes. "Legend!"

"Why'd you let Hoyt get away?" I demanded while jolting off the sofa. He remained silent. "Answer me!" I directed while fronting him. There still wasn't a response from him. His silence riled me up. I rushed towards him, clenched his black ensemble and made an effort to drive him into the hallway wall. However, my intentions were unsuccessful. He swiftly spun around and redirected me into the wall instead. I was catapulted head first into it. My sharp headache suddenly resurfaced.

My vision became bleary. He sauntered towards me. "YOU BASTARD!" I roared while pitching a riled right hook at him. He eluded it. I followed by launching a multitude of feral strikes but I was unable to connect to his jaw. His cunning movements allowed him to scurry behind me and clench me in a choke hold. I made strides to break his grip but he's much stronger than me. "LET ME GO!" I roared but my demands fell on deaf ears. Instead he began dragging me down the lengthy corridor. I continued to struggle with him but his hold was too firm. My heels flailed against the dusty hallway floor leaving a trail behind.

He continued to drag me through the hallway. While peering at the fragmented ceiling, it suddenly broke into distant grim clouds that were illuminated by lightning strikes. Soon afterwards I felt the rainfall. The absolute moon lingered over us as he persisted to yank me through the storm. He continued to drag me and we passed underneath a towering steel arch with the words "Lincoln Cemetery" embellished into it; the cemetery Lolani is resting in. Moments later he unclenched me and I plummeted to the muddy ground. I planted my hands into the grass and made an effort to lunge at him but a tombstone before me suddenly held me spellbound. It was hers. While gazing at the headstone The Legend sauntered towards me and stood up beside me. I peered up at him. He clenched his mask and suspensefully revealed himself. "Wha... What is this? What's going on?" I stammered while getting to my feet. The Legend was... Me! It was as if I was standing before a mirror. I staggered backwards distancing myself from him. "What's happening to me?" The doctor warned me about these hallucinations. They feel so real; down to the pain and emotions.

I turned around and began to sprint away from him. While glancing back at The Legend, I lost my footing and stumbled into an open grave. However, it wasn't six feet deep. It was a continuous hole with no end in sight. I frantically plummeted through the endless pit. Suddenly I noticed the bottom and was nearing it at breakneck speeds. There was no way to avoid the impact. I was moments away. Just as I neared my demise, I jolted out of my sleep.

I awoke to find myself back inside the manager's office lying on the dusty floor. I gathered myself together, stood up and brushed myself off. The series of nightmares and hallucinations suddenly came into light. It was a directive being conveyed to me. It was what this city longed for. I was no longer Duane; "I am The Legend!"

After gently removing the tattered ensemble from the manikin on the movie display, I tucked it underneath my left arm and exited the abandoned theater. Dark clouds are rolling into the city. I glanced at the time on my cellphone; it's minutes after eight o'clock pm.

Downtown is lively on this Friday, July 4th night. The streets are packed with festive residents headed to the fireworks display at the harbor. I jostled past them and made my way to the subway station.

The train rumbled to my stop then came to a screeching halt. After the double doors parted, I stepped off then headed up the stairs to the exit. I was met by a heavy storm. I treaded several blocks until I came upon Delancey's dry cleaners. The metal rolling gate was down and locked. The red neon vertical sign was left on. The "D's" still flickered. I went into the alley and headed to the rear of the establishment. I sifted in my pocket and hoped the key still worked. The floodlights on top of the door gave me some visibility. After putting the key into the deadbolt lock, it turned and I was able to gain entry. Even the passcode to the alarm system was unchanged.

I flipped the light switch and the fluorescent bulbs began to crack and flicker. Seconds later the dry cleaners was illuminated and I noticed the front of the store; the counter and the replaced storefront glass door. The last time I was in here she was murdered. For a moment I was taken aback but my task suddenly came back to mind.

I headed to the hefty vintage black sewing machine that Mr. Delancey refuses to replace. "It's been in the family business for forty years," he once told me. A roll of white thread was already loaded into the machine. I grabbed the metal stood and began to work.

The aged machined rumbled as it punched the thread through the moth-eaten ensemble. The white stitching contrasted with the black but I wasn't competing in a fashion show. As long as the tears were sewn, I was content. I also altered the ensemble to fit me. With this black mask and cloak, I can use the shadows to conceal myself and reveal myself like a ghost; just like The Legend did in the comic book. I know how fear works now and I can use it to coerce. It was now time.

I peered at Hoytsworth's girlfriend's apartment from the roof across the street. A breeze in the night sky caused my cloak to fluctuate conjointly with it. The perpetual rain tapered off for the moment. A burgundy Buick Regal suddenly screeched into the block and veered into a vacant parking spot. It was Hoyt. He sounded his horn three times and seconds later his girlfriend scampered down the front steps. She wore a close-fitting purple dress that revealed much of her cleavage. A matching handbag was fixed underneath her left arm. She got into the passenger seat and the Regal sped down the street. Tonight, on the 4th of July, an acclaimed funk band is performing at the P Street Club. I came upon the tickets to the party in Hoytsworth's pants pocket. I was convinced he'd keep to his engagement.

Hoytsworth clenched his girlfriend's hand and made a mad-dash to the nightclub. He was trying to prevent his red velvet blazer and matching mohawk from getting ruined by the rain. Security admitted him in after he was frisked. While peering through the skylight, I lost sight of him amongst the animated partygoers. The dim lighting inside wasn't helpful either.

I surveyed the crowd thoroughly and still couldn't catch sight of him. I then remembered the phone number I'd gotten from the caller ID. I dialed his number.

I suddenly perceived a man decked in a red velvet blazer and black leather pants hoist his illuminating cellphone to his ear. He posed amongst the partygoers in the center of the dance floor. I found the illusive Hoytsworth that no other detective in Capitol City could. I slapped the phone shut and kept an eye on him.

Security frisked all the patrons before they were admitted into the establishment. He couldn't possibly be armed. Hoytsworth's been running long enough; it was time to bring him in.

I picked up a loose brick from the roof and, with much vigor, pitched it at him through the skylight. The shattering glass sent the partygoers rushing off the dance floor. They screamed and hollered while scrambling for safety. Hoytsworth ditched his girlfriend and also darted off the dance floor as the brick just missed him. He glanced up at the skylight and found a dark caped figure standing on the roof and peering at him with flaming red eyes. "What the fuck?" He uttered then bolted out a rear door.

The back door led Hoytsworth to a rear alley. He bustled out and began sprinting towards the street. He's panting heavily. Hoytsworth suddenly got an earful of a loud grating squeal. He glanced back and caught me scaling down the steel fire escape. His gator shoes gave him little grip on the wet concrete surface. While looking behind him, he slipped in a puddle and plummeted to the ground. Before he could get back to his feet, he caught glimpse of the dark caped figure sprinting towards him.

Hoytsworth hopped back onto his feet and darted towards his car. He was suddenly daunted when he noticed all four tires slashed. I couldn't allow him to speed off in his Buick Regal again. "Got-Dammit!" Hoytsworth barked. He then began sprinting towards the elevated train station. He scampered up the steps and suddenly slipped on a discarded hamburger wrapper. He managed to keep his balance after gripping the banister and continued up.

There were no employees inside the station booth. Hoytsworth hurdled over the turnstile. Once on the platform he gawked at the entrance and waited for my arrival. He no longer burdened himself with ruining his disco attire in the rain. He quivered on the platform as the storm drenched him. His fists were balled as if he were ready for a fight. His mohawk toppled over and the red die ran down his face. Suddenly the sound of thunder caused Hoytsworth to lurch.

"It's over Hoyt." I growled. The thunder distracted him long enough to allow me to sneak up behind him.

"Wh... Who... Who are you?" He stammered after abruptly pivoting around. I clenched my mask and snatched it off.

"You stripped me of my pay, violated my personal space and took the life of the sole person that kept me balanced!"

"NO! Not you..." He muttered. "I thought you were de... I KILLED YOU!"

"That was your mistake. Instead of putting two more bullets into her, you should've put them into me!"

Suddenly a distant air horn reverberated throughout the station. Hoytsworth glanced down the dark tracks and noticed the headlights of the elevated train nearing. At that moment, he swiftly lunged towards me and tackled me onto the platform. My head was hung over the tracks and he pinned my neck down with his forearm. The rushing train was seconds away. I made attempts to break his mount before I was decapitated but his awkward hold made it difficult. I wrestled with him as the train careened into the station. In a last ditched effort, I firmly kicked Hoytsworth off me and moved out of the path of the surging train a half second before it took my head. Hoytsworth landed on his back. Just as he made it back onto his feet, I dashed towards him and pelted him in the jaw with a feral right hook. It made a deep cracking sound and he was rendered unconscious. He collapsed onto the platform and lied sprawled on the ground. I got on top of him, clenched his blazer and began whaling his face with right hooks. I was enraged and wanted to inflict him with deep pain. I wanted to kill him. Although he was out cold, I persisted to pommel him. Suddenly, in a puddle besides us, I caught sight of my reflection. I was taken aback. I looked like a monster; like some kind of demon. It stopped me in the middle of a strike. "Geezus, what am I doing?"

While standing in a shadowy corner, I watched as the police officers escorted the handcuffed Hoytsworth to the transport wagon. Detective Wu paced behind them. Her business card came in handy after all. Finally, it was over.

Suddenly, through the iron beam structure below, supporting the elevated station, I caught sight of a figure on the street beneath me. It was a female, sporting a white spring dress with orange flowers on it, sauntering away from me. She suddenly stopped, pivoted back and glanced up at me. It was Lolani. She appeared to be happy; her radiant smile. I smiled back then seconds later she faded away. I miss her so much.

"So what do I call you? Duane or Legend?" Detective Wu inquired. She requested to confer with me. Initially I thought it was a dragnet being that Detective Bernhardt had an arrest warrant issued for me. Detective Wu, however, assured me it wasn't. We converged discreetly in an alley near her police station.

"Legend." I replied.

"First I want to thank you for helping me close this homicide case. I'm very sorry for your loss."

"You're welcome."

"I asked you to meet with because I need a favor. I was wondering... Maybe we could form some type of a partnership. I figure you can go places I can't and do things I can't do. We can exchange info and help each other out."

"I don't know detective."

"You know the department offers cash rewards to citizens that help close homicide cases."

"I'll think about it." I replied brushing her off. I then began to saunter away from her.

"C'mon, you telling me you're going to turn down money? We're talking thousands of dollars to be a confidential informant! You can't help out a rookie detective?" She pleaded.

"I'll think about it." I repeated.

"Well can you think quickly?" She barked as I continued to pace further. "I'm working this case with a Sex Crimes detective and I was wondering if you could help us with it! There is a serial killer that's been targeting teenage prostitutes! He rapes the victims then shoots them in the chest!" Suddenly I recalled the homicide that occurred outside my apartment and it stopped me dead in my tracks. The guilt of not helping the victim resurfaced.

"Do you know what he looks like?" I growled while slightly pivoting back towards her.

"Yes. One of his victims lived long enough to tell me. He's a middle aged white male, about six feet tall, two hundred and fifty pounds. He has a full white beard. He wore a black skull cap on his head. During the time of the attack he was wearing a long beige trench coat." She conveyed. The description matched the man I witnessed assaulting the seventeen year old prostitute to a tee. "So does this mean you're going to help us?" She inquired.

"Maybe just this one time, detective."
"We all have wretched memories."

Prelude

"It's been five months. Five months since my first encounter with him. The Legend! Yeah, I was up to no good but I was no murderer. I was just a knock-around guy for this local drug dealer. You owed him money, I'll get it. You short changed him, I'll beat you down. You looked at him wrong, I'll break your legs. But when he wanted me to take someone out, that was crossing the line. We all have morals and that's mine.

The crew hated me for that. They thought I was soft. So, they wanted to teach me a lesson. They set me up. 'Told me about this junkie that owed the boss some money. They said she's been ducking him. They wanted me to push her around a bit. So I got her address and went to her apartment. The front door was locked so I kicked it in. When I got inside, there was blood everywhere. I mean EVERYWHERE. Ceiling, windows, walls, floor, television, sofa, EVERYWHERE. Her body was battered up. Whoever did this was a monster. My instincts told me to get the hell outta there. By the time I ran out into the hallway, her neighbors were already at their doors peeking out. I guess they heard me kick her door down and wanted to know what all the ruckus was.

I didn't make it a city block. By the time I got outside, squad cars were pulling up. I ran but with my luck some rookie, fresh out of the academy and in the best shape of his life, caught me. The neighbors told the police they saw me leaving the place. No matter how long the cops interrogated me, I refused to tell them I killed her. I didn't. But I still got pinned for the rap.

One day, while sitting in jail, a cellmate told me he heard my charges got dropped. He said the police were going to release me. He wasn't lying, they let me go. There I was thinking I was going away for life but I was given a second chance. Later on that night, while walking up the front steps to my apartment building, he approached me. Those red eyes. It scared the crap outta me. He called my name. That growl; I'll never forget it. His voice sent chills down my spine. I caught wind that just before the lady got battered up, she ripped a button off her killer's shirt. The Legend found the button near the area where her body was lying. He somehow traced the button back to a shirt that belonged to a guy they call Bailey. Bailey wore these fancy silk Italian shirts. When he found Bailey, I heard he beat Bailey up so bad Bailey confessed. Then I was let go. A little button got me off a life sentence. Unbelievable!

That night The Legend told me that I had received a 'Second chance at life.' He said to 'Make it count.' I walked away from the street life. I own a barbershop and everything in this shop is legit. Those eyes, I'll never forget them. Call me paranoid but every once in a while I see those eyes looking down at me from a rooftop. Like he's watching me. Making sure I don't stray. Well, he has nothing to worry about."

\- Ludlow the Barber

Victim number eleven. She was discarded in a narrow dark alleyway between 18th and 19th Street; left on top of a pile of filthy black garbage bags. The serial killer shows no signs of remorse for them.

Suddenly her chest languidly rose, then set. She peered at me with her gaping green eyes. She was in a state of moribund. It emitted eerie feel. I gently pulled the mask from my head; I'm the last person she'll see alive. "You'll be at rest soon." I comforted her. Seconds later her chest stopped rising but she persisted to stare at me. She succumbed to the gunshot wound. I caressed her eyelids closed. The guilt is too much to bear. This could've been prevented if I had only called the police that night.

I started looking over the body for a lead. She's just like the others; late teens and by her outfit, I'd bet money she was prostitute. There were hemorrhages forming around her eyes, mouth, stomach and wrists. Her knuckles were swollen and there appears to be specks of blood underneath her fingernails; must've came from fighting back. Her underwear was torn. It wasn't hard to catch because her silver colored skirt barely went past her groin. Then I noticed it. The infamous single gunshot wound to the chest. I continued to search her and found smudged motor oil on the bottom of her clear platform shoes. There's an auto mechanic garage a few blocks from here. I suddenly got an earful of sirens wailing. My investigation has come to an end. I left the victim to pursue my lead.

The auto mechanic garage was closed for the night but the ladies of the evening posed out front and solicited for dates. They're all dressed just as sleazy as the victim. The squad cars raced past them; blaring sirens and igniting the block with red and blue strobe lights. It wasn't too long before they put two and two together; one of their own has just become the eleventh victim to the serial killer. The ladies abandoned their posts and trotted to the subway station in their clear platform shoes.

I suddenly noticed a security camera mounted on the auto mechanic garage that was angled in the vicinity where the women were soliciting. It seemed likely it grabbed something pertinent. I decided to look in on it.

A rear window was left unlocked. It was large enough for me to slip inside. I'm convinced this place is rigged with a silent alarm system so I had no intentions to linger around. I came upon a door with the decals "Manager's Office" adhered to it. The surveillance footage would most likely be in there. I clenched the handle but it wouldn't budge. A swift swipe with my pocket knife granted me entry into the office.

The security cameras continued to record. I rewound the footage until I spotted the victim posing with her hands resting on her hips in front of the garage. A vintage wood paneled station wagon, with a "For Sale" sign adhered to the rear window, pulled up just before her. She approached the passenger side window with an erotic gait in her steps. She leaned inside and the two engaged in a brief conversation. I assumed they came to an agreement when she set foot in the vehicle. Her door wasn't even completely shut before he suddenly peeled off. The station wagon was too far from the security camera to make out the license plate number. However, wood paneled station wagons are scarce nowadays.

Just about a year and a half has passed since the first victim and ten more has followed. The serial killer has single-handedly brought this city down onto its knees. Although all of the victims have been prostitutes, females dressed in club attire feel they might be mistaken for one. They are now reluctant to gallivant through the streets during the evening hour. The nightlife establishments have taken a financial hit. Many of the sleazy downtown clubs that once hosted hundreds of patrons are now boarded up. The after-hours diners are now closed before dark. The many prostitutes that solicited Johns in the back alleys are now scarce. Police patrols are heightened. In fact, the majority of people seen outside during the late night hours are officers. Some roam the streets and alleys on foot, others are in squad cars.

Angry residents have protested against the incompetent mayor and police chief. From nine in the morning to five in the evening, boisterous demonstrators march before the four downtown police stations hoisting signs. They have also petitioned for the officials' resignation. "The people of this city elected this mayor and he's done nothing but run this city down! He can't keep us safe. And if he can't get the job done, we should be able to elect a new one! Kick him out of office!" An infuriated mother barked while being interviewed by a local news journalist.

Today marks ten months since Lolani's death. I remember the shooting as if it were last week. Detective Wu insisted that I'd be compensated with the department's reward money for leading her to Hoytsworth's whereabouts. I refused it at first. I didn't do it for a paycheck. My funds, however, were running dry so I decided to take her up on her offer. There was a caveat; I had to enlist myself as a confidential informant for Capitol City Police Department. In order to do that, I had to take care of an outstanding arrest warrant issued by Detective Bernhardt. Detective Wu took me in. Fortunately for me, she also testified in trial on my behalf. She informed the judge that I have assisted her with closing the "Dry Cleaners" homicide case. With the detective's testimony and having no prior offenses, the Capitol City Superior Court Judge was generous. She placed me on probation in lieu of jail time. She also placed a stay away order on me. I can't be within a hundred feet of the Meridian Motel, the clerk or his security guard.

The following morning, "The Harlot Murderer Strikes Again" fronted the cover page on the Capitol City Press in a sizeable bold font. A note found underneath the victim was posted in the article:

"Oh you should've seen the fight in this one. This by far will be my favorite. You would've enjoyed it too. Maybe I'll start documenting my work. Hmmm... Wouldn't that be something to watch? Maybe then you will notice how talented I am. It is time for me to bid adieu. I will see you next time. I don't know what the future will bring nor can I give you a time or place but we will meet again and again and again and again and again...."

The station wagon had a "For Sale" sign taped to the rear window. I decided to skim through the classifieds. To my dismay, the vehicle wasn't listed.

Lines at the newsstand spanned a city block. Residents wanted to be kept up to date on the developments of the investigation. The police, however, aren't revealing too much; partly because they don't want the "Harlot Murderer" to know where the investigation is going.

Anyone looming around town in wood paneled station nowadays is going catch eyes. I'm certain many have come upon it. I just needed to get someone to talk. It's now minutes after midnight. The thunderstorm isn't showing any mercy. A shirtless elderly male wearing a black leather blazer, with matching pants and biker cap just stumbled out of a sleazy underground nightclub called the "Shack." He's staggering aimlessly through the alley. Suddenly, he faces a brick wall and rests his right hand on it to keep himself steady. He unzips his pants with his left and begins to urinate.

"We need to talk ol' man." I growled just as he began to zip up.

"Oh... Geezus..." He stammered while flattening his back against the wall. "You scared the dickens outta me!"

"Have you seen any wood paneled station wagons around town?"

"Are you... The Legend? I heard about... I didn't think you were... You're real?"

"Ol' man, answer my question."

"Wood paneled... Ahhh... Yeah I have seen it. I see it every now and then." He disclosed.

"Where?"

"No place in particular... just here and there."

"In this area?"

"Yeah, around here. Around downtown."

"You know the owner?" I inquired.

"No, I don't."

The ol' man didn't give me much of a lead. Neither did other stragglers wandering the stormy streets at this hour. "Hey man, I don't know what to tell you. I've seen it around but I don't know who the owner is!"

Just when I was about to call it a night, a man leaving a liquor store caught my inquiring mind. He bustled down the street while clenching a six pack underneath his right arm. He's wearing a navy blue jumpsuit with an "Al's Used Tire Shop" patch stitched onto the back. The tire shop is located at a discount gas station. If anyone would know anything about the wood paneled station wagon, it would be him.

"You have a sec?" I asked following the man inside his apartment building.

"Holy crap! Who the hell are you?" The man lurched then stumbled into the hallway wall. The six-pack can of beer slipped from underneath his arm. Two cans burst as they struck the black and white checkered-tile floor. "Got-dammit! I just bought that!"

"I'm looking for someone."

"Are you nuts? Who the hell do you think you arrahhh... Wait a sec... I've seen you before... That comic book superhero.... The Urban Legend!" He chuckled. "What is this? Halloween? Wait, where's your grappling hook and stun gun?"

"I'm looking for a guy that drives a wood paneled station wagon." I growled.

"You must be outta your cotton pickin' mind clown. What are you gonna do if I don't talk? Gas me with your 'Truth Serum'? Move outta my way pal."

"Answer me!" I demanded while pitching a right jab into the wall just inches from his head.

"Whoa... Whoa! Easy big guy! Wood paneled station wagon?"

"Yeah!"

"I know the guy. Names Albert... He lives over on Senate Drive... I can give you his address. I was just over his place replacing a flat tire for him. He said he got it from driving through an alley or sum'in'."

I'd pass this four level apartment building for an abandoned one. Some of the windows are boarded up and the brick face is covered with graffiti. Hustler's clenching twenty dollar bills were hunched over the front steps laying money on a craps game. Unfortunately, I don't see a wood paneled station wagon parked anywhere on the block.

I made my way inside from an unlocked roof door. It wasn't long before I caught the malodorous stench from a faulty sewage draining system. I'm trying my best to be stealthy but every step I take makes the stairs creak. Suddenly a passing elevated train rattled the entire apartment building. It caused paint chips from the flaking ceiling to fall. I wouldn't be surprised if the air in here is filled with lead. Albert's apartment is on the top floor. I navigated around buckets catching the leaky rain water from the passing storm. "4B." This is it.

Albert's door was locked evidently but a swift swipe from my pocket knife granted me entry. The apartment had a foul odor of rotting food. I felt for a light switch and suddenly noticed his filthy habits. There were Chinese food takeout containers left on his kitchen sink and counter. Roaches began to crawl out of the cartons then scamper into the cabinets. The hundreds of maggots continued to eat the remaining pieces of meat. A continuous cracking noise came from the flickering fluorescent light bulbs. Horseflies began to circle around it. There was several empty orange prescription bottles discarded on the counter. "Benazepril, Warfarin, Digoxin..." They were the same medications my grandfather used to take for his high blood pressure and heart.

The kitchen light gave some visibility into another room. I stepped inside of it and immediately caught whiff of moldy carpet. I could make out in the center of the room a single light bulb suspended from a wire in the ceiling. I yanked a cord besides the bulb and the light abruptly revealed large red rancorous writings on the white walls and ceiling of the living room: "Die, Death, Murder, Kill Them All..." It was written with a red marker that was scribbled to make the letters bold and jagged. It covered the entire room.

I continued to survey the room and noticed dark moldy blotches on the beige carpet. The only furniture in the living room was a knocked over coffee table and a deteriorated green vintage floral sofa. Various brands of playing cards were discarded on the floor besides the coffee table. After a more thorough look I noticed all of the cards were Queen of Hearts and the hearts were punctured out.

The vile inscriptions covering the living room walls and ceiling continued into the bedroom. More horseflies hovered over his sheet-less bed. There were yellowish stains on his mattress and the stench of urine emanated from it. I noticed more empty prescription bottles on top of a journal on his dresser. The journal caught my inquiring mind. I retrieved it and sifted through his entries. Everything was written in red ink.

Before I could finish reading the first sentence, red strobe lights penetrated through the rifted blinds in his bedroom window. I looked outside and noticed several unmarked Crown Victorias pull up to the front of the building. Plainclothes officers sporting police windbreaker jackets swiftly exited the vehicles and surrounded the individuals gambling out front. One tried to flee but was tackled halfway down the block. They were all handcuffed and placed against the building fence. A middle-aged, heavyset detective sporting a green trench coat sauntered towards one of the individuals. He pulled a purple latex glove over his left hand then reached into the individual's pants. Seconds later he retrieved a sandwich bag containing packaged narcotics from the individual's groin area. This appeared to be some sort of police drug sting.

Suddenly several officers rushed into the building. I didn't want to be a part of this dragnet. I placed the journal back on the dresser and fled out of the apartment. Laden footsteps raced up the hallway staircase. Flashlight beams oscillated along the walls as the footsteps drew closer. I made my way to the roof, leaped to an adjacent building and fled into the night.

"Detective Wu, I found out something you'll find useful. We need to meet." I sent the detective a text message.

"How about the alley by my station in an hour?" She responded seconds later.

"I'm on my way."

Detective Wu was already parked in the alley when I arrived. She noticed me approaching her unmarked Crown Victoria through her rearview mirror. The transmission grinded as she threw the gear lever in park. The driver side door opened slightly and a black ladies walking umbrella unfurled as she stepped out underneath it. She held onto a clear evidence bag as she sauntered to the rear of her car.

"I found out who he is." I disclosed.

"WHAT? YOU DID? WHO IS HE?" She blurted. She snatched a notepad from her rear pocket and fixed the stem of the umbrella between her neck and shoulder.

"His name is Albert. He lives on Senate Drive. Narcos just raided his building."

"You have an apartment?"

"4B."

"This couldn't come at a better time. He just killed another prostitute. A homeless guy found her body in the basement of an abandoned apartment building." The detective uttered while jotting down the information. She stopped writing then handed me an evidence bag with a note inside of it.

"Hello Chief Burke, The Harlot Murderer Strikes Again! I didn't think we would've had this meeting so soon. Everyone thinks I'm crazy. They cast me into the gutter and made me into a monster. Now everyone is aghast at the creation they made. See you soon."

The note was written in the same red bold and jagged scribble as the entries in his journal and the writing on the walls and ceiling inside his apartment.

After the detective noted the tip in her pad, she got on her cellphone and called her sergeant. "...Yes sarge, my confidential informant is very credible. I think we should look into it..." She slapped her flip phone shut, collapsed her umbrella then darted to the driver's side of her police cruiser. "You know, the reward for information leading to this guy's arrest is twenty five thousand dollars!" Detective Wu hollered before slamming her door shut. The Crown Victoria then raced towards the street with its red dashboard strobe light illuminating the alley.

The following afternoon Detective Wu was given the "Go ahead" from her sergeant to look into the lead I presented. For days she staked out Albert's apartment hoping he'd return. Unfortunately, he hasn't. Detective Wu is convinced the narcotics unit might've scared him off during their raid. Without enough probable cause she is unable to get a search warrant for the apartment.

Fortunately, the narcotics unit was able to unravel a complex drug distribution ring involving the landlord and several tenants. Along with the atrocious conditions, Capitol City's District Attorneys and a housing inspector managed to get the city to condemn the building. Tenants had thirty days to move out. When Albert failed to return within the time period, the city deemed his apartment and belongings abandoned. Detective Wu now had the authority to enter it.

The crime scene technicians seized substantial evidence from his apartment: his graphic journal entries, DNA samples, a box of .38 special cartridges that was half full, all the Queen of Hearts playing cards and photos of the vile inscriptions on his walls and ceilings. Detective Wu now had enough PC to get an arrest warrant signed by the Superior Court Judge for Albert. A photograph of him, a brief biography and his 1982 Ford Country Squire station wagon with simulated wood panels were broadcasted on the late night news and printed in the morning paper.

"...Serial killers usually start off committing petty crimes at an early age..." Detective Wu informed me. "Albert, however, didn't pick up that trait. He's has no criminal history. So the DNA recovered from the victims didn't match anyone in our criminal database. But the DNA found on the victims did match the DNA samples we collected from Albert's apartment."

In order to be more proficient at capturing Albert, Detective Wu came up with the idea of piecing together a profile of him. For the next several weeks, Detective Wu gathered information on Albert by obtaining copies of his school records, military records, interviewing his childhood classmates and studying his journal entries. She spent weeks arranging it in chronological order and analyzing them. In two months' time, Detective Wu was knowledgeable enough to rewrite his biography.

In Albert's journal, he recalls carrying a lot of animosity for his mother's cats at a young age. "..She always put her cats before me..." Ultimately, he decided to get rid of his mother's pets by mixing the cat food with rodent poison pellets. He found great pleasure in watching them agonize for days before they finally died.

At the age of eleven, Albert became fond of a middle school classmate named Lauren. "...I stare at her all the time. She's the prettiest girl in the world..." He depicted her in his journal as timid and pristine. "...She never talked to anyone and would run into her parent's arms after school..." Lauren and Albert wound up attending the same high school. In their sophomore year, a biology teacher paired the two to be lab partners. Albert was ecstatic. Lauren, however, like the rest of Albert's classmates, thought he was bizarre. She wasn't thrilled by the partnership. Lauren reluctantly traded phone numbers with Albert. Instead of using it to work on their project, Albert seized the opportunity to badger her. "He used to call my house during the late hours of the night. When my parents answered, he'd hang up immediately. If I answered, I'd hear nothing but heavy breathing. It got to the point that my parents had to go to the school and have a meeting with the biology teacher, Albert and his mother." Lauren explained to Detective Wu one afternoon after agreeing to confer with her over lunch.

In their senior year, Lauren joined the cheerleading team. Albert developed animosity for the skimpy uniform she wore around school. It wasn't long before she hooked up with the captain of the football team. One afternoon, while feeding the pigeons on the football field during lunch, Albert caught Lauren surrendering her virginity to her boyfriend underneath the bleachers. He recounted it as watching "An apple rot before my eyes."

After high school, Albert enlisted in the Army where he became a proficient marksman. He was shipped to Vietnam. While overseas he made efforts to persuade a local prostitute to become his girlfriend. However, on numerous occasions, he caught her sleeping with members in his platoon. It didn't sit well with him. Documented cases states Albert ignited fires throughout the camp. Ultimately, his antics caused his disciplinary discharge.

Since his discharge, Albert has been working odd jobs in different cities. However, just like his love life, he's unable to keep anything steady. He writes about getting fired or laid off in a months' time. He's developed a heavy alcohol and heroin addiction that he is unable to curb. Often he arrives to work late and intoxicated. He also writes about being abusive to women.

Using his journal entries, Detective Wu was able to locate a female that Albert assaulted a few years ago. At first she didn't want to relive the account and made attempts to deny it. Detective Wu pleaded with her: "That man that raped you is now killing teenage girls. You're a key to helping me catch him." The female eventually conceded.

She told Detective Wu Albert used to hang around local high schools offering girls a ride home in his wood paneled station wagon. Her parents warned her to stay away from him. One Friday evening, after an exhausting three hours of cheerleading practice, she reluctantly took him up on his offer. She recalled "Before closing the door to his car, he sped off." Minutes into the drive, he adjusted the rearview mirror so he could gaze at her in the passenger seat. She kept noticing Albert's eerie blue eyes peering at her. "It's like his eyes are burned into my memory. That's all I kept seeing. Those... dark... blue eyes." She started reconsidering the offer for the ride home.

"You can drop me off here. I need to run to the store." She directed.

"I'll take you to the store," Albert responded.

Albert suddenly became bold, reached over and fondled her exposed thigh from her skimpy cheerleading uniform. She screamed and smacked his wrist away. Albert felt disrespected. "You thought this ride was gonna be for free?" Albert barked then clenched onto her inner thigh while still navigating through traffic. She struggled to pull away from him but his hold was too firm. She began jabbing him in the mouth. Albert caught her wrist and held onto it as he drove into the alley behind his apartment building. "Then it just happened so fast. I tried to open the door and run but he wrapped his arms around my neck and stomach and carried me over the front seat into the back. He got on top of me and he... He... He ripped my shorts and underwear off and he... He kept calling me 'Lauren' the entire time..."

When it was over, Albert released her and she fled home. In Albert's journal he said it was the first time he has ever raped a female. He was nervous and regretted not killing her. He thought she was going to notify the police. However, officers never came to his door. She disclosed to Detective Wu that she was too embarrassed to tell anyone she was assaulted by him. "My parents warned me not to get into his car. I couldn't tell them what he did to me."

It's closing in on a year since Albert's last homicide. Although he still hasn't been captured, it seems the citizens have begun to put Albert behind them. Steadily the nailed wooden panels are coming off the boarded up nightclubs. Diners are staying open into the late night hours once again. Police patrols are lessening and the ladies of the evening have re-taken their posts in the back alleys and motel fronts. There are no more talks about the "Harlot Murderer" in the bars, barbershops or street corners. Downtown is returning to its old ways.

A couple of weeks ago, while scouring the city for Albert's whereabouts, I was able to get a lead on another homicide. A mother, who lost her only daughter to the "Harlot Murderer," was about to lose her husband as well. His name's Ludlow and he was accused of a homicide. However, word on the street is he didn't commit the crime. It was a set up. It's my fault her daughter was killed. If I had just called the police that night, Albert wouldn't have gotten this far. I can't bring her daughter back but I could at least try to prove her husband's innocence.

The apartment where the homicide occurred was still taped off with crime scene tape. Tampering with the locked door would draw too much attention from the prying eyes that live on this floor. However, after scaling down the fire escape I noticed a rear window was left slightly open. It didn't take much to hoist it up and gain entry to the railroad-style apartment.

The killer was callous and cold-blooded. Detective Wu informed me the victim was killed from blunt force trauma. A metal baseball bat and a soapy rag were found in the living room where the body was. I can't even find a square foot on the walls, ceiling or carpet that doesn't have blood splatter on it. Even her furniture was stained with it. The glass coffee table was shattered and her sofas were flipped onto its back. Her bookshelves, television and house plants were knocked over. Several people have told me Ludlow didn't have the "Balls" to pull off something like this.

In the center of the room is a chalk outline of the victim. It appears to be of a small lady. This wasn't warranted. It was a cowardly act. She probably couldn't even put up a worthy fight. While surveying the scene I suddenly noticed something that would've been overlooked by the canniest detective: a button. I kneeled down for a closer look. I've seen it before. It was a distinct button with a gold star on it. A routine patron named Bailey used to bring in his Italian-made silk shirts to the dry cleaners when I worked there. I only remembered them because Bailey was extremely bullheaded about his shirts. Many of his shirts had this same button stitched into them.

I was betting on Bailey still living in the apartment building a few blocks from the dry cleaners. I've picked up and delivered his dry cleaning to him every so often. Unfortunately, his cherry red '76 Stingray isn't parked out front. However, from the rooftop on an adjacent building, I did notice the silhouette of a busty female pacing back and forth by a back window inside his apartment.

While delivering dry cleaning to patrons one afternoon, I bumped into Bailey in the lobby of his building. He was retrieving his mail. Instead of taking his dry cleaning from me there, he made me follow him upstairs to his apartment. He retrieved a key from the top of his door frame and unlocked his door with it. I felt for the key on the door frame. It's still there.

His apartment is immaculate. The hardwood flooring in his living room and hallway is pristine. The colors of his modern-style furniture go well with the oil paintings hung on his walls. It's showroom worthy. I'd expect this from Bailey. He comes off as an obsessive-compulsive person.

There was a racy pink tie-back halter top and a white mini-skirt on the floor in the bedroom. The shower was running and I overheard the mellow voice of a female singing from within. I went into Bailey's closet and sifted through his gold ancient tile patterned silk shirts. There were several and I was hoping to find the one with the missing button.

Suddenly I got an earful of the grating squeal from the shower knob being turned and the water stopped running. The female is going to come out any second. There was no time to dawdle. I had to move with haste. Just as I finished going through his shirts, I noticed a stuffed black garbage bag sticking out from underneath Bailey's bed. I fetched the bag out and sifted through it. There was a pair of jeans with a good amount of blood staining it. There was also a silk Italian-made shirt inside and a white knitted ski mask that also had blood splatter. Black buttons with a painted gold star was stitched into the shirt. A button, right on the chest, was missing. Bailey has adulation for his Italian-made shirts. I didn't think he'd wear one to commit this heinous homicide. He probably didn't have much time to prepare for the brutal murder he committed.

Just then, a cellphone began to chime inside the bathroom. The female answered it:

"Hello... Hey how's it goin'?... Nah, I just took a shower... Yeah, I'm gonna be dancing tonight at Lacy's... No, Bailey isn't here... I can talk to you... No, he went to Sterling's Pool Hall with two of his buddies..."

The bathroom door knob began to turn. I set the bag back underneath the bed then scaled out of the bedroom window just as she stepped out. I descended down the fire escape, made my way into the alley and fled into the night.

Sterling's Pool Hall is located on the top floor of a narrow three story brick building on Ninth Street. There is a vertical neon sign fixed to the side of the building with its name illuminated in red. Bailey parked his Stingray in an alleyway besides the pool hall. For the past hour I've been watching him down six beers. He's accompanied by two other companions. They too have been drinking liquor.

Another hour has past and the owner just informed the fellas the hall is closing. Bailey and his friends finished their last round of pool and beers then headed towards the exit. The three stood out front and engaged in a brief befuddling conversation. Then the guys high-five'd each other and parted ways. Bailey staggered to his car parked in the alleyway.

"Bailey, we need to talk." I growled as he stood by his car fumbling his keys.

"What the... Who... Da fucks are you?" He stammered. He's highly inebriated.

"Why'd you set him up?"

"Set him up? I dunno whatcha talkin'bout."

"Ludlow."

"Ludlow?" He inquired.

"Yeah Ludlow. Why'd you set him up?

"I dunno know whatcha talkin'bout. Who da fucks Ludlow?" He muttered then turned back towards his car.

He's not in any condition to interrogate nor is he in any condition to drive. I have to coerce him to confess. Just as he retrieved his keys off the ground, I clenched the back of his neck and hammered his head into his car roof. Bailey faltered onto the concrete. "Hey man, whatchu doin'?" He cried while aggressively stroking his forehead. "Ludlow! Why'd you set him up?" I barked. Bailey ignored my inquiries and began to crawl away. I pelted his right rib with a vigorous kick. He belted out an agonizing moan then began to hurl.

"Geezus man, I'm drunk. Please... Don't hit me..." Bailey pleaded while rolling onto his back and wiping the vomit from his mouth. His cries fell on deaf ears. I snatched him up by his shirt then slammed him against the rear fender of his Stingray. I then began pelting him in the left cheek with several right hooks.

"Please stop... Please...!" Bailey persisted to plea. He hoisted up his arms to cushion the blows.

"Why'd you set up Ludlow?" I growled.

"I... I... I..." He stammered. I continued whaling on him. "Okay... Okay... I was told to... By the boss..."

"What boss?"

"My boss... Quinnclay. He called me and told me to beat this lady. He said 'Kill her and hurry!' I don't ask questions, I did what I was told. I heard later on Quinnclay set up Ludlow to take da fall for it." He cried.

"Why Ludlow?"

"Cause man, he's soft. Why not him?"

"Why the lady?" I inquired.

"I dunno. Quinnclay said she owed him some money but she didn't look like a junkie to me. She was too clean. She was probably some girlfriend two-timing him."

"A detective will be here shortly. Tell her exactly what you just told me."

"I... C'mon... I can't go back to jail!" Bailey blurted. He then slumped his head over his chest.

Minutes later a maroon colored Crown Victoria raced into the alley. It sent a puddle of water into the air. The red dashboard strobe light announced the detective's arrival. Detective Wu pulled in front of Bailey's '76 Stingray. She bustled out of the car and rushed towards us.

"What did you do to him?" Detective Wu inquired while squirming at his bruises.

"Tell her!" I growled. Bailey glanced at me for a second then reluctantly confessed to the homicide. I also informed her about the distinct button left on the crime scene and how it came back to Bailey's Italian-made silk shirts. The detective jotted down the inkling then radioed for an ambulance and a transport wagon to respond.

"Geezus Legend, did you really have to rough him up like that?" She inquired.

"He wouldn't talk."

"Well next time just give me the lead. I have ways of making people like him talk. Legally! Get out of here before my back up arrives. I'll come up with a story to explain this."

Detective Wu placed Bailey on a forty eight hour hold. She returned to the crime scene with forensic officers and recovered the button. It was then taken to the analysis lab. Remarkably, they were able to recover contact trace DNA belonging to Bailey. It gave the detective enough probable cause to get an emergency search warrant signed off by the Superior Court judge. The Capitol City SWAT team raided Bailey's apartment and the black garbage bag was found underneath Bailey's bed. The blood on Bailey's Italian-made silk shirt came back to the victim. Bailey was charged with the homicide and Ludlow was released from jail.

A vintage '80s yellow Checker Cab pulled up to Ludlow's apartment. A middle-aged male wearing a green knitted beanie and matching sweater paid his fare then stepped out of the rear passenger side door. It's approaching the midnight hour and the rain has begun to fall. He treaded towards the front door to the building.

"Ludlow!" I growled as he made his way up the front steps.

"Oh... It's... You!" He stammered after pivoting around and noticing the dark caped figure with flaming red eyes standing before him. "I... I heard what you did..."

"You were just given a second chance at life. Make it count!"

"Yessir... Yessir I will." He replied. I turned around and began to head down the street. "Legend... Before you go... Can I ask you a question?" Ludlow barked.

"What?" I growled while slightly pivoting back towards him.

"Why... Why'd you help me?"

"It was your wife Ludlow. She's suffered enough already." I growled then sprinted towards an alley across the street and disappeared into the night.

The headline on the morning's paper stunned the city; "Harlot Murderer STRIKES AGAIN!" The article read: "...The victim was only nineteen. Her body was found in the same alley a previous victim was left in. Sources told us she had contusions on the left side of her face... One of her molars was knocked loose... Defensive wounds were found on her forearms... A single gunshot wound was found to the chest... Abrasions consistent with a sexual assault... All signs leading to one thing; Albert's back!"

A note found on the scene was published in the article:

"It's been a long time since I had the urge to meet with you again. I know you missed me. Don't worry, I plan on sticking around for a long time. Remember this alley? Lightning can strike in the same place twice. But don't you see, it's fate. I'm supposed to turn society into a madhouse. If I wasn't I would've been caught by now. See you at the next one."

Albert's wood paneled station wagon was found in an alley behind a condemned downtown high-rise apartment building. Officers and the fire department responded to a call for a burning car. When the fire was put out, officers realized it was Albert's 1982 Ford Country Squire. The entire city was on the lookout for his distinct vehicle. It seems Albert decided to get rid of it.

For several nights I watched the ladies of the evening post up on the city blocks at dusk. I watched them bustle in and out of cars. I watch them get compensated for performing sexual acts on complete strangers. Some were as young as sixteen. I couldn't help but to think, "What could possible make someone adopt this lifestyle?"

It wasn't just the usual Tom and Jake that pulled these ladies either. Politicians, lawyers, doctors, judges and off-duty police officers also steered into the block. Albert, however, was the objective. There were no leads and the clock was ticking before another lady was going to lose her life.

Suddenly, just when I thought I hit a dead end, a familiar face escorted two prostitutes into an alley; the clerk from the Meridian Motel. It was a shot in the dark but I had to give it a try. The judge put a stay away order on me. I can't be within a hundred feet of him or I'll be violating my probation. I'm betting on him not being able to recognize me with my cloak and mask.

His head rested against a brick wall while the ladies were unclothing him with their teeth. He had a broad grin on his face. They were both fondling his groin area while his hands rested around their waists. "Mindy and Cindy, my favorite twins..." He moaned.

"We need to talk." I growled while revealing myself from the dark alley.

"Woah! Who... Wh... Who are you?" The clerk stammered. The twins were startled. They briskly spun around and caught sight of the dark caped figure with flaming red eyes standing before them. They nonchalantly backed away from the clerk.

"Ladies, you mind leaving us alone." I growled.

"Shh... Sure!" One of the twins stammered. "Hey sweetie... We'll catcha later, all right hun. You seem to have your hands full right now."

"No... No wait!" He begged. They ignored his pleas and trotted into the alley in their high heeled stilettos.

"Have you heard about the 'Harlot Murderer'?"

"I... Yeah... Everyone has." He muttered.

"You know anything about it?"

"I... How would I know?"

"I'm just asking."

"I... Maybe... I heard some dame talkin' in a bar the other night. She said something about how she was with the last victim before she was killed. She got a glimpse of the John that picked up the floozy. She said he resembled the Harlot Murderer but since he hasn't killed anyone in about a year, she didn't pay it too much mind. She did jot down his license plate number on her forearm with lipstick just in case but she's afraid to go to the cops. Her boyfriend was just locked up for murder so she isn't too fond of them right now. That's all I know."

"Who was she?"

"I dunno man. I wasn't really paying attention. She had pink pigtails. That's all I know. Pink pigtails. You ruined my night you know that."

"That's all you got for me?"

"Yeah man, that's all."

After an hour of knocking heads together, I found out the prostitute with the pink pigtails went by the handle "Cotton Candy." She's a waitress by day and strips part time at Lacy's Gentlemen's Club after hours. She's also a seasoned prostitute and she's pretty popular with the Johns.

It's minutes to four in the morning. Lacy's just let out for the night. Patrons dressed in tuxedos sauntered out of the narrow three floor brick building just as the elevated train rumbled over them. Valet scrambled to get the high-priced luxury cars from the rear alley to the red carpet entrance. The freshly waxed vehicles reflected the red neon lights from the vertical sign fixed to the front of the establishment. The only time you'll see people from Uptown in this neighborhood is when they come to some sleazy hole like Lacy's.

Cotton Candy, sporting a racy schoolgirl uniform, and a husky male, wearing a lime green polyester suit, stepped into the rear alley for a cigarette smoke. The floodlight above the rear door gave some visibility in the dark alley.

"You know Candy, next weekend I'm hosting a big poker game at my club. A lot of money is gonna be comin' in. You're one of the popular dancers. I'd hate for you to not be there." The husky male muttered while holding the butt end of the cigarette with the corner of his lips.

"Why wouldn't I be there?" Cotton Candy asked while exhaling a stream of cigarette smoke.

"I heard about your side gig. I hear you're real good at it too."

"And..."

"I wanna sample."

"Your wife is inside." Cotton Candy said while pointing towards the back door.

"She's countin' money. She's gonna be a while."

"Lacy, this isn't like you. You're like a father to me."

"Yeah, you're right. Maybe it's the alcohol. But the proposition still stands."

"Lacy, I can't. Not with you. Your wife has been good to me." Cotton Candy pleaded.

"Then you're fired."

"What?"

"You heard me."

"You can't do that to me Lacy."

"Yeah I can."

"Lacy, I need the money."

"Then let's take a quick walk behind the dumpster."

"...Okay." Cotton Candy reluctantly uttered.

"I have a better proposition. How about you take a hike and let me have a word with the girl?" I growled while sauntering out of the dark alley and revealing myself.

"Who da fuck is dis costume clown?" Lacy barked while snatching the cigarette from his lips with his left index and middle finger.

"Leave..." I reiterated.

"I ain't goin' nowhere pal!" Lacy responded. He sifted in his inner blazer pocket and retrieved a vintage shaving blade. He unfurled it and clenched it in his right hand.

Lacy tossed the cigarette to the ground, hoisted the blade over his right shoulder and approached me. "C'mon tough guy!" He urged while gesturing me to fight him. He cautiously inched towards me while sizing me up. Then, without warning, Lacy darted in my direction and swung his blade at my face. I caught his wrist in mid-strike, spun around and launched him over my shoulder in a swift judo move. Lacy was hammered onto the concrete alleyway. After a lengthened groan, he struggled onto his knee. Before he could get back to his feet, I pelted him in the face with a fierce roundhouse kick. He was knocked out cold and collapsed onto the ground. He lied sprawled on his back.

"What are you doing? He's gonna fire me!" Cotton Candy hollered. She trotted towards the husky male in her stiletto heels. She kneeled over him and caressed his face as it began to swell up.

"No he won't. You're too valuable to him. I need your help." I growled.

"I know you. You beat that guy up in the bathroom at The Shack years ago. I'll never forget those eyes. I heard you roughed up a friend of mine too. Bailey." She uttered with her back towards me. She continued to tend to Lacy.

"They had it coming."

"You gonna rough me up too?"

"I just want to talk. Word is you ran into the Harlot Murderer?"

"How'd you... I... I don't..." She stammered. She stopped tending to Lacy and pivoted back towards me.

"I'm not a cop."

"But you work for them."

"I just want to know his license plate number."

"I..."

"Help me get this guy off the street. You don't want blood on your hands. It's not a good feeling. Trust me, I know."

"Promise me I'll never hear anything about this if I tell you."

"You'll never see me again."

"It's... It's jay-pee-six-nine-one-zero. He was driving this large sedan. A dark color. Maybe black. It was one of those old cars. You know, from like the seventies with the huge trunk and hood. Are you going to catch the Harlot Murderer? He has a lot of us ladies worried."

"I'm going to try. And with the lifestyle you live, the 'Harlot Murderer' should be the least of your worries." I growled then fled down the alley and absconded into the night.

I ran the license plate number by Detective Wu. "I could lose my job for this. This is violating someone's right to privacy. So do me a favor and don't do anything crazy, you copy? The tag number came back to Mark Fitchett. He's lives over on 4th Street. Eight sixty four, apartment eight. If you find anything, give me a call."

"... Mark Fitchett..." That was the name Detective Wu got from the license plate number. Either the floozy was wrong or Albert is borrowing a friend's car. Nonetheless, it's worth looking into.

On the ensuing night, I watched the apartment windows for an hour. The blinds are tattered. All of the lights are off. There wasn't even scintillation from a television screen. None of the cars parked out front had the license plate number I'd gotten. I'm guessing no one's home. I couldn't help but to think Albert might be out pursuing another victim. It was unsettling. I gave the detective my word I wouldn't do anything crazy but another teen's life could be in peril.

A loose brick was being used as a door stop on the roof. A scraggly looking shirtless male, with unkempt blonde locks and ripped jeans stood by the door taking in a marijuana cigar.

"Damn, this is good stuff bro. I didn't even smoke half and I'm seeing things already." He uttered as I walked past him into the building.

Albert must fancy these run-down buildings. The conditions in this one is just as bad as his last. After treading past the empty alcohol bottles and beer cans, I came upon the listed apartment. The door was locked, expectedly, but I jimmied it open with my pocket knife. I caught the foul stench immediately. After feeling for a light switch I noticed his filthy habits haven't changed. Empty takeout food containers were discarded on the kitchen counters and in the sink.

While sifting through the countless prescription pill bottles in the kitchen cabinet, I heard muffled moaning coming from a back room. I followed the sound down the apartment's lengthy dark hallway to a bedroom. I felt for another light switch and flipped it on. There were vile inscriptions scribbled on the white walls and ceiling just like Albert's previous apartment. It was written in the same bold and jagged handwriting.

The moaning continued and it appeared to be coming from a closet. Suddenly, there was a gentle tap coming from within the door. I approached it and tactfully pulled it open. A husky elderly male, bound and gagged with duct tape, was wedged inside. He was wearing a dingy white tank top, light blue pin stripped boxers and knee high argyle dress socks. Before I could peel the tape off his mouth, I caught the sound of a hammer on a revolver cocking back. I turned around just in time to catch the barrel of a vintage black snub nose revolver pointed right at me. I thought Albert wasn't home. I sprang behind his bed a half a second before he let off three shots. He then darted out of the bedroom.

Albert fled out of the apartment and down the hallway stairs. His trench coat flailed behind him. Prying eyes peeked out of their apartments after hearing the gunshots. Albert ducked out a back door. He exited into an unlit narrow alley behind the apartment building and ran for a few yards before starting to pant heavily. His pace steadily slowed down until he came to a stop. He leaned against a brick wall while vigorously stroking his chest. His complexion reddened. He began to hunch over and coughed harshly. Seconds later he glanced back towards the apartment building then started to sluggishly pace down the alley. He was still hunched over and continued caressing his chest.

The debilitating fire escape gave away my whereabouts. After hearing the grating squeal, Albert glanced up and noticed me twenty feet above him. He fired three more shots and attempted to flee. All three rounds ricocheted off the steel apparatus. I calculated his pace then leaped off the fire escape and tackled him onto the ground. He lost his hold on the revolver and it skipped several feet along the concrete alleyway. "It's over!" I growled after swiftly getting back onto my feet.

Albert enduringly rolled onto his back. A stream of blood rushed from his forehead down the center of his face. It began to stain his full white beard. He continued to stroke his chest and his panting worsened. Albert struggled to get onto his feet. "Stay down! You need help." I implored. However, my plea fell on deaf ears. Albert lunged towards me and pitched a languid uppercut at my face. I weaved past his lazy punch. He persisted with another sluggish right hook. I ducked underneath the punch then clenched him around his waist. In a swift judo move, I used his momentum to heave him over my back. Albert plummeted onto the concrete ground behind me and hollered in agony. He rolled to his side and attempt to stand a second time but faltered back onto the ground as his head collided into a dumpster.

"It's over Albert, stay down!" I growled.

"It's never over. Go ahead and lock me up, someone else will continue right where I left off. You fool! This contrariwise society brainwashes people like you. You're so lost. I'm not the one you want. I'm just the product of the tormentors. I'm innocent! It's the very people you're protecting that made me. They made the 'Harlot Murderer.' I'm the victim, not them! I was the one being bullied. I'm the one with the wretched memories..."

"We've all been victims Albert. We all have wretched memories. Not just you."

Detective Wu raced through the narrow alley in her unmarked Crown Victoria. The squad car toppled over metal garbage cans and the wheels sent puddles of water several feet into the air. She stopped abruptly just before Albert. The headlights illuminated him. He was lying on his back and his bulking potbelly rapidly rose and set as if he couldn't get enough air into his lungs. Detective Wu bustled out of the unmarked with her service weapon drawn. She sauntered towards Albert, holstered her pistol then handcuffed his wrists behind him. She suddenly noticed his vintage black snub nose revolver on the ground several feet away. The detective retrieved her radio from inside her blazer and requested a transport wagon and an ambulance. "I don't need a doctor. I've been seeing them my whole life and look at me... I'm still sick." Albert hollered.

On the following morning, the once unsettled citizens of Capitol City have been put at ease. "Harlot Murderer Caught But Dies Hours Later From Massive Heart Attack," fronted the cover page of the daily paper. Albert sat behind bars for three hours before suffering from a violent cardiac arrest. Detective Wu told me the station officers heard "Bloodthirsty" cries coming from his cell. They found Albert lying on his back, clenching his chest and screaming vehemently. "They said his face was as red as a tomato." She informed me. His eyes were bloodshot and the protruding veins on his forehead and neck were throbbing. Seconds later he was still with no signs of life.

A sole person attended Albert's funeral. An enigmatic male that wore a black Mandarin tuxedo stood over Albert's casket, in Lincoln Cemetery, as it was lowered into the grave. The ceremony took place in the midst of a storm but the man didn't use an umbrella.

Afterwards journalists attempted to get a word from the male but he refused to comment. He jostled past them ignoring all inquiries. He had a deadpan facial expression; not a tear nor a smile. His driver opened the rear passenger door to his custom black Bentley Continental limousine as photographers snapped photos of him. There are various rumors around the mysterious male. Some say he's an admirer. Others say Albert killed someone close to him and he wanted to be certain Albert was dead.

"Thanks to you my officials are finally off my back." Detective Wu uttered as we stood in the dark alley a few blocks from her station. Her umbrella sheltered her from the thunderstorm.

"You're welcome."

"Three outta three huh? This is the third homicide you closed and you're batting a hundred. You seem to be gettin' good at it. I was thinking maybe we can extend our partnership?"

"I'll keep my phone on detective." I growled then sauntered away into the dark alley and disappeared into the night.
"And from ashes a Phoenix shall rise..."

Prelude

"Red! I knew you'd show your face again." Tiago, the six foot six, four hundred pound former Brazilian professional fighter uttered in a heavy accent. He caught Red trying to skulk through the back door to his own high-rise apartment building. Tiago waited for Red in the unlit rear alley after getting word that he was still in town. Red timidly pivoted around and gawked at the boss' newly hired muscle. Red, who is much smaller than the average size male, was greatly intimidated. He knew why Tiago was sent. Red discreetly sifted into his black leather blazer hoping he'd come upon a forgotten weapon in his pockets; specifically a pistol but he'd settle for a small knife or razor. However, there wasn't any.

"Oh, Tiago... It's you." Red muttered while fumbling his keys to the back door of his building.

"Why are you using the rear entrance? You're not trying to hide from me, are you?"

"No... Not... Not at all." Red stammered.

"You know, I bumped into your friend. What's his name? With the red eyes, black mask and cape?" Tiago tried recalling while snapping his fingers.

"You mean... The Legend."

"Yeah him! He was a brave man. Pity!"

"You... You killed him?" Red inquired.

"May he rest in peace." Tiago uttered while forming the sign of the cross with his right hand. Red's eyes widened and he began to gasp. "You know, the boss thinks you've been short changing him." Tiago disclosed while sauntering towards Red.

"I... I... I..."

"The boss says he wants his fifty grand."

"Fifty grand? What if I can't pay it?" Red inquired.

"Oh you'll pay it. The boss says fifty grand is also how much your life is worth."

Red leisurely backed into the rear door, reached behind him and tried the knob. It wouldn't budge. He peered at the ground, contemplating on a way out of his dilemma. He started to regret not taking The Legend's advice to skip town. Suddenly, Red attempted to make a mad dash towards the street. Without warning, he darted from Tiago. However, the former fighter was agile for his size. He snatched the back of Red's blazer before he could take his third step. Tiago effortlessly hoisted the five foot seven, one hundred and forty pound hustler off the ground and pitch him back into the locked door. Before Red could regain his composure, Tiago clenched the back of his head with both hands and pelted him with a vigorous Muay Tai leaping knee strike into the ribs. Red buckled over. Tiago caught him by the neck, with his left hand, before Red collapsed onto the ground. He then hammered Red into the steel door. Tiago aggressively began pelting him in the face and body while persisting to strangle him with his left hand. Tiago's onslaught continued until Red lost conscious. Tiago released his hold and Red plummeted onto the ground. Tiago rolled Red onto his back with his combat boots. He then finished Red off by stomping onto his chest until it caved in.

"Congratulations. Your debt has been cleared."

"Say babe, can I talk to you?" Sammy rapped while pacing behind the newly hired receptionist. She figured cutting through an alley with the burdensome bags of groceries would shorten her walk home. Her close-fitting skirt and business jacket outlined her model-like frame. She couldn't be more than thirty five years old.

"I need to get home." She skittishly responded in an apprehensive tone. She barely turned around but increased her pace. Sammy looks intimidating standing at six feet tall and weighing one ninety. His head is cleanly shaved and there is a raised scar against his dark complected skin that stretches on his neck from ear to ear. The torn-off sleeves on his stonewashed denim jacket reveal his brawny arms.

"Don't be so hasty lady. I just wanna talk."

"I don't have time. My husband is waiting for me."

"Now you're being rude. You look put together like you came from a good family. I know your parents taught you manners." Sammy was embittered. At that moment he yanked the back of her dress jacket and stopped her from walking. He reached around her and pressed the barrel end of his black 1955 Smith and Wesson .45 caliber revolver into her chin. "Don't scream baby."

"What do you want?" She pleaded while accumulated tears began rolling down her made up face.

"I just want a second of your time. Not too much, I don't want your husband to worry about you. Go ahead and slip off your skirt." Sammy whispered in her ear.

"Please don't. I have money..."

"Oh, I'm going to take that too when we're done. Now drop your skirt!" Sammy directed with hostility as his patience was wearing thin.

While Sammy's hold on her persisted, she freed her hands of the groceries and reluctantly unbuttoned then lowered her skirt as tears continued to drift down her distressed face. A demented smirk spawned on Sammy's lips as he glanced down at her legs. The distraction furnished me the split second I needed to crash the perverts' party.

I vaulted off the fire escape into the poorly lit alley. Sammy heard the grating squeal from the rusty apparatus. He glanced up in time to catch the dark figure swiftly descending from the black sky. He was met by my blunt drop kick. Sammy violently plummeted into a metal dumpster. The hollow steel made an emphatic banging sound. "Get your groceries and leave." I instructed her while peering at Sammy. Soon the sound of rustling plastic bags and frantic footsteps faded into the distance.

"Legend! Get back! I'll kill'ya!" He blurted while hoisting up his right hand and aiming his revolver at me. I caught wind that he kept his forty five dry since his mishap. I dynamically paced towards him calling his bluff.

The closer I got the more the pistol quivered in his hand until he finally dropped it. I bent over, clenched his denim jacket and pulled him off the ground. "Please... I didn't mean to shoot that girl. I got a little excited and I had a few beers that night. The gun just went off! Don't take me in. I'm really not a bad guy!" Sammy pleaded. Without showing any warning, I pummeled him with a wicked elbow across the side of his head. Sammy's comatose body collapsed onto the ground. "Detective, you can find your homicide suspect in the alley on Senate Drive and 12th Street." I informed Detective Wu. I slapped my cellphone shut then sauntered into the alley and disappeared into the night.

Today marks five years since the "Harlot Murderer's" last victim was killed. I helped Detective Wu close over three hundred homicides since; even a handful of cold cases. Legend's reputation has disseminated to every downtown street corner. Wanted murder suspects steadily glance over their shoulders for the shadowy caped figure. They know they are no longer safe.

During those five years I've been shot four times and stabbed nine. Those encounters have taught me to make better judgments. They taught me to calculate every move and survey scenes thoroughly before entering. Most importantly, it taught me that even the smallest opponents can inflict life threatening injuries.

The detective sent me a text message wanting to meet in the usual alley a few blocks from her station. I was just minutes away. I arrived just in time to catch her maroon '95 Crown Victoria pull in. The unforgiving rain pelted her vehicle. The windshield wiper blades oscillated rapidly. She left the car running and opened the driver side door. A ladies black walking umbrella unfurled as she stepped out underneath it.

"I've never seen anything like this." Detective Wu disclosed while fixing the umbrella stem in-between her left shoulder and neck. She retrieved a manila envelope containing crime scene photographs from inside her blazer. She then hoisted her umbrella back up and I began sifting through the photos while standing underneath it. The sound of rodents rifling in a nearby pile of garbage bags caused the detective to cringe. "Ugh, I hate rats." She uttered.

The victim was a husky male, probably fifty years old. His white tank top was torn and dingy. It appeared as if he'd been in a brawl. He was seated on the aged hardwood floor in an apartment and his back was propped up against a wall. His head was hunched over his chest and there were hemorrhages throughout his body. A packed suitcase was found in the center of the room.

A neighbor informed Detective Wu he heard a homicidal commotion from the apartment a week ago. When it was over he glanced out of his peephole and noticed a burly male fleeing out the front door. "The witness described the suspect as 'Six foot six, and easily four hundred pounds.' He said the suspect was solid muscle, Like a rock!' The lower half of his face was covered with some type of skull bandana mask." Detective Wu quoted from her notepad. "No stab wounds or gunshot wounds. Just blunt trauma throughout his body." She added.

"I'll see what I can find detective."

It's now ten o'clock in the evening. The storm is persistent. Sal, the bartender, normally lights a Cuban at this time in the alley behind the "Lucky Clover Bar." I decided drop in on him. He overhears conversations between local hustlers while he serves them at the counter. He's been helpful in the past. I'm betting on him being of some use now.

"Geezus! You scared me. Maybe you should start wearing cowbells around your neck. You appearing out of thin air isn't good for my health." Sal uttered after he caught sight of me emerging from the dark alley.

"Neither are those Cubans."

"Yeah well, they make me happy. Everyone could use some joy in this part of town."

"You heard about the guy beaten to death over on 19th."

"I had a feelin' that's what your visit is about. I heard his name was 'Rawlins.' He was a local gambling junkie. They said Rawlins lost a lot of money from off track betting and couldn't pay his rent. The Downtown Fallen Saints sharked him a couple thousands but the poor guy was unable to pay them back in time. Rawlins was trying to split town but the gang caught wind of it. Sent Tiago to kill'em."

"Tiago?"

"Yeah, Tiago. You haven't heard of him? The other day I heard this guy that runs with the Downtown Fallen Saints saying sum'tin bout they hired this contract killer from Brazil. They say his name is Tiago. Now if it's the same Tiago 'Night, Night' Neves that's been in the news last year then he's gonna be a problem. You remember, that Brazilian mixed martial artist. He started taking that experimental steroid 'Teston-50' after being on that eight fight losing streak. His slump suddenly ended and soon Tiago soared to the top ranks. Officials started questioning his sudden hulking physique. That random drug test exploited him and he was disqualified from competing. Word is Tiago developed an addiction to the steroid and he's still using it even though he's banned from fighting. Tiago became desperate for money and started working as hired muscle for local Brazilian mobs. If that's the same Tiago, it looks like he made his way to the states. Be careful with this one Legend." Sal conveyed.

"You got anything else for me Sal?" I inquired.

"Nope. That's all I got big guy."

Stick up boys that run with the Fallen Saints tend to post up by the subway station on Congress Avenue to wait for an unsuspecting victim to rob. It was a long shot, but I was hoping they'd be out tonight. If I could put them through the wringer I might be able to get at least one to squeal.

"I don't know about this Harding. The cops have been patrolling heavily 'round here. This might be a bad idea." One of the gang members mumbled to the other. Both are sporting the customary black leather vests but only one has "Fallen Saints" spray painted on the back. The other was left blank. Black balaclava ski masks were rolled up on top of their heads. They're waiting in the narrow alleyway across the street from the Congress Avenue subway station. Every few seconds they peek from behind the corner searching for an easy score.

"Shut up Roscoe! Only one squad car has come by in the past hour. Do you wanna join the gang or be a prospect for the rest of your life? We'll jump the first guy that comes out, take his wallet and split. I've done this hundreds of times. Trust me. After tonight you'll be officially initiated into the Fallen Saints."

"Ahhh... All right... Harding." He reluctantly responded.

Roscoe, the timid one, was my best bet. Harding seemed seasoned and would be harder to crack open. I'm going to have to take him out first and use him to intimidate Roscoe.

Suddenly a middle-aged male sporting a business suit bustled up the steps of the subway station with his briefcase held above his head. He began treading through the rain towards the alley where the two gang members were discreetly waiting.

"Here we go! This guy looks like he's got money!" Harding blurted while yanking his ski mask over his face.

"Not tonight!" I growled. The Fallen Saints were so preoccupied by the middle-aged male they didn't even catch the ambush. I made my way right behind the two without being noticed. Harding lurched then spun around just in time to catch a right hook into his jaw. I followed with a left uppercut into his chest. He buckled over while gasping for air. He then plummeted onto the ground.

"Oh my lawd!" The middle-aged male uttered as he stepped into the alley just in time to witness Harding get pommeled.

"Find another way home. And stay away from dark alleys." I growled.

"Yeee... Yessir!" He nodded then fled towards the street.

Roscoe stood there quivering. His eyes widened as I approached him. He then snatched the ski mask from on top his head, faltered to his knees and clenched his hands together.

"Please, don't hurt me!" Roscoe pleaded.

"Where's Tiago?"

"Who?"

"The guy that killed Rawlins."

"Rawlins... Oh the gamblin' junkie... That guy?"

"Yeah him. Where is he?"

"I don't..."

"Think wisely before you answer my question." I advised him while cracking my knuckles.

"I... I... Don't know where he is. Seriously! But I heard this hustler has been coming up short on his drug sales. The boss thinks he's stealing money. He's put a hit out on him."

"Who's the hustler?" I growled.

"They call him 'Red.' He lives in the high-rise apartment building by the river on Presidential Drive."

"You better not be lying to me Roscoe. I'll find you again and my next visit won't be so cordial." I growled. I then fled deeper into the dark alley and disappeared into the night.

Roscoe came through. I managed to get to "Red" before the hit was carried out. I see why he was given the handle "Red"; he's a fair-complexioned scrawny male with a heavy rust colored beard. He verified the story and admitted to pocketing some of the profits he made from selling the boss' drugs. "I stand on the corner for hours every night and all I get is nickel and dimes. With all the money the boss is making, I didn't think he'd notice." Red disclosed. He was right, the boss probably wouldn't have noticed if Red hadn't bought a $60,000 Mercedes sports car. Along with picking up floozies and throwing money away at the nightclubs, he practically announced to everyone he was swindling his boss. I informed him of the bounty on his head and told him to leave town. He packed a few things into a duffel bag then headed out of his apartment.

Moments later, the front door to 'Red's' run-down riverfront apartment was pounded on. "OPEN UP!" A male's voice barked in a deep Brazilian accent. No one responded to the door. "OPEN THE DOOR!" He continued. There was still no answer. The banging persisted until the door was suddenly knocked off of its hinges. It toppled to the unfurnished living room floor.

"Tiago!" I growled after he rushed into the apartment. The modest sized living room made him seem even more colossal. He wore a fitted black t-shirt that outlined his massive pectorals, biceps and triceps. The lower half of his face was concealed by a skull bandana mask. The myriad of tattoos on his broad neck stretched down to his tree trunk resembling forearms. The rumors about his build were spot-on.

"And you must be The Legend. Your reputation precedes you." Tiago uttered in his deep Brazilian accent.

"Did you kill Rawlins?"

"I've killed many people. I don't bother keeping a list."

"I'm bringing you in." I growled.

"I highly doubt you'd be able to. Please, my friend, this doesn't concern you. I strongly recommend you stay outta my way."

"That's not going to happen."

"Well then, don't say I didn't warn you." Tiago advised.

Tiago suddenly charged towards me. He advanced swiftly for his size and each footstep made the room tremble. Once in arm's reach, I pitched a right hook at his squared jaw. He effortlessly deflected it and countered with a right uppercut into my chin. The weighted punch sent me careening into a wall. It staggered me and before I could regain my composure, Tiago clenched the back of my head with both hands and drove a leaping Muay Thai knee strike into my ribs. I suddenly got an earful of a deep cracking sound that was followed by excruciating pain. I went into survival mode and tried to fight my way off the wall. My attempts were useless against the skilled fighter. Every strike I pitched was countered by a masterful combination. No longer able to continue, I buckled over in pain and exhaustion. Like a trained fighter Tiago took advantage of my carelessness and swiftly pummeled me with a leaping knee strike into my face. Everything suddenly went dark.

I came to after feeling laden rain drops pelting my face. Once my eyesight regained its focus I realized Tiago was dangling me outside the shattered seventh floor apartment window by my cape. My mask was clenched in his other hand. "You should've just stayed out of my way..." He uttered then tossed my mask out of the window. It drifted with the storm's breeze until it settled in the George Washington River below. "...Now you must die!" Tiago concluded then released his grip on my cape. The fabric ran through his massive hand and I plummeted seven stories into the surging river.

The night attracts lawlessness. It not only lures the sewer rats onto the streets but the hooligans as well. It lures the muggers into the back alleys; they wait in the dark for an unsuspecting victim to stumble into the shortcut. It lures cat burglars out and conceals them as they scale the fire escapes. It allows the junkies to get a fix in a dark corner. Even the most prudent police officer can easily lose sight of the fleeing purse snatcher ducking down an unlit street. Most homicides occur in the night because it hides the assailant as he skulks away. This is my predicament. My body is battered. I can hardly hold myself up. I've made many enemies and I have to navigate through these nightly perils to find refuge.

Clenching my mask with my right hand and balancing myself against the brick building walls with my left, I staggered through the back alleys. Using what's left of the night, I discreetly made my way through the downtown streets. My getup was torn after the river current hammered me along the vertical stacks of columned sea rocks.

The back door to an unsanctioned brothel suddenly swung open. '80s funk music and red neon lights spilled into the alley. I swiftly crouched behind a dumpster just as an intoxicated teenage John guided an older floozy out. The pair was too inebriate to notice me ducking down. They headed towards the street then the two hailed a cab. I continued my harrowing trek once they were out of sight.

Minutes later I came upon three muggers pummeling a victim with punches and kicks while he lied helplessly in the alley. Once his pockets were picked, the hooligans began to cackle as they made good their escape. I made my way past the victim while he was sprawled on the ground unconscious. At first, the victim resembled me. It emitted an eerie feeling. At second glance, however, I noticed he was a much older man. By the looks of his clothing, he appeared to be a vagrant. His sleeves were rolled up and he had track marks on both arms. I'd bet he was probably trying to cop some heroin but got robbed instead.

After an hour of staggering through the formidable downtown streets, I arrived at Doctor MacDougal's back alley clinic. He and I have fostered a rapport after I saved his life. Since then he's been treating the wounds I've received on the streets. It's been just over a year since I last saw him. I hoped the patronage was still extended.

"I DON'T KEEP MONEY HERE!" Doctor MacDougal hollered from inside after I banged on his basement office door.

"I need your help doctor." I growled while exerting much strength to keep myself propped up against the wall. The door suddenly cracked open and a pair of bifocal glasses peered at me.

"Legend!" He blurted and emphatically yanked the door open.

Unable to muster up any more strength, I collapsed in his direction. The old doctor caught me and faltered back. He managed to balance himself and dragged me inside.

Doctor MacDougal carried me through his modest sized medical facility; past the outdated, dingy and rusted instruments and equipment. He once mentioned he recovered them from a dumpster behind a neighborhood hospital. There is a moldy stench in his basement. His assistant, seated at a computer, gawked at us while clenching the office chair arms as we made our way past her. The doctor navigated around three buckets catching water from a leaky ceiling and headed towards a door in the back of his office.

Roaches scattered when he flicked a light switch in a walk-in closet converted into a triage room. There were snap traps placed in front of rat sized burrows in the walls. He placed me on a hospital bed. I was once hesitant to be treated in a filthy hole like this but what options did I have. I can't exactly walk into a hospital wearing this cloak and mask without drawing attention to myself. Besides there are half a handful of people I trust in this city and Doctor MacDougal is one of them.

"What happened to you?" The doctor asked.

"I was in a fight." I responded.

"A fight? Who'd you fight, a dump truck?"

After removing my ensemble, the doctor took x-ray photos of my body. The dated machine was slow, loud and trembled. I didn't even think it would work properly. "I'm surprised you managed to walk all this way," the doctor uttered while holding up the x-ray photo underneath a fluorescent light. "You're going to need weeks to heal." The doctor then injected me with a sedative and soon afterwards I began falling out.

"Four years ago I met The Legend for the first time. He saved my life." Just before the sedative put me completely under, I overheard the doctor talking to his assistant. "I heard stories about him from patients but I didn't believe them. I thought it was just some urban folklore. Meeting him is something I will never forget and I'm glad he was there for me.

One night my wife and I went out to dinner celebrating her graduation from college. She was proud of herself and so was I. It's something she always wanted to do but wasn't able to because of the children she had from her previous boyfriend. We both had too much to drink that night. She suggested we take a cab home but my ego wouldn't allow it. I thought I was capable of driving home but I was wrong. After ten minutes of speeding through traffic, my vision played tricks on me. I swerved off the road and struck a utility pole.

My wife suffered from severe back pains and headaches after the accident. She was prescribed painkillers by her doctor. But soon I started noticing she was getting addicted to them. She asked me steal medication from the hospital I was working in. I did it out of guilt. It was my fault that we crashed. However, supplying her habits caught up to me. Eventually I got caught and my medical license was revoked.

One night my wife asked me to drive her somewhere where she could get more pills. I didn't want to at first but I hated seeing her suffering. So I drove her to the place. When I pulled up she said she would be right back. I wanted to go with her but she told me to stay in the car. She got out and walked into a dark alley. That was the last time I saw her alive.

A few minutes later I heard five gunshots and saw the muzzle flashes. I got out the car and ran into the alley. She was lying on the ground bleeding from her face and stomach. I then noticed three guys running from her body. I held her head tightly against my chest and pleaded to God to let her live. But I knew deep down there was no way she could come back from those gunshot wounds.

I fell into a deep depression. If I didn't drive drunk that night, my wife would still be alive. I loved my wife more than anything and couldn't get the guilt out of my head.

A couple days later a Capitol City homicide detective named Wu told me the murderers were caught. I thought once they were arrested everything would get better. But I was wrong. Nothing changed. I still missed her and I blamed myself for her passing.

One night I sat in my dark apartment with a three fifty seven magnum in one hand and a finished bottle of Jack in the other. I couldn't go on any longer and I wanted to end my depression. I cocked the hammer and put the gun to my head. I started crying and said a prayer. I asked God for forgiveness. Suddenly, in the corner of the room, I saw a figure walking towards me. He was dressed in all black with a cloak and mask. His eyes... I'll never forget them. They were red and glowed in the dark like flames. He slowly approached me and gently pulled the pistol from my head. He took it out of my hand and said 'Trust me, it gets better.' For some reason I believed him. He sounded genuine and I felt like he knew exactly what I was going through. He then turned around and disappeared into the dark room.

The following morning I got in touch with a psych friend of mine and I confided in him. We spoke for hours. He even invited me to sit in some of his seminars. He also introduced me to a priest that helped me out as well. I still attend his church to this day. It was exactly like The Legend said, it gotten better. I still missed her but I was no longer depressed. Even though I still wish my wife was here, I am thankful The Legend saved my life..."

I spent the last five nights inside the back room. The doctor kept the door locked so his patients wouldn't wonder in. There's a small black and white box television on a table besides the bed. Two nights ago the local news reported a homicide that occurred downtown. The male was found beaten to death in an alley behind Presidential Drive. Reporters say he went by the handle "Red."

"Duane, how have you been? I haven't heard from you in days." Detective Wu inquired after I answered my cellphone.

"Fine." I responded.

"Have you found anything on the homicide case?"

"I'm still working on it."

"Well, be careful."

"I will."

After shutting my cell phone, the door to the provisional triage room slowly gaped and the pair of bifocals peered inside. "Are you on the phone?" The doctor inquired. I shook my head.

"This is a sedative I'm giving you. Inject four ccs before you go to bed. It should help you fall asleep. It's the best I can do. I can't write prescriptions." The doctor directed while handing me two one ounce vials with a clear liquid inside and a packaged syringe. "All right, you're all set. Stop by if you need anything?"

"Thanks doctor." I uttered then left the clinic.

Night after night I read the headlines on the daily newspapers; "Mother Of Six Gunned Down In Cross-fire," "Rival Drug Dealer Shot Thirteen Times At Red Light," "Grandmother Killed When Bullets Rang Through Bedroom Window," "Man Stabbed To Death For Refusing To Give Muggers Wallet." It's been a month since my brush with Tiago. My body is still broken. The city's homicides make the front page. Every day I gaze at the paper frustrated. Lives are being taken; most are innocent. Yet there is nothing I can do about it.

Another week has past. There still hasn't been any progress in my health. I haven't used the sedative the doctor handed me. I don't deserve to sleep. Not while the city is running amok. My frustration continues to grow as the piles of newspapers I collected, headlining the city's homicides, steadily gets higher.

It's been two months. I don't know how much longer I can sit back and allow this to persist. Every night another newspaper is added to the pile. Word has disseminated to every street corner, barbershop and back alley pub; The Legend has been killed.

On this side of town the rain is perpetual. But tonight is really not showing any mercy. I picked up the daily paper and read the headlines. "Lady Gunned Down Inside Of Dry Cleaners." Again? I sifted through the newspaper pages until I found the article. "... A female is gunned down and another male is holding on as gunmen barraged into the cleaners and shot the couple..." There is portrait of the victim. The resemblance was ghostly. "Wha... What? Lolani?" This had to be a misprint. That homicide was almost seven years ago. My fingers suddenly went numb. The pages from the newspaper began to slip from my hands and glided onto the floor. Suddenly a comic book slipped out from the paper and fell in between my feet. It was sheathed inside a sealed plastic sleeve and the cover page was faced down. I retrieved it from the floor and turned it over. "The Urban Legend."

Just then, from the corner of my eye, I noticed a figure appear in the dark corner of the room. "Lolani?" I gasped. She's wearing her angelic white spring dress. She glanced at me with a full smile. She looked radiant. "No... It can't be... The hallucinations... It's the hallucinations!" I uttered. Suddenly a storefront window door appeared behind her and a ski masked gunman violently bashed it open with his shoulder. It shattered and shards of glass clashed onto the white vinyl tile. Her joyous facial expression became fearful. She turned to me for help. She reached for my hand. I tried to get to her in time but the gunman fired his sawed-off rifle before I could shield her. The gunman then darted out of the door. Lolani bawled then collapsed onto the floor. Her cries brought back the guilt I've been holding in. I kneeled besides her, clenched her body and rested her face against my chest. She gazed at me as tears ran down her cheeks. Seconds later she was still and her eyes slowly shut. Then she faded away in my arms.

The anger I learned to suppress was resurfacing. Although I haven't healed from my encounter with Tiago, I could no longer sit around while the city ran rampant. I ripped the bandages off my body and put on my black hoodie. I snatched a stack of newspapers and duct tape and headed to a local park.

It's minutes after midnight. I treaded through the downtown streets amidst the storm. After pacing past the junkies, the pushers and the ladies of the evening, I arrived at the Theodore Roosevelt Community Park. I found a sturdy a tree that sheltered me with its leaves. I began taping the newspaper pages to the trunk. The storm continued. Cracks of lighting illuminated the black sky. They were followed by distance roars of thunder. When the tree was padded with enough pages, I began pelting the makeshift punching bag with hooks, jabs, front and side kicks. I threw brute elbow and knee strikes. My eyes were flaming red; filled with madness and rancorous. I wasn't training myself like the other nights but getting used to the agony of fighting with a broken body. Although every strike was vitally painful it was imperative that I became familiar with it. Tiago needed to be stopped and it had to be at the hands of The Legend.

It's been about seven years yet my key to the dry cleaners still works. The code to the alarm system hasn't changed either. Mr. Delancey has passed away and his son now runs the business. He's kept the family's vintage sewing machine. I sat on the rusty metal stool and began stitching up the tears in my ensemble. The aged machine growled as it punched the white thread through. I taped the rest of the newspaper pages around my body to help soften the blows I was about to receive. With my cloak back on, I aggressively scoured the downtown streets in search of Tiago. It's time for The Legend's resurrection.

"...His name is Quinnclay!" A junkie squealed after a brief interrogation. I caught him buying heroin from the Fallen Saints. He ducked in an alley and was about shoot up. I snatched him up before he was able to. It didn't take long for him to drop the name of the Fallen Saints' leader. He also told me where I could find him. "He usually hangs out at Sterling's Pool Hall on Ninth Street."

"What does he look like?" I inquired.

"He's a slim nerdy looking guy. No more than five foot eight. He always sports this short spiky hairstyle and wears these designer geeky looking glasses. Oh... He never leaves his apartment without his black leather blazer."

For the last hour I've been watching Quinnclay through the window of the pool hall from an adjacent rooftop. He's on the top floor of the three story brick building. He's playing with three other guys at a table just by the rear window. He isn't armed but his three companions are.

Quinnclay suddenly rested his pool stick against the table, sifted inside his black leather blazer and retrieved a cellphone from an inner pocket. He flipped the phone open and answered it. Seconds later he sauntered towards the rear window and glanced outside. The storm has tapered off. He lifted it open, climbed onto the fire escape and fixed the phone in-between his shoulder and right ear. He then fetched a pack of cigarettes from his rear pants pocket, clenched one against his lips and lit it up.

Quinnclay is now deep in his phone conversation. He's so engaged he didn't even catch me descending down the fire escape ladder behind him. Although he is speaking in some kind of cipher, it appears as if they are discussing a raid on one of his crack houses.

Just then Quinnclay flicked his cigarette into the dark alley below. He slammed his phone shut then turned around.

"What the...? I thought you were dead?" Quinnclay blurted after catching sight of the dark caped figure standing before him. He lurched back into the fire escape railing.

"Where can I find Tiago?"

" I'm not tellin' you nuttin'!" He barked. I clenched his blazer and began to shove him over the railing. Quinnclay quickly gripped the banister and held on. The harder I shoved the sturdier his grip became. He glanced down into the alley with widened eyes. His heart palpitated against my knuckles. The gentle rain showered his face. He began to quiver and uttered, "Holy shit man! All right, all right! Don't drop me man! I'll tell ya!"

The absolute moon is peering through the passing storm clouds. A flash of lightning ignites the aphotic sky. Distant sounds of thunder are drawing closer. Gentle rain continued to pummel the city. I've been watching the apartment Quinnclay disclosed to me for some time now. The flickering luminescence from a television screen illuminated a room on the fifth floor. He's home. I wasn't certain if Quinnclay tipped him off or not. Either way, he was getting confronted tonight.

The rear window was locked. I wrapped a portion of my cape around my right hand and pelted the window with a jab. A jagged fist-sized hole was made in the glass. I was certain the shatter would've brought him into the kitchen, however, seconds later he never appeared. I unfastened the latch, hoisted up the decrepit window and gained entry into an unkempt kitchen. The red vertical neon sign from Lacy's Strip Club across the street gave some visible inside. The ceiling paint is chipped and falling. The vinyl tiles on the floors have lost its adhesiveness. There were plates on the counter with thick bones from eaten steaks. I continued on and sauntered through a hallway that led to the front room. As I drew closer I could hear the television. I got to the door and noticed the Brazilian fighter sitting on a worn red leather rocking armchair. His shirtless back is facing me and he hasn't noticed me yet. He's tottering back and forth causing the debilitated wooden floor to creak. He's deeply engaged in the sitcom being showed on the small box television. At second glance I realized it was the same box television that was lifted from my apartment years ago.

I started sauntering towards him. Each footstep made a noticeable creak against the floor. Tiago suddenly stopped rocking after catching an earful of the decrepit, aged, hardwood screeching. He turned back in his seat.

"...And from ashes a Phoenix shall rise..." Tiago uttered after perceiving the aphotic figure with flaming demonic eyes sauntering towards him. "I heard you managed to survive the fall. I'll make sure you won't survive this time." He added.

The colossal fighter lunged out of the seat. The hefty armchair toppled onto its side. He then stampeded towards me. The room clattered at every step. Once in proximity, Tiago pitched a right hook. I eluded his punch and redirected him into a wall behind me. The fighter collided into the unpainted drywall and pulverized it. Debris fell onto him. He momentarily lost his composure. It was the crowning juncture I needed. I darted towards him and jabbed him in the side of his neck with a syringe. Tiago felt the sharp pinch. He smacked my arm away from him and shoved me back.

"WHAT THE FUCK DID YOU INJECT ME WITH?" He hollered while stroking his neck.

"It's a sedative." I growled. "It'll help you sleep."

Tiago's disgusted. He peered at me with maddened eyes, clenched teeth and readied fists. He took in deep breaths through his nose. Suddenly, the herculean fighter bolted towards me again. The room clattered. Once in earshot, he leaped up and pitched a roundhouse kick towards my face. I managed to elude the ferocious strike but before I could counter, Tiago used his momentum to follow with a wicked spinning elbow to my jaw. He connected and everything momentarily went dark. The strike hammered me across the room and onto the decrepit hardwood floor. I felt a sharp pain inside of my mouth. I caressed the area with my tongue and realized several molars were knocked out. I struggled onto my feet but before I could collect myself, I was pelted by a vigorous leaping knee strike into my ribs.

The newspaper padding was ineffective and didn't help at all. The pain shocked me. I faltered back into a wall and struggled to catch my breath. The room went silent and the only thing I could hear was a continuous ringing noise. The agony paralyzed me and I then buckled over to one knee and clinched my side.

I glanced up and noticed a blurred Tiago sauntering towards me. I was uncertain of my next move. The knee strike has stunned me and Tiago was nearing. I started to except defeat and brace myself for death. Just then, I could feel my heart rate increasing. It began to hammer against chest. Soon the pain I was feeling past. I was no longer in agony but becoming angry. I was becoming enraged. It was a nostalgic sensation. It was a feeling comparable to when I found out Lolani was killed.

When Tiago was within range, I pitched a violent uppercut into his chin. Tiago staggered back. I followed with a left cross and a wicked right hook. He plummeted to the floor baffled and unsure of where the vigor came from. I poised in the center of the room with the dark cape cascading down my shoulders, veiling my body and resting on the wooden floor in a perfect crescent. My flaming red eyes peered at him. He suddenly pressed his hands into the floor and lunged at me. Before I could react he snatched my ensemble, spun me around and pitched me into a wall. I was hurled through the sheetrock and it crumbled on top of me but I was unfazed. I sprang towards him and launched a wicked right hook into his left cheek. Tiago faltered back a few steps then balanced himself. He appeared baffled. He's never met an opponent who could go toe to toe with him. Not since he's been injecting the steroid. I didn't let up and charged Tiago. He immediately threw his hands up in defense. I battered him with vigorous combinations. I backed him into a wall and persisted to pound on him. I continued the onslaught until he saw a crowning juncture. Tiago weaved a right cross and my fist penetrated through the sheetrock behind him. My hand got snagged in the wall. The skilled fighter seized the opportunity and followed with an uppercut of his own. It connected into my chin and sent me back a couple steps. However, I was too enraged to even feel it.

We both continued to exchange blows. However, his strikes were weakening. The sedative was taking effect. Seconds later his guard lowered. He could barely hold his fists up. It gave me confidence and I persisted to whale on him with wicked hooks, crosses and uppercuts.

Tiago is slumped against the wall. His face is battered, bruised and bleeding. His left eye is swollen shut. He's now completely defenseless. "What... Kind of... Demon... Are you?" Tiago muttered. I clenched his neck and rammed his head through the unpainted drywall. Tiago buckled over then plummeted onto the floor. I grabbed his right ankle and dragged him to the center of the room. He's no longer putting up a fight. The blows stunned him and the sedative has weakened him.

I kneeled over Tiago and clenched his neck with my hands. "DIE!" I growled while strangling him. He squirmed and made attempts to roll me off but I wouldn't budge. The sedative has him moments away from being comatose. He's too weary to use a Brazilian Jujitsu move to separate himself from me. His stout neck delayed his demise but I was determined to squeeze the life out of him. His tongue began flailing out of his mouth as he tried to catch a breath. Veins in his forehead emerged as his complexion faded. His eyes were becoming glassy and bloodshot.

"CAPITOL CITY POLICE! OPEN UP!" An officer barked as he pommeled the apartment door with heavy knocks. The violent commotion must've caused neighboring tenants to dial 911. "OPEN THE DOOR OR IT'S COMING DOWN!" Another voice threated. I was suddenly snapped from my fury. I unclenched Tiago's neck and he immediately inhaled deeply. He took in as much air his lungs were capable of. I was disoriented but managed scamper out of the room. I fled to the kitchen just as the front door was kicked in. I leaped out of the window, scaled up the fire escape and absconded into the night.

"Banned Brazilian Fighter Charged With Murders," topped the front page of the morning paper. Quinnclay was also apprehended and charged with soliciting a contract killer. He, however, has one of the country's finest criminal attorneys under his payroll and has beaten all previous conspiracy charges. I wouldn't be surprised if he beats this rap too.

On the ensuing night, Detective Wu sent me a text wanting to meet. Her Crown Victoria was idling in the alley when I arrived. She suddenly caught sight of the aphotic figure emerging from the darkness through her rearview mirror. She stepped out of the cruiser, unfurled her umbrella and met me at the rear of her car.

"Geezus Legend, you look terrible!" Detective Wu blurted as I staggered towards her.

"I'll be fine." I responded.

"Patrol officers found Tiago lying on his apartment floor beaten up. He has a fractured eye socket, skull and bruising around his neck consistent with strangulation. You know anything about that?"

"I might."

"Gezz, I wonder how you pulled that off. Tiago's enormous! I saw the damage in the apartment. You guys were really going at it? Maybe you need to get yourself checked out."

"I have been."

"By who? Some back alley doctor? Maybe you should see someone legit?" She advised while assisting me to the rear of her car. I rested against the trunk.

"All right detective." I responded brushing her off.

"You still miss her don't you?" Detective Wu suddenly inquired.

"I don't know."

"You do. I can tell. Your temper hasn't gone away. If the officers were a minute late, you probably would've killed Tiago."

"I'm fine."

"I know a psychologist..."

"I'm fine detective!" I growled rudely interrupting her.

"No you're not! You need help! Legend... Duane, how long do you think you can live like this? You're suffering. I'm starting to regret asking you to help me. I took advantage of you. I've gotten you shot and stabbed and I continued using you like a puppet so that I could continue getting recognition from the department. I'm feeling bad about it."

"Someone has to do something about the homicides."

"You're right. But it's not you... Duane there is something you should know. I... I... I have been promoted to sergeant. I was trying to hold out from telling you but I can't continue doing this to you. In two months will be sent back to patrol. I'm going to be reassigned uptown. I decided to give up on being a detective. The long hours, nights without sleep... It's taking a toll on me. And this part of town can ruin your life if you don't get out. Just look around. Nothing good comes out of here. It's depressing. Last year four officers swallowed their gun and they all worked downtown. I'm leaving Duane." She uttered.

"So what happens now?"

"Now I'm going to take you to the hospital. And when you get released you're going to go back to New York and let your parents know you're all right. When was the last time you even spoke to them? Then you need to talk to someone and get help." She replied.

"I don't need to speak to anyone."

"Yeah you do Duane. You have some demons you need to get rid of. You did some things I know you're not too proud of. I know you were in your apartment that night the girl died at your door. I know you witnessed the entire assault. I know you didn't tell Lolani about the muggings and the burglary and everything else that followed you. I know it's eating you up. Sometimes we make mistakes that are uncorrectable. No matter how hard you try to fix your errors, they will remain. You have to learn sometimes there is no resolution and you have to take it for what it is. A lesson. You're going to go home Duane. And if you ever decide to visit Capitol City again, call me."

Detective Wu assisted me to the front passenger seat of her cruiser. She collapsed her umbrella and tossed it onto the rear floorboard. She then bustled around the Crown Victoria and once inside the driver's seat, she raced to the nearest hospital. During the ride, I gazed at the streets of downtown Capitol City; the dark alleys, the ladies of the evening, the dealers and junkies, the perpetual rain, the run-down apartment buildings, the trashy sidewalks and streets, the graffiti and sleazy red neon vertical signs. This city can swallow you up if you allow it to. It nearly consumed me. I didn't know what my next move was but the detective's advice seemed sound. Maybe it's time I got help and put this behind me. I'm sure it's what Lolani would want me to do.
