Pieces of Purpose - 3. Chapter 3: First Entry

Journal Entry November 3, 1971 1-1

Someone died tonight, an innocent, someone so like David it hurts. But it's not David, it's someone else, someone else who didn't deserve to die.

The innocent calls to me, pulls me toward the killers. There are two. Young men, college age, but these are not students. Too much beer, too few morals. Bad combination.

He was twenty-two, just out of college and in love. His lover is in the hospital - he may not make it. Part of me hopes he doesn't because living will be painful. I know.

I let this thing inside me draw me toward my goal. It knows, it always knows. This whole thing is finally starting to make sense now I realize what's in my head.

The others, the ones before me, are helpful. I know what happened to me, or know as well as anyone can. This thing, this purpose with power, as one host called it, isn't good at anything other than forcing me to act. And if I don't, I'll go mad. I've glimpsed the painful memories of others who had. I don't like it, but I can't get rid of it. Not if I want to keep my sanity.

They're close, I can feel the connection. Still drunk. I wonder if they know what they did. He was twenty-two, new job, new place. They beat him because he was gay.

I was out when I felt it, made it easy to get to the scene while the cops were still there. They didn't care, just another dead fag to them. That's what the guilty hoped for. Too bad for them I'm not the police.

David found peace because I punished his killers. This one will too.

Someone died tonight, a boy who didn't deserve it. His killers think they're safe because there were no witnesses, but they're wrong. I know what happened.

I wish I understood how I know, but when I look, all I find are more questions. Where did it come from? Why does it avenge the innocent dead? How come it can't speak to me? Is it the only one?

The others don't know either. Maybe I'll be the one to figure it out. But not tonight. Movement brings me back to now, my answers will have to wait.

I realize I'm in Germantown, quite a hike from downtown. Sometimes I forget how I get to places. Doesn't really matter so long as I'm here.

Nice, quiet neighborhood. Too bad they brought me here; this place is about to get a shocked. Just because their neighbors are nice, doesn't mean these two get a pass.

Leaving the house, their heads jerk as their eyes dart around the yard and dark streets. Maybe they can feel vengeance is at hand. Or maybe they're still drunk. Probably both.

These could have been kids I grew up with, minus a few years. Did they realize what they did? Do they care? Perhaps, but it doesn't matter. Not to the dead guy, not to the Purpose--relentless in its need to avenge--and therefore, not to me.

I move closer, it's time to end this. Alcohol reeks from their pores. Yup, they were shitfaced. The taller of the two has ice on his hand. No worries, it won't hurt much longer.

"Man, did you hear the sound of my fist on his head?" he asks his friend. His voice is thin, the words hollow. If he'd live to sober up, he might regret this night.

"Yeah. How 'bout when I was kicking his ribs? You could hear 'em break." This one has the body of an athlete. There's a hint of glee in what I hear. No doubt he's the instigator.

"Do you want to hear your ribs break?" My voice makes them jump, and scan the area.

I'm there, easily visible, but they don't see me. Their eyes avoid the area around me. One of my new abilities. It's not perfect, yet, but I'm getting better.

"What did you say, Jim," he asks the taller one?

"You...you...you know it wasn't me, Ron." They both strain to find me.

"Of course he knows it wasn't you." I've moved behind them, so they jerk around. "I'm here to avenge your victim."

Ron moves first, heading for the front door. He never has a chance.

Sweeping my leg around, I connect with a spinning heel kick hard to his torso. Without my added strength, catching him unprepared with such a kick would be devastating. With it, the effects are deadly. He won't survive. Most of his ribs are broken, his lung is punctured, as is his liver.

I could end it, but I feel no mercy. He left his victim to die, he gets no better from me. Not yet, at least. Both will be dead before I leave.

Jim sobers up fast, his friend is down, but he didn't see who did it. Moving to his friend, he almost stumbles over. This is too easy. "Ron! Ron! What's wrong? Speak to me."

I remove the cloud from his mind so he can see me. "He'll be dead soon."

Falling back, he lands on his ass. Eyes wide with fear, he crab-walks away from me. Crab-walk? Who does that after elementary school?

"Please don't hurt me...I didn't mean it."

"Didn't mean what?" Stepping closer, I kick his leg out from under him. "Didn't mean to hurt your hand punching him so many times? Didn't mean for someone to find out? Because I know you meant to punch him, you did it enough times."

A sob wracks him as he bumps into a tree. "Please...I don't want to die."

"Neither did Alan Green." My eyes narrow as I focus my stare on him. "That was his name, not faggot."

"Who are you?" New tactic. Won't change the outcome.

"Vengeance." I swoop in to pull him to his feet. He's young, maybe twenty-one. There's such fear in his eyes, but there's something more. Holding him I recognize it; remorse.

Feeling him shake, I can't help but think of David. This must be how he felt when he was beaten. His image comes to mind. Would he agree with what I'm about to do?

Jim struggles, so I tighten my gripe.

"Please let me go. Please? I'll never do it again." Can he sense my hesitation? "I was drunk, and Ron started teasing them."

Does he think I care? Alan Green's soul wants to rest and has demanded his killers pay first.

David is there again. He's frowning, trying to tell me what to do. Sorry, David. It's too late.

"No, you won't do it again." I snap his neck so he doesn't suffer. More mercy than he deserved.

Someone died tonight. He didn't ask for his fate. Vengeance is satisfied.