 
# The Sorrow

Azhar Amien

The Sorrow

By Azhar Amien

Copyright 2014 Azhar Lorgat

Smashwords Edition

https://darklywritten.com/

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you're reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to your favorite ebook retailer and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

Table of Contents

Acknowledgements

Chapter 1: Wake

Chapter 2: Breakthrough

Chapter 3: Dying Light

Chapter 4: Still

Chapter 5: This Sorrowful Life

Chapter 6: Where The Heart Is Struck

Chapter 7: Sicarius

Chapter 8: A King's End

Chapter 9: Blood In Pretty Crime

Chapter 10: The Departure

Chapter 11: The Caged Animal

Chapter 12: Icarus

Chapter 13: In This Time Of Dying

Chapter 14: The Things We Do For Our Children

Chapter 15: The Reaper's Feast

Chapter 16: A House Of Pigs

Chapter 17: Descent

Chapter 18: Remember My Name

Chapter 19: A Tale Of Two And One

Chapter 20: Downpour

Epilogue: Three Years Later

Connect With Azhar Amien

#

# Dedication

To Naazneen

My love, my best friend, my inspiration. Thank you for your amazing support, your wonderful encouragement and for just being the beautiful person that you are.

#  Acknowledgements

I would like to thank my mother for all that she has done for me over the years. It can never be overstated, and I owe her everything. I could never leave out my brother for playing a pivotal role in encouraging me to become a writer, and for all the feedback and ideas. Without his help this book would have never become what it is today.

I would like to thank my significant other for her never-ending encouragement and for listening to me talk about my crazy ideas for hours on end. Your patience and support is a constant gift in my life, and it was an absolute joy to go through this journey with you.

I would like to thank my friends and family for shaping me into the person that I am today, for showing interest in my work and for helping me get to a position where I am able to achieve this dream.

Lastly, I would like to thank Roheen Abdulla for his amazing work on the front and back cover pages, and for bringing my vision of it to life as easily as it all first appeared in my mind.

Thank you, to all of you, for being there.

##  Chapter 1: Wake

"Swing me higher, daddy!" my nine-year-old daughter squealed as I pushed her on a swing.

"Any higher Jess and you're going to fly out of the park!" my wife Nicole said, laughing.

"That's okay! Daddy will find me!" she replied happily.

I shared a look with Nicole as our daughter enjoyed her swing, smiling in triumph. Jess had always been her daddy's girl. Nicole folded her arms and rolled her eyes at me. To me this was the perfect life. I knew that I should have been grateful, because there were many people who wished for what I had, and those who had it but didn't appreciate it. A beautiful wife and an angel for a daughter – what more could I have wanted? We were happy. My life here, in these moments, was amazing. Not even the struggle we faced in this terrible city was enough to take that away from me. I would do anything for my family. They were my entire world.

"Jess, I think your dad is getting a bit tired now. Why don't you take a break?" Nicole said.

"No he's not!" my daughter replied in a sing-song voice, "If he was tired he would have stopped pushing me."

I laughed at Nicole's playfully-shocked expression. She often said that Jess was too clever for her own good and got her sharpness from me. I always tried to argue that with Nicole being the lawyer it was safe to say that Jess inherited the ability to argue from her. She then tried the pity party approach by saying that our daughter only seemed to want to argue with her. That's when I ended the debate by saying that maybe Jess just loved me more. Nicole would then roll her eyes at me and we would both grin like idiots. We never got tired of that debate, silly as it was.

A few minutes passed of me pushing Jess on her swing before I finally told her I was going to have a break. She obediently climbed off the swing and held my hand, walking with us to a nearby bench. I sat down and put my arm around Nicole while Jess snuggled up against me. She seemed to get sleepy rather quickly under the warm sun. She soon closed her eyes and an adorably peaceful expression set on her face. I smiled at my wife. She smiled back.

"I love you so much, Jack," she whispered to me.

"I love you too, Nicole."

There. That was the moment. The perfect portrait of my life and everything I wanted from it. If there really was a God out there then I definitely was someone He favoured. I was so damn lucky. I just wanted this, day after day and year after year. Nicole's mobile phone jerked me out of my thoughts as it vibrated and beeped. She frowned at the screen as she read her text message, and her face fell.

"I'm sorry, Jack. I have to go. Will you keep an eye on Jess for me?"

"Is everything alright?" I asked.

"Just something at work, love, nothing to worry about," she said, standing up and giving me a soft kiss before whispering to Jess that she'd be back soon. Jess was already asleep. I watched her go and I relaxed myself, enjoying the warm sun and gentle atmosphere of the park. After a while I slowly closed my eyes and drifted away.

I returned to the world with a startling jolt as my phone vibrated in my pocket. Reality slipped back into focus. I groaned and reached into my pocket for my mobile phone, but abruptly stopped as my vision cleared.

It was dark. I had been asleep for hours.

Oh God. Nicole would be worried sick.

"Jess it's time to go baby," I whispered as I rubbed my eyes.

There was no response. I glanced up.

My heart jumped to my throat. She was not there.

In that moment wild panic erupted inside of me. It was the feeling only a parent could ever understand. Sheer terror beyond anything you could imagine, able to drive you mad in seconds. I launched myself from the bench and my eyes darted around, trying to see in every direction at once. She was nowhere. I started to shake. My eyes glimpsed her favourite white teddy bear, which clutched a red heart to its chest, laying on the grass. My breathing became rapid as my heartbeat skyrocketed out of control. She was not one to wander off. My mind filled with all of the worst possible scenarios at once, and right then I simply wanted to die. I screamed her name as loudly as I could. Silence was my only response. I ran out onto the road. The street was empty. There was no one in sight. I felt sick. I could barely stand. I forced myself to run back to the park and search for her. I shouted her name again and again.

I suddenly heard her cry out in the distance.

I ran towards her voice in a rush of panic. Her terrified scream wrenched my guts out.

An explosion of sound erupted in the night sky.

I stopped.

With trained ears I recognised the sound of a gunshot. I froze in place. There was no force on earth that could have got me to move. The screams were no more. The night was dead. I no longer breathed. I fell.

I snapped wildly to attention, my body jerking as my eyes flew open. The first thing I saw was the serviette in front of me, stained with black ink from the pen that was in my hand. I was momentarily confused. I looked across the table into the stunning eyes of my wife, Nicole, my insides calming down as she looked worriedly at me. I was exhausted. I had almost dozed off again. I had just experienced what was medically known as a myoclonic jerk, which was a common occurrence when one was falling asleep. Respiration rate fell, your senses started shutting down and the brain often interpreted that as your body dying, so it sends an electrical pulse to wake it up again. It usually caused you to violently jerk out of your stupor. No one enjoyed getting woken up like that. I shook myself to restore energy to my limbs. My heart still hammered from the brief dream, and I tried to put it out of my head.

"What were you writing over there?" Nicole asked me.

"What?" I asked, frowning.

She gestured with her spoon at the serviette laying ruined with ink in front of me. I picked it up and stared at it. My writing was incomprehensible; senseless scribbles of a man too tired to even remember having written it. I crumpled it up and tossed it aside.

"Are you okay, Jack?" Nicole asked, "You half dozed on me. You've been working too many late hours."

"I'm glad you came to that conclusion instead of thinking that you were boring me, love."

Nicole gave me her radiant smile, "Me boring you? That would be the day, wouldn't it?"

I smiled, but quickly turned serious.

"It's sickening. Low pay, long hours and everyone is too afraid to actually do anything about all the crime. I wonder why we even have police anymore, or why I'm mad enough to be a cop myself."

Nicole reached across the table to hold my hand and I took comfort in the gesture.

"Things will get better Jack. The fact that there are so many people still willing to be part of the police and make the effort shows it. But sometimes I don't get why you don't go after that promotion and get in a position to really help. You're crazy smart we both know that."

I grunted, "We spoke about this, darling. Going after these guys just invites unwanted danger and they run this city. It's their rules. All I'd be doing is making things worse for us."

Nicole pursed her lips, "Isn't that hypocritical?"

I didn't have an answer, but spoke anyway, "I care too much about you and our little girl to do anything to put you in harm's way. If things were different, and I didn't have to worry about your safety...I just don't know. I wouldn't make any difference on my own anyway."

Nicole frowned, "What are you thinking?"

I leaned back and sighed heavily. I knew that I was bullshitting myself. And I had the feeling that Nicole knew it too. My reasoning was so full of holes it was depressing. The words of a nobody. The truth was that I was as much of a coward as any other cop in the city. A puppy didn't take the fight to a wolf. I looked around briefly, trying to divert my attention. We were at a crummy restaurant filled with unhappy and morbid people. Everywhere down here was the same. Hopelessness. Everyone idly standing by trying to drown time, hoping things would get better when in fact they were just slowly getting worse. There was nowhere else to turn to for them but the bottom of a glass. Wake up, survive another day, and return to bed where they could escape it, vanishing from the world and savouring the hours they could indulge in not being a part of it. The only reason people were still in the city was because they had no money to leave with. It made everyone depressed, living in apathy. It was never how people were meant to live.

"How would I be able to sleep every night knowing I'd be putting you and our daughter in danger, Nicole? If there were others who were good men, who were committed, who I could trust and work with, who wanted real change around here, then maybe...but you know what it's like. There's Sarah, but I don't know. How much could the two of us do on our own? Sure, if I could, I'd go after a promotion and do everything I can to change things around here, but I choose my family over my unrealistic hopes for this city. That's my choice and I live with it."

Nicole looked down at her plate, her voice becoming low.

"Are you saying you regret that choice, Jack?"

I smiled and gripped her hand, drawing her eyes to mine.

"No. You're my world. We'll get by. We always do."

She smiled at me then. God, I loved her so much. But a part of me wished I could help this city. To not hide from its criminals but face them – and win. Prove to them and everyone else that they didn't run the show. That they weren't untouchable. But the cops had no fight in them. Many of them were scared like I was and many were just as bad as the criminals. I dismissed all my contradictions and nagging doubts then. I had chosen my family. Surely that was all that mattered?

I suddenly heard my name being called. I turned my head away from Nicole towards a table very close to where we were sitting. My heart jumped. Two men were seated across from each other with a strange intensity about them. I recognised one of them as the glorified mob boss Victor Salvatore, but I did not know who the other was. How had I not seen him earlier? He had been practically staring me in the face. I guessed that I had been too tired and had not been paying attention. Victor held a gun in his hand, an old revolver, and it was pointed directly at the man in front of him who was rooted to his seat like a statue. The fear was as plain as daylight.

No one in the restaurant looked at them twice.

The noise in the place made it hard to hear what they were saying. I concentrated on the two of them, and focused on the gun.

"Do you see that cop right over there with his wife, who just so happens to be an attorney? Then there's that judge sitting right behind us and a few journalists hanging around. Now I could shut you up in front of all of these people and enjoy the rest of my meal like I don't give a shit. So don't you dare come in here asking for more pay and treating me like your damn father. I pay my men what they deserve. I don't disrespect my employees when it comes to money. And I paid you to do a job, so you're going to do it at the price we agreed on. Your wife being ill is not my concern. I'll send her a get-well card."

Victor rested his gun on the table.

"It happens tonight. It would be unwise to fuck it up."

"Jack?" Nicole said.

I snapped out of it and my attention diverted from Victor and his lackey. I didn't come here tonight for trouble. I had only wanted a night out with my wife.

"We're leaving," I said.

I gestured with my head over at Victor with the gun, and Nicole nodded anxiously. I called over the waiter and hurriedly sorted out our bill before getting up and moving for the door, holding Nicole's hand as we escaped a place of emptiness.

I ushered Nicole into our cosy home and locked the door behind us. As we hung our coats, I thought about how we had both chosen careers in law enforcement. I was a cop, and she was a big shot attorney. It made for some pretty grim dinner table discussions.

"Daddy!" cried the sweetest voice I knew.

Jess came charging at me and jumped into my arms, and I laughed as I scooped her up and spun her around. I then put her back down onto the floor and she flew into her mother's arms with just as much enthusiasm. In her rush of excitement, she had dropped her favourite white teddy bear onto the floor. I scooped it up and handed it back to her. She clutched it to her chest, her arms squishing the red heart the teddy bear held in its hands.

"I tried to get her to sleep, but she wanted to stay up until you were home," our young au pair Linda said with a smile on her face as she stepped out of the kitchen. She was a friend. We only called her in when we knew that Jess would need a babysitter.

I half laughed and pinched Jess' cheeks. She grinned comically at me. I smiled at her affectionately. She had always been her father's girl. She looked at me expectantly and I knew what she wanted to see. I crouched down in front of her and held out a silver coin, watching as her eyes followed it with the excitement and curiosity only a child could have.

"Watch closely, sweetie," I said.

She nodded furiously. I twirled the coin around in my fingertips and moved it slowly. Then I clicked my fingers and the coin disappeared. Jess giggled and clapped. She loved my tricks even though they were primitive. Children couldn't get enough of them. My dad had used them on me all the time – they had never failed to entertain me when I had been little. When I was young I had actually wanted to be a magician because of my dad's theatrics. But as it turned out my interests were elsewhere. I held my hand behind her ear and leaned forward to kiss her forehead, and when I brought my hand back the coin was once again in my possession. I held it out to her. She took it.

"Let your mother put you to bed now, Jess."

"When can we watch Finding Nemo, daddy?"

I looked at her as I tried to hide my smile, "I thought you wanted to see the Minions from Despicable Me again, princess."

She looked as though she was faced with a difficult decision.

"We'll make time this weekend," I promised.

Will you read to me, daddy?" she then asked.

Nicole smiled at her, "Your dad is tired tonight, my love. I can read to you if you want."

Jess pursed her lip in protest. It was her mother's look. I laughed as Nicole rolled her eyes. I couldn't stand disappointing my little girl. But she was a sly one. She knew just what to do to get what she wanted out of me. I could never say no to her.

"Of course, angel. Get into bed and I'll be right there."

She grinned and ran to her bedroom.

Nicole raised her eyebrows, "You've got to teach me how to get her to listen like that."

I put my arm around her and kissed her, "Not a chance."

I slipped my hand into my pocket and frowned. I began searching the contents of my coat that I had just hung up.

"What's the matter?" Nicole pressed.

"I can't seem to find my wallet. I must have left it back at our local funhouse."

Nicole rolled her eyes, "My husband with his genius-level intellect can never seem to remember to keep a tab on his wallet. Maybe you should get a GPS tracker in it."

I grinned, "We both know that you were always the responsible one. I have to go back and get it. It's not like anyone would steal it – there's barely any money in it. But being a cop does mean a little something. Tell Jess I'm sorry."

Nicole put her hands on her hips, "Knowing our little girl she'll be stubborn and stay up until you get back."

I knew that all too well, "Then tell her I'll make it up to her tomorrow night. I'll read her favourite story for her and maybe we can watch one of those animated movies she adores."

Nicole kissed me on my cheek, "She'd love that."

I snatched up my coat and stepped out of the door, heading back to that restaurant.

I left the comfort of my home and emerged into the cold of the night. It had already begun raining. The city never felt shy to shed its tears. The rain fell in a crescendo; a sight of beauty as much as it was deeply depressing. People were scurrying about around me trying to escape the downpour, but I welcomed it. It seemed to me as though the sky itself was a reflection of the endless storm I felt inside me, when I was alone to face my thoughts. The rain awakened my buried thoughts. I could not show my family weakness. I could not show them my regret. I could not show them that I was just a selfish bystander in a city without hope. I was conflicted. I was content with the choice that I had made to protect my family, but a day did not pass where I did not wish that I could be more. A day did not pass where I did not wish that I could do more about all the crime and all the violence.

My family lived in a city plagued with misery. My family lived in a city built on promises made by liars and criminals. A city in a depression so deep that it had long forgotten what it meant to hope and to dream. We were all just living scared at the mercy of terrible men. At the mercy of their power, and their desire to consume the city's wealth and soul for their own. To them we were nothing. I was nothing. Anger burned inside me screaming to get out. I could not let it. I was helpless. My mind struggled. I was weak. I was held back. No. I had made a choice. It was an excuse - to hide my fear. I gritted my teeth and hurried on, forcefully subduing my thoughts. They chased after me like hungry dogs when I was alone. I braced against the cold and calmed my mind.

It took fifteen minutes to get back to that restaurant. I was freezing. I was drenched. I didn't know why I had decided to walk rather than take the car. Sometimes I just needed to think, and the rain was fitting. I stepped inside and suddenly wondered if I'd find my wallet at all. But I wanted the badge; the only inkling of power that I had. I gave the room a once over and saw that my table was occupied by four low-level thugs. Small fish. But in my city even small fish had power. I wasn't in the mood. I wanted to get back to my family. I stood idly by, trying to pick my moment, select my words and decide on my approach. I shook my head to myself. I was being a coward. I was a cop. I didn't need to take their crap. I took a deep breath and walked over to them.

"Hey guys," I said, trying to sound casual.

They turned to address me and their looks became smug and laced with amusement.

"Have you-"

One of them interrupted me, "Hey Billy, this is that Jack-ass cop who lost his badge."

They all burst out laughing at their primitive sense of humour. At least I knew then that they had what I came for.

"Funny. Did you make that one up all by yourself?" I replied.

"I take it you want it back," the one called Billy said, unable to hide his smile.

"Impressive, maybe you should be the cop."

"Well, ever heard the term 'finders keepers'? I always wanted a police badge. Makes me feel so useless."

Again laughter surrounded the table. My blood began to boil.

"Hey Ricky did you see that picture of his wife? She's hot."

"Yeah, I'd do her."

My fists clenched. I gritted my teeth.

"Don't forget his cute little girl!" Rickey said.

"Man, that's just wrong!" Billy mocked.

"Shit I didn't mean it like that! What's wrong with you?" Rickey shouted.

"What's wrong with you, man!" another thug laughed, smacking the table.

For the first time in I don't know how long, I snapped.

I grabbed Rickey's plate of food, threw it aside and slammed my hands down hard onto the table, toppling their glasses. The noise in the room lessened instantly. I felt like I was at the centre of attention. It felt good.

"Give me my damn wallet or I'm going to arrest you."

Rickey appeared hesitant now, but his confidence hadn't diminished. His voice was cold, and the threat was clear, "Are you sure you want to do this in front of my friends, officer?"

"Oh yeah I'm sure, you little prick."

I let the anger get the better of me. I enjoyed it.

I stared at Rickey, unwavering, feeling far too heated to realise my stupidity.

"Hey, knuckleheads," a voice called behind me, "Give the man his wallet."

It was Victor Salvatore, the mob boss who I had overheard earlier when I had been in the restaurant with Nicole. Immediately they obeyed. They didn't look happy about it, but they listened. I was relieved to have my badge and the pictures of my family back. It was just a wallet, but it meant something to me. I suddenly felt respect for Victor's power. Jealously even. I almost wanted it.

"Jack."

I sighed and walked over to Victor, curious if he was going to threaten me as well.

"I respect a cop who has balls in this city. It amuses me," Victor said with a confident smile.

"I respect a man who can keep his dogs on their leashes," I retorted.

Victor laughed, "I like you, Jack. You're very direct. But here's some advice, kid."

He paused. I waited.

"Don't be a hero."

I said nothing.

"Not in our city. Go home to your family. Let's say this didn't happen."

I turned around and walked away, ignoring the stares that I got from those around me. I stepped out into the rain and stared at the restaurant with disgust. I didn't know how long I stood there. I didn't know what I was waiting for. The effect of my small victory had already evaporated in the cold air. I was, once again, nothing.

Movement at the restaurant door caught my attention. The four thugs who had harassed me stepped out as well one or two others. This didn't seem like groupies hanging out. I had the feeling that this was something else. I needed to stay out of it. I was close enough to eavesdrop. They spoke loudly over the sound of the rain. It was as though I was standing right next to them. They were careless. They hadn't noticed me. I heard one of them say Victor's name and then something about not disappointing the big boss.

My body screamed at me to stop before I was caught too deep.

I recognised one of the thugs. It was the man who Victor had threatened earlier when I had been with Nicole. I remembered his words: It happens tonight. It would be unwise to fuck it up.

I felt my adrenaline kicking in. I was onto something.

I saw the group take off. Stay out of it, I commanded myself.

I hesitated; the warning spread through my body like a virus. My family were waiting for me back home.

I could see them getting too far away. I couldn't let go.

I followed.

Some would have said that I was heading into the belly of the beast. Others would have tried to fit my actions in somewhere between bravery and stupidity. There was always the possibility that I was getting hyped up for nothing, and what I was going towards would turn out to be a lowly stationary theft. Either way I had made my choice. As I tailed the group I felt a pang of regret. I missed my wife and my daughter. But whatever path I had set on now I intended to follow it.

The rain pelted down mercilessly. It was now a gift as much as it was a curse. I didn't need to exercise too much caution over the noise, but it was difficult to see where they were going. I didn't know how long I had been walking. Time had ceased to be a factor. The rain had already numbed my body, and it was now trying to do the same to my mind.

My phone vibrated in my pocket. I was hesitant about taking it out of course, but I knew who was messaging me. If Nicole was asking me where I was I must have been gone for quite a while. I felt bad about it. My weakness for my wife made me clumsily take my phone out, shield myself with my jacket and type a heavily abbreviated message to inform her that I was on my way. I had to continue. The group had turned into the docks. Here it would be easier to hide between the cargo boxes. When they were far enough ahead, I darted between a red and a green one. I breathed out in relief. I could see from here if I peaked around the edge of the box.

The group had stopped by one of the large boats and they were waiting, chatting among themselves and messing around. Time passed slowly. But just as I was about to start questioning why I was doing this, it seemed that whatever they had been waiting for had arrived.

Men stepped out of the boat. I frowned. I couldn't hear them talking from here, especially over the rain. But one of the guys from the boat was yelling and pointing to his watch, so it didn't take a genius to figure out that my boys were late to the party and that the boat wasn't from here. I pressed myself up closer to the cargo box, and that's when I noticed a small hole in it which allowed me to observe from a more conspicuous position. The convenience of it was almost comical. I saw large crates being carried out of the ship, and the professionalism that some of them were handled with told me all I needed to know about their contents: hardly stationary.

It was almost too easy so far, which gave me cause for concern. One of the men then confirmed the contents for me. He took a plastic bag out of a large case and held it up for all to see. Inside was a machine gun. I couldn't recognise the make or model from here, but it certainly appeared heavy grade. I could only make out an attached scope and extended ammunition clip. The rest I would only have been able to get from closer inspection. But the calibre of these weapons explained the timing and apparent effort that had went into this smuggling operation.

I had seen enough. It was time to call it in. But only then did the magnitude of the situation hit me. What the hell was I doing? Had I not been avoiding things like this because of the danger it brought? If I went down this road I was sure as hell that I would be encouraged to go after a promotion once again. Had I not been trying to lay low?

I swore to myself. If I was to get any awards it would certainly have been for my screwed up inconsistency. I didn't know what I was supposed to do. But maybe, just maybe, it was the start. What if it was the defining moment - the start of a bigger fight on crime? I could be the catalyst to it happening. Was I meant to just turn my back here and walk away? Could I allow myself to be just as corrupt and weak as those I looked down on? How long could I continue to live a sheltered, coward's life while the city and its people rotted away? We weren't living. We were hiding.

Think of Nicole and Jess, the husband and father in me intervened. I had to protect them. But what would they think knowing that I had turned a blind eye to this? My daughter wouldn't ever see me as her hero again. Maybe I could get her to understand one day when she was older. I was sure that I would be able to with some story. But I would always know.

I wasn't going to lie to my daughter or be a weak man for my wife.

All the pain that we brought by letting this go on - it changed tonight.

I thought of Jess then, and the city I wanted her to grow up in.

The next decision was easy.

I had to call it in.

##  Chapter 2: Breakthrough

It was always said that time slowed when your adrenaline pumped. That was false; nothing more than a writer's tool for dramatic effect. It actually sped up. It was like losing your grip. You no longer thought. You simply acted. You became dislodged from the minutes that passed you by. Hundreds of ideas coursed through your mind, none of which you would consider for more than a second. And you knew: now would not be the time for fear or regret. That would come later.

The days after I had busted the men at the docks had been a blur. Overnight it was as though I had become a celebrity. The story was a sensation across the city. Police officer makes extraordinary bust. Of course the weapons couldn't be traced back to the big fish. It was never that easy. But the weapons that had been brought in were advanced enough to be from a Special Forces unit, which got us stirred up. It was almost as though a private army was being set up. The thought was scary by itself. But for the first time in I didn't know how long I didn't feel afraid. I felt good. Victory, no matter how small or big, was something. A reminder of what was achievable. And it had made me realise a truth. I could live the rest of my life afraid of what I could do, or I could face my enemies and make sure that I won. After all it was not the criminals of the city who kept me from being a better man. It was only me.

When I had first told Nicole she had not known what to say. She had been afraid, scared for me and our family and unsure whether to be happy for me or angry at me for my recklessness. But over the last few days she had come around. My daughter beamed at me with admiration. Of course she was far too young to understand what I had done, but children were often much sharper than adults gave them credit for and she could easily catch on that her father had done something special. Special enough that he was on the front page of the newspaper. And she could understand that he wasn't just a cop anymore.

He had taken that promotion.

My boss, and good friend, Sarah Blake had wanted me to take the job for years. She was one of the good ones; the precious few. She had taken me to one side and asked what had changed my mind. I would have thought that I'd find that hard to answer but I did not. I had simply said "Jess." She had given me one of her infrequent smiles in response and told me that I had done something great and that this was big. She had not asked why I had done it or what I had been doing there. She was like that with me. It was why I appreciated her as a friend. She knew that if I wanted to talk about something to her, I would. She didn't push me or demand anything from me. But I could tell she was really pleased I had taken the job. And I could admit that I was glad too.

I was at home with my wife and daughter and I couldn't stop the feeling of euphoria that spread through me. It felt like it would never disappear. I was so lucky to have what I did. I was even fortunate with the way things had happened at the docks. I knew that I wasn't going to screw this up. My family meant the world to me. I was doing this for them. Things would be different now. And I had a real partner in this now. Both Sarah and I knew that there was no one else among the police whom we trusted more than each other.

"It's good to see you smiling," Nicole winked as she said it.

I looked up at her and took in her beauty. I felt the familiar, overwhelming love and joy that I did only when I was with her.

"I always am with you," I said.

She laughed, "Well, whenever you're not brooding then sure you are."

"You like it," I replied, winking at Jess who grinned comically and showed me her teeth.

"D-a-a-a-d-y," Jess then said in a sing-song voice, placing her white teddy bear onto the kitchen table and looking at me curiously.

"Yes cupcake?" I answered as I leaned closer to her.

"It's story night!" she squealed.

"Wasn't it 'story night' yesterday?" I quizzed, humouring her.

She blew up her cheeks and tried to pout at the same time. I know all parents think that their child is the cutest but you'd really have to have no soul if you didn't find Jess adorable. She could never get enough of me reading to her for some reason. I didn't even have a special voice or anything like that. She loved her fairytales too. She was as girly as they came. Unicorns, flowers, rainbows and all the rest of it. She lived in fantasy land, and I loved it.

Nicole reached over and stroked her hair, "Oh no, sweetie. Daddy is mine tonight. You can't steal him again."

"But you're having your turn now, mummy!" she said with that goofy grin.

Nicole gasped, pretended to be shocked and then tickled Jess into submission. I just laughed and eventually broke it up by saying I'd make time for the both of them. I loved my family. They were the only reason I could live here in this city. The only reason I could feel whole. Maybe from here on things wouldn't be so bad. Maybe things would get better. Maybe I could start hoping again.

It was late. I heard Nicole enter our bedroom. We had finally got Jess to sleep. I was in bed staring up at the ceiling as I usually did when I was in thought.

"For a moment there I was worried that we were going to have to sedate her," Nicole said with that little giggle I loved.

I smiled, "She got her liveliness from you."

"And her brains from you," my wife replied, slipping into bed and kissing me.

"I love you," I whispered.

"Don't I know it," Nicole replied.

I held her close and went silent for a moment. She knew me too well. She knew what was on my mind.

"Jack you've got to stop worrying about this, about taking the promotion and about the choice you made. I know it's hard, and I know I wasn't sure at first too, but no matter what I've said in the past I always knew that you could do it. And I always knew that I would love you and support you regardless of the decisions you made."

"You know this place, love. You know what we live in and what we both deal with every day we go to work."

She kissed me again, softly, and for a moment all of my worries fell away.

"I know that you care, baby, too much sometimes. But you did a good thing. A brave thing. And the world didn't end, did it? For so long you've been scared that stepping a foot out of line would make you lose us. Maybe that was always just nothing but fear. You're a husband and a father, Jack. It's not crazy to feel that way."

"You know you do this thing, honey, where you just make everything better somehow."

She laughed and moved on top of me, putting her hands on my chest.

"I'm just saying," she started, leaning in close, "Have a little faith."

I grinned then, rubbing her legs.

She gave me a mischievous smile, "You know I love it when you do that."

"Do what?" I asked, feigning innocence, moving my hands over her thighs.

"That," she sighed, "Come here, handsome."

I sat up and kissed her passionately, pulling her back down onto the bed, embracing her, wanting her and forgetting everything else.

Over the next few days Sarah and I worked tirelessly. The weapons had been a cold trail, and interrogating the criminals at the docks had led to nothing. Their loyalty had been bought and paid for by a higher power. To some extent even their lives. Attempting to cut deals trading leniency for information proved fruitless. We had scraps at best. Keeping them in prison hadn't been much use. Some were bailed out while those lower down the pecking order were left to rot.

"Boss-"

"Sarah," she interrupted me.

"Right. I think we have to fold. We're going nowhere with this. The trail is cold. The guys we arrested are worthless to us."

She didn't say anything. I knew that she couldn't stand losing. And in this city losing was something people like us were forced to get used to. It was a wonder how she kept her head.

"Jack, I'm not going to-"

A call came in. We both looked. Sarah picked the phone up. I watched her listen intently, before declaring that we would be on the way shortly.

"Well Jack, I'm surprised it took this long. There's been a murder."

"Why would you be surprised? We had one just the other day."

Sarah smiled, her eyes confident, "True. But last week's homicide wasn't potentially connected to our boys at the dock was it?"

I stared, "How could we know that?"

"Easy. The victim was involved."

That pretty much settled it. We were both quiet on the way there. I vaguely heard minor details of the homicide on the way. I preferred to look at the crime scene with fresh eyes sometimes. In a way I was almost excited. I've felt a sense of liberation ever since I made my decision at the docks. It felt as though I had been keeping myself at bay for so long that I had forgot what I was capable of. I forgot that I was good. That I was better. And today I was going to prove it to myself and everyone else as well, including those I was afraid of. I felt an air of confidence as I hurriedly climbed out of the car as soon as it came to a halt. I surveyed the ocean of police officers, the forensics team and whoever else needed to be there for whatever reason. To me, on this day, they were all just a formality.

"You ready?" Sarah asked.

"If I'm not at this point I may as well go home," I replied.

I walked over to the location of the body and ignored those in my way. If this murder really was connected to what had happened at the docks that meant we were getting closer. I heard something about a drowning as I passed by the crowd. Curious. Sure enough when I reached the body I saw that it was pale and soaked. I frowned. I had expected an old school mob murder - bullet holes, baseball bats and enough dirt on the ground to leave a trail. This was different. I didn't need anyone to tell me that the middle-aged male on the ground had drowned, as there were no clear signs of injury, no cuts or bruises, no strangle marks and no indication of an attack at all. I heard the people around me talking about how the body had been semi-washed up and someone had found it. I heard the medical examiner say that by estimation the victim had been dead for a little over a day, maybe two. But none of that mattered to me.

No one else here knew how trained my eyes really were. Sarah perhaps had a guess. I didn't pay any mind to those who called me a genius. I just had a keen eye. I just observed. Little details mattered to me more than they did others. But I had read once that the frailty of genius was that it required an audience. Not that I thought of myself as one. I was just wary of the dangers of being perceived that way. But I also had come to realise that holding myself back meant that what I could do was wasted away. Ability matters only when it's seen.

I stared down at the body. I leaned in close when I had to and examined it in my own way. I took in every detail; the clothes, the man himself, his face, his skin and his surroundings. I pieced together a puzzle in my mind. I used what little bit I had overheard from the surrounding officers. I thought of the implications surrounding drowning being the cause of death. I thought of that night at the docks. I thought of the information I had already stored in my mind from ages past. And then it all came together in a flash.

"Jack!" Sarah said with agitation.

I glanced up, wrenched out of my thoughts.

"What have you got?" she asked.

I looked at her for a moment before I spoke.

"This is a waste of time," I said, my voice laced with the kind of irritation and disappointment that was impossible to hide.

Sarah stared at me as though she hadn't heard me properly. Nearby officers looked at me with either disdain or curious interest.

"Do you mind explaining yourself?" she said.

I knew I was treading on ice. But I also knew that I was right. I gathered my thoughts.

"The victim has been stripped down to all but his shirt and pants. The pants are navy blue and formal; made of polyester. But they're cheap like the shirt. The shirt has pockets on both breasts. A bit unusual for everyday wear, no? Both items of clothing are a little big for the man too. All in all not the sort of thing he'd buy willingly. That tells me it must be a uniform of some kind. Look closely at the shirt now; the shoulders. Take note of the torn fabric-"

"The badges are gone," Sarah whispered.

I nodded, "Forcefully removed. We know that members of the navy or military wear...what are they called? Ah, epaulets! You know, insignias?"

"Just say badges, Jack."

I half laughed, "Yes. They're used to denote rank. It makes sense then that these would be removed so as to make this man appear ordinary and lower suspicion. But this man isn't military. I mean he's not exactly the portrait of physical perfection. I'd say he's a sea captain."

"Based on what?"

I pointed, "Note the hook on the belt for a walkie-talkie, and of course his legs which are telling. This man clearly isn't in good enough shape to be military, and if he was he'd be quite inactive. Yet the veins on his legs and the muscle tone on his calves indicate a lot of standing or walking as opposed to sitting down. So, ship captain it is."

Sarah rubbed her temple, "He could be a security guard of some kind."

I paused for a moment while the other cops stared, taken back. It seemed I had my audience.

"Maybe. But there's something ironic about a ship captain drowning wouldn't you say?"

Sarah frowned.

I continued, "The weapons came in by boat. It's more likely that he's a ship captain if he was involved. Drowning a captain tell us the killer has a sense of humour or thinks he's a poet, right? Who knows maybe this was just personal. As always the truth lies somewhere in the middle. With all that's in front of me at this point in time I can say that I know the killer. In fact we all do. This man was killed by Anthony Cornero."

There were audible gasps around me. They all knew the name. They all feared it. The man was perhaps the city's most revered crime lord. Its most powerful enemy.

"How the hell do you know it was him?" asked a nearby officer.

I didn't have physical evidence of course but I had more than enough reason to believe what I did. I took another few seconds to collect my thoughts. I had got them listening. I realised then that it was quiet among the crime scene and most of the officers had come to see what was going on. They were now waiting for me to speak.

"Jack..." Sarah said in a low voice. That brought me back to earth.

"I'm sure you all know of Anthony Cornero. Now look at this man's left leg near the ankle. The skin is indented quite deeply all around the leg as though something was tied to it. A rope would be my guess. Cornero's signature is attaching a weight to the legs of his victims and throwing them out into the waters. How do I know that? Well over the years I've studied a few, scattered cases in which the victims were found drowned in similar, peculiar circumstances."

Sarah's expression then told me she had made the connections and recalled the cases.

I went on, "Maybe those drowning incidents led somewhere or maybe they were declared suicides at the time. And maybe those cases were small in number because the rest of the bodies haven't been recovered. But I do know one thing: the victims were always either part of Cornero's mob or one of his enemies. They were always connected to him somehow. We know that when mobs carry out kill orders from their leaders, and when a murder is unconventional like this, then it's either to send a message, it's personal or it's a trademark. I can scratch the first one out because no one but the fishes were getting this message.

"Now it could be personal or a trademark. Difficult to say which. It could be both. This man isn't part of a mob or gang though. He just rides boats. So what reason would there be to kill him? Really think about it. If he was involved in the weapons shipment..."

Sarah looked at me, "He was the captain of the boat. He drove it in."

I nodded, "Exactly. I can think of just one reason to kill him then: failure. Those weapons came in by boat under this man's responsibility. Are you beginning to see? I'll take a leap of logic and say that our guy here on the ground was riding that ship, the operation didn't succeed because of me and we know mob leaders don't exactly tolerate lackeys who don't get the job done. Conclusion: Cornero killed this man for his failure and this investigation is a dead end. We can't prove that Cornero did it. There wouldn't be any traces. Screw us, right?"

No one spoke after that as everyone just took in what I said. I surveyed the crowd and saw looks of admiration and of approval. I also saw deflated faces as this was yet another crime that had to be let go. Sarah was almost unreadable, but I could tell that even if she was taken back or awed she had concluded that my deductions made sense.

"Where's the rope?" I heard someone ask.

I followed the direction of the voice. It was a young cop who didn't seem to have a lot of confidence, and his voice wasn't all that clear. But the question was there and everyone turned back to me.

"Good question," I said, thinking about it, "I don't know though. Maybe it got chewed off by a fish, maybe it tore or maybe the victim here got it off somehow in his final moments. I do know one thing. I guarantee you that if you put divers down there you'll find it and the weight that it was tied to."

"We can check on that some other time," Sarah said at last, "We're done here."

The crowd shuffled away to get to their next tasks and carry out the standard procedures following a murder. Sarah walked up to me and put a hand on my shoulder.

"You did well, Jack," she said and walked off in the direction of the car.

I watched her go for a moment. I knew how she felt. No matter what we did we either lost or hit a dead end. I had heard the appreciation in her voice just now. She was glad that I was here but it was not enough. Even if we got divers down into the rivers and found more bodies we couldn't just march up to Cornero's doorstep and declare that he was involved. Unless we wanted to get killed for disrespecting him of course. But I wasn't going to take this. For me it was only a matter of time before I got one of these bastards. Sarah wasn't yet ready to hear what I really wanted. She wasn't ready to stop playing by the books. But sometimes you needed to play the game your opponent's way and show them that you can win.

Just before I turned away to leave I noticed something sticking out of the drowned man's right thigh pocket. How had I missed that? I had practically covered every inch of the body. Maybe I had been too close or thinking about too many things at once. I reached in and took it. It was just a loose piece of paper. The water had made it almost unreadable, but I could make out what appeared to be the word "meet" and a specified time afterward. What was this - some random date plan or specific instructions? I couldn't make sense of it. I dismissed it as irrelevant then, flicked it back onto the body and followed Sarah to the car.

It felt as though I would never sleep again. The days passed and the work never ended. Things were worse than I knew before as I previously did not have access to the higher level investigative databases and case files back when I was just a cop. Dead ends, charges dropped due to lack of evidence or witnesses going missing and unsolved murders flooded it. There were few closed cases. There were so few victories.

"Jack, could you come to my office please?" Sarah called.

I sat up from my desk and walked into her office, seating myself on a windowsill against the wall and folding my arms.

Sarah smiled at me, "How are things at home?"

"They're good. Everything's good. Nicole wasn't happy about me doing this at first, but she came around."

"What about the little princess of the house?"

I laughed, "She's well. What about you?"

Sarah gave a half-smile then. I briefly knew her history. I chose to respect her and not inquire about her personal life too deeply. I treated her the same way she did me. I wouldn't probe, but rather let her talk to me if she wanted to. I did know that she had been married once before. It had ended in divorce. I was never really sure who instigated it or who was to blame, but my best guess was that the love had faded. Sarah had always been married to her work. As a female it was as though she always had something to prove, and she did by making it to the top. I hated the differential treatment, but it was often unavoidable especially in the police force; a male-dominated job in perception if nothing else. I worried about her sometimes. She was my friend, but I also knew that she was as tough as nails, most likely tougher. The two of us had always got along. Nicole and Sarah had gone to the same school. They knew each other and had been close friends before all of this. And that's how I had first came to meet her.

"I'm alright. Could be better," she said.

"Anything I can help with?" I asked.

"That's not why I called you in here, Jack," she said, brushing her shoulder-length hair aside and dodging my concern, "We've got another one and I hope it's not a waste of time."

I immediately snapped to attention. Sarah picked up what looked like a phone call transcript off her desk and handed it to me before saying, "Another one dead. And it's another one of the guys we arrested at the docks who was involved in the smuggling operation. He was found murdered near to where we made the arrest."

I remained silent as I browsed the transcript's contents hurriedly. It was from a phone call made to the police by the civilian who had discovered the body.

"Jack this is the second killing of one of the involved members this week. That we know about at least. Let's say you're right and Cornero is behind it. Surely if he wanted to punish them for failure he just wouldn't have given them bail and let them rot in prison? I mean he could even just keep them quiet. Their loyalty is bought so surely he could pay them off to remain silent behind bars or take them out in prison? Why bail them if he's only going to kill them straight after?"

I shrugged, "To prove a point maybe."

Sarah sighed and sank into her chair, "And what point would that be?"

"I'm not Cornero."

"Maybe it's just a middle finger to us. Like throwing a dog a bone so it feels like it has your attention for a while."

"Maybe," I said.

As I browsed the contents of the folder, I kept thinking about how little progress the police had actually made against the mob bosses and their entire syndicate. I was new here. I didn't know the extent of it, but what I'd seen so far had not been encouraging. I wondered what kind of strategies the police had employed in the past. Had they gone to any extremes? A sudden thought struck me.

"Sarah, tell me something," I started.

"Hmm?"

"Have you guys ever done anything extreme to catch these mob bosses?"

"Plenty of times. None of it worked. But I can see you have something specific in mind."

I shrugged, "I don't know. Have the police ever tried sending someone in undercover?"

She frowned, "Not that I know of. I wouldn't put too much faith in a plan like that, Jack. These guys are ruthless and meticulous unlike anything you've seen. I don't think any of our men would have lasted very long walking among giants."

I went quiet after that and returned my attention back to the work in front of me. I admitted to myself that I was stumped on this case. But the only way we were going to know more was if we went to the crime scene and gave it a look. It would take about twenty minutes to get there. Sarah and I hardly spoke. We hadn't worked together like this for all that long, but it was something of a routine for us. The silence. Almost like the calm before the storm in a way.

When we arrived the usual crowd was there. I stepped out of the car quickly, restless with my thoughts. After all the formalities were done we arrived at the body. The man was a bloody mess. His head had been beaten in with what I guessed was a baseball bat or club. This was more like a mob's work. His body was battered and bruised and his clothes torn. He'd most likely been assaulted by three or four men.

"Typical mob mess," I remarked.

"Why not another drowning? Isn't that Cornero's style and all?" quizzed Sarah.

I shrugged, "I'd say Cornero is just smart enough not to make the pattern obvious. Most of the cases are loose; spread around. Almost like drowning is his indulgence...his treat."

"You're starting to creep me out."

After the last murder I was doubtful we'd find anything of interest here. Our guys were good at covering their trail. But messes like these could often leave trails. I was just less confident this one had if a man like Cornero was behind it. I bent down to examine the body more closely. There was nothing immediately apparent at a first glance. But I had a sudden thought.

"Sarah we need to get this guy's shoes to the forensics team."

"Anything in particular you're interested in?" she asked.

"I don't know yet, but something tells me this isn't going to be the last murder we find. A person's shoes can be like a map that can tell us wherever they've been. If there's another victim and we can find some matching element between the two it may help us."

"It's a long shot, Jack."

"I know. But we don't have anything to lose at this point. It's worth a try."

She nodded. I decided to search the man's pockets. Tampering with evidence was moot at this point. But I couldn't help a gut feeling that there was some kind of connection here or puzzle. I scrambled around the pockets and frowned as I touched a piece of paper. I pulled it out only half curious, expecting something irrelevant. But what I saw changed everything. I knew without a doubt that it was exactly like the piece of paper I had found on the previous victim, except now I could read it clearly and I knew what it meant.

"Sarah look at this," I said as I beckoned her over and gave the slip to her.

She glanced at it and shrugged, "It's just a note saying to meet here. What of it?"

I smiled, "Yes and I found a very similar note on our last victim. I just didn't think much of it as it was water damaged and I could barely read it. Tell me: what's significant about it?"

She narrowed her eyes at me, but in a few moments I could see her make the connection.

"Are you saying these killings are organised? Time and place for each?"

"Yes. Each victim is given a specific location, which tells us that Cornero is not only killing those who were involved in the weapons shipment, but is also quite specific on individuals."

"But why - what's the point? Why not just kill them and be done with it? Why all the drama, and why the delays between their deaths? If he was punishing them surely he would have just killed them all?"

I stared at the body until my vision blurred, and I began to feel closer to the answer.

"Why do you kill your own men? These mobsters aren't TV villains. They don't just kill them for making a bad joke. Maybe they knew something. Something they weren't supposed to. Maybe they betrayed Cornero's trust. It feels like Cornero doesn't seem to know who the guilty ones are. Think about it. He could have killed them just like that as you said, but the time delay between their deaths...it's like he's going through each individual who was involved in the operation like a person would a checklist. He kills them once he's sure they deserve it."

"Do you think these men were rats? Or rival mobs?"

"That would be my best guess. It would explain why there's a delay between these murders, and why Cornero just had to bail them out instead of letting them rot in prison. He needs to find out what they know, who they've spoken to or whether they leaked anything to us or other mobs. He's cleaning out the dirt alright, but it takes time to find it. It has to be that.

"And if we're right, then Cornero for some reason didn't want information about that weapons shipment leaking. It can't be so secretive and mean nothing. If he didn't want anyone from other mobs knowing about it then it must mean that they're unsettled. That something big is going on. Maybe they're at each others' throats. Or maybe Cornero is planning something big on his own."

"We're making an awful lot of assumptions from a few pieces of paper."

I laughed, "True, but somehow I don't think we're too far off."

Sarah's face suddenly fell. Her eyes widened, and her expression contorted into one of dismay. I knew that I was about to hear something I didn't want to.

"Jack, the only thing we haven't covered is why Cornero would have reason to suspect insubordination in the first place. Why he's resorting to all of this."

With a feeling of dread I knew. And she did too.

"The arrest at the docks. Cornero thinks there's a rat in his mob; someone from that night who gave the game away to us - to me. He doesn't think it's possible I did it on my own."

I fell into silence then as I processed the single, undeniable truth that I was likely the reason for all this. Who knew that sheer dumb luck would come back to haunt me in this way. Now I knew for certain that Cornero believed I, or at least the police, were informed by one of his own men and that's how I had been able to make the arrest. My coincidence and my luck was an orchestrated treachery to him. Such is the paranoia of powerful men, I thought. Men who don't believe in coincidence or luck or that competency and bravery still existed in the police. I looked up at the sky. Nothing but dark clouds. It was going to rain soon. And for the first time the big arrest that I had made did not feel like a victory, but like a hole that I had just begun to dig.

##  Chapter 3: Dying Light

"Jack where are you right now?"

I snapped out of my thoughts and looked at my wife apologetically.

arHardHa

"I said I'm worried that you're getting too wrapped up in this," Nicole said while laying in my arms and drawing lines on my chest with her hand.

Her body was warm against mine, and her skin felt amazing to my touch. Maybe she was right, but I wasn't ready to admit it just yet. This was the fourth night I had zoned out on her, and the fourth night I'd been awake until the early hours of the morning. This time, Nicole had stayed up with me and tried to talk to me about it, but I wasn't in the mood. So instead she had tried to distract me with the suggestion of a movie or something, but again I turned it down. I appreciated what she had been trying to do, I felt bad for being so far away when we were together, but I couldn't help it. Eventually she had just held onto me and we remained in silence.

Ever since discovering that my busting of the weapons shipment had set Cornero's paranoia off I had been worried for my family. Worried that he'd lash out in rage for what I had done. But the days passed by and nothing came. In some ways the silence unsettled me more. I knew I was being overly paranoid myself about the whole thing. I was still a cop. No matter what that always counted for something. And I wasn't just a cop anymore, I was more. Since the last murder, Sarah and I had tried to track down everyone who had been involved with the weapons shipment, but that had turned out to be a dead end. They were well hidden most likely for the exact reason that Cornero didn't want us finding them before he dealt with them. He didn't want them talking to us out of fear. He must have been lying to them; offering them ways to redeem themselves but really it was just a death sentence. It wouldn't make sense for them to voluntarily meet at the place they were going to die at unless they were tricked or forced into it.

It was bad. We had no idea when, where or how the next murder would take place if there was to even be one. We could only be reactive here. And that put us completely on the back foot. The other thing I didn't understand was why Cornero was being sloppy with the murders. With his resources he could make it so that these bodies were never found. It was almost like he was just enjoying watching us muck about. Like we were ants in his cage.

"Jack, usually I find your brooding all cute and mysterious but tonight it's getting on my nerves."

"I'm sorry, sweetheart. I'm just worried about everything that's going on. The mob is scared after the arrest at the docks and they're acting out."

"Are we in danger?"

I didn't answer.

"Hey."

"I was worried that we would be. But no, I don't think so. It's been a long time, and nothing seems out of the ordinary or is giving me any reason to worry."

"You know you can tell me, right? We're in this together. I know you like to get protective, but I'm a big girl I can handle the trouble," she paused with a sly smile, "I married you, remember?"

"That's what I love about you, honey. Even when you're being serious you still find a way to make fun of me."

"It's hard to resist when it's so easy, husband of mine."

"You say the nicest things to me."

Nicole was silent for a while then before she abruptly said, "Did you know I had a hand in prosecuting those men? The ones you arrested."

I looked at her in surprise, "You never told me."

She smiled, "It was your moment."

"Still should have told me."

"Quit being a baby."

I laughed, "Oh, I'm sorry, not all of us can be as hardcore as you."

She scratched my chest, "Don't you forget it or else you'll be really sorry."

I grinned, "Is that a threat?"

"A promise," she said in a deep voice.

I grabbed her and pulled her onto me, "How cliché. You forget I'm also hardcore now."

"Oh, is that so?"

"Yeah, making big arrests and solving homicide cases."

"My Jack? I don't believe that. You need to prove it."

I bit her neck, "Oh I'll prove it!"

She laughed and kissed me back, throwing her arms around my neck.

"Daddy..."

I glanced up from my mobile phone and looked over at my daughter with a smile. She was staring at me with her big blue eyes, a half sulky expression on her face, and her favourite white teddy with a red heart in its hands laying on the table in front of her. I noticed the fur on its right ear looked as though it had been chewed. I smiled. She probably did that in her sleep.

"What's wrong, sweetie?"

"You're always busy these days."

"I know baby. I'm really sorry but your dad is doing some very important things right now and I have to work really hard."

"Is it because you're famous now?"

I laughed at her, "No baby I got promoted, which means I'm doing more difficult and more important work."

"So when will you have time to watch a movie with me, daddy?"

There are few feelings worse than disappointing your child. Feeling like in spite of all you're trying to do, you're not giving them what they really want. Jess wasn't spoiled. She wasn't a lover of material things. Sure, like any kid she loved her toys and pretty dresses, but what she wanted most was just time with her parents. I suppose it was difficult for an only child without siblings, because they can get lonely quite easily, and it's not like we allowed her to sleep over at her friends or be without supervision. Not in this city. Hell we were paranoid to let her out of our sight most of the time. But that's how parents were. I understood. I had been an only child too. My wife had a younger sister, so she had someone to talk to growing up. But they had drifted over the years.

"I'm so sorry my angel. I'm not sure. I want to try to have time for it on Sunday night."

Her face fell, "It's a school night."

How stupid of me.

"I can watch it with you, Jess. Which movie is it you'd like to see?" Nicole said, coming up behind Jess' chair and ruffling her hair. She looked at me and I could see that even Nicole felt a bit upset about it. We used to always make time for our little girl. Nicole had stressed the importance of it for years. That in our city she needed good in her life, she needed our guidance and love and to be protected at home. I always was afraid of sheltering her from what's out there, but Nicole said we weren't treating her like a child. We spoke to her like she was one of us. But she needed to know we're always there and we care about her.

"I want both mummy and daddy. It's our movie night."

At that moment I hated what I did.

"Jess, I-" I barely started before my phone rang.

I put the phone to my ear. It was Sarah. She told me that there was commotion down town, and it seemed quite serious. A body had been found out in public.

"I have to go, Jess, I'm sorry. I promise I will try, okay?"

"Okay, daddy," Jess said in a small voice, and left the table to go to her room. I loved that she was never one to throw a tantrum and she wouldn't complain, but she couldn't hide her emotions either. When she was upset it showed, and the poor girl couldn't help it. As she left I could see that her eyes were misty. I felt it in my heart. Her parents were so busy that she loved the time we did get to spend together, and I loved it too. It just made me happy to make her happy. Of course there was a limit to the amount of things a parent could do with their child, but these were the years where children idolised their parents. The years where we could really shape who they were and how they thought. I hated missing out on even a moment.

Nicole walked over behind my chair and leaned down, putting her arms around me.

"She'll get over it, honey. Is everything okay?"

"It sounds like something serious has happened. A body has been found in public."

"Jack, it's starting to feel like there's a new one every day around here. Is there anything you're not telling me?"

"No, love. I mean, I've understood the murders so far, but publicly, out in the open? It doesn't make any sense. The first two were planned. Straight hits. I could figure out the reason. At least, what I think the reason is. This is just strange."

"Please be careful, Jack. You need to understand the kind of people you're dealing with. They don't fear getting caught. They aren't afraid of prison. They have real power."

"What are you saying?" I looked up at my wife. She was being completely serious now.

"I'm saying that you haven't dealt with these kinds of people before. At least not directly. I'm saying, Jack, that the ice is thin. We both know far too well that the worst enemy you can have is the one you don't know or understand. Don't underestimate them."

I kissed her hand, "I won't, baby. I promise."

She kissed my cheek, "And make time for Jess, broody. She won't be your little girl forever."

I smiled, "I know."

I could tell that the situation was grim before I even spoke to Sarah. The police lights flashed red and blue and a crowd of spectators were held off by yellow tape. The media was here and so were civilians. I pushed past anyone in my way and ignored the flashing cameras and officers around me. It was out in the open alright. Practically random. I walked to the centre of the stage, where the body was, and found Sarah waiting with impatience.

"You're late, Jack."

"He's not going anywhere," I said, pointing at the body.

"You choose now to develop a sense of humour?"

"Edgy."

"Tell me something here, because I'm not seeing anything about this that makes sense."

I looked down at the body. It was mangled in a disturbing way and the man's limbs were broken awkwardly. He'd practically been crushed to pieces. It was easy enough to deduce that he had probably been thrown from the building above me. As I examined the body Sarah informed me that just like the others he had had a note on him that specified his meeting place and the time he was supposed to be here. Was this a whole lot of nothing as well? I knew why these men were dying, but there was no link or anything to go on at all.

"Remember, Sarah. Take this one's shoes to forensics as well. Hopefully there's something."

She nodded.

"Sir, you can't be here. This is a crime scene. Please step back."

I looked behind me in the direction of the voice. A police officer was talking to a man in a hooded jacket. I immediately tensed. Something wasn't right about that man. Was he drunk? What was he doing? I gestured at Sarah and she saw him. I reached for my gun and slowly raised myself to my feet, stepping towards the officer and the stranger. He had both his hands tucked in his pockets and kept his head down so that none of us could see his face. I walked more urgently. The police officer was right in front of the man. I saw a glint of silver.

"Officer get back! You! Put your hands in the air!" I shouted, drawing my gun.

The police officer turned to me startled and it happened instantly. The stranger drew a knife out of his jacket pocket and plunged it into the gut of the policeman, again and again, leaving his body riddled with bloody holes. The policeman barely had time for surprise to register on his face before he crumpled to the ground with blood pouring out of his wounds.

Panic swept through the crowd. Chaos erupted.

I reacted first. The screams, the shouts, the movement - I ignored it all. I ran after the man. The hooded man darted through the crowd, and I pumped my legs as hard as I could as I kept him in my line of sight. My mind couldn't properly process what had happened. I didn't have the time. I just needed to act.

I felt my heart catch in my throat as the fleeing man suddenly grabbed a child, a girl, from her mother's hand. The screams were enough to shatter my insides. I thought of Jess. I ran harder. He held her above the ground and backed into the entrance of a large building. I stopped outside of it in a moment's hesitation. The mother of the little girl was screaming behind me, her voice crazed. I didn't have time to sympathise. I was now dealing not just with a murder, but a hostage situation.

Unfortunately, police protocol was one of powerlessness here. We had to secure the perimeter and wait for demands from the hostage taker. Rash action could get the hostages killed. There was no telling who else the man could injure or take captive inside the building itself. Sarah caught up to me a few seconds later and I hurriedly told her what had happened. The other officers started swarming in and Sarah shouted out commands to ready their weapons, get into position and block off the nearby roads and exits of the building. She ordered for snipers on the roofs of nearby buildings and a SWAT team. I was lost in my own mind. None of this made any sense. Why on earth would this man kill someone so stupidly, a cop no less, in clear view of all of us? And then back himself into a corner where the outcome was grim for everyone involved? Was he just a crazed killer; a lunatic? Or was there more to this - was it a message to us? All the while the mother continued to cry and scream.

"What the hell is this, Jack?" Sarah asked more rhetorically than directly.

I shook my head. A police offer with a megaphone sounded out behind me conveyeing the usual to the hostage taker - that we had the building surrounded and all the rest. There had to be a clear purpose to this. But what? Why had he used a knife? It clearly wasn't an assassination. We were wide out in the open. If he had wanted to kill that specific police officer, he could have done with it with a rifle from miles away, and been gone before we knew what had happened. But this was suicidal - as if he wanted to actually be caught. But who knew what else he had hidden under that jacket? For all I knew he could be planning a suicide bombing. He certainly seemed insane enough at this point to not rule anything out.

There were audible gasps in the crowd as the building doors suddenly opened and a woman walked out. She was clutching herself tightly and her face was tear stricken and pale. She had her hands up in the air and was pleading at us not to shoot. The cops shouted instructions at her. She was just a civilian. She looked like she was about to faint. But then in the midst of all the surrounding chaos she spoke, and her voice was shaken.

"He said he wants to speak to Jack Mercer. Alone."

I froze. Sarah turned to me. What in God's name was going on? I barely had time to process any of it as just then SWAT arrived, pouring out of their armoured vehicle with their guns raised and black uniforms sticking out like sore thumbs. But it was pointless. They were out of the game now; nothing more than clean up in case our losses were too high and there was no other alternative but to go in and take the crazed man dead or alive. But that man wanted to speak to me, and I didn't have a choice in the matter. Not unless I wanted that little girl to die, as well as everyone else inside.

I started moving.

"Are you insane?" Sarah hissed, "You're not going in there."

"Do I really have a choice? He's got that little girl. He's calling the shots here."

"Damn you, Jack. Then you're going in with a wire. If I hear anything we're going in."

The woman spoke again, fresh tears flowing down her face, "He said if Jack Mercer doesn't come forward in the next minute, he'll...oh God he'll kill the girl!"

"There's your answer. There's no time," I said and advanced towards the building.

I told the officers to take the woman to Sarah for questioning about the man inside, and I thanked her for her bravery, reassuring her that everything was going to be alright. I wasn't sure if I believed it. But the lie made me feel a little better all the same. I took a deep breath as I began to feel fear creep in. I thought of my family. What did this man want with me? Did he intend to harm me? Was this about the arrest I made - was the mob finally playing their hand? Damn it I was becoming paranoid. Before I had managed to keep a low profile. That was impossible now. I reached for the door while my heart thumped so hard I felt slightly faint. I slowly opened it and stepped inside.

I was greeted by the hooded man standing in the centre of the room, the knife held to the small girl's neck. The poor child was so scared she looked like she was going to have a fit. She whimpered and cried. I thought of Jess. I had to be strong. I surveyed the room briefly. There were a few members of staff, rigid at their desks with their hands flat in front of them. A few civilians were crouched on the floor cowering from the man. Security most likely had been called off. I approached him with growing fear. I stopped a few meters away with my gun raised to his forehead.

"Hello Jack," the stranger said.

His voice was oddly high pitched, and without a shred of warmth.

"I'm here. What do you want?" I replied, holding my gun still.

"You're thinking about shooting me aren't you? Wondering if you can put a bullet between my eyes before I slit this little one's throat. Do you really want to risk it, Mercer? Surely you can sympathise with that poor mother out there."

He spoke slowly, measuring every word as though each one carried supreme importance. My insides turned to ice. I felt sick.

"Lower your weapon, Jack. I only want to talk."

I obeyed and, as I holstered my firearm, the man drew back his hood. I stared in shock. His face was a gruesome mess; disfigured and ugly. I couldn't tell if he was a burn victim, suffering a major defect or something worse. Only then did I look at the knife in his hand and realise he had a finger missing as well. I didn't know how to react, and so I simply stood in wait, wondering what was going to happen next with growing dread.

"I'm a victim of growing pains. I always lacked discipline. I was arrogant. I was little more than a child with a disruptive sense of bravado. I think you can relate, Jack."

I said nothing. My heart was banging against my chest, and the adrenaline was making it hard to think clearly. Hundreds of thoughts coursed through my mind in the seconds that passed, and the fear started to be replaced by a rush. The man began to show me the extent of the damage to his face and neck with a deliberate slowness.

"This was my lesson. I was humbled by this pain. I carry it with me as a reminder of how incomplete I used to be. And do you know what?"

He paused, waiting for me to press. I said nothing. I wasn't going to humour the psychopath.

"I am grateful for it."

Nicole had been right this morning. I wasn't prepared for this.

"That's a cute story. Get to the part where you tell me what the hell it is that you want," I replied, hearing the words emerge from my mouth but barely controlling them.

The man looked me directly in the eyes.

"Don't be a hero, Jack."

Fear coursed through my entire body like a disease. I had heard those exact words before, from the mob boss Victor Salvatore.

"Heroes die."

I reacted immediately, drawing my gun as fast as lightning. The man barely moved. Suddenly, before I could do anything further, he released his grip on the girl. I was so shocked I nearly dropped my gun. She ran bawling to me and grabbed tightly onto my leg. The man casually let go of the knife and let it fall to the ground at his feet. It clattered loudly in the silence of the room. He raised his hands in surrender.

And then I understood. There'd be no repercussions for the murder he had committed. He could easily make an insanity plea. He most likely was already a former, or current, patient of a mental institution. I approached him and cuffed him and he offered no resistance. I walked him out into the open and sent the little girl off to her mother, who shrieked and grabbed her child as she cried her heart out and thanked me repeatedly.

Sarah seemed barely able to comprehend what she was seeing. There were hushed whispers amidst angry shouts when the psychopath came into view. I handed him over to Sarah and the police who roughly manhandled him into a squad car. He was a cop killer - he'd get no sympathy here among us. Sarah stepped up to me, and her face was white.

"Jack, what in God's name happened?"

After everything had quieted down and the situation had been diffused, I was alone with Sarah in her car. I had filled her in and I had also explained the encounter with Victor Salvatore in the restaurant, where he had said the exact same words to me. Don't be a hero. Sarah had also got a call to say that the man had been identified as Nathan Kenway, and as I suspected he was in fact a mental patient. A schizophrenic who had grand delusions of self-importance; that he was meant for a higher calling. He was going back to his old home in the loony bin. There was nothing to link Kenway to. He was a loose cannon. A wild card. Capable of pulling off a crazy stunt like this without fear of it tracing back to anyone.

Nicole had been right. I didn't know who the hell I was up against.

"Sarah, this was clearly a threat to me from Victor Salvatore himself."

"Sounds like it. In all likelihood it was his skin you got under when the weapons shipment went south."

"The way Kenway spoke, about how he had been humbled by his disfiguring. How it had brought him down to earth after he had been hot headed and arrogant. I don't like any of it. It sounds a hell of a lot like a warning that I'll be getting a similar lesson. I'm a target now."

"I'm sorry Jack. I pressured you into taking this job. I didn't take the time to tell you what it really is about. This is how they play. I've been threatened before too."

I looked at Sarah, raising my eyebrows, "Have you ever been threatened like this?"

"No."

"And the little girl he took...am I supposed to just believe that was coincidence? He taunted me about Jess. Not directly, but he implied that I should be able to sympathise with the mother of that child since I have a daughter myself. Oh God I think he was threatening Jess."

I put my head in my hands and Sarah reached over and gripped my shoulder.

"Jack, you're letting your mind wander off. This isn't you thinking clearly. You're seeing what you want to see here. They're messing with you. Keep your head in the game."

I lowered my hands.

"I want my family under twenty-four hour surveillance, Sarah. I want you to get guys you trust and see to it that my family is kept safe no matter what."

"Jack..."

"Do it or I walk."

Sarah went silent for a few moments.

"Of course. I'll see to it that they're kept safe."

Nicole was horrified when I returned home exhausted and told her everything that had happened. Her horror soon enough turned into a blazing anger.

"Jack, I told you that you didn't understand these people and what they're capable of. I told you!"

"I can't stop now. Nicole we have to fight back! We can't let them always win. We can't let them get away with it. We can't let them get away with it every time! You supported me in this. You said that we were in this together. You knew what I was getting into!"

"Don't you throw that at me, Jack. That was before this...this insanity. Before your life got threatened."

"My life is always going to be under threat now. You knew that. I can deal with it."

"Don't bullshit me with your rationalisations, Jack. You were threatened directly. Our family was threatened directly. And Jess...this is completely different and you know it."

"What do you want me to do, Nicole? Just throw down my cards and walk away? Leave it all behind to hide at home? Leave Sarah to face these animals alone?"

"I want you to face reality. We have a little girl! And I will not put her at risk. Not for anything."

"And you think I will? That I won't make sure Jess, and you, are safe? I've got you under twenty-four hour surveillance by decent men! Men we can trust."

"Oh my God, Jack, will you-"

We both stopped. Our shouting had woken up Jess, and she stood there in her pink pyjamas, rubbing her eyes with one hand and holding her white teddy bear at her side in the other. I could see that she was so scared. Nicole and I had never fought like this. We argued and had our little fights here and there like any other couple, but not like this.

"Daddy please listen to mummy. I don't want you to get hurt."

Her eyes started to tear. God, how much had she heard? Everything faded away then, and I rushed over to her and picked her up into my arms.

"It's okay baby, daddy won't get hurt. I promise. I'll listen to mummy. She's right. It will be alright, princess, I promise."

Jess held onto me tightly, and I turned to Nicole as I cradled her. Nicole's eyes were half angry and half sad.

"I'm so sorry, love. You're right. It's time to pull away."

The anger disappeared from her eyes and she walked over to me and slipped under my arm, rubbing Jess' hair and kissing me on the cheek, whispering that she was sorry too. We stayed like that for a while before I returned Jess to her bed, but she had already fallen asleep minutes ago. I followed Nicole, and after we had returned to our room we just held each other in silence.

"Jack we heard back from forensics," Sarah said.

"Anything good?"

"Actually there might be."

I frowned.

"Their shoes had the usual that you'd expect. Traces of vegetation, gravel and so on. But both shared one similarity that seemed a bit less common."

"Which is?"

"Both pairs of shoes contained some traces of concrete with a hint or two of cement."

I massaged my temples, "That doesn't exactly narrow it down, but the cement? Could be they met at a place that was under construction perhaps?"

She shrugged, "Maybe. It's better than nothing. We can bank it for now."

I nodded as she walked off, and I was left alone to my thoughts. I hated lying to my wife. More than anything, I hated it. I had never kept secrets from her before. But I wished that there was a choice in this. They'd gone too far threatening my family and I wasn't going to just take it. I stared at the board of evidence we had since I began this investigation. I was so tired. It felt like I hadn't slept in weeks. I finally understood the hell that Sarah faced every day and I felt a deep sense of sadness that she had had to face it alone. I knew there wasn't anyone else on the force that she trusted as much as me. My vision started to blur and I closed my eyes, taking a moment to rest. I reached for my glass of ice cold water. I drank deeply and welcomed the refreshment it brought. I declined coffee around here. The stuff always put me to sleep.

Officer Ray Coleman, an oddly cheerful man, stepped up next to me. He was easily trustworthy and just as easily likable. He was harmless though.

"You know, Jack, I think you're a good guy," he said out of the blue.

"Thanks."

"Yes, we're fortunate to have you. It's good to have a fresh pair of eyes now and again. You were really good on these recent murder cases. I think of you as our own Mr Holmes."

"I think that's taking it too far," I said.

"Hmm. How's the wife and kid?"

These days I was always on guard when anyone but Sarah mentioned my family.

"Fine."

"Not much of a talker today, hey? I understand. This shit gets to everyone."

We went silent. Ray had a strange way of cutting the tension sometimes. I guess it was just his cheery attitude. He was a contrast to my quiet and serious nature. Or so I was told.

"Say Jack."

"Yes?"

"You may want to look more closely at the map in front of you. The locations of the bodies."

I looked, humouring him, "You mean the drowning, scrappy beating and public show?"

"Yeah. Give it a look and then come find me at my desk if you get a light bulb up there."

I raised my eyebrows, "What is this about?"

"I like patterns," he said with a grin, but his smile faded when he saw Sarah walking towards me, "Uh oh. The boss. I've got to get back to work. Catch you later, Jack."

I looked at the board and the three photographs of the victims. I studied the map and the red dots plotted to show the locations of the murders. What did Ray want me to look at?

I froze.

Sarah sat down next to me, "What's up?"

I stared at the board. Did it really mean something? Was I getting ahead of myself here? I knew that we as detectives could very easily, and just as dangerously, fall victim to seeing things that weren't there or reading too much into what didn't mean anything. Especially when we were at dead ends like this with no evidence. It was an easy mistake to make. The lack of evidence gets to you, so you make yourself believe that what you're seeing matters. That there's a pattern hidden somewhere in the darkness. But still. Maybe this was something.

"Jack, you're doing it again. Zoning out on me," Sarah commented.

I got up from my chair, grabbed a black marker and stepped up to the board.

"What do you see?"

I stared intensely at the map and wondered if I was being ridiculous.

"Jack, damn it I'm not going to ask you again!"

"It's something Ray just said."

I raised the black marker and started to draw.

"He told me to pay attention to the locations of the three murders..."

I stepped away and admired my handy work. The triangle wasn't that large. There wasn't much room inside it. I looked at the building in the centre of my triangle. It was close enough to reach all three spots yet far enough to not be of any interest. I was half intrigued and half feeling ridiculous. But I had to know for sure. Was it really just a coincidence that all three murders had taken place within close proximity to this particular building? It seemed strange that was for sure. Even the docks wasn't too far away from this spot. Victor Salvatore's mansion was nearby as well. If I didn't know any better I was getting the feeling that this spot was central. But why?

"Sarah what is this building? Right here in the centre."

She slowly got up and walked over. I could sense her reluctance.

"I think it's an old warehouse."

There just so happened to be an old warehouse close to all three murders and the docks? Either I was losing it and had resorted to playing schoolboy detective or this really was something to be suspicious about.

"I want to know more. I'm going to check it out."

Sarah was baffled, "Why?"

"Just a hunch I-"

I stopped. I lowered the marker. I made the connection. A warehouse. It fit.

"What?"

"Concrete," I whispered.

Sarah did not get it.

"The victim's shoes, Sarah. You said there were traces of concrete and cement."

Her eyes sparkled as she finally caught on, "The floor of a warehouse..."

I smiled, "It's what they're made of last time I checked."

"This is another stretch, Jack. But I guess it's all we've got. You're driving. Let's make this quick."

"You're the boss."

It didn't take us long to get there and I was honestly already prepared for this to be a waste of time. We pulled up onto the curb and I swiftly exited the car. Sarah had been correct. It was an old warehouse. Except it was closed. And looked like it hadn't been used in a good long time. It looked like a whole lot of nothing.

"You know, Jack, I've been meaning to talk to you. Since we are here and we have some quiet I figure that now is as good a time as any."

I folded my arms, "What's the matter?"

"You."

I looked at her, frowning, not understanding.

She gazed off into the distance, "I've been running this through my head over the last few days. All that we've been through since the weapons shipment. I've dealt with serious cases in the past. You wouldn't believe some of the things I've seen...but this is different."

"I'm not following. Different how?"

"As bad as things are right now, before the mob used to operate with some kind of order for lack of a better word. No matter how terrifying things got, and I swear to God it's been brutal, it was rarely ever out of the ordinary or completely unexpected. But this, the murders and Kenway and you being threatened like it's some kind of sick joke...this is chaos, Jack. And each passing day I feel less prepared for what's to come next."

I listened in silence as I mulled it over. I never imagined that Sarah could be out of her depth or unprepared for anything.

"Are you trying to say that the weapons shipment...what I did is the cause of all this?"

Sarah turned to face me directly then. Her blue eyes were as hard as steel and anyone else would feel small being on the receiving end of her gaze.

"I'm saying it's you, Jack. What is it about you that has the criminal underworld so on edge? If I didn't know any better I'd say that they see you as a threat."

"Maybe they should," I said against my better judgment.

"Use your head not your ego."

I got annoyed at that but I knew she was right. That attitude wouldn't get me anywhere.

"I've thought about it. Maybe it's because I'm like Kenway claims he used to be. I've done them damage and I'm standing up to them. Evidently I'm hot headed."

"The question is how long they're going to tolerate it."

"We just need to keep making sure we're a step ahead of the-"

I stopped as my eyes caught something ahead. I briskly advanced towards it and Sarah groaned. She followed and came up behind me as I reached the entrance to the warehouse. I reached down to examine the lock on the door and I couldn't help smiling.

"See this lock here? And the chains? While the rest of this warehouse is worn down and old this looks fairly recent. It still has its shine. That's what caught my eye."

I had her curiosity then

"We need to get in here because I don't think it's as abandoned as we thought," I said.

"We're breaking in and we don't even know if there's anything in here, Jack."

"If there's nothing nobody loses. But if it does turn out to be something..."

Sarah swore and conceded shortly. Her frustration with all of this was clearly at breaking point just like mine. We left the warehouse to retrieve bolt cutters. As soon as we returned I broke the lock and cut the chains and we snuck in. I shut the door behind us. This time we had parked the car some distance away and had walked over to avoid attention at the warehouse. We were greeted by total darkness. I switched on my flashlight and searched. There was nothing worth seeing besides emptiness and dust. I stepped on something hard. It clattered. I called to Sarah in a whisper and bent down to examine the object. My flashlight engulfed it. My heart started to pound.

"It's a shell casing..." I said, "Still think this is another stretch?"

"We may have guests. Keep your weapon ready."

I nodded and drew my gun, enjoying the sense of power it gave me. I raised my weapon and held my flashlight arm underneath it as I steadied my aim. We advanced more quietly and slowly now, but I couldn't hear any sign of there being anyone else here. I was convinced now that we were onto something important. I almost laughed at the thought of absurdity and dumb luck being the reason why. But that seemed to be the ongoing story with me. My pride called bullshit; that it was just good instinct. Whatever it had been I was here now.

Something crunched underneath my boot and I aimed my flashlight down at the floor. I bent down to the ground to examine, and Sarah stopped behind me. I brushed my fingers over the surface. There was a crack in the floor, and tiny crumbs of concrete littered the ground.

I turned to Sarah and whispered, "This must be how it got under the victims' shoes."

She nodded. I rose to my feet again. It was a really old warehouse. There were probably similar holes in the ground elsewhere. I continued on. I was sure that I was onto something now. I got to the end of the room without finding anything else relevant and I started to get more anxious. But then I glimpsed a faint blue-green light ahead in the corner and beckoned Sarah over.

I edged towards it. I motioned to Sarah that we might have company. I aimed the beam of my flashlight onto the ground, not wanting to give the game away. I held up three fingers to Sarah, counting down with measured slowness. I burst into the room and aimed my gun and flashlight at eye level hoping to blind anyone who looked directly at us. But there was no one in the room.

There was, however, a lot else.

"Jesus..." Sarah whispered.

The blue-green light was from a computer screen. Littered all over a table was high tech surveillance equipment. It looked like the kind of technology we used on the field. There were two pairs of black leather gloves and two handguns, although I did not recognise the models in the darkness. Razor sharp combat knives, lock picks, GPS trackers and bugs were among the items on display. Wires stretched over the floor.

"Sarah, what the hell is this? The mobs don't operate in this way. Where in God's name did they get access to this kind of equipment? This is for covert operations."

"I don't know..."

"Christ, what are we dealing with?"

"Let's call it in," Sarah said finding her resolve and reaching for her phone.

I grabbed her arm instantly, "No!"

"What?"

"If they have access to equipment like this then surely they must have eyes and ears out there. Maybe on us. Maybe even within our own ranks. We can't rule it out at this point. We're out of our depths here. We need to keep quiet. We can't just trust anyone with this."

"What exactly are you-"

"Damn it, Sarah, we're fighting a losing battle here! We can't risk throwing away this one opportunity to get the element of surprise. They don't know that we've found this."

"You're starting to cross a line, Jack."

"If we play by the rules we'll lose! Every time. Think about it. They've already crossed your line a long time ago. It's our turn to play a hand. Come on, Sarah, you know that I'm right. We're running short of options and just as short of people we can trust."

"What do you suggest we do?"

I had the floor.

"These guys are pros. Bugging this place would no doubt blow up in our faces. And it's too slow a course of action. We need to get a team we can trust, our best guys, and get them here where they live. We get the people who run this whole operation. They'll never see it coming. The information these people may have access to...it could be a goldmine! All that they know and all that they've seen...judging from what's in here they really could be the eyes and ears of the mob. They've settled in here. They aren't going anywhere. And we've got them."

Sarah bit her lip.

"You know what we have to do. The time for child's play is over. We play the way they do and we beat them at their own game. Don't think with your badge or your emotions. We don't have the luxury of trust or loyalty. We can only have what it takes to do what's necessary."

She stared intently at the equipment littering the tables.

"Alright we'll do it your way. I want pictures of every corner of this room. Use my phone camera. Do it quick and let's get out of here and figure out who we can trust."

I nodded and set to work.

There were five of us gathered in the room. I had stressed to Sarah, repeatedly, that we needed to be able to trust these guys with our lives. We needed the best. It had to be Sarah who picked because I hadn't been here long enough to do it myself. She knew her men far better than I did. And she had picked out two members of our task force. Will Harding and Marcus Fields. I knew that they were good men. They didn't ask a lot of questions and did as they were told. Similarly to myself and Sarah they left their personal lives at home. I, however, had suggested a third member to bring our number to five. Ray Coleman. Sarah was dubious about that and more than perplexed given that I had never spoken highly about him before, but he had got me the warehouse lead. And after that I had briefly checked out his profile and discovered that as he had told me he was really good with patterns. He often connected the dots where others didn't see any. He was definitely useful and perhaps the easiest to trust of them all. I knew him better than the others.

"Any questions?" Sarah asked after filling them in.

Ray Coleman had been especially buzzing after discovering that he had been right, and I had given him my appreciation. I was itching to get started. In a matter of hours everything could change. I studied the other two men briefly. Marcus was close to unreadable. But I noticed that Will looked uncomfortable.

"What's the matter, Harding?" I asked.

He started slightly and then shifted in his seat, "Are you sure about this, boss?" he said, directing the question at Sarah.

"If you have a problem spit it out," she ordered.

"Nothing it just seems a bit easy that's all," Will said.

"Don't be naive, Harding. Nothing ever is," Marcus muttered.

I nodded and gave Sarah an approving look. I surveyed the group.

"It happens tonight."

"You told me that you'd pull away, Jack," Nicole said in a low voice. I could see that she was trying to keep herself from reacting more harshly.

I thought very carefully about my next words. Before I had entered the house I had stayed outside for close to ten minutes trying to figure out a way to explain my involvement. I went over my story again and again, but as it goes nothing ever turns out the way you expect it to. And that's the least that you can always expect. I had had a brief chat with the cops outside who were watching over my house and protecting my family. There were two in a squad car opposite the house, and one other officer around the back. Sarah had checked them out thoroughly before putting them on the job. They were as straight as nails.

"This is different, love. We found something big unintentionally. And this could really put the mob away. It's our best chance. It happens tonight. Just one more night, Nicole, and I'll be done with this. I promise."

"Sure you'll be I really believe that," she shot back, but quickly turned apologetic, "I'm sorry that was uncalled for. It's just I'm trying really hard to be understanding here. I wanted you to be able to do this, Jack, I really did want it for you. But that was before that maniac...before you were out of your depth. I just worry that the deeper you go into this, the worse it will get. I worry about you. About us. About Jess. I worry all the time."

"I do too."

"I worry that one day you're going to come home and you'll be a different man. Or that you won't come home at all."

I approached her and placed my hands on her face, kissing her gently, "We both know I haven't changed since you met me. My character growth is pretty flat."

She half-smiled but her expression turned sad, "Jack, these people are ruthless. I really, really don't want you to go."

"I'm sorry, sweetheart. I have to."

She looked up at me, her eyes tearing up, "Why? Why does it have to be you? Why won't you just let it go, Jack?"

"I'm the only one Sarah can really trust. I want to be there tonight, Nicole. To see it through. We got them, baby. I can feel it. This is it. I need you to be with me on this. Please. It's just one more night and I'll be done with this."

She didn't say anything for a while.

"It's going to be okay," I said softly.

"Please Jack I don't want to be alone tonight. I don't want you to go."

My mobile phone rang. And then Nicole let go of me. It was Sarah, which meant we were good to go. I had a moment of doubt then. I was caught between two worlds. And I was right in the middle with neither choice playing to my favour. If I stayed with my wife, I knew I'd regret not being there tonight for as long as I lived. I wanted to be part of what took them down. For Jess. But my wife needed me and I felt like a horrible person for wanting to leave. But it isn't always a simple choice when you're married. And not in a city like this. The only thought that coursed through my mind was the idea of Jess growing up in a decent place if the mob was gone, or at least if there was a big dent in them. If I had the money I would have taken my family and started a new life elsewhere a long time ago. But life wasn't that generous. And here I was.

"I have to go now."

Nicole stared at the floor.

"I love you," I said.

"You too," she whispered.

It pained me to see that there was no pride in my wife's eyes at this moment. I had imagined this whole thing differently. But reality has a way of showing you how deluded you are; what a stranger you are to the actual truth. And that truth was rooted in the disappointment in Nicole's eyes. I turned around and slowly walked out of my house feeling down. But it was just one more night. I was sure about this. I turned back and I saw Jess looking at me from the window. I smiled, overwhelming love filling me up inside as I waved at my little girl. The smile left me as quickly as it had come when I saw the sad look on her face. She waved back unhappily. And I felt it right in my core. I almost didn't want to leave anymore. But I had to. It was just one last night. And we'd win. I climbed into my car, breathed in deeply and gunned the engine. The final remnants of my euphoria had finally escaped me.

The five of us pulled up ways down from the warehouse. The night was eerily quiet. There were no signs of life. Sarah had showed the group pictures of the inside to help them familiarise themselves with the layout and what to expect. It was almost time.

"Fields you're with me and Jack. Coleman and Harding you two are backup. No one goes into or comes out of that warehouse unless it's us," Sarah ordered.

"Come on, boss, really? I wanted to see inside the place," Coleman complained.

Sarah glared at him and he shrugged.

"We need you two out here," I intervened, "We don't know if they have any means of communicating for backup in there or how many people run this operation. We need eyes on the outside while we're in there so we don't get any surprise visitors."

"Fair enough," Coleman sighed.

"Don't take it lightly. Our asses depend on your eyes being out here," Marcus said.

"You're going into a surveillance room not the mob headquarters," Coleman muttered.

"I wouldn't speak too soon if I were you."

Will remained quiet, but he nodded to show he understood the instructions.

"It's time," Sarah said.

I drew my weapon. There was a miniature flashlight attached to the bottom of the barrel. We had all fitted our guns with them. Myself, Sarah and Marcus climbed out of the SUV and silently approached the warehouse. The lock was still broken from our last visit and I doubted that they would have noticed considering there was a back and side entrance to this place that were both a lot more conspicuous than out here in the open. The people inside had most likely just fitted the outside with new locks and chains to ensure no kids tried to sneak in to fool around. I was highly anxious tonight. My pulse was racing. It was the fact that we were so close that every second felt like an endless struggle to get through. But adrenaline ensured that time raced by all the same. In moments we were inside. This time we were far more cautious about the sound we made. Sure our flashlights stood the chance to easily give us away in the darkness, but I knew that the room at the back was quite isolated and whoever was in there wouldn't be able to notice the beams of light. Our main concern was anyone who wasn't in the room; anyone who was out in the same area that we were in.

We were in a triangle formation. I took point at the front while Sarah and Marcus followed behind me. Our steps were slow and soundless. I made sure I kept the beam of my flashlight slightly angled to the ground. It felt like an eternity before we reached the room at the back. It was oddly quiet. Had we come too late, or had they not arrived yet? I steeled my resolve. We'd have to wait around for as long as it took. We needed to plug their whole operation. Sarah motioned to me to take a look and see if anyone was there. I took a deep breath. I couldn't afford to be seen. I braced myself and slowly shuffled towards the entrance of the room, remaining glued to the walls. I counted down and turned in to look. Shock burst through my entire body, overwhelming me. My hands dropped limp to my sides. I could not believe what I saw.

It was all gone.

Everything. Not a speck remained to give any indication that anything had ever been there. I loudly stumbled into the room no longer caring about the noise I made. Sarah swore and followed me in and soon she and Marcus were there to see the emptiness. A void. How was it possible? They could not have possibly known we were coming. I balled my hands into fists. My blood boiled. Anger took hold of me. I savagely launched a kick at a nearby table and it tumbled and crashed loudly on the ground. Sarah hissed at me to keep control of myself.

"It's over. They win. We have no way to track whatever was here. We've got nothing."

I looked over the empty room, feeling a crushing weight descending down upon me from above. I had imagined it over and over again in my mind. Busting this whole operation and walking away victorious. I was as naive as I was a fool. Now I really was done. What would Nicole think? I was almost reluctant to go home. I would take my failure with me. Sarah was expressionless as she stared at nothing, but I could see it too in her eyes.

We had lost.

I was in my room laying above the covers on my bed. I was still in the same clothes that I had worn an hour ago at the warehouse. I had my hands on my midsection and I barely moved as I stared blankly at the ceiling. Nicole had not said a word to me after I had briefly shaken my head and quietly escaped to the comfort of the bedroom. I felt that she knew that this meant I wasn't done with everything. But I truly felt as though I was. I was done. I had to be.

"Do you want to talk about it?" Nicole eventually asked.

"No," I replied softly, unable to hide the disappointment, sadness and frustration in my voice even in that one word.

She gently put her hand over mine. It felt good. Reassuring. I remained still and said nothing else. I found it hard to believe that she was still trying to make me feel better. After everything I had done against her wishes. She was far too good for me. I was just a stubborn failure. I didn't want to talk about what had happened, but I felt the need to explain myself to my wife. To just make her understand.

"I have these dreams, Nicole. This feeling of dread that one day Jess is going to grow up and it's going to be in this city. This awful place. And it's going to take away what's beautiful about her. God, I wake up in tears. I don't want my little girl to go through what we do. I don't want this life for her. I want something better."

Nicole didn't say anything, but she squeezed my hand and held me all the same. For a long time we stayed that way, until I finally manned up enough to say that I was sorry for everything. But it was too late. She had already nodded off to sleep. I kissed her forehead and held her gently, closing my eyes.

The next few days passed by unceremoniously and bore little importance. I was frustrated. I was working late nights again. I had told Sarah that I thought it was better if I was not involved in the rabbit hole that I had been. She hadn't been too happy about that, but it didn't seem like she had much energy to argue after the only lead we had had went down the drain. I no longer felt much attachment or enthusiasm towards the police. The euphoria was gone. Maybe I wasn't cut out for this line of work after all. Maybe I had just overestimated myself. Tonight was a particularly late one and I was tired, bored and restless. I decided to call it. I had to get home at some point. And the longer I remained here the more I risked drowning.

The drive back was slow and felt dragged out. I just wanted to get into bed and talk to my wife for a while. I wanted to talk about her, her day and what was on her mind. Lately it felt like too much focus had been on me. I had not been the best of husbands. I realised with guilt that I did not even know how her work had been recently. I had barely even asked. But Nicole wasn't the only person I had catching up to do with. I also wanted to spend some quality time with Jess. I owed my little girl quite a bit. I smiled as I thought about all the stories and kids movies I probably had in debt by now. She would ensure I paid it all off.

I sighed. I needed to be with Nicole more. I wanted to be. Maybe we could go away for the weekend. It would be great to just relax and do something nice for a change. It would be a godsend to get away from this place. Maybe we could have a family picnic. I almost laughed out loud to myself then. She'd probably say picnics were a cliché, and ask me if we were really going to be one of those couples who tried to show the world how romantic and just-like-the-movies we were. Of course she'd be joking as I knew she loved her walks on the beach and all that, but it would be something she'd say anyway.

I remembered the last time we did something like that. It was a long time ago, probably before Jess. When you had a kid it usually changed everything for you. Kids brought an amazing amount of joy to your lives, but they also transformed a marriage and the time you got with your spouse. It could be the makings of your relationship in which you'd both mature so much, or it could be the downfall if you drifted apart and weren't ready for the job. Luckily Nicole and I had always been. We'd always been the best of friends. But I knew that lately I had not been that to her and it wasn't fair. Maybe going away for a weekend would be a good thing after all. I'd suggest it to Nicole when I got home. Anything that we could just do as a family to get away from all this for a while would do us all some good. Especially me, I admitted to myself. Thinking about it uplifted my spirits.

I pulled up in my drive way ten minutes later and got out of the car, stretching as I began my walk towards the front door. I was already smiling. Nothing made me happier than my family. I was excited to see my wife and daughter on better terms. They were usually the cure I looked for after a day like this. And tonight I would not even speak a word about work. It would just be about them. I quickened my pace and got to the door. I reached for the handle. I froze.

The door was ajar.

I frowned. Nicole never left the door unlocked. In my city that was madness.We had always been careful with this. Surely that was extremely irresponsible of her? Relentlessly my heart started to pound and my gut began to constrict. At that moment I could not explain the feeling that began to seep into my bones. It was like the feeling you got when you were about to walk in on something you know you didn't want to see, but you walked right in anyway because curiosity was like an addictive poison. I felt dread. It spread through my body like an icy chill. My head felt faint. My hand gripped the doorknob. My mind started to wander to places I did not permit it to go.

I pushed open the door.

All that greeted me was the darkness. An empty silence. Slowly, with haunted steps, I walked inside. And I began to feel fear. I entered with a feeling of uncontrollable dread, and I did not know why. All I knew was that I was compelled to move. The air grew thicker as I stepped into the blackness. And the dread took hold. It pulled me down into its abyss, claiming me as its own. I stopped breathing. I dragged my feet wishing to all hell that something, anything, would prevent me from going any further. But that was a kindness I was never going to get. And so I reached for my gun, and descended into the darkness.

##  Chapter 4: Still

The shadows danced along the walls and on the ceiling. Their own private party, the light from the door sending them into frenzy. The air was still. Soundless. I could vaguely hear my own breathing. I did not feel as though I were in my own body. I could not explain the feeling I had that, somehow, I knew something was wrong. But the air was so still. The house was so peaceful. I was already tense, my hands starting to ache from gripping my gun so hard. The quiet soon became as loud as thunder. I edged closer towards my bedroom. I wanted to call out to Nicole and to Jess. But somewhere my rational mind told me that if anyone else was there waiting for me I risked alerting them. I remained silent; robbed of choice. There was a faint beam of light emerging from my room. It half gave me relief and half filled me with fear. I silently prayed. I prayed that I was simply being paranoid. I had seen the police officers' car right outside. They were still here watching over my family. Nicole and Jess were safe. All too soon, much sooner than I had wanted to, I reached our bedroom. I placed my hand onto the doorknob as I prepared myself. I breathed in. Once. Twice. Thrice. A silent count, yet I relished each second of waiting.

I barged inside.

My breath caught. The shock burned through my body like icy venom. My gun clattered to the floor. I saw red. A body. I recognised it. So much red. White sheets stained with wet blood. The ground disappeared beneath me. I choked. I stood there as the shock became a paralytic and my mind could not interpret what I saw. Yet I could not force myself to stop seeing. I heard a sound emerge from my mouth that I did not believe was me; an anguished cry so full of pain.

Nicole was dead.

My legs gave in and I crumbled. My arms felt weighted and old. I clawed my way over to the bed, going mad. Each moment I drew closer, yet I fought to stay away. I finally forced myself to reach toward her. My hand touched hers. Cold. So cold. I shook her. No movement. She did not breathe. My hand touched the blood. There was so much. I tried to speak. Nothing.

Everything was still. Somewhere deep in my mind where rationality was a growing darkness, yet still there, I remembered Jess. I raised myself from the bed and the blood stuck to me like a parasite. The room began to spin. The light started to fade.

And then I saw her.

Her body was on the floor beside the bed. I saw nothing but blood and ruin; the body of a child completely unrecognisable. The world collapsed down upon me.

I screamed.

I screamed so loud my insides scorched. I fell down onto the body of my wife, clutching her to me, and all I saw was red.

I was awake. But I was not. I was aware of people around me. Voices, echoes and noise. I could not make sense of any of it. One of the officers placed a hand onto my shoulder, offering me comfort. I did not feel it. He began to speak to me. I could not hear what he was saying. My ears were filled with white noise, and my senses were numb. I did not feel anything. Then Sarah was there. She put her hands on mine. I felt no warmth or comfort. I was cold. I had aged. I was empty. I was something less than human. I wanted to speak. My voice was lost. There was nothing I could say. I could not bring my mind to work or my body to move. I was simply in darkness.

In some way it brought relief; a tainted mercy. I felt no pain. I felt no sorrow. I felt nothing. I was just drowning. I wanted the noise to stop. I just wanted to let go. Yes, that sounded good. I could just let myself drown. I could save myself from feeling again. Before I felt the pain take hold. I could prevent it. I did not need to think about what was gone.

Sarah then told me that she was sorry. She told me that one of the officers who had been guarding my house was missing. The two in the car were dead. She did not know how this could have happened. And then she turned to speak to the coroner about Nicole. About Jess.

She thought that I could not hear, but I did. She was told that my wife had bled to death from multiple, deep stab wounds over her chest and stomach. There had been dozens of small lacerations all over her body. It had not been quick. It had probably taken half an hour for her to have bled out. Jess' body had been utterly ruined. The teeth had been removed. The blood drained. The body was unrecognisable. It was the work of psychopaths, Sarah had said. She had not seen that level of violence before. The differences between the murders was staggering. It was as if Nicole's murder had been at the hands of a sadistic artist, and Jess' by a monster.

I could not be there anymore. But I was being made to stay. The time passed without me knowing. Eventually the police were gone, the bodies were taken away and my home was a crime scene, but no one could get me to leave. Sarah ordered them to go anyway. My family had died just a few meters away from where I stood, in that room that ceased to be my bedroom, but a pit. Only Sarah was left. She went to the kitchen and began making either tea or coffee. I did not know. I heard her stop moving abruptly as if remembering I did not drink either of them. She asked me what I wanted. I did not respond. She trailed off, bringing me a glass of ice cold water. She held it uncomfortably out towards me but I did not move to take it. I could not bring myself to do anything. Sarah took the glass back to the kitchen, and I heard her choke up and weep. It sounded like that. I had never seen her upset or emotionally compromised in any form, not even once. I had never seen her cry. But here she was, in my house, still trying to keep it all a great big secret to herself. How curious. Of course she hurt. She and Nicole had known each other and been friends since they were teenagers. It must have hurt. I just stood and listened to Sarah cry. This is what it felt like to be broken.

Sarah returned and kept her head low. She took me, guided me towards a chair in the living room and made me sit down. I did not register anything she said. Eventually she just sat with me in silence. Seconds passed. Minutes. Soon they stretched into hours. Sarah had dozed off. I just stared into nothing. That is what I had. It's what I was. Nothing. Sarah stirred. I listened to the stillness of the air. I did not know how long I sat there, but light had started to stream in through the windows. The darkness was gone. Sarah woke up slowly and surprise registered on her face when she saw that I was still awake. She worryingly leaned down and cupped my face, looking into my eyes. It was almost strange. She had always shown me concern and care, but this was bordering on pained affection. She told me she would stay as long as I needed. She asked if she could get me something, and told me I needed to eat. Worrying about that seemed so trivial. Who cared what happened now? But I began to feel a wave of dread. It was only morning. There was an entire day to still face.

Sarah's hand eventually left my shoulder and she took reluctant steps towards the door, saying that she would get me something. Without another word she slipped out and suddenly I was alone. The quiet was eerie. The house was dead. My hands began to shake and I finally moved as I clutched my head. It was all my fault. I had done this. I gritted my teeth as my sadness turned to overpowering anger and my face became hot. The agonised scream that erupted from my mouth was not something I recognised. I screamed and knocked over the chair I had been sitting on. I unleashed my rage, pounding the walls, throwing furniture to the ground. I savagely kicked the dining room table and it flipped over.

I pulled at my face. My family was gone. Nicole was dead. Jess was dead. My little girl.

"No, God, no..." I stammered.

My legs gave in and I collapsed onto the ground, cradling my head in my hands and weeping, feeling a crippling pain that rendered me unable to breathe.

Hell had opened its gates for me, and I had accepted the invitation by my own doing. I had made it so easy with my mistakes. Because I could not let go. Because I had been arrogant. Pathetic, worthless idiot. Now my punishment was to be the only one left alive.

I wept for a long time. Until Sarah returned with a bag of food in her hand and found me curled up in a ball on the floor. Surprise spread across her face as she took in the mess I had made and me on the ground. She rushed over and held me in her arms.

Time just seemed to pass by ever so slowly. I sat in the same chair that I had been on most of today. It had a bit of a wobble now. My earlier kick had damaged it. I did not mind too much. I just sat. I was feeling a little tired. Sarah had been called out and she reluctantly went out to do her duty. I wondered why she did it. With nothing to gain and only everything to lose it seemed like a fool's path. Had she not learnt anything from what had just happened to me?

But I felt strangely at ease. I guess I was relieved that I had made it through most of the day. It was early evening now. I was feeling tired. Maybe a short rest would do me some good. At the very least I'd get to escape this place for a while. I slumped in the chair, ignoring all else. I still felt my wedding ring on my finger. I could not bear to remove it.

I closed my eyes, and suddenly it was May 15, 1998. I looked into Nicole's eyes and told her that I had never imagined that I could love anyone like I did her. That I had not believed that this sort of love existed. That she had showed it to me. She had given me everything I had ever wanted, and everything I had never known I wanted. That only she was able to bring me back down to the ground. I looked into her beautiful eyes and told her that I did not want to spend another minute of my life waiting for the right moment. I loved her as easily as I drew breath. And I always would. With a soaring heart and a determined mind I had asked her to marry me.

With tears of joy in her eyes she had said yes.

I opened my eyes. One hour had passed. I did not know how. I did not feel my feet on the ground. I did not feel the cold on my face. The numbers on the clock turned into a blur. It was then August 20, 1999. The twentieth day of this month, the day Nicole first became my girlfriend would be the same day she became my wife. The wedding had been flawless. She was perfect. What had I done to deserve her? I did not think it was possible to be happier.

My eyes closed once again as I slumped. The darkness took me to July 18, 2004. I was pacing at the hospital with my heart racing. I was a wreck. Nicole had had an accident. She had fallen from a stepladder and had went into labour. The baby was pre-mature. Hours later a nurse found me and my hands were bloody. I had crushed my water glass in the cafe by gripping it too tightly. She had smiled at me, tried to help me and told me that everything was okay. Nicole was fine. The baby was okay. On this day I had been proven wrong. It was possible to be happier after marrying Nicole. I had held her close in her hospital bed. She had been smiling weakly, but had somehow retained all of her radiance. I was telling her how proud of her I was. That she had done it. I held her hand as we went to see our baby. It was a girl. She had been so small that I had gasped. But it had only taken a moment before I had felt overwhelmed with joy, in awe of my baby's beauty. She was a miracle. The ordinary miracle is what they called childbirth. There was nothing ordinary about it. Right then I felt the love that only a parent could feel for their child. I would protect her from anything. I would become anything to keep her safe. I would give her the world. Nicole was crying and holding me tightly. I kissed her.

I jerked awake. Three more hours had passed. It was midnight. I felt hunger. I did not care. My mouth was dry. I would not quench my thirst. I did not want to breathe. My eyes felt heavy again. Before I could do anything they shut and I was facing the black once more. Vivid dreams took me back to January 27, 2005. Nicole and I were sitting at the dinner table. I was holding Jess in my arms. Nicole was teasing Jess, saying that she was her daddy's girl and did not love her mummy as much. Jess had then looked at her with the most adorable eyes and said "mama". Nicole and I stared in surprise. That had been her first word. Surprise had turned into elation. We shouted and cheered for our girl and I had grinned at Nicole uncontrollably. She performed a mock victory dance and I knew neither of us would forget Jess' first word.

Reality slipped back into focus. I had nodded off for a few minutes. I ran my hands over my face and tried to remain awake. I tried really hard. And I succeeded. I breathed slowly, but my mind drifted once again. It was September 6, 2005. Nicole and I were arguing about something silly. I could not even remember what the disagreement had been about. It had got heated. Suddenly, in the middle of our fight, her face had burst into an expression of wonder, followed by immense joy. For a moment I was confused; irritated even. Then I had turned around. There was Jess, our baby girl, taking her first steps. She wobbled on her tiny legs and held her arms out to balance. It had been the most beautiful thing I had ever seen. Words could not have explained the pride, the love and the joy that I had felt at that moment. Nicole and I had rushed over to Jess and had made a huge fuss. She had giggled at us shyly but proudly. I smiled at Nicole and she beamed back, our stupid fight had been instantly erased. I stroked her cheek and she kissed my hand. Jess had then abruptly fell back onto my lap, and had begun to cling to me, not wanting to let go as she made herself comfortable. I had looked at Nicole as I smiled. I had winked at her. She had rolled her eyes in that cute way of hers. She had then leaned in and kissed me. I recalled telling her I loved her. She had simply said that she knew.

I cradled my head in my hands and wept. The agony was unbearable. Nobody could live with this. And then, in that moment, I realised my true punishment. For what I had done, I would be tortured every moment, every hour and every day just by being alive.

The dead are free. It is those who live that suffer until the end.

I recoiled. The moment the thought entered my mind I hated myself. I felt ashamed. I raked my face with my hands. How could I think that? I was no victim. I deserved this pain. My family were the victims. I had cost them everything because of my selfishness. My arrogance. I never deserved them. I began to suffocate. My mind continued to flash back to the blood, their bodies and that despair, and then I wept; unable to escape the images in my mind.

There were moments in your life that you could never forget. Choices you made that haunted you forever and left you thinking about all that you could have done differently at the time. In hindsight every little detail became clear to you. Minutes on the clock, words spoken and decisions made all became as clear as a deep blue sky. I felt it in my heart. If I had known then what my choice would have brought me I would have instead chosen death.

I had not left my home in days. I was completely cut off from the outside world. Sarah checked in whenever she could. And she grew more upset daily. I did not remember the last time that I had eaten anything. The pain of hunger was unbearable in my gut. For a moment I thought of not doing anything about it, and simply waiting until my body failed and I starved. But I could not do it. It would be drawn out and so pointless. It would be a stupid death.

Reluctantly I shuffled over to the kitchen with an overwhelming tiredness. My body was so weak. I barely made it without feeling nausea. I filled a glass of water almost as if in a trance. I gingerly took a few sips. It felt incredible. I began to gulp it down and filled another glass immediately. I drank deeply. I felt so good. I stopped. I did not want to feel good. I did not deserve to. I dropped the glass. It cracked badly as it hit the basin. I turned to walk away. I stopped again. I was so starved. My body screamed at me. I was weak. I was pitiful. I gave in. I hurriedly threw cheese onto a slice of bread and ate it. I felt more alive. I felt okay.

Maybe I could take a step outside of the house now. Get some fresh air. Clear my head. I needed a break from this place. I began to walk purposefully towards my front door. I reached it quickly and placed my hand onto the doorknob. And then I froze up. I could not move. I began to tremble. My heart thumped wildly. And then I knew. This I could not do. I could not face what was out there again. It had taken everything from me. There was nothing out there for me now. Yet my mind was in contradiction as a small part of me wanted to step out, just for a moment, so that I could breathe again. The thought was like a dull needle in the back of my head, working its way to the core of my mind. Maybe I could rip the bandage off quickly and pull open the door. But I could not bring myself to do it. I dropped my hand to my side.

Tomorrow, I thought to myself. Maybe tomorrow.

The days stretched on and soon a week had passed. Sarah was here again and I could tell she was more impatient, and more determined to want to get me out of the house. Somewhere deep down I appreciated it. I also knew that I resented her for encouraging me to take the job. We had known each other for such a long time. There was a strong friendship. I had still not said a word since my family's passing. Not one. I did not have anything to say.

"Jack, you've been here long enough torturing yourself. I think you need to talk to someone professionally. If you don't want to talk to me I understand. But you can't do this. You need to at least try. I'm still here for you."

But I was trying. I was trying so hard. I had tried every single day to leave this house. And every time I had tried I had failed. I was stuck here. With the stillness in the air, the photographs on the walls and the pit that I used to call home. I just said nothing to her.

"I miss her, God knows I do. I know that we didn't stay in touch as much as I would have liked, but she was wonderful. She always had been. I practically grew up with her."

I let her talk. I did not have anything to say. So I just let her be.

"I'm so deeply sorry, Jack. I am not going to tell you that everything happens for a reason or that God has a plan for us or anything like that. I'm not going to tell you that everything is going to be okay either. But there is one truth that you need to face. Nicole loved you. Jess loved you. You have a chance now to honour their memory and repay that love. Only you can decide if you're going to do that. But you can. They'd want you to live."

How was I supposed to live? There was nothing left to live for. Sarah carried on talking. I didn't know for how long. I began to lose track of her words. I only recalled that she eventually snapped and grabbed my arm, pulling me off of the couch. I barely reacted. Then she began to pull me towards the door. I knew what she was going to do.

And I went mad.

I fought her, I struggled and I tried to pull away. But I was weak. My body was not functional. And she won. She dragged me to the door, threw it open and almost shoved me outside. I closed my eyes and my entire body trembled. My heart hammered so hard against my chest that I felt faint. I stood, paralysed, unable to gaze upon the world. Time fell away and I felt a cold breeze on my neck. It cut like ice. I knew that the sun was out. I could also feel its warmth. I felt a hand on my shoulder. Sarah had walked up beside me, whispering words of comfort. For a small moment I felt that I could do this.

I opened my eyes.

There was nothing. It was so anti-climactic. The world had carried on. It had forgot about me. Everything seemed peaceful. Exactly as it had been. Except I knew the monsters that lurked out there. I knew what they had done. I carried the scars. But from where I stood you'd think that the city was safe. Only because you couldn't see their faces. From where I stood it was alright. I felt calmer now. I strolled over to the curb and sat down. I stared vacantly out onto the street. I sat there for so long. Sarah gave me a gentle hug before she left, telling me to call her if I needed anything. That I didn't have to talk. I could just call. I watched the birds. I watched the cars. I watched the people. I watched the sun eventually set. I witnessed darkness arrive.

They were not dead. I would open the door and I would walk inside. Nicole would be reading a magazine. Jess would be waiting in her bed for me to read her another one of her favourite fairytales. Nicole would greet me with her beaming, beautiful smile. Jess would giggle; a splitting image of her mother. She'd run into my arms and throw her hands around my neck. Nicole and I would share a kiss.

I would breathe again.

For one small, insignificant moment my life was within reach. The illusion took hold. I was liberated. I opened the door. A family photo greeted me on a nearby wall. The pit in my stomach enlarged, and my heart shattered once again. My legs felt weak and I could not bear to take another step. I felt a wave of panic wash over me. My hands were unsteady. The room began to shift out of focus. It was dark. I was alone. I was in hell. I tried to walk, but my breath caught in my throat and then I was suffocating. The tears fell. I collapsed to the ground in misery. I clutched my hands to my face as I wept, trying to block out reality.

I did not know how long I remained on the floor; how long my heart ached. I only knew that it was much darker and colder. I must have laid on the floor for hours. My eyes were throbbing. I had no feeling left in my body. I knew that I needed to eat and drink. My body was failing me again. But the pit in my stomach was growing and nothing would fix it.

I could not live like this any longer.

In desperation I shuffled to my room. I needed it to be over. For the briefest of seconds I resented the love that I had for Nicole, and even for Jess. Shock and horror coursed through me the moment the thought entered my mind. I was despicable. I was weak and pathetic. I had caused my own pain. I deserved the pain that tore me down.

I wanted them back.

Life must have meaning. It could not just be so pointless. If there was a God out there, maybe there was an afterlife too. Maybe there was an easier way out. Maybe I could see my family again. I pulled open the drawer beside my bed. I reached for my gun. I slowly sat down onto the soft duvet cover and stared at the weapon in my hand. All I had to do was pull the trigger. There would be no pain. There would be no more suffering. It would just all be over. I would be with my family again. I had to believe that I would be reunited with them. It had to be true. It had to. People would understand why I did it. It would be alright.

I placed the gun underneath my jaw.

My heart began to pound, and now it was the only thing that I could hear. My final symphony. Many people did not know what they would want in their last moments. I knew. I could think only of my wife and daughter. They would understand. They would know I was doing this to be with them again. I closed my eyes.

I squeezed the trigger.

The gun clicked.

Nothing. I stared at it in confusion. Then I realised. Stupid, pathetic, weakling. I did not keep my gun at home loaded. Nicole had demanded it. I should have known the moment I had held the gun in my hands; I should have felt that it was lighter. I threw it down onto the floor in anger. I had been spared by my own negligence.

I might have laughed if I had remembered how.

But then I realised. It had not been negligence that had prevented it. I had been saved by Nicole. Even gone she could still do that for me. She could still save my worthless life. I no longer had the nerve. I just stayed there and cried the night away.

I made it through a few more days, slowly getting used to leaving. I could do it without feeling my insides constrict. But despite that I did not feel any better. I did not feel normal or like anything ever would be. Every day was the same. I woke up. I suffered. I drowned in sorrow. I survived. I barely knew what time it was or what I did from one hour to the next. I was just aging. Years in days. The days were pain, and the years were endless. I could not bring myself to have any desire to do anything. I did nothing other than serve time in my private hell.

Right then I felt that I needed to get out again. And so I left my home for no particular reason, heading in no particular direction. The one solace I had was that I did not dream at night. At least I did not remember them if I did. So I did not suffer nightmares, and for those hours in the darkness I was at least gifted fragments of escapism. But there was a downside to that too. Not being able to dream meant that I did not see my family in my sleep, in a better time and a better world. I would take a dream. Sometimes fantasy was better than reality.

I circled around the block, my hands deep in my pockets. It was so quiet here. I hated it. The air was cold, and I liked it. It was fitting. My desire to live was insignificant. I barely knew why I was still here. I justified that it would feel like betraying Nicole if I loaded that gun in my bedroom drawer. It felt like I would be spitting in her face for saving my poor excuse for a life. Maybe there was another way that I could die. A better way. A car approached, speeding down the empty street, and for a moment I thought of throwing myself in its direction. But there'd be no guarantee of death, and I stood the chance of landing up trapped in a hospital bed, a useless cripple unable to do anything on his own. Unable to do anything but feel every moment of pain. The universe was that cruel. The car passed, taking the moment and the vision with it. And it was silent again. This was pointless. I headed back home.

I felt alone. I felt depressed. Other than Sarah no one had remembered to care. Or maybe they did, and I just did not remember the phone calls. Both my parents were dead. Nicole's parents did not live here. Did they even know? Should there have been a funeral? I did not know. I did not want any of it. I did not really have much family. Not many that I had kept in touch with. In life you just drifted. With time everyone becomes a stranger. And if you stopped paying attention eventually you would find yourself looking into the mirror and not recognising the face that stared back. That was how I felt. Sometimes. Other times I hated the face that I saw.

I reached my door and lifelessly pushed it open. I rubbed my eyes as they adjusted to the darkness. I was thirsty. I headed over to the kitchen and quickly poured myself a glass of water from the tap. I retreated to the living room, thinking of sitting down for a while. I moved my hand towards the light switch and flicked it on. I turned. I gasped. I dropped my water glass and it shattered as it hit the ground. My insides turned to ash. And I felt a hollow pit rise up to the surface within me.

Written on my wall, in wet blood that glistened in the light, were the words: 'Don't be a hero.'

Hundreds of thoughts coursed through my mind. My heart raced. I felt instantly hot. I trembled. I started to feel detached from my body. I was nauseous, and my breathing was strained. I was having an attack. I turned around and held onto the wall for support, closing my eyes and trying to breathe. I was sweating within moments. My head was pounding. My breathing was now laced with panic.

I looked again and the writing was still there. My mind flashed back to the blood in my room. The body of my wife. Of my Jess. I silently screamed to myself. I raked my face, breathing in deeply. I was suffocating. I doubled over and clutched my head in my hands. I needed it to stop. I needed it all to stop. I could not take this. I forced myself to turn around a third time and I slowly opened my eyes.

The wall was empty. There was nothing there.

I stared at it in confusion. I was so sure of what I had seen. Someone was screwing with me. I hobbled over to the wall and slowly reached for it. My hand was shaking. I felt weak. I touched the wall. It was completely dry. There had never been anything written on it. I let my hand fall. I closed my eyes again and rested against it. I just focused on trying to regain my composure. I felt sick. The dominoes were starting to fall. I was breaking. Despite everything I knew I deserved, I did not want to wait until I lost my mind. I wanted to be clear. I wanted my mind to be awake so that I could be punished for what I had done, and so that I could feel my pain and know why. I did not want the clarity to go. I did not want to forget. I did not want that mercy. And I did not want to corrupt the memories of my family.

Perhaps it was time.

I padded over to the home phone. I reached for it slowly. And then I hesitated. I would be giving myself over to the dogs. Once I went down this path, there was no way to know when I would emerge. But I did not want to just wait like this anymore. Not with my mind starting to deteriorate. I did not want to be crazy. I knew that I did not want that. I dialled Sarah. It rang. A few times. I started to lose the nerve. I wanted to put the phone down and retreat. I fought with the decision. But she answered and the choice was taken from me.

"Jack? Is that you? Are you okay?"

I tried to find the words. She did not speak again, but I could hear her patiently waiting. I could hear her desperation over the phone. My throat felt so dry. I did not know when last I had spoken a word. I needed to break the silence.

"You were right," I breathed. I barely recognised my voice. It sounded rasped, lifeless and old. "I need to talk to someone."

I hesitated.

"Of course, Jack. Anything you need. I promise."

I wrestled with myself. Once I said what I wanted to say it would all change. But I had come this far. I may as well cross the finish line.

"I'm seeing things."

I put down the phone after my confession. I felt too exhausted to do anything but fall.

##  Chapter 5: This Sorrowful Life

I thought that I would be able to do it. I thought that I would be ready. But I could not talk to these people. They did not understand. I had always respected psychology as one of the most important studies of the modern world. It was almost essential. But the people Sarah had brought me to just did not get it. All those years of studying and experience and they did not get it. They did not understand the hurt.

They lectured me on dealing with pain and on picking myself up. They told me what was happening to me; what I was going through. They gave me sermons on how time would make a difference; suggested even that I needed a change of environment. They grew impatient with my silence. The more impatient they got the more they seemed to talk. It was as though they had grown tepid and off being reduced to listen to marital problems and depression. I did not understand it. In this city they should have been used to dealing with atrocities. Maybe I was simply the problem. Maybe what I wanted they could not give. I had gone through about three or four psychologists by now. I had spoken to the counsellor at the office. It did not help. Sarah had even got desperate enough to send me to an actual psychiatrist after that, but I had not been very helpful to the woman and neither had she been to me. I refused to take medication. I wasn't sick.

I had truly thought that I needed it. I had believed that it was time. But I was not prepared to face the darkness. I was in Sarah's car now. I leaned against the window with my eyes half-closed. Sarah had been at the height of her concern after I had confessed to seeing things. I could barely comprehend that I had actually been hallucinating. It was bizarre when I thought about it. But it had got worse after that incident with the writing on the wall. It had happened again recently. I had seen a dead body in my bedroom - my wife. I could still see the blood now; the gaping holes in her chest and her pale, empty eyes. Since then I had been afraid to go back into that room. I had avoided it like a witch's plague. Sarah spoke then and drew me from my grim thoughts.

"There's one more person I can take you to Jack. I've known her for a long time."

She waited, as if hoping I'd ask who it was. When I didn't she continued.

"She helped me before. If it's not a good fit with her then I promise that we will stop, alright? No one is forcing you to talk."

I tried to feel appreciative of what Sarah was doing, but I could not bring myself to. The only benefit that I was getting from this was that it passed the time. My thoughts had turned cynical. If nothing else, at least I was doing something. Being left alone with my thoughts was almost impossible to take. I knew that I deserved to feel that pain, but it was maddening.

"I gave her a call already, Jack. She's waiting for you."

I had a growing discomfort in my stomach now. What if I couldn't talk to her either? Would Sarah give up on me? I had not yet told her that she had been a comfort to me. When she was with me I felt the pain less. It was a guilty comfort that I indulged in like a child handed a cake. And it was nice to know that someone still cared. Eventually, we pulled up at the psychologist's home. She had a nice place. Bright, comfortable and gentle. I imagined that's what her personality was probably like. Sarah had said that her name was Teresa Brooks. I liked the first name. I sat in the car, looking out of the window at her home. I tried to procrastinate the seconds. Sarah put her hand on my arm, and told me to go in. Her voice had been soothing, and not commanding.

I listened.

I could feel myself slipping, once again falling into the hands of gut-wrenching guilt and sorrow. In the stillness reality had begun to fall from my grasp, and everything distorted into some kind of twisted dream. It had been just under thirty minutes. I sat motionless in my chair, staring ahead of me, completely lost in my mind. I was not paying attention to Doctor Teresa Brooks who sat opposite me, her posture entirely relaxed as she waited for me to speak with a trained patience – as if I really would. She was the fifth therapist I'd been to; all brief encounters that had ended with them giving up on me and my silence and lack of cooperation. I had not been able to give them anything.

I was trying. I really was. But I didn't want to talk. At least not to these people. It was though everyone was expecting me to break down and weep like a child at any moment, and all would be right in the world again once I did. As though they had the answers and what I was feeling was just another set of symptoms to diagnose and wrap up in a neat little box. How was talking about it going to help? And even if I wanted to how could I find the words? I spent most of my waking minutes forcing my mind to cease to torment me.

"I can't help you if you don't talk to me, Jack," I heard Teresa say.

Jack. The name barely registered to me these days as if it had no connection to me at all. I shifted my head so that I could see my doctor clearly. She was a pretty woman. Dark hair and deep green eyes. She kept herself neat. Her expression was comforting but at the same time it was unreadable. Their appearances might be different, but they were all the same in the end. All they ever wanted you to do was talk. They wanted to break you down to your core and manipulate you into handing over your mind, so that they could study it like a cat would a ball of string. They privately judged you, grew tired of you and longed for something interesting during meetings conducted when you were vulnerable, damaged and depressed. But my mind was my own. No one could take it from me. I would not part with it.

Teresa gently leaned forward and placed her pen and notepad onto the coffee table. I switched off. She had already given up on me before the session had even ended - or started for that matter. I turned my attention away from her. I observed my surroundings. I did like how informal it all was with her though. It was a nice change from the stiff offices I had been at previously. With her, it felt homely. It was nice. I felt a little more at ease. Her place did not feel like a pit.

Teresa folded her arms, "If you're not up to talking and would like to just sit and have some peace of mind to think on your own, then that's alright Jack. This is about you. No one is forcing you to talk. You can take all the time that you need."

I looked at her. She was in all likelihood compromising her standard rules and protocol for me. She was allowing me to do things my own way. But why? She didn't know me. To her I was simply another patient with problems, bearing the smallest chance of presenting something genuinely interesting. Yet why did she somehow understand my need for silence - for peace? My need to feel, just for the smallest amount of time, that I was not in hell.

I contemplated on this. I heard it being said once that pain is inevitable, but suffering is optional. And maybe that was it. Maybe, just maybe, it was my silence that gave life to the pit. Maybe it was the reason that I tormented myself. The reason I could no longer sleep, stand to be awake or live. The reason I still felt so much pain, guilt and sorrow, as though my family had died only yesterday. I did deserve to feel pain. It reminded me of what I had done. What I had lost. But I didn't want to simply wait to die. I didn't want to watch the days pass by, unable to do anything while the world carried on without me and I just suffered. I didn't want to pointlessly fade alone. I'd rather it be quick, if I had the nerve to do it.

But I wanted something else too. Something that I just realised I had developed a craving for the moment my family had died. And now in the comfort of this place, in this moment, I recognised what it was that I desired. I understood. The roaring in me, the hunger. I acknowledged it at last. I saw what it was. And I breathed it in. It was something that all the pain, regret and misery had prevented me from having. It was what I truly wanted deep down inside. Down in the depths where I still breathed.

Vengeance.

I could feel the thirst for it. The thought was calming; it gave me a new sense of vigour. It was finally something that I could make sense of. That I could call real. And in that moment I found an inkling of myself again and, at last, ended my own tormenting silence. I ended it not for Teresa, and not for Sarah. Not even for myself. But because the words had to be spoken for them to be real, and no longer a vivid illusion in a dead dream.

"I don't want to mourn. I don't want to wither away and die. I don't want pity or justice. I don't want to move on."

Teresa waited. She did not interrupt me or even move.

"I want revenge."

I heard the word out loud, taking form, and it sounded sweet.

I looked into Teresa's green eyes then and I did not see judgment there as I had expected to. She was not repulsed or disappointed or gearing up to lecture me that I was wrong. She simply acknowledged what I had said. And I appreciated that.

"Would you like to start at the beginning, Jack?" she said softly.

And somehow, for a reason I did not know, I could feel myself nodding. I felt as though I could trust her. That all these thoughts and feelings writhing around inside me could be let out and I could face reality. But more than that I wanted to hear my own story out loud. And I wanted it to give me the strength that I needed. Right now I was a mess. Tomorrow would be different. But even as I began to speak, deep down I knew that I was underestimating the pain of reliving it all. I was not prepared. Within moments the tears were flowing and Hell welcomed me back.

I sat trembling, feeling overwhelmed and wrecked. I was still in the same place I had been when the session had began. Despite going over time Teresa had not stopped me, but had let me speak until I had told my story. She was at the front door now talking to Sarah in a hushed voice. They thought that I could not hear, but I did. Living alone in the quiet and the dark, feeding off the shadows for days on end, had heightened my senses.

"How did it go, Teresa?" Sarah asked.

"To be honest I'm not sure," Teresa replied.

"But you got him to talk. More than that you got him to talk about what happened. To face it. That's huge. He's hardly spoken three words since his family passed. You did well."

When Teresa responded her voice sounded as if her mind was worlds away.

"Throughout my career I've followed the same thing that everyone I've learned from over the years has taught me. That what we have to do is make our patients talk about their problems – make them real, bring them out into the open, and only then can the healing process begin. They need to face their fears, their problems and their demons. Running only drags it all with them. We have to help them, right? But mostly the truth is that we just can't. Not by ourselves. They have to help themselves. We can only push them in that direction."

Sarah remained silent.

"But this is different. He's different, compared to the kind of people I usually see. I dragged out his story and told myself that it will help make him heal. That I'd feel good about myself afterward, because I'd have eased his suffering. But now maybe all I've done is just torture a man, and turn his pain into something worse."

More quiet.

"You asked me how he's doing, Sarah? He's a wreck. But, yes, you are right. We did make progress if he is expressing himself, no matter what form that expression takes. I want him here tomorrow. He may be in a dark place but he's not hopeless. He's lucky that he has you."

"Please help him."

"I'll do everything I can."

Their discussion ended and Sarah entered the room. She approached me and placed a hand onto my shoulder, lightly telling me that it was time to go. I almost did not want to. Teresa's place was nice. I knew that if I left it I would only be returning to a pit. But I went with her anyway, and we drove in silence. The drive felt longer than it had when we had arrived initially. I found myself hoping that the quiet lull I found myself in during the journey would stretch on, but the car eventually stopped and I was back where I did not want to be. I turned to Sarah. She clearly was not herself. She looked as though she had aged years in the last two weeks. I knew the feeling. And with a nagging guilt I also knew that she deserved something from me, after all that she had done to help.

"Sarah," I murmured.

She turned to me in haste, but quickly composed herself, "Yes, Jack?"

"Thank you," I said. My voice was so feeble.

She put her hand on mine and gave it a gentle squeeze. I accepted the gesture. And then I left the car. I slowly walked to my door. The sun was setting. Darkness would be here soon. And the shadows would come back for me. I stepped inside. I could hardly believe that I used to live here; that I once called it home. It all seemed so long ago. A different life; a different man. But it was just two weeks. A lifetime when you were in agony. I looked up at the hallway of rooms. I wanted to stay away from my bedroom. I did not want to see Nicole's body again.

For some reason I found myself strolling towards Jess' room. I was scared. I so badly wanted to see a reminder of her. But would I see her mangled body? Would I break? There was just one way to find out. I had made a small bit of progress. Teresa had said that. I wasn't hopeless. I could do it. I pushed open Jess' door, deciding that the bandage needed to come off quickly. The room opened up before me. I took in the pink walls. I took in her assortment of teddy bears. The only one that was missing was her favourite white bear that clutched a red heart to its chest. She had always kept it with her whenever she could. I didn't see it. My puzzlement faded quickly. I took in her story books. I took in her purple bed sheets. I took in her Hello Kitty alarm clock.

And I fell apart.

I choked and cried. My heart ached so badly I thought that I would die. My little girl. My Jess. I was supposed to protect her. My mind became an accuser. I slid down to the ground with my back to the wall, and I gazed upon the room. I didn't have the strength to move my body. With a crushing guilt I knew that I had failed the one angel in my life. It was all down to me. I had not been dealt some unfair hand. I had brought it all upon myself. I had provoked the evil of men I did not understand. They were all bigger than me. I was nothing.

I remembered how I had pushed Nicole to have a child. She had wanted to wait. She didn't want to raise a kid in such a terrible city. But I had wanted a child of my own. I had had a perfect vision in my head of how amazing Nicole and I would be as parents, and how a child would make things better for us. She would be our ray of light. I thought of how we'd give our child everything in the world, and love it more than anything. And for a while I had lived that dream. Jess had been perfect. She had lit up my world, just like her mother had. I loved her so much that the absolute best side of me still felt like it wasn't good enough, like I wasn't expressing my love for her enough – like I wasn't getting through to her how much she meant to me. It sometimes hurt. I didn't know the words or the expressions to show it, but I so badly wanted her to know. I'd do anything, just so that she could have the smallest idea. I'd walk through fire for her. I would sacrifice everything that I had dreamed of if it meant that she would be happy. I would die for her.

But now I could only love her memory. Illusions and fantasies in my mind that were destroying me. Over the last two weeks it had become my obsession, like some sort of sick masochistic indulgence that I prayed to be rid of, but couldn't let go of. As I gazed upon her empty room, a shallow, broken memorial painting my worst nightmare, but once holding the most beautiful part of my life, I realised again that this was entirely my fault. The realisation crushed what was barely left of me. It may not have made rational sense to trace Jess' death back to me wanting to have a child and Nicole wanting to wait, but I felt the weight of that responsibility now. Maybe I wasn't directly to blame back then, but I had definitely had a hand in setting the stage for my own misery.

It hurt to be there in her room. But it also felt good, for the briefest of moments between the ache, to be in my daughter's room rather than out there. And so I remained, torn between two worlds. One of pain and one of inexplicable comfort. My eyes soon closed. I drifted. For the first time in two weeks I dreamt. It started out pleasant. I was with my family again. We were happy. Nicole, Jess and I were playing that Hungry Hippo board game the kids always loved. It was a game that allowed for up to four players, and each one controlled a plastic little hippo. When the game began each player had to repeatedly hit the trigger behind their hippo as fast as possible to eat the little balls in the centre of the board. The player who had eaten the most, once they were all gone, was the winner. In the beginning we had always let Jess win, but soon enough she was better than both of us. And she cheated too. She was smart and cunning in a cute way. She had used the fourth unmanned hippo as her own, giving her a slight edge. But we didn't care. We loved it. We loved seeing her happy. My dream was good.

But like all bad things it happened within seconds.

I was ripped away from the good dream, and thrown into a nightmare before I had a chance to brace myself. Nicole and Jess both went rigid. They looked at me. And I stared back, shocked, unable to believe what I was seeing. Blood began to form on their clothes. Ugly cut marks appeared over Nicole's arms, her neck and her body. The blood ran like water.

"You left me, Jack," Nicole whispered.

"You didn't stop, Daddy. You said you would but you didn't. The bad men killed us because you didn't listen," Jess accused.

All words failed me in the nightmare. All that I could see was the blood. So much of it.

"You killed our little girl!" Nicole screeched.

I snapped awake. I was covered in a cold sweat. My heartbeat was out of control. I felt sick. I breathed in deeply. I had to get out of here. I scrambled to my feet and went to the living room. Perhaps I should leave this place. How could I ever live here now? But I wasn't ready to leave behind the only connection I had to my family. I collapsed onto a couch and closed my eyes. I tried to relax and prayed the night would end quickly. I had to go back to Teresa.

"God saw what all of us did; all of us who were responsible for my family's death. But He let it be without any intervention. He doesn't seem to mind what we do. It took that to make me realise... God doesn't make the world like this. That's on all of us. It's not His fault. Our carelessness, our pride and our savagery; we do it all to ourselves. We don't appreciate what we have until it all vanishes before our eyes. And then it's too late to take it back, say sorry or pray. Then all we're left with is our regret and our pain to remind us every day, in our private moments, that we failed."

Every word felt harsh on my tongue and the bitterness left me for something else: anger. Sometimes it took over the pain. It gave me clarity. Teresa watched me with that patient look of hers and she frowned slightly, "I'm curious, Jack, why are you saying 'we'?"

I humoured her question, "Because I was arrogant. I considered myself above the mistakes of other people. It's them not me, I always thought. Now I'm just like the rest. No different."

"I notice that you still wear your wedding ring, Jack. Why is that?"

I automatically reached for it to feel that it was still there.

"I won't take it off. I can't."

"Why not?"

"I just can't."

Teresa nodded and did not probe further. She changed the subject. "In our recent sessions, Jack, you've been more aggressive. I'm not saying it's bad. Quite the opposite actually. You're feeling. You're more in control. Tell me, what is your anger directed at?"

I sighed and ran my hands through my hair, "Everything. The world. Myself most of all. I'm angry at my mistakes and my pride. I'm angry that I didn't listen to Nicole. I was too damn proud to accept that I was out of my depth. I wanted so badly to stop these animals that I lost sight of what truly mattered: my family. Jess."

Teresa let me speak. If she was as surprised as I was that the anger allowed me to speak so bluntly she didn't show it. I had lost track of which session this was. The third? Or perhaps it was the fourth? I couldn't remember. But it felt good to talk on my terms. I went on.

"And do you know what the biggest joke of it all is? My big arrest at the docks. All that I did was worth nothing in the end. Absolutely nothing. It changed nothing. And most of it was dumb luck anyway. I was never any good at playing their game. I thought I had what it takes. I don't."

I gripped the arms of my chair so tightly that soon my hands went numb. My blood burned.

"You blame yourself, Jack," Teresa acknowledged.

"Yes. I tried to do the right thing. I thought I could take on monsters when I had everything to lose. I tried to be a good man in a city that's owned by goddamn animals."

"You've said that you don't want justice. Wearing a badge don't you think that it's what you should be after?"

I gave her a hardened look. I had long lost faith in what I used to believe in. Now I saw the truth for what it was.

"Justice is for the self-righteous, for heroes from comic books. Justice is meaningless."

"So is revenge, Jack."

"No. If they're dead that would not be without meaning. They'll no longer be able to hurt anyone else ever again. It will be over."

"But it won't help you. Revenge will accomplish nothing for you. It won't help you move on."

"Maybe not. But I feel I have no choice."

"Why?

"Because I have nothing else."

There was an uncomfortable silence then as I uttered that truth. The look Teresa gave me then was difficult to read. There was no pity, judgment, condescension or disappointment there. In her look there was only a sad sense of understanding. I didn't know if she really did get it, but I appreciated that she didn't resort to the alternatives.

"So what do you want to do now, Jack?" she asked in her usual quiet tone.

The question was so simple, yet it was so difficult to answer. I thought about my family. I thought about all that I had endured in the last two weeks, and before that even. I thought about Sarah struggling every day to face the city's monsters. I thought about what had been done to Nicole and Jess. And the anger burned like fire; a cancer infesting inside of me that I feared I would not be able to control. I feared even more that I did not want to. It gave me life. I balled my hands into fists and my teeth clenched. Teresa noticed and opened her mouth to speak, but I did first.

"I want to kill them."

The silence was cold. For a long time neither of us spoke. Teresa had not even lifted her pen. She studied me. She gave away nothing. And then she asked a question that cut me like a knife.

"And then what, Jack?"

"What?"

She shrugged, "What comes after that?"

"I don't know."

"Give it some thought," she said, not in a way that condescended, but in a way where she genuinely wanted me to think of an answer. And so I thought about it. The answer was simple really. It was perhaps the likely, or the only, outcome. It made sense. It was fitting.

"I suspect that I'll die."

Teresa folded her arms and watched me. I could almost feel myself smiling. Taking down as much of the cancer that ate away at the city, as many who had been responsible for my family's murder, before my end? It would be a good death. There was nothing else that I could do that would mean as much. There was nothing else out there for me.

"I get why you would want this, Jack. You feel that you have the right to hurt those who murdered your family. This isn't a crazy thought. It's fair."

I listened.

"But is it really what you want?" she continued, "Maybe you'll feel good about it for a while. Maybe you'll manage to get revenge against a few. Maybe you won't make it one night. There's no way of knowing. But I believe, strongly believe, that you can have more than that."

"Like what?" I replied in a tone that was more cynical than I had intended.

"A life," she said.

I almost laughed.

"Really?"

"It won't be today and it won't be tomorrow either. I'm not going to sit here and tell you that everything will be okay or work out for the best. I won't tell you that there's a silver lining somewhere. But you do have a life left to live, Jack. There is a way back from this."

"Did you get that from Sarah or did she get it from you?"

Teresa smiled. It was nice.

"I had a life, Teresa."

Her smile turned sad.

"Now it's gone. Because of them and me. Sooner or later we all have to face reality. We have to stop being kids who hide from responsibility and embrace delusions. There are only two innocent victims here. Everyone else, myself included, is just accountable."

Teresa slowly sipped her coffee. I had left mine to get cold.

"I don't know what happens next. But I know what I want to happen."

"You're giving up what you could still have, Jack."

"I had it. I won't again."

"You don't know that."

"I'm not going to wait and hope."

"Jack I don't want your anger and your grief to make these decisions for you. It's not about just waiting and hoping. It's about taking control of your life again."

"But Teresa that is what I'm doing."

Teresa breathed in deeply, "I'm not here to tell you what to do. But I hope that you think about what I'm trying to say."

I smiled, "Time's up."

She appeared startled and looked at the clock to confirm.

"Thank you Jack. We'll continue tomorrow?" she said. Her reluctance to see me go was clear.

I felt a strange sense of clarity. I was more sure of my decision now. My decision to take control back. I wasn't going to have a normal life. That was a fairytale. I didn't believe Teresa, but she meant well. And she had helped me to put my thoughts into place. I owed her.

She stood up from her chair. Before I left I turned to her and placed my hands onto her shoulders. She looked slightly taken back.

"Thank you, Teresa," I said. I was being sincere.

She smiled, "A little early for that."

I dropped my hands.

"Actually it's just the right time."

The drive back home was brief. Sarah was more chatty than usual. It had been a while since I had enjoyed it. I even talked back to her a few times. I could see the relief on her face when I spoke, and the hint of her smile return. When we arrived I thanked her and exited the car promptly. For the first time since my family's passing, I didn't feel empty, lifeless and as though I was drowning. I felt a little more in control. I was sure of what I wanted to do. I entertained myself with the thought of revenge. Even if it was the dream of a fool, it was the only good thought that I had to hold onto.

I unlocked my door and pushed it open. Something fell to the ground. Confused, I looked down. It had been wedged in my door. An envelope. It was light. Someone obviously wanted me to find it as soon as I arrived. But why? There was nothing particularly interesting about the envelope. It had my name in full written on the front in an elegant black font. That was curious. It was almost as if the sender had been trying to highlight that its contents were important. I tore it open in a single motion. I did not know why I had suddenly begun to feel nervous. There was an ominous feeling about the envelope that I could not place. But curiousity did its job as usual, and I reached inside and my hand grasped something hard, almost like cardboard. I pulled it out. It was a yellow piece of paper attached to a something, covering it up. The paper itself was cheap-looking, which was a contrast to the black font on the front of the envelope. I read it. The world halted. The pit inside of me roared to life. And I stopped breathing.

On the yellow slip in neat red ink it was written: "Feeling sorry yet?"

The words were a mockery. A malicious taunt that drove a shiver down my spine. There was a sad face drawn underneath the veiled insult. Sweat beaded on my forehead. I peeled the yellow paper back and saw what was behind it.

It was a photograph. Of me.

In the picture I was sitting on the curb, pointlessly staring out onto the street. I saw what I truly looked like. A lifeless shell of a man. It had been taken more than a week ago. Someone had been watching me after my family had been killed. Someone had been enjoying my suffering from afar. The shock slowly turned to rage. I crushed the envelope and its contents in my hand. My blood burned. I gritted my teeth so hard my jaw hurt, and my face turned hot. I started to see silver stars. My neck ached as a vein popped. My heartbeat went wild. My breathing became rasped. I gasped for air. Sweat dripped down my face. My fingers cramped. My vision shifted out of focus. The anger was unlike anything I had ever felt before. There was a ringing in my ears now; loud and overbearing. With a burst of fear I realised what was happening to me. I was having an attack. In the state I was in, trying to calm down would be like trying to catch a bullet with your bare hands. I fumbled for my phone. I had to call Sarah. My hands were shaking so violently that I dropped it. I crumbled to the ground. I inhaled and exhaled deeply, trying not to hyperventilate and struggling to bring myself under control. Black spots started to appear in my vision.

I thought that I would die. And for a moment I almost wanted to.

But then it was over.

I fell in a heap and found myself sprawled on the ground staring at the sky, clutching the contents of the envelope tightly in my hand.

I looked at Teresa. She looked at me. I had not said anything this entire session. I had simply sat, counting the seconds by tapping my thumbs together. It had just passed two thousand and four hundred seconds. Forty minutes. I could tell that Teresa was uncomfortable with my behaviour or perhaps fearing that I was regressing. She had also noticed my counting. It was time to speak.

"This will be my last session."

Teresa appeared instantly worried.

"I have to ask why."

I shrugged, "I need a change of environment. To get away."

Teresa sighed, "We both know that's not true, Jack. We're adults here. After what you've told me in previous sessions I think we both know what this means."

I smiled, "I apologise for that. My anger got the better of me that time. I know that I need to control my temper. Really, Teresa, I just want to get away for a while. That's all. I don't want to be in that house anymore. Honestly, you've helped me a lot; made me see things clearly."

I could see the slightest bit of agitation in Teresa's demeanour now. But we both knew that everything in this session would have to go on her official records. And if Teresa continued to insist on what I had said in my previous sessions, it would almost be as though she was encouraging me and actually pushing me towards the idea of revenge. She had no choice but to accept what I said. And so she played the one card that she still had - the card I knew she'd play.

"I haven't cleared you, Jack. I don't think you're ready to stop therapy."

I smiled and nodded, "Teresa, I'm not quitting therapy. I will continue to go. But not here. I don't want to be in this place; this city. You're very welcome to recommend alternative therapists elsewhere. Of course I'll let you know where I decide to go."

Right then I knew that I had her. And she knew it too.

"Time's up," I said, keeping up the facade with another smile.

I got up and began to walk towards the door.

"Jack, wait!" Teresa called after me.

I stopped.

"What are you going to do?"

I felt the anger take hold. Something inside of me had snapped when I had opened that envelope and seen its contents. They had destroyed my family. And now they watched me? Mocked me? They were enjoying the after-hours special to their sick murder. They were dogs. The kind that needed to be put down. The hunger inside of me writhed. I let it breathe. I just had to say the words.

I will make them suffer," I whispered.

I did not recognise the venom in my voice or where it came from. But it felt right to give life to the hatred I felt. I was not sure if Teresa heard me. But if she had the session was over in any case. It didn't matter. I stormed out into the daylight.

Sarah was furious.

"You quit therapy?" she exclaimed, pacing around my living room while I sat in my chair. "What is going on with you, Jack?"

Teresa had most likely filled Sarah's head with a whole lot to worry about. Of course she wasn't allowed to provide any confidential information from our sessions, but speaking to someone she knew on a personal level she had no doubt made it clear that I was not ready to stop.

"Honestly, Sarah, I'm fine. I'm tired of it. I need a break."

She glared at me.

"I was actually thinking of returning to work soon."

Her expression softened.

"You don't have to rush this. Why would you-"

I cut across her, "I'm done sitting around. It's been more than two weeks."

Sarah pulled her chair up to the front of my couch. She clasped my hands.

"Jack, please. Talk to me. Tell me what's going on."

"Sarah...I appreciate everything you've done for me. But really, I'm okay."

I stood and brought her up with me. I embraced her then.

"What are you-"

"Thank you for everything," I said gently, and kissed the side of her head.

I let go of her. She looked at me, uncomfortable with herself, but her expression was soft.

"You know that I care about you, Jack. In a lot of ways you're all that I have."

I smiled, "Then we have something in common."

She looked down at the floor, "I should go."

"You okay?" I asked.

"Yes. It's nothing. Just been a long day."

"Drive safe," I told her and watched her leave. Soon enough it was only the silence that remained.

I took the envelope out of my jacket pocket as well as its crumpled up contents. I smoothed out the photograph and studied it. I subdued my anger, but only by as much as I could. I let my mind work for the first time since receiving the message. I already knew what it meant. But I needed to think it through slowly, and approach it from all angles. If my family's murderers, or the mob itself, had been watching me since then, the obvious implication was that I was under surveillance. I had no way of knowing whether it was twenty-four hours a day or even still ongoing. But I thought about the resources that they had back in that warehouse. It would be easy for them. I needed to move cautiously and mask my true intentions. They weren't stupid of course. They knew that by sending me the photograph they were giving away the game to me that I was being watched. But they didn't care. To them it was all just sick-minded entertainment. And I was little more than a fly.

I thought back to the warehouse raid. The last two weeks had prevented me from seeing what should have been an obvious truth - what I had known all along. How could I have not? I had been correct that night. There was no way that the mob could have known we were coming. No one knew that we had found all that surveillance equipment. No one but us. Which left me with only one answer. It was crazy, but I was certain. After all, it was famously said that once you eliminated the impossible whatever remained, no matter how improbable, must be the truth. I faced the truth then, with a certainty I had not felt in weeks.

There had been a mole on our team that night.

That was the only explanation for how the mob could have known in advance to move all of the surveillance equipment in such a short time. Despite how careful we had been, despite Sarah's own recommendations, the mob's reach was greater than ours. There were only five of us who knew. Sarah was the only one that I truly trusted. I had no reason to doubt her. There was no one else on the entire police force who I'd place my faith in. Not now. Not ever again. That left only three names. Ray Coleman. Will Harding. Marcus Fields. Three men. One of them had talked. I was going to find out who did. I was going to find out what he knew. I was going to face the man who had played a role in the murder of my family. For all I knew he was actually one of the killers. The anger wanted out of its cage. I freed it, letting it take its hold of me. I made my vow. When I found out who it was, I would kill him.

##  Chapter 6: Where The Heart Is Struck

I was restless. I rocked back and forth in my chair, staring down at the gun in my hands. For years I had had it all wrong. It was never the badge that would ever command any respect or give me power. It was the gun. The weapon in my hand; its murderous intent. Most men revealed themselves when faced with death. I felt it in my bones. I was going to avenge my family. The thought made me feel alive. I considered my objective. It was only a matter of deciding who to visit first. But in many ways that choice had been made for me. Ray Coleman. He had been the easiest to trust. He was the least likely suspect. And he had just somehow known where to look on that map to find the surveillance room. That made him sit at the top of my list. I knew that I had trusted him, and that I had liked him. But I had already made too many mistakes, and perhaps he had been another. The costliest of them all.

Finding out where he lived had been easy. I didn't care whether he was home or not. All that I had was time. I could wait. The gun felt cold in my hands. I studied it. I imagined pulling the trigger and killing the man who had helped murder my family. I saw him die. And it was good. There was one certainty that I had above all else. One of the three men on my list would die by the end of the night. The only question was which one. Hell maybe they were all guilty. But I wasn't going to find out by just sitting around. I coached myself into it, repeating it over and over in my mind that it was the right thing to do. It was the only thing I could do. It was what I had to do. I prepared myself mentally, running over what I would do again and again.

Before I left there was something else that needed to be done. I took my mobile phone out of my pocket and laid it down onto the couch. If Sarah, or the mob for that matter, were keeping tabs on me then I wasn't going to risk it. And I couldn't arouse suspicion either. I would have to get a disposable phone soon. Or at least an alternative. But for now I was ready. I began walking towards my car refusing to break my stride or turn back. I tried to block everything else from my mind except for the task at hand. I didn't think about the details, only the action. I fastened my seat belt and stared at my reflection in the rear view mirror. It was the face of a man who was sure. I gunned the engine and hurriedly backed out of my driveway. I sped down the road. I rolled down the window and embraced the icy wind on my face. I focused all of my attention on what was to come. And I felt alive.

It was a long way to get to Coleman's home. I didn't mind. I imagined that I would be at it the whole night until I found the one responsible. The roads were not busy so I drove fast. I thought of Sarah. Would she understand why I had to do it? Probably not. And the man I was after was a cop. But I didn't expect that I'd live all that long. I wasn't planning on going to prison and if I did the mob would get me in there anyway. I was going to make damned sure that I took the bastards who killed my family down first. I would not waste away while they continued to feed off the city's heart, and crush its people.

I arrived at the house. It was small and cramped. I knew that Coleman lived alone. The man was so talkative that I felt prepared already. I killed the engine and all was quiet. I reached into my glove compartment and pulled out my gun. I slipped it into my jacket pocket and exited the car. There was no turning back now. I had to do this. I spent a few minutes thinking about my course of action. But my impatience got the better of me and I hurried towards his front door. It would be my last chance to walk away. Whatever happened after I faced Coleman, I had to see it through. I knocked three times. I heard a voice on the other side of the door. He was home. It was going to be easier than I thought. My heart rate quickened slightly as I heard the door being unlocked. It opened. Ray Coleman appeared with a can of Coke in his hand and a look of surprise on his face as he saw me.

"Jack! This is so unexpected..."

"Coleman. Mind if I come in? I'd like to talk to you."

He seemed completely taken back and unsure of himself.

"Uh, of course, come in..." he stammered, opening the door and moving out of the way.

I walked inside. His home was a bit on the messy side but it was simple in taste. He kept quite a bit of decorations around the house, however, and the air contained the smell of food. It was warm inside, as though he had had a heater on.

"How have you been holding up, Jack? Considering..." he trailed off with obvious discomfort.

"Fine," I answered. I wasn't interested in small talk. I wanted to know if there was anyone else here. "I'm not disturbing you am I? Are you alone?"

"I'm expecting my nephew over in a little while. His parents have to go somewhere so he's going to stay over at my place. Cute little guy."

That was a problem, but I expected that my business here would be done in minutes. Whatever happened after that was irrelevant. But the thought of a child in the equation did slow my resolve.

"Please, sit down, Jack," he offered, and followed suit to seat himself down on his couch with a sigh. The television was still on. Some show that I didn't know was playing. Of course I didn't know. I didn't watch TV. I got comfortable and faced him without a word. He shifted awkwardly and took a sip of Coke.

"What's this about?"

I decided that there was no reason to delay this. I was going to get right to the point.

"You and I both know there was no way the mob could have anticipated that we were coming that night of the warehouse raid."

"It was suspicious," he said.

"There was a mole that night. In our group."

His eyes widened. My voice turned cold.

"And I think that mole might have been you."

He dropped his can of Coke and it clattered to the ground loudly, its contents spilling over his floor. I took the gun out of my jacket pocket and aimed it directly at his heart.

"Jack, I don't..." he stammered.

"Don't even think about lying to me or I swear to God I'll kill you right now and leave your body here for your nephew to find," I spat, not recognising the cruelty in my voice.

Coleman cried out as he raised his hands into the air.

"I don't know if you know this, but I moved departments. I transferred. After Kenway, the business at the warehouse...and then your family. It was too much. I'm sorry, but I'd never..."

My anger faded as quickly as it had come. What was I expecting? That this timid officer who enjoyed patterns and working with evidence was secretly a killer? But his personality also made it very possible that he was being frightened into coercing with the mob. I raised the gun.

"Wait! Easy!" he shouted, jumping in his seat, "Jack I swear on my life that I am not what you think I am. You can ask me anything you like, check my phone records...whatever. Jesus my nephew is a kid, I love my family. I'd never have done anything to hurt yours!"

I could see it then. He truly was no threat. He was not capable of doing what I accused him of. I knew when someone was lying to me. I had gone after the wrong man. I let the gun fall.

"I'm sorry. I had to be sure," I said, feeling the weight of those words.

Coleman was sweating, trembling even. There was nothing left to achieve with him. I stood. He started. I turned around to leave.

"Jack! What are you going to do? Have you talked to the others?"

"No, but I will. It ends tonight."

"What does that mean?"

"I think you know."

It was a few long, drawn out seconds before Coleman spoke again.

"I am terribly sorry about your family, Jack."

"Don't tell anyone I was here."

I walked out.

I sat in my car unsure of whether I felt relief, disappointment or anger. But at least I had eliminated one of the names. Only two remained now. I thought hard about which one I'd pay a visit to next. I thought of Marcus Fields. I couldn't really profile him as the type. He was too loyal. He asked too few questions and he just got on with the job. He had quite a decorated history as well. It gave me reason to worry that I barely knew anything about him, but I chalked that up to my own fault. And so I turned my attention to Will Harding. I thought about that night of the warehouse raid. I closed my eyes and tried to remember everything that I could. And then I recalled the smallest detail. Harding had looked uncomfortable during the briefing. It was very little to go on, but my gut said that he was the one I should visit next.

I set the GPS in my car to Will Harding's neighbourhood and drove off. I knew that he was married but I couldn't remember if he had any kids. That may cause a problem, but for now he was the one I needed to talk to. I was sure of it. He was on the opposite side of the world from where I was. By the time I got to him it would be late. That worked well for me. I could surprise him.

I was impatient this time. I drove fast, giving myself that liberty because the roads were empty. I jumped a few red lights. Irresponsible of me but the waiting made it worse. If I was to kill this man, I wanted it to be now. I admittedly had not given a whole lot of thought to what came after that. Preferably I killed him without his family knowing and left. Like a ghost. That way my fall was delayed. For a moment I reflected on how practically I was thinking about killing someone. I realised then that even though I felt alive, I didn't particularly feel anything – any emotion. It was as though my body had hit the off switch and just like that...blackout. Curtains.

Perhaps it was for the best. It would make what I was going to do a lot easier. I tightened my grip on the steering wheel and accelerated. I was only minutes away now. The street was empty. The night was dead. The stage was set. Quicker than I thought the GPS spoke its final instruction and I was where I needed to be. I was looking at a great double-storey house. Earthly colours, warm and neat – it was exactly the kind of house Nicole would have loved. I climbed out of my car and advanced towards the door. His family was probably asleep. I reached up and rang the doorbell twice for good measure. I waited a minute. I rang the doorbell again. I saw a light turn on. I heard footsteps, then movement on the other side. It was followed by the sounds of the door being unlocked.

It opened. Will Harding was standing there half-dazed in a plain white t-shirt and black pants. He had definitely been asleep. It took him a moment to even recognise me.

"Jack? What are you doing here? Jesus, don't you know the time?"

I said nothing. The anger burned. I couldn't explain the feeling that I had in my gut. But I was sure. And I knew how to get the answer I wanted. It would take a little bit of deception. I had to play my hand to perfection. But I was ready. I raised my gun. Will jerked, startled.

"What the hell are you doing? Is this some kind of joke?"

"Here's what's going to happen, Will. You're going to let me inside. You're going to tell your wife not to come down, that everything is alright and it's just something you need to look at for work. I don't care what you tell her. If you try to warn her I will kill you. If you do anything other than what I instruct you to do I will kill you."

Will Harding stared, unable to comprehend a word I had said.

"Do I make myself clear or do I need to drag your wife down here and point the gun at her head?"

That got him to react. He stepped back and let me in and I ushered him forward, pointing in the direction of the living room. I indicated at a chair with my gun, directing him to sit. Then his wife's voice sleepily called out to him. I pointed my gun between his eyes. Harding looked afraid. That was good. He took a deep breath and told his wife to go back to sleep, that it was just work and he'd be up in a minute. I nodded, satisfied. I sat down on his coffee table opposite him.

"Do you know why I'm here?" I asked, my voice harsh.

Will shook his head.

"The warehouse raid. I have thought back to it over and over again, replaying it in my head. And I kept coming back to the same conclusion: the mob could not have known that we were coming that night."

Will shifted uncomfortably in his seat. A drop of sweat rolled down the side of his face.

"Once I realised that the answer was obvious. There were three men Sarah and I brought into the operation and one of you ratted out the rest of us."

Will's eyes widened. He opened his mouth to speak no doubt to deny it. I carried on before he had the chance.

"Stay quiet. Now because of that mole, my family was murdered."

"Jack..."

I waved him off with my gun. I took a deep breath. It was time for my piece of deception.

"I know it was you. I've already confirmed that it wasn't Fields or Coleman. They were very cooperative once I made them see reason. All I want from you is a confession."

He was visibly distressed now, but he found his voice, "Jack, this is crazy. I don't know where you're coming with these accusations. I'd never-"

I closed my eyes for just a moment, drowning out his bullshit and breathing in deeply. And when I spoke I let the anger take over and bear the brunt of the words.

"My family died because of this. It is only fitting that I kill yours. It's foolish to lie to someone who has nothing left to lose. I will murder your wife in front of you if you lie to me."

Will thrashed in his chair, "You fucking psychopath! I'm a police offer! I'm not with the mob!"

I raised the gun, "I'm going to count to three. And then you're getting a bullet in your leg. After that you can crawl behind me while I go fetch your wife."

"Jack, please!"

"One."

I readied the gun, cocking it and ensuring that the bullet in the chamber was ready to fire.

But that was all it took.

"God no, stop!"

I stared.

"It was me, alright?"

"What?"

Will's eyes showed desperation now, like a cornered animal.

"I swear to God I had no idea what they were going to do. They approached me a long time ago. All they wanted was eyes and ears inside the force."

The anger became fire.

"You bastard..." I said through gritted teeth.

I knew that I had been right, but facing the reality was far worse than I had imagined it would be.

"Jack, I was struggling to make ends meet and they offered me a way out. They offered to set me and my family up. All I had to do was keep them in the loop. I didn't ask for this..."

My hand tightened so hard on the gun that it ached. All I had to do was squeeze the trigger...

"Jack, you have to believe me. I swear I didn't have anything to do with it! I didn't kill your family!"

I lost it.

"You loaded the gun!"

I let out a violent growl and whipped Will across the face with my firearm. With a cry of pain he crashed to the floor. The anger controlled me then. My mind was gone. I gave in without any hesitation. I holstered my gun. Will tried to scramble to his feet. He made it half way. I savagely threw my hand out and caught the base of his neck. With tremendous force I threw him back down onto the ground with one hand. His back crashed into the floor hard. As I watched him, my mind somehow wondered off. Life was a funny thing. The mind picked the most peculiar of moments to dot the I's and cross the T's. I realised something now in the moment that I was in control. Strangely my mind processed the realisation despite what I was about to do. I was letting all of my subdued anger out in this moment. I saw myself through clear glass. I saw the rage that fuelled me now. I saw what I was about to do and I knew. All that I ever had been, had died with my family.

I brought my foot down onto Will's mid section and he gasped as the wind was knocked out of him. He clutched his stomach and rolled, trying to climb to his feet. I waited, letting him. He threw a punch. Weak. Slow. I deflected it with ease, deterring his arm with mine and opening him up for a right hook. I gave it everything I had and he screamed in agony as a sickening crunch sounded out in the room. My fist had connected directly with his nose, shattering it. Blood began to drip within seconds and he collapsed onto the ground in a heap, clutching his face and moaning. I circled him, ignoring the immense pain in my knuckles and hoping I had not done any damage to myself.

"How many innocent people have died because of what you've done!"

I dropped and punched him in the face.

"How many of these dogs have walked away because you sold us out!"

I hit him again. I heard rapid movement upstairs then. His wife had awoken and she came flying down the steps, calling out for Will. I ignored her.

"How many times have you screwed us over and been rewarded for it with a paycheck?"

I punched a third time. He was bleeding freely now and put up no resistance. Then his wife was there. She screamed. It was time. I took my gun out again and pointed it between Will's eyes. I saw the choice I had to make. It was obvious. It was simple. Will laid there, unmoving, making it so easy. His wife was screaming, sobbing and pleading with me. The chaos eluded me. I only had one task.

"Mummy!" came a small voice from upstairs.

Startled I turned to look. It was a boy; couldn't have been older than five. He took in me standing over his dad with a gun. He didn't understand.

But I saw the look in his eyes.

And I saw myself through those eyes. What in God's name was I doing? I wasn't a murderer. I couldn't kill this man in front of his own family. I wasn't like the mob. I backed away, my resolve shattered. The child did not look away. I began to shake. I turned around and ran.

I was pacing restlessly up and down my living room. I couldn't bring myself to be calm. My hands were still bloody. The gun rested on my table. I was breathing heavily. I ran my hands through my hair. What had I done? They had seen me. I was finished. And I had left him alive - the man who had sold us out and had played a hand in getting my family killed. I had crossed a line. There was no turning back now. I didn't know what was going to happen. I let out a loud breath of air and placed my hands against the wall, fighting to calm my mind.

Out of nowhere, for the briefest of moments, my mind took me back to the dead body of my wife. As if my defences had vaporised. It took me back to that room; all the blood. No. Please no. Please not again, I begged. I raked my hair and closed my eyes, trying with everything that I had to hold on. There was no force on earth that could help me escape the nightmares. My mind flashed back again to the smell of iron in the room. The overwhelming stench of so much blood. I could smell it then. As though it were right in front of me. I could see their vacant eyes. I caught the faintest scent of my wife's perfume once again. The face of my darkness was in that room.

It struck me then that I was completely exhausted. Spent. I wanted nothing more than to close my eyes and escape. I wanted to leave the place I'd grown to hate, and the life I'd grown to resent. I scrambled over to my couch and fell down onto it, clutching the blanket around myself. My entire body was trembling. From what I did not know. It was not because of the cold. Five minutes passed. My eyes were heavy and slowly closed. Instantly I saw the blood once again. The bodies. My wife. I suffocated. I gasped for air and thrashed. I turned onto my side. I started breathing harder. In my mind my hand reached for the door to my home and I opened it. I saw the blood. I saw the bodies. I saw my daughter. My heart pounded against my chest. I felt hot. I threw the blankets off. I gripped my face in my hands.

I couldn't control my mind taking me back again. Back to that moment at the docks when I had decided to call it in. I could have walked away. I should not have even been there. I could have gone home. Just left. Trying to be a decent man in an indecent time was my sentence. I realised then with a grim finality. The good people always lost because they had more to lose.

Why had I not walked away? God damn it why didn't I just leave?

I started to hyperventilate. I screamed profanities into the air. I was sweating. I couldn't relax. I felt as if I never would. I'd never be okay again. I lurched off the couch and the room swayed. White noise filled my head. I crashed into my bathroom and faced the mirror over the basin. I gritted my teeth so hard the veins became visible on my forehead. The air was tight. I couldn't stop my mind from revisiting my mistakes. The arrest at the docks. The choice that I had made then that had ruined my life. I thought of how I could have stopped it. Just walked away. As simple as that. The nightmares just kept returning; an endless loop crushing my spirit and tainting my soul. Hell opened its gates to me once again, welcoming me like a friend.

I opened the tap violently and cold water blew out. I splashed my face. It did nothing but wake me up to the ache. I collapsed onto the ground in a heap and curled up. I could see red. My eyes caught a small drop of water that had splashed onto the wall. I stared at it. I watched it as it slowly and gently begin to slide down. I focused on it. I watched. I breathed as it sank. I watched. I breathed. I counted the seconds until the drop landed on the floor and disappeared. That's what I wanted. I wanted to gently slip away and disappear. I wanted the pain to be brief.

But it would never be. I shut my eyes tightly. Without realising it my breathing had slowed. For just a few moments I had clarity. I was calm. I could only hear my breathing. I knew, somewhere in my mind, that I was suffering from post traumatic stress disorder. Severe anxiety attacks even. But knowing the cause of your pain didn't cure it. It only made you hate the source. It made you hate it so much that the anger burned you up inside and the pain deadened all feeling. I didn't feel anything in this moment, but the ache was as real as it could ever be.

I raised myself off the ground and rested my back against the wall. It seemed to have faded. I was calm for now. I closed my eyes and just breathed in and out. After a while, I didn't know how long, I opened them. And I saw blood. It was my own. I had cut myself somehow. There was no pain. But I saw the blood. It flowed. It was startlingly bright on the white tiles. I clutched my head, willing the blood to go away. But it was the more relentless force, and it brought the nightmares back. I couldn't live like this. I just couldn't do it anymore. I escaped the bathroom, and once again went back to the gun beside my bed. I threw the draw open and grabbed it in my hand.

I made sure I loaded it.

The gun clicked, and the rest would be up to me. I hesitated. It was betrayal. My wife had saved me the first time I had wanted a way out. I was pathetic. But surely she would understand? She wouldn't want me to suffer the way I was. I could do it. I had to. As I raised the gun to my head, preparing to pull the trigger, a small almost unreachable part of my mind hoped that the gun would jam. That someone would burst through the door and stop me. That a divine force would strip the weapon away from me and, with it, all of my pain. That Nicole would save me again. I realised then that for some reason I didn't want to die. Not yet. My resolve faded. I ejected the clip, dropped the gun and fell onto the bed. I cried. And I prayed that Nicole would forgive me.

I didn't sleep the entire night. Not for a minute. It was early morning. I felt weak. I felt sick. But I had made it through the night. I was calmer. I knew that this could not carry on. For a little while over the last week I had freed myself from these nightmares. That was when I had known what I was going to do. When I had purpose. A distraction. Something to keep my mind off the pain. I thought of Sarah. Maybe returning to work would be a good idea. If only to keep my mind active and prevent it from being on its own to drag me into the abyss. It had now been nearly three weeks since my family's murder. They said time made it easier. I was still waiting. I was so tired, but sleep eluded me. I had to get out there and do something or else I'd truly go crazy. I dialled Sarah.

"Sarah."

"Hey Jack, are you alright? Sorry I'm in the middle of a case so I'm a little distracted."

"That actually works for me. I've been thinking about our talk the other day. It's time to get back to work. Sitting around at home is driving me crazy."

"Are you sure? You're not rushing things? I don't want to push you, but if you're thinking about coming back then why don't you try therapy again?"

"Teresa was nice but I don't want it anymore. I fed her some story about wanting to leave here and get help elsewhere. If I return to the force now it'll be a problem."

Sarah sighed, "I'll talk to her, Jack. It will be good to have you back."

"I'll be there soon."

I put down the phone, deep in thought. I didn't really want to go back. I didn't care much for the force anymore. But being around Sarah helped. She made me feel the smallest part of myself again. And more than that I needed the distraction. I went to the bathroom and splashed water on my face. I cleaned myself up. I tried not to think too much. I didn't want to trigger the memories. I didn't want to feel that again. I put on my jacket, thoughtlessly got into my car, turned the key and drove off to meet Sarah at the office. I barely paid any attention to the roads, the people or the life. I felt like an outcast to all of it. I didn't feel like I belonged here. I carried on diving and just focused all of my energy on trying to stay awake. I almost smiled. Falling asleep behind the wheel would be a ridiculous way to die - or worse, land up in a hospital eating through a straw.

When I finally reached the building I was relieved. I just sat in the parking lot and stared out into nothing. My mind wandered then and I thought about Will Harding. Would he be here? Had he told anyone? I doubted it. The man was a coward. I didn't think that he had or even shown his face here today. He most likely was hiding under his sheets at home. But if he was here I'd face him and give him a reminder of what I could do. I felt the anger boil again. I gripped the steering wheel hard. That asshole. I _knew_ what he had done. He was someone who had played a role in my family's death. He had suffered no consequences for what he had done. He still had his family. A nice house. A kid. I felt a sudden violent surge within me, overpowering me. I wanted to _hurt_ him. For a moment my mind flashed back to the dead body of my wife, and the mess that had remained of my daughter. I gasped for air and threw open the door of my car, climbing out and taking deep breaths as I tried to calm myself down. It wasn't working. I kicked out at my car in frustration and I started walking briskly towards the entrance of the building. I rushed into the elevator, ignored the surprised looks from everyone who knew me and jabbed the button to reach Sarah's office.

I paid no attention to the officers I recognised here, even when some of them called out greetings and some commotion was made. I remained silent and headed straight to Sarah. I had scanned the room briefly. I had seen Marcus Fields. Ray Coleman wasn't here. Either he was taking a sick day or perhaps he was telling the truth that he had transferred. I blocked it all out. I knocked on Sarah's door and heard her answer. I entered.

"Jack!" she exclaimed, her expression brightening.

And for the first time today, I smiled. "Hey," I said.

She got up from her desk and shuffled over to me. She looked as though she was going to put a hand on my shoulder, but then she gave me a hug instead. It was nice. Quick though. She let go and pointed to a seat, encouraging me to sit. I did. She went back to her desk.

"Are you sure you're okay?" she asked.

"Yeah. It's just hard to deal with the silence at home. Doing nothing makes it worse."

"I'm sorry. Like I said on the phone I've got a case if you're interested."

"I am."

I took the file from her and started to skim over the contents. There was a murder in some apartment. A woman was killed. Other residents living in the same block had reported a heated argument during the night between the couple in room one-two-eight. I wasn't sure how this constituted as a case. The information here alone pointed towards a domestic violence situation, and our prime suspect was obviously the woman's partner. But the universe had a habit of throwing the unpredictable at you when you thought you had things figured out. And it was our job to investigate anyway. I looked up at Sarah.

"I noticed Will Harding isn't here today," I said casually.

She shrugged, "He came down with the flu according to his wife."

If I could I would have smiled.

"So what's the play here, Sarah?"

She stretched, "We've already visited the crime scene so at the moment we're trying to track down the woman's boyfriend. He disappeared after the incident. I've spoken to his parents and they don't know where he is so I'm following another lead. His parents said that he had visited them briefly but left to go on a guys' night out with his best friend at some bar. I was planning to go over to talk to the friend. His name is-"

I waved her off, "Before we do that could I take a look at the apartment?"

She frowned, "They've taken the body away already. What do you want to see?"

"You can tell a lot about a person by seeing their home. Especially with couples."

"Fair enough. We can take a look. It's not too far off."

I got the impression that she was being purposefully accommodating towards me, but I didn't mind. I needed to keep my mind occupied after all. I followed Sarah to her car and she told me to drive. I got in, buckled up and off we went. There was a bit of traffic so it would take a while to get to our destination. Sarah chatted to me during the drive. She told me about the case and about what she had been involved in since I had left. I listened quietly, appreciating the chatter.

I then inexplicably had the urge to tell her about Will Harding. She was my close friend. She'd understand wouldn't she? And she was at risk working with a mole. Maybe I had to tell her. But telling her meant revealing what I had done - what I had intended to do that night. She'd never have let me come back to work if she knew. She'd react badly and she'd be angry that I never came to her first. Unfortunately it was something that I had to keep to myself for now at least.

The thought of Harding brought the rage back instantly. It was maddening to know what he had done. It was driving me crazy knowing that he was partly responsible for what had happened to my family yet he was still out there, living his life and facing no consequences. A broken nose was nothing compared to what he had done. I had tried to block it out so far. But I couldn't let it go. My hands gripped the steering wheel tighter, and I suddenly felt hot. Uncomfortable. Restless.

"Jack! What's wrong?" Sarah asked.

I heard her but my attention was focused on the road. I was lost in my mind. I blinked, trying to focus. Sarah was calling me. But there was a dull ringing in my ears. I clenched my teeth. It wasn't fair. It wasn't goddamn fair. Will Harding had his family. He had everything I'd lost.

"Jack, slow down! Please, breathe..."

And then I saw her. On the street. Nicole was standing there, motionless, watching our car drive past. I stared, unable to believe my eyes. It felt surreal. I felt nauseous. I felt agony. I saw the blood. I saw the cuts. All over her body. I was burning up. I couldn't breathe anymore. My head pounded. My vision blurred. I lost control.

"Jack!" Sarah screamed, holding onto the dashboard.

I had veered off the road and the car lurched onto the pavement and crashed through a picket fence. There was a loud noise as the wood splintered, and the car came to a halt on the house's lawn. I pushed my weight against the car door and fell out, stumbling, falling onto my hands and knees on the grass. I was dizzy. I was struggling to breathe. I felt so sick I thought I'd vomit. My entire body felt as if it were ablaze. Sarah came up beside me and put her arm around my shoulder, telling me to breathe. I gasped and tried to bring myself under control.

People from the street were rushing over to investigate, but many simply became spectators to my attack. But one of them came up close to us to see what was wrong. Sarah shouted at him to call an ambulance. The home owners then came onto their lawn, staring in shock. Sarah told me that she was here for me. It was alright. I just needed to breathe. Slowly, the feeling began to dissipate. My grip on the grass loosened, and I inhaled deeply as I regained control over my body again. I coughed, feeling weak, and I held onto Sarah for support. My hands could not stop trembling. It took a long time for me to finally feel normal again.

"I'm sorry. I saw Nicole."

Sarah's grip on my shoulder tightened. Her face went white.

"It's okay, Jack. I'm taking you home now..."

I let her guide me back to the car.

I was feeling depressed. Overwhelmingly sad. And even more than that I felt useless. There were few worse feelings than not being in control of what happened to you. I had fooled myself into thinking that I was going to be okay. I was never going to be alright. I was getting worse. Sarah had laid me down onto the bed in my room and I had been too tired to offer resistance. I had not told her that I hadn't slept for more than a day. But I wasn't naive enough to blame my hallucination on that alone. Sarah sat on the bed now and held my hand. I hadn't spoken. I was miserable down to my very core.

"Jack, what happened?" she asked after a long time of quiet.

"I don't know," I answered. I felt ashamed.

"You said you saw her. Nicole."

"On the street while driving. I saw her as clearly as I see you now."

"Maybe you saw someone that looked like her."

I hesitated, but only for a moment. I needed to get it out. "There was blood all over her clothes...cuts on her neck and arms."

I couldn't stop the tears from flowing now. They rolled down the side of my head. Sarah gripped my hand tighter.

"I'm sorry..." I whispered.

"Don't be. It's okay. It will take time, Jack. I won't give up on you, okay? I'm here. You just have to call."

"I don't know how to thank you."

"You know you don't have to."

"I do."

We didn't talk much after that. Eventually Sarah told me that it was getting late, and she asked me if I wanted her to stay. I didn't respond so she told me that she'd slip out, go get some things, and come back. I felt panic inside me. I didn't want to be alone. Without any distractions. I was afraid of where my mind would take me, and what I would see. But how was I to tell her? I was pathetic. And so she left, and I was once again alone in the darkness and silence. I dragged myself away from the bed, not wanting to be in the room. I realised then the real power of love. My family had made me feel alive. Like I had had everything. Like nothing could take away the happiness that I had felt. But the worst pain in love was losing it. And now I felt a pit inside me, eating away at my core, endlessly tormenting me and crushing my soul. It was cruelly poetic how love had once given my life all its meaning, but now it left me a wasted, empty shell. And in that moment I no longer understood the fear of divine judgment. Even hell's most vile punishment could not be worse than the bleeding hole in my heart.

I found myself back in the living room and eyeing the TV set. Maybe I could find a distraction on there. Some crappy comedy or movie to keep my mind off things. I wearily sat down on my chair and lifted the remote to turn the TV on. I felt so miserable that I wished I could just sleep, or better yet cease to exist. I felt as though I'd never be happy again. The TV powered on. I almost screamed. There was a dead woman laying in a puddle of blood, her body mutilated from multiple stab wounds. The shock left my heart in shambles. It was just some CSI show. I changed the channel in annoyance and it went to the news. The reporter on-screen was speaking about the dead woman in the apartments. In a surge of anger I threw the remote onto the floor and the back cover shot off along with one of the batteries. I cradled my head in my hands. I felt like I was at the centre of a sick joke. Everyone else was in on it except for me, and I was the only one not laughing. I couldn't escape this feeling. I started to feel that uncomfortable warmth again. I felt another wave of nausea. I couldn't go through the torment again.

And then I heard it. A slow, steady, rhythmic ticking. It was from the clock up on the wall. I glanced up at it, barely able to read it. The clock continued to tick. Mechanical, lifeless and without cause. It just carried on ticking. I watched it for the longest time. Strangely it brought a small sense of peace. I didn't realise that I was crying. I felt so empty. I felt like an observer to my own body. I just sat and watched the clock. Sometimes I thought that the only reason I hadn't turned to the bottom of the glass or something worse was because Nicole despised it. I wasn't a drinker. Never had been. But I just longed for the idea of escapism. I just needed the silence. I needed the peace. It was tempting. But I would never betray my wife's memory. Not after I had loaded that gun.

I was so tired. All the time. I rubbed my eyes, but I could not dismiss the exhaustion. My body was wrecked and so was I. Today I had hallucinated badly. I already couldn't trust my mind and now I couldn't trust my eyes either. It was just a matter of time before the rest of the dominoes that held me together collapsed. I was falling apart. My eyes felt so heavy. I sank into the couch. Where was Sarah? It felt like ages since she had left. I did not want to be alone in the pit.

My eyes half closed. I faded. I abruptly saw a shadow. I didn't know what it was. It reached toward me. My mind began to drift. I began to feel oddly displaced from my body. It felt so surreal. I didn't know if I was awake or asleep. I felt almost catatonic. It was so peculiar. And then the visions began. I saw my family. They were dead. There was so much blood. I stirred. I didn't know if I was trapped in a nightmare. I couldn't put together any coherent thoughts. I hardly felt alive.

The world began to darken. An echo sounded out in my ears, the remnants of an unbearable torture. My head sagged and began to pound; a dull ache that subdued my strength. My entire body felt hot. I ripped the top two buttons of my shirt off in an attempt to get some air. I brushed my forehead. My hand came away wet. The noise seemed to drown out the room, and all I could hear were my shallow breaths.

Suddenly there was a new sound. A ringing. And a rumbling. It was loud. It swept through the house. It was nearby. Right next to me. I looked over, dazed. My vision was hazy, and the room was spinning. It was my mobile phone. The screen's light was on. It was ringing. I feebly reached over and grabbed my phone. I raised it to my eyes. I tried to see who it was. The number was incomprehensible. I didn't care. Maybe a call would offer a brief distraction and take me out of this. I put it to my ear and answered. I felt so tired. So weak.

"Hello?" I rasped.

Silence. The quiet stretched on. For slow, measurable moments. Then I heard a voice.

"Daddy..."

The world collapsed.

"Please come find me..."

I made no sound. There were sudden cackling noises on the other end. A child's shrill cry. The line went dead. I dropped the phone. All feeling and all warmth left my body.

I fell.

##  Chapter 7: Sicarius

"Jack?"

I slowly came to in an unfamiliar place. I was groggy and my memory was hazy. I had woken up from fainting for brief moments in the car on the way to wherever I was now, but I had eventually succumbed to fatigue and knew nothing further. It didn't take me long to realise that I was in a hospital. There was a drip attached to my arm. I turned my head and saw Sarah looking exhausted and drained. Her eyes were misty, as though she had come close to crying.

"Jack, can you hear me?" she whispered, taking my hand.

"You're always saving me these days," I croaked.

She didn't smile like she used to at my quips. "Jack, what happened? When I came back, God, for a moment I really thought you were..."

She trailed off, and cleared her throat. I massaged her hand, trying to reassure her.

"I just saw you on the floor...I was so scared I checked for a pulse. I called an ambulance. So far the doctors have ruled out a heart attack but they're not sure what it was. They say that your stress levels are dangerously high."

I groaned. My head was foggy and my whole body was stiff. I could barely recall what had happened last night. It was most likely because of the damned medication they had me on.

"What happened last night, Jack?"

I tried to recollect. She must have sensed that I was having difficulty because she said, "Remember I took you home after the car accident? I told you that I was just stepping out to get some things and I'd stay at your place for the night."

I remembered that. What had I done after? I wracked my brains. I remembered something about CSI on TV. I had tried to watch something to pass the time. I recalled the news at some point. How did I get here? I sunk the back of my head into the pillow and sighed. I accepted a plastic cup of water from Sarah and drank it all in one go. I felt somewhat better.

"Sarah..."

I instantly went cold. I remembered.

I had to get out of the hospital. I threw the bed sheets off violently and fumbled with the drip, tearing it out of my arm and injuring myself in the process. It stung. I didn't care.

"What the hell are you-"

I faced her. The adrenaline flushed my system, washing away all weakness.

"I remember what happened, Sarah! When you were gone the phone rang. I picked it up and-"

I paused. My eyes instantly began to tear. I could not feel. The words didn't come. I didn't know how to say it. For a moment I could not bring myself to even breathe.

"Who called, Jack?"

I summoned all of my strength. I wasn't crazy. I knew what I had heard.

"Jess."

Sarah went white. She stared. Her mouth opened as she released my hand. I turned onto my side so that I could face her completely. I was certain now.

"I _heard_ her voice. I am not crazy. It was her. The call only lasted a few seconds, but I heard her clearly."

Sarah said nothing.

"She told me to come find her. **"**

Sarah put her hands over her eyes. I felt a rush now; a surge of en-ergy. I was awake. I remembered the call. I had clarity. I knew the truth.

"She's alive, Sarah. My Jess is alive."

Sarah took her hands away. Her eyes were wet. I stopped.

"Jack..." she breathed, "Please, please don't do this to yourself. Jess is dead."

I sat up, "I swear to you. I heard her voice last night. She spoke to me like we're speaking now."

Sarah clasped her hand over her mouth. I reached for her hand. She pulled away.

"You've got to face the truth...you're not well. You saw your wife just a few days ago for God's sake! You told me you were seeing things."

I took her hand in both of mine.

"Sarah, this wasn't an hallucination. I wasn't dreaming. It was real. It was Jess."

She wiped her eyes.

"Jack, you have to get help..."

My heart sank, "You don't believe me."

"You're not well," she repeated, "I just want to help you."

I didn't know how to explain myself to her. So I played the one card I could think of. I was reaching.

"Sarah, why did they go through so much trouble to make Jess' body unrecognisable? Not unless they didn't get her. Maybe they just wanted me to think that they did."

Sarah shook her head, "And you think Jess has just been out on her own, all alone in the streets, for more than three weeks?"

I got mad, "I don't know! But I haven't lost my sanity. I know what I heard. She needs me. I have to find my daughter."

Sarah lost it.

"God damn it, Jack! We identified her body!"

My thoughts died instantly. My throat constricted.

"What did you just say?"

Sarah ran her hands through her hair.

"During the autopsy. The body had a few strands of hair on it. It belonged to Jess."

I was staggered.

"You never thought to tell me?" I yelled.

"Would it have made any difference?" she snapped back.

I fell back onto the bed in disbelief.

"I know what I heard," I said again. My mind may have been unreliable and my eyes may have deceived me, but my ears still worked.

Jess was alive.

"I'm calling Teresa. You're getting help."

I said nothing. I had to find my daughter.

"I am trying so hard to help you. This is real. You can't keep doing this to yourself. I'm sorry Jack but I care too much about you to see you destroy yourself like this."

Jess was alive.

I had heard her voice. I remembered her words. I remembered her shrill cry just before the call had cut. She needed me. Maybe someone had her. Maybe she was running. But why hadn't she contacted me sooner? Why had she not come home? I was filled with questions. I could no longer relax. I had to take action. I had to get over all this crap and pull myself together for my little girl. It started today. Right now. Jess needed me. Nothing else on earth mattered more.

"I want to go home," I said and made an effort to rise from the bed.

"Jack, listen to me-" Sarah started with an unmistakable edge in her voice.

"Save it," I hissed, and she recoiled in surprise, "I'm going."

I threw the covers off and sank to the floor. My body felt weird. I wasn't fully functional yet. But I didn't care. There were clothes in the wardrobe for me and I hastily threw them on as I ignored Sarah. I headed towards the door. She didn't try to stop me.

I had to find Jess.

I had tried over and over again to call that number back. The one linked to Jess. But there was just no connection. The phone had most likely been destroyed. It was hours later and night had fallen. It was cold. One of the coldest nights it had been in recent weeks. I was impatient. Restless. I couldn't do anything until the medication wore off. I needed my strength. But every second I wasted here was another that Jess was out there. I clenched and unclenched my hands. I rotated my neck and felt out my body; unwinding my stiff limbs. I sat back in my couch, closed my eyes and allowed my mind to wander freely. I had to regain control of myself. Whatever it took. For Jess.

Being a cop I knew that life was a fragile thing. It took decades to build but only a moment to end, all doable at the push of a button. The last three weeks had opened my eyes to all of my mistakes. The mistakes that people made. We lived our lives wasting our time, wallowing in self-pity and remaining ungrateful for the gifts we have; the days that we spend with those we love. I had taken it all for granted. Taken Nicole for granted. The most cruel lesson we could learn was that we only truly appreciated what we had once we lost it. I knew that now. I felt it. We're always taught that simple lesson. Taught it by our parents and our peers, but we never come to understand it until we face it. The failing of man: we're stubborn and we don't learn from the wretched past. That's why it's doomed to repeat itself. That's why we made the same mistakes over and over again; a twisted, circular fate.

I tried not to think about my wife. I tried not to think about Jess. But it was impossible. Their faces haunted me, while their last, terrifying moments eluded me. And I was tortured for it. It frightened me that up until now I had not considered my wife's final moments. I had spared myself from thinking about it, because of my guilt. But I wished that I had the answers to my fears. I had so many questions. Did Nicole know that I loved her with all my heart before she died? What were her last thoughts? Her last words? Had she been scared? Did she plead? Was Jess there when it happened? Did she hate me?

My hands began to shake. I felt a cold sweat break across my forehead. My heart pounded. I couldn't breathe. The flashbacks were unrelenting and merciless. Taking me back once again to that moment, at the docks, where I could have stopped all of it from happening. Where I had made the worst decision of my life. I could have prevented the nightmare if I had just made the right choice. Regret was a cancer. Hindsight was a torment. I tried not to think about what I had done.

Don't be a hero, Jack. The words danced around in my head, eager to mock my guilt. I twisted and turned in my seat, unable to find comfort. I just couldn't forget. I couldn't be free of the nightmare. I couldn't have peace. Not for a moment. My mind, my very memories, had become my enemy. I needed something to do. I needed to get out of the house. I needed to find Jess. I knew that I could not survive the night trapped with my nightmares. I didn't feel fully recovered. I was still weak. I was drenched in sweat and my hands were still shaking. My heart felt like it was going to explode. The room was spinning. I snatched the television remote and turned on the TV, praying for a distraction, ignoring what had happened to me the last time. Desperation had corrupted reason.

It was the news. Crime was the story. A woman not even twenty years old had been raped and left for dead. But she'd survived and had been found. She was in hospital now. Ruined.

The pit grew in my stomach. I felt sick. I thought of Nicole. I changed the channel.

Murder. A man had been hacked to death in what appeared to be an incident connected to a violent gang. His body had been left in his wife's bed for her to find.

The pit grew larger. I changed the channel again.

Emilio Rojas, a known associate of Victor Salvatore, had been cleared of assault and battery charges due to a lack of evidence and witnesses.

The pit threatened to consume me. Anger flooded my veins.

I hopelessly changed the channel one last time.

The weather. A torrential storm was coming. The city was sinking into a depression.

I hurled the remote at the wall in a blind rage, blowing it apart. I put my face into my hands. I tried to draw breath. But the very air was tainted. This was the city that I had made my wife live in. This was the city that I had tried to raise my daughter in.

Only now did I see it for what it truly was.

People talked about it. A dark and terrifying place, down in the depths, that is endless; that is our worst nightmare. A place of fire. A place of pain. A place that vicious men were banished to so that they may pay for their sins, and become the playthings of a beast far more cruel than themselves.

People spoke of Hell.

They spoke of it as though they had any idea what it was. They didn't. There was no one in Hell. And there was no one monster ruling over it.

Whatever it is and wherever it lies...Hell is empty, and all its monsters are here.

My mind processed that one thought; hung onto it as though it were gospel. Only by understanding this, what I truly faced in the darkness, could I hope to find my daughter. Only then could I face the city for what it really was. And I could no longer hide. My hands had stopped shaking. My heart rate stabilised. I felt a sense of calm. A serenity, a focus, that I had not felt in all my time of being here. I slowly raised myself to my feet, as if in a trance. I retrieved my gun. I thought of Jess. The rest was easy. I stepped out into the cold, and I embraced it.

I pulled the car to a halt about half an hour away from where I wanted to be. I wanted to walk. Tonight I looked upon my city for the very first time; disillusioned. There was no hope here. There were no dreams. There was just the pit. And I was no longer one of its victims.

It was freezing tonight. I held my jacket tightly. A gentle rain descended from the sky, fooling all into believing that there was a tranquillity, a beauty even, here in this place. But this city was good at hiding its true face. It could no longer conceal itself from me. The car would have been faster. I knew that. But I needed to be out here. I needed to see the darkness of this awful city. I needed breathe it in, and feel every quiver of its beating heart.

I considered my objective. I knew that I only had one lead to Jess: Will Harding.

He was a mole for the mob. He may know something about my daughter. Or he may know others who might. I was going to beat it out of him. And if he refused I would have to do worse. But I knew that I needed to calm my mind. I could not act rashly. Teresa had been right about one thing. I could not let my emotions control me. I had to keep myself together for Jess. I was no longer important. Only she was. I surveyed my surroundings. There were only a few people around, all of them men. Women and children most likely would not be out at this time of night. They were forced to be prisoners to remain safe.

Suddenly, as if on cue, as if the city was eager to show me that I had not figured it out just yet, I heard a woman's scream in the air. I saw someone nearby hurry along, too afraid to even investigate the plea of a poorer soul. Before I knew what I was doing, I was reaching for my gun. It was coming from the alley ahead of me. I had not been able to hear it earlier over the sound of the rain, but being closer to it enabled me to. There was a banging noise. I approached more quickly. Just what I needed. To get involved in some other crap. But my police instincts were still intact and I approached the alley, backing up against the corner of the wall. I fished my flashlight out of my jacket pocket. I listened. It sounded like a struggle. I wanted to get it over with quickly.

I emerged from my hiding place and raised my gun and flashlight under it. My light found a startled man holding a woman up against the wall. He had a knife to her throat. He stared at me now with savage eyes. The woman was bleeding and battered, but she didn't look seriously injured. She didn't look like a prostitute at all, so I threw the thought out.

"This is none of your fucking business!" the man spat.

"It is my business, prick, I'm with the police. Now get down on the ground," I said, flashing my badge at him.

He sneered and spat at my feet, "Like I said: none of your fucking business."

I raised my gun to his face, "You want to tell me that again?"

Without warning he growled and grabbed the woman, turning to face me, holding her in front of him like a shield. He placed the knife against her throat.

"What's it going to be, cowboy?" he mocked.

The woman pleaded at me with her eyes. I considered options. I fought with everything I had to remain calm, but my heart was like a jackhammer and I could feel my anxiety set in.

"You ruined my date, do you know that? I had so much planned for Amanda here. It would have been a night to remember. She was being a little rowdy, so I had to tune her up a little bit."

I studied him from what I had to go on so far. His face seemed familiar. He looked to be somewhere in his late thirties or early forties. He had a hard, chiselled voice. A medium build. Black messy hair. A noticeable birthmark on his neck. No apparent jewellery. Overall a distinct appearance. Why didn't I remember where I had seen his face?

"Just turn around and walk away. Rookie."

That last quip stung.

I steadied my aim, "Here's what's going to happen. You're going to let her go. I'm willing to bet that my aim is good enough to hit you in the face from where I'm standing."

Amanda's eyes widened. The man looked taken back. I didn't know where the arrogance came from, but it gave me a sense of control.

"The only question is," I continued with a deliberate slowness, "are you willing take that risk?"

The seconds went by. I prepared myself to make the shot. I knew that I could.

And then it all went to hell.

"No, but I am willing to bet that you don't have the stomach for this," the man said.

I watched as he removed the knife from her throat and plunged it into her body, yanking it out again with ferocity. Amanda screamed loud enough to chill my insides. He threw her at me and she stumbled to the ground. I looked at her for only a second. The man had already started running. I rushed to Amanda's side. I could still see him. I raised my gun. I had him.

I thought of Jess.

I froze up.

Rash action had got my wife killed. Why was I getting involved? I was making the same mistake. Poking my nose into things that I shouldn't. I didn't know this man, or at least I didn't remember who he was. What if he had connections to the mob and they reacted again? I could lose my chance to find Jess. How was I going to explain this to Sarah? But could I just let him go? After what I had seen him do? I didn't have the chance to make the decision. He turned a corner and he was gone. It had all happened in seconds. I had failed to act. Had it been Jess I would have failed her. I was pathetic. Afraid. Weak. Amanda moaned on the ground. She was drifting out of consciousness from the pain. I applied pressure to her ribs, trying to control the bleeding.

"You're going to be okay, Amanda, just remain calm," I said.

She coughed. She was in serious pain, but I could tell that this was not a fatal injury. The knife didn't go deep enough. The risk unfortunately was infection or bleeding out, and it was freezing too. I reached into my pocket with one hand and retrieved my phone. I first needed an ambulance. I called, identified myself, demanded assistance and in-formed them of my location. I was about to call Sarah then, but I hesitated. Was it wise? She'd find out anyway. And maybe this would convince her that I wasn't insane. I hit dial.

"Jack?"

I didn't give her time to say anything else.

"Sarah, we've got trouble. I've got a woman bleeding out here from a knife wound. The man who did this got away by using her as a shield from me. I've already called the ambulance and they're on the way. I need you out here. Please hurry!"

She didn't say anything. Did she not believe me?

"Okay, tell me where you are. I'm on my way."

I sighed, relieved. I gave her the location. She told me to sit tight. I put down the phone. I swore. Amanda was bleeding more than I had anticipated. For a moment I didn't know what to do. Then it clicked. Stupid. She was wearing a scarf. I had wasted precious time. I grabbed it off her neck and pressed it over her wound. It was long, allowing me to tie it around her waist. I pressed my hand against her rib. Hopefully it would slow the bleeding enough.

I knew that I needed to get out onto the street so that we could be found. I scooped Amanda up into my arms. She was light. She groaned in agony as I lifted her, but I knew that it had to be done. It was extremely risky to move the body, but we could be missed in the alley, and if I went out onto the road alone I would not have been able to keep pressure on the wound. Amanda was barely conscious enough to be trusted to do it herself. I told her I was sorry. I had to move with care, so as not to disturb the wound too badly. I gingerly took my steps, and in a matter of seconds I found myself crouching down and lowering her onto the pavement as gently as I could. I put her head onto my lap so she wouldn't have to lie on the hard ground.

"What's your name?" she muttered.

"Jack," I answered, "Don't try to talk. Just stay with me. Help will be here."

"Thank you for saving me, Jack."

I half smiled, "You're not safe yet."

"I'll take this over that guy," she said, as I prayed that she didn't go into shock.

And then I heard it. The wailing of sirens. It was the ambulance that arrived first. Two paramedics emerged out the back and rushed over to me. I let them do the work, explaining what had happened. Amanda moaned for me not to leave her. I ran my hand through my hair. Will Harding would have to wait. I really didn't want this. I wanted to go after Jess. I couldn't stand the idea of another delay. But what else could I do? And maybe this way I could set things right with Sarah as well. I'd need her help. I asked the paramedics which hospital we were going to. They told me and I relayed it to Sarah with a text message. I kept Amanda relaxed on the way to the hospital. I could not stop myself from feeling regret for getting involved. I was getting further away from Harding; from my lead on Jess. I was so restless. The night was fading. It wasn't long before I was left in the waiting room, pacing around and looking out for Sarah. She arrived ten minutes or so later. We'd have to wait here now to question Amanda. At least it gave me the time I needed to talk to Sarah.

"Jack, what on earth happened? Are you okay?" Sarah asked.

It was good to see her again.

I smiled, "You won't believe it but I stumbled across this just walking out in the streets."

She narrowed her eyes, "Why were you walking around at this time of night?"

I shrugged, "Sorry, mom, I needed the fresh air."

Her mouth twitched and a smile broke out on her face as she saw the funny side of what I had said, and realised what she had sounded like. I gestured at the chairs against the wall. She nodded and followed me. I began filling her in on what had happened. But when I described what the man had looked like, and mentioned the birthmark on his neck, she paled.

"What?" I asked.

"Jack, that man is a known serial killer."

I went rigid.

"Hal Edwards. He murders women. Butchers them with knives."

The air grew thick, and I could not breathe.

"My wife, she-"

But Sarah shook her head, "Hal takes his women under the premise of a date. He chats them up, works his charm and takes them home where he subjects them to torture and rape before their death. Married women don't seem to be his type, and we know that Nicole wasn't raped, Jack. So far, six of his adult victims have been. Amanda would have been the seventh. I don't know what went wrong tonight. He said she had been uncooperative or something?"

I nodded, and I felt no guilt for my small sense of relief. I would never have forgiven myself if he had truly been my wife's killer. But that would have been too easy. Too neat.

"There's more, Jack."

I snapped to attention.

"I said six of his adult victims have been. Hal has a record with kids too. He has never raped a child for whatever reason. Instead he always marks them. Leaves messages on their body using his knife. He once wrote a nursery rhyme on an eight-year-old's stomach."

This place truly is Hell, I thought to myself.

"How many victims in total?" I asked, despite my fear of the answer.

"We don't know for certain what the total count is, but we have six adult females on record, and five kids. Eleven known cases with Hal's MO."

"I should have killed him," the words left my mouth before I had the chance to think on them.

Sarah didn't say anything.

"I had him in my sights, Sarah. But the woman was bleeding out and I was distracted," I said, lying to her and to myself about the real reason.

She put her hand over mine, "You saved her life, Jack. She would have been put through hell before her death had you not been there. Don't beat yourself up. You did good."

But I didn't feel good. And something else was bothering me.

"Sarah. If I denied him a victim tonight won't he kill again?"

She turned her head away, "Maybe. Probably."

By saving Amanda had I condemned someone else? Every choice I made always came burdened with terrible consequences, no matter how hard I tried. After all this time I was still a joke. Sarah and I sat in silence then, her hand resting on mine while we waited for news.

The call came the next night, just after sunset. I was at home trying to fight the harsh rain and the cold with a cup of hot chocolate, planning to savour it for ten minutes before I left to go after Will Harding. My wife had always teased me for being a child by sticking with it and not 'upgrading' to coffee. I had always told her that I preferred my drinks to actually have a taste. It was simply one of the many little idiosyncrasies we had shared that kept us close. I was contemplating my next move when my phone rang. It was Sarah of course.

"Jack. It looks like we won't be getting any sleep tonight."

"What happened?"

"You were right. Hal Edwards has killed someone else."

The room spun. I felt the responsibility bear down on my shoulders.

"Damn it, already? Who?" I breathed.

Sarah didn't respond to that and instead told me to come. She gave me the location and brief details. The body had been found half an hour ago in the same alley from the night before, but so far it looked as though the murder had actually taken place during the day, about five hours prior. I raced to retrieve my gun and badge before charging out of my house to my car. It never ended. I had to find Jess, not deal with this. But this was my fault. I knew that. I also knew that I could not delay my visit to Harding any longer. It had to be tonight. After helping Sarah with whatever was at the crime scene. I broke the speed limit. The pit in my stomach had returned. Soon enough I saw the blue and red lights in the distance. My car screeched to a halt nearby, and I briskly walked through the crowd of officers and personnel, the rain drenching my clothes in seconds. Sarah found me behind the yellow tape.

"Jack, I don't think you'll want to see this," she shouted.

"Why not?" I called back.

She didn't answer. I pushed past her and she called out after me in protest. I approached the body. Time slowed. My heart stopped beating. I felt the cold seep into my skin.

It was a little girl.

She was such a small, delicate figure. She was around the same age as my daughter. Her body was pale as though all of the blood had been drained out of her. There was a single gaping hole in her chest. I put my hand to my mouth, fighting back the tears. My heart deadened. A loud crack burst forth from the air. The storm the news had spoke of had arrived. There was a flash of lightning, and I saw not the body of some girl I did not know. I saw the body of Jess.

The universe was a cruel poet; an ironic author writing a twisted, circular string of verses, sending you the same messages again and again until you finally learned from it. I was under no illusion. This was no world for people like me. No world for those who tried to be good. I had failed this girl. I had failed Jess. Again. I had learned nothing from my naive mistakes. I felt Sarah's hand on my shoulder. I took no comfort. I just had to know. And when I spoke, my voice was dead.

"You said that he marks his victims if they're children. What was the message?"

"Jack..."

"I want to know."

When Sarah didn't answer I approached the girl's body and bent down.

"It's on her right arm under the sleeve," Sarah said from behind me.

I rolled it up and I saw the message carved into the girl's skin. There was barely enough space there to contain it; the killer had improvised with the layout.

'A gift for Jack Mercer.'

I was numb. I didn't feel alive. I cursed what I had done at the docks. The killer probably knew me from the mob or the papers - my face had been all over them. It didn't matter. The message was clear. I turned around and walked away from the crime scene, blocking out the world. Sarah called out to me. I didn't respond. All noise had drowned out. But the storm fought to be heard. I ignored the stares; looks of sympathy, of pain and of pity. There were harsh looks too, and looks of anger and of blame. I escaped. I got into my car and drove. I blocked all thought from my mind. I simply drove until I reached my house. One moment I had been leaving, and the next I had arrived.

I staggered out of my car. My phone was ringing. I ignored it. I felt an emptiness that threatened to devour me. I opened the door to my house and the pit greeted me, welcoming me back. I went to the bathroom. Nausea swept over me and I violently threw up in the toilet. I reached for the basin and splashed cold water on my face. I raised my eyes. I saw my reflection. And I loathed the face that stared back at me. The guilt. The pain. The anger. It burned. It mocked. It hurt. I threw my fist forward and struck my reflection in a burst of hatred and rage. The mirror cracked with a shatter that echoed throughout the pit. My hand stung; tiny fragments of glass bit into my skin. Warm droplets of blood fell to the basin. I saw my true self in the broken fragments that remained. I was weak. How could I ever save Jess? In my mind I saw the killer; the face of my darkness. I saw my failures. I saw the decisions I had made that had brought me here, and how I had failed to learn. Drops of water fell down my face. The darkness spread; the pit became infinite. And my eyes opened. I finally saw, buried deep within the darkness, what I had to become to stop men like this.

What I had to become to save Jess.

I left the bathroom. My phone was still ringing. I drowned out the sound. I reached for my gun. I dropped my badge onto the floor. I retrieved the second phone I had acquired. I opened my door and stepped out of the pit and into the downpour. I looked up at the sky. Lightning struck. For a second the world was engulfed in brilliant white light. I felt the rain on my face. I felt it sink into my skin. It was a baptism. And I was no longer the same. Deep within the clouds the storm raged, unleashing its fury upon the world. I only had one thing on my mind.

Hal Edwards.

It was personal. It was my mistake. It was my lesson. The beast writhing within me, calling for blood, was awakened. And I let it free.

I moved.

My mind was awake as I drove. I had not only accessed the police database, but I had already built a profile of this man in my mind from the facts that I had. It didn't take a genius to figure out that his charm, coupled together with his MO and predilection for pretty women, meant that he was something of a ladies' man. He indulged in them. Sometimes he killed them, and other times it was for pleasure only. There was a bar very near to the alley in which he had tried to kill Amanda, and had left the body of the little girl. Amanda had told us that he had been charming, funny and polite. But he became insistent when she had wanted to call it a night and not take things further. Then he had turned nasty and finally violent. That meant he was clearly not used to rejection and had thin tolerance for it. He was definitely a man that made impressions then. Someone who was easily remembered.

The only reason he had not been caught was due to insufficient evidence for a conviction. For the police it was a case of knowing that he was a killer, but being unable to prove it and he got off on that. He had been brought in a few times as a suspect, and had even been put on trial in court, but there had never been enough evidence to put him away. He had powerful friends as well. Any other killer would have been caught by now. It was doubtful that he'd have let Amanda go either. He was most likely waiting for her to get out of the hospital, and then he'd make his move. She had rejected him. He wouldn't have liked that. And I doubted that he was very much into forgiveness.

I accelerated. I took a back road and went around, avoiding the possibility of any of the police seeing me if they were still there. I was taking no chances. I reached the bar. I got out. I had a rough plan of action in my head. I'd speak to the bartender first and ask him if he knew Hal or any of the women he had chatted to. I'd speak to any women I found in the bar. After that I suspected that strip clubs would be the obvious choice. There probably weren't many nearby and I was sure the working girls would remember him. In truth, it wouldn't have taken me long to find him. He didn't care for staying hidden. He just enjoyed himself. I entered the bar, scanning those inside. There weren't many, but it would be a start. My eyes came to rest on a figure at the counter.

I stared. I blinked. There he was.

I could hardly believe it. The son of a bitch was having a drink right here, carelessly, while the police investigated the body of the girl he had murdered so close by. The anger erupted inside of me. It ended tonight. I gritted my teeth and walked over. I took the chair next to him. He gazed down at his drink. I waved off the bartender. I turned my chair to face Hal Edwards.

"Remember me?"

He looked up.

"I got your message."

Surprise registered on his face for a moment before he smiled cockily.

"What message?"

I was still with the police. He obviously wouldn't confess to murder. And he didn't seem to care in the slightest that I had seen what he had done to Amanda in the alley. It was not like he'd ever see the inside of a prison cell for it. And if he did, he'd be out easily enough. I stood and covered the distance between us. I placed my hand onto the counter.

"I'm not a cop tonight. You and I need to talk."

"Go fuck yourself, Jackieboy. I'm having a drink."

I snapped. I toppled his glass with my hand.

"What drink?"

He looked annoyed. That was good. I wanted his ego to make this easy for me.

"Alright, dick. You should have hid behind your badge, because after I fuck you up, I'm making you pay for my drink."

"It's your move, cupcake. Now get up! Let's talk outside."

He stood, "I'm gonna show you what a piss-ant you are."

He walked. I followed. The chilling night air greeted us both. The cold, rain and storm set the perfect stage.

But this was not going to be a fight. This was an execution.

I drew my gun and slammed the butt of it against his head from behind, and he cried out and crumpled to the ground, instantly dazed. I brought my foot down onto the back of his head with enough force to break bone. I let my foot linger for a moment longer, letting him eat dirt. He crawled away swearing. I raised my gun. He turned and stopped. Then he started laughing, spitting out dirt and blood. He was floored; probably had a concussion. He wouldn't be putting up any fight now.

"If you had any balls, Jackieboy, I might have been scared..."

I approached him as I drowned out the world and all its noise.

"So what are you going to do? Try to frighten me with your little gun and badass attitude? Make me confess to killing that little bitch? Is that what you want? You want to arrest me?"

I saw only one end to it.

I grabbed his throat, raised him off the ground and slammed him against the wall. I wasn't any fool. I knew he'd be thinking about reaching for his knife by now. But I had the seconds. I had him. I had him right here. All that was left was to do it. The effect of a gun was often over-dramatised. As the cold metal rested against his forehead, I knew that even though the bullet loaded in the chamber could end his life, wipe his vile existence off the face of the earth, pulling the trigger was simply a choice. Either I did, or I didn't.

"Fuck you!" Hal spat.

I could see his hand move down to his belt. The seconds stretched on. My heart raced. My gun hand felt weak. I felt a wave of anxiety wash over me. I knew that once I went down this road and into this place I would never return. But I no longer cared. I had already lost everything. I knew all there was to pain. And now I would no longer bear it alone. I wanted to share my pain with someone like him. Jess entered my mind once again. For her I had sworn that I would do anything, become anything, to protect her.

There was no half measure.

With a vicious growl I squeezed the trigger. An explosion erupted in the night; a sound so loud it shocked my eardrums. His head violently jerked, and blood and brain matter splattered the wall of the bar. His body went limp and dropped to the ground in a heap. All noise died out. It took a second to register the act. My mind rebooted. It was done. It had been over in a second. It had ended so unceremoniously. It was almost anti-climactic. One moment he had been reaching for his knife, and the next he had just been gone. Like turning a year older I didn't feel any different. I didn't feel anything at all.

I ran before anyone from the bar had the chance to come out and see me. I realised a truth that I had not faced or understood before. A truth that all the literature and good men tried to hide. The academics, writers and psychologists who spoke of the brutality of murder, the guilt of killing a man in cold blood and the haunting which followed making a choice that you could never take back. It was all a lie. Murder was easy. It was simply the push of a button. A peculiar sense of calm washed over me, and I felt liberated. The lightning had ceased. The storm had faded. The rain remained.

I drove. Lights blurred past. Rain pelted my car relentlessly. My body was overwhelmed with a rush of adrenaline. I was shaken, but I felt entirely in control for the first time in I didn't know how long. It was a feeling that I basked in, eager to hold. I reflected upon my decision. I had seen Sarah kill a few times before while on the force, to save lives and in self-defence. There it had always felt justified - accepted even. But what I had done felt no different to that. Only morally. But morals were not going to save my daughter. I could not tell Sarah. Not yet.

I knew that I had left a shell casing on the ground, but it wouldn't have made much difference. The ballistics and bullet lodged in Hal Edward's brain would tell forensics which gun had been used. It was no threat to me. I'd used the gun that I kept at home in the drawer. Only Nicole had known that I had had it. It was just a Beretta, silver and black in colour. There was nothing significant about the gun or its ammunition. It couldn't be traced back to me. I knew that there was the possibility that someone from the bar would remember the altercation I had had with Edwards before we had left, but it was unlikely anyone under the influence of alcohol would recall anything significant, least of all be able to describe me. And no one paid any attention to fights or heated arguments in bars. It was par for the course mostly.

I was safe. I could now finally turn my attention back to Will Harding. My only lead on Jess. There would be no more mistakes from me. No more failures. I pulled up outside Will Harding's home. It was late, but the lights were on. I just hoped that they didn't have visitors, but either way I knew what I was going to do. I reached into the glove compartment and brought out the black ski mask I had placed there for my return here. It wasn't for Will. It was for his family. Even if Will did tell his wife about me, as far as they knew I hadn't followed up my conflict with him from earlier and I had just been a grieving man looking for someone to blame. I had taken my frustrations out on Harding and had left. But I doubted he had been very talkative. He knew what I had on him. The confession of his that I carried with me.

I put on the ski mask as I approached the door with my gun in hand. I considered kicking it down and catching them by surprise, but dismissed the idea. I didn't want to cause a full out panic, set off any alarms or give the people inside a chance to arm themselves or run. I only needed the one person who answered the door. I rang the doorbell multiple times, communicating my impatience. I heard someone answer on the other side, hurrying to meet me. The door opened.

It was Will's wife. She screamed.

I grabbed her. She struggled, but I raised the gun to her head and she went still like an obedient dog. I reached behind me and closed the door. Will came running out, shock spreading across his face as he took in the scene. I saw his fear

"Take whatever you want, just please don't hurt my wife!" he cried.

He stepped back as I advanced, saying nothing. I took a moment to enjoy his appearance. He was still bruised from our last encounter, and had heavy bandaging around his nose. Unfortunately there were other people here. It looked like they were having a poker game on. Another couple and a man. It complicated things, but it was nothing I couldn't handle. I was in control. I let the panicked screams and shouts take their course. And then everything went still. They waited for me.

"This is what's going to happen," I began. I kept my voice low and gruff, trying to prevent Will from recognising it in the panic.

I wasn't going to harm any of these innocent people. But they didn't know that. In this the mask gave me power.

"You're all going to lay your mobile phones down on the table. If any of you try to call for help or scream or run, I will start shooting."

No one moved.

"Do as I say now or take your chances with a gun!" I barked, playing the role as well as I could.

My heart hammered against my chest. The anxiety I felt was nearly overwhelming. So much could go wrong here. All that I could do to stop myself from panicking was reinforce myself of the fact that I was in control. I could handle this. But the more variables there were, the more room there was for complications. I just hoped no one here was stupid enough to try and be a hero. I didn't want bloodshed, and I wasn't prepared to shoot any of them. But to my relief they obeyed, and put their phones down.

"Good. If you continue to listen to my instructions, no one is going to get hurt. I can promise you that. But that can change if you try anything stupid. Nod if you understand."

After a few seconds they nodded.

"Whatever you say, man, just relax okay?" the lone man said, holding his hands up in surrender.

Will's wife was crying now. He was trying to calm her down.

"Will Harding. Put your hands behind the back of your head and get down onto the floor. If you do that I will let your wife go. Once I do she is to take the rest of you upstairs and into the kid's room. Got it?"

No one said or did anything. I pulled the woman's hair hard and she moaned in pain. I pointed the gun at the rest of them. They shouted out in protest and were hasty then to agree. All the while I thought of Jess. It made this easier. Will slowly turned around. He reassured everyone, put his hands behind his head and dropped to the floor.

"When I let you go you are not to go to your husband. You are to take everyone here upstairs. Is that understood?"

She sobbed.

"Is that understood?" I growled.

"It's okay, baby, listen to him," Will said.

She cried her agreement. I released her. Her body trembled as she slowly moved over to the rest of the group. I stepped forward and placed my gun against Will's head. An easy swap. I motioned towards the stairs. I was relieved that the child had not come downstairs. Perhaps I was that little bit fortunate. I didn't want to see him again and risk losing my resolve.

"Go," I commanded.

They shuffled towards the stairs.

"Remember," I warned, "If any of you come down here before I allow you to, I will kill all of you. The child as well."

Will's wife shrieked, and they hurried it up. I was under no delusions here. I knew that she'd call the police. Or that she probably had some kind of panic button upstairs. She was married to a cop after all. Safety precautions were scripture. But it was alright. I only needed a few minutes. Once I was satisfied that they were gone, I shoved Will towards the living room couches. I took the one opposite his so that I was facing him directly. I removed my mask. Will Harding's jaw dropped, and his mouth opened and closed without a sound as the shock registered.

"Christ..." he whispered.

"Don't speak," I ordered, "Listen."

He shut up.

"While I speak, think back to what happened to you the last time that I was here. Lying to me would be foolish. There are a lot more people here tonight that could get hurt."

"Please, Jack, I'm begging you..." he whimpered.

"Are you still supplying the mob with information?" I cut across him.

Will panicked. I shushed him with my gun.

"Yes."

Anger burst to life inside of me. I wanted to hurt him. But Jess was the priority. I inhaled, bringing myself under control.

"What did you tell them about me?"

Will hesitated. He was stalling. Wasting my time.

"The next time you take longer than two seconds to answer my question, I'll get one of them down here and kill them in front of you."

That got his cooperation. He was suddenly full of words, squirming in his chair. I had not meant it of course.

"Everything! They forced me to, Jack! I didn't have a choice!"

I grit my teeth, ignoring his pathetic excuse, "When did you start?"

"They took interest in you after you busted the weapons shipment."

"Who did? I want a name!"

"I don't know! I give information to some guy - I don't know his name - and he sends it back to them! They set the meetings and they tell me what information I need to get for them."

"What do you know about the weapons shipment?"

"Nothing! They told me nothing!"

"I want a name while I still have patience," I rested the gun on my leg; it pointed at his chest.

"I don't have a name, I swear..."

I cocked the gun.

He jumped, "Wait! Victor Salvatore! I heard him speak once. He said that he liked you, but we needed to be cautious of you. He said you're a hothead. Got a bit of attitude."

My hand tightened around the gun. Victor Salvatore. His name repeatedly popped up. But I would have to investigate him later. It was time for the final questions. The ones that mattered. I had maybe five minutes, seven at most. It was all that I needed.

"Did you know what they were going to do to my family?"

"No! I swear, Jack, I didn't know!"

"I don't believe you! Maybe I need to give you some incentive before you tell me the truth! How much do you love your wife, Will? Your son?"

"Oh God please! Listen to me I didn't-"

I made as though I was getting up.

"I suspected it!"

I stopped. I went cold.

"Explain yourself."

"Look, I didn't know what they were going to do. I never knew. All that I heard was that something needed to be done about you after I told them about the warehouse raid. You were getting too close, becoming too much of a nuisance. I suspected that they were going after you. I thought they were going to have a talk with you, you know, with some guys to rough you up or something. I didn't think they were going to do what they did to your family. I never wanted that..."

No matter how he justified it, it was his information that led to my family's death. The anger was blinding. But I fought to remain in control. I had one last question.

"Where's my daughter?" I whispered.

"What?"

"Where's my daughter!" I yelled.

He jumped, "Jack, your daughter is dead..."

"Don't you dare tell me that! I know that she's alive. She called me! She called me and told me to find her. You know where she is!" I accused, my rational mind going up in flames.

Will went pale. He was frightened of me, now more than ever.

"I'm sorry. I swear on my son's life...she's dead. I'm so sorry."

He was responsible. He had told me right to my face that the information he had given them had led to my family being murdered. The mob wanted to know about me. And he had handed me to them on a silver platter. What I did. Where I lived. My working hours. My family. The warehouse raid. What I was planning. It was all his fault. And I was just supposed to let him go? Let him get a happy ending with his family, and allow him to live out his days having poker nights and watching his son grow up while I had lost everything? He got paid to betray us all. He had taken his money while my wife had been murdered. It was all because of him. My gun shook in my hand.

"All of you, you can't always get away with it..." I started to tear up uncontrollably and my voice broke. I then relinquished control to my anger, "You can't always get away with it!"

"Jack, please..."

It had been so easy with Hal Edwards. But this was different. Despite everything, Will Harding was still a police officer. This would change everything. But I had made a promise.

No more half measures.

For Jess. I had to do this for her. My life meant nothing. All that mattered was that I found her. That she was safe. And that the people who killed her mother, my wife, paid for what they did. Because of men like Will Harding my little girl would grow up without her mother. I let that anger rule me. I let it help me make this decision.

"You don't have to do this..."

I fired three shots.

His body writhed as the first bullet tore into his neck, the second struck his chest and the third hit him in his midsection. I didn't need to confirm that he was dead. I knew it. His head sagged. Blood spurted from the gaping hole in his throat, and the front of his clothes changed colour. Screams came from upstairs. My ears rang; I ignored the pain. In this enclosed space, the shots had been so loud that the entire neighbourhood had probably heard them.

I stared in horror as realisation dawned. I had just killed a cop. I couldn't bring myself to leave. There would be no coming back from this. Ever. Even if I found Jess I'd never be able to give her a life in this city. Not after this. I heard it then. Fear gripped me like a vice. Sirens. Wailing in the distance; the song of the end. The police had arrived. I stood. I looked down at the ski mask in my hands. I had made a promise. I had to find Jess. No matter the cost. My daughter was the only thing left that mattered. I had to save her. There could be no more half measures. I slipped the mask on. And I escaped into the night, embracing the sanctity of the cold.

##  Chapter 8: A King's End

I felt the tears falling before I had a chance to stop them. I sat in my car weeping like a child, my body wrecked with fatigue and anxiety. The adrenaline had faded. The spotlights dimmed. The show was over. All that remained was the mess it had left behind: me. I was a murderer. The label felt alien. I couldn't relate to it. It was a term you tossed around the dinner table while discussing vile people you read about in the news. It was not something you woke up one day and classified yourself as. I leaned back in my seat, closing my eyes and trying to disappear from the world for a moment. But reality returned and with an unforgiving jolt I realised my situation. I had to get home. The police had probably arrived at Will Harding's house. Sarah would know about his death. And that meant she'd call me. I had left my phone at home.

I brought the engine to life and gunned it, burying my torment and driving as fast as I possibly could. I was lucky that it was late and I had the liberty to drive. The only thing I had as an alibi was that I had sunk into a depressed sleep after seeing the body of the little girl. Sarah would have been able to believe that, but I wondered with each day how much patience she still had left for me. She couldn't spend her days babysitting me. I needed to make sure that I was home. I wiped my eyes, trying to fill my mind with thoughts of Jess and that all of this was for her. I drove recklessly, no doubt putting my life in further danger.

When I finally reached my home I was on the verge of having another attack from the stress. I turned off the car and got out. I almost sprinted to my front door. I entered my house and locked the door again, leaning against it and exhaling heavily, my heart hammering so hard I could hardly get any air into my lungs. When I had calmed enough to move, I retrieved my mobile phone. Sure enough there were two missed calls from Sarah, and checking my home phone revealed another. There was also a text message from her which informed me of what had happened in a short sentence. It had come a few minutes after the missed calls so I expected that she had assumed I was out of action. I reassured myself that if my mobile phone was being tracked then I had an alibi to say that I had never left my house tonight and could not have had anything to do with the murders. I found it curious though why she didn't mention anything about Hal Edwards, but I chalked that up to her placing obvious priority on Harding and his family. And of course Sarah couldn't be in two places at once.

It was time to destroy the sainthood of Will Harding. I took out the spare phone I had, copied Sarah's number from my main mobile phone and began typing a text message to her. I went out of my way to make it sound dramatic; almost like the way the mob had communicated with me thus far. I'd be an anonymous source. I observed my words after I had finished typing: "Will Harding was an insect. An informant for the mob. He sold you out the night of the warehouse raid and leaked information on all of your men. He had to be eliminated. Think on that before you mourn his passing."

I nodded to myself satisfied. I hit send. As soon as the message was delivered I tore the back panel of the phone off, removed the SIM card and snapped it in two. I'd have to get a new card or better yet a couple of disposable phones. I sank down into my preferred living room seat and rubbed my temples as I contemplated my next move. The only thing I had to go on was that Will Harding had brought up Victor Salvatore's name. He was my biggest suspect for this. After all I still could not shake the fact that Nathan Kenway had used the exact same words to me that Victor had back in the restaurant. It seemed like forever ago, a different lifetime, but the connection remained. I'd bet all my chips on Victor being the man behind my family's murder.

The only problem was that he was one of the city's biggest crime lords. That made getting to him difficult; confronting him for a chat implausible. I could always get to him out in public, but I wanted my talk with him to have a more private touch. That way I would be able to kill him if he was responsible. But only after he gave me Jess. My daughter was the priority. I figured that I'd have to spend a day tailing him, working out his routine and deciding on the opportune windows to get to him. My best bet would be when he hung his cape at night. Everyone knew where he lived; it was just a matter of finding out when he was there, and where else he went on a day-to-day basis. I needed to scout out his place and take a look at the level of security as well as map out some kind of routine. That could take more than a day or two.

I tiredly placed my Beretta onto the table in front of me. I had to replace the two bullets I had used. I eyed the gun deep in thought. If I was to go after Victor Salvatore I couldn't do it with the weapon making enough of a racket to draw the entire street to me. As soon as I fired the gun anywhere near Victor I'd be surrounded and shot down before I could drop a witty one-liner.

I'd need a suppressor. Unfortunately real life wasn't as simple as the movies. Only special forces units were given suppressors, commonly referred to as 'silencers', and the rest of us ordinary people, police or not, had to buy them. I acknowledged that most people weren't aware that it's actually legal in many states to own a suppressor. But it was expensive. In addition to needing a license and having to go through the necessary paperwork, which could potentially take months, each suppressor bought was taxed with a once-off payment. I didn't have the patience or the money to waste on that. The other option was to obtain one illegally, which was obviously still pricey, perhaps more so, and I didn't know where to look to find the markets around here. Not to mention that anyone who read the newspaper knew what I looked like, so if I showed up to some dodgy vendor and made a purchase the mob would know. They weren't stupid. People, especially police officers, didn't usually buy suppressors unless they were going hunting - and not just for animals. I was left with only one option: I had to make one.

The beauty of the world we lived in was that any idiot could watch a YouTube video these days and learn something they shouldn't. I contemplated what I'd need. PVC pipes, rubber, duct tape, wood, glue or PVC cement, sand paper, a drill and what else? I could probably find a use for a bicycle clamp. There were many ways to go about it depending on the gun, with varying degrees of efficiency. I'd have to take proper measurements of my Beretta's barrel first. The issue could be that if the design wasn't good enough, I possibly would end up being forced to make more than one. It went without saying that a flawed design might not lead to good enough suppression. I instinctively smiled to myself as I thought about the common myths behind suppressors. I always enjoyed a private laugh whenever I watched those spy and action films where 'silencers' reduced the gunshot sounds to little more than an inaudible phut you'd hear from a BB gun.

As was genuinely the trend real life didn't obey the rules of Hollywood. The reason us officers, and the gun fanatics, insisted on the term 'suppressor' over 'silencer' was because of the fact that the latter wasn't wholly accurate. Suppressors reduced, but not eliminated, the gunshot sound. Many people were also under false impressions that it's just the actual gunshot - the noise from the pressure wave as a result of rapidly expanding propellant gases - that produced all the noise of a firearm. But it was only one element of it. The other primary source of noise came from the sonic crack created by the bullet, as most exceeded the sound barrier. There did exist modified subsonic bullets, which were much quieter - almost Hollywood quiet if used with the right suppressor and gun - as they were slower than the speed of sound and didn't break the sound barrier. But these bullets dipped quickly and as a result were not effective at range, and they also packed a lesser stopping power. They definitely were worthless for any automatic or even semi-automatic weapon. If you were caught in a fire fight in a large open space, subsonic bullets were not your friend. Other sources of gun noise, usually minor, was the mechanical action of the weapon itself, the sound of the bullet travelling through the air and the bullet actually striking its target.

It's common that once you started explaining these complications to the layman their natural question would be: what is the point of them then? That's usually the easy question to answer. A suppressor, in addition to its obvious noise reduction, could be invaluable as it removed the bright muzzle flash of the firearm. That meant that during covert operations, or for snipers, your position wouldn't be revealed each time you made a shot. That served me pretty damn well since I'd be acting at night, and without a suppressor each shot from my gun would show the world where I was. A beacon of my own foolish bravado.

The next benefit was that, due to the noise reduction, you stood a much smaller chance of causing damage to your ears if they were unprotected. Another myth of Hollywood movies was how people could endlessly fire unsuppressed guns, without ear protection, in enclosed spaces and avoid any pain or injury to their ears. An unsuppressed gunshot was usually around one-hundred and forty to one-hundred and sixty decibels, which meant in the worst case scenario you could permanently damage your ears by hearing that sound close to you in a bad environment, most particularly one that enhanced noise; a place that produced an echo. A suppressor significantly reduced that to around one-twenty or one-thirty decibels, which was the kind of noise reduction you'd get from wearing typical ear protection gear. However the gun would still produce a mighty audible pop.

Another useful advantage was that suppressors slightly reduced recoil, which improved accuracy and made it easier to avoid firing fatigue. And for my immediate purposes, perhaps the greatest asset would be that due to the drastic change in what a suppressed gun actually sounded like compared to an ordinary firearm, most people wouldn't recognise it as a gunshot, especially in lively areas. They'd assume it was nothing significant. In these ways a suppressor would change the game.

It looked like I was going shopping tomorrow. I yawned, feeling the weariness of everything that had happened over the last two days wash over me. It was time to call it a night. There was little else I could do but wait to face the aftermath of my actions. But my mistake was to bring down my barriers. As soon as my mind calmed, entertaining the idea of sleep, I felt a sudden bout of anxiety take hold over me, crushing my focus and driving me to an immediate panicked state with a jolt. Jess' phone call played in my head. My defences crumbled to dust, and then I could not stop my mind from worrying about her.

My little girl was out there and I didn't know where. Was she hurt? Was she okay? Did she have food and shelter? She's just a baby. Did someone have her? I wasn't sure what I had heard on the other end of the line, but something had frightened her into ending the call and she had not tried to contact me again. Did that mean she'd been taken? I shook my head and forced the thought out of my mind. I had no guarantees. All that I had was knowing that she was alive. And I'd do anything to get her back. I thought about her being frightened and alone. I couldn't concentrate. I started to choke up. I thrashed, my face getting hot and my breathing becoming strained. The stress was unbearable. I wondered how long my body or mind could continue to take this. I just had to be patient. I had to be calm. I had to keep it together. Jess needed me. I closed my eyes and tried to avoid sinking into a nightmare long enough to fall asleep.

Morning came and I rose early, feeling worse than I did the previous night. There was no rest for people like me; only a tinge of gratitude at having made it through the night. I stretched and headed towards the bathroom. I woke myself up and showered while still half asleep, and once I was done I swiftly made myself breakfast while consulting my shopping list. I poured myself a glass of orange juice. As I got to the end of the list, ensuring that I had not forgot anything, I took a sip of the juice and immediately spluttered. I spat out what little I could. It was off. Stupid me. Obviously it was, having been left in my fridge for more than three weeks. I rinsed the glass and filled it with water instead. I gingerly drank then, trying to drown the foul, sour taste of the juice. I emptied the carton of orange juice in the sink. I'd have to pick up a few things for the house as well.

On top of having to worry about Jess, I now had a new stress to face each day and that was wondering how long it would be before the police discovered what I had done. I had no intention of stopping and it was only going to get worse. I was playing time. And sooner or later the safety net would fall. But there was no use in dwelling over it. I had to focus. I snatched up a long coat and headed out into the morning chill. I contemplated the task at hand. I figured that I'd need hours to craft the suppressor. I could take sick leave for a day. I smiled to myself cynically. With all the days I had taken off after my family's murder would that even be allowed? Alternatively I could work through the entire night. The first option seemed safest. I alerted Sarah via text message and set to work, hoping she'd believe that I really was sick. She didn't respond so I assumed she was busy or had not seen it yet, and that gave me some time. But she didn't reply for the entire duration that I was out, and I eventually returned home with my car full of the things that I needed. I sighed. It was going to be an effort, but it would have to be worth it.

Once I had created a suitable working space for myself in the house I got down to business. I first measured the length of the barrel, and then cut the ten-inch PVC pipe down a bit. Although not too much as the suppressor needed to extend over the barrel. I used a black marker and ruler to mark the dots I'd need to drill through on the pipe. I groaned and leaned back, reaching for my glass and taking a long drink of water. Perhaps I should have bought a flashlight and used it to make the suppressor. But it was too late to change the plan now, so I mentally prepared myself for what was to come and set out to work.

Hours later I was weary and famished, but I had done it. I admired my handiwork. It appeared sturdy enough on my Beretta, and gave it a rather menacing appearance. It would have to be tested of course, as I couldn't just fire and hope for the best. Once I was satisfied with what I had produced I could finally concentrate on going after Victor Salvatore.

I heard a sudden rap on my door. I jolted and turned my head, panic building as I realised all of the equipment was laid out in the spotlight right on my table. I heard Sarah's voice call out. What was she doing here? I looked around hurriedly, my mind racing through my options on how to conceal all of this. Precious seconds had gone by when I realised that, luckily, I already had a black bag beside me which I had used for excess garbage. I snatched it up, clumsily piled everything into it, grabbed my gun and took the load to my bedroom. I held my breath and closed my eyes as I entered, not wanting to see anything that could trigger the nightmares. I threw it all onto the bed, rushed out and closed the door. Sarah's knocking grew insistent. I answered her and reached over for the doorknob. I took a deep breath and opened the door.

Sarah stood on my porch shivering in the cold with her hands shoved deep into her pockets. The look she gave me matched the weather, and I felt nervous. I almost smacked myself. I just realised I must have looked like a mess from all the work I had been doing. I hoped no evidence was visible on me, but at least I could chalk up most of it to being ill.

"Are you going to let me in?" she asked.

If that was the greeting I was getting, then she couldn't be here with good news. I stepped back inside, greeted her as she passed me and closed the door again. I waited awkwardly for her to speak, but it took a long while before she did.

"You know, I've had a thought in my mind lately. About you. It's just there, every day, and I don't know why. All I do is worry about it more. I swear I feel like a damn mother."

I frowned, trying not to appear alarmed. What did she know?

"I worry that one day I'm going to look for you and you're going to be gone."

"Why?"

"I don't know, Jack," she said, taking a few steps towards the couches, "I don't know if you're okay. I don't know where your head is at anymore. I feel like we've drifted to opposite ends of the field here."

"I'm fine," I said, going to her and putting my hand her shoulder, "And we haven't drifted."

"Are you really?" she said with a hint of bitterness.

"Sarah, what's this about?"

"Where were you last night?"

I froze.

"What?"

"You heard me. Where were you?"

"I was here," I stammered, but then renewed my faith in the lie, "You saw how that girl's death upset me. I came back here and just slept the whole night away."

"I've been going over it in my head, Jack; what you said to me the day you saved that girl, and had the run-in with Hal Edwards. You told me that you wished you had killed him."

"Sarah...you're-"

"And then what happens? He turns up dead, the very next day, and I can't reach you. You won't answer your phone. I don't know where you are. But he dies and you're missing the entire night."

I remained silent.

"Explain to me, Jack. Tell me that I'm crazy. That I'm seeing things that aren't there."

Could I really tell her the truth? I opened my mouth to speak, but only the lies came.

"I swear to you Sarah, I was here at home. I'm so sorry that I wasn't with you."

Her face fell, and in moments her entire expression had changed as if she had realised what she had accused me of. She choked up. I had never seen her like this in my entire life. If I didn't know any better I would have sworn that she was on the verge of tears. When she spoke her voice was unsteady.

"I swear to you, I was here at home. I'm sorry that I wasn't there."

I moved toward her and put my arms around her. Even though I was trying to make her feel better, I probably took more comfort in the embrace than her. It felt good. She took some of the pain away.

"Edwards was killed outside of a bar," I said gently. The lies came easier now, "For all we know he got into a fight with some other moron he shouldn't have. Plus he's bound to have many people out there with reason to kill him. The world won't miss him."

She didn't say anything, and after a while she slipped out of my arms.

"I'm not sorry about Hal Edwards. I'm sorry about this," she said. She took out her phone, navigated using the touch screen and handed it to me.

I looked down already knowing what I was going to see. It was the text message that I had sent to her, but reading it again now made it feel like a stranger's words; the words warning Sarah that Will Harding was a mole for the mob and had to be taken care of. I purposefully frowned and pretended to be surprised and to think deeply on it.

"I got that shortly after Will was killed, Jack. Some guy wearing a black ski mask barged into his house while they were having a poker night with friends and took his wife hostage. He forced all of them upstairs while he killed Harding. Shot him three times."

"What are you saying? That someone is taking the law into their own hands here?" I quizzed, playing my part yet feeling terrible for it.

"I don't know. I just don't know what to do; what to make of this. I don't know how to feel about Harding's death if he really was a mole for the mob. I'm just lost."

I reached for her hand, but stopped as she looked up at me, and I could truly see that she was a wreck.

"I feel so guilty, Jack. If this is true...I was the one who picked Harding for the team that night. I did. It's my fault. You probably hate me..."

"No Sarah," I said, taking her hand and holding it tightly, "You couldn't have known. None of us did. This is not your fault. This is theirs. You've done nothing but help me through all of this. I wouldn't be here if it wasn't for you. I could never hate you."

She was quiet then. I could tell that everything we'd been through since I took the promotion was finally taking its effect on her. I realised then that I hadn't been fair to her. I had always held her up to a higher standard than everyone else; thought of her as unbreakable. I had just always assumed that she could handle anything and didn't need anyone. She was the strongest person I knew but even she had her limits. She was only human. No one could face what she did on a daily basis alone. She needed help as much as I did. We needed each other right now. She was the main reason I had survived all this.

I reflected then on how much closer we had got in recent weeks. We'd always been good friends but we'd never relied on each other like this or really opened up to each other. I sat her down on the living room couches and took my spot next to her. To my surprise she rested slightly against my shoulder. It felt nice, but at the same time it felt strange. For a second it was as though my wife was back. And that almost brought back the pain. I didn't expect something like this from Sarah. It seemed out of character.

"Do you think there's ever going to be a way that we can win?" she asked eventually.

"I don't know about that," I answered, my mind worlds away, "But we do the best that we can with what we have."

"I'm sorry for dumping all of this on you, Jack. God knows you've been going through enough without me adding more to your plate. I don't know what came over me."

"Sarah it's fine," I laughed then, "Come on, it's us against the world right now isn't it?"

She gave me a small laugh then, "Feels that way."

We sat like that for a while, enjoying each other's company as well as the silence. There were a few moments where I felt guilty; my irrational mind telling me that I was cheating on my wife. Would I ever be free of this pain? Or would it chase me around like a rabid dog never knowing peace? Sarah interrupted my thoughts then, letting me know that all good things came to an end.

"I should get going," she said.

"You can stay the night if you'd like. I'll sleep on the couch," I offered, genuinely meaning it, forgetting about what I had to do in a moment of weakness.

She smiled, "It's okay. Don't worry."

She got up and walked over to the door. She stopped just before she stepped out.

"Jack?"

"Yes?"

"I appreciate this. Thank you."

I smiled and nodded.

"I mean it, okay?" she added, and then she was gone.

The pit laughed at me as it returned, sucking all warmth from this place. I forced thoughts into my mind then in an attempt to distract myself. I considered when I'd test the suppressor. It would have to be tonight. There were still a few hours until evening. I'd have to risk it in order to know how loud the weapon really was. And so I waited, doing anything that I could to pass the time and drown out the pain. I aimlessly paged through some magazines, flicked through channels on the TV, depleted my phone battery with browsing and aimless games, exercised and even tried catching a nap. Almost two hours had passed by the end of all of that. I shook my head and swore as a burst of anger made me hit the arm of the chair. For the millionth time, I fought for calm.

I realised then that prior to recent events I had not used my Beretta in a long time. Relieved at having something to do I dismantled and cleaned it out completely to remove the risk of it jamming on me. I put it back together again, and was once again left without aim. And so I sat in my chair and stared out of the window, reflecting on what I had done. Life had a funny way of making even the most horrifying and shocking events seem less significant as time went by. Murdering Hal Edwards and Will Harding seemed like events that had occurred a long time ago, and were barely worth thinking about anymore.

Had I lost so much of myself that I could shrug off murder as though it was just taking care of business? Was I that out of touch already? I didn't know. My rational mind argued that I didn't feel remorse or particularly torn up because the men I had killed had deserved it. Some would probably say that Harding didn't, but any man who could betray friends, colleagues and everything he had sworn to uphold for money, and sit idly by while families were destroyed and animals walked free wasn't any measure of a decent human being in my books.

He should have been a better man for his family. He could have come to us. He could have told us his position. We could have done something. We could have pulled him out and cut a deal, or used him as a double agent. Hell, sent him in with a wire once or twice. He could have helped put some of those bastards away and saved so many lives without endangering his family. I grit my teeth as I thought about the price that my family had paid. Will chose a nice house, a generous stack of cash and blindness to the truth. The choice was his. He fed the mob my family and he didn't care. I had the right to kill the men who had killed my family. It was rational. It was only fair. And it was for Jess.

My mind had drifted so much that I had not noticed the sun was down and early evening had set in. It figured; if I wanted to get lost and leave the world behind I only had to venture into my own head. I took a peak out of the window. There were just a few people out, all clutching themselves or their partners to battle the cold. The rest had already retreated to their homes and hidden away for the night. This city slept early, while its monsters roamed free in the night.

I needed to test the gun outside. I stepped out and went around the back of my house. It wasn't the best of cover but it would have to do. I aimed the gun at the wall. I'd have to make sure I remembered to take the bullets out and dump them. I inhaled. This was the moment of truth. I pulled the trigger. A vicious pop burst from the gun and echoed in the night sky as the bullet struck the wall hard w _i_ th a distinct thud. The sound died in seconds, but it echoed in the open air.

It had been loud. Louder than I had thought it would be. I cursed. My skills probably weren't good enough to get the noise down further, so I rationalised that when things weren't as deathly quiet as they were now the noise would be far less audible. It was as good as I was going to get, and it was a big improvement over the gun in its normal state. It would have to do. I waited around for almost half an hour, waiting to hear if the police were on their way or if any good citizen would come over to check what had produced the noise. My waiting proved to be a waste of time. No one came and nothing happened. That was the thing about the city. People were too scared to get involved and, for once, that worked in my favour. I went back inside to rest.

I woke from another nightmare. In it my wife had been crying out for help, and I had heard twisted laughter as a shadow plunged a knife into her again and again. I tried to save her, but the more I ran towards her the more the hallway stretched on. I never got any closer. I just heard the screams, and the ugly sound of the knife piercing flesh. I sat up, stretching my muscles. I waited until my heartbeat slowed down. I was in a cold sweat again and I felt sick. I was starting to get used to the nausea. I tried to put the nightmare out of my mind, but I knew that it would be another souvenir that I'd carry with me, unable to forget.

I got up too quickly and felt a full wave of nausea set in. I leaned against a nearby wall and steadied myself, shielding my eyes from the morning glare. It wasn't even six yet. I was about to curse but a sudden realisation dawned on me. If I got out of here quickly I could get to Victor Salvatore's home before he left and tail him from there. Everyone knew where he lived. It was just a matter of finding out when he returned to call it a day, and where he went in between. I needed to familiarise myself with his routine over the next two days and discover when the best time to get him alone would be. I knew that he lived on his own already, as he was divorced from his wife and estranged from his children. That made things easier. There was no chance of innocents getting involved - if they really even were innocent.

I swiftly went through my usual morning routine, threw on the first set of clothes I could find, pulled my coat over my shoulders, retrieved my gun, badge and secondary phone and charged out of the house. My stomach grumbled with hunger but I ignored it. I got my car started and drove, heading towards Victor's mansion. It wasn't too far away. I thought about the man I was on my way to see. He was one of this city's oldest mobsters; a generation old. Some would say he was outdated. I pulled up onto the street across from his place, and let out a relieved sigh about ten minutes later when I saw his expensive car pull out of the driveway. Security didn't look too tight. I only saw one guard at the door and one operating the gate. But just because I didn't see any security did not mean that they weren't there. Then again in this city I guessed criminals didn't need protection. No one was stupid enough to try anything against them, and if they were they usually ended up dead or worse. In a way, that gave me an element of surprise to work with.

I started my car again and accelerated very slowly, making sure to stay at least two or three cars behind him. It was the standard rules of tailing. I rolled my tongue over my lips. I was inexperienced at this. I should have packed food. It was going to be a long day. I followed Victor for most of the morning as he ran errands, met with people I didn't know, smoked cigars and took a browse at a vintage car shop. He was the portrait of the TV mobster. He didn't do anything of significance. At least not until lunch time. He pulled up at a fancy restaurant and sat himself down in the outdoor area. I watched from afar. I at least had had enough sense to put my binoculars in the car. A waiter brought a wine to him seemingly without being told, and I had no doubt that it was expensive and that he was a regular here. I didn't know my wines. I never drank the stuff. I was going on assumption and image.

About fifteen minutes later a man walked up to his table and sat down. I didn't know if he was late or if Victor was early, but I focused my lenses on him to try and get a good look. I stiffened. I recognised him. His name was Reece Donovan. He was the son of Gregory Donovan, another one of this city's most fearsome crime lords. Not as big a player as someone like Anthony Cornero, who was in no small way an emperor, but definitely up there. What was he doing meeting with Victor?

I decided against taking an interest in this. I'd store it in my memory for now. Maybe I could quiz old Greg about it if I had to have a chat with him too. For now my priority was Victor. I watched the two of them and studied their demeanour. The meeting seemed like it was about business, as neither men were in particularly jovial moods. Salvatore himself appeared to have a no-nonsense attitude from where I was sitting. I wished I had some kind of idea regarding what they were talking about, but I continuously reminded myself that getting too deep into this crap was exactly what had been my mistake the last time. And now all that mattered was Jess. It wasn't about the mob.

It took roughly half an hour for their little meeting to end, but once it did and Reece had left, Victor remained in his seat for another ten minutes, taking his sweet time to finish off another glass of wine. He dropped a few notes onto the table and rose. He walked straight, and I peered through my binoculars with a frown. He was not heading back to his car. Did he have something to do inside the restaurant itself? I didn't have much choice but to wait and see. A slight edge of worry began to seep into my mind. I scanned the area and waited for him to return. But the minutes stretched on and he didn't re-emerge.

I was toying with the idea of driving around to the other end of the restaurant when I heard the passenger seat door open. Shock travelled through my system, jolting it as I dropped the binoculars onto my lap and swiftly turned, already reaching for my gun. Victor Salvatore climbed into my car with little but a bored expression. His old snub-nosed revolver was already levelled at my chest. My heart hammered. I glared at him in anger; partly directed at myself and the rest at him.

"You didn't send your boyfriends?" I jeered against my better judgement.

Victor sighed, "Jack, I've been dealing with this shit for thirty years now. I know when I'm being tailed. And you...to call you an amateur would be an insult to their kind."

I said nothing but my ego took the hint.

He gave me a once over, "Still I hate to admit that I've seen worse. You managed almost fifteen minutes before I noticed you. I call that my negligence. Once I spotted you I figured I'd let you have your fun. For a while anyway."

I shrugged, "So what now? You're going to shoot me or did you just come here to insult me?" I didn't know where the arrogance kept coming from. Anxiety flooded my veins, and I could not shake it off.

"You're still a hothead despite everything. I don't know whether to praise you or pity you for that."

I clenched my teeth and toyed with the idea of attacking him right now. He was old. I was in my prime. But he had the gun.

"Listen if you want to talk then come see me at my house tonight. My door's always open, especially to cops. And as I said before, I like you. I don't know what it is you want or what you think is going to happen here, but I'm busy now. So you can accept my offer and meet me tonight or you can keep following me. But that would be foolish."

I looked away from him. He lowered the gun.

"Go home, Jack. Haven't you been through enough?"

I turned around to curse him, but he had already opened the passenger door and had left my car. I watched him as he walked around the front and headed back to his own vehicle. I had half a mind to run him over. It would be so easy. So simple. But I needed to ask him about Jess. When I had a gun on him and not the other way around. He'd invited me to his place tonight. That saved me the trouble of tailing him. He didn't know my true intentions. I figured I'd never be able to enter his home with a gun; not unless I took out his guards or found a way in that didn't require the front door. Or maybe, for once, being a cop might actually help. Perhaps the best plan was to simply enforce my right to wield a firearm. I doubt Victor cared either way.

If they did end up taking it I'd have to improvise. A knife worked fine for Hal Edwards. I started up my car and drove to meet Sarah. I couldn't keep bailing on her and it would help pass the time. I sighed. Sometimes I wished that I could just leave the force. There was nothing there anymore that I wanted. But the guilt of leaving Sarah alone would haunt me. I knew that I was living on borrowed time. I wasn't naive enough to think that I could play silent assassin forever. Building the suppressor had taken up more time than I had wanted and so I had to act tonight. I needed to get Victor to talk by whatever means necessary.

Most of the time I didn't know how I kept myself together. I was afraid and worried every minute of every day for Jess. I didn't even know if I was too late yet. But I couldn't bring myself to entertain that possibility. I couldn't bring myself to think about the logic behind it. I could only focus on what I had to do. I could only focus myself on the illusion that I would save her. That she was okay.

Getting lost in my mind made the journey feel brief, and before long I had arrived at the building. I took a look at my watch. It was going to be another long day of police work I didn't care about and wanted nothing to do with, especially if it involved the murder of Hal Edwards or Will Harding. Only Sarah knew the truth about Harding, and the official story was that he was a cop who was assassinated in his home. It was suspicious; many suspected mob involvement. And on top of there was extra tension, as everyone knew what the force made of cop killers.

I closed my eyes and rested, trying to let the anxiety that arose every time I reflected on what I had done fade way. I slipped my hands into my jacket pockets to stop them from shaking and walked ahead. With each step I fought the urge to turn around and leave.

It was finally time for my meeting with Victor Salvatore. I drove fast while feeling restless and uneasy. The day had been a chore. I felt like an outsider the entire time as I looked over the case files of murders I myself had committed. There was an emotional disconnect in me. I didn't know how to feel about it. It had felt as though I was looking at the case file of some other killer. Someone who was not and could not be me. But reality didn't feel like home to me anymore, and I took solace in the dark. I realised that when the sun set I now breathed easier. Before it meant I'd suffer the nightmares, but now it was a calling to act. The night gave me strength as much as it did torment me. It was a parasitic relationship. And I needed it now.

I dismissed my paranoid mind telling me that Victor planned to harm me tonight. Of all the mob bosses I knew he was the only one I'd even think about attaching the word 'civilised' to, and that would be on a day I was feeling generous. He was scum like the rest of them, but he wasn't in the same class of monster. My mind flashed back to that incident I had had with him at the restaurant. I knew based on that conversation that he wasn't exactly a mindless thug or a psychopath. That was the side I'd appeal to tonight when I spoke to him.

When I pulled up at his gate, I felt a sudden burst of anger flood my veins. I had so much anger, and no matter what I did I could not contain it. I could not stop my mind from planting itself in the moments where I had been damned. Don't be a hero. That's what he had said to me. Nathan Kenway had said those exact same words. It had to have come from Victor. I could possibly be here to meet the man who had ordered the murder of my family. He may not have been a psychopath, but he was no stranger to murder. He wouldn't have got to his position without tyranny and respect brought on by the fear of his power. He had said it himself back in that restaurant to whatever goon he had been talking to at the time. He had threatened to blow the man's head off without a care in the world, and without fear of suffering any consequences for it. He had been right. That was the power of fear. Something money could not buy.

I closed my eyes and drew deep breaths, trying as hard as I could to calm myself. My anger subsided gradually. The bursts came frequently and uncontrollably these days, and they were always brief and immense. It frightened me at times. But in other ways it felt necessary; like a comforting friend. I exited my car and felt for my gun. The suppressor was not attached, but was in my jacket pocket. It would be too risky to keep it on as it would extend too far past my holster. I adjusted my badge so that it was clearly visible at the slightest movement of my jacket, and advanced towards the gate.

I shoved my hands into my pockets and braced against the cold as I approached the guard. I told him I was here to see Victor Salvatore, showed him my badge and held my breath. But reality never matched your expectations, and the guard looked bored as he opened the gate and waved me in. I continued on towards the front door of Victor's mansion, and here too there was just a single man standing guard with a bottle of cheap alcohol in his hands, of all things. He lazily let me in without so much as a pat down or second glance, all the while looking intoxicated. Either Victor didn't care, this was a practical joke or I watched too many crime movies.

I reassured myself. I had my gun. And I was inside. I had strained my mind trying to think of how I could do this subtly, but this was working out to be so convenient to me; so contrived that I almost thought I was at the heart of a joke. But life had not gifted me with much luck lately. Maybe right now I was just ascending the rollercoaster. Although Victor himself was making things easier for me. I could not rule out his error. He thought that he was untouchable. He didn't fear me at all. That was his mistake. The thing about living in euphoria was that there's only one direction you can go from there: down.

I hardly paid any attention to my lavish surroundings. I wasn't here to admire the wealth of a man I despised. I was directed by a servant to Victor's dinner table, which could have easily seated a few families. He was already there, and waved me over once he saw me. If he was surprised that I actually showed up he didn't let me see it. I could hear faint music in the background that sounded like the opera. He was certainly old fashioned; almost a living cliché. I could have laughed, but he would have taken that as disrespect.

"Have a seat right here. I don't want to shout."

I looked him directly in the eye as I took my seat near his and kept my hands in my lap. I would have to be cautious not to leave any traces of fingerprints. I made a mental note to acquire gloves.

"Isn't this much better without guns and threats? There's no reason we can't discuss whatever it is you want over dinner."

"I'm not hungry."

Victor sharply inhaled, "I'll ignore your ill manners. You're still a kid."

"I came here to talk," I stated.

"Always right to the point aren't you?" he said, tossing his utensils onto the table, "Alright then. Speak."

I looked around. There were a few servants in sight. I knew that his bodyguards were outside. And I had no idea who else was here. This was too open.

"Look I hate to interrupt your dinner plans, Victor," I said with a forced politeness, "But-"

"Drop the bullshit, Jack. We both know you don't have any respect for people like us. Never learned it. That has always been your problem."

I gritted my teeth. He was frustrating to deal with. But to-the-point seemed to work.

"Can we discuss this somewhere in private? It's a police matter and I don't trust your men or want them to hear anything I have to say. Is that to-the-point enough?"

"You're lucky I'm a father, Jack. I learned patience a long time ago. Let's talk in my office."

I tensed. It was almost too easy. I figured that when people didn't spare you any thought or view you as any threat it was that much easier to play them. The paradox of being untouchable: you weren't. It was an illusion of comfort. Living life too easy made you get used to it. Then you weren't exactly prepared for when things didn't work out for you the way you thought they should. As we approached the room I could hear the opera music coming from it more clearly. He seemed to like listening to it at a high volume. Perhaps he thought it gave him a touch of class. I jolted as I suddenly remembered the suppressor. I cursed myself, but my mind worked fast.

"Could I use your restroom? I'll only be a moment," was the first thing that came to mind.

"Down the hall and first door on your left. Make it quick," he replied.

I briskly walked over to the correct door. I exercised caution to not touch the handle with my fingertips, and once I was in I shut it and locked it behind me. I used a towel to rub off the fingerprints. I would definitely need a pair of gloves. The worry of fingerprints would drive me mad, and an easy mistake could cost me dearly. I swore at myself for not having the elementary level of sense to have got gloves. It would be entirely ordinary to wear them in the cold weather too.

Fear crept into my system then. Paranoia caused me to check the restroom thoroughly for some unknown eyes on me. Once the irrational part of my mind was satisfied I drew my Beretta. I took measured breaths and slowly placed the suppressor I had made over the barrel. The weapon now looked like an instrument of fear. I used the mirror to help me best conceal it in my jacket. I left.

"I've tried to be as accommodating to you as possible, but since you came here to talk business let's get on with it," Victor said when I returned.

I briefly surveyed the room. In this small, confined space firing the gun, suppressor or not, would be loud. It would have to be a last resort. I eyed the music player. That could be a good cover. I casually walked over to it.

"Do you mind if I turn it up?" I said.

"You a fan?" Victor asked, smiling with surprise and sitting down behind his desk in a comfortable black leather chair, "I thought I was the only one. By all means."

I cranked it up. I was at a slight disadvantage now because I couldn't hear anything happening on the outside of the room, but at least now if I had to fire the gun there was a good chance no one out there would hear it. It was time to take control.

"I lied to you, Victor. This isn't a police matter," I said as calmly as I could manage. I turned the lock on the door. It was just me and him now.

"Then what is it?" he answered unperturbed.

I drew my Beretta. He didn't move as I aimed it between his eyes. The suppressor did what I wanted it to and the threatening sight of it startled him. For a moment he did not speak. But as if reminding me who I was dealing with he sighed in a way that felt condescending before he addressed me.

"What the hell is this, Jack?"

My hand tightened around my gun and it shook slightly. I could almost feel the angry tears form in my eyes, and I let the rage take hold. I let all the emotions I had dulled since the moment he had entered my car this afternoon rise to the surface. I allowed the memory of my wife's body and the thought of Jess cloud my thoughts; destroy whatever it was that held me back. I was no longer weak.

"My family," I growled, "I want you to confess to murdering them."

Victor narrowed his eyes; his hands were calmly laid out on his desk.

"Bullshit. I didn't kill your family, Jack."

He had the nerve to lie to my face?

"Don't lie to me! You gave the order! Admit it!"

Victor's shoulders slumped and he sighed as though I was merely being overdramatic about something obvious. Right then I loathed him.

"You seem to have some kind of impression in your head about what kind of man I am. Let me tell you something, Jack. I don't kill innocent women or kids. I never have. Call me old fashioned, sexist or whatever the hell you want but I don't do it. And neither do my men."

I stared.

"Then who did?" I half-shouted.

"Jack, this here, what it is you're doing...this is unacceptable. It's disrespectful. You don't know your place. That's always been your problem! You stick your nose into things you don't have the slightest damn clue about. You're a hothead! For God's sake you're entering a world you don't understand. The mobs of this city...they're not from your goddamn movies. There's no honour, respect or rules. There's only power and something about this city that drives them all mad. They're not people like you and me, Jack. They're fucking animals. Now you listen when I tell you that I didn't kill your wife and kid. I'm not like that."

I could barely comprehend what I was hearing. I refused to believe it.

"You speak as though you're not one of them. Like you're not just as bad-"

Victor waved me off, "I'm from the old times, Jack. A big fish in a place I don't belong. This is their world. The new goddamn generation. I have a name, I have authority and respect, but I'm not them. My time is fucking over, kid."

His eyes turned hard and he glared at me then with contempt and unshielded rage.

"And who the fuck do you think you are? Up until now I've tolerated you. But this is a mile over the goddamn line. Them? They wouldn't put up with this shit they'd fucking destroy you. Killing you would be the last thing that they do. You think because your family died that you've lost everything? You haven't, Jack! You haven't given this enough thought. You haven't thought about Sarah Blake, her family and all the families still connected to you in whatever fucked up way - they'd kill them all you stupid prick! Haven't you learned enough from your ego? From your cowboy bullshit-"

"Shut up!" I yelled. I still had questions. Victor wasn't in the clear yet. The look he gave me then was like I was a total fool.

"What do you know about the weapons shipment? Guns that look like they came out of a Special Forces unit just hauled right in by boat? I want you to tell me why."

Victor looked perplexed, "Do I look like fucking Scarface to you? I don't know anything about those damn weapons. Surprised the hell out of me when I read about it in the papers. I was trying to find out at one point before I remembered to respect others' privacy."

He was talking about the other crime lords. I prepared myself for the most important questions I had yet to still ask.

"What about Nathan Kenway?" I said through gritted teeth.

"What?"

"He used the exact same words on me that you did when he threatened my family! 'Don't be a hero'. He told me that the day he killed that cop. He used the same words, Victor! The same words you said to me that night-"

"I don't know anything about that," Victor interrupted, genuine surprise spreading across his face. "Haven't you been listening, Jack? I don't deal in that shit. I work with professionals. I'd never use some nutjob like Kenway to do my fucking laundry."

My resolve dimmed for a moment. Was he telling the truth? Could I believe him? Did he truly have nothing to do with my family's murder? But there was still Jess. He had to know where she was. I had to find out. I had to.

"Where's my daughter?"

"What did you say?"

"Where's my daughter!" I shouted.

Victor stared at me as though I'd gone mad. He opened and closed his mouth, and for the first time he looked completely unsure of himself.

"I don't understand. Isn't she dead?"

"No! I got a call from her. She asked for me to come get her. One of you bastards knows where she is! And I'm going to get it out of you no matter what I have to do!"

I could not get a hold of myself. There was visible fear in his eyes. The fear of a man who did not know what he was dealing with. He thought I was insane. That made me even more angry. They were all mocking me. They were bullshitting me; messing with my head. I didn't know where my mind was. I didn't know how to take back control. I could only watch as the anger took the stage.

"Are you all in on this joke?" I accused, "Are you all laughing at me? Where's my daughter? I know she's alive and one of you has her!"

"I have no idea what you're talking about. I told you I don't kill kids. I don't fucking kill kids. I'm no liar. You don't get to come into my house and accuse me!"

The anger blew over; I went backstage.

"Now I know you're looking for some big bad guy you can pin this all on. You're looking for some asshole to blame and you got all this anger and guilt that you're holding onto. But let me tell you something. It takes some balls to deny the truth. Your daughter is dead. Accept it. This is your shit! Don't come into my house and lay it all on me. I didn't do a damn thing. As a matter of fact I warned you! I fucking warned you to know your place! What did I say that night? I told you clearly. Don't be a hero. Stay out of the way. Go home to your family. That's what I said! But you didn't listen. And still you don't! You don't realise that you still have a lot of shit left to lose!"

My mind was a mess. How was I going to walk away from this now? My instincts had been completely wrong. I had the wrong guy. I was making a fool of myself. Again. But that didn't mean Victor was innocent. He could bullshit all he wanted to but he was just like the rest of them. They were all scum. They were all parasites. But this wasn't going to help me get Jess back. Jess was supposed to be all that mattered. I couldn't keep doing this. I couldn't go on vendettas and keep kicking down doors and demanding answers. I needed to be smarter. I needed to make them all talk. They were liars. I knew that Jess was alive. I knew what I had heard. Her voice still echoed in my mind long after dark.

I lowered my gun. Victor instantly reached into his drawer, for his. But he was a fool to think that I was soft - that I was the same man I had been back in that restaurant. I had only dropped my gun to his knee cap. As I heard the metallic click of his pistol I pulled the trigger.

The bullet spat out of my gun and struck him in the knee blowing a bloody hole in it. The crackling pop from my gun climbed over the music fighting to be heard. Victor screamed out and toppled out of his chair, his gun clattering across the floor. I walked over and kicked it away. It had all happened so fast that my mind couldn't register that he had just tried to kill me. Victor clutched his knee; his face revealed the depth of his agony.

"You have to understand, Jack. I may be from the old times, but my men would never respect me if I let you live after this..."

My insides turned cold. He was going to kill me because of power? Because I had disrespected him? And here he had tried to convince me he was different from the other dogs. The anger returned. This time it changed me.

"Their respect won't mean a damn thing when you're dead," I spat.

Victor looked dizzy from pain. Blood poured out of his knee and stained the carpet.

"Do what you have to. You're a pawn to these people...you're less than nothing; a plaything. You don't stand a fucking chance."

I had to kill him now. What little was left of my emotions deadened as I contemplated the thought. If he lived he'd set the entire mob on me. I would be dead before sunrise. I had to do this. Jess needed me to. I had already gone down this road for her twice before. I didn't have a choice. He had drawn his gun on me. My hands were clean.

Even a pawn can topple a king, my mind told me.

The thought gave me the strength to do what was necessary. I squeezed the trigger. I barely paid attention to what happened after that. I just heard the noise and then I heard it disappear. I was afraid that I had gone into shock. Blood dripped off the bottom of the desk and the wall. Victor was gone. And I was done here. I took the suppressor off. I holstered my weapon. I unlocked the door, took the key out and stepped out of Victor's office. I closed the door, looked around to see if anyone was watching and once I was in the clear I locked it and put the key into my pocket.

I quickened my pace and walked out. I had bought myself time by locking that door. His men would assume he didn't want to be disturbed. Standing out here I could hear that the music was actually louder than I thought it had been. There was no way they would have been able to identify the gunshot. All I had to do now was make sure no one had a good look at my face. I raised the collar of my jacket and snuggled into it. I should have brought a scarf or something. The servants weren't here anymore. The drunk doorman was only just managing to stay on his feet when I emerged out the door. I made my way to the gate. The man let me out without a care in the world. It would be a while before they discovered the body. I was free.

I was back home now. Only now did the magnitude of what I had done register in my mind. Once that body was found there was going to be an uproar. The mob would be shaken. Hell the entire city would be shaken. There wasn't a person living in this city that didn't know who Victor Salvatore was. The stories would say that he had been assassinated in his own home. And the world was about to ignite. I only had to wait for Sarah's call. But that was out of my control now. I only had one objective; the rest was just collateral damage.

I was so tired. I had come no closer to finding Jess. But I couldn't let that stop me. I wasn't playing this smart. But at least I was scratching animals off of the list. I sat in my couch swishing juice around in a glass. I didn't even know what I had poured. I just needed a cold drink. I had to think about my next move. Someone in the mob knew where Jess was; or someone had her. What was the logical thing to do? Who were the people to interrogate?

With Victor Salvatore gone I knew that there were four major crime lords left in the city. The men who controlled large-scale empires. A mob could not follow without a leader. And one of them had to know where Jess was. It made sense. Collectively they controlled this city. There was nothing in it that they wouldn't know about with their connections and reach. My family's murder had been a warning to back off. The order would have had to have come from someone. It wouldn't have been thugs playing their own game. Only a true animal could order the death of a child.

Anthony Cornero. Gregory Donovan. Paul Castellano. Luis Kane.

Four men. I knew that they were the biggest criminals in this city. And they weren't as old fashioned as Victor Salvatore. I didn't know exactly what they were like. Perhaps Victor had really been telling the truth about these men - that they were monsters and nothing like him. If that was the case I couldn't deal with them the way I had the others. If these men were what Victor said they were then me and my gun wouldn't scare them in the slightest.

They had been at this a lot longer than me. I couldn't match their savagery. I had to be smarter. I wouldn't have the element of surprise or the benefit of being underestimated on my side for much longer. I was on limited time. And the clock was ticking. I sat back in my couch and let the names dance around in my mind as I waited for the call to come and reality to return.

##  Chapter 9: Blood In Petty Crime

"The police have discovered the body of mob boss Victor Salvatore, who was shot dead in his own home late last night. The killer fired two bullets from close range. As of right now there are no suspects to the murder, and witnesses at Mr Salvatore's estate failed to recall anything out of the ordinary. Eye witnesses recall that Mr Salvatore had a male visitor in the early hours of the night, but that he had been alive and well once the visitor had departed; alone in his office listening to the opera as he does nearly every night. There were no signs of forced entry, and he had been locked inside his office for hours before the body was discovered. Apparently we're dealing with a killer who can walk through solid walls. We'll have more on this bizarre story as it breaks."

I watched the news report with Sarah standing next to me. It had been running for hours. The internet was flooded with headlines about Victor Salvatore's death. News websites, forums and social media were blazing. But none of the mobsters spoke a word. It was as though they were in shock. I had already been made to go with Sarah to Victor's house to investigate my own crime. I participated where I could, but I barely had to act because there was nothing to go on.

"Jack, the witnesses all say that someone visited Victor last night. He saw nobody else after that. The only problem is they all say that Victor was fine once the mystery man left. But it all sounds so strange. I mean who else could have killed him? He was shot from up close; the killer had been close enough to slap him by the looks of it."

I realised then that if I was to stay in the clear I had to be open with Sarah. I had a small confession to make and this lie would be pretty easy to swing in my favour. I tugged at her arm and pulled her into her office. I closed the door behind me and rehearsed the lie in my head.

"What's the matter?"

"I have something to tell you and you're not going to like it."

She narrowed her eyes.

"You might want to sit down," I gestured at her chair.

"Just tell me."

"I was the one who visited Victor Salvatore last night."

"You did what?"

"Hey, easy. He was still alive listening to his opera crap by the time I had left."

"What the hell were you doing there?"

I ran my hands through my hair and stared at the ground.

"Jack?"

"I had questions. I wanted to know about Kenway. I wanted to know about Jess. Hell, the guy invited me to his house for dinner when I first confronted him about it."

Sarah's expression was somewhere in the confusion between sympathy and anger, "So what you're telling me is that we really have nothing to go on here, and that after you left someone who can apparently walk through walls killed Victor without leaving a trace?"

"That or we're in a cheap horror movie."

"I'm not in the mood for jokes."

"I don't know, Sarah. I don't even know who would have the balls to kill him in the first place. Or why they'd even want to for that matter."

"Why do you say that?"

I shrugged, "He's an old timer; basically retired. What would be the point?"

We were quiet for a while. I then asked if I could be excused and made to leave.

"Jack."

I turned around.

"What's going on with you?"

I frowned, "What do you mean?"

"Is there anything you're not telling me?"

"I'm in the mood for a Big Mac."

"Stop playing around."

"You're a ray of sunshine today, Sarah."

"That's getting annoying."

I worked my mind. There had to be a story I could tell her to give her something to mull over for a while. I didn't know why she had a reason to be suspicious. But as if highlighting what I had become, a few seconds of thought brought a new lie I could spin. It was making me uncomfortable that I could lie to her so easily, but I didn't have a choice.

"Sarah, it's just a thought, and I don't even know if it's worth saying out loud."

"What thought of yours could be worse than nothing? That's what we have right now."

"Did you ever consider that maybe we're dealing with...uh...a vigilante of sorts?"

Sarah gawked at me.

"Think about it, and I'm not just talking about Victor. Remember Hal Edwards? Major serial killer. He's dead. On the same night there was Will Harding; a mole for the mob according to your text message. He's dead too. Who exactly was that text message from? And what of Salvatore? One of the city's biggest and oldest crime lords is now wiped out. Do you see? What if someone is trying to take the law into their own hands here? The progression says something by itself. First he, or she, kills a murderer, then a cop who is actually a mob informant and thirdly a crime lord. It's almost as if our vigilante killer is getting more confident and chasing bigger fish."

It took a long while before Sarah said anything.

"That sounds crazy, Jack."

"Too crazy for this city?"

"I suppose not. I'm sorry, it's a reasonable train of thought. It's just...I don't know. I don't know what to make of something like that. We don't have any proof that suggests all three of those murders are related in any way."

"No we don't. But the murders just feel so close together. And they've all left no trace of an actual killer. All three could be professional hits if you think about it. Weren't the same types of bullets used for each victim as well?"

"They're common bullets."

"Still. The exact same ammunition three times in a row?"

There wasn't much to say after that and so we sat in silence for a bit.

"Didn't you want to go somewhere?" Sarah asked eventually.

I smiled, "I almost forgot."

She walked with me all the way down to my car, and I wasn't sure why she'd taken the trouble to do it. Maybe she just wanted to get away from her office for those few minutes.

"Are you okay, Sarah?"

"Lately I don't know how to answer that question, Jack."

"A 'yes' usually does the trick."

"Then yes."

"Don't be like me. Only I get to be like me."

"Are you implying that you trademarked being facetious?"

I laughed, "No, but seriously how are you holding up?"

"Honestly? I feel like there's a time bomb somewhere. It's going to go off soon and I'm standing right in the middle of the blast radius."

"That's morbid. And here I'm just thinking about a Big Mac."

"Ha-ha. You're so funny, Jack. Did I ever tell you that?"

"Just now."

Despite everything she smiled, and it made me smile too. "It's good to see you like this. And thanks for trying to cheer me up."

I instinctively reached up to brush her hair, not quite knowing why I did that. She didn't seem to know how to react to it and so she just smiled at me awkwardly.

"I'll be back soon."

"You off to get your junk food fix?"

"You could say that."

I climbed into my car, started it and sped away. I watched Sarah disappear in my rear-view mirror.

It scared me where my mind could take me once I allowed it enough freedom to wander. I had spent hours after Victor Salvatore's death contemplating my next move, thinking of all the ways that I could proceed onto the next target. I had realised something about myself. When my mind was focused on Jess, the nightmares were dormant and I was in control. But when my daughter was not at the forefront of my thoughts, the pit reclaimed its hold. I sat on my couch staring at the table in front of me, which was filled with notes I had put together about my intended target. I didn't have much information about them. That wasn't entirely the truth however. It was more that I didn't have anything I could have used. The police records had plenty on their personal lives and all their dead-end cases, but none of it was useful to me now apart from their living addresses.

I had chosen Gregory Donovan as my next target. I had something of a plan after hours of thought. It was complex but it was doable. It started with the fact that I had seen his son Reece speaking to Victor Salvatore the day I had killed him. That gave me exactly the sort of alibi I needed in order to speak to Reece on official terms. I could spin it that he was one of the last people to have seen Victor before his death. Here being a cop would serve me well to get a meeting with Reece.

I had made a promise to myself that I would stop making mistakes; cease to be weak. Gregory Donovan was not someone like Victor Salvatore and neither would he be as lax. From what I knew about him, which was very little to begin with, he was ruthless. Stories of harsh domestic abuse, a hatred of cops, a violent temper and a body trail went around. That was the kind of guy he was. Nothing that had been able to damn him yet, but it told me what I needed to know: that I couldn't simply get an audience with him by walking through the front door. More significantly I could not get him alone. He wouldn't be as hospitable as Victor. He'd have no time for the likes of me.

And so I would use his son. There could be no more holding back. I had to be willing to risk everything for Jess. Otherwise I was no good as a man. I was no good as a father. Maybe this time I did not have to kill anyone. Maybe this time I could get what I wanted by deception and playing it smart. I couldn't risk getting my cover blown just yet. I still had surprise on my side. I still had that advantage. And now I had a plan. It was extremely risky and plenty could go wrong, but it was crazy enough to work. I had ridden my luck so far and I had made a promise. Jess was all that mattered to me. And this time would be different. I was no longer the same. I had changed.

I glanced at my gun. I now truly understood how men could kill. It was something you just got used to. Like most things it simply took practice. And somewhere along the line the more you did it the easier the choice became. Now it just seemed like something I had to do, and little more. I realised that I had often spent more energy rationalising why I had to kill someone rather than feeling anything after I actually did. Was I emotionally dead? I barely felt these days. Most of the time I was either numb or empty - or a healthy mix of both. Was this the place that all killers reached when murder became easy? Or was it just because the men I had killed had all deserved to die? Was it that simple? Could I let myself down easy with that thought alone? Or was I crazy not to feel regret and horror for what I'd done?

I was annoyed at myself for over-thinking it. People liked to make rules; liked to generalise a whole laundry list of things that didn't make sense. They did it to establish some kind of order. But there's only one truth. The world is cruel, and filled with random injustice, I thought. It was chaos in its purest form. It's evident in so many ways. Sometimes people were so fragile that they fell, they broke and they snapped easier than twigs. Other times people were resilient and survived heartbreak, war, and disease. They liked to say that it was survival of the fittest. But that was just another "rule" made up to make sense of it all. The reality was today I was standing, but tomorrow I could fall. The only choice I had was whether or not I was going to get back up again after I did. That had nothing to do with being the fittest. But it had everything to do with having a reason to carry on. Mine was Jess. It was that simple. I would not stop until I found her, and I would no longer hesitate to do whatever was necessary. Nothing would stop me. I had learned one thing: you were only done once you were dead.

I sat back and drowned myself in thought. I put the last pieces of my plan together. I had the ski mask. I had my black gloves. I had a change of clothes. I had both my Beretta and police-issued Glock. I had my ghost mobile phone. I also had my real phone this time. My paranoia of someone monitoring me was still there, and taking the phone with me would show that I was going around and about. Finally I had a little something that I had picked up from the pharmacy on the way home. My plan was a little on the extreme side, but it was meticulous enough to work if I played my hand. I gathered up everything from the table and set myself on the path to Reece Donovan.

It was more difficult than I had thought it would be to track the kid down. He was like a glorified errand boy never staying in one place too long. I had been tailing him for a while now, watching him drive around in his fancy Corvette, running his charm on girls and doing a bunch of chores I didn't care about. I hardly suspected that he had the skills of a man like Victor Salvatore, so I wasn't worried about him picking up on the fact that I was tailing him. A general rule for spoiled rich kids: carefree and overly reliant on their fathers. Yes I was generalising. Sue me. I just had to put up with it until he actually took a breather somewhere. It was still early in the afternoon and I was patient.

The kid eventually stopped at a restaurant where he appeared to be meeting friends. This was as good as I was going to get. I closed my eyes and breathed out deeply, preparing myself for all that was to come. It was going to be what they called a long con, but if all went well then the kid wouldn't be harmed and I would get what I wanted from his dad. I got out of my car and stashed the packet with the things I had brought in the boot of my car. I slipped my hands into my pockets and advanced towards the restaurant. I had been wrong before. I had thought that being a cop was useless. But it put the law on my side. It gave me the liberty to use the system and easily twist it to meet my ends. The kid was going to find out what that meant.

I made my way over to his table, fitting my badge so that it was plainly visible. At his table were three pretty girls and another guy. The cynic in me said that his money had attracted those girls, but I dismissed the thought. I had only come here for him.

"Reece Donovan," I called.

They all turned to look at me, but their demeanours noticeably changed once they saw my badge sticking out from my belt.

"Yeah?" he answered.

"I'm Detective Jack Mercer and I'm here to talk to you about the murder of Victor Salvatore," I said, flashing my badge to all of them.

I folded my arms as the expected reactions ran their course.

"What the hell would I know about that?" Reece half shouted.

"Oh, I don't know, probably just the fact that you spoke to him on the day of his death. That could make for quite an interesting story."

"Bullshit," Reece said immediately. His voice betrayed his lie.

"Would you like me to give you the name of the restaurant you met him at, and the time? I could also tell you what you were wearing on that day. Lying to a police officer is one of the many forms of stupid."

"This is harassment! You can't do this to him," cried one of the girls.

I glared at her, "Should I hand you a dictionary so you can look up the real meaning of the word? While I'm at it I'd be happy to explain to you the basic mechanics of the law, how I'm well within my rights here and how you're just a clueless kid, princess."

"Don't talk to her like that, you old bitch!" growled the other moron at the table, and he stood up in haste. The tough guy actually believed that he'd intimidate me. He was easily readable; stupid enough to get goaded by a five year old.

I laughed, "I'd insult you too but you don't look bright enough to notice."

That got him angry.

"Easy man," Reece said, "He's just being a dick. Alright what do you want to know?"

"Not here, Reece. You're coming with me."

"The hell I am."

"Fuck off! Do you have any idea who his dad is, loser?" one of the other girls protested.

I was losing patience, "Look there's an easy way here and there's a hard way. I get what I want in the end so it's just a matter of how much shit you want to deal with before then."

Reece looked livid and he glared at me along with everybody else at the table.

"What's it going to be, kid? Want to walk out of here in handcuffs or on your own two feet?"

He threw his hands up, "Fine! I'll go with you. Asshole."

"There's a good boy."

He got out of his seat, apologised to his friends and I directed him with my hand. I turned around to face the others. I reached into my pocket and took out a blank sheet of paper and a pen.

"I want you, bestie, to write down your cell number," I said pointing at the guy, "In case I have any follow-up questions."

"Whatever," he responded and I could hear him cursing under his breath as he wrote it.

I took the page from him, "Forgive me if I don't take things from kids at face value," I plugged in and dialled the number on my phone. Once I was satisfied that it was actually his mobile phone that rang I stuffed the page down my breast pocket and began walking away with Reece. But I thought that I would have one last quip before I left. I turned back to the kids. I had only contempt for them. Many kids of today had no respect irrespective of whether I goaded them or not.

"If you ask me the gene pool could use a little chlorine."

I handled Reece out of the restaurant and ignored the onlookers. I instructed him to get into the passenger seat of my car. He looked like he wanted to mouth me off again, so I suggested that he could go in handcuffs if he continued to irritate me.

"I'm calling my father," he threatened.

"Sure you can. Once we get to the station."

So far so good. As I drove I concentrated on what I had to do now. I had to get this right. Soon enough I saw the little shop that I wanted to be at. I had scouted it out while tailing him and it looked like the right place to do it.

"You hungry?" I asked.

"I was about to eat before you fucked that up, genius, so what do you think?"

"I'm stopping here for a moment. I'll get you something."

"Whatever."

I parked the car deliberately facing away from the shop on the curb, exited and went to the boot to retrieve my packet. I entered the shop and walked straight up to the person at the cash register, who most likely owned the small place.

"Listen I'm a police officer," I said. I showed the man my badge, which had become my free pass these days, "And I need to know if I could use your office for a moment."

The cashier looked a little confused at first, but then realised I was referring to the door behind him. He nodded, opened it for me and I walked around the counter and went inside to a very small room with nothing but a desk, stationery and a few boxes and papers piled around. I closed the door behind me. It was time. I stripped off my clothes and took out the spares I had brought. Almost the entire set was black, which included a top, boots, leather jacket and gloves. Only the combat pants were a dark grey. I placed the ski mask onto the ground next to me. I slipped my Glock into the jacket pocket and retrieved my Berretta. I wasn't taking any chances. I not only had to look completely different, but even my gun could not be the one I had had on my hip when I had confronted Reece at the restaurant. Most people would probably have called me paranoid or OCD, but I considered all possibilities no matter how unlikely. And this was only the beginning of my plan.

I shoved the clothes I had been wearing into the packet and put my badge on the inside of my jacket. The clothes were the only things I didn't mind leaving behind. I made sure nothing suspicious was visible on me and went out the door. I told the cashier that I was leaving the clothes I had come in with in a packet in his office, and I would be back for it in the next few hours. He nodded to say that he understood. I thanked him. Now came the difficult part. I exited the store and went up against the wall out of sight of the car.

I wasn't planning on taking Reece Donovan to the station. I had something else in mind. Unfortunately I didn't have fiction on my side. I couldn't simply knock the kid out with one strike like magic. Head injuries were a dangerous game. Just the wrong amount of force could cause concussion, haemorrhaging or even delayed complications that cropped up later in time. I was much stronger than him; I didn't want to hurt the kid. If I recalled correctly from training a very long time ago, there were multiple methods to incapacitate someone, but it didn't work like in the books and movies. People didn't just peacefully go to sleep for a convenient number of hours and wake up only a bit groggy. At most it was seconds or minutes that they were subdued for.

It could also get ugly fast. The human body could be quite brittle. I could easily kill him with the wrong kind of blow to the head. A simple twist of his body or miscalculated strike and the kid could be facing brain damage. You couldn't just knock someone out with a gun either. It wasn't so clean and easy. When I had struck Hal Edwards he had remained conscious, but he'd been so out of it and hurt that I had been able to man-handle him as though he were a child. Striking the head when you had the strength and training that I did was potentially lethal. Complications ranging from trauma to the brain to injuries to the spinal cord were plenty. I knew that I was thinking of the worst case scenarios, but high-impact blows could result in fractures to facial bones, compression injuries or damage to the brain stem. Of course that wasn't counting the issues which could arise from the shock alone.

If I couldn't physically incapacitate Reece, the bright idea that would jump into everyone's minds would be something like chloroform. A sedative. The TV cliché of lacing a napkin with chloroform and shoving it in someone's face for a few seconds did not quite translate to real life. Sure it could work, but it didn't act as fast nor was it as clean - or safe. The chemicals had to pass from the rag or napkin to the victim's lungs and then to the blood and finally to the brain. While this process did in fact take a few seconds, the victim would have had to have breathed in the fumes for maybe two minutes, in addition to the fact that the concentration had to be right. I didn't know the correct measurements and I couldn't exactly go up to Reece, ask him if the rag in my hand smelled like chloroform and then waited for him to follow my instructions and take deep breaths while counting back from ten. Not even he was that dumb. And I was far too exposed here. I needed to be faster.

Of course I could be more forceful or subtle than that. There was the theory that the surprise of having chloroform shoved in your face or being sneaked up on could cause the victim to take a deep breath from gasping. But because life was overly complex and there were endless variables, there was always the possibility that the victim could hold their breath after that and not get enough of the dose. The struggle could attract attention. And there was also the fact that chloroform was toxic and dangerous, and could cause fatal cardiac arrhythmia if the wrong dosage was given to the right person. I was obsessing over the worst case scenario again, but it wasn't smart to play with fire. The obvious limitation was also that it wasn't available to just anyone who wanted to buy it. And I did not want to harm the kid with anything that could cause permanent damage or put his life under major threat. Especially if I did not fully understand the weapon I would be using.

That left me with only one thing: fear. It was a good motivator. And few things put the fear of God into someone like having a suppressed gun shoved into their face. It screamed out to those who didn't have much knowledge about suppressors, which was most people, that not a single person would hear them die. I just had to be quick, efficient and not give him any time to make sense of the situation. I eyed my surroundings very carefully. I had chosen a good spot. The people that were here were few and far between, and none of them gave me any kind of look. Despite that I hugged the wall and reached for the ski mask. I curled my fingers around the handle of my Beretta and screwed on the suppressor. As I did it I turned my back to the world to cover up what I was doing. It was go time. Lights. Camera. Action. I slipped the ski mask on and rushed over to the passenger side of the car, ripping open the door. Reece jumped in fright and stared at me, fear immediately visible in his eyes as he saw the suppressor attached to my gun and my menacing appearance.

"Get out of the car, prick!" I shouted.

"What the hell! Do you have any idea-"

I violently grabbed him and pulled him out, "I know exactly who your daddy is, little bitch."

I jabbed him in the side with my fist and he groaned in pain, protesting as I dragged him over to the boot of the car. That would be easiest. I wrenched it open. I had purposefully left it unlocked and slightly ajar when I had retrieved my packet earlier. I held him by the throat as I forced him against it. There was nothing in it that he could use as a weapon.

"Holy shit man this is a cop's car! What do you want? Is it money?"

"Fuck the cops! Get in or I'll shoot you in the leg and throw you in anyway."

I manhandled him inside the boot of the car and shut it over him, ignoring his screams and protests. It had been easy. I walked over to the driver's seat and reached for the door. I saw two people in my peripheral vision pointing and staring and another few running. I didn't care. They wouldn't do anything. I had once read a famous story in psychology of how a woman had been beaten to death in her apartment late at night. Despite her screams that had went on for hours and the fact that there had been dozens of witnesses in the complex who had heard her struggles throughout the night, none of them had went to help or had even called the police - until much later when she was already dead of course. People didn't get involved. They watched and left it to everyone else. They all assumed someone else would do it. And in this city getting involved in mob affairs was suicide. That made it easier for me to act without fearing a heroic citizen.

I climbed into the car and sped away. Now came the hard part. I reached into my pocket and fished out the page I had instructed Reece's friend to write his number on. I tossed it onto the passenger seat and hit redial on my phone. I chose the friend's number from my recent calls list and waited for the line to connect. I heard the guy's voice on the other end and immediately recognised it from the table.

"I'm glad I took your number after all. Listen your little shit of a friend bailed on me before I could get the chance to speak to him. I stopped at a store to get him something to eat and there you go I get back and he's gone. Any idea where he is?"

"What? Why would he run, man? Fuck me I don't know!"

"Figures. If you see him tell him that I still want to have that chat with him. And it's a dick move to run from a police officer. He won't win any points for that stunt."

I ended the call. My name had been cleared. I didn't care what they thought had happened; whether they assumed he ran or whether it came out that there were witnesses today who saw Reece getting kidnapped by what appeared to be a mob hit - it would only lead to one result. I had set things in motion. I only had to wait for information about Reece's disappearance to reach his father. That wouldn't take long. His friend would tell the others in the group, and when Reece inevitably didn't show up anywhere later today his father would get wind of it. However I wanted news of the fact that I had taken Reece in for a police interview about Victor Salvatore's murder to reach Gregory. Reece's friends would oblige with that when they complained about me. And Gregory would phone me in a blazing anger regarding his son, which meant I'd have all of his attention and cooperation. But it wasn't either of those that I wanted. It was his obedience.

In order to acquire that I'd have to do what was necessary and not be held back. I pulled up at my own home. I didn't know any secluded place that I could use and nor did I have the time to locate one. But it wouldn't be a problem. Reece didn't know where I lived, and a blindfold made everything easier. Not to mention that there were few problems duct tape couldn't solve. I took a quick glance around to make sure no one was watching, and then I opened the boot. I kept the possibility open in my mind that the kid would try giving me a kick with everything he had as soon as I opened it. I casually stepped out of the way, but it turned out that he wasn't that brave.

He began kicking up a fuss, so I shut him up with my gun and proceeded to tape his mouth with the duct tape I'd left in the boot. I tied the scarf I'd left as well twice around his eyes, and once I was satisfied that he could not see I dragged him hurriedly inside, ignoring the pit's welcoming pangs of depression. I shoved him towards the washroom and got him onto his knees, where I then did as much as I could to tie his hands and his feet and make sure that he wouldn't be going anywhere. Now came the part where I actually prevented him from doing exactly that. Reece screamed as I ripped the duct tape off his mouth.

"Please don't kill me!" he cried out.

I knew that I wasn't going to kill him, but he didn't. He was just leverage; a chess piece. He had a role to play and I had the tools to manipulate him. At the end of the whole charade, when I let him go, he would run his mouth about me until the sun set. Of course he didn't know who I was, but that didn't mean I couldn't feed him something to take back to the mob. And the message would be fear.

"Listen closely kid," I began, making sure my voice was unrecognisable, "The only way that you're getting out of this alive or without any broken bones is if you obey every instruction that I give you. And if you would be so kind as to take a message back to your father."

"Alright, alright! Whatever you want just please don't hurt me..."

I bent down close to him so that he could feel my presence right beside him.

"Do you know who I am?"

He stammered something. I needed to encourage him.

"Answer my question!" I roared and struck his head with my hand. It was just a harmless slap. Honest.

"No! I don't know who the fuck you are!"

I laughed, "I'm the man who killed Victor Salvatore."

Reece went rigid. If I didn't know any better I would have said that he was close to urinating himself. He whimpered like a child. A part of me felt bad for frightening a stupid kid, but fear was an addictive power. It got cooperation and forced people to stop being too big for their diapers. It got results. Theatricality was what I needed to make an impression here. It was how the mob did it, and it was effective.

"Oh my God, I'm begging you, don't kill me!"

"You're going to tell your father. You're going to tell anyone who cares to listen to you. I am reaping this city of the vile, disgusting animals who contaminate it. You tell them all that they're next."

I slapped the duct tape back over his mouth and he pleaded some more. I rose from the ground and swiftly exited the bathroom, locking the door behind me. I sank into my living room couch. It had become my thought companion. The fiction of the vigilante killer was my way of attempting to put some fear into the mob. Jack Mercer was still just a cop to them, but the man who had killed Victor Salvatore was someone else entirely.

The next stage of my plan was malignant. I had to be precise and careful. But I first needed to wait for Gregory to reach out to me to confront me about why I had tried to take his son in for questioning. He'd blame me for losing him of course, but it would all allow me to get an audience with him. I needed his attention. And when I did get to meet with him I would have to have his son as leverage. I wasn't naive enough to believe that a simple kidnapping would put any kind of fear into a man like Gregory Donovan, especially if he was as dangerous as his reputation suggested. He'd probably suspect that I was just another asshole who was too much of a coward to actually harm his son. That wouldn't make him worry about Reece's safety. A kidnapping was child's play, because regardless of my terms he knew that Reece would not be touched. I smiled. The time for mistakes was long over. I would play these bastards at their own game.

I had to make Gregory Donovan truly believe that his son was at risk. And that would take deception. Authentic deception, but trickery nonetheless. There was no way that Gregory wasn't attached to his son given how spoiled he was. He most likely wanted his son to enter the family business when he was ready as well. It was the mob after all, and no matter what kind of man you were, when your child was in danger only the parent remained. It was biological. It was uncontrollable. And where the mob was concerned it was also a point of pride. Gregory would not stand for it. An ordinary kidnapping would not work. If I showed him a picture of his son tied up he'd laugh in my face. I had to show him that I wasn't playing around. I had to show him that I meant it.

I placed the last items I had acquired for my plan onto the table: boxes of aspirin. My heart hammered as I considered what I was about to do. I refused to let the pit destroy my resolve. I thought of Jess. Everything that I had to do, no matter how cruel or violent, was for her. It was to save my daughter. That was all the reason that I could hold onto. Everybody else to me was just a chess piece I would use for whatever purpose I needed. I didn't want to hurt the kid. But there was nothing that I would not do for my daughter. And the only way that it was going to work was if I went through with it.

Aspirin poisoning was a volatile science. Like most overdoses it could be acute or chronic. A single overdose was enough to cause acute poisoning, which was the result that I wanted. Acute overdose, for my intended purposes, was safe. The mortality rate was as low as two percent if I recalled correctly from my research. I had chosen aspirin because it was easy to acquire. I was no chemist or botanist who could craft up some complicated alternative.

However aspirin overdoses potentially had serious consequences, with the possibility of death naturally being one of them. But that was extreme. I wasn't going to get to that level. There were many common symptoms of aspirin poisoning when intoxication was mild or moderate such as nausea, vomiting, abdominal pain, lethargy, a ringing in the ears referred to as tinnitus, dizziness, headache, hyperventilation, fever and tachycardia, which was an excessively rapid heartbeat. Only God knew how I had remembered all of that. I guessed that I had been more highly-strung about this than I had originally anticipated.

I did want to avoid the harsh symptoms. All that I really needed was the nausea and the vomiting to make Reece's suffering look authentic enough. But I was mindful of the worst case scenarios. The most severe of symptoms, as a result of high levels of intoxication, included delirium, hallucinations, seizures, coma, hyperthermia or excessively rapid breathing. There were potentially lethal effects as well, such as hypoglycaemia, which was an unusually low concentration of potassium or glucose in the blood, or cerebral edema, which would mean an excess build up of fluid in the brain that could lead to respiratory arrest. I raked my hands through my hair and forced myself to stop considering the worst of it all. I wasn't planning for Reece to get a severe overdose. I wasn't planning for him to die. It was enough to just be alert to what could happen, so that I could recognise it if it did.

I knew the correct dosage. I supposed that the internet's sources could have got their information from anywhere, but I felt that I had read enough. I went over the figures again, consulting my hand-written notes on the table. A mild or acutely toxic dose was around one hundred and fifty milligrams per kilogram of body mass. On the other hand moderate toxicity occurred at doses of up to three hundred milligrams per kilogram, while severe toxicity occurred between three hundred and five hundred milligrams. You would be entering lethal territory once you exceeded five hundred milligrams. With all the information that I had I knew that I still had to be extremely careful. I would only need one day, so there was minimal risk of any long term effects.

I put my head in my hand and spun my phone around on the table. While I waited to get in contact with Gregory, the problem I had yet to address was the method of delivering the overdose to Reece. I had the option of dissolving the aspirin in glasses of water I gave to him over the next few hours, which was probably easiest. But there was also injection to consider. I would have to do some more reading to be sure, although I had to move quickly. I steeled myself, and got to work.

Gregory Donovan was an intimidating man. He was much younger than Victor. He was lean and had short sandy hair. But his eyes were cold and blue, his posture unsettling and his thin moustache finished the look. He stared me down as I took a seat opposite him. This was an easy place to talk; public and open. I sat back and looked him in the eye.

"Jack Mercer. I know you. You're somewhat of a celebrity now aren't you? The big hoo-ha with the weapons and that nasty business with your family."

He had a very pretentious, but confident and rugged way of speaking. It got on my nerves.

"But enough with the pleasantries. I want to know what made you think you had the authority to try and talk to my son about something as fucked up as the murder of Victor Salvatore. And more than that you seem to have misplaced Reece. How exactly did you manage that? You better start talking if you want to keep breathing. That's my son."

I ignored his threat, "I saw Reece talking to Victor the day he was killed. I was doing my job."

Gregory looked confused, "You're just brilliant, aren't you? I sent him to Victor so the boy could hopefully learn a thing or two about professionalism. Bless that old sport. He was traditional but he knew what's what. Good man. Hard to come by these days. But you still haven't answered my question: where is my son?"

Enough small talk. It was time to get to business. It was nearing early evening. The sun would set in an hour or so. My heart was thundering against my chest, my palms were sweating and I was doing everything I could to keep myself together. This was one of the most dangerous men in the city. I exhaled. I just had to stick to my plan. I was in control.

"Let's cut the bullshit. I saw maybe four of your dogs on my way to this seat. You probably have a few more than that waiting around here. But that's not going to scare me. You see I didn't lose your son."

He narrowed his eyes at me as he twirled his wine glass in his hand.

"I took him."

His glass cracked in an instant and a vein bulged in his head, "I'm sorry you what?"

"How much do you love your son, Donovan?"

He rose to his feet, violently shaking the table. The fury in his eyes would have been enough to cripple most men.

"What kind of fucking idiot are you?"

I glared at him; I felt the beast within me spring to life right then when I needed it most.

"Sit down, shut up and listen. You might want to pick your words and actions very carefully because your son doesn't have much time left."

His anger dissolved and I saw what I wanted to see: the fear of a parent. That fear was sweet.

"What did you say?" he said and slowly sank into his chair. He held his hand up, most likely signalling to his men to stand down.

I reached into my breast pocket, took out my mobile phone and brought up the image I wanted. I tossed the phone at his end of the table. He picked it up and gasped. The terror was so easily readable on his face it was tangible. Right now he was seeing a picture of his son laying square on the floor and white as a sheet with a pile of his own vomit next to him. Reece's mouth was lopsided, his eyes blindfolded and there was blood on his lips and chin. Alright I had fabricated the blood. That had been easy. Corn syrup with a few tweaks. Gregory Donovan did not utter a word as he stared at the picture.

"You must be wondering what I did to your son. I'll give you a hint: poison. It's a funny thing. Do you know how many variations of poison there are out there? You get drugs and chemicals and I'm not even talking about the mean things like cyanide and mercury. You get all kinds of plants and even animals. Food too. No really, raw kidney beans can even be toxic would you believe that? But here's a little something you'll be able to understand. Some poisons are harder to detect and diagnose than others. And who knows what I used on him? Is it lethal? Is it fast-acting? How much time does the kid have? You could get him to a hospital and I have no doubt that they'll figure out what to do, but that will take time. Time your son may not have. And of course you don't even know where he is. But I happen to know exactly what's wrong with him, and I have the cure for it."

I let all of that sink in. His eyes looked glassy. His mouth twitched.

"Right now I am the only person on earth who can save your son in time."

"You sick son of a bitch! I'll put you in the ground for what you've done! You're dead, Mercer. I can promise you that!"

"You make the mistake of thinking that I still care about my own life!" I spat.

I had him. And he knew it too. He couldn't kill me without condemning his son.

"And just in case you think you're pretty smart that you're going to kill me after you get your son back..." I reached into my pocket and pulled out my secondary phone. I pressed the red stop button, "I recorded our entire conversation here. Congratulations, asshole, you swore to murder a cop. A little editing and I have a real threat over here without the small technicality involving your son. It would be the word of a dead hero cop over that of a despicable tyrant."

He watched as I sent the audio clip to some number. I had just forwarded it to my wife's phone at home. He didn't know that. But the message was clear. I had a back up of the audio clip. The look Gregory gave me then was one of pure loathing.

"You must think you're one hell of a genius, don't you? Thought of everything, hmm?"

"The word is thorough."

"Alright you want to negotiate like men? What do you want, huh?"

I breathed in slowly. I was calling the shots now.

"Not here. At your place tonight. I don't want your apes around. And we have delicate matters to discuss you and I."

He was outraged, "Tonight? My son-"

"Will be kept alive," I cut across him, "You have my word on that. And for now that's just what you'll have to take."

I saw sweat trickle down Gregory's forehead.

"I want your house empty. Send all your men away. Now you give me the address, and I walk away from here unharmed. You call anyone and I will know. If you don't follow my instructions to the letter your son dies. It's that simple."

"Fine, tonight then!"

He scribbled his address down and handed it to me. I had one last thing to say. I let my voice turn cold; fuelled by the real agony that I had.

"Take it from me. There is nothing you could do to me or to anyone I even remotely care about that could come close to the pain of losing your child."

With that I got up, retrieved my phone and ignored my wobbling legs as I briskly strode off. I was anxious, my mind half expecting a bullet or a knife in my back. But nothing came. I made it to my car, started it and just drove. I mentally prepared myself for tonight. So far my con was working out just fine. Reece was alright for now but his condition would worsen without medical help. Now that Greg was onboard I had to dispose of Reece outside of a hospital just before I made my way to Greg's home. I was sure the mob would find out soon enough that the kid was there, but by the time they did I'd already have Greg alone right where I wanted him to be without access to a mobile phone or any of his men. I just prayed that he had followed my instructions, but something told me that he would. His orders would keep his men away.

I raced home genuinely concerned about Reece. He was in danger now. I had made sure that he was well enough to be on his own before I had left. I had untied his hands, removed his blindfold and left food and water. He was still locked up in that bathroom, so I had to get him to a hospital as quickly as I could. With the blindfold on of course, as he couldn't see where he had come from. I reached my home, slipped on the ski mask and I was no longer Jack Mercer.

Gregory Donovan had kept his word. I had surveyed his house from the outside. I had been thorough in making sure that there weren't any signs of life in the immediate area. Once I satisfied my concerns, I began my walk up to his home; another lavish mansion that reeked of overindulgence. Greg had been inviting enough to leave his front door unlocked after he had buzzed me in from the gate. He was waiting for me in his lounge in front of a fire, already nursing a glass of alcohol. His face drew on a contempt expression when he saw me.

"Want a drink?" he said, but his expression told me it wasn't really an offer.

"So you can poison me too? No thanks," I said.

His mouth twitched.

"You got me here so what happens next in your little vendetta? How do I know my son is okay?"

I sat down on a comfortable white sofa and faced him with a huge smile on my face. I couldn't help it.

"And just what is so funny?"

"I lied to you. I never had the cure."

I took a moment to enjoy the look of terror on his face.

"And your son was never poisoned."

He went rigid.

"Well technically he was intoxicated. Nothing life threatening, mind you, just an aspirin overdose."

Greg launched himself off his seat with a violent growl, but in a flash I had my gun out and aimed at his heart. The sight of the suppressor stopped him cold.

"I can kill you just as easily as I killed Victor Salvatore."

Greg's mouth dropped open and he ran his hand through his hair.

"That was you? You're psychotic! Why are you doing this?"

He slumped back down on his seat; his face white.

"I want information."

"What?"

"Who murdered my family?" I shouted.

"Why the hell should I know?"

"Lie to me again and I'll make sure your son dies this time!"

He held up his hands in protest, "Look, Jack, I had nothing to do with your family alright?"

I couldn't stop the disappointment from stirring inside me. But I still had questions.

"What do you know about the weapons shipment?"

Greg massaged his temples, "Only that it was most likely someone else's shit."

"Give me a real answer or you're going to be in a lot of pain."

"Cut the threats. Fine. Look there's been tension brewing between us big boys for a while now. Everybody has their own way of running things in this city but everybody is also in charge, know what I'm saying? Heads clash. Opinions differ. Dicks get measured. My guess is that someone wanted to gear his boy scouts out with some real firepower in case things got messy, which they often do in this line of business."

"I thought it would be something like that."

"What else could it be? They were guns, genius, not fucking nukes. I don't know who it is that brought them in, but it certainly wasn't me."

"And why should I believe you?"

"I'm a man of simple pleasures, Jack."

I aimed my gun between his eyes.

"I'm going to ask you a question and if you lie to me or act like I'm crazy I'm going to kill you."

"You don't need to convince me anymore of that fact."

I cocked the gun.

"Relax."

"Where is my daughter?"

"Seriously?"

"I'm going to count to three and you're getting one in the leg."

"Alright! What the fuck is going through your head? It was all over the news that she died, Jack."

"That's what I thought too, seeing as how her body was left in my own house. Three weeks after that I got a call from her. It lasted just a few seconds, but it was her voice. I know she's alive."

"I hate to break it to you, but you need to pay a visit to the loony bin."

And right then the anger burst free. How I had managed to subdue it for so long I did not know. I launched myself from the seat and before Greg could react I grabbed him by the neck and pulled him to his feet. I pressed the barrel of the suppressor to his temple.

"What the hell do you want from me?"

A vein in my neck throbbed. I saw red. I no longer recognised myself when the anger took hold. Jack Mercer disappeared. And the beast within me became my real face.

"What do I want? Tell me can you turn back time?"

"What?"

"Answer me!" I screamed.

"No..."

"Can you give me my wife back?"

I began to crush his neck. Much harder than I had anticipated I would. He gasped and began to choke.

"Can you tell me where my daughter is?"

He did not answer. I eyed a door next to the stairs that led to the second floor. It would probably take me to a basement of sorts. That would be ideal. I pulled him toward it while ignoring his protests. I did not know or understand what had come over me. I could not control it. My mind emotionally justified it that I would use him to get information about the rest of the mob. I had already come this far. Torturing him further wasn't out of the question. As I harshly pulled Greg towards the door I realised something about myself. Something I had always known was there, but I had kept it subdued; asleep. I had never been brave enough to face up to it. Until now.

It was a terrible truth, but as I gave in to the vicious bloodlust roaring within me, I came to terms with it. I enjoyed power. Perhaps it was being stepped on my whole life. Perhaps it was that as a cop I had always been left feeling like the wimpy kid who ended up on the floor covered in his own vomit while the bigger guys stood there and mocked. In some ways I admired the power these bastards had. Maybe it was all just because I had finally lost it. But I didn't care. I had it a taste for it now.

Greg was yelling at me, ordering me not go down the stairs. The door was locked. I assessed it in a moment. It wasn't reinforced or thick. It was highly possible to kick down a door, but it required technique and strength, and the right kind of door. Certain doors asked for different methods, but knowing what you were doing or even just using the right amount of power and hitting the right spot could get results. Summoning my rage I kicked at it just below the doorknob, applying enough pressure to break bone. The door burst open in a rush of splintered wood and dust, and I felt the vibration travel up my leg. I was in. I shoved him down the stairs. There'd be no risk of anyone hearing anything down in the basement. I hit the lights on the wall and pushed Greg to the centre of the room.

A hideous stench burned instantly through my nose. I gagged. I froze. I almost dropped my gun. My legs went weak. My heart stopped. Against the dirty, grey walls, in tall cages, were people. Black men with ugly, tattered clothes. They had the eyes of lifeless men. They were battered and bruised. Some looked undernourished. Some looked muscular. They had chains on their ankles and collars around their necks. Buckets for toilets. Dog bowls on the ground. Their hands curled around the bars of their cages as they processed the scene in front of them. In seconds I had been ripped away from the world, and thrust into madness.

The only conclusion to make was that they had been stripped of all freedom, beaten and taken in, all control of their lives swept away like a rug underneath their feet. They were like slaves again. I felt as though I had stepped into a different era. I noticed the bruises on their knuckles and all over their bodies. I felt worse than sick. Were they being made to fight each other? One man was sprawled across the floor of the cage with blood leaking out of his mouth. Another began to plead with me.

They were all terrified of Gregory Donovan. Terrified of me. That much was obvious. I could see it in their eyes. Nothing could have prepared me for this. I remembered Victor Salvatore's words, as clear as the darkness I had become accustomed to, playing in my mind. "They're not people like you and me, Jack. They're fucking animals." In that moment I finally understood. I stared at Greg, who had risen to his feet.

"Like what you see?" he said, "Hooray for you. You caught me. I keep these niggers here as my playthings and make them brawl for me and my guests' entertainment. I confess. What now? You're no cop. You can't fucking arrest me with a straight face. You got nothing."

All the pain, all the violence and all the terror - it all had a source: men like him. Men like Gregory Donovan. As I saw the horror in front of me, I finally realised that the police would never win. Sarah would never win. There was only one language that these men understood. Only a fool could believe that it was possible to tame a wolf. What I saw before me was what men were capable of. God didn't lock these men in cages. Fate didn't condemn them to a horrible life. God observed in sadness as his creations gave in to their darkness. And the Devil grinned as men did his bidding. I knew the truth then. Evil could be shown no mercy. It could not be tolerated. It had to be destroyed.

"What the fuck are you going to do?" Greg shouted.

I could see him reaching for a metal pipe. There was only one way to end it all. The beast screamed its command at me and I knew that it was right. I would never find my daughter if I was weak; if I allowed this to go on. There was a roaring in my gut. A dull ringing in my mind. A steadiness in my hand. I aimed my gun at Gregory Donovan. He shouted in protest.

I fired. Instantly the bullet slammed into his eye, blowing out blood and tissue. It splattered the walls. His body fell to the ground like a ragdoll. It had been the simplest of solutions, but it had been the only thing that could have possibly made sense. I basked in the finality of the moment. Another animal had faced judgment day, and had fallen to it. The men in the cages started shouting and shaking the bars. I turned to face them. They thought that they were next. I lowered my gun. The roaring had faded. The ringing had ceased. The steadiness slipped away. And only the emptiness remained.

"I'm a police officer," I said, barely able to get the words out, "You're safe now."

I searched for the keys. I spotted one pair on a rack against the far wall. It took me a while and I needed the metal pipe to break some of the rusty padlocks, but soon enough they were all free. Everything began to feel surreal then, and time started to sweep past in a discomforting blur. I was showered with gratitude. I was praised. Some of the men told me that they were hungry. Others told me what had been done to them. One man told me with tears in his eyes that he had been forced to kill his best friend. And with each word they spoke my soul darkened.

It hit me then that I'd never be able to explain my contact with Donovan to Sarah or to the police. I could not risk that Sarah put two and two together and realised that I had killed Victor Salvatore as well. It would not take a genius to figure it all out. I had been questioning Victor prior to his death, and then I had been at it again questioning Gregory. Both men had ended up dead after I had visited them. She wouldn't buy it. I'd lose everything. I wouldn't be able to save Jess. There was only one thing that I could do. I had to disappear. I had to get her to believe that it was the 'vigilante killer' once again. With Greg's death it became a much easier story to believe.

I turned to the men behind me. My mind had ceased to process the reality in front of me. I felt so disconnected. I spoke to them and the words formed on my lips, but my mind made no connection to them. I told them that I had to leave. I told them that they could not tell anyone about me. I told them they had to tell the police that a man in a black ski mask had killed Gregory and rescued them. I pleaded with them. I told them that my daughter was being held captive by one of these men and I was trying to find her. I tried to make them understand. I tried to make them understand that my nine-year old daughter could be in a cage just like they had been. When I was done with my story, I got looks of understanding, of respect, of sympathy and of appreciation. One of them promised me that he would do as I asked. I felt relief wash over me. I called the police from Greg's house phone. My gloves would ensure that there would be no fingerprints. I said my goodbyes to the men. That was it. I ran. Into the cold; into the comforting shadows of the darkness.

The cold wind engulfed me as I walked the streets. I needed air. I just needed to think. My body was still in shock from what I had seen. I barely felt the ground beneath my feet. I trembled to think what I still had to face with my remaining enemies. And now the fear was starting to creep in. There were just three names left. The remaining three crime lords that owned this city. When morning came the entire city would be shocked by Gregory Donovan's demise. If this did not bring the mob out of their holes then nothing would. I feared the repercussions.

I still had not come any closer to finding Jess. I still did not know if she was okay. I raked my hands through my hair and over my face. I was going mad from the stress. Only by thinking of Jess could I still retain control over myself. But thinking about her brought back the pain. It brought back the stress, the worry and the fear. It brought it all back with a vengeance. I felt as though I was running on fumes, now more than ever. I did not know how long I had until I was caught or killed. I only knew that I would stop at nothing until I found my daughter. I could remember that phone call as clearly as I could see the stars in the black sky above. No matter what everybody said, I knew what I had heard. My thoughts were interrupted by a rough voice behind me.

"Hey you!"

I turned. I saw a glint of metal. A man in dirty clothes and an old hooded jacket was brandishing a knife at my face.

"Give me your wallet!"

I had forgot that among the real horrors the ghouls still breathed.

I lifted my jacket and showed him my badge, "Are you really going to mug a police officer?"

The man turned vulgar and jabbed his knife at my arm. On reflex I dodged it. It was clumsy. He was probably on some kind of drugs. I could see it in his red eyes and jittery movements.

"Give me your damn money or I'll cut you! Your phone too."

Why, of all nights, had the idiot picked the one night where I had no more room for calm? After everything I had seen, I was fresh out of mercy or patience. I was out of sympathy. I was out of good will. The man could not have picked a worse night to threaten me. Not when I had sworn that I would no longer tolerate the cockroaches of the awful city I still drew breath in. The anger burned like fire as I saw the man for what he was. I saw him as the next object of my wrath.

I made no move to give him what he wanted. I smirked. That set him off, and he lunged at me with the knife. It clearly took a fool to try and stab a cop for pocket change. A child could have done a better job and, on top of being crippled by whatever drug he was on, the man was most likely weak from hunger and fatigue. I moved like lightning and deflected his arm. With his knife arm out of the way his face, neck, chest, stomach, midsection and legs were all exposed. There were multiple working offences and defences then. I could disarm him cleanly. I could crush his windpipe and kill him instantly. I could break his arm. I could cripple him with a kick to his leg. I could introduce him to his worst nightmare with a shot to the groin. I could simply wind him with a blow to the stomach. Or I could hurt him, without breaking anything. I lashed out, putting all of the anger and savagery that I could muster into the blow. I went for a liver shot, and my fist connected with the right side of his ribcage. The man screamed in excruciating pain and dropped like a fly. He rolled on the ground and gasped for breath. The knife clattered to the floor beside him.

He started to crawl away from me. I looked at him with contempt. A memory came to my mind then of what thieves like him meant to me. It was personal. This particular memory had stuck with me through all the years, and it came flooding back then in a wild storm. On this night, I was not Jack Mercer. I drew my gun. I used my foot to roll him onto his back, and he cried out as his eyes met the barrel of my suppressed Beretta. He held his hands up in surrender. But I didn't want his surrender. I could not feel anything of myself. If it was the beginning of insanity I did not know it. I only knew that I had snapped, and morality no longer made any kind of sense. All that mattered was having the will to do what was necessary. Evil could not go unpunished. I would not allow Jess to grow up in this plagued city.

"I once worked a case of a petty thief like you, many years ago," I began, recounting the memory that now spread through my mind like a disease.

"Please, don't..."

"This guy was just like you. He had gone after a young woman intending to steal her handbag. Little did he know that the woman was taking everything she and her father had saved up in desperation to pay for her dying mother's medicine. You see her mother was suffering from an illness that was very treatable, but the medication was expensive. But what did the thief care? He tried to steal her money, but it mattered more to her - a lot more. She fought back and he got aggressive. He pulled a knife on her. Just like the one you pulled on me."

"I'm sorry."

"Don't speak! Listen. This woman, her name was Emily Green. She begged him to leave her alone. She even told him why she couldn't give her money up. She told him all about her dying mother. But he didn't give a damn. He stole it all anyway, every last cent. The poor woman desperately tried to call the cops and tried to explain the situation, but they ignored her. They had far more pressing matters in this city than a mugging. Shortly after, Emily's mother was dead. When she should have been saved. She should have lived. That money could have and should have saved her life."

I had his attention now. He hung onto my words, but he still carried his fear in his eyes.

"Do you know what happened to Emily then? The guilt she felt led her to commit suicide. Her family couldn't take it. Her father couldn't stop drinking, now having lost both his wife and daughter, and soon he too ended up dead; a victim of his own pain. He left his ten year old son alone and depressed. The kid was thrown into foster care. Sometime later he got put into a home, but he couldn't get over the loss of his real family. His new parents were unable to have children of their own. For a while they tried to be sympathetic, but they eventually grew angry with the kid. All they had wanted was a child they could love and consider theirs - not some depressed kid with a junkyard of baggage."

I breathed deeply as my own pain resurfaced from having to remember the story. The man on the ground trembled before my gun. I had every ounce of his attention. I continued.

"The kid started feeling like they didn't want him. Like he's in the way. Like he could never be happy again. How could he move on? It was just impossible. One day the parents came home to find that their adopted son had hanged himself. That was the point when they realised their mistakes. After all the kid had suffered they had not been understanding to that, and both of them broke down. They started arguing and fighting over whose fault it was; each throwing blame onto the other. But they knew they'd never get another child again. Their dream of having children was shattered. Gone to dust. A few months later they divorced and both of them ended up miserable and wrecked with guilt."

I lowered myself to the ground and stared into the man's eyes.

"There's a mountain of blame to be handed out in that story, but the source of all the pain was right here. Two entire families were destroyed all because a petty, selfish and maybe even desperate thief wanted some quick cash. A low-life who burns the stolen money on drugs anyway."

I stood once again. The anger had all the control now.

"You are as much a part of the cancer that's eating away at this dying city as anything else. All of you, there's only one language you understand. There's only one way to end it all."

The man whimpered pathetically. I could not let this go unpunished; he had to face consequence. Evil did not learn from mercy. I contemplated. There was no non-lethal area to shoot someone on their body. Countless complications such as blood clots, haemorrhage, infection or just shock could end up killing someone. The cold weather didn't help either. So I tried not to think too much about it. This man would have killed me for my money and wasted it on drugs. It was as simple as that.

I raised the gun and blocked out his screams as I pulled the trigger. The noise echoed, thriving in the emptiness which surrounded me. His thigh was a bloody mess. He clutched it in agony. I had been soft. Either way I was done. I didn't care what happened to him then. He'd got what he deserved. His fate would be up to him or anyone who heard his screams and bothered to help. He'd be in immense pain; there was no guarantee that he would walk the same ever again. Maybe he'd even have pain for the rest of his life; a reminder of judgement day and what he had done to deserve it.

I did not feel any guilt. Criminals thrived on the indulgence of society's leniency; the rules of justice. How could I raise my daughter in a city where these men faced no consequences for the horrible things they did? Evil could not go unpunished. It was not about getting even. It was not about an eye for an eye. It was not even about fairness. It was about what was necessary. There could be no compromise.

I had a sudden feeling of dread inside me as I considered a truth. I knew that what I had seen tonight would not be the worst of it. I could feel it in my gut. That was the thing about reality. No matter how bad things got it was always possible for them to get worse. These men were truly animals. I had seen proof of that tonight. They were something less than human. And I knew that I was going to have to kill again. I felt it in my bones. But the difference was that now I would always be ready for it. I had to be. For Jess. Some may have looked at what happened here tonight as just a mugging. But they didn't think about the consequences. There was blood in petty crime. The longer we tolerated it and let them off easy the more it would continue.

There in the cold I made a new promise to myself. I would kill anyone who stood between me and Jess. I would kill the remaining names on my list. The beast hissed its approval. I had little doubt in my mind that they were as cancerous as Gregory Donovan. I would not let Jess grow up in a city where men like this were free. Even if that meant I had to give my life for her, or that I would have to watch Jess grow up from the inside of a prison cell until the day that my life ended. Whatever waited for me at the end of this road, all that mattered was that my daughter would live her life. That was my promise.

##  Chapter 10: The Departure

"Are you ready to believe my vigilante theory now?" I asked Sarah.

The news reports were out. It was insanity. There was an uproar. Reporters had tried to get in contact with Reece Donovan over his kidnapping. They had tried to ask him about the murder of his father. The slaves his father had kept in the basement had been eager to reveal their stories and expose all the horrors they had endured, and overnight Gregory Donovan had become the promotional poster for the face of evil. I did not know what Reece had told them or whether he would be charged as an accomplice to his father's entertainment, but I had little doubt in my mind that regardless of what became of him he'd spread the word about the man in the black ski mask. I was not fooling myself. Now was the time to expect a reaction from the mob. They would not tolerate my actions, and once Reece started spewing his guts they'd stop at nothing to find the man who had kidnapped him. Me.

"This is crazy! What the hell is going on in this city?" Sarah breathed.

I was restless. I had to go after the next target on my list quickly, before the mob made it impossible for me. Time was of the essence. There was only so much longer that I could keep up the charade; that I could walk in the shadows when the light was drawing near.

"I have no idea."

Sarah's jaw clenched and I raised a hand to her shoulder.

"This makes us pathetic, Jack. Now there's some killer running around taking out crime lords and we're sitting here with our tails between our legs, clueless. Why do we even bother?"

She had kept her voice low so that no one could overhear our conversation. I turned her to face me. I looked into her eyes. And I felt. I could not remember the last time I had felt anything. It was as elusive as warmth, and I held onto it in that moment.

"That's not the Sarah I know talking," I said.

"The Sarah you know doesn't have the energy anymore."

I reached down for her hand, making sure that no one else could see. I half expected her to jerk her hand away, but she didn't.

"You keep fighting and maybe one day the world will show you why. That's what you taught me when I needed it most."

She smiled at me then and whispered her thanks. She gave my hand a small squeeze before letting go. Right now she was all that I had. I just wished that if she ever found out the truth about what I had done that she could find it in her heart to understand. Either way I knew this wouldn't last forever. It could not.

I heard a commotion stirring behind us and one of the officers called to Sarah. I joined Sarah in her approach. My curiosity was peaked. A bunch of staff members were crowded around a television set which appeared to be having trouble with its broadcast. Once I got to the front of the crowd with Sarah I realised that it wasn't a broadcasting issue. It was a hacking one. A figure was appearing on the screen, and before the picture even became clear I knew what it was. This was the mob playing their hand. A person appeared on screen seated and dressed fully in black. He, or she, was hiding behind a mask. I deduced that it was a male given the person's build, and that was confirmed when I heard the voice behind the mask.

"Greetings citizens."

The voice had an inhuman edge to it. It was meant to intimidate.

"What in God's name is this supposed to be?" Sarah whispered.

"By now you are aware of the deaths of Victor Salvatore and Gregory Donovan. Despite what you may believe, they were murdered in cold blood by a crazed vigilante. It would seem there is a man walking among you who has a vendetta against us. Today I simply bring a message to all of you. Whoever is targeting us, know that we will respond in kind. We will do what is necessary to find the one responsible. Rest assured we will find you. This is a warning, to all citizens. The blood will be repaid."

There was silence all around as the broadcast ended. And then all at once everyone began speaking, and noise peaked. With grim certainty the true meaning behind the message became clear to me. It was not a threat. It was not a threat at all. It was a strategy; a move. One that we as the police had no choice but to fall for. Sarah backed my belief.

"Shit! Those assholes! By making it public knowledge that there's an assassin hunting them down, we're forced to investigate into it for them; offer them protection even."

While we didn't strictly have to offer them protection, it was encouraged and we were now obligated to open up an official investigation into the case of the vigilante killer. Under different circumstances I would have respected the mob's strategy.

"Luis Kane, Paul Castellano and Anthony Cornero are still alive and well, Sarah. They're the next targets after Salvatore and Donovan. They have to be."

"Alright, Jack, this is what we're going to do. I'm going to go over and talk to Cornero and see what I can find out. I'll send Fields over to Kane. And you're going to meet Castellano."

I smiled to myself. Perhaps the mob's play wasn't that bad after all. It certainly saved me the trouble of devising some intricate plan to set up a meeting. I didn't know much about Castellano. He was a very private man. I followed Sarah to her office, closed the door behind me and drowned out the noise from the outside. It was good to have some quiet. I folded my arms and turned to Sarah.

"Will you be okay with Cornero?"

"I can handle it."

"I know. Just be careful, okay?"

"What, no jokes for me today?" she said.

I smiled and walked toward her.

"Let's just say I'm busy working on new material."

Sarah stood in front of her desk. I felt a pang of sadness. There was no coming back from the things I had done. One day it was likely that I would no longer be able to see Sarah like this - as friends. I would miss her. I would miss the way she made me feel like I wasn't alone.

"It's really good to have you here, Jack."

"You too, Sarah."

"You know sometimes I wonder if I'm crazy. Hearing what Donovan did to those men he kept in cages, I should be glad that he got what he deserved. But I'm not. I just feel angry that there's someone out there undermining everything we stand for, everything we risk our lives for, to take the law into their own hands. This killer is making us look worthless."

I felt my heart sink. I had expected that she would see it that way. I knew her. But it hurt all the same, knowing what she'd think of me if she found out the truth.

"Am I sorry that he's dead? Not particularly. But I know how you feel. I don't like that there's someone out there who's making us look like fools."

Sarah went quiet. I decided to change the subject.

"When was the last time you took a break, Sarah? You look beat."

"Take a break and do what?" she replied.

"I don't know. Walk the beach, watch a movie...sleep?" I said, hoping to lighten the mood.

"To be honest I'm not sure when last I did any of those things."

"What kind of person are you?" I teased.

"A morbid one," she humoured me.

"I'm sure you were the poster child for it."

She half-smiled.

"What's the matter?"

"I just need a minute. I'm exhausted and it's going to be a long day."

"It will be alright. We'll get through this."

I instinctively reached toward her arms. She looked up at me and I couldn't read what was in her eyes.

"What are we doing, Jack?"

The question was so abrupt that I wasn't prepared for it.

"What do you mean?"

"I mean what is this? Between us."

I let go of her slowly. My mind was swept up by a tornado. I felt a ripple of anxiety in my chest. I didn't know the answer. I didn't know what I felt. Anything would feel like betraying Nicole. I still wore my wedding ring on my hand. I wasn't ready. I couldn't. The fear was real. I saw her face fall, ever so slightly, when I did not have a response.

"I'm sorry I asked. I'm just tired," she whispered.

"You're all that I have."

She touched my hand gently and put on a smile before gesturing at the door, "You have a date with Castellano."

I nodded, but my mind was conflicted. Without another word I went for the door.

I drove towards the home of Paul Castellano. I had prepared myself for it. It was going to be a long drive. I tried to keep my mind active. I tried not to think about Sarah and about what our relationship was - what it had become. I tried not to think about Nicole. Instead I did what I always did in my moments alone. I got lost in my mind to escape the world. I thought about the murders that I had committed. People liked to dramatise a lot of things; turn anything into literature. But I had realised a truth. Reality was never what you expected it to be. You were never prepared for it. I thought about the men that I had killed. People spoke of how murder haunted you and ate at your soul. But I didn't see their faces at night. I did not feel guilty. I was not haunted. I did not even feel like a bad person. I simply felt nothing. It was what had to be done, and it brought me closer to Jess. Life wasn't sacred. We were all flesh and blood. Good or bad we all bled the same. The only difference was that some people left the world a better place when they died.

I harboured contempt for those who saw the world as black and white; through the eyes of good and evil. Those who did were nothing more than preachers and hypocrites, and they'd never hold onto their childish sense of morality if they were ever faced with any real threat. There was only context. I would ask those who would call me evil a simple question. I would ask them if they were parents. If the answer was no then the conversation would simply end and they would no longer be worth another second of my time. And if the answer was yes I would tell them that they were not fit to be, and should never have had a child. If you weren't willing to do anything, become anything, to protect your child then you were not a parent. You were just a coward.

I put my face into my hands. I was hoping with everything I had that Paul Castellano knew something about Jess. With each crime lord I spoke to I felt as though I was getting further away from the answers as much as I was getting closer. I felt it deeply in my gut now; a part of me that was afraid of the truth. All that I could hold onto was that Jess was alive. But I couldn't shake the doubt. Why had I not heard anything from her since that phone call? If she truly was being held captive why had no one made any demands? None of it made any sense. I refused to believe that I had hallucinated that phone call. I could remember every word. I could remember the sound of her voice. "Daddy. Please come find me." That was what she had told me over the phone. I had heard it. I was not crazy. Jess needed me.

I pulled up at the correct house. I gawked at it. It was something magnificent beyond what Victor Salvatore or Gregory Donovan had. I was looking at a palace. It was surprising because Castellano was hardly someone you heard about on a day-to-day basis despite his reputation as one of the most powerful men in this city. I began to suspect that, looking at where he lived now, it was his wealth that gave him that status and not some legendary crime record. I climbed out of my car and stretched fiercely. It had been a long drive. I needed the walk.

Two bodyguards as stiff as statues stood at the entrance to his home, and they demanded identification. One of them asked for my weapon. I told him to shove it. I carried a firearm by law and I was here for protection, not a tea party. He gave me no emotional response to that and spoke into his walkie-talkie for a few seconds before giving me the clear. I went in. It was bright inside. Plenty of white. Dozens of exotic flowers and grand decor. Castellano was certainly a man who knew how to be wealthy and show it. It was quite eccentric, yet strangely beautiful. I didn't know exactly how many bodyguards he had, but there were more than enough to make any threat negligible. Although I knew that wasn't entirely true. Any defence had a weak point. It was just a matter of identifying it. After all I was right there in his home; completely under the radar. A hearty voice interrupted my thoughts.

"The famous Jack Mercer! Welcome, welcome."

I was taken back. I didn't expect the warm greeting, but there was Paul Castellano at the top of the balcony, spreading his arms and smiling at me from above. He was somewhat overweight and had beady eyes. He had on a white silk shirt and jewellery. I had no eye for fashion, so what he wore stopped registering in my mind past that point. He appeared rather feminine to me. He was just the splitting image of someone who had more money than he knew what to do with.

"I apologise for your trouble at the door, with my men wanting to remove your firearm. They're just doing their jobs."

He descended the stairs and approached me. He shook my hand with enthusiasm.

"Can I get you some refreshment perhaps? Or would you mind some comfort?"

I stared. Was his over-politeness and eager-to-please demeanour a ruse? Or was he simply not much of a threat after all, and it was just his wealth that gave him the name? I knew that people didn't get to where he was without having some degree of ruthlessness or cunning.

"No thank you, Mr Castellano-"

"Please, call me Paul."

"I'm on official police business. I'm here to offer protection because I believe your life may be under threat. Are you aware that someone is targeting the mob?"

Castellano appeared thoughtful, "Nasty business that. But Jack I'm sure that you've seen I have all the protection I need right here."

"Just following orders, Paul. Word of advice: you shouldn't underestimate this person. He got to both Victor Salvatore and Gregory Donovan. I bet they thought they were safe as well."

"This is true. Fair enough. I'll let you get to it then."

"Actually I need to speak to you. In private if you don't mind."

He summed me up, "Certainly, certainly. Right this way."

My mobile phone rang. I took it out. It was Sarah.

"I'll have to take this. I'll just be a minute."

He nodded as I picked up the phone.

"You need to hear this."

"What's up?"

"I got an anonymous tip. It came out of nowhere; landed up right at the office on my desk. Jack, it contained some evidence that's pretty damning to Gregory Donovan."

My heart began to thump, but immediately my mind began to work. I had to remain composed.

"Seriously? Do you think it's from the same person who sent you that warning about Will Harding being a mole?"

"Possibly. It may even tie into your vigilante killer."

"What did you find?"

"Turns out that Donovan was not only a sick slaver, but a human trafficker. He ran a big time operation buying and selling able bodies. Prostitutes, workers, you name it. He probably even recruited and trained men for his whole operation. He's a supplier of many of the mob's men and various forms of 'entertainment'. According to the information here, apparently the brawls with those slaves has been a tradition in the Donovan family for years. Whoever killed him, Jack, just destroyed the mob's business on this end."

I contemplated that. The mob would definitely feel that loss. Good.

"What of Victor Salvatore?"

"The source's information was about Donovan only. We haven't been able to stir much up about Salvatore since his murder. The man was definitely retired. At best we've got evidence of dirty money and other small bites here and there, which was expected I guess. It's nothing major. Salvatore was a veteran at this after all, and from the last generation. The people and evidence to damn him have long been buried."

I retreated to my mind. Donovan had implied that Victor Salvatore had been a mentor to them, when he had told me about Reece's meeting with him. I decided to throw that onto the table with a little white lie, since Sarah obviously didn't know about my altercation with Donovan.

"Castellano implied that Salvatore was a mentor of sorts for the mob. A teacher."

"So his death burns the knowledge tree?"

"Hmm."

"Makes you think doesn't it? Jack, if I didn't know any better I would say that this vigilante killer of yours is single-handedly trying to cripple the mob."

"Maybe. It sounds like it. But if that's the case can the killer really be working alone?" I said, stirring the pot, "I mean how could he, or she, accomplish all this without help? The anonymous information; the way the killer has got to these people. We don't know that it's a lone wolf."

"People can achieve some pretty amazing feats when they have the right motivation. But you're right. Let's not rule out the possibility that this person has help."

I reflected. An anonymous tip? Who would possibly have access to information of that level? It was now becoming apparent that I was getting into something deep. Sarah was convinced that the vigilante killer and the anonymous source were one and the same. Of course I knew that there was no actual vigilante killer. But the anonymous source sounded like a new player in the game. For now I could not concern myself with it. I'd just take it as a stroke of good fortune that the mob suffered more with Gregory's death than I had originally thought.

"Jack?"

"Sorry, I was just thinking. Tell me, Sarah, what do you know about Castellano?"

"He keeps to himself. I know that he's a businessman; owns a number of companies and properties all over the place including a bank - which is used by many people affiliated with the mob. He may be the one who moves their money. He's the richest man in this city after all."

I was certain his companies and properties were fronts for mob activity as well, and his bank was damning evidence that he had a key part to play in all of this. An empire of wealth was at his fingertips, and there were few problems that money could not solve. But something didn't feel right about him. He seemed too clean almost. There had to be something he was hiding. After Gregory Donovan my mind could only find comfort in assuming the worst.

"How are you holding up, Sarah?"

"I'm alright. I can deal with Cornero. And on your end?"

I paused for a moment.

"Listen...about earlier I-"

"Don't worry about it, Jack."

"You know that I care about you, right?"

"I know."

I didn't know what to say after that.

"We'll catch up later," Sarah broke the silence.

"Be safe," I replied, wishing that I had more to offer.

The call ended. I slipped my phone back into my pocket. I followed some smartly-dressed man who directed me to Castellano. I stepped into a cosy, air-conditioned room that was spacious and well-decorated. There was a large, expensive-looking mat on the floor, a few couches and a great view of a beautiful garden. I wondered if living so extravagantly made one forget where they came from.

Castellano was already seated and he beckoned to an open chair as he nursed a drink in his hand and eyed a box of cigars on the glass table. He briefly opened the lid of a laptop, clicked and placed it onto the table. I noted it; specifically the fact that he had not needed to type in anything to get to his desktop, which meant it wasn't password protected. As I approached I glanced at the walls. There were pictures of people I didn't recognise. Perhaps it was Castellano's family. Was he married? I didn't know. I saw a briefcase on the desk, which I kept in mind. There were some odd choices of ornaments around the place, one of which included a rabbit's foot. I picked it up from the counter.

"If a rabbit's foot is so lucky, what happened to the rabbit that it came from?"

Castellano laughed at that, "That's certainly something to ponder."

I seated myself. I decided that I would test Castellano's polite demeanour and willingness to cooperate. Maybe I would be able to glean the information I needed from him without threats or violence. He was secure enough in his palace, and unlike Gregory Donovan's son or Victor Salvatore's free invitation to his home, I had not found anything to exploit here. I had no trump card.

"I have a few questions for you, Paul, that I was hoping you could help me with."

"Fire away my good man. I have nothing to hide."

I almost scoffed out loud. People who truly had nothing to hide generally didn't feel the need to affirm it with words. A man like Castellano was made from the ashes of buried secrets.

"I'm sure that you read about the weapons shipment I put a stop to at the docks some time ago? What can you tell me about it?"

Castellano mulled it over, "I hope you don't think those were my weapons by any chance. I'm a man who enjoys beautiful things. I have no taste for guns and bloodshed. I'm a businessman."

"The thought hadn't crossed my mind. So, do you know anything about it?"

"I must say reading about it in the papers surprised me just as much as the rest."

I decided to push my luck a bit.

"I spoke to Gregory Donovan before he died. I asked him about it as well. He said that things have been tense among you big boys lately. His words not mine. He said that someone most likely brought in those guns in case things blew out of proportion."

"Hmm. I'm sorry to say, Jack, that whatever the reason is I don't have any stake in it. Like I said I don't get involved in all that. I keep to myself and I do my business."

That meant the guns had been brought in either by Luis Kane or Anthony Cornero. Considering that Cornero was the most dangerous and feared man in this city, I chalked it up to being his doing. The explanation I had got from Donovan had seemed sound enough. But I never thought that Castellano had been behind it. I initially had a few suspicions given that he was a businessman and all, but seeing him in person dismissed the idea. I mostly had wanted to just test how open he'd be with me about it.

"Alright. Then I've got another question for you."

"By all means. I'm happy to help."

He waited patiently as I looked on. I took a moment to summon the courage.

"My family..."

His eyes became sympathetic. That startled me.

"Do you know who murdered them?"

He set his drink down, and then leaned forward in his chair.

"Jack, if I could tell you I would. No, I'm not hiding it. I don't know. I know what you went through. I lost my first wife years ago. If you're asking me off the record here..."

"Yes of course. Off the record."

"Look you can't repeat what I say here to anyone. I mean it. My best guess would be that either Luis Kane or Anthony Cornero knows something about it. About who did it, I mean."

I felt out of my depth. Castellano was being too open about it. Did he know something? Or was he truly sincere? The thought seemed ludicrous in my mind. I could not weigh him up.

I played anyway, "Why would you say that?"

He shrugged, "Let's not kid ourselves here. I'm just a businessman. We both know how dangerous they are. They're a violent breed. I can't say anymore than that I'm afraid."

"Can't or you won't?"

"Can't. I don't know anything for certain."

I wondered then if I should bring Jess into the equation. I didn't know. He was pleading the innocent party to pretty much everything. I didn't know what to make of it all. He didn't look like the murdering type, but then again Gregory Donovan had not looked like the slaver type either. The word I'd attach to Castellano based on first impressions was 'shrewd'. If I had been a different man I might have fell victim to his grandeur. I had become far too cynical to see anything other than another man I could not trust. Perhaps just like the other dogs he needed the right incentive in order to obey. I did not like the way he had been quick to deflect the blame onto Kane and Cornero for my family's murder. It was telling, but it was also admittance to me that he knew something. Before I could probe any further, he said something that sparked my suspicion.

"Jack, if you wouldn't mind I will have to ask you to leave by sunset."

I frowned and eyed him up, "I thought I had your blessing to do my job. I have to ask why. That isn't wise, given what you know."

Castellano waved me away, "I have business to attend to this evening. Only a few of my most trusted employees will be allowed in the house at that time. I do appreciate your services, but business is business. I'm sure you can understand."

"You do realise this killer of ours put down both Victor Salvatore and Gregory Donovan, right? Your acquaintances."

"I understand that. Really I do. But my plans tonight cannot be put on hold. I am safe here."

It seemed that I didn't have much of a choice. It puzzled me why the man was not willing to accept my presence given what he knew of the killer. What was so important that just had to be done tonight? I decided not to press the matter further, but I was definitely on alert now. I told him that I wouldn't stick around much longer. I'd get out of his way soon enough. He thanked me cordially. I left his office. I waited around pretending to be busy. Time passed slowly. Eventually Castellano exited his office, saw me on my mobile phone and informed me that he was going to have a drink by the pool. I watched him go. I did not trust the man. Neither did I believe that he was clean.

I knew that I should have left him as he did not know anything about what had happened to my family, but he could have been fooling me. What business did he have tonight that required only his most trusted bodyguards to be present? He was, by appearances, the mover of the mob's money. By keeping up the whole image of not being involved he was actually the perfect secret keeper. He was obviously hiding something. Perhaps I could find out more on his laptop or inside his briefcase. I did not care if I was being paranoid. I wasn't going to take the chance. I was here. I would not get another opportunity to be on the inside like this. I wouldn't get another opportunity where Castellano would be occupied, giving me liberty to act. I also had no time frame to work with on when Sarah would recall me, and there was always the chance of some other complication would arising. I had to act. I suspected he'd be more willing to talk once he had the right incentive.

I had an idea. There would be no way to get into his palace without suspicion later. The one thing that worked in my favour was that Castellano had told me that there'd only be a few people allowed in the house by tonight. I did not know how many a 'few' was by his standards, but it sounded promising. I texted Sarah to say that I'd be here until evening and we'd catch up later. I turned my phone on silent then. I casually made my way to the stairs. I didn't know if I'd be allowed to go up. Maybe being an officer would help. I pretended to look like I had a purpose. No one interrupted me. One or two guards gave me looks, but I supposed they all knew that I was here to offer protection. I checked out the rooms looking for Castellano's. I found it easily enough. It was by far the most luxurious bedroom in the place. There was a huge bed with brilliant red and gold sheets; the carpet itself was a maroon colour and the furniture was of a strange taste. I noticed a gigantic wardrobe across the room. I quietly strode over to it, double-checked that I wasn't being watched and opened it. It was big enough to fit a family. It would serve my purposes. I stepped out of the room again.

"What do you think you're doing?"

I started. One of the guards looked at me accusingly.

"Checking how secure this place is," I rather lamely stated.

"Snooping around the boss' room? You got no business in there."

I decided to strong-arm him.

"Listen I don't know if you're aware, but your boss is being targeted by a killer who has single-handedly taken out two of the biggest mob bosses in this city. You don't know what you're up against. I do. So I suggest you stay out of my way while I search for security leaks."

The man glared at me before taking off swearing under his breath. I waited nonchalantly at the balcony. I had to choose the right moment. My heartbeat started to quicken. The guard I had mouthed off had went into another room. There was one below me who had his back turned. There was one outside smoking a cigarette. There was another pacing down below who didn't notice me. I had a small window of opportunity. It was my chance. I was about to move when a door opened to my left and the guy who I had briefly exchanged words with emerged again. I had almost messed up. He walked towards me and I tensed, but then he started descending the stairs. He made his way out of the front door.

If I wanted to do it, it had to be now. I tried to be as quiet as I could as I went back to Castellano's room. What I was about to do was both stupid and reckless. I could so easily get caught and mess everything up. But my gut told me that Castellano was hiding something important. And I intended to find out what that was. If he did know something about Jess I would force it out of him when he was alone and vulnerable. I headed over to the wardrobe.

I stepped inside and retreated behind a rack of clothes. My plan was to hide out until after dark, and then get a look at what Paul Castellano had so urgently planned. It would have been pretty safe to call me a fool at this point. But I didn't see another way that I would be able to be on the inside, or a more important moment. It had to be this way. Once I was sure that I had made myself as small as possible, I closed my eyes and faded from the world.

I awoke to voices. I reprimanded myself for dozing off for the umpteenth time. I checked my phone. It was evening. I shook myself awake and focused on what was happening outside of the wardrobe.

"There we go, gently now. Put this on. That's it."

It was Castellano's voice. He sounded almost soothing. What was going on?

"We have quite the night ahead of us, my sweet. A wonderful night indeed. Don't you worry, dear, it won't be painful like last time, or unpleasant if you cooperate. I just need to finish up downstairs, and then it will be our time. In the meantime, make yourself comfortable and please do try not to twist and turn; you'll damage your skin and you know how much I don't like that. Ring the bell if you need anything."

I was confused. What sort of weird games was he into? I knew everyone had their flavours, sure, but what I'd heard sounded disturbing. I hoped to God I wasn't interrupting some kinky night he'd planned with his mistress. Probably his second wife. He had mentioned something before about losing his first wife years ago, so the implication that he'd remarried was obviously there. I did not want to be in his private quarters while all of it went on. But it did give me the perfect chance to snoop around for the duration of his happy time. I wanted to get access to his laptop or briefcase. I heard Castellano leave the room, and the door shut. I was sure I could be quiet enough to get out without the woman hearing, and if I failed my gun would do well to shut her up. As carefully as I could I opened the wardrobe door and crawled out.

My eyes unintentionally caught sight of the figure on the bed. Sheer horror prevented me from moving an inch; from even breathing. It was not his wife. It was not a grown woman. It was just a girl. She could not have been more than twelve years old. She was naked except for thin panties that barely concealed her. She was blindfolded and handcuffed to the bed; her body laying still on the red sheets. There was an ugly bruise on her hip, and another on her thigh. All of her dignity had been stripped away with her clothes. Her body was hardly even developed. She was only a child. Her entire life had been snatched away from her.

I averted my eyes. Instantly my senses went into overdrive. I felt sick. I felt rage. My insides burned. My teeth clenched. My hands balled into fists. I felt as though my lungs were about to burst. And all rationalisations fell away as I once again saw the true face of this city. I had been a fool to not expect this from Castellano, to not expect him to be as disgusting and vile as the rest of them. I reached for my holster and drew my gun as if in a hollow trance. I placed the suppressor over the barrel. The girl on the bed did not move. I did not know if she could hear me or not. I wanted to go over to her. I wanted to reassure her and tell her that everything was going to be alright. But I could not risk her screaming. I could not risk her getting more afraid than she probably was. And so my mind found a target to direct all of its wrath: Paul Castellano.

What little control I had slipped away. I saw silver stars. My face felt hot. There was a dull ebbing in my ears. I felt as though I was having an attack. I struggled. I put all of my energy into what I had to do. I cocked the Beretta. The girl jumped at the sound. I advanced towards the door swaying on my feet. I listened if anyone was on the outside. I heard nothing. I pulled it open. The corridor was empty. With each second that passed the anger grew more intense. I tried to control my breathing. I failed. I stepped over to the balcony. There were no bodyguards in sight. I began my descent. A roaring erupted in my gut. My heart went wild. Anxiety set in. But my mind was clear.

I saw him before I reached the bottom. Castellano was sitting in front of a massive television screen with a bowl of fruit next to him and a pile of papers spread out on the table in front of him. His laptop was on the seat to his side. He had his back turned to me. There was no escaping it anymore. There was no escaping what I was; what I had to do. There could be no more running. It was the only way. After what I had seen up in that room I could not leave here without doing what was necessary. The anger was so intense, so overwhelming that I became secondary to it. The beast called for blood once more.

I did not make a sound as I approached Castellano. I aimed the gun at the back of his head. For a fleeting moment I wanted it to be quick. I wanted him to not even have the basic understanding of what was happening to him. For him to know nothing. I wanted to kill him with less care than I would have given to a bothersome fly. But there was also a part of me, a stronger part, that wanted something else. His fear. The look of dread and panic in his eyes that I would get the moment before he died. My gun hand was perfectly steady.

"Paul Castellano."

He jumped. He turned. I saw the stages of his reaction all unfold in a matter of seconds. First surprise spread across his face. Then recognition. Followed by shock. Then at last pure, earth-shattering terror. Unlike any other time, I enjoyed it. I did not give him another moment. I squeezed the trigger. I didn't miss. A startlingly loud pop burst from the gun, echoing in the vast space, and his head jerked back as though hit by a rocket. A thick glob of blood splattered the floor and he crumbled like a sack of dirt, slamming into the table in front of him. It caused a loud crash as it gave way from the impact of his weight. The roaring disappeared. I breathed again.

I heard a loud clatter. In a flash I brought my gun towards the direction of the noise. Standing there was the security guard that I had had a spat with outside Castellano's room. He was a recurring irritation for me today. I tensed. He looked shell-shocked as he took in the scene and the gun pointing at him. It happened in moments.

"Don't be stupid," I warned. He had seen me. This was a problem.

He reached for his hip. Idiot. Anger snatched away all mercy. I fired one shot that struck him in the throat. He clutched at it, gargling as he choked on his own blood. He dropped. I turned around and ran. I made my way to the door and removed the suppressor from my Berretta. I stored it safely away in my jacket pocket. I had no time left. People had to have heard something by now. I had to get out. I'd been so reckless, but I didn't have any choice. It had to be done. I couldn't let what I had seen stand. No one could. I was empty inside once again. I reached the main entrance. I half expected an army of guards to come bursting in. But no one came. I pulled the door open and the still night air greeted me. I scurried over the grass towards the gate glancing in every direction and keeping my gun at the ready. But it was like a wasteland.

I turned towards the gate and stopped dead; the surprise crippling me. Mounted on the wall in front of me, staring directly into my face, was a security camera. Panic erupted wildly inside of me. I stood there paralyzed like a child. How could I have made such a stupid mistake? How could I have not seen it? Was the camera on? Was it recording? I heard shouting. Men were coming. I did not have the time to make a decision. I took off towards the gate gunning my legs as fast as I could. I was completely exposed. There was no cover here. The gate loomed close. A burst of sound shattered the night sky. A decorative tree near to where I was standing faced the wrath of the bullet that plunged into it. About three men were running out from the shadows, and chaos burst free. I doubled back and ran not knowing where I was going. Bullets whizzed at me. I was now at the mercy of dumb luck and the inaccuracy of firearms fired under pressure. This would be a foolish death.

I turned a corner. I was terrified. I had no idea how many men were closing in or where I was supposed to go. I continued forward. I was circling the mansion now. Maybe there was another exit? I heard the men behind me. I quickened my pace. Another shot sounded behind me. My eyes glimpsed a way out ahead. It was a small gate ideal for people only. A vehicle would not fit through it. I charged towards it. I slammed into it harder than I had anticipated. I rattled it and pushed it at it. I swore. The damn thing was locked.

I launched myself away from it as bullets flew at the wall. I turned and fired four shots. Unsuppressed my Berretta was ear-shatteringly loud. Nothing hit, but it was just meant to split them up. The adrenaline in my body was in overdrive. I spotted another guard in the distance. I was screwed. I made a sharp turn and I was back in front of the entrance doors. The main gates were still there in the distance. There was only one guard between me and it. I squeezed the trigger three times in quick succession. I missed him and he kept himself low to avoid any further gunfire. My Berretta held fifteen rounds. I had already used nine shots. If I ran for the main gates the other three men would trap me in from behind. The only choice I had was to circle back again. I couldn't keep it up for much longer. I took off in a sprint once again. I would have to bust through that small gate around back or climb over, because I was out of options. I charged around the corner again.

The impact knocked the wind out of me. One of the men had decided to do the reverse of what I had attempted, and we collided hard. His gun went off and my eardrums rung painfully from the noise. But I was damn lucky. The bullet went into the sky. He was off-balance. The recoil at such an odd angle had rendered his gun hand useless for a precious few seconds. I still had mine. There was no time to screw around anymore. It would be over in an instant. I saw the outcome. I acted on instinct. I threw my forearm forward viciously and struck him in the trachea at the base of his neck. His gun dropped and he immediately clutched at his throat with his hands, gasping for air; a somatic reflex. It could cause asphyxiation and possible death. I wasn't going on maybes. I wasn't taking the chance that he could recover enough to shoot me in the back. He was wide open for the next strike. I grabbed him and put out all of the force I could muster into a powerful knee strike to his groin. It would cause vomiting; his lungs would fill with fluid and he'd face certain death. I didn't wait around to confirm it. I didn't need to waste the bullet. I raced on. I heard his wretched noises. It was a cruel death. But he would have killed me if given the chance.

I could suddenly hear a sound in the distance becoming louder by the second. Police sirens. I was momentarily stunned. Who the hell had called the cops? How had they got here so quickly? I screamed as pain exploded in my hip. I ran instinctively. My side felt blazing hot; warm liquid seeped into my clothes. I'd been shot. I clutched at the wound and pressed on with all that I had. I had only six bullets remaining. The sirens had distracted me. It had cost me dearly. I heard more bullets slam into the area around me. Then the shooting was halted. I heard men shouting urgently. Had they heard the sirens too? What was going on over there? The men had stopped chasing me. I heard more gunshots. Had the police got here already? I didn't know. I had to get to that gate.

I fled around back. I stopped. The gate was wide open. How? It had been closed just a minute ago. Was someone waiting for me? I didn't have any options left. I ran for it; the pain forcing me to grit my teeth and bear it. I felt a lot of blood. I didn't know the extent of the damage, but I was lucky it had not crippled me. I suspected that the bullet had grazed me rather than lodged itself in. How long could I ride my luck like this? I scrambled over to the gate with my gun held out in front of me. I sprinted full on and clumsily slammed my shoulder against the wall. I cried out and grabbed onto the wall.

I heard a shout behind me. Multiple gunshots sounded out. I didn't have time to react as the bullets slammed into the wall fractions away from my arm and I recoiled violently. I cried out as my gun spun wildly out of my hands. I did not even have to look to know that it was too far away. I could not get it. I had to escape. I flung myself out of the gate and shut it behind me. I ran as fast as I could in my condition. Had the police moved in? Who had opened the gate? I didn't have time to contemplate the unknown. I had to reach my car. I felt slightly weak. The blood loss was starting to take effect.

The gate was some sort of side entrance to the mansion. I tried to get my bearings. My car was a bit of walk from where I was. The sirens sounded as though they were right on my heels. I could still hear gunshots. It looked like the mobsters had company. It was probably the police. I still did not know who had called them. The gunshot noises could not have been enough to get them to Castellano's mansion so quickly. People didn't reach for their phones to call the police the moment they heard gunshots. They fled first. I reached my car, hurriedly unlocked it and almost threw myself inside it. I started the engine and brought the car to life. I sped away immediately, fighting to ignore the burning pain in my hip as I raced home.

The pain from the gunshot wound in my hip was agonising. I hated it, but at the same time I welcomed it. The pain brought me a twisted sense of relief; it told me I could still feel. I staggered into my bathroom and ripped my jacket off. My aching shoulder protested in pain. I wasn't completely disabled. That was a good sign. My top was matted to my side from the blood. I used a scissors to slice through it and tear it off. I stared at my reflection in the mirror. I already looked like the walking dead, over and above my injuries.

I was a dumb bastard. I was so damn lucky. I had almost been shot in the arm. But all I had walked away with was a bruise from knocking into the wall. It was another false belief people had from fiction that getting shot in the shoulder or arm was considered a non-lethal wound that didn't disable you. I was stupidly lucky to have avoided it. In reality if I had been directly hit, there were plenty of vital organs that could have suffered. The shoulder contained the subclavian artery, which fed the brachial artery, or in other words the main artery of the arm. It also fed the brachial plexus, which was the large nerve bundle that controlled arm function. Long story short if I had got hit in the brachial plexus I probably wouldn't have been walking around like this, and I'd have needed immediate surgery. I would be out of commission and suffering from severe pain, blood vessel damage and possible loss of motor function, which could potentially never return to full health.

I turned my attention to my hip. I almost laughed through the pain. I was so lucky I could have sworn divine intervention had taken its toll. There had been lots of blood, but it looked far worse than it was. The bullet had grazed the outside, fatty part of my abdomen. It was like getting swiped in the love handle. I was fortunate that the bullet had sliced it and had not struck anything vital. It certainly scared me that if the bullet had made a solid hit a few inches closer towards my abdomen, it could have led to serious damage to my bowels or intestines. High risk of infection, surgery and many possible complications would have just been the start. I knew that I had come close to an end.

Right then my immediate treatment was to stop the bleeding, clean the wound and make sure it was sealed to avoid infection or any dirt getting in. It was going to hurt, but it was doable. However before the night was up I definitely needed to visit a small hospital to check on the wound and get it sewn up. For now I had to do the best that I could on my own. An hour later I was sprawled on my couch, exhausted from the events of tonight and the self-treatment I had issued to my wound. I was bandaged up now around the hip, and had taken what painkillers I could find to manage the ebbing ache. I closed my eyes.

But there was to be no rest for me, as my thoughts aligned in a flash. Abruptly I jolted. I turned cold. Memories returned to the forefront of my mind. The security camera had seen me, and I had dropped my gun at the scene. I felt nauseous. My stomach churned as though I had not eaten in weeks. My head pained. The sheer amount of stress was so overpowering that I felt as though I was about to go mad. I was done. The mob would discover me from the security camera. The police would find the gun at the scene and identify my fingerprints. Even though I had used gloves, I knew that I had touched the gun many times with my bare hands in the comfort of my home, with my guiltiest moments coming in during the construction of the suppressor. It had been a negligent oversight on my part to have not wiped the prints off it. The police would also find traces of my blood at the scene. They scoured crime scenes so thoroughly that they would be able to find a strand of hair under a damn kitchen appliance if they wanted to enough.

I had messed up big time. I had always known that one day it could happen. That my cover would be blown. But not in the way that it had happened. Not when it could have been prevented. Not so early. I had sworn that I would not let anger or irrational impulse control me. I had broken that vow, like I always did. I had let my weakness take over when I had seen the girl chained up on Paul Castellano's bed like an object. But how could anyone have just walked away from that without doing what was necessary? There was no other solution.

I tossed and turned in the chair. The clock was ticking. My time was running out. In a matter of hours it would be over. I was going to be a fugitive. I had failed Jess. I shook my head and slapped my face. No. Not yet. I was not going to sit here and feel sorry for myself. I had always known what I was getting into. I had known what I had promised myself. I didn't care about what happened to me. All that mattered was that I had to find Jess. She was still out there. And I was not dead yet.

With a grim finality I realised that I had to leave. I could not stay in my house past the night. The time it took forensics to identify fingerprints varied. Naturally low-profile cases like a vehicle burglary would not be considered high priority and could take days, weeks or worst case even months if the investigating firm had low resources. But the events of the night? Paul Castellano, the wealthiest man in this city, dead in his own home? A twelve year old girl chained up in a bed upstairs? Two mobsters dead on site? A full on fire fight at the crime scene? The police would want to know what had happened yesterday already. And when they found my Berretta isolated from the rest of the fight at the foot of an open gate, with bullet holes on the adjacent wall, Sarah or even any other half-assed cop on the scene would conclude that the gun had been dropped from someone who had been trying to get away. Then they'd identify the fingerprints on that gun in a matter of hours. I knew that I had that time, because even if my fingerprints were identified within a few hours there would be no immediate action. The authorities were not always the fastest to act. I didn't have long though; probably not longer than tonight. I might have lost my Berretta, but I still had my police-issued Glock. With some minor modifications I was sure that I could get the suppressor in my pocket to fit it just fine.

As for the mob it would take time for one of the men from Castellano's mansion to get the word around that I was the killer. The security footage was still there of course, but that would take a while to get to as well. In their worst case scenario, which was that the footage was not seen and all the mobsters on scene got killed by the police who had moved in, they'd still have enough reach in law enforcement itself to learn that my fingerprints were on that Beretta and I was the police's target. In other words there would be no escaping the end of my secrecy. It was inevitable.

I slowly began to feel a deep sorrow stir in my chest. I hastily moved around the house, packing what I needed to take with. I packed all of the ammunition that I had. I took whatever medication could be important. I packed clothes. While I worked I felt the sadness grow. I was leaving behind the only connection I still had to my family. Even if my home was nothing more than a pit filled with pain, it was all that I had as a link. The only remnant of my family that I would take with me was a picture in my wallet. The rest would be gone.

I forced myself to lose the sentimentality. I was doing all of it for Jess. I took one last look around the pit. I opened my door and walked into the cold air. It was drizzling now. The harder rain would come before the night was out. I knew that I couldn't afford to use my car anymore after the night ended. I couldn't take Nicole's either. Sarah would know exactly what to look for once the police discovered the car was missing. I had to rent or trade in my vehicle for another. I got into my car. It would take me where I needed to be for the time being, but I'd have to leave it behind once I got there. I had to get somewhere safe; somewhere I could hold up for tonight and fly under the radar.

I knew that I had to consider every contingency now. I only had one shot, and any mistake would become permanent. I allowed myself to think, and brought forth what I knew as a detective. I had to think of what I would do if I had been on their end. The first move then became the easiest one to make. Before the night ended one of my priorities would have to be to withdraw as much money as I possibly could from both mine and Niccole's bank accounts. I would have to find an ATM as soon as I could. Once the cat was out of the bag the police would freeze our accounts. It was standard protocol for law enforcement when on a manhunt. It was one of the easiest ways to flush a runner out. Paranoia ensured that I ended up making the ATM my first destination of the night, and before long I had enough money to last me a good long while as far as survival, food and accommodation was concerned.

I hurried as quickly as I could to the nearest hospital and used my police badge to gain priority treatment. I wouldn't have to stay long. It was just a simple check up and a sewing of the wound. I had done most of the preliminary work to prevent infection or worsening of the injury. But it wasn't a perfect science, and so I let the doctor do his job. He was fairly impressed with my treatment, and gave me his best wishes before writing me a prescription for painkillers and sending me on my way. I had double-checked the side effects of those pills with him. I did not want my performance to be impaired. I had to be sharp from here on out. I could not afford any mistakes.

Tomorrow I would be a wanted man. Wanted alive by the police and wanted dead by the mob. There would be no more clutching to the safety of the darkness. I was alone. I started driving. With an ebbing sorrow I thought of Sarah. In a matter of hours I would lose her. My heartbeat slowed. My emotions deadened. And I was less than empty. I hoped that she would understand.

All that I had left was Jess now. I knew that one day I would have to tell my daughter the truth. I would have to tell her all that I had to do to get her back. I would have to tell her that I was a killer. Would she understand? Despite feeling drained and empty, in that moment I began to weep uncontrollably. She had to understand. My Jess had to. Otherwise all of it would have been for nothing. Please, God, don't let it all be for nothing, I pleaded to a higher power. The tears rolled down my face and I could not stop crying. I was broken. Time passed. I didn't know how long I had driven for or how far I had gone. I just kept driving. I needed to rest. I needed to think about my next move. I truly had nothing left now. Nothing besides Jess. She was everything that I had left to live for. My mobile phone rang, jarring me from my thoughts. I looked over at it on the passenger seat.

It was Sarah.

I chastised myself, as I knew that I should have left the phone behind. I had already made my first mistake. The police could have been tracking me already. I swore to myself. What was I supposed to do? I reached for the phone. The next few seconds, or minutes, would change everything. I was not ready.

The phone continued to ring. The last memory I had of her was telling her to be safe. That was nice. There was something sincere in that. But I knew that answering the phone meant I could destroy that. Yet, a distant part of me had to know what Sarah wanted to say. I already knew what she would think. I knew her well. That's what the voice of reason told me. But for a long time Sarah had been all that I knew I had with certainty. I owed her. I owed myself. I answered the call. Wordlessly I raised the phone to my ear.

I could hear her breathing. She didn't speak, and neither did I. The quiet instead spoke the words that could not be said. And for a long moment that was all that existed between us. I could do nothing but hold onto the call; a lifeline and a death sentence. Finally after a few, endless seconds, I heard her voice. It was shaken. Wrecked. The voice of someone whose world had come crashing down.

"Jack, what have you done?"

Hearing the tone of her voice in that moment broke what little there was left of me to break. She was horrified. I was a monster to her. I had already lost her. I fought with myself. I wanted to tell her why I had done what I had. I wanted to tell her that I was going to find Jess. I wanted to explain myself. I wanted to tell her that I was sorry. I wanted to beg for her forgiveness for lying to her, manipulating her and doing all that I had done right in front of her eyes without her seeing. I wanted to try and convey my regret and agony over having betrayed her after all she had done for me. There had to be some combination of words out there that could explain all of it.

But nothing came. I felt regret that cut into my core. I had ruined Sarah; broken her trust, and her heart. I thought of Jess. I lowered the phone. I looked ahead into the black. I ended the call. I dropped the phone out of the open window, severing my ties with everything that I had once had. And I knew. Jack Mercer was dead. The beast broke free.

##  Chapter 11: The Caged Animal

Almost a week had passed. Tonight the darkness was infinite. The wind howled, the cold was unrelenting. Noise was at a minimum. And I held onto it, as my safe haven and as my keeper. I pulled my cap down, and set my deliberately large sunglasses in place. I sat alone at a table eating slowly and regaining my strength. I had needed the time to recover and to set myself up somewhere else; to fade into the shadows. This small cafe had an open bar and I faced it, watching the bartender to see if he showed any sign of recognition or suspicion. There was a television mounted above him that was still playing the news of the death of Paul Castellano, and lining it up with the demise of Victor Salvatore and Gregory Donovan. Just like Donovan, Castellano's dirty secret involving the twelve year old girl had also been unveiled, destroying his reputation. But I knew that his demise had also put an end to his 'business', and that would have hit the mob hard.

The police had refused to comment on the case of the hit-man targeting the mob bosses. I had not been in contact with Sarah again. I knew that she would keep my identity out of the media. The police would too. It would be insanity on their part to reveal that one of their own was murdering mob bosses in cold blood. It would also be stupidity; it would sign their own death warrants. But the reality, the truth, was there for me to face. I had lost her. I had lost all allies. I was alone.

The mob knew. The cops knew. Sarah knew. Jack Mercer was a killer. Jack Mercer had gone off the rails. Jack Mercer was considered armed and highly dangerous. Jack Mercer was insane. There was now a city-wide manhunt for me and the public did not know. The good people did not know of the police officer who had turned to murder. They only knew what the news had said. That there was a killer out there who was hunting the mob. And I knew that silently they cheered. In the comfort of their own homes and among their families, they revelled in the deaths of these evil men.

I gingerly touched my side and rotated my shoulder. The pain was practically gone. I nearly had full functionality back. I was alright. I felt again for my sidearm. It had become an hourly habit. I was slipping into paranoia. Losing my Berretta had been a major mistake, but it had not been the first one. Perhaps it was better that way. Even if it had only been the mob who had known I was the killer, I would have needed to run anyway. In my city the mob and the police were like rats in a cage; there wasn't a whole lot one could do without the other knowing. I had always known that I was living on borrowed time. I had always known that this would only end if I found Jess or died. I could hear the bartender talking to some man who was having a drink at the counter, and I took interest when their discussion became relevant to me.

"Hey Mike have you been watching the news?" the man asked the bartender.

"You talking about the killer who's going after mob bosses?"

"Yeah. It's crazy, man. He capped Salvatore, Donovan and Castellano."

The bartender whistled.

"And get this. I heard from a friend of mine, who heard from his friends, that they're calling this guy the Reaper."

The Reaper? I almost laughed. It looked like little Reece Donovan had definitely spread the message I had left with him, and had taken my words quite literally.

"According to my pal he could be the same guy who killed that dirty cop Will-something, and the very same guy who put a bullet through the brain of Hal Edwards. Remember that dickhead? Everyone was so shit scared of him, and then one night he turns up with scrambled eggs for brains."

"Dan why do you get so excited about this shit, man? It's best we keep out of it and try not to talk too loudly about it."

"You don't get it, man. I hear the mob, those assholes, they're actually scared of this guy!"

"Bullshit. Of one guy?"

"Yeah, no shit! Well it could be more than one guy for all we know, but my pal is pretty sure it's just one. Apparently this guy is some nutjob who's got something personal against them. And he isn't done yet. He still wants to go after Cornero himself."

"So what does this all mean, Dan?"

"Christ, Mike, don't you watch the news or read the papers? Don't you hear about this from anybody else besides me? There's been no major crime for nearly this whole week man. Not even so much as a half-wit from a gang has been seen out on the streets! I'm telling you that this Reaper guy, whoever he is, he's cleaning up house."

The bartender looked nervous, "We should keep our voices down, Dan. We don't know who could be listening. I don't want trouble."

"Alright, alright. I'm just saying this guy deserves a medal! Let those assholes shit their pants for a while. They can see how the rest of us feel every goddamn day."

Their conversation died down to idle chatter. I thought about what I had heard. And I smiled.

I returned home feeling tired. I wished that I could have said that I had used the past couple of days to rest, but I had not. I had bought myself provisions to last in my motel. Everything had been paid for with cash. I didn't imagine that I'd stay for very long. Getting what I needed from the ATM in advance had been a smart move, because I was all set and already leaving no breadcrumbs for the police to follow. I had not simply sat around idly. The first order of business had been to get rid of my car, which I had traded in at a dealer shop and then paid the difference in cash to purchase a cheap car. I only needed to get from point A to B, and didn't care about the vehicle itself. The police would be looking for my old car, and so for the time being I was invisible.

I had also set to work during my recovery and had crafted items that could be of use to me on the field or as defensive measures. I had firstly put together an effective smoke bomb using potassium nitrate, sugar, wax, a cylindrical container to hold it all, a cord for the fuse and an accurate scale. Sometimes the internet just made things too easy. The problem was that I had only been able to make one model, as it required a nine hour waiting period for the mixture to set. That had done the job in ensuring that time wasn't on my side.

Another device I had crafted was a remotely detonated pipe bomb, which had taken up the bulk of my time and had been extremely tricky to get right. Pipe bombs were essentially improvised explosive devices, created using a tightly-sealed section of steel water pipe filled with explosive material. The pipe containing the mixture was closed at both ends with steel or brass caps to prevent leakage and ensure containment. A fuse was then inserted into the pipe, with lead running out through a hole in the side or capped end of the pipe. The fuse itself could be electric with wires leading to a timer and battery or it could be a common fuse that you needed to light manually. But the key aspect of a pipe bomb was that all of the components were easily obtainable.

The containment the pipe provided meant that even simple chemicals could be used to produce relatively large and lethal explosions, and the fragmentation of the pipe itself during the bang could lead to devastating shrapnel bursts. Pipe bombs were especially useful when you were in the kind of position that I was in, and had no access to fragmentation grenades or explosives of any kind. But picking the explosive mixture was tricky as you needed the right materials.

Appropriate materials could include match heads or gunpowder, although these burned slowly and resulted in a lesser rupturing velocity of the pipe than other materials, which potentially weakened the shrapnel power. I had considered black powder as well, which was known as saltpetre and was an dangerous combination of round charcoal, sulphur, and potassium nitrate. Permanganate or chlorate with sugar were both also easily available and very useful, although chlorate had a higher explosive effect of the two. Aluminium combined with carbon tetrachloride or permanganate was also an available option. It had taken a fair amount of research on my part to choose the best one. The chemistry had made my head spin. But with enough time and the internet, most things of a do-it-yourself nature became possible.

Pipe bombs, although highly dangerous, volatile, and of course illegal, were effective for getting the job done. They were mostly anti-personnel, but the right kind of bomb could also light up a vehicle like a Christmas tree. But it had been risky to build one. It was unsafe and I was the furthest thing from an expert. The most common disaster when crafting a pipe bomb, or any homemade explosive, was premature detonation if you were not careful. The materials used for the explosive mixture were highly prone to ignition by the friction and static electricity that was generated when packing the material inside the pipe tube, or attaching the steel or brass end caps. Sharp objects as well, such as nails or broken glass, that were added inside the bomb for shrapnel also increased the risk of an early detonation. Dealing with all of the complications had been somewhat of a nightmare.

It wasn't only safety to worry about either, as pipe bombs could also turn out to be defective. They could possibly fail to explode if the gas pressure build up was too slow, which could result in a bleed-out through the detonator ignition hole. Insufficiently tight threading could also lead to bleeding gas pressure through the threads faster than the chemical reaction pressure could rise, which would prevent the desired outcome. The bombs could also fail if the pipe was fully sealed and the chemical reaction triggered, but the total pressure build-up from the mixture was insufficient to burst through the casing, which meant the explosive material wasn't potent enough. That ended up being a dud bomb, but even that didn't stop it from being dangerous if incorrectly handled, as an external shock could trigger a rupture of the casing.

I smiled to myself - out of tiredness I supposed, as there was nothing humorous about my situation. You'd either need to have been completely stupid, a thrill-seeker or pretty damn desperate to attempt to create any kind of homemade explosive. I was probably two of those. But I had managed to avoid blowing myself up, so I had that going for me. It had also taken some doing on my part to figure out the remote detonator. Typically for those you needed a simple transmitter and receiver pair. On the receiving end you needed a relay that would respond to the signal from the transmitter. I couldn't be too far out of range, but a couple of generous meters and in theory I'd have full control over the detonation of the bomb.

I had considered rigging my apartment in case I had any unwanted visitors, but had decided against it as I couldn't risk a freak accident. And the obvious pitfall was that if anyone tracked me down and got to me in my sleep, I'd end up being caught inside my own trap. Instead I had set up a tripwire a few feet from the door. It wouldn't result in anything exploding, but it was tied to a metal bucket on top of some cupboard. If anyone set off my trap the loud noise of the bucket would alert me in advance, which would give me time to act. The beauty of the trap was that the tripwire itself was fairly visible, but if anyone noticed it and tried to step over it they would fall victim to the secondary wire I had set up in the shadow of the first. The result of the trap was the same, but there were two ways to trigger it.

The final item I had built was soft padding for my shoes in order to reduce the noise of my footsteps. They weren't inaudible, but if I remained careful it was doubtful anyone would hear me. Despite my new arsenal I still felt as though I could have done more. Only having one smoke bomb and pipe bomb obviously meant the danger would have to be severe enough to warrant their usage.

I was not sure what my next move was. I had not figured that part out yet knowing that both the police and mob were on full alert for me. I didn't have an idea yet of how I'd be able to get to them. I had considered using the pipe bomb on Luis Kane. Perhaps rigging his car or home but that was risky, not guaranteed to work and it had taken an obscene amount of time and effort to craft it, which meant I had to be sure when I used it. Of course the obvious problems were that if it failed he would take it as a scare-tactic and never come out of his hole, and either way I would lose the opportunity to interrogate him.

I also wasn't sure what Kane's part to play in the grand scheme of things was. Victor Salvatore had been the teacher; the old timer who commanded respect. Gregory Donovan had been human trafficking and recruitment. Paul Castellano had been the man of immense wealth and resources; no doubt the keeper of many secrets as well. Castellano had surely been rich enough to supply anyone in need, and able to move the mob's money however he pleased, given that he owned the bank that most of the mob used. But what of Kane? Anthony Cornero, as far as I knew, was the most feared and powerful man in this city. Effectively the king of kings to put it lamely. But I did not know what either of them 'specialised' in so to speak. The only thing I knew for sure was that it was either Kane or Cornero who had been behind the weapons shipment and my family's murder. It had to be one of the two. They were the only two leaders left. One of them had to have killed my family. One of them had to know where Jess was. I stole a glance at the clock. My thoughts would have to wait. It was time.

I'd been extremely busy during the week, but I had also spent the little time that I had been able to spare getting a closer look at Luis Kane. I had got a few vague ideas about him based on my surveillance. I had scraps and first impressions to work with mostly. I had considered using a listening device from one of those online spy shops to get information, but I had doubted that the quality would have been good enough, and it wouldn't have been worth the risk. I had no idea how I'd bug his place in any case. Not to mention that Kane barely stayed in one room long enough, as though he was fearing snipers or something.

Over the last few days my observations had led me to conclude that Kane was an unstable and violent brute of a man. He had a dominating physical presence; the kind of man you would never want to match blows with. It took little things to set him off, often in public. His own men were terrified of him, and it was difficult not to see why. I'd witnessed him assault one of them for dropping a crate of some unknown contents when carrying it to his car. I knew very little about him apart from that. He didn't bathe himself in wealth as much as the other mob bosses, but he was obviously a shady character. He had many visitors throughout his days. Cars went in and out all the time. What was he doing all day? Unfortunately I had no idea how I was supposed to approach him. The guy had enough bodyguards that you'd mistake him for the president. He had been driven paranoid by the looks of it. That meant he was afraid. I eyed his place through my binoculars. I had heard in the bar that the mob were actually afraid of me now. Perhaps what I saw was the effect that it had had on a man like Luis Kane.

His only redeeming quality seemed to be his daughter. I had not seen any signs of a wife. Maybe she had left him. But he had a daughter who was pregnant - very much so. Based on appearances and what I remembered with Nicole, she looked as though she would have her baby in a matter of a week or two at most. I felt a pang of sadness as it brought back memories of my wife and of Jess. I had seen Kane's daughter a few times around his place. He was a different person when she was there, but he always hurriedly ushered her behind his walls as though he was on the lookout for assassins. He truly was paranoid. On any other day his paranoia would have amused me. But it was making it impossible for me to act. There was no window of opportunity. There was no moment when he was vulnerable. There was no visible routine that I could exploit. Not from where I had been observing. I was stumped.

I sat back in my seat and turned on the radio in my car, in the hope that I would catch a bit of the news. Nothing particularly important was on. I tapped my steering wheel contemplatively. I stared straight ahead at the entrance to Luis Kane's home. I wasn't sure what I was waiting for. A sign of life perhaps. What I really wanted was evidence of an opening; of vulnerability. I wasn't getting it. Kane hid in his fort guarded by a dozen too many men. And the problem was that he could beat me at the waiting game. Jess needed me and I didn't have the luxury of stalling this one out. Maybe that's what he was hoping for; that I'd crack and do something reckless again like I had done at Paul Castellano's home. Victor Salvatore had always said that I was a hothead, and maybe now the mob was finally realising what the old man had meant.

I suddenly saw a man exit Kane's place holding a thick envelope. Too quickly he began shoving it into his jacket pocket. He was alone. He hugged himself to battle the cold and strode right past my car. Maybe there was something of interest in that envelope. I felt the icy chill of the air seep into my skin as I left my car and went after him. I had grown accustomed to the cold over the last few weeks. Both it and the rain. The pair no longer hindered me. I kept my head down and my cap over my head as I followed after the man. At best the contents of that envelope would be incriminating enough to do some damage to Kane. At worst I could get some information out of the man since he had been on the inside. I wasn't holding my breath. But it was the most promising thing that I had to go on right now, and time wasn't on my side.

The man sharply turned a corner ahead of me, and I quickened my pace to catch up. I reached the corner. With a jolt I collided with a woman. And then control of the situation left my hands. I recoiled and my sunglasses went skew on my face. I instinctively threw my hand up to catch them, which caused me to accidentally knock them cleanly to the ground instead. The woman started and let out a small cry as she dropped her bag. I tried to apologise and move on, but she squinted at me as she reached for my sunglasses on the ground. My heart thudded. She wouldn't know that I was the one the police were looking for - that news wasn't out to the public - but my face had been littered all over the papers after the arrest at the docks.

The woman let out a gasp of delight as she finally recognised me. I tried to tell her I had to go, but she burst into a story of how she was excited to finally see me up close and how her son wanted to be just like me. A nearby police officer, who seemed to have been put there solely to illustrate what bad luck meant, turned to see the commotion and squinted at my face from a distance. I backed away. The man I had been following was long gone. The police officer called out to me. I apologised to the woman, urgently telling her that I had to go, and I turned around and briskly walked. The officer shouted at me; I could almost feel him putting his hand on his gun. I broke into a run. I reached my car, flung the door open and got inside. I fumbled with the keys, swearing, but I managed to get the car started. I threw the handbrake down, adjusted the gear and jabbed my foot onto the accelerator. Thank God for automatics. I just drove. My rear-view mirror showed me the cop in the distance speaking into his radio. It didn't matter. He was too far away to see my registration number. But I couldn't take any chances. The woman had recognised me, and the officer most likely had too. And even if he had not from that distance, there had been witnesses. I drove with increased urgency as I headed back home.

I had made an amateurish mistake. My face was too easy to recognise. Most people wouldn't care when they saw me, but there always existed the chance that I would meet another like the woman. I had two options now. I could either move on or lay low. I had to pick one. I'd decide later. I grimly reflected, swearing to myself and beating myself up over what had happened. And I cynically thought that perhaps that was the moment where my luck finally started running out.

I fell onto my couch. I was even more tired now. At least I had become used to sleeping on chairs. I zoned out while staring at nothing. I was so lost. I didn't know what my next move was. I didn't know how to get to Kane. And I'd just let the only promising lead slip away from me. I put my face into my hands. I could not believe how much time had gone by since that phone call from Jess. I did not understand why she had not tried to contact me again. Surely someone, anyone, would have tried to reach out by now? I just needed something. I needed some modicum of evidence to tell me that she was alright.

The not-knowing was maddening. The stress was aging me daily. The worry was overpowering. Sometimes it felt like the only way I could function was if I drowned everything out and made myself numb to it. If I didn't think too hard and simply acted. But when you were a parent that was impossible. And when you became like me, driven only by rage, violence and desperation it was hard to keep yourself together. I had forced my bitterness about the past out of my system. I had learned. Bitterness was like a cancer that fed off its host. But anger was like fire - it burned it all clean. I was angry.

I barely recognised myself anymore. Mirrors didn't seem to reflect me when I gazed into them. They reflected only the beast. Sometimes I thought of the past and it felt like a different man's life. And like the broken mirrors, so too my past did not seem to show me as the man I used to be. In the broken mirrors I could see everything clearly, but I knew that I was ruined and I didn't have any hope of ever being fixed. Deep down I had known that I wouldn't come out of it unscathed. I had entertained the idea that I would die during my therapy sessions with Teresa Brooks. But death was not what I feared. It was feeling like this. An emptiness and a deep-rooted anger that used me as its puppet. It was crushing. I did not know how much time I had left, or what would become of me. I could only push on.

There were still moments, in the darkest hours of the night, when I faced the nightmares. When I was forced into remembering Nicole and Jess; remembering their bodies, their last moments with me and my regrets. In those moments I was Jack Mercer again, and I was in pain. But when I was out there, trying to find her, out for the blood of the men who had taken everything I had ever loved - only the beast remained. At times I wondered if it truly was too late for me. If I was already a damn psychopath. They said that a psychopath thrived on a lack of empathy. I knew that these days empathy was something that I could barely reach anymore. It was said that without empathy we truly had the potential to be monsters; capable of almost anything. I gripped the arms of my chair tightly. I needed to find my daughter. If I did not, I feared that I would end up becoming something less than human.

I needed to rest. I needed these thoughts out of my mind. I needed to be rid of my anguish. I closed my eyes. And I tried to let go. But a loud rattling soon jerked me out of my sleep. It felt like only a few seconds had passed, but glancing at the time told me that a full hour had gone by. I was feeling hot from the thick rain jacket I had on. I looked at my mobile phone, as it was the source of the noise. It was vibrating on a nearby table. I was a light sleeper these days; I didn't get much of it. But light sleeper or not there was no one who wouldn't be woken up by that menace of a vibration. I groaned and reached over for my phone. I held it up to my face. I didn't recognise the number. Who could have got it? Maybe it was just a mistake. I ignored it. It carried on ringing for a few moments. Then it stopped. I sank back into my couch to return to my slumber. But my mobile phone began ringing again. I cursed in frustration. It would go on all night if I didn't tell the person that they had the wrong number. I picked up my phone, hit the green button and put it to my ear. But before I had the chance to speak, a voice answered me in the dark.

"Jack Mercer."

My heart stopped.

"Do not hang up this phone."

The voice was robotic. The person on the other end was clearly using a voice changer. I froze up. The panic began to set in.

"Who is this? How did you get this number?" I hissed once I found my voice.

"There are three men coming to kill you."

"What?"

"They are trained assassins. Do not underestimate them. Get out of there."

Was this some kind of joke?

"Who the hell are you?" I shouted.

A short silence.

"You have five minutes."

The line went dead. I stared at my phone feeling a chill spread through my whole body. My mind went into overdrive. Who had just called me? How could he have possibly got hold of my number? Could I trust the voice? What if it was trying to lure me out into the open, and force me into leaving? Was I being watched? What was I supposed to do? The sheer level of stress forced my body to awaken. My clock showed me that one minute had passed. I had only four left.

I bolted to my feet. The panic was crippling. I closed my eyes for three seconds. I had to focus. I didn't have time to think. I had to act. For Jess. I knew my belongings were in my car already. I had not kept them all in my room in case I had to break for it or I was compromised. But I had my weapons and small supplies with me. I rushed into my room and grabbed my shoulder-bag. I checked my pocket - my wallet was there. I walked out into the kitchen and stopped dead. On the counter was the pipe bomb.

Three minutes left.

If the voice had been telling the truth I did not have a choice. I grabbed it and looked in every direction, trying to figure out where to put it. I looked up at the metal bucket above the cupboards. In there? No I didn't have the time, and I could easily ruin my signal if I wasn't careful. I jabbed open my bin with my foot and wrenched the thick, dark plastic bag out of it. I turned it upside-down and poured most of the contents back into the bin, with the exception of a couple of fast food wrappers I left. I stuffed the pipe bomb into the packet and placed it onto the floor near my trap. No one would really think twice about a plastic bag and fast food wrappers laying on the floor.

Two minutes.

I reached into the side of my bag for the detonator. I had to move. I rushed over to the door and gripped the handle. I stopped as I reached it. I had a sudden idea. There's no time! I screamed inside my head. I wasted precious seconds frozen. I gritted my teeth, rushed over to the kitchen counter, ripped open my bag and took out the smoke bomb.

One minute.

I fumbled with my match box and clumsily got a stick out. I dropped a whole bunch onto the ground in the process. I cursed and swept them aside into a corner. I lit the match and exhaled deeply as I put it to the fuse of the smoke bomb. It began to spark. I ripped open the oven and placed it inside. I closed it again. I ran. I was on the second floor. I bolted across the walkway to an old couple's room. I had befriended them in the week. They were on a getaway trip. They were kind. They'd help me. I rattled their door. I waited. I glanced at my phone.

My time was up.

I knocked more urgently, sweat dripping down my forehead. There was no answer. They weren't there. I was out of options. I dropped to the floor in the indent between the door. I made myself small. From here I could see my room. The smoke bomb would be a good distraction. Anyone would conclude, as it was emanating from the oven, that someone had done something careless with their next meal. At least until they paid attention to the smell of the fumes. I looked all around. There were no signs of life. I began to feel overpowering fear. Had I just fallen for a trap? I had placed my trust in some voice on the other end of an anonymous phone call.

There in my moment of panic, something clicked in my mind. What if the person behind the phone call was Sarah's anonymous source? I didn't have time to process the thought further. I saw movement. My body went numb. Three men dressed in full black were ascending the stairs to the second floor. I watched them without moving an inch. They reached my room. One of them placed a gloved hand onto the door handle and checked it. He appeared a little surprised that it was open, and I heard one of the other men say something about me probably having just got in because my car was in the parking bay. I swore. If they knew my car that meant they'd been watching me. Did they know where I had been during the week? Was that why Luis Kane had been so well guarded? I doubted it. If they had known I was stalking him they'd have killed me then already. I tensed. One of the men took out a suppressed pistol. He nodded at the others and opened the door. Smoke protruded out of it instantly.

The apparent leader of the group took a peek inside and announced that it was coming from the kitchen. Two of the men then slipped inside, and one waited by the balcony in front of the door. I cursed under my breath. I had wanted all three of them. The door closed behind them. Moments later I heard a shout, a loud clang and subsequent crashes as the metal bucket I had strapped up there loaded with glass and nails struck the floor. It seemed that they had found my tripwire. The smoke must have made it impossible to see, especially with a dummy wire as well.

People misunderstood the true power of a tripwire. For any real one it wasn't the blast or the actual trap itself that caused the most harm. It was the fear. The shock. The psychological impact. Triggering a trip wire told you that you were in enemy territory. You were in someone else's playground. You were in a death trap. You were out of your depth. There was no way of knowing what else was waiting for you in the darkness. Your morale was already lost. The chaos went on. It was my cue. There was no telling what would happen now. My entire body trembled. A second ticked by. It was my only chance. I looked down at the detonator in my hand. I held my breath.

I pressed it. Nothing.

Panic gripped my very being. Please don't let this happen now, I begged. I hit it again. And again. I extended my arm towards my room door and pressed the button three more times. I jabbed it in anger. Frustration and desperation crumbled my resolve. I pressed it again.

Instantly, my ears burst and my body trembled from shock as an explosion sounded out from my room. The door shot off its hinges like a rocket and slammed into the man on the outside, shattering his bones and sending him hurtling off the railing and down to the ground with a sickening crunch. I heard screams of agony from my room. The blast had been so loud the entire block had to have heard it. The cloud of dust settled. I peered down. The man below had bones protruding from his twisted legs and arms, and his body was a bloody mess. The men inside must have suffered a terrible fate from the impact and shrapnel.

But I wasn't taking any chances.

I could hear screams and shouts around the complex. I had a minute before the fire department and cops would be alerted. Another six to ten before they arrived. It was enough. My mind and body accelerated from the adrenaline. I wasn't processing everything that I was seeing. I had to act now. The pipe bomb had produced no grand fireball as many believed explosions from grenades or homemade bombs do. It had been a burst of smoke and an incredible force as shrapnel rocketed outward in all directions. There would be no fire.

I reached into my bag and fished out my gun. I stepped inside. My mind blinded me from what my eyes could see. There was a severed leg laying on the floor. Mangled body parts. Blood splattered the ceiling and walls. There wasn't much left of one of the men. The stench was horrific. I heard a moan. I approached my bed room at the back.

Sprawled across the floor at the entrance to my room was one of the men. Shrapnel was stuck into his shoulder and leg. A few of his fingers had been blown off, as well as a part of his ear and a chunk of his skin. He was bleeding excessively. The pain would be unimaginable. I used my foot to roll him onto his back and he screamed in agony. His eyes opened. He saw me. He gasped. He was about to go into shock. I felt the anger return. The carnage I had unleashed frightened me. It was the kind of violence that would change me. I knew that I was in shock. My mind wasn't processing the atrocity I had committed. That would come later. In that moment the beast was in control.

Wordlessly I placed my foot onto his windpipe. He struggled for breath. I saw the man's good arm reach for his gun a few centimetres away. I applied pressure to his windpipe and aimed my gun at his stomach. I slowly squeezed the trigger. The explosion was deafening. The bullet slammed into his stomach and I knew that it had ruptured. He went into spasm for a moment, twitched and went still. I could see his snake-like intestines through a hole in his stomach from the pipe bomb. I could see bone. I ripped off my thick rain-jacket, which was now splattered with flecks of blood. I dropped it onto the ground next to him. I'd have to replace my jeans. Fortunately they were dark, which would hide any mess for the time being.

I turned around and rushed out of the room. I grabbed my shoulder-bag from across the walkway and stuffed my gun into it. I proceeded towards the exit, putting on my sunglasses and cap from my bag. A bunch of people were sticking their heads out of their doors now, observing the chaos. Some pointed and shouted at me. I could hear loud screams. People must have seen the body laying below. I walked faster and kept my head down. I had minutes left still before the police or fire department got here. It was enough to get away. I didn't even bother checking out. I didn't care and neither did I have the time. Maybe if I was still checked in, someone would assume I had been caught in the blast and killed. Hopeful, but unlikely. I reached my car and threw my bag in. Then I brought it to life and vanished.

##  Chapter 12: Icarus

My mind was restless. I had settled into my new place; a small, dingy room that didn't feel homely. I threw my bags down and collapsed onto a chair by the window. I stared out of it. I glanced at my hands. They were steady. But my entire body trembled. I did not know how the mob had found me. They had sent three killers to put an end to me. That meant that they finally viewed me as a real threat. But it also meant they'd go to severe lengths to see me dead. I did not feel as though I would ever be calm again. My pulse raced, my mind was a rush of colour, and my head spun wildly.

I thought about the voice that had warned me over the phone. I didn't know what to make of it. Obviously the person had tried to help me. If he knew that three men were after me from the mob, surely it meant the person behind the voice had connections to them. It also meant the person was watching me. I rubbed my temples. I brought back the thought I had had momentarily before the men had arrived. What if the person who had warned me was Sarah's anonymous source? The one who had supplied the information on Gregory Donovan. Maybe there was someone else out there with a bone to pick with the mob. Whatever it had been, I had to put it out of my mind in the present. I couldn't bog myself down with details. I had to focus on Jess.

I rubbed my face. I tried not to think about what I had done to those men. I tried not to think about all the blood. The severed limbs. The slaughter. I had not just killed them. I had tore them to pieces. It had been such an horrific sight. I felt nauseous thinking about it. I would have never believed myself capable of such a level of violence. But it had been my hand on the detonator; my hand signing the death warrant. It was a part of me now, and I knew that I had left a piece of my soul behind to rest in the ashes and the blood.

But above all, I had learned something. It had all opened my eyes to my mistake. I had bided my time in an attempt to wait for an opening to be presented to me. The killers had taught me a new lesson. I had to be the predator. I had to be the executioner. I had to be the beast. If I wanted them to be afraid, I had to force them to be. I had to hunt them down like animals. But my previous problem still existed. The only difference was that I finally had the beginnings of a way to solve it. Of course there was no way that I would get to Luis Kane while his paranoia kept him a recluse. The probability was close to zero. He was far too scarce and it seemed as though he had a large portion of the mob and its goons convinced that he was the next target. I wanted Kane. With him gone Cornero would be exposed; wide open without any help from crime lords or mob bosses of widespread influence. I could outsmart the grunts. The kings needed a harsher touch. I had not known what to do before. And now I did. The assassins had given me the answer; their deaths had proven useful.

I had to convince the mob that Cornero was my real target.

I had to be the one to go on the hunt and make it clear that he was the next object of my wrath. I had to make the mob, Kane and even Cornero himself believe it. Perhaps then the mob's attention would be drawn away from Luis Kane. Perhaps then I could strike. After all the grunts would flock to where the pay was highest. And I assumed that if Cornero believed he was the target, he'd pay handsomely.

I glanced at the night sky. It was filled with an ocean of shining stars. On any other night it would have been mesmerising. But now the night was nothing more than darkness. I felt a sudden wave of immense depression. I wished Nicole could have been with me to see it. She would have appreciated a night like this where the stars shone their brightest. My vision became blurry as my eyes glistened. I missed my wife and my daughter so damn much. I could no longer remember what I had used to be like when I had had them at my side. I barely remembered what it had been like to be happy. It was now a feeling that was nothing more than a glimmer in fading light. It was nothing more than a pipe dream. Someone else's life. I had to find Jess. I knew in my heart that she was alive. I knew it. Somehow she was. There had to be some explanation for that phone call. I knew that I wasn't crazy. I was still rational. I was still functioning. Jess had to be alive.

But what if she was not?

My heart beat abruptly quickened, and my face started to feel hot. Almost immediately I felt excruciatingly uncomfortable in my body. I raked my hands through my hair. I tried to throw the thought out of my mind as quickly as it had come, but I failed. I twisted and turned in my seat. I could no longer find peace. The moment of serenity had passed. The depression was gone. The pit became whole once again.

I jumped to my feet and paced, fighting the thoughts which invaded my mind. I moved towards the door. I had to get out. I had to act. I had to let the beast take control back. Jack Mercer was weak. Jack Mercer was in pain. Jack Mercer was a shadow. But as the beast I was more. As the beast I only had one certainty. There was only one calling. And I knew that there would be more blood on my hands by dawn.

It had become my obligation now to observe Luis Kane's home. It was the same story. The house was shielded by ten too many mobsters. I had faint threads of an idea in my mind of what I should do. I had given it thought during the lengthy drive here. The logical way to get Cornero's attention and make him think he was the target would be to go after his men, his possessions and his turf; threaten him directly. I did not know whether Cornero and Kane dealt with each other in any way, or if the mob at Kane's home were sired to him, but if one thing had been made clear it was that all of these crime lords were connected. They all had a part to play in controlling this city and eating at its heart. They all needed to be operational for this city to be under their control. With three of them dead the entire mob had felt it. I assumed that Cornero and Kane would not want to suffer the same fate, and so if one was threatened the other would send aid. Their connection was what I was relying on. I just did not know what Kane's part to play in all of this was. Salvatore was knowledge. Donovan was trafficking. Castellano was wealth. My guess for Cornero was power. When you had an entire city afraid of you, maintaining control over it was easy.

Having only Cornero and Kane left meant that it was one of the two who were behind the weapons shipment, and one of the two who was behind my family's murder. It could have been both of them. But that did not matter. They both had to die all the same. It did puzzle me why it had not been Donovan that the mob had used to bring in the weapons considering trafficking was his specialty and he was that resourceful. Donovan had been surprised by it, as had the other crime lords, which left me to conclude that either Kane or Cornero had done it in secret. I initially had believed that tension had been rising between the mobs, but I'd seen no evidence of that. They still operated like clockwork. So right now I couldn't make a whole lot of sense out of it. The answer was most likely simple. I just didn't know it yet. Someone could have been planning a coup, or someone could have even been planning a mass slaughter for all I knew. I would have to find out about that from either Kane or Cornero.

Movement at the entrance of Kane's house snapped me out of my thoughts. I frowned. Something was definitely going on. A car had pulled up and two guards grappled a third man into it, ignoring his pleas and struggles. I watched. Then I saw Luis Kane. Tall, hulking and menacing, he looked livid as he strode towards the vehicle and took the passenger seat. He barked at one of his men to drive. The car started to move. I gripped my steering wheel. I had to follow them. There were only two guards. I could take them. This could be my only chance to get Kane. But I had no idea where they were going. And that meant I was on the back foot. I would have to be extremely careful.

The drive was long and slow, as I had to maintain a generous distance and advance at a snail's pace to avoid suspicion. Kane and his boys turned into a dingy-looking place which was secluded. There was a parking bay and hardly anyone around. That seemed to be the usual lately, in what had become a ghost city. I watched from a distance. I'd be unable to follow in my car as I'd easily be spotted with no traffic to hide in. I parked in the first spot I could find, got out and proceeded on foot. I kept my head down and adjusted my cap with my hands. It was freezing. But the cold could do nothing to me. Not anymore. I felt flecks of rain on my hands as they descended from the sky. I embraced it. I slipped into the shadows and moved cautiously. I reached into my jacket pocket and gripped the handle of my Glock, preparing myself for the possibility that my cover was already blown and the parking lot was a trap. It seemed Kane and I both shared a sense of paranoia. The only difference was that his made him irrational. It controlled him.

I attached the suppressor to my Glock and kept it concealed under my jacket as I brushed up against the wall and slowly crept towards the parking bay. I stuck to the shadows as much as I could. I was wearing black and it was a dark night, so my visibility surely had to be quite low. Then the rain began. It was soft enough so that I could still see, but I knew that soon it would become vicious. I heard voices ahead. I saw the car I had been tailing. It was parked in the empty bay ahead. I crouched down low behind a stationary car in the lot. From here I could see, and I was close enough to hear as well. I was looking at the rear of Kane's car, and the men were already out with their backs to me. Surprise, surprise. The world didn't revolve around me. I had stumbled on something else. I breathed a small sigh of relief, as I was grateful to dispel the neurotic part of my mind. I watched, intrigued to see where it would be going.

Kane grabbed the timid man who he had forced into the car earlier and quite literally threw him onto the hard ground. His two lackeys casually leaned against the car and watched, neither moving nor speaking. They were well disciplined. One of them did however look nervous. I noted it. It could mean he was a rookie, which bode well for me. If I could surprise them maybe I could kill the two guards before anyone could react, leaving me alone to face Kane. But the less brash part of my mind decided to wait. I couldn't assume my aim would be perfect, especially with my visibility reduced from the rain, and neither could I be optimistic enough to hope that they wouldn't see me before I got too close to do it. I would be outnumbered. I couldn't afford risks here. I didn't know what this was about. And after everything I'd been through so far, I wouldn't act ill-prepared again. I was forced to pay attention when I heard Kane's booming voice then, which was easy to hear.

"You little prick..." Kane growled. He was so livid he could hardly get the words out.

"Please, why are you doing this?" the man moaned, shielding himself from the wrath of Kane's words alone.

"I trusted you to keep Castellano alive! I needed him! But you, you fucking asshole, you let that lunatic kill him, didn't you?"

I was confused. What the hell was going on? The fastest conclusion I could reach was that Kane was far more hysterical than I had thought.

"Speak!" Kane barked.

"No! I had nothing to do with it! I swear! Mercer was already in the house before any of us knew what happened. He took us all by surprise! I don't know how he did it. He was just there, like a ghost..."

"How awfully convenient for you, isn't it? Are you playing me? I look at you and I see what you are. I see what's going on in your head. You want him to kill me as well? Is that it? Are you plotting against me?"

I almost laughed. His manic paranoia was comical. It seemed that the death of three crime lords had done more than just get him on edge. It had almost driven him to madness. But I did not understand why he had dragged the poor fool all the way out to an abandoned parking lot instead of taking care of him behind the safety of his own walls. I didn't understand the method to his newfound dementia.

"I swear to you! I swear on my wife-"

"Fuck your wife!" Kane roared, "Are you not going to confess your betrayal to me?"

The man pleaded his innocence some more, but it fell on deaf ears. Kane nodded at one of his lackeys and the man obediently moved over to the victim on the ground. Kane's man roughly grabbed hold of him, hit him and locked his arms, preventing him from moving. Whatever his fate would be he had no choice but to face it now.

"You won't get it out of him like this, boss. He's a rat," offered one of the men.

"Did I tell you that you can speak?" Kane growled, but then he seemed to regain his composure, "They always beg when they get caught...these creatures," Kane paused to spit on the ground, "But they'll keep fucking you until then."

"I'd never do anything to-" the man on the ground began, but he was interrupted by a ferocious kick from Kane. The man bellowed and clutched his side, writhing. Kane had broken his ribs.

"Do you take me for a fool, Eric? I trusted you, you son of a bitch! I treated you well, but there is only one way to deal with rats like you."

Kane bent down and gripped the Eric's head with both of his hands. It was not meant to hurt, but to intimidate.

"After my men kill you they're going to kill your family."

Eric screamed and thrashed and pleaded. But it did nothing. Kane let go of Eric and wordlessly got into his car and started it up. I hastily considered my options. Any number of things could go wrong if I chose to strike now. Yet Kane was unprotected, and I was in the shadows. I reached for my gun. But before I could reach a decision, Kane gunned the engine and drove off in the opposite direction to where I was. I swore. He was taking a completely different route back. Either he wasn't going back to his house, or his level of paranoia was exceptional. The choice had been made for me. I realised that I had to get involved here. If Kane had trusted Eric with protecting Castellano, then surely that had to have meant that he wasn't some low-level clown. It implied that Eric had to know things about Kane and the place he lived at, which potentially made him my new friend. I was willing to bet Eric would be more than willing to help me after his recent dealings with Kane.

I looked over at the two men. They had Eric down on his knees with a gun pointed between his eyes. The two men didn't even have the decency to blind him. They were going to make him watch and wait; make him suffer through every single second before his life ended. In many ways the fear of the bullet was more devastating than the bullet itself. My hand tightened on my own sidearm. I hesitated. Was I really making the right choice here? I was taking a gamble on Eric knowing anything of value to me. What if I was just trying to rationalise saving someone when I should have known better than to get involved?

Don't be a hero.

The words echoed in my head like an ache I couldn't be rid of. I waited. One of the men delivered a right hook to Eric's face and he shouted out in pain; reduced to a snivelling child. They were toying with him now. Mocking him. Humiliating him. I felt anger. Could I let the words of an old bastard get in my head? I was being rational here. Eric had to know something if Kane had trusted him. That was logic. Emotion had nothing to do with it. I stayed put. Eric begged for his family. The men laughed at him and mocked him and his wife. If I waited any longer they'd execute him and I'd lose the only lead that I had. I had already let the man with the envelope slip through my fingers before. I had to act. I rose to my feet and dashed towards the men. The padding on my shoes ensured that my footsteps remained soft. The men were too busy toying with Eric to notice me, and fortunately they had their backs to me. I closed the distance quickly as adrenaline and rage fuelled me. I was close enough. It was time. I raised my Glock.

"Drop your guns now," I commanded.

The two men jumped and whipped around in surprise. Only one was armed, but his weapon was down at Eric. The other mobster had his holstered. Mine was already on them. The fear crept into their expressions when they saw the suppressor. I had the advantage.

"Back away, and put your guns down on the ground slowly," I said.

One of the men spat, "Fuck you."

The other one paled as recognition kicked in, "Oh Jesus, don't you know who he is?"

"I don't give a damn who-"

I fired. A searing crack like a whip tore through the air. The bullet lodged into his skull and rammed his head back, setting it at an awkward angle. His body crumbled to the ground as blood spouted out of the open wound. I had no patience to deal with a loudmouth and a fool. I turned my gun to the man still standing.

"Shit, holy shit...you just killed him, man! What the fuck..." the man stammered, quickly throwing his hands into the air. His panic was wonderfully tangible. And it made me not want to pull the trigger so soon.

"I said put your guns down," my words were flat.

I watched as he slowly took out his gun and bent to place it on the ground. He was shaking as he obeyed my instruction.

"Christ, you're Jack Mercer..."

I stopped. I saw it in his eyes. He was terrified of me. Eric cowered, unsure if I was a friend or an enemy. It struck me then. I was starting to enjoy the fear. This man knew who I was. He knew what I had done. And he feared me like he did Luis Kane. I understood then. I finally understood the attraction of power. I basked in it.

"You know who I am?" I asked.

"Everyone knows who you are!"

"Then you know that I can't let you go."

"Oh God don't kill me man, please! I don't want to die!"

I smiled, "You wouldn't have let Eric here go if he begged until he was blue in the face. Why should I spare you the same courtesy?"

"I'm not like rest! I didn't want to do it. I just do what I'm told!"

"You just watch then. Playing along, but taking no blame. Isn't that a good excuse?" I deliberately toyed with him.

"Come on, you know what it's like! You do what you have to do. Fuck it, you're a cop, and look at you! What the hell is this?"

"I'm not a cop anymore," I said. I lowered my gun, "You'd better start running."

He gasped and took off immediately as though the devil himself was after him. Eric finally found his voice again, "You're just going to let him go? Seriously? He was going to-"

I lifted my gun and squeezed the trigger, and the man running away jerked and fell to the ground in a heap. Eric cried out.

"I didn't say I wasn't going to kill him."

I briskly walked over to the body and put a bullet through the fallen man's skull. You couldn't be too sure of a confirmed kill when a shot was taken at a distance with a pistol. A part of me felt that I had been overly cruel. But I had wanted to intimidate Eric, and by now I was just desensitized to it. My mind and body didn't react to murder like it used to. At least not towards men who deserved to die. The cynic in me told me that he would have said anything for me to spare his life. But the fact was that moments ago he had been torturing Eric all the same. He would have watched him die all the same. And he would have continued in his line of work all the same, watching others suffer. This place would be better off with men like him gone. I turned to Eric. I grabbed him by the neck and put the gun under his chin.

"Now you're going to answer to me!" I growled.

"Please don't kill me!"

"I won't if you cooperate. But if I don't like what you have to tell me...let's just say that I'm not as merciful as Kane."

"I'll tell you whatever you want to know!"

"Good. Answer me this: why did Kane need Castellano alive?"

"He wouldn't tell me the reason. I'm not his pal or anything. He just wanted it done, and so I had to do it. I think it was because of his money. He was afraid that the police would catch onto him like they did Donovan, and so he needed Castellano to move it and secure it in his bank or something. I don't know why else."

"Okay then. Why all the secrecy surrounding his house? Cars in and out and all that security - what's it all for?"

"I never got involved in that. I don't know. I just know that whatever it is, it's extremely valuable to Kane and he runs the whole operation. Everybody answers to him. It's some sort of business, that's all I know."

"You're not giving me a lot to work with here," I said while jabbing the gun at his jaw.

He gasped and trembled, but did not speak further.

"How do I get to Kane?" I hissed; maintaining the fierce edge in my voice. Intimidation was the best card I had to play.

"You won't be able to. He's too worked up and too well protected! You've nearly driven him mad, for Christ's sake. He doesn't even trust his own men. He's lost it. He's become unstable; scared of his own shadow. Did you hear the shit that he was saying to me just now? He knows you're coming to kill him. He's scared to death."

That was both good and bad for me. The amount of security he had posed a definite problem, but on the other hand I had his fear which was an invaluable asset to have. It meant I had all the power over him. It was time to fish elsewhere now and find out whatever I could.

"What do you know about Cornero?"

"I only know that him and Kane don't get along. They don't see eye to eye on a lot of things, and more than once it's got ugly. Ever since you crashed that whole weapons shipment business they've been a click away from biting each others' heads off."

Curious. That changed things. It meant that there never had been tension between the entire mob so to speak. It appeared that it had always been between Kane and Cornero. It sounded like a power struggle. Gregory Donovan had played it down as though it were just personality clashes and mutual disagreements, but then again he was past tense. Eric had seen what was happening in the present. It was a parasitic relationship by the sounds of it. Kane and Cornero weren't exactly friends but they both had a part to play in running the city, which meant neither could kill the other. But if tensions got to breaking point, I didn't expect Kane to be the rational one. Maybe that was what Cornero was waiting for; waiting for Kane to give him an excuse. With Cornero's power perhaps he felt Kane could be replaced regardless of the fact that he currently had a major role. I knew that I was drawing conclusions purely from assumption, and without much hard evidence. I didn't know what went on between the two men. But the only thing I could count on was that they were connected, and that they needed each other to be alive so whatever operations they ran could continue.

"Who do you know that works for Cornero? He must have friends. Family. Someone he doesn't want to lose."

"I don't-"

I was growing impatient. I applied pressure to his throat with my hand. He gasped.

"Answer me or answer to God!" it was my voice that spoke, but the beast's words.

"Wait! I know someone. His cousin! His name is Charles Merino. He and Cornero are close. They grew up together apparently."

The name was familiar to me. My interest peaked. That was useful.

"What can you tell me about him?"

"He's bad. He gets off on violence. The stories that get passed to all of us are scary. They say he once cut a man's hand off for just touching something he shouldn't have."

I dismissed that as exaggeration. It sounded like a case of broken telephone. Probably wasn't true. But the message was clear in that story. He was just like the rest, and he deserved to die. That was all that was relevant to me. If Merino and Cornero were close that meant he was my next target. Cornero would surely notice his death and take it personally. For that to happen he'd have to know that I was the one who did it. I didn't want him to mistakenly think that it was Kane. He'd surely kill him, and I needed answers from Kane first. I had to go after Merino.

"Where can I find him? Write it down."

I backed away and handed him a piece of scrap paper and a pen from my pocket. I indicated with my gun. He nervously scribbled down the address. I did a quick check with my GPS on my mobile phone. It wasn't too far from here. It was about ten minutes away if I drove fast. But could I trust that Eric had given me the right address?

"Will he be alone?"

"He's not married and doesn't have any kids as far as I know. He does love his scotch. They say he gets really violent when he drinks. He'll get home eventually, most likely drunk."

I could use that. I'd wait for him to return.

"How do I know I can trust you?" I asked and lifted the gun between his eyes.

"Please, Jack...I just want to get home to my wife. I don't care what you do to him, or to Kane or to any of them. Fuck them all. You saved my life just now. And now I repaid you for that. We're square, right?"

The beast screamed at me to kill him too. But I did not listen to it. I subdued it, and allowed the anger to fade.

"Go then."

He looked genuinely surprised, but no less afraid of me.

"Thank you! Thank you so much."

He started to move, but stopped after he had taken a few steps.

"Can I ask you something?"

"What?"

"Why are you doing all of this?"

And right then the pain became real once again as I remembered and took it all in. The veil lifted, the beast disappeared and I resurfaced.

"To find my daughter."

Eric looked alarmed, "The papers said your family was killed..."

"I know what the damned papers said. I know what happened. I was there. But three weeks after that I got a call from my daughter. I know she's alive. And I will tear this entire goddamn city down to find her."

I waited for his reaction of confusion and uncertainty. I waited for the inevitable response, for him to say that I was crazy. I waited for his unmistakable fear of me being insane.

"I hope you find her then, Jack."

I stared. Eric left me alone to face my thoughts. I watched him go. I held my gun at my side. The cool metal had warmed to my touch, despite the arrival of the icy rain. In seconds the rain came down harder, signifying its desire to flood the world. The blood of the fallen men was washed away. I stood there and took it all in. The only sound in the world was that of the rain pelting the ground. I breathed. And for the first time I felt as though I was not lost.

It was late when Charles Merino finally returned to his home. I had waited for close to two hours. The night was a vast, black wasteland. The rain was vicious, roaring from above with a cruelty. I was far from done with the animals. I tensed, stretching my neck and arms and getting the feeling back in my muscles. It was too dark for him to see me in my car. He pulled into his garage and got around, stumbling towards his door with the help of a man who held one of his arms over a shoulder. It looked like he was the disappointment in the family. Smallish house, drunk, unmarried and pathetic. I wondered why Cornero was fond of him. Maybe it was just that they grew up together. But I appreciated Merino's lifestyle. It made him an easy target. I threw open my car door and rushed over to the entrance of his home. I waited for him to get the key into the lock and open the door. It would be easier inside.

"You know, you're a good kid. But you never should have beat up your girlfriend though," Merino slurred to his companion, "That isn't what a man does to his woman. They should listen without you having to raise your hand. You need to command respect."

I felt a bloodlust. A rush. The beast broke free. I drew my knife and plunged it into the back of the neck of the man before he could respond, and he went rigid as the blade lodged into his throat. He choked as blood spewed out like a fountain. Charles Merino cried out, startled, and I grabbed him from behind as his companion dropped. I slammed his head into the doorframe with tremendous force. He dropped his bottle and crashed to the floor clutching his head. It had cut. A little blood ran over his hands. He was in agony. I shut the door behind me and flicked the latch. I saw a gun on his belt. I bent, wrenched it out and threw it across the room. I did not give him time to breathe. I grabbed him by the neck with both hands and rammed his head into the wooden floor. Twice. Perhaps I shouldn't have been so violent. I needed him to talk after all. He was muttering gibberish; dazed out of his mind. A tear went down the side of his face. I took out my suppressed Glock.

"Do you know who I am, Charles Merino?"

"I..."

"Answer me!"

He blinked rapidly, his eyes widening. I couldn't tell if he was concussed or just drunk.

"You fucking asshole. You're Mercer. You were so stupid to come here. You're the one he wants..."

His voice was laboured, and he was out of breath. At least he was responsive. He wouldn't be putting up any resistance.

"Tell me where I can find Cornero or I'll blow your goddamn brains out!"

"Do you have any idea who you're fucking with-"

I pointed my Glock down and pulled the trigger. The crack of sound burst through the house. A hole opened in his thigh and Merino screamed his lungs out as he tried to grip his leg. I allowed myself the seconds to listen to his cries of pain, ugly and ghastly. A melody to my ears. I put the gun against the side of his head.

"Oh Jesus, you psycho..."

"You're a fool! You know who I am! You are not my concern. You are nothing! Now answer me or die right now."

"I'm not telling you shit..."

I lashed out like lightning and struck the open wound on his thigh. Merino yelled so loud I had to shut his mouth with my gun.

"Just stop! Cornero is hanging out in his club."

"Thank you. You finally said something useful."

He blurted out the location, and as I recorded it in my memory he said, "Just leave me the fuck alone..."

I stood.

He recoiled, "What are you going to do?"

I looked at him with loathing. His body would get Anthony Cornero's attention. The beast wanted control now, and I let it.

"I'm going to kill you, and enjoy it."

He didn't have the time to scream before I put a bullet through his mouth. I heard the thud in the wood. It had gone clean through him. Blood poured out over his lips. His tongue had most likely been torn apart. It was just a red mess. I drew my eyes away. I regained my breath.

I felt alive.

The power felt good. I wanted both Kane and Cornero to feel the fear that this man had felt moments before his death. I wanted one of them, whichever it was, to confess to murdering my family and tell me where my daughter was. Then they would die. There was no other alternative now. Their fate was sealed. I returned my eyes to Merino's body. I felt myself almost smiling at the thought of causing Cornero pain. Perhaps these crime lords were only human after all. I suddenly had an idea. A way to repay the favour from back when I had just been a broken man. I took a piece of paper from a nearby desk. I got my pen.

And I wrote the words: feeling sorry yet?

I drew a sad smiley face underneath it. I signed my name. I left.

The rain had eased. I knew the place Charles Merino had described. A quick search on my phone's GPS had it tracked down easily enough. If Eric had been right then it was Anthony Cornero's den. There was no chance I'd be able to get him inside, but it was possible that I could follow him home from there. There was also the chance that I would be able to observe anything that could be useful to me later on. It was worth checking out. I needed information as much as I needed blood.

By morning Merino's body would be found. I had left his door wide open with his body in full view, so that the discovery would be as early as possible. Plus there was his companion hugging the ground with a cut throat, and no one would miss that one. If Cornero really was that close to Merino then killing him should have been enough to make the man believe I was coming after him. I knew that I was in control here. I only had to keep on going until Cornero became as paranoid as Kane, and raised his levels of security. The goons would go wherever the money was highest. And I was hoping that a lot of them would flock to Cornero once he raised the stakes for my head. Perhaps Kane himself would even support it in the relief that Cornero was going to be the next to die.

I had the club in my view. If Cornero owned it I had no doubt that there probably wasn't a better and more 'tasteful' place like it around. There were two large bouncers by the door. There was obviously no way that I'd even be able to get inside - the badge alone would ensure I walked away with more than just a dismissive wave of the hand. I ran the risk of being recognised immediately as well. I surveyed the scene. A few suggestively dressed women were chatting up some men. People were entering and exiting the club itself. My eyes fell on the parking lot.

I caught sight of someone I recognised. Emilio Rojas. The aggressive pig who had previously worked for Victor Salvatore. Dozens of assault charges had been laid against him, he was a known wife beater and a man who once had a homicide case completely dropped against him. What was he doing here? He was standing beside a fancy car. I didn't exactly know my cars, but it certainly looked like a rich man's ride, and it had to be way out of his price range. If I had to venture a guess I would have said that it was vintage. So it wasn't his then. He was the only one around, apparently guarding it. Could it belong to Cornero?

It was an attention-grabbing bright red colour. None of the other cars in the parking lot were guarded, and Emilio's profile made me suspicious enough. Emilio looked sour, as though standing watch duty to a stationary vehicle wasn't what he had had in mind for the evening. It had to be Cornero's car. I wished that I had paid more attention to the man. I didn't even know what vehicle he drove. But I was sure of one thing: I knew that it did not belong to Emilio. That much was obvious. But even if it didn't belong to Cornero it had to be the property of someone else of importance. I smiled. That was fortunate. Emilio was alone. The only problem was that he was fairly near to the entrance so there were witnesses around. But my last encounter, and Kane's paranoia, had convinced me that the mob truly was afraid of me. And that gave me the edge going forward. Emilio might have been a man of violence, but he was just a henchman all the same.

I climbed out of my car. I readied my Glock. I could take him. I approached him quickly. I needed to act fast and surprise him before he had a chance to call for backup. He was shuffling around looking bored. I was almost on him. He turned. He saw me. I moved faster. He seemed to stare at me as if trying to recognise me. He reached for his hip. But it was too late for him. I was already there, and my gun was in my hands. I couldn't have said the same for him. I stepped up to him and held my Glock out at my hip, aiming for his stomach. He saw it, tensed and froze, his hand still on his holster. A moment later he finally recognised me. His eyes went wide, and he did not react any further. He stared at me as though I was a ghost. His hand fell limp at his side, and his weapon ceased to be a threat to me. I had his fear.

"Emilio Rojas. I take it that you know who I am?"

He nodded wordlessly.

"Come with me."

He didn't move.

"If you don't, I'll kill you right here just like I did those mob bosses you suck up to."

I knew then that I had his obedience. He began to move quickly, and I got out of the way so that he could get ahead of me. I could walk him from behind. I truly enjoyed it; the ability to turn a violent man like Emilio into nothing more than a scared child with little more than the power of fear. I stifled a smile. The bastards could all feel what it was like for the people of the city everyday of their lives. I was prepared for him to break out into a run. I had my gun aimed at his spine. But fear kept him locked in place. He did not try anything. He at least had that much sense. He just moved as though all hope was lost. I directed him to an empty alleyway. No one would bother us there.

I reached forward and took his gun. It was a SIG Pro semi-automatic pistol. I frowned. It was high-end for a henchman. It was the kind of weapon you'd find the police or military using. There was no reason a lackey like Emilio should have been carrying one. Perhaps Cornero preferred it that his armed guards were well-equipped. It had to have come from him. I pocketed the gun. I was sure that I could find use for it if I ever got into a fire fight. It was a good weapon. Twelve rounds in a clip. Powerful, lightweight, accurate and reliable.

"Now you're going to answer my questions. Say or do anything that I don't like and you'll be dead before you can scream, and I'll be gone. No one will hear the shot. No one is coming to save you. It's just you and me. Do you understand?"

"Just don't kill me. Relax, alright?"

"Was that Cornero's car you were guarding?"

"Yes."

"Good. How long will Cornero be in that club for?"

"Once he's in there he doesn't come out."

"Has Cornero ever mentioned me?"

"No. Cornero is a pro. He would never say a word to us about anything he didn't feel we needed to know. He keeps his secrets. I don't know shit. But I can tell you worry him. He hasn't been the same since Salvatore, Donovan and Castellano died. That's what I hear."

"His turn is coming."

Emilio didn't say anything. He shivered.

"How can I get to Cornero? When is he vulnerable?"

"You won't get to him, man. We hardly even see the guy. This club is like his one place, you know? But whenever he's here he comes packing major heat."

"He must have someone close to him whom he trusts."

"He has a cousin. Charles Merino."

"He's dead. Next?"

Emilio gasped, "Oh fuck, you're crazy! You don't know what you've done, man, Cornero is going to freak out..."

"I suppose he will. Now give me another name."

Emilio appeared to be deep in thought about it. I could hear him muttering through what sounded like names. I waited for a few seconds. Then I jabbed him with my gun to hurry him up.

"The only other person I know is someone much higher up than me. He's almost always by Cornero's side. Have you heard of Joe Lonardo?"

"No, and I don't care who he is. Where can I find him?"

"He was in the car behind us when we were driving here, but then he went off on his own."

"Why didn't he go into the club? Isn't he part of Cornero's guard?"

"They don't go in there together. Ever. Not from what I've seen. Lonardo always goes off and does something he's ordered to do. Cornero is careful like that. I don't think he wants anyone to know that Lonardo is his guy."

"But you know him?"

"I have to take my orders from Lonardo too. He's always hanging around Cornero and doing what he wants done. He's a right-hand."

"Tell me where he is."

"I don't know where he is."

"Then you're useless to me."

He jumped, "Wait! There's this spot just around the corner. Where that closed -down bowling place is? There have been a lot of meets there before. I sat in on one or two. It's Lonardo and some other guys. I don't know what goes on down there man. But if he's not there then I don't know where you'll find him. But I saw them going in that direction just before we got here. It has to be there, man."

"How will I recognise him?"

"That's easy. He's short, bald and wears this big, ugly gold ring."

It seemed Joe Lonardo was my next target then. I had got everything I could from Emilio. I didn't need him further. The next move was obvious. He was just another dog that needed to be put down.

"We're done."

I slipped my Glock into my pocket. There would be no point wasting the bullet, or taking the risk of being heard.

"I've told you what you want to know. Now will you let me go?"

I drew my pocket knife.

"No."

I plunged the blade into his neck, dragging it across his throat and making sure it went deep. He let out a horrifying sound and struggled. But he was already dead. I covered his mouth, preventing any screams, as I waited for him to succumb to the wound. It took a while. Some of his blood sprayed onto my jacket sleeve. He eventually started to go limp. I tossed his body into the heap of trash laying nearby. A quick glance from anyone outside the alley would lead to the assumption that it was a homeless man or a drunk. It was, after all, within walking distance to a nightclub. It would be discovered only by the morning once the smell attracted attention and the sunlight revealed the blood. I pocketed the knife and inhaled deeply. I tried not to think about how easily I killed. Thoughts like that would only prevent me from acting; would weaken me. And all that I could do was let the beast give me strength.

I exited the alleyway and kept my head down. I made my way to Cornero's car. I felt a smile form on my lips. If I was going to target the man I might as well make him twist and turn a bit while I was at it. I casually strolled around the car being mindful if anyone was watching me. But no one gave me a second glance. It was a parking lot after all. I sunk into my thoughts. Ideally I'd steal his ride, but hotwiring wasn't such a simple science. There was a major risk of electrical shock when hotwiring a car, and in many cases it was not even guaranteed to work. I hadn't done it before, so I wasn't exactly going to take the risk with no experience. Furthermore newer vehicles, and no doubt a fancy one such as his, had the components required to hotwire the car purposefully hidden, so that they were unreachable. Other models had kill switches as well, which shut down the engine so that it couldn't be started even with the key in the ignition. If stealing his ride wasn't an option, I knew that I would have to do it in a far less elegant way.

I'd blow his prized car to hell.

I felt my pockets. My lighter was with me. I carried it around as it was more convenient than matches. I didn't have anything to act as a fuse. I jogged back to my car. I shuffled around and came up with a few sheets of A4 paper. It would have to do. I rolled a few up and trudged back to Cornero's car. I once again eyed my surroundings, but I was still in the dark. I faced my back to the car as I watched for any onlookers, and reached behind my back to take off the fuel cap. Once I was sure it was cleanly off, I turned around and shoved the rolled-up A4 paper into the hole. I inserted it with care. The only problem was that the darkness would make the orange glow of the flame more noticeable. I would have to rely on the chance that by the time someone did notice it, the flame would be too close to the tank. I brought the flame to life and held it at the base of the paper, letting it all catch alight. Then I took off back across the street towards my car, and watched from afar. It might have been cold, but it was not windy. The rain had also calmed, and it was nothing more than a minor drizzle. The flame would breathe and get there in time. I estimated that it would take a little over a minute.

There wasn't going to be some building-sized explosion and the car wouldn't blow into smithereens either. There were a few variables at play mostly to do with the gas tank itself. When the gas tank was almost full it would virtually never explode, and only catch fire. When the gas tank was empty, however, it could go off like a stick of dynamite under the right conditions. In most cases though, if it was rigged correctly, the car would explode. The glass windows would blow out - possibly the boot lid and backdoors as well - and all the upholstery and tires would burn. That was more than good enough to total it. I wanted Cornero to see his prized possession in a ball of flame. A man who bought such a car certainly had a passion for it. He would most definitely feel the loss.

I could see the fire more clearly now. It had a bright orange glow and it was getting closer to the tank. Someone noticed. A young guy with his girlfriend. They pointed and shouted. I swore. I hoped no one would play the hero. My plan had never been to get any innocent people hurt. I doubted as well that Cornero had parked next to civilians, and most likely had his lackeys on either sides of his ride, which meant any harm that came to them as a result of the explosion would be more than welcome. One of the bouncers saw it then as well. He ran over. It would be any second now. I tensed. The bouncer quickly realised that it was too late to stop it, and the nearby people ran shouting and screaming.

And then it happened. Instantly a tremor swept the ground as the blast went off. It was staggeringly loud. A ball of flame erupted into the sky. The windows shattered all at once, and the lid of the boot blew off and clattered onto the ground. Flames licked the rear half of the car. It had been over in a matter of seconds. The car wouldn't be going anywhere. It was destroyed. I wished only that I could have seen Cornero's reaction. But it was satisfaction enough. I smiled to myself, climbed into my car and drove away, leaving behind a sea of spectators.

I did not have long left until first light. The noise in the club must have been ridiculously loud if Cornero had not heard what had become of his car. But someone would surely have let him know soon enough. I couldn't risk being around that place. Not when the police, fire department and mob started crawling around it. I still wished that I could have seen his reaction. It would surely have been an embarrassment that was hard to take for the most powerful man in the city. He would be angered by the disrespect shown to him - angry enough to possibly bring out his irrational side.

I was on my way to the bowling rink Emilio had described. It had been easy to find. It was broken down, grey and all the lettering had faded. I couldn't tell what it was called from my position. I saw some cars parked around, but I couldn't say for sure that they were there for the rink. It made sense as a meeting place, as their tea parties could be conducted in private, while Cornero did whatever it was that he did in his club. No one would be wiser to it. And no one would be aware of any major personal connection between employee and boss. It was smart. But the implication was that Cornero trusted Lonardo quite well if he was confident enough to enjoy his club and leave the man in charge of business. That gave me all the reason I needed to make him my focus. I knew that the best I could do was wait until someone came out. I wasn't sure how long I'd be sitting idly. I kept myself low in my seat. I was just a parked car opposite the bowling rink. No one had any reason to be suspicious. The moment I saw Joe Lonardo I'd follow him until he was alone. I knew I wasn't very experienced at tailing, and Lonardo was most likely skilled if he was Cornero's go-to man. But I had the darkness of the night on my side.

The inactivity allowed me to reflect. My mind and body were racing. It barely registered with me, emotionally or mentally, that I had violently killed two more men hours ago, and I was preparing to murder a third. I did not feel anything about it other than the simple notion that it had to be done. I was grateful for that. It gave me the strength to do what was necessary. I wasn't held back. I had real power now. And the mob were afraid of me. They had enough sense to be. I forced myself to consider the opposite end of the spectrum. It wasn't entirely an advantage. Their fear also meant that they were on the alert for me, and as a result paranoid men like Luis Kane became impossible to reach.

I sighed and waved off my thoughts. I only had to concentrate on doing what I had to do to get Jess back. I was getting close. I could feel it. Two men stood between me and my daughter. They were just flesh and blood. They weren't Gods. They'd die just like everyone else. They'd come to know fear. I just had to be smart, and have patience. But I was running out of the latter. Time passed slowly. I was zoning out more frequently. It was almost four in the morning. Had I really been waiting for hours? My limbs were stiff. I stretched. I suddenly saw movement up ahead. I shook myself awake and rose slightly in my seat. About six men poured out of the bowling rink, chatting in low voices. Four of them climbed into a nearby SUV. Damn it! What if one of them had been Lonardo? It had been impossible to see. Two men were walking towards a small convertible a few meters away.

I saw a glint of gold.

There he was. The ring was on his hand was visible even in the darkness, although with the added help of the SUV's headlights as well. He was just like Emilio had described. Joe Lonardo climbed into the driver's seat, while his associate got in on the other side. It was a minor complication that he wasn't alone, but it was nothing that I could not handle. I started my car and immediately killed the headlights. I didn't need them, and having them off would reduce my visibility from a distance. Joe Lonardo started to drive, but I waited tensely. I hoped the SUV would not follow. I couldn't take all six of them. The SUV drove behind the convertible, and I didn't know what to do then. Minutes passed. Fortunately the SUV then took a right turn and was on its way. I nodded to myself. It made sense for them all to part ways. Whatever they had been doing in that bowling rink most likely was Cornero's work, and if the vehicles parted ways it minimised all suspicion.

I took off at a measured pace staying far behind Lonardo, and following as slowly as I could. There weren't any other cars driving around. It was four in the morning after all. But it was a bit of a double-edged sword, as on the one hand it made following easy, but on the other it meant remaining undetected was more difficult. I knew that it was dangerous, because if I was seen it would immediately raise suspicion. I sighed. I shook my head. Always over-thinking. Perhaps I was merely giving credit to men who probably didn't care one way or the other.

I relaxed in my seat, hoping that they weren't driving off to some faraway place. I kept up. I was patient. I took turns a good few moments after they did. Sometimes I waited until they had turned the next corner before I followed. I didn't know which part of town I was in. But I could always count on my phone's GPS to get out. I began to get frustrated. How much longer was it going to take?

It was another eight minutes later that Lonardo finally stopped at an apartment complex of sorts. It wasn't his house. Maybe it was for his accomplice in the passenger seat. Or maybe it was more work he had to run for Cornero. Did the guy ever take a break? Either way I wasn't going to wait around to find out what it was. The place was dead, and I had Lonardo and his friend right where I wanted them. I also had the advantage that out in the open it would be more difficult to trace the source of a suppressed gunshot noise. I got out of my car and checked my Glock to make sure it was ready and that the safety was off. Lonardo and his friend were walking towards the building. I stuck to the dark until I could move up behind them. It was time to act.

"Joe Lonardo."

He stopped. My gun was raised before they could even turn around. I took in the looks of surprise on their faces.

"Don't move or I'll kill both of you."

"How do you know who I am?" Lonardo asked. His voice was calm.

I stepped forward.

"Fuck me! Joe, that's Jack Mercer!" the other man shouted.

Then the idiot began reaching for his gun.

"You know how they say it's always funny until someone gets hurt?" I said.

The man hesitated, his hand frozen on the handle of his firearm. I fired. The sound was vicious. The bullet tore into his chest. He clutched himself, his eyes wide with shock. Lonardo recoiled.

"Then it's just hilarious."

I fired again, and this time the bullet hit him underneath his eye. He went rigid and dropped. It had been an almost perfect double tap.

Joe Lonardo stared at the body of his fallen comrade with a distinct nervousness.

"Stay where you are," I growled.

Lonardo's breathing intensified, but his voice remained composed, "You're stupid to go up against Cornero. I'm not going to tell you a damn thing, Mercer."

I advanced towards him and stopped just a foot away. I knew he wouldn't speak, as he was one of Cornero's right-hand men after all. I could probably spend the next few hours torturing it out of him, but that was a waste of time and it was unnecessary. I didn't need anything from him. It had been so easy to get him. We'd all overestimated these bastards; thought of them as more than ordinary men. But they were just like the rest of us. All it took was power. And now I had someone else who was valuable to Cornero right in front of me. It was almost too easy. In moments, I would have dealt Cornero another blow.

"That's alright. It's not your words I want."

"Then what?"

"Just your life."

He reached for his gun, but I knew that there was nothing that he could do. I pulled the trigger the moment he moved, and he collapsed. The bullet had struck him clean in the centre of his forehead. There was little need to verify the kill. I was done. Another animal had fallen, and the beast had its blood. I retreated to my car. It would only be hours from now that I'd see the effect of my work. I had to have done more than enough to convince Anthony Cornero that he was my target. Surely the mob would be convinced too. I could only wait and observe the outcome. With the hours that I still had before morning came, I needed to rest and recover my energy. Kane's turn was coming.

I hadn't had a great deal of rest after the adrenaline from the previous night had faded. I waited nearby Kane's home for most of the day. I kept the news running on the radio. I doubted it would provide me with anything useful, but it didn't hurt. And I got to enjoy a private smile when word of Cornero's car came up. The body of Emilio Rojas had been found in the alley, as had the corpse of Charles Merino in his home. There had been no mention in the news about the note I had left, which meant that either the police or mob had got to it first. I suspected it was the mob. It was Cornero's cousin after all, and he wouldn't let a bunch of cops touch the crime scene before he had his look. Either way the news was on fire, and I sat back and listened.

I wasn't sure what I was hoping to see at Kane's house. I had no guarantees that anything would happen. I had my sunglasses and cap on to conceal myself. It was nearly sunset. I had noticed that activity at Kane's house had significantly decreased during the day. Only a few cars had come in during the course of the entire day. Was it related at all to what I had done last night? I couldn't know for sure. The place was still too crowded. I hoped that I had not missed my one opportunity to get to Kane when he had been interrogating Eric. Had I not done enough to show them that Cornero was the target? Or had Kane simply not fell for my attempt to convince him? Surely he wasn't that perceptive. Then again I wasn't about to make the mistake of underestimating my enemies. That had cost me everything once before.

I stretched. My body was stiff from sitting in the car for most of the day. I didn't know what my next move was. Although I had made it this far already. I'd figure something out. I started to doze off. I tried to fight it, but my past actions coupled together with a lack of sleep caught up with me. Soon enough I nodded off. But I was rudely awakened seemingly moments later by the sound of car engines. I stared around in surprise. It was completely dark. I had been out for a good hour or two. Up ahead I could see about four cars screeching to life and driving away from Kane's house. What was going on? It was as though a party had come to an end. I kept low as the cars drove off, all in the same direction. That was curious. It meant it couldn't be nothing. I grabbed my phone and opened up the navigation. I plugged in Cornero's address. I drove forward slightly to see them all turn in the same direction as well. It was safe to assume they were all heading in the same direction, but my navigation told me that they had taken the first two turns required to get to Cornero. Perhaps I was adding one to one and getting three, but something was definitely up. I looked back at Kane's house. Maybe some emergency meeting had been called? There were just two cars left in front of his house.

I observed the house. One of the cars was parked in front of the gate and the other was about six meters from it, on the pavement. Two cars could mean anything. It could mean there were two people inside Kane's house or even as many as eight. Surely all of it had something to do with what I had been up to the previous night. It could not have simply been coincidence that the one night Kane didn't have a full house was the night after I had killed Cornero's men. But how could I verify the number of people in Kane's house? I had to get them outside somehow. I was afraid that if I waited until they left, I'd use up another inviting opportunity that was presented to me, and the other four cars would return. I at last had a window. I had to use it. The only issue was not knowing how to lure them out.

The answer came then. It was risky and close to being crazy, but a lot of other things I'd done as of late had shared those traits. I thought back to Cornero's car. I could give the car on the pavement the same treatment. If the men inside heard the explosion and saw the fire they'd come running out. The only flaw in my plan was that the police could arrive before I finished with Kane. But it was the best plan I had. I only needed a few minutes with Kane. I glanced over at the gate. It was not completely electronic, that much was clear. That meant that it could be manually closed of course. If I lured them out of the house I could get in and shut the gate behind me, locking them out. But then how would I get out? I considered my strategy. Maybe I would be able to use Kane as a hostage if worst came to worst. There had to be another way out of his house. The walls weren't too high. I could climb them. I had options here. But the only thing I did not have was time. I couldn't lose the one opportunity that I had. There would be no better time to strike.

I grabbed what I needed and climbed out of my car. I hesitated for a second. I knew I was being overly meticulous, but it had kept me alive. I put my wallet and car keys onto the passenger seat, and placed my ski mask over them to hide them from outside viewers. I left my car unlocked. If I had to make a quick getaway I had bought myself an few extra seconds. I ran over to the car parked on the pavement and ripped open the fuel cap. Any kind of fire would do. As long as it got their attention. For the second time I inserted rolled-up A4 paper into a petrol tank and lit it. I smiled as I considered my newfound skills at vandalism - or was I an arsonist? I made sure the flame was alive before I doubled back and ran over to the left side of the gate. There was enough cover and it was dark enough that I could remain hidden. The flames were burning closer. My body tensed. I looked around the block a second time. I didn't see anyone. After everything that had happened the past few weeks it made sense that people would be locking themselves in their homes through the night. No one would want to get caught up in mob activity. And that served me well. I watched the fire burn.

I could feel it. I was getting close to Jess. In moments, I would have Kane. Tonight I'd find out who murdered my family. If it wasn't Luis Kane then it had to be Anthony Cornero. Then all that I would have left to do would be to confront him. And it would all finally be over. I cracked my neck. I loosened my shoulders. I checked my gun. Without warning the back of the car erupted, and I jumped. A door blew clean off, and the glass at the back shattered into a thousand pieces. The ball of fire leapt above the walls. Someone had to have heard it, or seen it. I waited. I watched the flames lick at the car; engulf it. And then I heard the shouts. I pushed myself up against the wall and made myself small. I heard the gate being buzzed open. And only then did I hear rapidly approaching footsteps. The buzzing dropping in before the footsteps told me that the gate had been opened via a switch on the inside of the house. Which meant once I locked it, whoever ran out would be left out. Maybe they'd think to climb over the walls if they could. I'd make sure the house door was locked too. But I was getting ahead of myself.

The gate opened. Four men poured out, shouting and running towards the fire. It was more reinforcements than I had hoped for. But I couldn't dwell on it. It was time to move. I darted out from my cover while the goons were occupied with the burning vehicle. I slipped through the gate and shut it as quietly as I could. I checked to ensure that it was locked. I pressed the red button to open it. Nothing happened. Kane's paranoia served me well. The gate had been double-locked, which meant that it had to be opened from inside the house or with an actual key. I doubted a man like Kane, in his current state, would have given any of his lackeys a key to his place. I was in the clear so far.

I took out my Glock and kept low as I ran towards the house. I held my gun at the ready and slipped inside. I shut the door behind me, and turned the key. I was in. I double checked that it was locked as well. I took the key out and pocketed it. My breathing intensified. I was on full alert. Just because four men had run out of the house did not mean that there weren't any more inside. But I didn't see or hear anyone. Most of the lights were off in the house. I saw stairs. The balance of probability told me that Kane's personal space, his bedroom, would be up there. I decided to go there first. I ascended the stairs once I was sure that there was no one lurking on ground level. I reached the top. I saw light emitting from a door at the end of a hallway to the right. It had to be Kane's room. I crept up to it. My footsteps made no noise on the carpet laid out on the ground, thanks to the extra padding I had equipped my boots with. The door was closed. Had Kane barricaded himself in once he had heard the explosion? I couldn't help but smile. He was like a frightened child. I hesitated then. I had to assume that it was locked. If I tried to open it and failed he'd see or hear the door handle moving on the other side and know that something was wrong. His men wouldn't simply try to open his door without a word. I reached over and wrapped the door twice with my knuckles. Then I heard his voice.

"Who's there? What happened?"

It was unmistakably him. I would have recognised his booming voice anywhere. I didn't respond.

"Lenny is that you?"

I muffled a response. Then I heard a key turn in the lock. I raised my gun. The door opened.

And I was looking at Luis Kane.

His jaw fell. His beer bottle tumbled out of his hand. I spotted a gun on the desk behind him. He backed away. He could not get a word out. I already had my gun locked between his eyes.

"Luis Kane. You weren't that easy to reach," I said with a smile, savouring every word.

One would have found it impossible to believe that such a physically intimidating, hulking brute of a man - a man of his reputation - could be so afraid. I pushed the door closed with my hand, not letting my eyes or gun leave him. I hurriedly turned the lock in the door. It was just him and me now. I had him. I was moments away. His gun was too far away for him to reach it. He had been negligent to leave it on the table.

"You..." he breathed. He was actually shaking before me.

"What?" I responded while my smile grew wider.

"You really are the devil..."

Under different circumstances I would have laughed.

"Not quite. Now you're going to answer my questions, Kane. Or you're going to die horribly just like all the rest of your friends. The choice is yours."

He sank onto the edge of his bed looking like a defeated man.

"Good. First question then."

He looked down at the floor; shell-shocked.

"Did you murder my wife, Nicole?"

He frowned. And I could genuinely see his disbelief.

"No, I had nothing to do with that."

I was in a tough position. Was he lying to me out of fear of what I'd do if he was guilty, or was fear making him tell me the truth? I had to test it.

"If you lie to me I'll kill your pregnant daughter, Kane."

That shocked his system.

"Don't you fucking touch her! I didn't kill your wife for fuck's sake!"

That confirmed it. I finally knew. It was Anthony Cornero. It had to be now. I felt my anger renewed with my liberation. But I couldn't stop now. I still had more questions.

"What do you know about the weapons shipment?" I asked.

Kane closed his eyes and exhaled loudly as though I'd struck a nerve.

"Fuck you for that, Mercer."

I raised my eyebrows. Had I heard him correctly?

"It was you?"

"Cornero has too much control over this city. No matter how big we all get, he's still bigger. Him and me? We don't get along. I don't trust him. The second he has no more use for us, he'll get rid of us. I know it. So I wanted to be ready."

"Ready for what?"

Kane looked at me like I was stupid, "War. If it came to that I wanted the firepower."

"You were going to overthrow Cornero."

"If it came to that."

I had to admit I had thought that the weapons shipment had been Cornero's doing. But I had been mistaken many times already. I had always previously thought of the mob as one entity. That had always been because of my lack of understanding of what they truly were. And it had always just seemed that way, based on how they had collectively tortured me, and how little I had actually known about them. But it appeared that they had a lot more politics going on than I had originally thought. They were just men. And men could be beaten. I refocused. At least I could put the mystery behind the weapons to bed. I had to press on.

"Why not try again? I only put a stop to one boat."

"It's not that easy. Why do you think things are so on edge between me and Cornero? Once it went to the papers, he knew as much. There wasn't going to be a next time."

"Why'd he let you live then?"

"I told you. For now he needs what we do."

"And what is it that you do, Kane?"

"Go fuck yourself."

I decided to change the subject.

"So you hate Cornero then? You want to see him dead."

Kane said nothing.

"Tell me how to get to him."

"You won't. He's too smart for you, Mercer. He understands power and how to use it."

"Every man has a weakness."

Silence.

"You can tell me, or you can speak to the big guy in hell."

Kane tapped his leg nervously. He was on the verge of telling me something. I could see it. He was going to tell me something important. And whatever it was, it would change the game. I waited.

"He has a kid."

I stared. Shock hit my system; winded me.

"What?"

"A boy. He has a son."

I could not fathom what I'd heard. My mind could not process it.

"Don't look so surprised. I told you he was smarter than you. You didn't know about the kid, because he didn't want you and the people out there to know."

"If that's true then how could you possibly know?"

"I heard him talking to his wife about the boy on his phone once. He didn't know I'd heard."

"Seriously? As easy as that?"

"As easy as that. Nothing ever fazes Cornero or at least that's the impression he likes to give off. But I don't think he realised how edgy he got over his son that day. Whatever it was he's a father alright."

That little bit of knowledge was invaluable. I almost broke into a fierce grin. I finally had a way to get to Cornero. I had at last found what made him human. I couldn't waste anymore time. I had to hurry.

"Tell me one more thing."

"What?"

"Where's my daughter?"

He stared at me. I got irritated. I was sick of the reaction.

"Don't tell me she's dead, Kane. I was there. I know what it looked like. But weeks later I got a phone call from her. She's alive. And either you, or Cornero, has her."

"I sure as shit don't."

I steadied my aim, "You know what will happen if you lie to me."

"Fuck you, Mercer. Your girl is dead."

I knew now. Kane was not lying. He had been honest about the weapons shipment. He had told me about Cornero's son. And I could plainly see that he would have wanted nothing with my daughter. It didn't make sense to be his doing. That meant Cornero was behind it. It was the only explanation that fit. I was almost there.

"I guess we're done here," I said.

Kane gripped the duvet cover of his bed; veins throbbed in his neck.

"How did you do all of this, Mercer? How the fuck did you do it?" he spat at me with a madness in his eyes.

I looked at him. His was the face of a man who could not understand what he saw. A long time ago, ages past, I would have buckled against giants like Kane. But that time was gone. The man I used to be was no more. And so I picked my words. I picked the truth that I finally knew. I let it fill me up, and it gave me strength.

"I stopped being afraid of men like you."

I pulled the trigger multiple times. The gunshots were harsh and loud. The bullets tore into Luis Kane as though he was made of paper. His face and chest were blown open. He fell back onto the bed and limply slid off it as his legs gave in. Blood splattered the white sheets and the wall behind him. It was done. Kane was gone.

I had already spent far too long in his home. I needed to get out. I listened for noise on the other side of the door, but there was nothing. The men were still trapped outside of the gate. I unlocked the door and jogged out with my gun at the ready. I swapped out the ammunition clip for a fully loaded one. I wasn't taking any chances. There was still no one in sight. I climbed back down the stairs. It was still almost fully dark inside. But I was accustomed to it. More than my enemies would be. I had to find a way to escape. I glanced in every direction. I spotted the living room. It was all open plan. Perhaps the kitchen had a back door? I hurried into the living room area.

My eyes caught sight of a bunch of packets and wrapped parcels littering the floor. What was all of it supposed to be? Was it all gifts for Kane's pregnant daughter? For a brief moment my eyes surveyed the scene. I saw a flash of red on the table in the centre of the room. Then I saw white. I froze. I recognised the object. I could not believe my eyes. I reached for the wall and turned the light on. The room instantly became bright. I could see it clearly now. It was right in front of me, in a purple basket with pink hearts around it. It was a white teddy bear. And it had a red heart in its hands. Exactly like the one Jess had. I could not feel the ground beneath my feet. I approached it, my eyes glued to it. It was as though I was afraid that it would disappear if I looked away. In seconds I was standing in front of it. My mind could not comprehend a logical explanation. I reached towards it. My hand felt it. It was real. I picked it up. My body went weak. The fur on its right ear was stringy and damaged. As though it had been chewed on. All reason told me that it was impossible, yet there was no mistaking it.

It was Jess' teddy bear.

I dropped my gun. I stared at the teddy bear, my mind and body ceasing to function. I just stared at it. And the seconds faded, as I became detached from time. I heard a crash as the front door burst open. I jumped. The bear fell from my hand. My mind jolted to life. I tried to reach my gun. I was too slow. I was wrestled to the ground. There were screams and shouts in the room. I got hit in the face, and I tumbled to the ground, landing hard on my back. Immediately my side exploded with pain as a kick came in, and I rolled onto my front to shield my face. My body rattled as a boot hit the back of my head, and my chin knocked into the hard floor. My teeth had scraped my tongue. I tasted blood. I saw silver stars. I couldn't fight back. Four men dragged me out into the open, and shoved me into the back seat of a car. My vision dimmed. And I gave in to the darkness, wishing that I would cease to be awake.

I did not know where I was. I had been conscious the entire journey, but I had a bag over my head, and guns trained on me. My body was in pain. I hoped that nothing was broken. It didn't hurt to wriggle my arms and legs or move my body, so that was a good sign. The car abruptly stopped. I was roughly grabbed and thrown out of it. I took in my surroundings. I recognised the place. It was the docks. Two men escorted me across a bridge. They did not speak a word to me. The water was harsh. It was cold. There was a slight drizzle; constant and tranquil. The men dragged me to the edge of the bridge and held me down onto my knees. They tied my hands together with a cord. I looked down. There was an army of bodies buried underneath these waters. Innocents and criminals alike all reaching out to welcome me as one of their own. I had failed. I had lost all of the control that I had believed I had. I was now at the mercy of fate; a fate that was going to be decided by men who wanted me dead. Why were they waiting? Why had they brought me here? I didn't understand. My breath formed in clouds in front of me; visible for only seconds. I stared at the overcast sky and revelled in the relief the light rain brought to my wounds. I heard footsteps ahead of me. I turned my eyes away from the sky.

Anthony Cornero approached me with the confidence of a man who knew that he had won. He looked to be in his mid-forties. A lot younger than anyone would have expected. His hair was black and short, and he was clean shaven and neat. His eyes were icy and light grey in colour; they gave nothing away. He was dressed in a smart black suit with a dark grey, open shirt underneath. There was something about him that was hard to place. He had a subtle air of menace. He was intimidating without doing or saying anything at all. I shivered. He drew closer. There was a hint of a smile on his face. And in that moment I knew. I did not understand a man like Anthony Cornero. He was not like the others. I felt my blood burn. The beast fought to broke free, but my body was too weak to allow it. Cornero spread his hands and smiled.

"Jack Mercer. We finally meet."

He was completely relaxed. As though everything I had done to him had not even phased him. As though it were nothing more than a minor inconvenience, barely even worth the thought.

"I'll tell you something. I'm a man who can admit when he's wrong. And I admit to you that you got me. I truly believed that you were bold enough to come after me. But that was all just to lure me away from Kane, your real target, wasn't it? That's smart. You got a mind for deception. I'd shake your hand if they weren't tied. Then again I know what you can do, so if you don't mind I'll remain right here."

His voice was suave, yet calculated. Every word he uttered revealed how in control he was.

"Coward," I spat.

He grinned and in doing so revealed perfect teeth, "That fire in you...I admire it."

I said nothing.

"You know I don't quite have you figured out, Mercer. I always thought I had a good read on people. I just get them. But you? You're something else, aren't you? A lesser man would have been dead before Salvatore hit the ground."

Cornero studied me, and I could not tell if his look carried admiration or hate. It was unreadable. He was unreadable. All that I could tell was that he was enjoying himself.

"You did all this for what? Because you lost your family? You know on some level I can understand your position. I can even commend you on coming this far. But vengeance is a fool's choice, Mercer. Life isn't all poetry. You rode your luck hard enough, but when faced with a man who required something more to beat you fell like a wild animal giving in to its wound. Because after all this, no matter what it is you do, you're just a cop, a man, a weakling. But I am, by no exaggeration, what you may call a king. What I have is real power. You got a few guys to be scared of you and I applaud that. But that's not real. Me? I don't know fear. I don't feel it. I know power. This city lives and breathes because I make it so. That's power. Those men you killed? I owned them."

The man was a narcissist. Power-crazed. Obsessive. Manic. Yet I was small in light of his great shadow.

"You think because you killed a couple of leaders around here that everything - everything I built - would just collapse at your feet? Alright, I'll level with you. I'm an honest man. I'll give you your deserved credit. You've certainly spread your venom, and undeniably destroyed a great many things for us which took years to build. There's no doubt about it; it will take a long, long time for me to recover what I've lost.

"But you see that's time that I have. You don't. We'll come back stronger, Jack Mercer. You won't bury us because of a few bodies. There's always men out there who are eager to step up and make something more of themselves. I'll learn from these mistakes, and there have been many of those. But you won't be alive to see it all happen. And that is how your story of revenge comes to an end."

He spoke intelligently. He spoke with complete confidence; as though he was a level above everyone else. He nodded at one of his men, and I felt a rope being tied to my ankle. I knew what it was. I wasn't going to give Cornero what he wanted. He was mocking me, eager to watch me suffer and to end my life. I was in pain from the beating I'd endured, but I wasn't going to give him the satisfaction of showing it. The pain made me feel alive, as though I still had something within me left to feel. I held onto it. I remained awake. The cold wind numbed my face and body, giving me just the slightest bit of reprieve, but I looked to the rain. The earth itself was mourning for me; for my sorrow. I glanced behind me and took in the violent waters below. The torrent lapped at the legs of the bridge, and the blackness revealed a bottomless hunger. I wondered then how it would feel to drown. I decided that it would be agony. That the weight attached to my foot, anchoring me down, would only drive me to madness before the relief of death came. Moments before the end, death would seem a kindness.

"Are you not going to share words with me, Mercer, after everything we've been through?" Cornero asked, looking at me as though he was waiting for me to answer him.

I glared at him as the beast continued to fight.

"Do you confess to murdering my wife?" I asked. My voice was dead.

He shrugged.

"Maybe, maybe not. You're not going to know. People die - it's what they do. And so many of them die around this place, so how do you expect me to remember one single woman?"

"Don't fuck with me!" I growled.

He smiled, "After you murdered my men? It's the least I can do."

"It doesn't look like you care too much."

His expression became cruel in an instant, and his voice like fire.

"Don't mistake my demeanour for apathy. The difference between you and me, Mercer, is that I don't break. I feel my losses, but they do not control me. You did what you did, as did I. And here we are."

In the seconds of silence, while Cornero watched me, enjoying his victory, I chose not to lie to myself. I was afraid to die. Not of death itself, but of simply not existing anymore. I was afraid of leaving the world without reaching my conclusion in it, without avenging my family; without finding Jess. My mind began to understand what I faced. It began to understand that I was going to die. I started to feel sick. I couldn't breathe anymore. I no longer had a grip on reality. I was now trying to escape my fate with the sheer power of my will. My mind went to dark places. I became numb. I was already dead.

There was only one thing still eating away at the back of my mind. It was as though there was a ghost behind me carefully sticking a sharp needle into my brain, torturing me enough to remember my humanity. It was my daughter. It was Jess. That one phone call. I couldn't possibly get it out of my mind. I couldn't accept that I was done - that in moments I was going to die. It felt surreal. Like I was just going to wake up tomorrow and still be in pain. I was so close. But now Jess would never know what I had done to find her. She'd never know that I had fought every single day to look for her. She'd grow up without her parents. I wanted to weep. But the beast refused to let me show weakness to Cornero. It only called out for his blood.

"Jack."

I looked up. Cornero stepped closer towards me.

"Do you know the story of Icarus?"

"Vaguely," I lied. If I could keep him talking I still had a chance.

"I thought you would. It's from Greek mythology. The story goes that Icarus was the son of the remarkably talented craftsman Daedalus. The two of them, father and son, wanted to escape from the grand city of Crete and the evils that laid within. Daedalus used his skills to build two pairs of wings out of wax and feathers. One for himself, and one for his son. Together they were going to fly over the sea and leave that awful place behind forever."

Cornero took another step forward. He was still too far to reach. And my hands were tied. But I wasn't useless. I just needed him to get closer.

"Now before they departed Daedalus gave his son just one instruction to follow. He warned Icarus not to fly too close to the sun nor too close to the sea, but to follow his path of flight. All Icarus had to do was follow behind his father, and he'd be free. But he never listened to his father. After Daedalus took off Icarus was so overcome by the joy of flight that he went too far. He got in over his head. He soared through the sky; a heavenly calling. Now at first he was succeeding. No one could touch him up there in the clouds. His father had told him clearly, but he did not heed those warnings. He thought that he was in control. He thought he had what it took. He thought that he could overcome powers far greater than his own.

"But as we know Icarus foolishly ascended too close to the sun, which caused the wax on his wings to begin melting. Moment by moment control started to slip away from him. Icarus kept on flapping his wings, caught up in his mission and how far he'd come. He didn't even realise it, when all that wax was already gone, that he had no feathers left and that he was only flapping his bare arms. And so Icarus plummeted down into the harsh waters below, where he drowned."

Cornero next's step brought him within arm's reach. I tensed. I readied myself. He gave me a once over. Then he nodded at his men. They both grabbed my shoulders and held me in place. My heart raced. I had to fight back. I wasn't finished yet.

"Would you like to venture a guess as to who you are in that story?"

The beast writhed inside me pleading to take over. I couldn't move.

"You know, Mercer, others like the violence and the blood and the thrill of broken bones. But not me. It doesn't give me pleasure to watch a man become pitiful and pathetic because of pain. There's no satisfaction in that. We're all men come nightfall. Put us through enough torture of our bodies and we all cry for our mothers, or some God. There's no power in that. But what I do? It's something more. I take the mind away. It requires no pain or blood, but it's far more effective than both. When you're down in those waters I'll take everything from you, and I won't even have to raise a hand. That's because true despair, Jack Mercer, is in the mind's struggle before death."

Cornero placed a hand onto my shoulder.

"You had a good run, I'll give you that. You got further than I ever thought you could. But it's over now. You didn't listen to the warnings. You got in over your head. You thought you were a greater force than us. And now you'll pay for it."

My heartbeat was wild. My body failed. Darkness began to seep in.

"You, my friend, flew too close to the sun."

Something within me, at my very core, snapped to pieces. The realisation that I was going to die before I found Jess manifested into something ugly. It was not rage, regret, guilt or sorrow that raced through my veins in the dying light. The beast was still dormant. It was something else entirely. It was something that I could not understand; something beyond me.

I started laughing.

Cornero stared. His men exchanged glances. Without cause or reason, I laughed and laughed and laughed. The men began to look afraid and uncertain. Cornero didn't move. I was no longer Jack Mercer. I was no longer controlled by the beast.

Something else took over.

I stopped laughing. I smiled at Cornero.

"I know about your boy."

I could see it in his eyes then. The fear of a father. I saw him, beneath all his power. I saw his weakness. There was a moment then where all was still, and only the rain could be heard. Then Cornero growled and lashed out with his leg, catching me in the chest. The men let go.

I went over the edge of the bridge.

I fell down into the black waters with blinding speed; the weight attached to my leg pulled me down faster. I crashed into the surface, went under and let out a wild torrent of air bubbles. I screamed into the darkness; suffocating and drowning. I fought for air. I could see the surface of the water just above me. I tried to reach it. The weight pulled me down. I didn't have the strength. I went mad. I thrashed. I grabbed at the rope and tried to pull it off of my leg. It went tighter. Each second felt like a year in the great darkness. My chest burned. My body gave in. My struggle soon ended. The black abyss of the ocean was silent. For a moment there was a beauty in the stillness. Then the pain rose up to claim me. And all was empty, dark and cold.

##  Chapter 13: In This Time Of Dying

I was neither dead nor alive. Most people did not understand what it truly meant to drown. It was terrifying. It was maddening. It was a horrible death. It was pure, unrelenting agony. And before I had faded I saw things. I saw things in the darkness. I had dreams, but the dreams turned mad. Beneath the depths there was a roaring in my ears. A crushing pain in my chest. There was a howling like the wind. The darkness that dwelled here was infinite. The world had gone silent.

I opened my eyes. I faced the cold; it burned my skin. There was nothing but desertion here. The streets were empty. I called out; my echo was the only voice that called back. My shadow was the only companion that I had. The rain fell harder. I walked the ghost street and awakened my senses to all that was buried within. Surely I had come to see something in this dead place. I turned a corner and I found myself at a crossroad. I glimpsed something in its centre in the distance. It was a heap on the ground. I began to approach it as if drawn by it. I stopped in front of it. Shock hit my system. My mind shut down. I froze in place.

I saw my family.

Nicole was dead. I could see the marks the blade had made on her skin. Her hand laid on the ground, overstretched towards the figure of a small girl. A girl who was unrecognisable. Her skin had been burnt away. She was just a body. But in her charred hand was a white teddy bear clutching a red heart to its chest. I shut my eyes and grabbed at my head, fighting for a comfort I would not get. I wanted to be out of here. I didn't want to see this. I didn't want this pain. There was no mercy for men like me. Where was the beast now? Where was the one who helped me be free of the agony I faced in my moments of clarity?

When I reopened my eyes the bodies were gone. I stared. My heart beat in a violent rush and my mind was in jagged pieces. What was happening? I suddenly heard a loud gust of wind from above. I looked up. I could not believe my eyes. An enormous creature flew above me. It had great big wings. It soared through the air with a grace I had never seen in all my life. It braced against the harsh rain, and swept past the stormy clouds and the icy air. It struggled, but the creature was free. No. Not a creature. A man. He went for the clouds. He ascended. I watched in wonder. He reached his peak at the sea of clouds. He thrust his wings emphatically. Miraculously the clouds parted.

The sun broke free.

The light burst through. His cries were ghastly. I had never before heard such agony in a man's voice. I watched in horror as he erupted into a ball of flame, and plummeted towards the earth in a brilliant burst of light. There was a single moment then, where the trailing fire was magnificent, that I felt fear. The impact was extraordinary. He hit the waters. He went under. I waited to see him surface, but he never did. I felt the loss, yet I did not know why.

I felt a sudden burning in my chest then. Abruptly my breaths started to catch in my throat. It felt as though I was being strangled by some invisible force. I began to choke. I collapsed to my knees and my hands fell flat onto the hard ground. I coughed. And I threw up.

It was water.

I stared, confused. Lightning struck. The rain became a torrent. It became vicious. A flood burst through the city and engulfed it whole. I cried for help as I was caught in the great wave and violently thrown around. I lost all control. I was at the mercy of a power far greater than my own. I felt fear more potent than I could have imagined. I prayed that my body would survive the onslaught.

But in moments the chaos had ended. I hit something hard. There was a calm sense of floating. I opened my eyes. I screamed. Air bubbles burst from my mouth. The entire city was submerged, and I was drowning. The surface was miles above my head. I tried to swim towards it. My body felt heavy. I looked down. There was an anchor attached to my leg. I panicked. I thrashed. I fought. The world started to go dark. My body started to lose all strength. My mind collapsed. And then, in the moment before I surrendered to despair, I saw it in the waters.

It was not the beast.

I did not recognise it, yet it approached me as though I were a friend. A massive shadow. Its eyes were white. Its hands were like claws. Its teeth were sharper than swords. It had a ghastly grin. It was far more terrifying than anything I had ever seen. It wanted me, and I could not escape. The shadow embraced me. I saw darkness. My struggle ended.

I jerked awake. I was miraculously alive. The drowned city was gone. The wraith-like shadow was gone. My vision came into focus, and I was seated at a table. My breath caught in my throat. It was impossible.

Jess was right in front of me.

"I missed you, darling," a sweet voice said to my right.

I turned. And there was Nicole. She smiled at me. She gently touched my hand. It felt incredible. My eyes began to tear.

"I'm so sorry my love..." I whispered.

"It's over now," she said.

"There's so much I want to tell you."

"Let's just enjoy this moment," she said, putting a finger to my lips.

"But-"

"Please."

"I don't understand."

"Jack, just leave it alone."

"Nicole, what's wrong?"

Her expression turned cold. Her grip on my wrist became like a vice. I stared at her. She yanked my arm ferociously, but it suddenly rattled along with my whole body as it failed to move more than a few inches. My hands were chained to the table.

"What the hell is this?" I shouted.

"You left us to die, Jack..."

Nicole's voice was like a faint whisper. My heart crushed.

"No, no don't say that. I never meant-"

"To what?"

"I never meant for any of this to happen."

"But it did. And after they killed me, you couldn't even save Jess! Your own daughter!"

My hands balled into fists. Rage unlike anything I had ever felt before swept through me.

"Look at you. You're not my husband. You're a murderer. I don't even recognise you."

I saw Jess' sad expression. My rage subsided instantly.

"Baby, don't listen to her. I did all this for you. I tried to save you!"

"No daddy, you did this for you. You wanted them to be scared of you. You wanted them all dead. And you enjoyed it."

Nicole rose from the table. She went over to the counter beside us and picked up a metal basin.

"It's time, Jack."

"Time for what?"

She returned and placed it in front of me. I recoiled.

It was filled with water.

I thrashed in my chair, but the chains held.

Jess looked at me with hopeful eyes.

Nicole slid her hand up the back of my neck.

"I want my husband back."

I looked at her. A tear rolled down my cheek. I knew the truth.

"I died with you."

Nicole's eyes glistened.

"Then there's nothing more to say. Goodbye, my love."

She pushed my head down into the water.

I struggled. I fought. But I was drowning. And I faced despair once again. My body gave in. Jack Mercer was dead. The beast was dead. There was nothing left that could give me life. I waited for the inevitable. In the silence, there was a moment of absolution. I heard it then. It was immense. It shook the world. There was a gigantic roar as the wraith rose again, from the ashes of despair, and finally took control. I was liberated from all weakness. Everything turned white.

I slowly opened my eyes. The world, everything, was a blur. My body felt twice as heavy. I just saw a white glare. The fierce light blinded me. I heard myself breathe. I felt my heart beat, slow and laboured. It was impossible, but it was real. It was not a nightmare.

I was alive.

I heard the beep of a machine. I was in a bed. That much I knew. Scene by scene, the world came into focus. I was in a hospital. And I was breathing. I did not understand any of it. By all accounts I should have been dead. I had drowned. I knew that. I had sunk to the bottom of the ocean. It had not been very deep. Or maybe that was just because the weight attached to my leg had made me reach the bottom faster. I felt a wave of discomfort wash over me. I graciously took breaths, trying not to let my memory return of drowning. I tried to speak, but my voice failed me. It was raspy and decrepit. I felt a burning in my chest; constant and painful. Whoever had fished me out of the water had known what to do. In most drowning cases, the victim was not out of trouble as soon as they began to breathe and spit out any swallowed water. In fact the first forty-eight hours after a drowning incident could actually be the most dangerous. Complications resulting from water exposure such as pneumonia, infection or heart failure could all occur during the recovery period immediately after. I did not know how long I had been out for. I just felt horrible. My chest felt so tight. I felt so weak. I turned to my side. My heart sank.

Seated on a chair beside my bed, dozed off, was Sarah.

I tried to sit up. My hand caught. I shook it, confused. I blinked. I realised that I was cuffed to the bed. I closed my eyes. It was worse than death. But seeing Sarah again brought joy as much as it did fear. I had no way of knowing what she thought of me. She was aware of all that I had done. I didn't know the first thing I'd say to her. At the same time, however, I needed to find out what had happened. I needed to know how much time had passed. And more importantly I needed to know what had happened to Anthony Cornero. If I had been rescued, it had to have been within seconds or minutes after I had taken the tumble into the ocean. Did that mean they'd got him? I had to find out. I needed Sarah for that. I weakly reached over to the bedside table, and swept come containers off it. They clattered to the floor and Sarah started awake. My heart began to hammer.

She stared at me, as if she could not quite believe that I was awake. Under different circumstances I would have cracked a lame joke. But I was not that man anymore. And by the looks of it, she didn't view me the same either. Neither of us spoke. I looked at the door. There were no reporters waiting outside, no other police officers or any kind of extra security at all. There were no other patients in my room either, which told me that I was in a private space. I knew what that meant.

"You kept all of this a secret then," I whispered.

It took her time to find her voice, "What else was I supposed to do?"

More silence.

"I'm sorry," I breathed.

"Is that all you're going to say to me?"

I didn't speak further. How could I?

"You know I spent days crying. I spent nights confused and hurt wondering how you could lie to me and do the things that you did. I never thought that I could be like this. I really didn't think there was anything that could affect me this much..." she broke off, and after a moment she exhaled and went on, "I've been worried out of my mind. I've been thinking about all the things that I would tell you if I ever saw you again...and now I don't even know what to say to you."

I looked at her, truly looked at her. She looked haunted. What I saw was not the Sarah that I knew. She was broken. She was in pain. And she was lost. I knew how she felt. In that moment I felt guilt for something other than my family. And it hurt.

"How did you know where to find me, Sarah? No one knew that I was there."

A worried, even scared, expression set over her face.

"Someone did, Jack."

"What do you mean?"

"I got a phone call. There was a man on the other end of the line. He knew my name. He told me that if I cared about you I wouldn't hang up or trust the police with what he was about to tell me. He told me that Cornero was going to kill you, and I had little time left to stop it."

I stared. What the hell was going on? Was it the same person who had warned me against the coming assassins? It had to be. I could see no other explanation. Sarah seemed to believe that it had been a man. Perhaps she didn't feel it was a woman's work. I had got the same impression. The fact that both of us believed it was a man was good enough for me.

"I got there as fast as I could. I brought Marcus and I brought divers. It was at the docks, and I knew if Cornero had you...it was you who told me that his signature was drowning. I was so scared. If I had got there a few minutes later..."

She broke off and coughed.

"What happened to Cornero?"

"He was gone by the time I got there, Jack. We got his two men. They were just waiting there, like they were making sure you were dead. But they won't admit to anything. They won't give up their boss."

Cornero had slipped through the cracks. But how? He couldn't have just vanished. We'd been on the damn bridge. But as much as it frustrated me, I knew that it wasn't important presently. It was time to ask the question that was nagging at my mind. I had to confirm it.

"Sarah, did this man on the phone sound like he was using a voice changer?"

She frowned, "How did you know? I didn't tell you that."

I sighed.

"Did you hear about an explosion at a motel?"

"Yes."

"Moments before it happened I got a call from that same man. He told me that three men were coming to kill me."

Sarah gasped.

"This man is your anonymous source. He's a player in this game, but we have no idea who the hell he is. But going on what we know it does seem like he's trying to help us."

"Jack, at one point I thought you were the source. I thought you had sent me the information on Donovan after..."

She stopped again, and I saw her rub a tear away from her eye. She was trying really hard not to think about the fact that I had killed all those men. It was there, out in the open; a wall between us.

"No. Did you get anything on the others?"

"Yes. The source, this man, gave us everything on Paul Castellano, and Luis Kane. Castellano's reputation was destroyed after the story about the girl in his bedroom got out, among many other shady practices involving the mob's money. It's quite a rap sheet. We also got information on some of the young girls Castellano has shared company with before. Some of them had been listed as missing persons for nearly two years. We managed to track down some of them. We're still working on the rest, but thanks to the source we're putting an end to everything that Castellano had held in secret."

"What about Kane?"

"Jack, this source had eyes on everything. He uncovered every piece of dirt on Kane. Luis Kane is - or was - the largest distributor of drugs in this city. He practically ran an empire. He was the kingpin. Buying, selling, moving, it all happened under him and his control. At least, it's past tense now. The source gave up their meeting places, their products, their methods and their names. We shut it down, all of it. We were even able to put a stop to some of his prostitution rings and gangs."

"Just how long have I been out exactly?"

"Nearly two days."

I cursed silently. It couldn't be helped now. I was impressed at how the media had reported on none of it. The police had done a good job of keeping up a massive shroud of secrecy. At least I knew where Kane had fit in to the picture. But the anonymous source didn't make any sense to me. I had so many questions. How could he have had access to the kind of information he'd been dishing out? Why had he waited so long to reveal any of it? And why was he helping us - what was his part to play? And the most burning question of all was regarding how long he was he going to remain on our side. I had nothing to go on. Whoever the man was who had all the dirt on the mob, he was either a powerful ally or our most dangerous enemy. Yet he was a ghost.

"Jack."

I looked at her.

"Did you..."

"I think you already know the answer to whatever it is you're about to ask."

"You killed Will Harding the night you went missing."

I said nothing.

"That text message. Was it from the source as well, or you?"

I stared at the ceiling as if my silence would spare me from it all.

"Sarah, I don't know what you want me to say. If you know what I've done, then you also know why I did it. Why I had to."

I turned to face her. She looked at me with anger, yet she was also close to tears again.

"Jess is dead! Me, I'm alive and I'm here. You left me to chase a ghost! You murdered..."

She put her face into her hands and went silent. When she took them away I could see that she was finally crying.

"I know the system failed us...and I failed you. But there had to be a better way Jack; there had to be a better way than this. A better way than you becoming just like them."

"I'm nothing like them."

"Why didn't you accept my help?"

"Jess is alive, Sarah. I know it."

"Please don't do this. There has to be a way that you can come back from this."

She was fooling herself. I would never come back from it. There was no chance of that. There had been no chance since the moment I had made the choice to kill.

"Sarah."

She bit her lip again.

"I found proof that she's alive."

Her mouth opened.

"At Kane's house. I found her white teddy bear. Jess' favourite one. It was hers."

She looked at me as though I was mad.

"For God's sake, I'm not crazy! It even had the exact same chewed-up ear. Jess used to bite on it constantly. I must have seen her do it hundreds of times."

She didn't say anything.

"Sarah, you have to let me go. I have to find her."

"What?"

"You just have to let me go. Please."

Sarah was choking up now.

"Jack, you're sick. You need help. You need to stay here."

I felt the anger start to emerge. And I gave into it.

"If there is even a one percent chance that Jess is still alive, I will tear this entire goddamn city down until I find her. I will kill everyone who stands between me and my daughter. You think I'm crazy? I have clarity now. And you see it too. This city, its people, they cheer each time one of these animals fall. They breathe easier now when the sun rises. Understand this, Sarah: there is nothing that I won't do to get my daughter back."

The look that she gave me in that moment, I knew that I would take it to my grave.

"I don't know who you are..."

"I am a father who will do anything, become anything, for my little girl. I have seen this city's real face, and it's nothing but pain. I've finally learned what I have to become to stop men like Cornero. Mercy and justice are weaknesses I can't afford; mistakes I will never make again. We both know that your way can never work, Sarah."

"Please don't do this, Jack..."

Her pleas were desperate, yet helpless. I choked, feeling the anger fade as quickly as it had come.

"I know I can't prove that she's alive. But it is all that I have left."

"You had me," she whispered.

I said nothing. I instinctively reached for my hand, and felt that my wedding ring was still there. I was numb. I didn't feel alive.

"Sarah..."

She looked at me. Her expression was vacant; broken.

"Without you I would never have made it through everything after Nicole. I owe you so much. But this is about my daughter. It's about Jess. Please, I'm begging you..."

I paused. She didn't speak.

"I'm begging you to let me go."

She looked away, "How could you possibly think I'd do that? Knowing what you did, what you will do..."

I closed my eyes and fought back tears.

"I need to get out of here..."

She coughed and tried to pull herself together as she rose from her chair and walked towards the door. She pulled it open and stepped out. The curtains closed. The silence returned. And I was, truly, alone.

I laid awake in the darkness. Sarah had not yet returned. I had tried removing the handcuffs on my wrist, but I couldn't do anything about it. I was frustrated. I needed to get moving. I was so close now. But I could not deny that the rest felt good - it felt needed and long overdue. My body was still weak and recovering. My mind had not yet entertained the possibility that I was done. I refused to allow it. For now I needed to regain my strength, and then I needed to figure out how to escape my newfound captivity. I almost laughed at the joke. I had gone from one pair of restraints to the next. The only difference was that my destination was not an ocean, but a cell. A padded one.

I thought about Anthony Cornero, and my blood burned. Because of him I had almost died. Jess would have never known. My face started to feel hot. My mind returned to the drowning. My memory made me revisit suffocating under all that water as I fought to reach the surface, but could not. I tossed and turned, fighting to get the invasive thoughts out of my mind. I knew that I was suffering from post traumatic stress disorder - it wasn't the first time. My mind could not process the horror of what I had experienced. My hands gripped the bed hard and my breath caught in my throat. I shut my eyes tight. I focused on my breathing. I inhaled and exhaled; repeatedly and slowly. I told myself that I was out of the water. I told myself that I could breathe. I told myself over and over again that I was alive. And slowly the tension and stress was relieved. I began to fill my mind with images of Jess. There was a calming feeling in me now, and I took it in. I kept my eyes closed and let myself drift. Soon enough I had fallen into a deep sleep.

I awoke to morning light, and Sarah calling out to me. I heard heavy rain outside. It was cold in my room. I looked at Sarah while rubbing the sleep from my eyes with my free hand. I felt far better than the previous night. I had a lot of my strength back. But not all.

"Jack," Sarah said, and I could hear that there was no warmth in her tone from that one word.

I waited as my heartbeat began to pick up pace.

"It's time to go."

"Where?"

"I'm taking you in. After that I don't know what will happen."

My heart sank.

"Sarah..."

She looked down at the floor.

"Look at me."

She didn't move.

"Please. Please don't do this."

Her eyes met mine.

"You have to let me go. I'm so close to Jess..."

"I can't. And I won't."

The anger returned. The stress returned. I could not believe it. I could not believe her. It was cruel. I had come so close. And now I was going to rot in some prison cell or asylum while my daughter was still out there? I refused to accept it. It was a fate worse than death.

"You should have let me die in that ocean," I spat.

She didn't respond. She moved towards the wardrobe and grabbed a grey shirt, jeans and shoes. She tossed them at me.

"Get dressed."

I listened and obeyed in silence. I dressed awkwardly with one of my hands restrained. It took a few minutes. When I was done she put her hand on the railing of my bed.

"I'm going to take those handcuffs off, and then I'm going to ask you to stand and put your arms out in front of you. I'm asking you to please cooperate. I really don't want to call security on you or let this get out of control."

She moved towards my restrained hand. She had the key.

I went into a panic.

I could not go with her. I could not leave the room knowing that all that was waiting for me was a dark interview room and either a prison or asylum after that. My daughter needed me. How could Sarah not understand? Fuck the people I'd killed. Fuck them all. They had deserved to die. The city was far better off without them. I was doing good. I was helping. More than her. I thought of Jess. Sarah put the key into the lock and turned it. The handcuffs clicked open. She took them.

"Please get up, Jack."

She backed away one step and put her hand onto her gun holster. I slowly rose from the bed and put my legs onto the ground. I was on my feet. Sarah commanded me to put my arms out in front of me. I obeyed. She took a step towards me. And I knew that there was no other way. I wished to God that it didn't have to be like this. But it did. I had no choice. If I let her cuff me it was all over. Jess would never know that I loved her with all my heart and that I had done all of this for her. She'd be all alone. She wouldn't be safe. She wouldn't get to live her life. Her beautiful life was still so open to her. She was so young. And then there was Cornero. He'd get away with it. He'd get away with all of it. I would not let that happen. I could not. I hated myself, with every inch of my being, for what I was about to do.

Forgive me.

Her hand touched mine. There was a moment then where I was uncertain. She was more than a friend to me. It wasn't supposed to be like this. We needed each other. Then my hand brushed against the steel.

The demon broke free from its shackles.

I moved with a fury. I swiped the cuffs out of her grip with a vicious backhanded strike. Sarah recoiled in shock. But she could not react in time. As fast as lightning I threw out my hand and grabbed her throat, and she gasped as the wind was knocked out of her. I put all my weight into it, and my leg was already moving to kick hers out from underneath her. She slammed into the ground with a heavy impact - harder than I had anticipated. The back of her head hit the ground with a jolt, and I heard the loud thud. Panic flooded my mind.

I launched myself from the ground and charged towards the door. Please God, don't let her be hurt. I had no way of knowing. She looked like she had been dazed. It didn't appear that she had sustained any severe injury. But I wanted to cry. I felt so terrible; so ashamed.

"Hey!" a booming voice called out to me.

I turned. Two police officers had been standing outside of my door. They stared at me. I broke into a run. They barked orders at me. I heard one of them yell into their radio. He shouted at his partner to check on Sarah. Medical staff stared, confused and startled. Chaos erupted. I spotted an elevator at the end of the hallway. It opened. Three nurses and a doctor stepped out. I charged and barged hospital staff out of my way as hard as I could. It loomed closer. I was going to make it. I rushed past them and lurched forward to hit the ground floor button on the control panel inside the elevator. The officer was still running towards me. He was getting closer. I hit the button to close the doors. He was almost onto me. The elevator door was nearly closed. The gap grew smaller. I shook my leg, partly from nerves and partly to wake my limbs up further. I was going to get away. Then the officer threw himself forward and caught the door with his hand.

It started to open.

I panicked. I had to act fast. Before he could. I flattened my hand and threw out a knife strike to his throat. But I was still weak and slow. He reared back and avoided it. He countered and struck me in the shoulder blade. I gritted my teeth in agony and knew then that I had temporarily lost my left arm. The doors were fully open now. I tensed. He was about to put me into an arm lock. I was not going to give him the chance. I growled, brought my stronger right hand back and went for a kidney shot, giving it everything that I had. He was unprepared. I made a solid connection and he screamed in pain. In a flash I jumped to my feet, shoved him hard, stepped forward and slammed my foot into the tender area of his leg just above his ankle. He staggered and dropped low as he howled. I wasted no time. I brought my fist in again with tremendous force, hitting him square in the temple. His head jerked sideways and he dropped instantly. He was out of it, his eyes dazed.

I was breathing hard. I had exerted far more energy than I would have had I been at my peak. Hospital staff ran screaming. I heard one call for security. I couldn't take the elevator now. If they locked it down I was screwed. I dashed for the stairs. I went as fast as I could, praying that I wouldn't lose my footing. That would be the end of me. I took a leap on the last few steps and went off running. I jerked as I knocked my already bruised shoulder against the edge of a wall. Clumsy fool. It ached, but I was fine. I only had to focus on my escape. Everything else had to be secondary. I cursed at the damn hospital for being difficult to navigate. I was on the ground floor, but there was an assortment of paths I could take. I spotted a cleaning lady. I rushed over to her, hoping she was not clueless.

"Excuse me, could you please tell me where the exit is?"

She gave me a once over, and to my relief pointed behind me and instructed me to take a left after that. I thanked her and ran out. I couldn't put an exact number on how many minutes I had used up getting down. I could only hope that the police's backup had not yet arrived. But I would deal with that if it came to it. They weren't just going to shoot me after all. I followed the instructions I was given and almost broke into a smile when I saw the reception desk. The exit loomed ahead of me. No one gave me a second look. That was curious. I had expected at least the hospital to be informed by now. Was I just lucky then?

A sound as loud as a gunshot went off.

I instinctively ducked. Panic erupted and I heard screams and shouts nearby. I realised that it was coming from outside. What was going on? More shots went off. It was definitely gunfire. I bolted for the exit. I emerged out in the open. My body froze as I took the scene in. There was a large, black SUV on the opposite end of the street. Four men in ski masks were firing at multiple squad cars. Their sirens were glowing in the morning light. The police returned fire, ducking behind their vehicles to avoid the oncoming siege of bullets. What the hell was this? But I made the connection in a second, and with a jolt I realised. It was the mob. They had come to kill me. It had to be that. But how could they have possibly known that I was alive?

Then one of them saw me.

There was a moment where his eyes were on mine. I expected his gun to turn to me. But he didn't do a thing. He ignored me. I knew then that as much as I wanted answers, I couldn't stand around wasting the opportunity I now had. Whoever the hell they were, they were keeping the police busy and away from me. The army of squad cars would have made sure that I would have never made it out. I took off running to my right, ducking low to avoid any stray bullets.

I was certain that one of the men had seen me. He had looked me straight in the eye. If I had been his real target he wouldn't have thrown that golden opportunity to put a bullet in me. I had been completely exposed. I looked over my shoulder. None of the cars had followed me. Surely the SUV could have powered through and caught up with me. I'd have been completely defenceless. But I was as free as the rain. None of it made any goddamn sense. I had no other option but to force it all out of my mind and focus on getting away. I wasn't in the clear yet. I needed to get as far away as possible.

I spotted a taxi in the distance. I ran towards it, calling out and waving my arm. I saw it stop. I climbed inside and collapsed back against the seat. The driver asked me where I wanted to go. I had no choice about that. I gave him the address of Luis Kane's home. I had to get back what I'd lost. I hoped to God that my car was still there. The driver nodded and gunned the engine, and I was gone.

I told the driver to wait. I rushed over to my car. I was relieved to see that it was still there. It was in a legitimate parking spot, so there would have been no reason to tow it, especially since it had not been stationary for that long. No one paid any kind of attention to parked cars anyway unless they were in suspicious spots or unoccupied for more than a few days. However I knew that even then it was unlikely that anything would be reported. Most people didn't care. For once it was better for me that way. But the car being there was one thing. All I cared about were my belongings. Without them I surely was screwed.

I spoke a silent prayer as I reached the passenger seat. I opened the door. I knew that I had left it unlocked. I saw my ski mask on the passenger seat. I lifted it. And there were my keys and wallet. I closed my eyes and breathed deeply in relief. The rest of my money was in my bag in the boot. I dashed back to the taxi driver and paid him the bill. He thanked me and left. I opened the back. It was early in the morning so there weren't a whole lot of people around. I didn't care much for decency right now. In all the adrenaline, I had not even realised how cold I was. My body was numb. I shivered as I fished out a coat from my bag and slipped it on. The jeans and shoes I had on were good enough. I ruffled through my bag, searching for what I really wanted. My hands found it.

I pulled out the SIG Pro semi-automatic pistol.

The gun's weight felt good in my hands. I had lost my suppressor and my Glock, but I couldn't change that now and I didn't have the time to build a new one. I would have to make do. At least I had a weapon. I checked the magazine. It was fully loaded with all twelve rounds. I studied the weapon more closely. It was black and overbearing. I recognised it as the SP 2022 variant of the Sig Pro series of pistols, which was a modified version of the SP 2009 and 2340 models. If my memory was correct the SIG Pro 2022 was fitted with an integral Picatinny rail \- or tactical rail - instead of the proprietary rail found in other models, which allowed it to be fitted with attachments. The front trigger guard was shaped differently to its predecessors, allowing for a firm finger hold. I shared a private joke with myself as I thought of how Nicole would have laughed at my knowledge of firearms, finding it creepy.

Unfortunately, I knew that I had to be careful with the weapon I held in my hands. The Sig Pro did not have a manual safety, but it did make use of a de-cocking lever which lowered the hammer without striking the firing pin. It also had additional features like a trigger-bar disconnect, which disconnected the trigger once the slide was out of battery and an automatic firing pin lock, which prevented the freeing of the firing pin until the trigger was depressed. It was certainly a sophisticated model. It was the ideal weapon. The only problem was that I just had the one clip at my disposal. I knew that I wouldn't be able to risk buying more ammunition. The police would be livid after what had happened at the hospital. I had left them red faced, and I was now priority one.

I ejected the clip and studied the ammunition that I had. The gun was available in 9x19mm, .40 S&W and .357 SIG variants. The weapon I had acquired used .40 S&W ammunition. I knew that that type of ammunition was popular with law enforcement agencies in the US. It had been designed to duplicate the performance of the FBI's reduced-velocity 10mm Auto cartridge, which definitely meant it was high-end. I wondered again what a lackey like Emilio had been doing with it. The ammunition was renowned for its accuracy, more manageable recoil and more energetic loads. It would serve my purposes. Whoever I pointed the weapon at, their chances of survival were extremely low after a direct hit. I found myself smiling at that. I had been lucky.

The downside however was that the ammunition I currently had on me would not work with the new weapon, which meant I only had the twelve rounds in the magazine to go on. I had to make every shot count. I could not afford to spend money on another gun, and neither could I take the risk to actually go into a shop. Besides I knew that I had to have enough money left over once I found Jess so that I could leave with her.

My only target left was Cornero. And I didn't need twelve shots to kill him. He was all that was standing between me and my daughter. If there were any complications, I would improvise. My thoughts about the weapon trailed off; nothing more than a distraction. I gripped the gun in my hands. The cold bore down on me. Now, in the silence, my mind focused. It would all end soon. There was only one man left. I thought about what he had done to me. My mind flashed back to the water. I tightened my hold on the weapon as the anger returned.

I thought of Sarah. I thought about what Cornero had forced me to do - what I had done. I had hurt her. I had broken her heart. I had ruined her life. And now I'd forced her to tell yet another lie. She could not reveal to the public that I had escaped. She would have to keep it silent. But I knew that all of it was Cornero's fault. I loathed him. He had almost made me lose my chance to save Jess. I would not make the same mistake again. I would show him how little his power meant.

I grit my teeth. The beast was gone. There was something new in its place. And it took over, so easily as if I were nothing compared to it. My threads of reason snapped. I would kill whoever was still breathing that had anything to do with my family's death. I'd kill them all. Cornero's entire family would die if that's what it took. Their empires had already crumbled to dust. Their money had burned. Their families had been torn apart. But I was not done yet. I had made a vow a long time ago. I intended to uphold it.

I would make them suffer. I had not forgotten that promise.

The rage threatened to consume me then. And I lowered my guard to it. The demon told me what I had to do; it whispered the ugly truth. I knew that Cornero had no idea that I was coming. He thought that I was dead. In a way I was. But I would make Cornero understand what he had truly done. I was going to cripple the entire mob. I was going to cause Cornero the greatest pain that I possibly could inflict on any person. Only then would he understand what it meant. Only then would he understand the real pain that I lived with every day. Only then would he know to fear me. The demon purred, and the action became necessary.

I was going to kill his son.

It was not the time for weakness. The demon's instructions were clear. I would torture Cornero with it until his last moments of sanity. Then I would kill him with less respect than I would have given to an insect before I crushed it under my boot. I knew that he thought I was dead. I could spin that in my favour. I'd wear the ski mask when I pulled the trigger. I also knew that Kane and Cornero had been at each other's throats. Kane might have been dead, but I'd make sure that his ghost haunted Cornero. If he believed that it was a mob hit against his family, a mutiny, he'd react with violence. He'd show me the darkness that he hid so well beneath his facade.

And I'd watch with a smile.

Cornero had sent men into my home to murder my family. He had taken Nicole away from me. He had taken Sarah away from me. He had left me in those waters to drown. A vein popped in my neck. My breathing became heavy. My vision shifted out of focus. I faced absolution. Jack Mercer was truly dead. The demon engulfed what was left. I vaguely saw my reflection in the car window; the wraith glared at me with its eerie white eyes. And I knew what I had to do.

I would kill his son.

Only then could he look me in the eye and know what it felt like. Then he could break. He could feel what it was like to be mortal, weak and vulnerable. He could feel what it was like to be in the shoes of those he trampled. I shut the lid of the boot. I climbed into the driver's seat. My hands gripped the steering wheel hard enough to turn them white. I struggled to contain all the anger. My mind only knew one thing.

I would make him suffer.

I set my sights on Anthony Cornero. It was time to end it all.

##  Chapter 14: What We Do For Our Children

As the day went on it only became colder. The rain became more violent as the time passed. I realised that I was starving. I could not remember the last time that I had eaten. I sat in a bar. It was inconspicuous, and I was hoping that I'd get more updates from any of the locals. I probably ate enough for two people, which was both good and bad. I needed to be at my peak. It would happen tonight. I had sat for hours after finishing my meal. I was nursing an iced glass of water. Drinking anything else would be a mistake. I had until nightfall.

I heard two men talking at the table next to me. Finally, after a good three or four hours, my luck had arrived it seemed. I had not just randomly gone to any bar. I had known the one I found myself in. It was widely known to be frequently visited by mobsters. With my cap and the hood of my jacket over my head, I was incognito as long as I kept my head down. I had nothing but time, until the sun went down.

"You know what I think, Marty?"

"Nope."

"This Jack Mercer clown we were all getting up in a fuss about. Before, you know, Cornero dunked him in the sea. I'm thinking maybe he actually did us a favour."

"You talking about Cornero - or Mercer?"

"Who do you think?"

"Okay, so what do you mean he did us a favour?"

"Think about it. All this time we've just been doing the grunt work. Following our orders and playing nice and not questioning shit. But now the big guys are gone. Salvatore, Donovan, Castellano and Kane - they're all sleeping below the ground. Know what that means?"

"I'm starting to see your point, Eddy."

"Yeah, Marty. I knew you would. There's opportunity out there now. For one of us. You and me. Why can't we have some of the glory?"

"What about Cornero? How could we go up against him knowing what we know?"

"He's just one guy. He always had the others behind his back. But I think that we can start something. We can be our own leaders."

"I like your thinking, Eddy. That sounds good. Where would we begin?"

"Wherever we want, Marty. Which one of those asshole's line of work do you like?"

"We'd need guys though."

"Oh we'll get them. We just have to sing a better song than Cornero. Everyone's scared of him, you know? But what if we offered something better. Something like....family."

"You mean like a 'we're all equals here' kind of thing?"

"That's it! We win them over, and we take it from there."

"But Eddy won't there be other guys like us wanting to form their own cliques? And it's dangerous, man. You know what happened to that old guy Rogers. He tried to rack up his own crew and he got gunned down before he even got started."

"That's true. But Rogers wasn't smart about it. We just have to get there first and do it right. We first have to get the people on our side."

"And how do we do that?"

"We start small. We recruit our guys privately. We first build a small group that we can trust, and then some ways down the road we make them get guys that they can trust. Exponential growth."

"You know what? That sounds really good. I'm with you on this."

"Damn straight. This is our time now."

I had heard all that I had needed to. I smiled. It seemed Cornero's world was a bit more unpredictable than he thought. I threw the money I owed down onto the table, slipped my hands into my jacket pockets and walked out into the cold and the rain relishing all that I had heard.

I climbed into my car. My mind was pensive and in search of answers and direction. I did not know Cornero's son of course. I didn't know anything about him. But I did know where Cornero lived, and I also had the element of surprise on my hands. I was under the radar. As far as Cornero was concerned, I was dead and he was unopposed. My only plan of action right now was to visit Cornero's home in the safety of the dark and find out what I could learn about his son. Cornero appeared to be a careful man. I didn't even know how old his son was, so I had no clue if he was living alone, married or even in the city. But I suspected that if Cornero went to such great lengths to keep him a secret, then he had to be living among us and vulnerable. That's what I would have bet on. It wouldn't have made sense to go through so much trouble if his son had been unreachable in some distant part of the world. After all, wasn't it smart to hide something in plain sight? That seemed Cornero's style. His son most likely walked out in the open among the rest of men. I'd have to see what I could find out.

I thought about Sarah then. My hands tightened on the steering wheel. I leaned forward and rested my forehead against it. I could not believe what I'd done. I'd lost her now; lost her as my only friend. Maybe even something more than that. I didn't know. I could barely think about it half the time. It felt like cheating on Nicole, like betraying her. Betraying her because I was weak and needed comfort. My guard just dropped around Sarah, and I did not even know why. She was my close friend and we'd been through so much together, but the idea of anything more? It was absurd to me. Yet it had almost happened. Maybe that was why I had the nightmares. Wherever Nicole was, she knew that I was pathetic. She knew that I had almost cheated; that I had failed to honour her memory. I felt my pain return, breaking through the cracks in my soul. I knew that I was cursed. I would never get back what I had.

Despite everything, it still hurt to have lost Sarah. And it sickened me - what I had done to her. I did not know if she'd ever forgive me. But Jess was my daughter. My child. Nicole's child. I had sworn when she had been born that there was nothing that I would not do to protect her. It was the one thing - the last thing - that I could not fail. I had made a mess of everything else in my life. I had ruined it all. But not this. Not Jess. I refused to let her down. She was out there, and I was going to find her. Everything that I had done, everything that I had been through, had been for her. I would bring her home, no matter what.

My mind suddenly flashed back to the white teddy bear I had found at the home of Luis Kane. I knew what I had seen. I was sure of it. The bear even had the same chewed off ear. How was that possible? It could not have been coincidence. And I had not hallucinated it. I had felt the fur; seen it as clearly as I could see everything right now. If it truly did belong to Jess, then surely that was a sign of some kind? But why had it been there? With a sinking feeling I tried to relax my mind. There had to be a plausible explanation. I knew I had been unable to find the bear after my family's passing. It had been missing from my house. Did Jess maybe lose it before everything had happened? Was it some twisted story of fate?

I closed my eyes and blocked out the memory. Even if she had lost it, what the hell was it doing at Kane's house? It could only be the same one. I wasn't imagining that Jess' bear was unique. I'd seen her biting its ear on so many occasions. But it just didn't make sense, like so many other things lately. I knew that Kane had a pregnant daughter, and his house was filled with gifts for her. Was it possible that someone just had a similar teddy bear? Was it possible that it actually was merely coincidence? I swore. It was frustrating. I had no answers. It made my head spin to try and piece together any kind of coherent explanation.

I instead concentrated on what laid ahead. Cornero was all that stood in the way of me and my daughter. Sarah had said that there had to have been another way to do what I had done. But I knew that there was no alternative. When people said that violence wasn't the answer, they were wrong. It was the only language that evil men understood. They dished it out in spades, but when the time came for them to face it themselves, they proved to be spineless cowards. I had seen it. I knew it. And Cornero would be the same. I'd watch him beg and plead and I would revel in it. I knew what he'd do - what he had almost done - if the roles were reversed. A fool would say to be better than him. But better men were all dead, and only the monsters remained.

I looked to the SIG Pro pistol on the passenger seat next to me. Without the suppressor the gun would be as loud as thunder. But I only needed two bullets. One for Cornero and one for his son. His son would die first. I breathed out deeply. I still had daylight. But it was only hours left now. I turned the car on, and drove off without any real direction in mind. It would be over soon. I just kept telling myself that it was almost time. And then I would have Jess back.

The night was young and the stars were bright. But the beauty of it all was marred by the frigid wind and the flowing rain. For a few moments I gazed at the rain as it gently swayed in the wind. The rain was an everlasting contradiction. It shielded me from the eyes of others, yet at the same time it hindered my ability to see. It played no favourites.

I watched Cornero's house from afar. I did not see any security around the perimeter. The house itself barely had any at all. That puzzled me. In fact the entire thing baffled me. The place didn't even look like the home of a rich man, let alone a crime lord. It looked just like any other house on the block. I did a double take as I wondered if I was even at the right place. The only notable security feature was an electronic gate, but the walls were low enough that the gate didn't exactly offer any suitable protection. A car was parked on the other side and it too was nothing expensive. What had happened to the wealth I had seen in Cornero's red car outside of his club? I frowned. Not even Kane had lived in such a low-key house. It didn't make any sense.

My thoughts were interrupted by sudden movements behind the gate. I rolled my car window down, and the rain accepted my welcome as it pelted the inside of my vehicle. I heard voices, but I could not make out what they were saying. The gates opened. I tensed.

I heard Cornero then. I would have never forgotten that voice.

"Would you kindly get us there before the clock strikes eight-thirty? A gentleman always arrives first to a meeting, my good man."

Another man who sounded younger, presumably his driver, answered obediently. I watched from a distance as the car pulled out of the gate, and Cornero was briskly driven off towards whatever he had planned for the night. I smiled to myself. I had picked the perfect night it seemed. And breaking into his place would be easy compared to all the others. I pulled on my black gloves and slipped the ski mask on, and what was left of Jack Mercer disappeared. I checked that the SIG Pro was ready to fire. I had inspected it obsessively to make sure it was in good condition. It was a second-hand good after all, and I could not have trusted that its previous owner had taken the proper care of it.

I pulled my jacket around my collar. I studied the walls up close. They were definitely low enough for me to climb over. I quickened my pace and scurried up the wall, grabbing the ledge above. My fingers got a firm grip, although I almost slipped on the wet surface for a brief second. I managed to pull myself up and vault over. I landed and turned around. The walls were low enough that a kid could have climbed over. I was in. I approached the front door. I hesitated. If it was locked, I'd look for another way in. Otherwise, I would have had to break in and make it quick. I reached for the door handle.

It was unlocked.

I listened for any sound on the other side. I was in the clear. I opened the door as softly as I could. I stopped. The inside of Cornero's home was breath-taking. I stared slack-jawed. It would have cost a monumental fortune for everything inside. The walls were littered with paintings and antiques that appeared to be of high value. The television screen in the nearby lounge looked to be larger than sixty inches. A door was ajar to the left, and I advanced towards it as I remembered what I had come for. I did not hear signs of life anywhere. I gently pushed the door open. It was a wide room filled with elegant bookshelves. There looked to be hundreds of books here in the room with ease.

As I surveyed the place I realised once again that I did not understand the depths of a man like Anthony Cornero. He fooled the world each minute of the day - even his own mob. He blended in with every other house on the block; living among families and civilians. He kept himself poor on the outside, a common man, but when you entered his home you could not mistake his power and fortune. But his actions were only to put up a veil; to cloak himself. He went unnoticed, and invited no one to take a second look. He hid directly under the sun.

I doubted even the men he did business with knew anything about him on a personal level. He understood, more than I ever did, how vulnerable we all really were. What the world did not know about you could not be used against you. I had known his address, from the police records, but I had never expected anything like this. I knew then why no one got to Cornero or even saw him unless he allowed it. I had a suspicion then that the house I was in was not the only property that Cornero owned. He probably had a few around the city if he ever needed to move to another shadow. Cornero shielded his home, his family and his wealth and in doing so masked his power. He was known by reputation, by fear and by action alone. He had been right. I could have never beaten him before.

I feared then the probability that he had high security inside his own home. If it wasn't for the ski mask, my face might have been recorded. I had to move quickly. For all I knew, I could have tripped a damn motion sensor already. My paranoia began to play host to my mind. I ignored the rest of the interior and decor. I had to find anything I could about his son. Was his wife still around? I heard footsteps ahead. I ducked behind a wall. They went past me, down the hall, and I heard a door open and close. I then heard a tap being turned on. Someone had gone to the bathroom. I could a corner them there. I suddenly heard a loud crash. I turned my head to the right. It was coming from a room nearby. I listened. The sounds became clearer to me now. I could make out a car driving at high speed with a rock soundtrack in the background. It sounded like a video game.

The bathroom door to my left opened. I scurried behind the wall, and heard someone walking towards me. But they turned away from me after a few steps, and I peeked around to see an open area that appeared to be the kitchen. It was a woman. I presumed that it was Cornero's wife. She looked to be in her early thirties. Very beautiful. A brunette. She kept in good shape.

"Tony, I'm making you some dinner! Come to the kitchen!" she called out.

I took out my gun and crouched low behind the wall. I could hardly believe it. Cornero's son was right there. He had been named after his father it seemed. It couldn't have been so easy. The noise from the video game ceased, and I heard his son briskly walking towards the kitchen.

"I just need to get something from the freezer. I'll be right back," his mother said.

I heard her leave. I breathed. There was no time to think. I pulled away from the wall. I advanced towards the kitchen with my gun held out in front of me. The soft padding on my shoes ensured that I made no sound on the wooden floor. I stepped inside the kitchen. I saw the boy. And in a second the world collapsed around me. My heart ceased to beat. My mind fell to ashes.

It was just a child.

My mind refused to accept what I saw. Just a kid. He was not even as old as Jess. He saw me then, and I was not prepared. Fear took hold of him. He opened his mouth to scream. My blood chilled. He had the same eyes; those icy, grey eyes. He had Cornero's eyes. I knew then. There was no mistake. It was his son. The little boy's shout echoed through the house. His mother came charging back. She let out a shrill cry as she saw me. My resolve shattered. The hand holding the gun grew weak. My mind erupted into a panic. I stared at the child.

I couldn't do it.

Without warning, in the midst of the silence, the demon rose. It hissed at me. It called me weak. It called me pitiful. It called me an unfit father. I stepped forward then. I raised the gun. The mother screamed in defiance and ran at me. I caught her with one arm and threw her to the floor, much harder than I had meant to. She hit the ground tumbling. But she recovered quickly and crawled on the floor. She broke into a pleading cry. She started to beg. She offered me her own life. She pleaded with me not to hurt her baby. Her agonised, desperate voice cried out to her child to tell him that everything was going to be okay - that he must not be scared.

I looked into those grey eyes. He was just a baby. He had not even lived. He was just like Jess. But he was unlucky enough to be the son of a murderer. He was unlucky enough to be who he was. I fought back my own tears as I held the gun between his eyes. He looked at me with innocence. His big, round eyes showed that he was unable to understand. He did not move. He did not fight. He did not make a sound. My hand shook. I managed to suppress the demon. The boy hadn't done anything wrong. He wasn't responsible for his father's crimes. How could I do it? There had to be another way.

The demon roared in a fierce anger and crushed my humanity in its palm. His father's crimes were why the child was supposed to die. It told me that ugly truth. It urged me to do it. And I understood its words. More than anything I knew. I knew it better than anyone. Children always paid for the mistakes of their parents. I heard the pleas of the mother, growing more desperate and tormented. The demon blocked her out. I was caught between it and the remnants of Jack Mercer. The man. The father. The killer. I stalled as the demon dictated that the boy had to die. I stalled with the last few moments I had to breathe.

I knew that killing Tony and carrying out my plan to frame Cornero's mob would start a war between them all. I wore the mask. To Cornero, Jack Mercer was dead. He would have little option but to assume it was a mob hit; a face from his past. Whatever his belief there was one certainty. He'd react with a monstrous vengeance. I was going to unleash the evil in a man I did not understand. A man I could not match. I could be signing the death warrants of dozens. Hundreds. I could be starting a slaughter. Doing the Reaper's work. I had no way of knowing what would happen once I made the choice. Doubts crept into my mind. Had I really lost so much of my humanity? Did I have to do it? I could take his family hostage. I could wait for Cornero to return.

You don't understand this man.

The gun shook uncontrollably in my hand.

You are failing Jess.

I grit my teeth.

Cornero killed your wife. He has your daughter.

The demon began to take control.

Have you already forgot what he did to you?

Visions flashed in my mind of drowning. Suffocation. Agony. Dying.

Jack Mercer is dead. Nothing but an ancient fossil. A dusty relic. A forgotten memory.

My gun hand went still.

The boy must die.

The world became devoid of sound. There was a dull ache in my chest. A roaring in my head. A calmness in my body. A chill in my blood.

I thought of Jess.

I searched for forgiveness in a place where I knew there was none.

I felt my finger pull back on the trigger.

A thunderous blast filled my ears.

A gaping hole emerged where the child's eye used to be.

Screams.

I saw red.

##  Chapter 15: The Reaper's Feast

The hours faded. Daylight, a blackened sky, an orange glare - all blurred past. Stay awake. Just stay awake. Don't fall asleep. I didn't want the nightmares to return. I couldn't bear to face them again. I was in an empty room. There was no warmth. No furniture. No bed. I had thrown it all out. I laid atop a single, uncomfortable mattress. There was still a ringing in my ears. I could still see the blood. I could still see the boy's eyes. I could still see his face; torn apart. I held my hands to my face. The gun was on the floor with the ski mask beside me. My eyes were red. I was weeping. I felt as though I had suffered a fate far more devastating than death. I felt as though my soul had decayed. I struggled to breathe. And the demon laughed at me. At my weakness. At my evil.

It treated me like a pitiful wreck. Other times it treated me like a friend.

I was not aware of what day it was. I did not know how many hours had passed. I only knew that people had died; dozens had already fallen. The first day seven known members of Kane's mob had been massacred. The next over fifteen corpses had littered the ground, and soon after the rest of Luis Kane's men were buried. An uncertain amount of time later a former frontrunner for Gregory Donovan had been gunned down in a supermarket. Innocent people had been caught in the crossfire. Wounded or dead, I did not know. I blocked it all out while the demon laughed. A car had been blown in public to kill a single family member of Paul Castellano. The blast had injured three other people.

At first erratic, the killing then became relentless. It had almost been as if the intended targets were dead, but the bloodlust was not yet satisfied. The families of Paul Castellano, Gregory Donovan, Paul Castellano and Luis Kane had subsequently been slaughtered. I knew one of the victims: Luis Kane's pregnant daughter. She was found gutted in her home with her newborn baby still in her arms. Its throat had been slit. The sheer cruelty of the act felt from a different era. Everything that these men once had was now destroyed. All around me the city basked in horror. There was nowhere left to hide. The news told a dark story.

"Terror strikes the streets as mob-related murders escalate to a rate we've never experienced before."

Even after the families had fallen the blood continued to spill. Mobsters, innocents and even police found themselves at the end of the sword. The police themselves were publicly flogged and disgraced. With each passing day they failed to contain the violence. The people protested. The mob had imploded, and its destruction had taken the lives of innocents. The city had fallen into despair; nothing remained but burning ash. All hope had been swept away in a river of blood.

Anthony Cornero had opened the gates of hell. His vengeance, his wrath, had found all those who had dared oppose him. It had found all those who had tried to act, and not submit. It had found the undeserving. It had found the innocent. It had found the city's beating heart. And he had crushed it in his palm.

"This can only be described as a bloodbath. We urge you to stay off the streets during this hour of crisis. I fear for the safety of everyone in this city."

War had broken out. The city had gone mad.

The Reaper had its feast.

And it had left me soulless.

"People of our fine city, it is with terrible sadness that I say to you now; this is the darkest day in our history."

One day I would look back and try to justify all that I had done. I could explain every murder that I had committed. The city was a better place because of the people I'd killed. Jess was safer. But the child; Cornero's child. I had killed him as a move. A strategy. I had not needed to. I had killed a baby. I had given in to the demon's whims. And it purred in ecstasy. I could not describe the anguish that I felt. I was something less than human. I realised then that somewhere along the way, I had lost sight of who I was in my struggle - as if I was the villain of the story. I thrashed from side to side, but I knew that there would be no sanctuary from the pain. I would find no peace from the sorrow. I could only watch as it all crumbled to dust.

My mind drifted. When I had been a kid, I had been afraid of the dark. It had terrified me. I had believed that there were monsters out there that only hunted at night. My father had told me that there were no monsters, that all I had to do if I was ever afraid in the darkness again was turn on the light, and see for myself that there was nothing there. Only air. Only emptiness. Only thoughts created by my own imagination. The irony was cold. Now when I turned on the light, I could see the monsters in all of their glory. And I was one of them.

I could never have thought that all those years ago I would grow up to be exactly what I had been terrified of. Nobody knew what they would become one day, but no one ever thought that they would become something repulsive; something evil. No child sat in front of their television and said "Dad, when I grow up I want to be a villain." That would be as though the kid had watched all of his favourite superhero movies backwards, where the villain broke free from prison and once again wreaked havoc on the city and on the hero's life. And the movie ended when the villain got the better of him in what was supposed to be their first encounter, but was now their last. But here, in my story, it was as though that kid had not watched the whole movie. It was as though he had stopped before the end when the hero was supposed to save the day, and had left everything still trapped in the nightmare; unresolved. And I was trapped.

No one could live with what I had done, without being tainted. Whatever Hell was, wherever it was, I had signed my name on the dotted line. There would be no coming back from what I'd done. There was nothing left that remained of me. I wept and wept until I no longer could. I laid in the light, and when it passed I laid in the dark. I truly was dead. My stomach pained from hunger and my throat was parched. I wished for death's embrace.

Yet I knew, down in my core, that I wasn't finished yet.

I still needed the demon's strength.

I cursed myself for being pathetic. I cursed myself for wasting time here stricken with pain while Jess waited. The remnants of Jack Mercer were weak. I called on the demon now, at the pit of my grief. I felt an inkling of strength creep back into my body. I moved. I brought myself to my feet. Fatigue and weakness caused me to stagger, but I caught myself. My head pounded. I felt sick. I reached down to pick up the gun. I left the room. With each step that I took, I fed off the demon's strength. Soon the hunger became distant, the thirst irrelevant and the ache in my head nonexistent. And I was a vessel to a darker power.

I reached my car and switched it on. Without any thought or hesitation I sped towards Anthony Cornero's home. I drove dangerously fast; my fury rose to the surface. It ended tonight. All of it. I did not care how long I had to wait. Eventually he would return home. I would just wait. The minutes passed. I was dislodged from time. Floating. It was all so surreal. I saw Cornero's home approaching. I screeched to a halt. I got out of my car. I walked without feeling the ground beneath me. I saw only Cornero's car parked in the driveway. I climbed over the wall. I dropped heavily to the ground and staggered. I regained my composure and battled through my fatigue. I got to the front door. I raised the butt of my gun and slammed it against the door, violently knocking. I didn't hear anything on the other side. I grit my teeth. Venom flooded my veins. The anger intensified to uncontrollable levels. I stepped back. I viciously threw my leg out and kicked the door under its handle. It burst open in splinters. I raised my gun.

And I saw Anthony Cornero in mid-approach with a look of shock on his face. He looked a haunted man. The menacing figure I had faced before was now a shadow.

"You..."

The demon threw me aside.

"It is simply not possible. You drowned!"

I smiled, "Unlike Icarus I know how to swim."

Cornero backed away. I pointed the gun at his heart. I wanted to wrench it out.

"I'm sorry that I had to kill your son."

Cornero stared. The shock set in. The disbelief. And then the rage. He let out a horrifying scream and charged at me. Foolish. The demon was at the helm. Not Jack Mercer. The distance was too close to try for a shot. And if I missed he'd be on me. I swerved to the left and kicked out at the back of his leg. He stumbled and I grabbed the scruff of his neck, using every ounce of strength that I had to slam him against the wall. He hit it hard and lost his footing. I trained the gun on his head.

"I can still kill your wife."

He stopped moving, slumped and gazed into the barrel. He leaned his back up against the wall.

"How did you survive certain death, Mercer?"

"Maybe I'll tell you. Maybe I won't. You'll never know."

He closed his eyes.

"I see now. You murdered my boy to force my hand. You knew I thought you dead...you knew how I would retaliate. You fooled me into believing in an invisible enemy; to make me see a threat when I looked at my own men. You made me kill them all for you. And I obliged to your plan like a scene from a play."

He opened his eerie eyes again, and I saw their icy grey core.

"I could never have anticipated it...the sheer amount of blood under your name, Mercer."

I did not answer.

"What was it all for? Was all of this for nothing but common revenge?"

I pointed the gun between his eyes.

"Are you sorry for murdering my wife Nicole?"

Cornero said nothing. The anger burst forth.

"You fucking deserve it! You murdered my family! You took away everything that I had!"

"You were never going to learn. I'm not sorry for what happened, Mercer. Salvatore was right about you. He'd always been right about you. You were an undisciplined, callous hothead too stupid to understand that you were playing hero in a city where there are none. You ignored all of our warnings, and I had no choice but to wade in when you nearly destroyed my most prized possession: the surveillance room in that warehouse."

I didn't care anymore about that. I only had one thing in my mind.

"You admit it then. You killed my wife?"

Cornero looked straight into my eyes.

"No."

My body went numb. No, no, no. It was impossible. It was not possible. It had to be him. It could be no one else.

"You fucking liar!"

"You misunderstand, Mercer. I did not kill your wife. But it was my order."

I became weightless. I could not believe what I'd heard. The search was over. But I did not feel relief. I did not feel liberated. The demon did not want the man who had merely loaded the gun. It wanted the man who had looked my wife in the eyes and had murdered her as she pleaded to be spared.

"I want a name."

Cornero did not respond. I gritted my teeth and a wild noise escaped my throat.

"Give me a name or I will kill your wife!"

"You already know the man, Mercer."

I blinked.

"What?"

"You want his name then?"

I waited. A second of pause. The world was still.

"Nathan Kenway."

Bullshit.

"Don't lie to me! That makes no fucking sense! I arrested him before my wife died. He's in a damn asylum! He's been there the whole time! It couldn't have been him."

"That's exactly why it is, Mercer. You think with all my resources, all my power, that I can't get a single man out of there whenever I wish it so? Think about it. It's brilliant. He's the perfect killer."

I went quiet. I tried to interpret Cornero's words. I struggled to grasp at the straws of reality.

"You want his life too? Have at it. Kill them all. But one of these days you're going to run dry of men to kill. What happens then? This is what you are now, Mercer. Like me it is what we do. You're not going to wake up one day and be free of all this. You'll never just move on. It will chase you, your whole life, like a hungry dog. There is a point of no return for men like us. Look at all the men I killed over the past few days. It didn't bring my son back. It didn't even take away the pain. I never feared pain before, even when I always felt it. But now it frightens me more than anything else. Whatever you're searching for out there, it's already under the ground."

"My daughter isn't dead," I whispered.

Cornero blinked.

"Where is she?"

"Delusion, Mercer. Whatever convinced you that she's still alive, shut it off. You can't bring your daughter back anymore than I can my son."

"Cornero. I saw her body. I did not even recognise it. I dealt with that pain. I did not retaliate. But three weeks after her death, I got a phone call from my daughter. I heard her voice. I know she's alive."

"The mind's a powerful thing. Just yesterday I imagined that my boy was still with me. I could have sworn that I heard his video game. Only, it was nothing but air. Yet my mind had so clearly convinced me, in one singular moment, that reality was not what it was. How is that possible? Whatever you think you heard on the other end of that line, you didn't."

"I know what I heard!"

"Mercer. I personally ordered that execution. You don't think that I would have made sure it got done? I don't know what you're looking to hear or what you think you're going to find. But you know what? I've accepted my son's death. It's time you did with your girl."

I refused. I thought back to the phone call. I hesitated. My mind was hazy. How had it happened? I blinked. I wracked my mind. I tried to recollect the memory.

It had been the early hours of the morning when Jess had called.

No.

It had been before midnight. I was sure.

She had called my mobile phone. No. The home phone. And I had answered.

What had been her first word?

I could not remember.

She had said that she was okay.

Had she? No.

I tried to pull myself together. It was just the fatigue. The hunger. The thirst. After I rested I would remember. I was just not in the right state of mind.

I faced Cornero.

"There is one thing that makes me less of a monster than you."

His gaze was unwavering.

"I am truly sorry that I had to kill your son."

Cornero did not react.

"I'm not sorry that I have to kill you."

He just sat vacantly staring into my eyes with his cold demeanour.

"Do you want my fear? You finally see, don't you? Power is an addiction, isn't it? But you're searching ways off the grid. There's nothing left to take from me anymore. My wife is gone - I do not know where. She's here, but she's not. Her mind is just empty. My son is dead. My men are dead. My power is gone. We're soulless men, you and I."

I lowered the gun.

"And what good is life to a man without a soul, Jack Mercer?"

The demon thirsted for blood. I lowered the gun. It would not do. Not for him. I drew my knife. I advanced. The next few moments were a visceral blur. It was as if my mind refused to let me see the blood, or hear the ghastly screams. My hand struck, my eyes saw, but my mind did not acknowledge. But it was soon done. He was gone. The city was free.

But I took no comfort in it. I felt no relief. The demon was not yet satisfied. I was not yet finished. I forced my soul, with every inch of my being, to not think of what he had said about Jess. I held onto the illusion. I held onto what I knew. I focused the last threads of my mind on the man responsible for murdering my wife.

Nathan Kenway.

In this there would be no choice.

I had to kill him.

For Nicole.

For Jess.

And for me.

##  Chapter 16: A House Of Pigs

My mind no longer made sense of time. In one moment I had been leaving the body of Cornero. In the next I was at the asylum. The torrential rain was determined to bury the earth beneath it. The cold spoke a larger threat. I tightened my coat around myself. There was an ebbing of pain in my head. My mind could not reflect on some of the things Cornero had told me. If not him, then Nathan Kenway knew where my daughter was. He had been there. He had killed my wife. He would tell me what I needed to know. I ascended the stairs. I pushed open the entrance door barely feeling my hand touch it. I was numb. I had long stopped feeling as though I was alive. I could only feel the cold.

I stepped inside the eerie building. Its stark white walls and dull colour painted a morbid picture. It might have been a place of healing and care, but it looked like a cage devoid of warmth. I closed the door behind me and advanced towards the reception desk. A tired-looking man sat reading a magazine. He heard my steps and looked up at me with a puzzled expression taking over his face. I did not have it in me to tolerate resistance. I just no longer had the patience.

"Excuse me, sir, but visiting hours are long over. You should come back tomorrow morning. I thought that I had locked that door..."

I continued moving.

"Sir! Please leave. I don't want to call security."

I reached the desk. I lashed out with my hand and caught him by the scruff of his neck. He gasped in fright. I raised the gun and placed it under his jaw.

"Where is Nathan Kenway?"

He began to shake.

"You don't want to die for this."

The man didn't move.

"I'm going to give you three seconds."

"Stop! Okay. Okay! Let me just check the system quickly..."

I let go of him. He began to tap away at his computer. I kept my gun trained on him. I didn't trust him. There was always the chance he'd try to be a hero and hit a panic button. I wasn't there if he had one, but I had long learned to stop taking chances with people. But then he appeared to have completed his search, and he turned back to me.

"Alright he's in room seventeen. I'll open the gate for you. Just please don't hurt me."

"Good."

I lowered my weapon. I was glad that he had chosen to cooperate. It would have been a waste of a bullet had he not. He buzzed the gate open. I suddenly realised that I did not have the means to access the room. I brought my gun level with his eyes once again.

"Hey! I let you in!"

"Give me your key card."

He swiftly reached into his pocket and handed it to me. I took it.

"I have a problem now."

His voice quivered, "What?"

"If I let you go you could call the police. I can't take that risk."

He began to plead as I expected he would.

"It would be so much easier to kill you."

"I won't tell anyone, I swear to God! I'll just leave. Please..."

I pressed the barrel of the gun against his forehead.

"Can I trust your word?"

He nodded while sweat dripped down the side of his face.

"Go."

He needed no further motivation. He bolted out of his desk and ran as though fearing I would change my mind. I knew that he'd taken me seriously. I made my way deeper into the asylum searching for room seventeen. My mind did not form thoughts. My body moved as if on rails. As if I was merely watching someone else in control; a puppeteer using me as his own. I was past room nine now. I ignored all of the whispers and mutterings emanating from nearby rooms. I focused only on what was to come. Kenway would die. And then I would find Jess. It was almost simple. I had overcome the greatest evils of the city. I had cheated death itself. And I was finally where I needed to be. I was steps away from the end. I stopped outside of the room. I read the label. I was at the correct door. I peered through the glass. I saw a man seated at a desk; unmoving. I swiped the key card through the electronic lock, and the light turned green. I opened the door. The man turned to face me.

I found myself looking into the ghastly eyes of Nathan Kenway.

I stepped inside and shut the door. His disfigured face was eerie in the moonlight. He half-smiled. I pointed the gun at him. He showed no reaction to the weapon. Instead he actually looked pleased to see me.

"Jack Mercer. I've been longing to see you again."

"You knew I'd come?"

He turned his chair to face me.

"It was an eventuality once you knew the truth. I have been wanting to speak to you under different circumstances than when we first met. I do apologise for the threats and the theatrics. That is not my way. It is theirs. Please, have a seat."

I made no move to take him up on his offer.

"You know why I'm here, Kenway."

"You may call me Nathan."

I did not respond. He gave me a strange look, as if studying me, and then turned to glance out of his window with a pensive expression.

"I have the most peculiar feeling that you finally understand me now, Jack. I can see it in your eyes. You know. Madness is not what drives men like us. We're just aware of a truth. Life is not a gift, but a test of endurance. How long can you last in a world that's out to break you?"

I remained silent.

"Answer is simple: you last until you die, or you become something you can't stand to look at in the mirror."

Kenway looked into my eyes then. I checked the chamber of the gun in my hand. He did not move. I could not understand the man, or what he hoped our meeting would lead to. Yet, as I faced him, I saw something. I saw something that I had not seen when we had first met.

I saw him for what he was.

"I see you Jack Mercer. You are not the man I once met before. You are like me now."

"And what is that?"

"Gone."

I saw.

I did not avert my gaze from his hideous face. I peered into his inhuman soul. There was nowhere left to hide. I forced myself to look. I forced myself to finally accept what I saw in those eyes.

I saw a reflection.

"Would you like to know what your wife said to me in her final moments?"

My insides froze. I could not feel. My mind went black.

"Please don't hurt my baby! Do whatever you want to me, but don't hurt Jess. I'm begging you, please, don't hurt her..."

The remnants of my heart crumbled to dust. And I was soulless. My gun hand dropped to my side. I felt as though I'd fall through the very earth. Nathan Kenway did not break eye contact with me.

"I could not have put your little girl to rest after such a display of selfless love. It was so sincere. It was so poetic. There is so much ugliness in this world, Jack. It is nice to see a shade of beauty in the pit."

I sank back against the wall. I couldn't believe what I'd heard. Could it really be? Had I heard his words correctly? It was so sudden; so abrupt. I stared. My mind was bound by shackles. I couldn't form any thought. My hands began to shake. I could not breathe.

"You didn't kill Jess? She's alive?"

Each second brought relentless agony. The agony of hope.

Jess was alive. Kenway did not kill her.

Kenway looked at me with sad eyes.

"I am sorry, Jack."

Kenway paused; a moment of stillness.

"There was not one murderer, but three."

The gun clattered to the floor. My legs gave in. I dropped against the wall in a pitiful slump.

"What?"

The final inkling of strength that still held me together faded into nothing; a waiting oblivion.

"There were two other men with me that night. They delivered your daughter's body."

The tears were already falling. I had nothing left in me. I embraced death once again. Kenway gave me a look of sympathy.

"I understand that you want their lives as well. That is your right. I have a number that I used to contact them once your wife had passed from this world. It is yours."

He reached behind himself and retrieved a slip of paper from his desk. He gently placed it at the edge of the table in clear view of me. I said nothing. I faded. I felt nothing. No sense of closure. There was nothing left of me but a corpse. It was all so sudden; so quick. I was cheated out of reason. The reality dawned at last.

Jess was gone.

Just like that. My mind could not explain it. Yet I had always known. I had just blocked it all out. I could see that now. The demon had shielded me from it. It had manipulated me into giving in to its bloodlust. Where was the demon now? I knew. It was gone. Just like I was. I was alone in the moment where I needed its strength most. But a dim light in my head told me that I was not yet done. The two men who had killed Jess were still out there. It wasn't over.

"Jack."

My eyes slowly met his.

"I am truly sorry that I had to take your wife away from you. She was lovely. She was as pure as art; as elegant as the rain. She was perfect."

I rose off the floor and reached towards the gun. There was nothing but a hollow ringing in my ears; a dark blotch on my soul. Kenway merely sighed as if he was content.

"We both know that you have to kill me now."

I blinked, fighting the black in my mind.

"I accept my punishment. It is a fitting end to our story."

"What is this, some sort of trick?"

"Tricks are for children, Jack."

I stared off into nothing. He waited ever so patiently. He was right in front of me - my wife's killer. The man who had taken Nicole away from me. The man who had destroyed the love of my life, and snatched away the mother of my daughter. There were infinite ways to inflict pain. I could have made him suffer. He had been served to me on a golden platter. The anger was hollow, but it was immense. I could have fucking ripped him apart. I could have peeled the flesh from his bones. I could have cut out his eyes. I could have torn out his throat. I could have made him choke on his own blood. I could have broken every single bone in his body. I could have tortured him in horrifying, unspeakable ways. There were endless possibilities, and I had all night.

But it was pointless.

I would not get what I wanted from him. I would not get his fear, or his begging. He had already accepted his death a long time ago. His own life meant nothing to him. There was nothing that I could do to him that would make him give me what I wanted.

I was tired. I just wanted it over.

He looked at me and nodded.

"It is time to end our journey."

I did not think further.

I raised the gun and fired. Thunder boomed. Kenway jerked and went rigid. With a gentle slowness he slid out of the chair. My ears rang in pain. I was deafened. I took no joy in Kenway's death. I did not feel how I had imagined I would. I felt only a tiredness, and a sorrow. It was finally done, yet I was not yet finished. There was to be one final act. I forced myself to draw breath. I retrieved the note from the table. I pocketed it with care. I took one last look at Kenway's body. And then I retreated into the darkness that held me as a friend.

##  Chapter 17: Descent

"If you see this man please do not confront him. Call the police immediately. Jack Mercer is considered to be armed and extremely dangerous. We need your help to bring him to justice."

I listened emotionlessly to the radio in my car. I suspected that it would happen eventually. The police had finally cracked and had given me up. Or maybe a better explanation was that now that Anthony Cornero was gone, and the mob was no longer a threat, the opportunists in the force saw it as the right time to put an end to me. I had half a mind to let them take me. But I had no intention of being made to stay alive.

I looked ahead into the cold and the stormy sky. I watched the heavy rain descend. I wondered if it would ever stop. I was no longer able to weep. I no longer remembered what it felt like to live. I had less than nothing. I eyed the gun on the seat next to me. I wanted to do it. At the same time I fought against the temptation. When would be the right time? Jess was dead. I had always known, but had instead accepted a false truth. It seemed so obvious in that moment that she had always been dead. What else had I been expecting? Had Sarah not told me clearly, a very long time ago, that the police had identified the body? I had deluded myself. I had embraced the foolish agony of hope. As I watched the rain strike the earth, I knew that I made a selfish choice. I had done it all so that I could have held onto a will to live. In the end, it all had been for nothing more than my own revenge.

I could not even remember the phone call with my daughter. How it had begun, what had been said or what I had felt. I closed my eyes and sank into my seat. It was just a matter of time until I would be caught. With the mob out of the way and a city-wide manhunt for me in full effect, I had nowhere left to turn. It was a matter of time. But I would have rather died than waited another hour. I would rather die than decay behind steel bars. I would rather die than cling to life.

The demon hissed at me. It demanded the blood that it was still owed. I opened my eyes. I had nothing left. Nothing left but to kill the last two men who had been involved in my family's murder. I fished the slip of paper Kenway had given me out of my pocket. Three men had broken into my home to kill my wife and daughter. One of them was dead. Two remained. Two more lives, and then it was over. Then I could die. My family would be avenged. I took out my phone.

I dialled the number.

It began to ring. I crushed the mobile phone to my ear, waiting to hear a voice. The seconds stretched on. I waited, unsure of what was meant to happen. I could not feel my heart beating, yet I had a shiver in my spine with each second that passed. I jerked in shock as the call connected. I dared not to speak. I heard breathing on the other end of the line. The world ceased to move. And then I ended the silence. The demon's rage spread through my body and eroded all doubt.

"This is Jack Mercer. Nathan Kenway and Anthony Cornero are dead. Whoever you are, wherever you are, know that the two of you will die as well. When I find you, and I will, I would hope that you've made your peace with God."

I waited with an agonising stillness.

"Then I guess we'll be seeing you, Jack."

The line went dead. I gripped the steering wheel hard and gritted my teeth with venom. A surge of anger erupted inside of me, so overpowering that I buckled under its might. I would fucking kill them. I'd fucking tear them apart with my bare hands. My breathing went rapid. My vision blurred. The anger was so immense that I succumbed to it. I fought for control while the demon laughed on. The inside of the car became hot. I needed the cold and the rain. I gripped the car door handle and shoved it open, coughing as I stumbled out onto the pavement. I leaned my hands against the car and tried to focus. I tried to bring Jess to the forefront of my mind to calm me down. But she was gone. She was dead. I was never getting her back. The anger intensified. I saw red.

And it dawned on me then that I did not know where to look. The last two men on earth who were responsible for destroying my world were still out there, and I did not have an inkling of an idea as to where to find them. I grabbed my phone off the seat and hit redial in desperation. It went straight to voice mail. I had lost my only connection. I dropped the phone. My hands balled into fists so tight that it hurt. A vein popped in my neck and my body convulsed. The fatigue, the hunger, the thirst, the unbearable pain in my chest - it all blended into overwhelming anger and sorrow. I stepped out onto the road. The rain came down hard.

A ringing went off in my ears. I saw a flash of white; silver stars.

A tremor swept through the ground.

I felt light on my feet. My head erupted in pain. I screamed. A shockwave blasted through the entire city. The end had come. And suddenly I saw the buildings begin to crumble. The towers were collapsing around me. Debris rained down; caught aflame. There was a roaring. A great big rush of noise. White light engulfed the world. And I saw Hell's true face.

Nicole was dead. Jess was dead. Jack was dead.

The Reaper remained.

And it wanted more blood still. I saw the creature. I saw its true face once more, there in the shadows; in the pale grave of the dead city. A black wraith with horrible teeth like daggers and searing white eyes. Its fierce grin was a mockery. It reached towards me with skeletal hands, and the darkness engulfed all light. Its claws gripped my body, and it claimed my body. It whispered to me. It whispered to me the most horrible of truths. It told me what I was. I was not a father or a husband. I was not a killer. I was not a man. I was it. I was an emissary of death. I was sorrow. I was pain. And I belonged to it. The Reaper demanded its claim to what remained, and I wanted to let it.

No.

An inkling of what had been there before was still within reach; a feeble whisper. And it told me the one final truth: Jess was dead, but I had not avenged her. I wasn't finished yet. I still had work left to do. There were two men left, and they needed to die. I'd make them confess to what they had done to my baby. I'd fucking kill them. I would scrape the flesh off their bones. I would burn them to ash. I would watch them beg for mercy while I forced them to pay for it; to suffer for every second that I had. Only when I killed them could I finally rest. The world rebuilt itself; slowly and meticulously. The demon's clutches withdrew with reluctance. Clarity set in. I was in control once more.

I fell against my car and just let the rain seep into my skin as I breathed. I let myself get lost in the cold and the wind. I waited minutes until I felt a calmness return to me. I breathed. It took a long time to regain my composure, and to feel any threads of life. I focused my mind on what was to come. I set my mind to work. There was but one final act. I needed to find the two remaining killers. I had to draw them out. But how? And who would know where to find them? I got back into my car and shielded my face from the public eye as I contemplated. I reached for my phone, but with a jolt I realised that I had dropped it just outside. It would be soaking wet. I had been negligent. I opened the car door to retrieve it, and froze in place with my hand outstretched. Memories washed over me like liquid, and I suddenly had a way forward.

The anonymous source.

I had forgot. He still had a part left to play. It was time to find out whether he was an ally or an enemy. Whoever he was, he had known all kinds of things about the city's biggest crime lords. He had been a watcher in the dark to all the vile secrets the city held. I had to enlist his help to find the two killers. He had to know something. There would be no one else to turn to. The only problem was that I did not know how to reach him. Somehow I had to draw him out. With the mob out of the picture, surely it was now safe enough to approach? But I had no means of contact. I tapped my steering wheel in thought. I had to do something. There had to be a way to get his attention. But what? How could I send him a message? How could I let him know that it was time?

I hit the wheel in frustration and swore as my hand rung. I ran my hands through my air. Once again, I was at a loss as to what I had to do. I just knew that the anonymous source was my last hope, and I was running out of time to find the two killers. With them being alerted to the fact that I was coming, they were surely taking precautionary measures already. That was assuming they wouldn't escape the city place before that. I leaned forward and rested my head in my hands. I didn't have the answer. I didn't fucking have the answer. But I had to act now. I eyed the gun next to me. I had only less than one clip left. I turned the car on.

I knew what had to become of me.

I had to enlist the demon's aid. One final time. I needed it to take control. It laughed in response; an ebbing mockery.

And I began my descent.

##  Chapter 18: Remember My Name

The TV screen filled the dark room with a white glare. I watched with a dead heart as the city spoke of me and my actions.

"Jack Mercer is known to this city as a former police officer and a hero. Weeks ago he stopped a shipment of military-grade firearms that were believed to be brought in by the mob. Following his success he was promoted to a detective and went head-to-head with the mob, making no secret about it. However, tragically, they retaliated by murdering his wife and daughter, who was just nine years old.

"Mercer continued working with the police, but launched an active vendetta against the mob out of his own accord. In secret he hunted down and murdered the notorious crime lords Victor Salvatore, Gregory Donovan, Paul Castellano, Luis Kane and Anthony Cornero. It is believed that Jack Mercer has killed twenty-one people to date - that we know about - since his family's passing. All of them highly dangerous and known affiliates of the criminal underworld. There is no word on his current whereabouts. The entire city is on the lookout for him after just last week, when the police made an official statement linking him to the mob murders. It is with a heaviness in our hearts that we say to you today: Jack Mercer is now the most dangerous killer that our city has ever known."

I changed the channel.

"I have to say this whole thing reeks of conspiracy, Harry. The police are looking the most guilty here. Their own officer goes rogue and we only get a statement last week? After all this time? What are they hiding? I tell you it begs a lot of questions. Were the cops keeping this from us? Did they always know?"

"John, I think you make a valid point. In recent weeks the police have kept all channels of communication closed, and it makes me personally suspicious of a large-scale cover-up."

"Do you think they supported it?"

"I don't know, I mean, how could we know? I don't want to be up here throwing around wild accusations, but I have to say that the police's hands look plenty filthy from where we're sitting."

I changed the channel.

"Our city has never seen crime at a rate this low before. The statistics speak for themselves! There has quite literally been no reports over the last few days. Not even a break in or a mugging. An insider has told us that mob activity is at a point where the police believe that they can actually manage it, and perhaps even put a stamp down on it. We haven't seen optimism like this in years. Would you believe it even drugs are off the street; there hasn't been one report of any kind. I don't know if Christmas has come early folks, or if all this is genuine proof that better times are indeed around the corner!"

I changed the channel.

"The question we as a society face today is: is former hero cop Jack Mercer on our side - or is he nothing more than a murderer like any other? Our panel is geared up for this debate, and we're sure that it will be a hotly contested one. Stay tuned after the break."

Ten minutes passed.

"Thank you for joining us today, ladies and gentlemen. Here we have Jane Albright and Geoff Hills to tackle this difficult question for us. So tell me, Jane, seeing as you are not entirely against Jack Mercer's conquest, how do you justify his actions? What is your message to the people today?"

"I'm glad you asked that, Thomas, thank you. Well, firstly we all know the state this city was in. Let's not sugar-coat it. Men like Anthony Cornero kept us all afraid and obedient to their wrong-doing. Crime was the highest it has ever been. Something had to be done. The police weren't doing it. Haven't we all suffered enough? What about our families and friends and our children? What about all the innocent people that have died or suffered at the hands of these men? And now? There hasn't been a single reported crime in over a week. Nothing. Not even vandalism. So you want to know why I am not totally against Jack Mercer? Because I'm starting to feel that just maybe I can now send my twelve year old daughter to school without being in fear of what may happen. Now I feel like I can actually breathe."

"Those are some strong sentiments, Jane. Geoff, what is your response?"

"Awfully dramatic, isn't she?"

Laughter.

"I do concede that crime does seem to have halted. But for how long is a certain worry. However that is beside the point. I have to say Thomas that I am in shock. I'm struggling to wrap my head around how anyone could support a man like Jack Mercer, who is clearly nothing more than a violent serial killer. He has not just killed evil men. Let's not forget the body count he has left behind. What is it - over twenty people? Do you think they all deserved to die? Is this Jack Mercer God? Does he reserve the right to take lives based on his own subjective views? And what are his motives? Is it revenge? Are you then saying that we are a society that justifies and encourages acts of revenge? Of murder? There is a reason that we have the law and we have the police. Anarchy is not a solution. It takes one other person to get ideas from a man like Jack Mercer and all structure falls apart."

"I'm sorry, Thomas, but I have to get in here. Geoff, would you kindly tell me what the law or police have done to protect us from this? What did they do to protect Jack Mercer's family? If it were your own family - your wife and kid - would you then preach about order and take the moral high ground? I am not sitting here today asking you to support murder. I am asking the people to think, really think, about the kind of city they deserve to live in. I think that this is too big for us to judge."

"Jane, we have order and structure for a very particular reason. What kind of society would we be if we all went Scarface on anyone who harmed us or wronged us? You spoke of your daughter. Are you trying to tell me that you will raise her to view people like Jack Mercer as a hero? That what he's done is okay because it has benefited the people? No matter the cost?"

"Then tell me, Geoff, what would you have done to help this city?"

"That is a difficult one, Jane. I would have provided the police with more resources. I would have-"

"The police can't be trusted!"

"You need to look at the facts Jane, not what you get from crime fiction-"

"Okay, okay, Jane and Geoff, settle down. This has been quite something so far, but we're on course for a short break. After that, we will return to this debate and try to answer the question of whether or not Jack Mercer should be revered - or despised."

I changed the channel.

I froze. I dropped the remote and it bounced off of my knee and landed onto the ground. I recognised the person on the screen. A distant memory. A long forgotten face. But it brought back the pain; vivid and immense. And right then I had no choice but to watch.

Teresa Brooks sat cross-legged on a chair facing the show presenter.

"Teresa, it is my understanding that you took Jack Mercer in as your own patient after his family passed away."

"Yes, Jordan, that is correct."

"What can you tell us about him? I get patient confidentiality, but we are all desperately trying to understand Mr Mercer and why he did what he did. Could you perhaps shed some light on it for us?"

I did not understand. What was she doing? Was she being made to do it? Or was she doing it for the fame, because she had had personal contact with me as her patient? She had never struck me as the kind of person. I could only watch as the ground faded beneath my feet.

"You have to understand that I can't report on any specifics that were discussed in our sessions. But when Jack first came to me he was a broken man. He wasn't speaking to anyone or even taking care of himself. The trauma of losing his family had sent him into a deep-rooted depression. We as people all have a darkness within us, a place in our hearts that houses all of our latent aggression; our ability to do terrifying things. I only saw Jack for a very brief period of time, but I began to notice a change in him. He became more aggressive and unconcerned with his own well-being, until one day he was just gone. He no longer wanted therapy and retreated into a shell. I feared he had escaped into that dark place, because all he wanted was to get back at those who took his family away from him."

"Thank you for your honesty, Teresa, and you've certainly given us a lot to ponder about. Now I have to ask: based on your encounters with Jack Mercer, do you believe him capable of doing what he is now accused of? Do you believe that he has killed over twenty people? Just take a moment to wrap your head around that. I mean that not only makes him the biggest serial killer our city has ever seen, but it puts his name up there on the global list of serial killers with thirty victims or fewer."

"Jordon, as difficult as it is for me to say, I have to honestly admit that yes, I can believe that he is capable of it. Whoever Jack Mercer used to be before his family passed away, that man was long gone when he came to see me. I could see something dark brewing inside of him, and the best thing that I could do was try to help him and pray that he would not act on those negative feelings."

"Why do you think that you were not able to help him? Please understand I am not questioning your ability, Teresa, but merely trying to understand this man. I think we all are."

"It's no problem, Jordon, I understand. I think a lot of people expect that we as psychologists just cure people. But what we really do is try to help them find it within themselves to heal. But some people don't want the help. Some people give in to their demons and don't want to face the truth. They don't want to deal with their pasts, their pain and the difficulties of life. It is a heavy burden to bear, and it's often bigger than them. I think Jack Mercer was looking for something that I could not help him find. I think he had his mind set on what he was going to do long before he spoke a word to me. I do have regrets, Jordan. I still feel that I could have helped him if he continued his sessions. But he disappeared before I could get through to him."

"You're saying that Jack was too far gone?"

"Yes and no. I don't think he was beyond helping. But he was too far in his rejection of it."

"Could you elaborate?"

"To explain it more simply, I think Jack could have been helped. But at the same time he did not want it and had convinced himself of that."

"I see. Well Teresa our time is almost at an end, so I would just like to ask one more question if you don't mind."

"Of course."

"There has been a lot of debate surrounding whether or not Jack Mercer should be regarded as a hero or a villain - freely speaking of course. What is your take on the discussion?"

I balled my hands into fists. The seconds passed by torturously.

"I think there is little debate to be had. Whatever the consequences or reasons, Jack Mercer is just like the men that he murdered. Positive results brought about by evil acts don't change the nature of the acts themselves. He has made his choices and he has to accept them."

"So in your eyes this is black and white?"

"Yes. Whoever he used to be before, that man is gone. Jack Mercer is both violent and dangerous and we won't be safe until he is caught."

The show ended.

White hot anger, the only feeling that I could still understand, spread through my veins. These people were nothing more than parasites in an awful city. All a part of its cancerous roots. They spoke of things they had no understanding of. They labelled me as a killer and a monster. If only they had experienced a fraction of the pain that I had. Would they have refrained then? Would they just accept it? If they truly loved their children, what was there to left to discuss?

I stood as if possessed.

A long time ago I had thought that Teresa Brooks had understood. Even if she had not agreed with me on what I would do, she had made me believe that she had understood what I was feeling when no one else did. Not even Sarah. Now she had showed her true colours. She was an insipid, shallow and opportunistic bitch out to get her fifteen minutes of fame. I chastised myself for not knowing better than to expect anything else from the vile city I lived in.

Yet, without any rational reason, I felt betrayed. She did not owe me anything. I had bailed on her before she could even help me. I manipulated her into getting out of therapy. But a small part of me that I could not understand felt cheated. That she could stoop so low and speak of me in such a way after she had dealt with me when I was at my most vulnerable. Perhaps it was the mere thought of someone using me and my pain, my daughter's death, as a way to get fame that caused my anger to burn like the fire it was built on. Whatever it was I needed closure. I made my choice then. I would go to Teresa Brooks. And I would inch closer to being free from all of my pain.

I pulled up outside of her home. It was as I remembered it from a lifetime ago. It still looked peaceful and serene, as if untouched by the nightmares that lurked on the outside. The hell that the city had endured had not diminished the tranquillity of the place which had once allowed me to escape the pit. Yet I felt no comfort from it. Not after the anger had burned away what I had kept of Teresa Brooks.

I did not know if she was at home. I was prepared to wait until morning if I had to. But it was a Friday night and I doubted a pretty woman like her would keep to herself on such a night. When I had been in her office I'd seen no family photos and she didn't wear a wedding ring either. I might have been going on assumption, but it didn't really matter. Sooner or later the opportunity would come. And so I simply waited. Time was hardly a factor for me anymore. There was no more urgency. The rest of my life meant nothing. I had as many minutes as I remained alive, or until I was done. There was no more purpose or illusion. I was wading through space now, vaguely aware of what was left or what was to come. The only thing my mind could focus on was closure. A grim sense of finality. Teresa Brooks. The two men that needed to die. I would remain only until it was all done. I thought about Sarah then. What of my closure there? What of hers? I did not know. It felt like those emotions had withered away to dust. Whatever I had used to feel no longer was real or a part of me. I had just shut down. Maybe before it was time I would change my mind and see her. But I would not spend my days behind bars. That was a punishment fit for criminals. People like me could only rest once we were put down.

A car approached behind me and slowed. It was the only one around. It turned into Teresa's driveway and the garage opened. Either it was her or her boyfriend if she had one. Irrelevant which. The end result would be the same. I climbed out of my car and silently rushed over as the person began to pull in. I waited until the garage began to close, and used its noise to crouch low, sneak inside and fade into the shadows. It always baffled me how little people actually paid attention. Even in a city which forced you to always look over your shoulder, it was easier than generally believed to take people by surprise. Of course few people could be on guard at every moment - that would be both exhausting and paranoia at its finest - but it should not be so easy. Or maybe after the demise of Cornero and his friends people just weren't afraid anymore.

I heard heels step out of the vehicle. It was definitely Teresa then. Returning from a fun night out. Good, that meant her guard would be at its lowest. I heard her walk over to a door, and keys jumbled as she unlocked it and stepped inside. I followed, the soft padding on my shoes masking my footsteps. There was little need to wait any longer. She had come alone and I knew that she lived by herself too. That much had been clear from my visits to her office. I stepped into the light.

"Good evening, Teresa."

She jumped, turned and screamed, her hands flying to her mouth. Her eyes went wide. I saw her shock and her fear, but it did not do anything for me like it had with the others. Here I just felt like the man she had described me as. And I felt dead.

"I saw you on TV. I didn't think you were the type."

She didn't say anything. She was dressed in a slim blue dress that complimented her eyes and her hair. She had definitely been living it up. It was difficult to believe that she had returned home alone. It was probably all that self-respect she lugged around.

"Jack, if you're here to hurt me..."

"You look nice."

She blinked, unsure of herself. I motioned at her to have a seat. Frightened, she obeyed. I remained standing.

"I'm not here to do that."

"Then what do you want?"

I thought about it. What did I really want?

"I can hardly believe I'm looking at you, Jack. I can't believe what has happened since I spoke to you. God I can't even recognise you."

I averted my eyes.

"All those things you said about me, Teresa. Were you trying to get my attention? You can't be surprised that I heard what you had to say."

"I didn't even know if you were still alive. And I never wanted this for you. I wanted you to get your life back. I wanted you to get past the pain. I wanted to help you. I didn't want this."

I didn't know how to respond. She pushed on.

"Why did you throw everything away, Jack? Why did you push me away - Sarah too? We could have helped you come back."

I found my voice.

"We both know there was no coming back for me. I came here to tell you the truth. I didn't do this for me. It wasn't only about revenge. I did it for my daughter. I did it all for Jess."

Teresa stared. I saw her disbelief, but her sadness told a deeper story.

"You still haven't accepted the truth, Jack. You never came to terms with her death."

"Oh I did eventually. I so badly wished that she was still alive...that I had not imagined that phone call. I truly believed I'd heard her voice. But you're right. I wasn't going to let her die until those responsible paid for it. I know you heard me that day when I made that promise."

"I wish that I could have stopped you. I begged Sarah. I told her you weren't ready. But she needed you back and she acted selfishly when she gave in to you."

There was silence then. She looked into my eyes. I felt nothing.

"Why are you here, Jack?"

I looked down at the floor. I shrugged.

"I guess I want someone to remember."

"Remember what?"

"I want you to remember, Teresa, in all your years ahead. I want you to remember my name. I want you to remember that you don't have a child, and you couldn't possibly understand the pain of losing one. I want you to remember that you don't, and never will, understand the kind of monsters that I've had to face. I want you to remember I did what all the people of this city prayed for behind their walls, in the quiet hours of the night. I want you to remember after all the politicians, intellectuals and good men have had their say, that I did what they couldn't. I want you to remember that I don't take any pride in that. I want you to remember that you were right about me. I'm not a hero. I'm not a good man. Far from it. But sometimes..."

I trailed off, trying to find the words.

"Sometimes evil only stops when you force it to."

Teresa looked at me with an expression that was difficult to read.

"So you really did do all this for yourself?"

She didn't get it. I wasn't sure why I had expected her to, or bothered explaining myself. I didn't know why I had come. Maybe it was only because I could not stand to face Sarah.

"Honestly I don't even know. I can't face Sarah. There's barely anything left of me as a person anymore. Once there was a time that I believed Jess was still alive. But that time is gone. It was just delusion. And now I'm almost done here, with all of it."

"What do you mean?"

"There are only two more men left who were responsible for my family's murder. When they're dealt with I can be free of all this."

"What happens then?"

"You already know."

Her eyes narrowed.

"What about Sarah?"

The pain seeped out of what was left of my heart, and I faced it.

"She'll always be a part of a life that I used to have. But she's gone now, and so am I."

"You should speak to her. You owe her that."

"Why?" I hissed, "So she can look at me the same way you are now?"

"I know what I said on that damn show, Jack. But looking at you now, I don't see what I expected to see. I just...I've never seen someone in so much of pain before."

"I don't want pity. It's as you said. I made my choices. I knew what I was doing. But I couldn't leave it alone. It had to be done."

"I could have helped you."

"Look at me, Teresa. Do you truly believe that?"

She bit her lip.

"I didn't think so."

She looked down at my hand.

"I see now there wasn't any way Sarah would have been able to help you either. You still wear your wedding ring, after everything."

I raised my hand and touched it.

"I can't."

"She would have wanted you to be happy, Jack. When you still had that option."

"It's betrayal."

"It isn't."

"I don't deserve anyone. It was my fault she died. Don't you understand? I'll be the only one left standing to blame once it's all over. And then I'm done."

"I'm sorry..."

"It was always too late to move on. Right from the start."

I looked at her. Teresa rose from her chair.

"God, I miss my family. It hurts every second I breathe. Being alive is a punishment to me now. I just so badly wanted to believe that everything I did wouldn't be for nothing. That I'd find my little girl, and even if it meant giving up my own life she'd be able to live hers."

She began walking towards me.

"I guess..."

She stood in front of me.

"Not everyone gets a happy ending."

There was a depressing silence as that truth hit home. Teresa lifted her hand and touched the side of my face. I instinctively recoiled, startled. I blinked. My body was so numb that I could barely feel her touch, yet at the same time it had been so long since anyone had shown me any sign of care. It had been so long since I had felt warmth of any kind.

"Jack. It's okay," she whispered.

She pulled me into an embrace. I stood still; the shock was a paralytic.

"No one should have to leave this world alone and tortured the way you've been. I know the things you've done and I know what I said about you. But after tonight, I just...seeing you like this...I wouldn't wish this for anyone. You at least deserve some kind of closure, and I-"

She broke off. My pain returned. I made no sound, and neither did I move. Teresa pulled back to look into my eyes.

"I'll remember."

I did not know what to say. The embrace ended. And I was cold once again.

"Thank you..." I said.

Her expression was a portrait of what I felt in this moment: sorrow. I could no longer bear to stay. I turned and walked towards her front door. I unlocked it and faced the night. The demon partially rose from its slumber, giving me the strength that I needed.

"Goodbye Teresa."

Before I left, I heard her voice one last time.

"I hope you find peace, Jack."

I reached my car, and I was gone moments later. I drove recklessly as I rushed back to my motel room. I felt like weeping. But I had nothing left to give. I had to leave. I just had to get out and find the last two men. I couldn't do it anymore. I couldn't even take a moment to reflect on the reality that Jess was dead. The truth was that I was truly terrified of killing those two men. Perhaps that was the real reason as to why I had visited Teresa Brooks. And perhaps that was the reason why I took some comfort in the fact that I did not yet know where to find them. Killing those men meant that I would be the only person left to blame. I would no longer be able to hide in the shadow of greater monsters. I would have nothing left to distract my mind from focusing on the soul-crushing truths. That everything I had done had been for a ghost. My daughter had always been gone.

I had destroyed any chance of ever recovering. I knew what I believed. But I couldn't shake the doubt. Had Teresa been right? If I had given it more time could I truly have been helped? Not even she had been sure. But how could anyone know? And what about Sarah? I did not know whether I should have tried to speak to her one last time. Would I be able to live with having my last memory of her being our encounter in that hospital? That seemed the cruellest fate any God could ever leave me with. But maybe in the end it was what I deserved for killing Anthony Cornero's child. Maybe that was the night that I had truly signed my name in Hell, and had ended any possibility of ever having something good again in my life. I jammed my foot down on the accelerator, almost wishing that I would crash.

I arrived back at the motel parking lot much too soon. I shut down my car and stepped out into the fierce cold. The rain had started up again, and it stung like ice. It was a part of me now. I adjusted my coat and hurried to my room, eager to get my things and leave. I entered and closed the door behind me, locking it and tossing the key lazily onto my bed. I sighed. Maybe I could sit down for a bit. I looked out of the window. I was on the ground floor which I preferred. I stretched and thought of my next move, watching the rain to help me think.

How could I reach the anonymous source? How could I drag him out of hiding? Surely they would know that the major players had already fallen? I just had no idea what I was supposed to do. No matter how hard I thought, I could not reach even one semblance of an idea, never mind a workable plan. It frustrated the hell out of me. I had used Kenway's number to call the two murderers. The one who had answered had almost implied that we were going to meet soon. Were they going to finish the job? Were they coming after me? Or were they waiting for me to find them? If so what was the point? I raked my hair in exasperation. None of it made sense. The only thing that I could wrap my mind around was that there were two men left who needed to die. I had to find them first, or I had to get in contact with the source.

A loud crash burst through the room and I whipped my head towards the noise as the window nearest to me shattered, and glass sprayed the floor. Immediately pain erupted in my shoulder as something big and hard struck me, and I dropped clutching it in agony.

I heard the sound of gas pouring out.

I reared back, adrenaline flowing through my body. A canister was wildly spitting out smoke on the ground. I reached for my gun, ignoring the searing pain in my shoulder. Was it the police? Had they found me? I covered my face, but some of the potent gas had already got into my eyes and nose, and I spluttered and coughed. My eyes stung.

It was tear gas.

I launched myself to my feet, my heart hammering. I threw myself against the wall out of sight of the window. I didn't see any laser pointers emerge from it, which meant they either had not seen me or strict orders had been given against shooting first. How could they have possibly found me? I grit my teeth. I had to act fast.

I covered my mouth and nose. The gas was spreading quickly, and I knew that if I breathed in enough of it for around half a minute I ran the risk of suffering its effects. Tear gas was a non-lethal chemical weapon which acted by stimulating the corneal nerves in the eyes in order to cause tears, pain and even temporary blindness. It could also irritate the nose, mouth and lungs to result in difficulty breathing, and even loss of motor control to force its victims to abandon aggressive behaviour. Common forms and variations of tear gas were found in pepper spray or CS gas. My knowledge was limited past that point.

I clutched my shoulder. It ached. It was definitely bruised. That was one of the dangers of using any kind of grenade, even non-lethal ones. The cartridges could cause serious damage upon impact. I was damn lucky that I wasn't hit in the head. I could have been looking at a concussion. Still it had done enough damage by taking one of my arms out, and if it came to a fist fight I'd be at a disadvantage. Medically, provided I wasn't overexposed to the gas, there wasn't much danger of long-term affects other than minor skin inflammation for a while. Of course delayed complications were always a possibility, but I had no pre-existing respiratory conditions, like asthma, so I was in the clear.

I swiftly considered my options. Could I get out the window? There had still not been a sign of a laser pointer. Were they only trying to flush me out to make an arrest? Maybe I could get to the ground and use the dark to stay out of sight. I eyed the key on my bed. I had no way of knowing what waited for me out of my door or out of the window. Either way I was screwed. I heard another crash, this time from behind the bathroom door. It seemed my attackers had thrown another canister to flush me out in case I had chosen to hide in there. I could see the gas start to creep out from underneath the door. I had seconds left. I started to cough. My throat had begun to burn more intensely while my eyes watered, blurring my vision. The gas was already affecting me. For a split second my vision started to darken. I had no choice. I used the butt of my gun to jab at any dangerous pieces of glass left over after the impact of the canister, and then I climbed out of the window.

I landed on the ground hard, jarring my side. But I had my gun. I rolled over heaving and coughing violently. Before I could get to my feet, another canister landed onto the ground ahead of me with its gas already flowing. I tried to stand. But without any warning pain exploded in my thigh and I dropped to the ground, inches away from the tear gas cartridge, clutching my leg.

I had been shot.

I grabbed at my thigh, applying pressure, trying to control the wound. But I felt no blood. There was no entry wound either. Momentarily I was confused, but I quickly realised that that meant whoever was attacking me was using either rubber or plastic bullets. My guess was plastic, as they had mostly replaced their more dangerous rubber counterparts. It also meant that I was under attack by the police. Tear gas and plastic bullets were used for riot control or non-lethal operations. Someone was trying hard to get me in alive. It couldn't be Sarah. She would never have had the authority for such an attack. She would no longer have had authority over anything that involved me. That would have been relinquished after my escape at the hospital.

I choked as I tried to get away from the gas. But I had been too exposed. I could barely draw breath. I fought with everything I had to stand, but another bullet struck me in the hip and I fell to one knee, clutching my side in agony. It hurt like hell. I tried to raise my gun and steady my aim, but I could see nothing through the smoke. There was no breeze tonight to help disperse it. And the rain did nothing for my visibility. My strength faded. I tried to cover my mouth and nose again, but I felt sick and could hardly move. My fingers left the gun.

The demon fought to break free. And then I saw them.

Two figures. They emerged from the mist like shadowed beasts. They had me in their sights. They walked with a careful slowness, as if measuring each step that they took. The earth felt the heavy weight of their boots. I could tell from their ghastly appearance; I knew what they were after. They wanted my soul. They had come to collect. I was drowning in the smoke. My eyes watered and stung, and my vision was almost black. I could hardly see. My body was not functioning. I was in pain. I tried to reach for my gun. It was so close. But the monsters had closed the distance, and one of them kicked my gun aside with a hint of laughter. There was a single moment of clarity, as the demon hissed at me to tear them apart. To again move for my gun and kill them before they could touch me. But the moment passed with my strength. The beasts grabbed hold of me, and dragged me into the depths.

With an aching slowness I started to regain my vision. It could take around half an hour for the effects of tear gas to wear off if you had been exposed enough. I moaned, coughing, trying to get some feeling back into my throat. While I had been conscious during the journey, I hardly had had any sense to register what had been going on around me, and my kidnappers had shoved a bag over my head to fully neutralise me. I did not know where I was or how much time had elapsed since the attack. I was only alert to the fact that I was seated on a chair. Attempting to move my hands revealed that they were bound. I felt the metal. Handcuffs. I was helpless.

"He's awake," said one voice.

"Check his restraints. You know what he is capable of," another voice replied.

"I can't believe this crazy son of a bitch really did it..."

"It is impossible to believe."

"I don't even want to think about it."

"Then do not."

"I'm just saying. He's one hell of a tough bastard. Kind of scary being so close to him."

"Agreed."

"So would you like to do the honours or shall I?"

"You. Be careful that he does not bite your ear off."

"You worry too much. He can't do anything."

"Cornero thought the same thing."

"That old fucker? Please. Asshole thought he was in a B-grade movie. Come on, what a ridiculous thing that whole drowning bullshit. It's the goddamn twenty-first century! Rule one of murder: if the kill isn't confirmed, you've left the possibility wide open for complications."

"Point."

"Yeah. Ready to see how old Jack here reacts to the news?"

"We have waited this long."

I forced myself to look up. The man in front of me was muscular and bulky, yet he wore an almost childlike smile on his face that was unnerving. His partner was lean, sullen and his expressionless face gave nothing away. There was something off about the both of them; something I could not place. They seemed different somehow. Different to all the men that I had faced before. And yet in that moment I knew.

I was looking at the murderers.

The last two men on earth who were responsible for my family's death. They were just inches away.

"I'll fucking kill you," I spat, writhing in the chair.

The man in front of me laughed, "I believe you would, but I'm not stupid enough to let you."

His partner raised his voice, "Hurry up. Stop dragging it out."

The man sighed and reached into his jacket. I tensed, preparing myself for whatever weapon he was about to draw. I'd kill him with my teeth if I had to. The demon fought to break free; it urged me to rip out his throat. But when his hand emerged I wasn't looking at a weapon.

It was a key.

He leaned down.

"Know what this is, Jack? This is a very, let's say, magical key, and the beauty is that the room it opens has something very special for you inside it."

"Must you be so dramatic? It is insufferable," his partner said.

"You have no patience, do you know that?" complained the man in front of me. He turned back to face me, "Never mind him. You're going to love this, Jack, I can promise you that."

What in God's name was wrong with him? Was it all a great big joke to him? I drew from the demon's strength, and my fear diminished.

"What? Some torture toy you got just for me?"

He blinked, "No, friend, nothing like that."

The blazing anger took over as I prepared to lash out.

The man's smile grew wider.

He held up the key, and it glinted in the light.

"This is for the place we're keeping your daughter. Jess."

##  Chapter 19: A Tale Of Two And One

The first thing that I felt was a numbness, my mind registering my body's failure far too late for me to fight against it. The name of my daughter, coming from that monster, was a cursed melody. A swan song from a tainted soul. My mind fought to interpret the words, and to understand what he had said. But I could only drift. All of my systems had shut down. The blackout had been fast and merciless. And now I faced the men I needed to kill with nothing more than a rusty trap. A dull blade. The demon saw my weakness, my inability to make myself move, and it rose again with a terrifying violence that coursed through me like liquid fire. My body jolted to life, smitten by thunder, and my anger erupted with the wrath to strike down a God.

"What did you just say?"

The man's grin remained, "Easy there, Godzilla. I think you heard me just fine."

"Don't fuck with me!" I screamed, and thrashed against the cuffs.

His partner finally stepped forward and lowered himself so that he was eye level with me.

"Jack. We want to have a calm discussion."

I glared. The anger fought in agony to be unleashed. Yet I could not make any sense of what was going on. The man who had spoken was different to his partner. Why was he so silent? I could not read him. I could not figure out what he was thinking or anything about him at all.

"You heard the man. It's time you learned the truth, Jack."

The man's childish smile vanished as he ran a hand through his hair.

"But where the hell to even begin..."

"Who are you?" I shouted.

"I guess our names are as good a place to start as any."

I waited.

"I'm Desmond, and that's Hale. No, those are not our real names. Our real ones would be ancient history."

"What does that mean?"

Desmond's smile instantly returned. It brought out my anger.

"Did you murder my daughter? Why did you mention her name? Give me an answer!" I roared.

"Enough," Hale said, "You need to listen."

Desmond sighed, "I agree with my partner here. Because what we're going to tell you, is going to make you want to kill the both of us. Which is why you're restrained by the way. So you can just listen until we're done talking. Is that understood?"

"Who are you?" I growled.

Desmond and Hale exchanged looks.

"Jack, we're not the murderers you're looking for," Desmond said.

Not that bullshit again. An endless circle of lies.

"But we were there," Hale finished.

I stopped.

"What are you talking about?"

Desmond took over, "I know you think we are, but we're not actually part of the mob. Well not exactly."

Hale slipped his hands into his pockets. He stood tall and erect with a practiced discipline. As though he was army. Yet, he did not seem the type from what I could see. He stared at me without moving or giving away anything, as though he was silently studying me.

"Just give me a fucking answer!"

"Jack."

I turned to Hale.

"We are with the police."

"Well that's one way to break the ice," Desmond chimed in.

"You took too long," Hale responded.

"I was figuring out the right way to tell him. Look at him! He doesn't know what to think now. You knocked his brains out."

"I got to the point. He is forced to deal with it."

"Did I ever tell you that you're just not a people's person?"

"Yes."

"Jesus, see what I have to work with here, Jack?"

"What do you mean you're cops? What is this?"

"Five years," Hale said, as if doing nothing more than stating a fact.

"What?"

"That is how long we have been undercover."

My mind shut down.

"Five years ago, Jack, when this shithole was as bad as it's ever been and you were doing nothing more than giving out fucking speeding tickets, we were chosen to go undercover. To get right into the heart of the mob. Technically we sort of volunteered due to a lack of choice."

"You're both full of shit!" I spat.

"Not the reaction I was expecting, I have to say. Here's the deal. Either you can listen to me or keep this whole Angry Bob thing up, but it comes down to this. If you want to know what happened to your little girl, you better open your eyes and ears."

I went silent. I knew that for the immediate future, they at least did not seem to want to harm me. If they wanted to talk I did not appear to have any choice but to let them.

"Look, think about it, Jack. The mob had taken over. Men like Cornero owned this horrible city. The police were too damn scared to do anything, the useless pricks. The only card the cops could play in our division was to get someone in on the inside. Not a damn rat. Not some douche bag on a wire who'd get killed on his first night out. Not some wannabe double-oh-seven who wouldn't have a clue how to get close to these guys. No. They needed to get someone in so deep that they actually became a core part of the mob."

Hale added, "It took years to build the necessary trust."

"We've been undercover so damn long that we even lost touch with our handlers. After a while we cut them off. We had to assume they were compromised or dead. We were on our own then."

"I don't understand! What does this have to do with anything?"

"You are not seeing the complete picture," Hale said.

He reached into his pocket and I recoiled, but when his hand withdrew he was only holding a miniature notebook and a pen. He began to write, ignoring me.

"What are you doing?"

Hale looked up.

"Recording."

"Why?"

"Remembrance."

"For what?"

"How much of your life do you remember?" Hale responded. It was not really a question.

"You said you'd tell me the truth!"

"He will answer your questions," Hale said as he turned his attention back to his notes.

"Don't mind him, Jack. He's a strange guy. He does shit like this all the time."

"Well?" I pressed.

Desmond suddenly grinned, "I know something that will get through to you."

I narrowed my eyes.

"Remember that surveillance room, Jack? In that broken down old warehouse?"

I stared. It couldn't be true.

"Well, hello to you too! To get ourselves trusted, to really become buddies with the old boys, we had to use our skills to give them something they wanted. And to a man like Cornero, knowledge was a massive part of his power. That's where we came in."

"It was not that simple," Hale muttered.

"Yeah, it definitely wasn't. We had to do a lot of terrible things to get their trust. And I'm not talking about some retarded high school initiation bullshit. I'm talking about the harsh sorts of things you want to keep hidden for the rest of your life. We probably broke about a hundred laws in that first year. We ruined lives. Ended them. That shit does things to you, Jack. It makes the line between right and wrong become damn near impossible to see."

"You controlled that surveillance room? You're the reason my family was killed!" I yelled.

"Incorrect," Hale countered.

"Listen, that room was our baby. You would have caught us had that mole in your team not sung to us like a bird. We had to get out. If we lost what he had, we'd have given up everything we built over five goddamn years! Do you think a man like Cornero would have tolerated such a failure? We'd have been dead and all of this, everything we did, would have meant nothing!"

I spat at Desmond's feet.

"Fuck you!"

"Man, that's just childish."

"I did not expect that," Hale said.

Desmond wiped his smile off.

"Jack, for the love of the big guy upstairs, can you just listen? Think about it. Who else could have given your friend Sarah information on Gregory Donovan, Paul Castellano and Luis Kane? It had to be someone on the inside. Someone trusted. Someone in a position to get that information in a way that wasn't exactly legal. We had everything, Jack. We only needed an opening to wade in."

"You're the anonymous source?"

"What a dull name for us!" Desmond laughed.

"It does sound undesirable," Hale added.

I didn't know what the hell to make of it. It did not make sense.

"Oh man we're losing him again," Desmond said.

Hale snapped his notebook shut.

"Start at the beginning."

"That would make all kinds of sense. Jesus, there's so much to say."

"You do not read a book back to front."

"Yeah, well, who reads these days anyway?"

Desmond pulled up a rusty table close to my chair and sat down on the edge of it. He faced me.

"After we moved away from that warehouse we found out what Cornero was going to do. He had that damn maniac Nathan Kenway all jacked up and ready for it."

My hands tightened on the arms of the chair.

"So we kind of got in the way of that."

"How?"

"You were a good cop. Reminded us of what we once stood for," Hale said.

My grip loosened. My strength left me.

"We got to Kenway first. We told him that Cornero had ordered the two of us to make sure the job got done right."

"We underestimated the unpredictable nature of a chaotic system," Hale intervened.

"Whatever he just said. Look we were trying to stall, alright? We were trying to save your family."

"You're lying!"

"Jesus Christ how the hell do I say this?"

"Speak. Force him to accept the truth."

"Right because it's only our funeral."

For the first time Desmond turned serious.

"Jack, I'm really sorry. We tried but we couldn't save your wife. That psychopath Kenway spoke of the importance of the time for a soul to pass out of this world, and all kinds of crazy shit. He went ahead. But the two of us, we'd been listening in and we knew that your daughter...your wife had dropped her off at her friend's house for a play date and babysitting. She had not yet been picked up. Your wife was running late. And we knew that Kenway would see that she wasn't there the minute he went inside your home. We honestly had no choice."

Pure, relentless horror swept under my skin. My hands were shaking, rattling against the hard metal of the cuffs. And I knew that I could no longer handle it. The demon was nowhere in the depths of my mind, and I was truly alone to face what was to come.

"We had to tell Kenway that we'd get the girl. We had to leave that son of a bitch there even though we knew what he was going to do."

I felt a tear drop down my face. Desmond breathed out heavily and swept his hands over his hair.

"Go on. It is what it is," Hale ordered.

"Yeah. Look, Jack, the only thing we could do was get your daughter. We were panicked. We didn't know what was going to happen! We picked up your girl - Jesus that little one can put up a fight and a fucking half let me tell you - and then we sat there with no idea of what to do next. Your girl had to die. If we didn't show a body it was over for us!"

"You killed my little girl..."

Hale looked at me. It was impossible to read what his face was trying to tell me.

"No."

I struggled to draw breath. The air went thick. Noise sounded out in my head. It was all lies. Desmond put a hand on my shoulder, "Easy, Jack. Just take a breather, nice and slow..."

"That would be advisable."

My skin was cold. I faded.

"Hale was right when he said that it was all unpredictable. How were we to know that your wife's psychopathic killer would have a change of heart, and say he's not going to off your girl anymore because of some poetic garbage?"

"We could not have anticipated that. But it worked in our favour."

"What we did was fucked up. It was Hale's idea. He's always been the messed up bastard. But let me tell you that it was all so grim that I couldn't even find a way to make it funny!"

"What did you do?" I whispered.

"We went to the morgue," Hale answered.

What the hell was going on?

"That's the short version. I tell you we looked high and low to find the right body. Lucky for us, thanks to this city, we found a little dead girl more or less your daughter's age. After that, well, I'm sure you saw what was left of that girl's body after we were done giving it a makeover."

"But the police identified the body," my mouth instinctively formed the words.

"We made sure of that. How else could it be a closed deal?"

"No alternative. Too many variables. Had to close the case."

"Exactly. So we laid low. We waited for the heat to die down and the shock to fade. We didn't know what to do. We'd gone rogue, and not a soul could know anything about what had happened at your house that night. We tried to reach you, but after that we were being worked overtime. We couldn't act. We couldn't get to you. The police and the mob were damn near close to war."

"You were in the public eye. It was an impossibility."

"I'm telling you, Jack, we tried. We did everything we could. We couldn't figure out how the hell we were supposed to bring your little girl back from the dead. We were just waiting-"

"Jess called me three weeks after..."

Desmond and Hale caught each other's eyes.

"Your little girl is a smart one. She got behind our backs to a payphone. Seriously that day I realised what it must feel like to be a dad. They're like goddamn rodents, these kids. Clever ones too. I thought I'd have a heart attack that day. We only just stopped her in time."

"That was an unfortunate error."

Desmond continued before I could even understand.

"But the point is, Jack, we were trying to get to you. And when we finally got a chance to reach out, just before we could you went and put a bullet in the head of that sick bastard Hal Edwards - and then saved another for that two-faced inbred Will Harding!"

I couldn't deal with it. I just couldn't. I was going to have an attack. My mind was black.

"But I have to say, I laughed my ass off when you killed Harding."

"It was unexpected. But necessary."

"We like a guy who can tie up loose ends, don't we?"

"Indeed."

"Anyway, before we even knew what the hell was going on, you ran along and killed Victor fucking Salvatore! I'm telling you the entire mob went crazy. It was a damn circus! Tell him Hale. We were never going to be able to meet with you then. We had to stay put."

"It was chaos. We had never seen anything like it."

"And you didn't stop there, Jack. No you were far from done. You started cleaning up house. Gregory Donovan, man that shit you pulled with his kid was fucking A! But that's when we started to realise, after you got Donovan..."

"You were cutting the heads off the Hydra."

Desmond nodded, "Unintentionally you were actually saving this dump of a city."

"We let you go on. Watched you. Helped you."

It was nothing but madness. It was sick. A grand delusion. A stage play. It was too much. The anger inside of me finally burst free from its slumber, and the demon regained control.

"You two are insane!"

Desmond reached forward and I recoiled, but he did nothing other than tap my forehead hard. Then, as if realising something, he pulled his hand back swiftly.

"Come on, Jack. Just put your anger to bed and think about it. Who do you think has been there the entire time? When you were cornered at Paul Castellano's mansion, who do you think got you out of that? Who do you think distracted the men who were onto you? It certainly wasn't the police. And what about after? Who the hell do you think called you to warn you of those assassins?"

"We needed you alive. We had invested too much in you."

"We were scared out of our minds when those killers came for you. We knew them. They were some of the best damn murderers we'd ever seen. We thought you were done. But you, you crazy motherfucker, you blew them up! You literally blew them up! What was that, a pipe bomb? And you still went back in there with your damn gun and finished it with a personal touch. Jesus, you are one messed up guy! I'd shake your hand now if you didn't want to bite it off."

All of it couldn't be true. It was bullshit. They were liars.

"Tell him about the toy."

"Oh yeah! That's a good one. I think we deserve a medal for that! It was my idea actually, so I'm quite proud of it."

"Do not oversell it. It was little more than luck."

"You're just sour grapes."

"It also got him caught."

"Semantics. It all worked out didn't it?"

"It did. Get on with it then."

"You distracted me," Desmond's grin returned in full, "Anyway, remember you found that little white teddy bear at old Kane's house?"

No. It was manipulation. They were screwing with my head.

"Kane's daughter was pregnant, right? Her baby was coming any day. So I thought you could use a little motivation, you know, something to hold onto other than that one shitty phone call. I gave your girl's favourite teddy as a little baby present. I didn't expect it to work. I had no clue you'd even see it. I just knew you were going to Kane's house so there might have been a small chance that you would. If you didn't, I'm sure we could have lynched it and tried again some other time. I was worried that if we just dropped it off at your motel room, you'd think someone was toying with you. It would have distracted you away from Kane and Cornero."

"Fortunately you saw it. Though we did not anticipate your capture."

"I suppose that was a really bad one. Sorry about that, Jack. But we fixed that. We just gave your old friend Sarah a call and she came running. For me that tugged at the heartstrings. We made sure she got there in time and you didn't die. No harm done."

"Keeping you alive was imperative. You were close."

I forced myself to block out the senseless words. I stared at the two men in front of me. Hale was unlike any other man I had ever encountered. He seemed to elicit perfect control over his emotions, or maybe his were just no longer there. He appeared to glean no enjoyment from any of it. However, Desmond was an entirely different man. He appeared to have remnants of compassion when he spoke of my wife, yet it was a faint glimmer that I suspected was forced. He undeniably enjoyed what I had done. He laughed at all the death and the bloodshed. I saw him. And I knew what he was. He was the embodiment of chaos; a man without fear or regard for human life. An anarchist. He was unlike anyone I had ever faced before. Hale as well. I only had one certainty at my fingertips. Both of them were impossible to understand. From where I was, they were far more complex than even Cornero or Kenway. I did not know anything. None of it made sense. Why had they done all of it? What was there to gain? They were no cops.

"It was great that we won that one, and Cornero didn't even know. It was like Christmas. He thought you were comfortably sleeping with the fish, which boded well for subtlety. But then we had a bit of a problem on our hands. You were with the police, which was not ideal."

"Cornero still drew breath. Your work was not done."

Desmond burst out laughing, "We were going to bust you out of captivity, do you know that? We had this whole elaborate plan in our heads of how we were going to do it, and you, you sadistic, heartless, cold, asshole! You attacked your would-be girlfriend? That's messed up. You hit a damn girl! We had to settle for that loud, improvised distraction instead. You remember the guys with the machine guns and the big ugly bullet-proof SUV? Come on, we had to make sure you got out. But you know something, Jack? We really thought she'd let you go."

"You thought," Hale corrected.

"Whatever. I thought it would be all romantic, you know, like in the movies? I bet on it too, and I lost fifty dollars to this prick over here."

"Serves you right. Know-it-all."

"I think I earned that right. I've been spot on about a lot of things."

"You make too many assumptions."

"No I take educated guesses, my friend."

"If that gets you to sleep."

"It does most nights actually."

"Smart ass."

"The key word is smart."

Hale turned to me.

"Are you beginning to see it?"

"Wait a second. I also just have to say that we did not expect you to go after Cornero's little kid though. That was fucking well played!" Desmond said while struggling to contain his laughter.

"It was the ideal strategy."

They were both out of their minds.

"You see, Jack? We were always there. You didn't do this alone. But I have to say. You, my friend, have the luck of the devil."

I finally forced myself to awaken and speak. It had felt as though I never would again.

"Why did you do all of this? None of it makes any sense at all."

Desmond and Hale glanced at each other once again.

"Jack, it's been five years since we started this. Do you have any idea how long that is? You know, I was a bit like you all those years ago. Hopeful and naive; thinking I was all it and we could take these guys down the right way. But like you I learned the hard lesson. We lost a hell of a lot more than our ordinary lives. And in the end we were abandoned out there. We're not cops anymore, Jack. I don't even have the first idea how to be one these days. What we've done...well there's a special place six feet under that's laying out a welcome mat for us."

"We lived the lies enough that they became truth."

I grit my teeth.

"The two of you, you're nothing but killers. Psychopaths."

"Incorrect. You fail to understand. Again."

Desmond folded his arms and his smile diminished.

"Really, Jack? I think I can safely say that the three of us in this room - we're all monsters. Brother, have you forgot about the kid you put under the ground? Do you see us jumping you for that one? Fuck the kid! None of us here think we're monsters, do we?"

"Sometimes evil only stops when you force it to."

I raised my eyes to meet Hale's. He had used my exact words.

Desmond smiled and nodded, "Let me tell you now, Jack. There's a sad story behind all of us here. Boohoo cry us a river. Cry one for all of us. But after five long years of this hell, we wanted to watch them all fucking die. Why? Because we understand. To hell with the law, the police, the politicians and the good intentions. You know this city as well as we do. And some men can't be reasoned with. They can't change. They can't stop the killing, the stealing and the whoring. It's what they are. The only way they can stop is when they're dead. You know this, Jack. Just like we do."

"You are like us. We helped you as we did ourselves."

I looked down at the ground, unable to do anything but listen.

"So who's the bigger monster in this room? Do you want to trade horror stories until we're even? All three of us here, we did what was necessary. You want to cry about the fact that we used you? Go right ahead. But you know the truth. You did it all yourself. We just helped you along. We didn't make you do a goddamn thing."

"It is time you faced the truth. We have all sacrificed too much."

Desmond smiled and spread his hands, "And that's the beautiful thing. We can all go off and have a beer because we're the damn saviours! We just earned our retirement. Hooray for us."

"Yes. It is over at last."

The talking stopped. The seconds of silence allowed my mind to faintly glimmer back to life. So many thoughts and questions drifted inside my head. I had never felt so lost. I had never felt so confused. How were Desmond and Hale dealing with it? Were they telling the truth? It was impossible to believe. Yet everything they had said made it seem as though there were no alternative explanations. They knew everything. They knew all that I had done. They knew every detail. From the beginning they had been there. The pieces fit. The puzzle aligned. But I could hardly even bring myself to accept any of it.

And then, in that moment of strife, the true realisation of what they had done dawned upon me.

They had used me to destroy the mob. They had manipulated and played me. They had kept the truth about my family from me all those weeks. I had thought that Anthony Cornero was the most dangerous man in the city. How wrong I truly had been.

The two men in front of me were without equals.

And one of them still found the time to laugh about it all. The other displayed perfect control over himself, as though he'd perfected the art. Impossibly, my mind sought to rationalise it all. It was the only way that I could hope to make sense of it, or bring myself any closer to acceptance. I considered one thing. Were they any greater an evil than I was? I could no longer say that everything I had done had only been for Jess. It had been for me as well. And all that they had done had been for the city. On some level maybe there had been a selfish motive too. All three of us were selfish men in a way. All three of us had done terrifying things for the right reasons. All three of us were monsters. I shook my head. Had the reasons even been good ones? Had they even been justified? I did not know. I did not know anything.

I looked at the two men before me. I may have understood their truth, but my mind could not comprehend Desmond and Hale; it could not even begin to fit the pieces about them as people. Men like them couldn't possibly exist. And yet, at the same time, was it any surprise that they were the product of a city so tainted that it was unfit for even Hell itself? Was it truly a surprise that to destroy the evils that dwelled within the city, there had to be a greater evil at work? In that moment I knew that I could answer my own question. I had a feeling in the depths of my mind. Deep down I understood. I felt myself slowly becoming aware of a single fact. I knew the truth that I was finally ready to face. I looked at Desmond and Hale once again, and I saw what was really there. I saw what the demon had prevented me from seeing. Now, while it was at last banished, I could see the truth.

They were too big to judge.

I could not even fathom a way to explain, praise or condemn what they had done. I could only force my rational, emotionless mind to accept it. If I even began to think about the implications, the sheer magnitude of the evil committed, it became impossible to understand or deal with it. And maybe that was how Desmond and Hale were able to do it. They detached all emotion and all humanity. And then they were able to do only what was truly necessary.

It was too big. They were too big.

"Jack," I heard Hale's cold, empty voice.

The anger was gone. The demon was gone. Nothing remained.

"Do you want to see your daughter?"

Agony, like nothing I had ever felt before, erupted inside of me. The pain of hope, in the absence of anything to destroy it.

"I can't believe it, I completely forgot about her!" Desmond said, smacking his leg.

Could I trust them?

"I thought he'd be happier than this."

"It is a lot to accept."

"True. And here I thought you weren't a people's person, Hale. I think he still has trust issues too if you ask me. Look, let me give it to you straight."

I looked at Desmond and Hale.

"There's only one way you're going to know for sure."

Desmond reached behind his back.

He pulled out a silver and black Beretta.

I recoiled.

He flipped the gun over and dropped it onto my lap.

I stared at it; a long forgotten relic.

"You can even have your gun back if it makes you feel any better."

Desmond took out the key to my handcuffs and held it out.

"Come with us, Jack. We'll take you to your little girl."

##  Chapter 20: Downpour

Rain. It fell as though it were the wrath of God. A divine punishment for all the pain. No. Perhaps it was the mourning. It had finally come. The tears for the dead. It was a torrential downpour that descended upon the world, washing away all the blood, dirt and sin. I felt like a prisoner. The handcuffs were gone, yet the shackles remained. I lifelessly watched the scenery pass by. I lulled in a stupor. I felt at an end.

I was in the back seat of Desmond and Hale's four by four. The two men had not spoken much since they had revealed their supposed truth to me. I did not trust them. I did not know whether I could believe anything that they had told me. Yet, they had said that they were taking me to see my little girl. I had felt nothing at the time. I had long given up on my delusion. Yet now, I felt something. I had a nervousness inside of me. Like the first time I had taken Nicole out on a date. It wasn't a comforting feeling. It was the feeling that I wasn't ready to face an angel.

"You know they're still talking about you, Jack. Have you been watching the news lately?" Desmond said with his never-ending smile, breaking the silence.

"To revere or condemn you? They are conflicted," Hale offered.

"I try not to think about it," I said.

"It's a long drive, Jack. Got any questions you need answering? Or how about we play a game? You know, one of those corny road trip ones to pass the time. It will be like bonding."

"I just have one," I replied.

"We will answer if we are able," Hale said.

"Just the one? That will do I guess. Alright then. Fire away."

"Do you know anything about Sarah? What happened to her after..."

"Worrying about your girlfriend are we? That's real sweet, all things considered."

"Have some respect," Hale said.

"Right, sorry. Last we heard she's kind of in a royal mess. You know, with you getting away and all that, and her emotions clouding her judgment and whatever else they're trying to lay onto her. I'll level with you. It's not looking good. I don't mean to sound cruel, or be a dick here, but I am so that's unfortunately how it comes out. Look, they needed someone to blame and she's a start. Truth be told you ruined her life."

The pain did not even surface. I had nothing left to give.

"I know."

"You must accept responsibility. We have had to for our sins."

"There's a hell of a lot of those," Desmond laughed.

I looked back out of the window. I could barely see anything. The rain hid the world. I got lost in the downpour. My mind drifted. I thought of everything that I had done. All that I had sacrificed. I could not believe that it had only been a little over two months give or take since my family's passing. I did not know the exact amount of time. It could have been longer. I didn't even know what day it was. I just existed. The trivialities of life had long been left behind. I could no longer resonate with the world out there. I was a soulless man.

I thought that I should have felt liberation. Happiness even. I was being taken to my daughter. But I could not bring myself to breathe. After all the pain and sorrow I truly had nothing left. It wasn't that it felt surreal. It was that I had simply lost the will to truly hope. I did not know why, but I was already preparing myself to die. I was already preparing myself for the inevitability that Desmond and Hale were lying. That they were not taking me to my daughter, but to a grave. But that was not what made it unbearable. I could deal with the uncertainty. What troubled me was that I just did not have any response to the possibility. If I was to die, I did not care. If they were lying I would kill them. I had the gun. It really was that simple. There was no emotional response. There was not even rationality. It was just what needed to be done.

With a grim detachment, I wondered if I would ever feel again. I wondered if I'd always be a shell. So many people wanted quick fixes. They want their problems to disappear. They wanted one singular event or one person to take away all of their pain for them, rather than face it themselves. Now I finally understood why that was. Dealing with all of the pain and the sorrow ate away at your soul. It chipped away at the sculpture that gave you form until it was cracked and ruined. The pain and the sorrow awakened you to the truth of what you were. It told you that you were not worthy. It told you that you were without hope. I realised then. It was why we escaped. Pain and sorrow were burdens that even the strongest of men succumbed to. They were poisons that attacked the soul. And it was too late for me.

"Say Jack," Desmond interrupted my thoughts.

I couldn't elicit a response.

"I uh...look I just wanted to thank you, okay? I know you went through hell. But you did us a favour. You did all of us a favour. Especially when you put that bastard Cornero down."

"That was pleasant," Hale said.

"What do you mean?" I asked.

"Let's just say it was more than personal. For both of us."

"You have our gratitude."

I said nothing then. The minutes passed. Desmond accelerated, muttering under his breath about traffic. Hale told him that it was unwise to drive like he was in unfavourable conditions. Desmond acknowledged it and slowed down measurably. I watched the two of them. I tried to imagine, if what they said was true, five years of living a lie among monsters. I could not. They knew the mob in a way that no one else would. They knew the men who stood on the city's shoulders and laughed. I could not fathom what it had done to them. After everything I had been through, I no longer had any remnant of my former self. Yet Desmond and Hale remained efficient. Was it as simple as the fact that they had nothing left to lose? That their humanity was gone?

I tried to find what still made them human. I did not see any rings or pendants of any kind on them. Neither of them ever spoke of family or of friends. Neither of them parted with a single detail of their lives through their words. They were ghosts. I knew nothing about them. They gave away nothing. I tried to imagine what kind of people they had been five years ago. Desmond had hinted that he used to be like me. Maybe that was it. Five years ago they had just been ordinary men. They had had hopes and dreams. But the city had taken more than just their lives. It had taken their souls. Just like it had done to me.

I observed the two of them as they interacted. They were in perfect sync with each other. It was not affection or even brotherhood. It appeared to be a mutual understanding. I could not see the two of them as friends. Yet at the same time, I could picture one putting his life on the line for the sake of the other. I could see the contradiction. But neither men were attached. Neither men held onto their humanity. Perhaps their relationship was something akin to soldiers in a war. The final two still standing. Did that make me the third? My mind travelled in circles. I could not understand Desmond and Hale. I did not believe I ever would. Did they see me the same way? My motive had always been simple. My reason had always been constant. Yet, Hale had said that it was impossible to believe what I had done. I leaned against the window. I did not dwell on the things that I'd done. My mind blocked most of it out, as though it was all nothing more than the ebbing seconds of a nightmare stored in memory after being awoken.

"Jack, I hate to be a buzz kill here, but there is something we need to discuss."

I did not react.

"He is correct. This is of the utmost importance."

I piped up a loose interest then, "What?"

"You do realise that you're going to have to leave this city?"

I had not thought about it. But it was an obvious fact.

"The entire city knows your face," Hale said.

"And what you've done, friend. The cops want you in a cell yesterday. The shrinks want you eating through a straw while posing for the cameras. The politicians want to use you to get publicity on their campaigns against mob violence. The fanatics will hold you up as a leader and try, with obvious failure, to follow in your footsteps. And as for the media, well, fuck them."

"You will need to move on," Hale finished.

I considered it.

"Where do I go?"

"Uh, the world's your oyster?"

"There are many possibilities."

I looked away. Desmond peered up at the rear view mirror.

"Don't look so down, Jack. We got your back. We'll think of something."

"Do not nurture false optimism. It will be difficult."

"But doable. Even in this day and age there are still ways to slip through the cracks."

The talking ended. I drifted once more. And the seconds of silence allowed my mind to work. A truth struck me then, instantaneous and vicious, as though the devil was dissatisfied with my apathetic response to pain. How could I ever be a father now? What was I supposed to do once I was reunited with my daughter? The father she knew me as, the man I once used to be, was gone. I felt nauseous. I felt the sorrow finally rise up and take hold of my bones. Jess needed love. She needed laughter. She needed magic. All of those gifts rested in ashes. They were nothing more than a part of the dirt. I acknowledged the cruel sense of irony then. I had always wanted to get my daughter out of the city. And now I was forced to leave, yet without the hope of something better.

I thought of a more horrifying possibility then. Did my daughter know? Had she heard the whispers? Did she know what her father had become? And if she did not, what would she think of me when she discovered the truth? I only had one thing left to ask. I could only agonisingly believe that everything I had done had not been for nothing, and hang onto that with all that I had left. If there was a God out there, I wished that he would grant me that one mercy.

"Here's our stop, Jack."

I looked ahead.

"She's right in there."

Desmond was pointing to a small cabin in the clearing ahead. It was a clean white with a grey roof. On the right of the door was a swing seat. We had travelled a far distance. I did not recognise the place. I did not know where I was. I had not even paid any attention to where we had been driving. I climbed out of the car. The place was strangely peaceful. There was a tranquillity surrounding it. It was as though it was untouched by the horrors of the ground that it rested upon. Miraculously, it had managed to hold onto its beauty.

I did not know why that made me feel a thread of hope.

I tried to take a step forward. But I could not. I had nothing left. I could not even form words or thoughts. It had to be some trick. A grand delusion, and I had finally walked to the centre of the stage. I expected, at any second, the lights, the curtains, and the applause. Everyone would be laughing. I would be the fool. One more cruelty before I could enter my grave. But nothing came. Desmond moved towards the cabin and unlocked the door. He pushed it open and a warm, gentle light greeted me.

"Jack, I should warn you."

I forced myself to look away from the white cabin to meet Hale's dead eyes.

"Do not be alarmed when you see her."

My heart took the strike, and the ashes fell.

Desmond returned and put a hand on my shoulder.

"Sorry, it slipped my mind. It's this damn weather, Jack. She's really sick. Caught something bad. We did the best we could to help, but she needs you now. She needs her father."

"You have earned this. Your daughter is waiting."

I took the first step.

The path ahead was an eternity. Was it all real? Was it even possible that my daughter could still be alive? I had no reason to believe. I did not want to anymore. The pain was too great a burden to bear. I could not do it. I did not have the strength. I went still.

"Maybe it would be better if we brought her to you. Have a seat over there, Jack," Desmond said, indicating to the swing seat.

The burden lifted. I could move again. I walked. I reached the swing seat and collapsed onto it. The rain pelted down with an endless vigour, but the trees above shielded me from all but the teardrops. The merciless downpour was made soothing next to the cabin. The seat gently rocked back and forth with my movement. Desmond disappeared inside the cabin. Hale stood upright with his hands crossed in front of him, looking ahead, unaffected by the cold or the rain. I waited, staring into nothing. The cold had seeped into my skin, and it chilled my bones as the wind offered the final touch. I was numb once more. But for some reason I no longer felt the clutches of the demon or the fire of my anger. I felt a calmness. And I knew. This would be a good death. If I was to pass from the world then, if this was where the great deception played its final card, then I wanted it to be in this moment and in this place. I wanted it to be while I still breathed the illusion that I was not condemned. A shiver went down my spine as I saw movement. The next moment Desmond emerged out of the house. In his arms he carried a thick bundle of blankets. I saw small legs sticking out the end.

The world froze. My soul twitched with life.

Seven steps.

That was what separated me from closure. My breath caught.

Six steps.

I was at last going to know the truth.

Four steps.

I closed my eyes. For a single moment I shut out the earth. But I could not bear the darkness. Not anymore. As quickly as I had closed them they were open once again. And I could only wait.

One step.

I was ready. I had to be. Desmond lowered the bundle onto my lap. I took it in my hands. I felt its light weight. For a few seconds then I did not move. There was no turning away from it.

I made myself look.

I saw the most beautiful face that I knew.

The world faded with the wind and the rain.

I held her in my arms for the longest time. Until daylight began to fade. Until the cold became fierce. Until the downpour finally ceased. Until the rain was gentle. There was a stillness in the air, a quiet serenity that returned to me what I had long forgotten: peace. I breathed.

Then I saw movement. A stir. A fluttering of her eyelids.

Jess looked up at me with her wonderful blue eyes.

"Hi daddy."

And I knew that it was real.

"Oh God..."

I lost myself. Her voice was so soft. Her skin was so pale. If I was trapped in a dream, right then I hoped to die in it.

"Are you okay baby? Did they hurt you?"

"They were so nice to me."

I was afraid to let go.

"I missed you, daddy."

I clutched her to me, breaking into sobs. I let it all out. I didn't even feel her hand touching mine. A moment later she tugged at my collar. I looked down at my angel. A tear fell onto her cheek.

"What did you do to the bad men, daddy?"

I kissed her forehead and ran my hand down her cheek.

"Don't worry about them, pretty girl. They won't hurt anyone else ever again. You're safe now."

Her eyes showed no relief.

"Did you kill them?"

The question cut me like a knife. I stared in shock, unable to interpret what I had just heard from my daughter's mouth. But I saw it in her eyes. It was as clear as the rain. The eyes of a child whose innocence had long been lost. The pieces that had begun to rebuild fell apart once again. I knew then that I could not lie to my daughter. Not anymore.

"Yes."

She smiled. So faint I had almost missed it.

"I'm glad, daddy."

Her words were a feeble whisper. I was not even sure that I had heard them. I cradled her in my arms, the tears already flowing as I held her close. She went still. I held onto my little girl with what life I had left. I held onto her, afraid that it would all end. I feared each second, afraid that the nightmare hidden within would reveal itself, and destroy what remained, at last having its wish answered. Jess closed her eyes.

"It's time, Jack. The end of this loathsome road," Desmond said.

"Are you ready to leave?" Hale asked.

I stood. I raised my daughter in my arms. I took in her beautiful face.

And my heart began to beat.

##  Epilogue: Three Years Later

I awoke. Sunlight streamed through the open blinds. A warmth had spread throughout the room. I heard the sound of birds outside. I rubbed my face. There had been no nightmare. I glanced up into the mirror. I looked an aged man. Maybe the beard was not working for me. I dressed and proceeded with the morning preparations; a mechanical process. I walked out into the kitchen and saw breakfast already made. Orange juice, pancakes and sunny side up eggs on toast. I smiled. My idea of a perfect meal. I moved towards the front door, opened it and shielded my eyes from the bright morning sun. I retrieved the mail from the letter box. I browsed through. There was nothing that required my attention. I felt a pang of sadness. It had been such a long time since I had last heard from her. But that time was gone. Another part of my life that I had had to bury. I entered my home again and closed the door behind me. I walked past the table and back into the darkness of my room. I felt unusually sad. I did not know why. I sat down on my bed with a sigh. I moved over to the bedside table and picked up my wallet. I started to reach for the picture that I knew was inside. My hand stopped. I hesitated. The ache was still there. I dropped the wallet.

It had been three years, and I couldn't even remember my wife's face anymore. I knew that I had loved her with all that I had had to give. I remembered what she was like. Her mannerisms, her words and her personality. I would never forget the way that she had made me feel. I could not. Yet she was a phantom; a ghost of a time long gone. A different life. All my life I had loved her. There had been no one else. What cruel God would condemn me to forget her face in the end? I knew that I had the picture in my wallet. I could look upon it and I would remember again. But I did not have the courage to do it. Would it bring back the pain? Would I feel anything at all? Would I fall apart? No. I was fooling myself. I knew the truth. I was not afraid of the sorrow. I was afraid of something worse. The hardest thing I could be asked to do.

I was afraid of letting go.

Was three years really enough time to get over someone? To get over the love of your life? It could not be. The years had gone by so quickly. If it took a lifetime to build an eternal love, then surely it took another lifetime to let it go? I missed her. God knew that I did. But lately I had been coping. I had been facing each new day without the pain. I didn't know how to feel about that. Some days it brought guilt, and others it brought relief. I had only one comfort in my life to that pain.

Nicole was dead. But it was alright. I had my little girl.

There was a knock on my door. I looked up.

"Dad?"

"Yes honey?"

Jess entered my room wearing a pale pink dress. She had grown so fast. She was just twelve years old now, but she was already an adult. She surprised me every day. I smiled at her with love. It was because of her that I had made it.

"Can we visit mom today?"

I forced my smile to remain.

"Sure baby. We can go now if you'd like."

In minutes I was driving our car down the field. It was old and crummy, but Jess loved it. She loved driving down the countryside. She loved nature's beauty. Just like her mother. I looked across at her in the passenger seat. She held a bunch of flowers in her hands. Handpicked. White roses. I smiled. They were Nicole's favourite.

"I love you, princess," I said, rubbing her cheek.

"Dad, I told you to stop calling me that," she giggled, pulling a face.

"What? You love it!"

"I tolerate it," she grinned.

"Whatever, I like it," I laughed.

She jumped over and kissed my cheek.

"I love you too, Dad."

Soon we had parked the car on the side of the road, and I walked with my daughter over the beautiful grass. She held my waist and marvelled at the trees. I smiled. I had the daughter I loved back. It had taken a long time. It had taken the years for her to no longer wake up screaming from nightmares, and crying from something she had seen but would not tell me about. It had taken the years for her to no longer want to know the truth about what I had done. It had taken the years for her to no longer want to learn to wield a firearm. It had taken the years for her to accept that she was safe, and that one day she would not be forced to commit murder to protect herself or even me. She was only a child. I did my best for her every day, with everything that I had to give. And lately I could at last see the daughter I had always loved. I had my Jess again. Her smile gave me strength more than anything else.

She had only told me a little about what she had been through with Desmond and Hale. But I had found a way to be okay with that, because they had been really good to her. She had even said that they had grown fond of her, yet I found that difficult to believe. I was grateful. I could not even fathom how much. I had only ever had one chance to thank them, and I was glad that I had taken it. It had been before they had left. They had brought me to this place, and had given me the chance to start a new life. They had helped me and Jess to acquire new identities. They had not told me the specifics of how they were able to pull it off. They had always been vague. They had simply said that they had to be prepared for every contingency, and the networks they had built over the years had all been illegal. Black market and off the grid. I guessed that I never really cared how they had done it. We had made it. It was all that had mattered. But I could not lie. I did feel sadness. Desmond and Hale had played such significant roles in allowing me to have a life with my daughter. And yet, once they had given me what I had needed to live, they had vanished and I had never seen them again. They had only told me that they were disappearing the same as me. That between the three of us we had earned our retirement. That had been three years ago.

Jess sometimes told me that she missed them. I had accepted that.

I kissed the top of her head, returning my attention to our task at hand. We had found a wonderful place by a pond that we knew Nicole would have adored. Jess had insisted that we made some sort of memorial, just for us, for Nicole. I had done it for her. And I had visited it for her all the years. We emerged into the familiar clearing, and Jess let go of me. She sat down in front of the small memorial stone we had placed, and set the white roses to rest upon the grave.

"Do you still miss her daddy?"

"Every day, baby."

She looked down at the wedding ring on my hand. I still wore it. I had never taken it off. I could not tell what she was thinking. She had hardly said anything about it for three years.

"Dad?"

"Yes sweetheart?"

"I wanted to talk to you."

I sat down next to her.

"About?"

"We've been coming here a lot, and every time I keep hoping to myself that today would be the day you're ready. But every time I go home disappointed, Dad."

I frowned, "What do you mean? I thought you liked visiting your mom."

"Of course I do. But that's not it."

"Then?" I said, putting my arm around her, "You can speak your mind, baby."

She looked into my eyes then. I knew my daughter. I knew that she would mean the next words she spoke with the utmost sincerity.

"I think it's time for you to move on, Dad. Mom would want you to be happy."

I looked down at the ground.

"Dad?"

"I don't know how, Jess."

I forced myself to look back at her, into her beautiful eyes. And for the first time since Nicole's passing, I did not see pity. I did not see someone completely out of their depth about what I felt. I saw only love. I knew then. She understood.

"Dad, for a while I might have felt the same. I probably would have resented you for moving on from her. But I was little. I didn't understand. But being with you these years...you know I love you Dad, so much, but you're not living. I don't want you to be like this anymore."

She started to cry.

"I don't want you to be alone! I can't handle it."

"Oh no, Jess, don't cry," I said, holding her tightly to me and kissing her gently.

She tried to contain her sobs.

"Daddy's not alone. I have you, sweetie. You make me happy," I said.

She gave me a small laugh, "Don't do that, Dad. You know what I mean."

I smiled.

"I do, princess."

"I just want you to be happy. I know that you say you are, but Dad I know that's just to make me feel better. I see you get lonely. I see you get sad. You haven't moved on from mom."

What could I say? My daughter was right. I could only hold her and listen. She was so grown up. She understood what I felt. I know she wanted the best for me. It was just so hard. We sat for a while after that and just enjoyed the sun. Jess laughed and giggled as I told her stories about her mother. I told her how we had met, and we joked about her idiosyncrasies. I told her stories about when she had been a baby and how Nicole and I had been so overprotective as parents, afraid of the slightest noise. We just reminisced, and it dulled the ache in my chest. Eventually it was time to leave. I felt lighter, unlike any other time I had come. Jess and I were pleasantly quiet during the drive.

When we got back home I put the breakfast Jess had made into the microwave, and then we ate together. She told me that she wanted to go horse riding with her friend Merissa, who stayed close by. I said it was alright, as long as she obeyed our rules. She rolled her eyes and called me a dweeb. My rules were simple enough. She carried a mobile phone at all times. Every few hours I expected a message. If any plans changed I expected a call. And lastly, I did not allow her to use social networks. I wished that I could have labelled it as parent paranoia, but it was not that. I could not chance that anyone would recognise her. Three years may have passed, but I was not going to take the risk for an unnecessary website like Facebook or MySpace. The smart girl had insisted on Twitter though, and had eventually got me to agree provided she would not use her own picture as her profile mug shot or avatar or whatever it was called. She had definitely outwitted me on that argument.

I smiled. She challenged me, and I liked it. She was never rude. She just always made me smile, and taught me to see things in new ways. I loved her with everything that I had. She had made me whole again. I waved her goodbye and gave her some money as she charged out of the house with enthusiasm. She loved horses. As did her partner in crime. Merissa was a sweet girl. She was someone I was happy for Jess to be around. I was so happy she had a friend. The two of them had hit it off really quickly and got along so well. I had got to know her parents too. They were great. Like me, they tried to teach good values to their child. They were at least friendly faces. I was alright with Jess walking around in our new home. It had taken me a long time to give her that freedom. It was a really safe area, and was like a small community. I knew that it was what she needed in her life right now. She needed our home. I thought about myself then. I would not admit to her that it was when she was gone that I felt the ache. The pain of loneliness.

And it took my mind back to Sarah.

After we had begun our new lives I had written a letter to her. I had explained everything that I had done. I had told her the truth. And I had sent her a picture of Jess holding the present day newspaper. I felt that both of us deserved that closure. I thanked her for the part she had played in my life. I thanked her for all that she had done for me. Initially she had not replied. I had supplied her with a way to contact me in the letter, but it had been nothing incriminating as I had been far too paranoid of the letter not reaching her or falling into the wrong hands. And I had waited, growing increasingly more upset with each day. I needed the closure. I needed to know that she did not hate me. But I also knew that she must have been dealing with her own pain, and the mess that I had left her with. I had read online that she had left the police, citing personal reasons. That had hurt me greatly. It had been her life. And I could not imagine her doing anything else.

She eventually had reached out to me. It had taken days and days. She had told me that she was sorry that she had doubted me. That she did not have the words to explain how she felt. I had realised too late that it had been asking for the impossible by expecting her to convey her feelings about it in a letter. She had simply said that it was wonderful I had found Jess. I had glimpsed faint smudges on the page, and the smallest hint of dark spots. I guessed that she had been crying while writing the letter, and I could not imagine how she must have felt. But she had said more in the letter as well. She had also told me that she was heartbroken and she needed to move on with her life, and get back what she had lost.

I had understood. I remembered what I had told Teresa Brooks three years ago. Not everyone gets a happy ending. Neither of us had - not with each other. But it was alright. I was grateful knowing that she was going to be fine. There was always the possibility that one day we would see each other again. But I didn't think so. We had kept loosely in touch over the years, but eventually I came to discover that she had met someone and was planning to settle down. I could not even comprehend that, but I had to hit myself to remember that she had been married once before. She had told me over a year ago that she was happy, and she felt it was time we went on with our own lives. After that we did not speak again. In a way that had made me a little sad, but I came to realise over the last few years that a lot of life was about letting go of the past. I smiled to myself. I was still trying to figure out how to do that.

I thought about the city I had left behind then. Sarah had told me during our conversations that the people still spoke about me. I was the subject of a never-ending debate. Depending on who you asked I was a cult hero, a saviour, a hated murderer or a psychopath. I had somehow saved the city, but the great contradiction was that I was its big villain. I doubted that I had truly saved it from anything. That place was tainted, and it would take a long time to clean out all the filth. But perhaps the police would finally be able to make a difference with the mob having been reduced to a manageable threat. I had long stopped paying attention to it. I no longer cared about that awful place. I could breathe again having left it behind. Its fate was its own.

I stretched. The day was still young. Maybe I would go fishing. I had never tried it before. But I had been running my mouth to Jess over the past few months telling her that I would get to it. She had insisted that I wouldn't, because I didn't really try new things. But she had kept reminding me and encouraging me nonetheless. For some reason she liked that particular image of me. On most days I had free though, I went for walks. I talked to people. I tried to just feel like a person again. And each day it had got a little easier. I had never thought that I would have been able to come back from what I had done. But Jess had been my inspiration. She had reminded me that we were capable of picking ourselves up again from even the darkest of places. She had helped me get to where I was. I owed her my life.

It had not been easy. At times I could not believe that we had made it at all. The first year had been unbearably difficult. The hardest part had been the first few weeks when she had been really sick. That was how I had first met Merissa's parents, Jason and Angela. They had helped me nurse her back to health. They had been kind to us. Angela was really good at taking care of people. But after that I had been left to face the uncontrollable panic each night, fearing that Jess would be taken away from me again. That I would lose her. That took a long time to go away. It took a long time for the demons to disappear, and the horrors of what I'd done to no longer rule me. In the end Jess and I had made it. We had held on, and we had fought like hell to make it. We deserved it.

I suddenly heard screaming and shouting.

Without thinking I ripped open my bedside drawer and pulled out my Beretta. I knew that it was loaded. I cocked it and bolted off my bed as I ran to the kitchen to look out of the window, unable to quell my rising fears. My heart hammered against my chest.

What I saw took my breath away.

Jess and Merissa were screaming in delight, the way you'd expect young girls to, as they rode beautiful horses across the field. They were being watched by an instructor and Merissa's parents, who stood arm in arm grinning widely. Angela saw me then, and excitedly waved me over to join them. I slowly placed my Beretta onto one of the shelves above, relieved to be relinquished of the weapon. My heartbeat calmed.

I smiled.

And then I felt it, deep within my heart.

Hope.

Three years were swept away in a gentle breeze; a sudden euphoria.

I saw my beautiful daughter full of laughter and smiles. I saw the happiness on her face. I saw my little girl, and I saw the life she had ahead of her. Jess had been right. It was time to move on from all the pain. She had done it. It was up to me. It was my choice to make. I looked at my hand, and my eyes found the remains of my agony.

I slowly removed my wedding ring, and gently kissed it.

Goodbye, my love. You'll always be in my heart.

The silent farewell at last gave me the closure I had never thought I would have. I set the ring down on the counter to rest. It barely even hit me. All these years. And it had been so quick in the end. I did not even take a moment to realise the gravity of what I'd done.

I just no longer wanted the burden.

I no longer wanted the sorrow.

I grinned and walked out into the sunlight to laugh with my little girl.

And I knew.

It would be a good life.

###

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