Chapter Text
He sometimes felt life the stars were trying to talk to him, except they never managed to spit out the words or have his full attention for enough time.
He couldn’t see them that night, it was snowing. Alex’s breath clouded the air ahead of him and his steps crushed thin ice layers on the ground. Mary- Actually, Claudia this time, was walking in front but on the other side of the road, by the riverside. Alex wanted to be in her place, he loved seeing the poles’ light reflection on the river, studying its calm rhythm and listening to its soothing sounds, it almost made him forget his current situation. She didn’t pay attention to those details, always too busy watching out for any threats, Alex didn’t blame her.
They were walking to a food bank, to get supplies for the week. The street they were on was mostly commercial, Alex never had the luxury of walking here under daylight, so he spared his attention to the windows and sales. They had just come back to the US, his mother was so anxious you could see the vein on her forehead threatening to explode at every moment.
Alex had liked Europe. He wished his father would die soon so he could live there. Italy, Greece, Germany, Spain... so many options. But it was a useless wish, as Mary... Claudia would very often remind him, Europe was filled with the Hatford gang.
It was overwhelming for Alex to think about his future. Despite his quirk, he never thought about what kind of life he would take, mostly because it was always covered with death and violence for the past years. If his surroundings got too quiet, he could clearly hear the desperate pleas of his victims. Their bloody, broken hands on his shoes, the last spark on their eyes fading slowly, their world falling at their feet seeing Nathaniel not even acknowledge the bullet they just shot or the hole in his chest.
A whistle brought him back, Claudia was mad at him for wandering off.
He continued his slow pace, focusing on the windows until he found a huge sale poster for running shoes. Alex stopped again and stared at it, his shoes were on the verge of death and new ones would last a good amount of time. Running ones were even better, he lost count of how many normal shoes he had sanded with the amount of running it took for his nerves to calm down.
He was about to whistle back to Claudia when a shot echoed through the cold night.
Time slowed down. While he turned, he saw the gun smoke flare up like his breath had done just moments ago and then Mary’s limp body jerking sideways over the rail. Alex’s body reacted at the exact moment, his feet pushed him forward to try and catch her but it was no use, she fell and he could only hear the ice on the river’s border breaking under her weight. The following splash filled his veins with toxic and pure despair.
There was no time for mourning or even calling for her, Alex took a breath to try and yell but he didn’t notice the person behind him with a wet cloth. He was unconscious before he could even blow the air out.
“Mum!”
The memories of the rest of the night, or day, were very blurry in his mind. He recalled waking up in the basement, with his hands cuffed and Lola by his feet, talking shit like usual. The universe paid no mind to his pleas and prayers as his father showed up next, cleaver in hand and with his stern face expression that haunted every second of Nathaniel’s thoughts.
In the two years they were on the run, Nathan seemed to age two decades. His face still bared the scars Nathaniel gave him the last time they saw each other, when his father's perfect plans burned into ash and his empire began to falter, no dog to bite the strays who wanted to mess with him.
That night was stormy, the wind blew and sounded like howls all around the mansion, thunders shook the house and blared flashes of light in between the thick curtains of the Wesninski residence. Nathaniel had just come back from one particular angsty job, kids were involved and Nathan had a very strict policy: no witness. Young blood stuck to him no matter what he told himself. He could mostly forget the adults, they were usually to blame. But of course, his father was never in touch with justice.
Nathaniel had just gotten out of the shower and he heard his father’s call from the basement. Every step he took down the stairs felt like walking down the plank. When he opened the infamous door and got to the lower level, he saw Mary beaten unconscious on the ground, sprawled and weakly breathing. Her blood painted the gray cement walls, her hair fell in long brown locks, wet with sweat, tears and blood.
Nathan stood over her, his knuckles bloodied and raw. His chest rose like a bull getting ready to attack, he didn’t explain or acknowledge his son. He simply stepped over Nathaniel’s mother and reached for his cleaver, handing it to his son.
“Kill her,” he had demanded with a bored nod.
Nathaniel didn’t do such a thing. Nathan had forgotten that the monster he had raised had bitten his collar off and could easily turn to bite him too. They fought dirty, bloody and roughly, Nathaniel ended up slashing his father’s face and knocking him out with a precise upper cut. He took the step to finally kill him but his mother had woken up moments before and pulled him away. They ran away that same day.
This abduction felt like a deja-vu but it made sense for things to end where they started. Nathan was not leaving this basement alive and he should have known that too, but Nathaniel guessed he was too blinded with rage to think about his plan. Besides, what could he even do? Kill his son? He knew it wasn’t possible.
When Nathan first realized it, he had the brilliant idea to use his own child as a weapon. As it was known in the underworld, if you messed with the Butcher, the undead would collect your debt, usually taking your life as the payment. Nathaniel had killed, blackmailed and tortured on demand. He once was one of the most feared individuals in the crime world, they didn’t bother giving him a name, it was no use calling or mentioning him. He showed up to kill and he did what he was told to.
There was only one way that night would end, and it naturally occurred with the FBI finding Nathaniel covered in his father’s blood, seething. All his father’s men laid dead around the boy. Nathaniel’s body was one of a corpse at that moment, even though immortal, he eventually passed out when his body took too much of a stool.
The FBI’s papers revealed his jugular was cut open, a significant amount of skin had been burnt, he had several bullets lodged inside his body and even more huge exit injuries. Slashes covered his arms, torso, legs and face. His wrists were cut open so deep they questioned how Nathaniel hadn’t dropped dead before. He had so many broken bones it was impossible to believe he could even walk, or kill multiple people bare handed. Law enforcement made him talk and fortunately for them, Nathaniel held no wish to continue his father’s business.
He wanted a life. He desperately wanted a life. It was a bit funny, he couldn’t die but he never got to live, either.
The FBI was glad to help, so Neil Josten was born: a boring math major in Palmetto State University. He was normal, if you ignored his body. The bandages were helping but he was letting his hair grow to cover them in the long run. It was uncanny, but Neil usually forgot about them until someone jumped back when they saw his uncovered face or a glimpse of his skin.
He was excited to live for more than a few weeks in the same place, meeting new people and possibly making friends. Which sounded ridiculous if you knew his past, but the truth is Neil was alone and he felt awful. There was a hole by his side and he couldn’t fill it, no matter how much he tried.
Mary’s death had to be processed and avenged on that bloody night, but her absence was a stranger to him. He would often wake up dripping with sweat, huffing, paranoid and calling out for her. He would reach for a phone long broken and forgotten. He didn’t have pictures or recordings of her, only memories and bruises.
Neil often felt that he was the last piece of her in the world, an echo of her life.
But now he had his own place, he could make his own food, he had keys. Shit, he even had neighbors. For once in his damned life, he had control over himself and a chance to properly live.
He was even making plans! His next step was developing a music taste beyond the radio Mary would put on long rides or old British songs. He had read that it was an easy conversation opener. He imagined the conversation to be as such:
“Oh, hello there! I like heavy metal,” Neil would start.
“Oh my! Now I wish to be your friend, may I?” Why did they have a British accent in his imagination, he didn’t know.
“But of course, I find that the vocal screeches sound just like pigs being gutted alive, I know it because my murderous father made me gut more than pigs before I could even write my name, which is Neil, by the way. What’s yours?”
Yeah, no... Maybe not heavy metal to start, then.
The day before his first college class, he gathered up courage to go to a nearby music store to buy a stereo and CDs. He had passed it multiple times the last few days while on his daily runs, which the FBI doctors told him to quit altogether because of this and that, but he truly didn’t give a shit. He took the bandages off as soon as he could, the gauzes bothered him, but at that moment, he wished he had at least covered the ones on his face.
He kept chickening out to enter, reciting his questions over and over again before finally deciding to stop and just get on with it. The store was small, the walls were covered in posters and had a few shelves with stereos, turntables and MP3 players. They featured big displays for vinyl disks and CD albums.
Neil already felt overwhelmed and looked for anyone in there. He found a short blond employee on the store’s computer, he seemed very focused. He was maybe his age, he didn’t wear a name tag and didn’t walk up to Neil to try and help him. Neil painfully and cluelessly stared at the many available options for a long time, sending glares to the boy. He eventually gave up with a sight.
“Sorry, can I get some help here?” The employee didn’t even look at Neil. “Hello?” He tried again. Nothing.
He slowly walked up to the register and the boy slowly took his eyes off the screen directly onto the table, searching for the items Neil didn’t have. He furrowed his brows and lifted his gaze.
Neil expected to see any kind of the usual reaction to his face, but got none. Instead, the boy took off one earbud and boringly asked, “What?”
Brushing off the tone, Neil continued, “I was wondering if you would give me any recommendations on radios. I have no idea how to choose.” Perfectly delivered, those practices paid off.
“All of them do the same thing.” He shrugged.
Neil blinked rapidly, not expecting the conversation to go this way. “Yes, I suppose, but...”
Instead of letting Neil speak, he groaned and got up. “What do you want?” He walked to the shelf, eyes glued on Neil despite the many obstacles on his way.
“Simple, small...” He gestured nervously. “Nothing fancy.”
He, without taking his eyes out of Neil, fished one specific model and brought it back to the register. “Anything else?” He asked with a monotone voice.
During the whole interaction, his face didn't quiver one bit, like it was carved with only the ‘I’m bored, you’re stupid’ expression.
“Hm...” Neil looked around, they were still the only people there. He had planned to buy whatever other customers were buying. Fuck, it had been so long he had a normal interaction. “CDs?”
“What about them?”
“What’s your favorite?” He worked in a music store, he must have a good taste.
He blinked slowly, as if not believing this conversation was still going. “I don’t have one.”
Silence uncomfortably grew in between them. Neil turned to face the many options and just randomly picked one to put it with the stereo. It had a black cover with a rainbow prism on it. The employee silently added the price and told Neil, who paid and left quickly, a bit embarrassed and tugging the hoodie down.
He had his foot on the door and the employee whistled. Neil turned, confused. Did he forget something?
“Buy this one next.” He was standing next to one of the displays of albums and pointed at an orange/reddish cover featuring a woman laying in dirt.
“Couldn’t you have said it before?” Neil shook his head slightly, tugging the bag on his hand.
The boy shrugged and walked back to the register, mouthing ‘bye’ before putting on his earbuds back.
Neil got home that evening and immediately put the CD on the radio. It wasn’t quite what he imagined music to be, he genuinely thought it wasn’t working until he heard the first sounds, then he thought he had bought the wrong kind of CD and THEN the second track started playing and he breathed relieved. The song was nice, a different kind of instrument and the vocal closely reminded him of the employee, his indifference.
You race towards an early grave.
At least he would have a topic to talk about the next day. But since Neil was NOT an approachable guy, his first day was actually a shithole. He only talked to introduce himself and he could see the disgust mixed with curiosity in the face of his colleagues and professors. He pulled his hoodie down even further and reminded himself to buy large bandaids or something to cover up his face.
The first week followed the same line, only two people didn’t look at him that way: Matt, at the gym, who even invited Neil to a friendly soccer match that Saturday and Renee, a volunteer at the library. And, also, the music store employee. He had looked at Neil like he was a fly, he couldn’t decide if it was better or worse.
He did go back, actually, he wanted some distraction from his expectations falling apart and thought music might do the trick. At first, Neil thought it was the same employee, but something was off in his posture and when he looked at Neil, he confirmed it wasn’t the same boy. To be fair, this new guy acted fairly medical, analysing the injuries as if he was naming the skin layers in his head. He wore a name tag, ‘Aaron’.
When Neil brought the CD to the register, he frowned.
“Is there a problem?” Neil asked with tense shoulders.
“What?” He looked up, confused, as if he didn’t notice what he had done. “Oh, sorry, that was rude. My brother usually goes for things like these so I have trouble imagining other people liking it.”
“Brother?” That made sense. “Does he work here too?”
He gulped and looked to his side, “No...” It was a lie, but Neil wasn’t going to push, he just paid and left.
He actually forgot about it until Friday night or Saturday morning, Neil didn’t look at the clock. He couldn't sleep, he felt restless and paranoid. He kept picturing his father knocking at his door, sending him off to one more job. One more death. At any moment, Mary would yell at him for being still for so long. We have to move!
His mouth filled with the taste of metal, his nose burned and the smell of burnt flesh waved in his mind. He kept wiping his hands on the comforter, as if they were dirty with blood.
“Dirt?” He thought.
That was the name of the album Not-Aaron had recommended. Neil jumped off the bed, deciding to do something other than silently suffer. His homework was left untouched and he walked to the stereo, switching the tracks.
The new album was very different from the last, Neil could picture that guy enjoying this type of music. It was very... layered. Neil felt like it was like sorrow and desperation covered in rage, the fear of being vulnerable and frail. He thought he would relate to it more if he could die.
Death was a complicated topic to Neil. He didn’t want to die, but he wasn’t exactly careful with his life. That off feeling from the first time he had ‘died’ was so old, it was hard to grasp, it got covered with many bodies, punishments and pain. To be honest, during the years he worked for his father, he was jealous of how their life could just... end. End the pain. But after running away and finally popping the bubble he had lived in, he started valorizing life. Mainly his mother’s, which didn’t end well.
Thinking about her always made him crave a cigarette. She would smoke pack after pack while running, he remembered the lipstick stains around the burnt filters. He got up from his couch and walked to his bag, he usually had a pack laying around but found none, he grunted. He knew there was a convenience store near him, but it was very late.
The criminal rate was rising these days, all places were dangerous and the police did nothing, as usual, (Neil had never been caught while actively using fake documents and killing people) that led to a wave of vigilantes, which Neil found interesting. A few of them had quirks like him but Neil didn’t know if he wanted to be one, he doubted anyone would feel safe around him. His power was not dying, the fuck could he do?
At the moment, he could buy himself a new pack of cigarettes... Maybe two.
He wore a big jacket, tugged the hood and left with only a lighter and the amount for two packs so he could smoke as soon as possible. He went down his building stairs in hurried steps and left it after checking the lock four (five) times before jogging to the convenience store.
It was empty and the employee was literally sleeping over the balcony. When he got closer, he smelled the alcohol on him, Neil grimaced. He picked up both his cigarettes, left the cash and picked up 20 cents for his change. He had already noticed the security camera, he showed his items and pointed to the cash on the register, avoiding showing his face.
The streets were also empty, as usual. People knew the city was getting more dangerous everyday. Gladly, Neil was usually the most dangerous thing around. The first drag made him almost sigh in relief. He wasn’t addicted, these two packs would last him months. Well, if the months weren’t stressful. He didn’t quite smoke them, just let them burn and tasted them by the air, which was odd. He was probably the only person who could smoke without any future problems, but didn't do it much often, mostly just to start the burn.
A long lone drag.
He had picked up the habit before his mother passed, often craving those moments of silence, smoke and sighs. She would offer him the end of her cigarettes sometimes. He wondered if he looked like her. Since he was very similar to his father, Neil searched deep for anything that would make him forget that he was his father’s son and remind him he was his mother’s son.
The FBI had requested he kept his natural appearance and Neil’s hair was outgrowing the old fake colors of Alex and Stephan, it was messy and unkept: the tips were dry and box-dye black, the middle part was a dark brown-auburn and the roots were his natural color. The few glances he stole in glasses made him think he looked like a fox, with his ends black and root reddish.
He passed by the music store on his way back, instead of just ignoring it, like he should. He got closer to study the other albums, thinking about what he should buy next. Maybe a ‘pop’ one? The genre was quite literally ‘popular’, it should have been his start point, dumb choice to go with rock.
He saw it in the glass reflection first, a blur. He quickly tensed and turned to be met with a woman holding a child in her arms, she had a pharmacy bag on her hands and looked terrified. She held on for dear life on Neil’s hoodie.
“Can you please walk with me?” The woman was shaking, on the verge of tears, holding her child tight against her chest. “I think there’s a man following us.”
Neil took one look behind her to see a glimpse of a man hiding in the shadows. He didn’t hesitate before nodding, eyes locked ahead.
“Oh, thank you so much.” She sighed and adjusted her child, beginning to walk whispering sweet nothings to the kid. “I just had to buy medicine and couldn’t leave her alone.”
Neil didn’t respond, he understood. He kept his ears open and threw the cigarette away, so the smoke wouldn’t bother the child. He walked a few steps behind, so he had a clear view ahead and if the man behind decided to attack, he would come at Neil first.
He noticed the child had her arms wrapped around the mom’s neck and held onto a small rag doll, stitched up like it used to be a dog toy. The picture was oddly familiar, Neil would hold onto Mary just like this when he was small. Pieces of a robbed and stained childhood bittered Neil’s mind.
Ignoring his grief, he checked if the man had given up, but he kept following them. Neil tsked before whispering to the woman, “Do you know any alternative ways to your house?”
She wasn’t expecting it, but answered it promptly. “It’s in between too many alleys, I don’t feel safe going that way.”
Neil bit his lip, frustrated. “You can’t lead him to your house.”
“I know, but I have to get there...”
“Mommy?” The child stirred away, voice hoarse, coughing.
“Shh, baby... Everything's fine, go to sleep.” After the child soothed again, she faced Neil, a vast dedication in her eyes. “I need to go back home as soon as possible and this is the quickest route.”
Neil scanned their surroundings and found a dead end just ahead, he had an idea. “Look, we’re going in this way, he’s gonna run to keep up and I’m going to confront him. You wait until he’s either out or distracted and run. Can you run?”
“Yeah, yeah, I can run.” She looked like she wasn’t sure, but was willing to try. After a few seconds, she asked quietly, “But what about you?”
“What about me?” Neil was confused.
“What if he’s armed?” She pronounced the word as if it was the devil himself.
“Not a problem, ma’am. Focus on yourself.”
When they turned around the alley, they were met by a classic brick wall just a bit ahead of them, two trash cans against it. Neil told the woman to hide behind a duct and waited a few seconds to confront the man, so they had enough time to settle and the man couldn’t run away. Neil wanted this scum done, a man willing to chase a mother with a child out of a pharmacy was a level of rotten not even worth the air they breathed.
He took a big step out and the man almost crashed into him. Like Neil had expected, he had run to keep up with the route change. Fucking trash. He stumbled a few steps, not expecting a confrontation.
“Look, I don’t want any trouble.” The man was splitting his attention between Neil and the alley, where the other two were hidden. Neil would have snorted, he didn’t look like much indeed, if his anger hadn’t drained his sense of humor dry.
“Eyes on me,” Neil demanded, maintaining eye contact and taking his hands off his pockets, shaking them. “Fuck off before you do something you regret.”
The provocation seemed to turn a key in the man’s head. “Like what?” He stepped up in a sudden burst of courage.
Neil also got closer. “Like that.”
“Why? Are you a vigilante?” He said it like an insult, even spitting onto the ground. After realizing Neil’s blank expression, an evil grin cut his face, like he had just managed his first synapse. “Or are you just savoring her for yourself?”
Neil didn’t even bother with a small remark, he threw the first punch straight at the man’s jaw. An upper cut so fast you would miss in a blink. The man screeched in pain and Neil didn’t leave a chance for him to try and hurt him back, he tripped him and he went down hard. Now, usually, Neil would crack his neck or stump his face into the ground, but he wasn’t keen on killing, yet. He was planning on making this man never repeat his mistake.
Neil went for the man’s knees, planning on crushing them beyond repair. But he managed only one of them before another man lunged over Neil’s small height and held him in a chokehold. Neil held the other man’s arm and threw him off his back, his posture was awful anyways, it was easy. He landed with a grunt straight over his fellow criminal, who was yelling in pain and hit his head on the asphalt from the impact, going out cold for good.
“Pete?” The second guy called, tense. He turned impossibly fast and held his friend’s head, trying to wake him up. “Pete!” He turned to Neil. “You fucker, you killed him!”
“No, I didn-”
“John!” He interrupted Neil’s explanation and his gaze swerved behind the boy. “Shoot him!”
Click.
Neil turned his head very slowly to meet this John guy. It was a very young boy, shaking and crying, snot bubbling out his nose. He wasn’t going to shoot. Neil, instead, focused on the very angry man in front of him, who was getting up slowly and awkwardly. Neil helped him up by grabbing him by the collar and lunging him against the wall of some building, his clothes lightly choking the man. He struggled and tried to kick Neil, but he didn’t budge.
It was too familiar, the bruise on his knuckle, the smell of blood in the humid air, the gut to protect and the rush of adrenaline made it too hard for Neil to mold into a new instinct. He was already using all his determination telling himself to not kill, but at every attack, his will was faltering and his facade wearing thin. He needed to end this fast.
“Shoot the fucker!” The man called for John, who shrieked. “C’mon, kid! He’s gonna kill me!”
“You wish,” Neil spoke to himself, mainly.
He pulled the man farther up and let him fall at an awkward angle where he had no way of planting his feet first, he fell directly onto Neil’s knee, which he swung forward. He heard a crack and then silence as the limp body hit the wall with all the momentum of the action before then falling on the street.
He turned a cold look to John, who jerked back.
“Let me go, please...” He pleaded, hands shaking.
“How often do you do this?” Neil’s voice was surgical, he took careful steps forward.
“Please...” His eyes watered.
“Answer me.” Voice too away from Josten at the moment.
“Every...” he sobbed. “Every night....”
“How many have you killed?” Now the gun was touching Neil’s chest, he stared down the boy.
“No one!” He put his arms up, still holding the gun but with a faltering grip.
“Yet?”
“Please, spare me...”
An old instinct kept telling him to take the gun and take three cold merciful shots, ending the problem. But never again.
“Scram, kid.” Neil took a step back, sighing.
“What?” The kid’s eyes were watery and red, his face covered in tears and mucus. The flicking lights of the poles reflected how sweaty he was despite the cold wind, his whole body was shaking, his pupils were way too blown, he was high.
“Go before I change my mind.” Neil massaged his temples, suddenly feeling annoyed and exhausted.
The boy slowly tested the steps, going around him and in the other direction. Neil didn’t wait for the kid to sober up and run, he walked slowly to the alley, to see if the girls managed to escape. He was met with two brown eyes staring up at him, the kid had woken up and had peeked out the cover of the wall, she had her hand over her mouth to not cough. Something tugged at Neil’s chest, but he refused to acknowledge the feeling. Upon seeing him, she finally let go and went into a coughing fit for a few moments.
The mom turned when he sensed the change in her daughter's posture and was relieved to see Neil, who wiped the blood off his knuckles before gesturing for them to leave the hide spot. The mom let the child walk this time, holding her hand.
Before they got too close to the exit, Neil whispered to her, “Close her eyes.” There wasn’t a blood bath, but there were two unconscious men on the street, he didn’t want her to see that. The mom nodded, simply.
Neil fortunately was the first to leave the alley, to check if everything was alright, since John decided to avenge his friends with a bullet. He was a terrible shot, it hit the wall. Neil gestured for them to go back a few steps, not reacting to the gunshot, opposed to the child, who began to cry out loud, sobbing in between coughs. John looked terrified, his whole body was shaking and he started crying and pleading, dropping the gun, almost like he didn’t believe he had just done that. Or that he had missed.
Neil wasn’t merciful twice.
“Close her ears too.” Neil told the mom over his shoulder before walking up to John, who kneeled.
“I’m... sorry...” He was really crying now, the gun was thrown to the middle of the street, he put his hands together like he was praying. “It’s, it’s a misunderstan-” Neil was one step away from painting the sidewalk with his brain when a bullet carved into his temple and he jerked sideways, hitting the wall where Neil had thrown the second man against. But Neil wasn’t armed and the bullet came from his side, where the street and building were covered by thick shadows that seemed to grow at every second.
Time seemed to slow down and the flickering now seemed to be a slow blink, allowing more time for whoever had a gun to come closer. It could be a vigilante, it could be a cop, but he could only think of the mother behind him. Their frail future used as a coin for a cruel and sadistic bet on life.
Neil ran like a bomb had been set off. He lunged towards the dead end and threw both the mom and the child over his shoulders with a hurried ‘Excuse me’. They didn’t complain, only gripping him tight. He took leverage on the trash cans and jumped over the wall. After landing on the other side of the alley, he ran the fastest he could, despite the added weight. He heard his coins falling from his pockets, but he didn’t care. Behind him, he heard the echoes of more shots fired and cries. He accelerated his pace even more, disregarding the pain in his calf.
He ran for an absurd amount of time, mixing up routes, alleys and turns so anyone who could be tailing them was sure to be lost. When he was sure no one was nearby, he gave an abrupt turn to the direction they had been going earlier and put them both on the ground, huffing. A quick scan on both told him they were fine.
“Is... your house... nearby?” He asked, in between breaths, hands on his knees.
“Yes, it’s just around...” The mom looked around, pulled her kid’s hand and pointed in the direction of her house.
“Go.” Neil gestured in that way. “I’ll stay here to watch out.”
The woman took a big breath, her eyes squinted in a sad smile. He could see the pity in her gaze. “Thank you so much, sweetie” She hugged him and let go after a long moment, lingering her free hand on his arm and looking into his eyes. “Are... Are you one of them?”
“No.” Neil was much worse.
“You should.” She lightly held his face before turning to the child. “Say ‘thank you’, Nina.”
Nina, the daughter, had stopped crying. She was flushed and blinked her big brown eyes at Neil, trying to put words together. “Thank you.” Not deeming enough, she held up her doll, offering it to him.
“Oh,” Neil waved his hands, dismissively. “I can’t...”
“Yours.” She shook the doll very fiercely, her little face squinting with determination.
Neil finally accepted it, it was a very soft doll, covered with stitches, just like him. It had a smiley face drawn with marker, it was a brown-reddish color, similar to Neil’s hair.
“Thanks, kiddo.” He smiled fondly to himself, pulling the hoodie down again and looking up at the woman. “You should go, I’ll wait.”
Nina waved at him all the way back, Neil did too, until they turned a corner and disappeared from his vision. He stood still until he heard a lock, then he walked mindlessly to his loft, studying the doll further. Even after arriving home, he spent the rest of the early morning staring at it while the first album he bought played on repeat. When the sun rose, in a cloudy and gray morning, Neil forcibly made himself stop the madness and decided to organize his feelings.
He had helped them. Neil had helped. They thanked him. They weren’t scared.
How many more walked at night scared, wishing for someone safe to accompany them? How many suffered the consequences of no one being there but the malicious ones? How many moms and how many children had been lost? How many Johns were convinced every day to shoot someone? How many Petes died for a pack of cigarettes and cents?
Neil could do something about it. Well, not Neil exactly, he had promised the FBI to not even order a coffee using a fake name... So ‘someone’ else. Neil was no stranger to multiple identities, even now, he had to keep Nathaniel at bay during bad days. While thinking about it, he looked through his window, where he could see a few billboards:
‘VIGILANTES ARE OUTLAWS, REPORT AT 000.’
The ‘outlaws’ was censored by spaypaint and someone had written ‘HEROES’ over it, they had added ‘COPS = PIGS’ at the bottom corner.
‘THEY ALL HAVE THE SAME END.’
The image was an inmate next to a man in spandex, both behind bars and bloody, looking at each other like they were about to kill.
‘POLITICIAN KILLED AND EXPOSED! WHAT IF IT WAS YOU?’
This particular outdoor was odd, it featured a father laid dead and naked on his bed, his kids were behind the wife, who was crying, by the bedroom door. Leaving the scene, was a vigilante with a bloody knife and horns.
‘WANTED. CONTACT AND REPORT AT 000 UPON SIGHT.’
There were a lot of those, each with a picture of a different vigilante: a dark blurry outline of a man wearing a helmet with two horns at the top, pointing a gun at the camera. A woman with a pink suit and a ski mask, flipping the cops. A confusing blur on top of a building and such.
It was clear the distaste for them, if Neil turned the TV on, the news would be all around disgracing the vigilantes, calling them plagues and selfish. That wasn’t really a problem for him, he was used to being unpopular. He could ‘work’ in small things, like stopping muggings and watching over people at night. No way someone would catch him, much less have his face stamped on a billboard.
Neil frowned, was he really considering throwing away the anonymous life he had JUST managed to obtain so he could jump back into violence and crime? Well, he would be standing on the other side now, no killing.
While trying to fight his opposing thought, he went through his pockets, to light another cigarette. The doll’s gaze seemed to burn while Neil shook the pack so he went to the fire escape to smoke instead, watching the billboards closely and the city slowly waking up, like a rabbit stepping out his hole, jittery and careful.
When he opened the lighter, he froze. His knuckles were raw, not much, but still, which didn’t make any sense. He would usually heal fast, leaving nothing behind but a scar if the injury was deep enough. Neil, panicking, entered his room to take out his pants and check his knee, which was still lightly bruised. Maybe he counted the hours wrong? Bruises would heal so fast he barely had them. It wasn’t bad, it was a light shade of yellow by now. But it should have been gone.
Neil’s heart started pounding, in all his 19 years of life, he never examined how and why he didn’t die. What if there was a limit? What if he was losing it? No. He couldn’t... Not now that he had decided to help people.
Neil stumbled towards the kitchen only using his boxers, pulling the draws with so much strength some of them fell and silverware scattered on the floor. When he found what he was looking for, he pressed his thumb to a sharp knife, very lightly, just enough to draw a drop of blood. He stood over the sink, staring at his skin. It healed in less than a minute; Neil was being paranoid. If he turned his hands, his knuckles were fine and his knee, spotless (as much as it could).
He draped over the sink, breathing deeply, still feeling the venom of anxiety in his veins. He turned the tap on, letting the water steal his heat and clear his mind. He should go for a run, maybe that would help.
He took his only towel and lightly dried his curls before changing clothes and going for a run. He just stared ahead, reciting the lyrics he had learnt and trying to convince himself it was just a scare.
He was fine. He wasn’t dying.
Flashing images of limp bodies and bullets flared his mind. Most people had only one chance, Neil had... more. If it were him by the riverside, she would still be alive. It was him leaving the alley first, they were alive.
Was he destined to be a weapon forever? Was there nothing more to his essence but violence and death?
The walls around the city were covered in pamphlets, mostly from vigilantes themselves, providing useful tips and information, sometimes even a contact phone for help. There were also police flyers, mostly ripped, asking civilians to ignore them and seek the law enforcement.
Neil wasn’t much conflicted, the memory of Nina and her mother weighed enough for him to have no doubt. He was going to help people, truly. No more dead children, no more terrified parents, no more regrets from desperate people.
No more chances for cowards.