I Am No One

"Hey man, you looking to score some flash?"

He smells like shit. Like he just went rolling through the New Jersey streets without the benefit of saran wrap. I try not to gag. His teeth are stained yellow and his face is marred by the remains of age-old acne. He smiles slyly, licking his grime covered lips. His eyes dart back and forth in their sockets, as if they've realized that they've been placed inside the head of a pathetic individual, and are striving to escape.

"Is it good?" I ask, wiping my mouth.

The gun beneath my waist feels like its pulling me down, like I'm hiding a cement block under my shirt. The knife tucked under my jacket presses against my skin, its cold steel sending goosebumps across my arm.

He reaches slowly into his pocket and pulls out a small, clear baggie, holding it up to my face. The white powder inside rests neatly against the corner of the bag.

I smile.

"Looks good," I remark.
"It is."

A second hustler appears from beyond the alleyway, quickly marching up beside me. He's a big one. His bulky form towers over the stringy coke head beside me. His shoulders are carved from rock. His dark eyes rest upon me.

"I told you to wait before you showed him the stash. Christ, Sam, he could be a fucking narc for all we know," he says, never taking his eyes off me.
"He's got the green. I've seen it. He's cool."
"Green doesn't mean shit, Sam, believe me."

I laugh under my breath.

"You find something amusing about this situation, Mr. Suit?"

I shake my head.

"I'm no cop," I whisper.
"I'm supposed to take you by your word?"
"That's what men used to do."
"Yeah, well the world's gone to shit since last time I checked."
"I'm no cop. Trust me."

I meet his eyes and stare deep into the black orbs. I smile. The alley is quiet. Nothing moves.

"Trust me."

My arm is freezing. The knife shakes under the cloth.

"I agreed to meet one man. I've met two tonight. Who knows how many more goons you've got tucked up your ass. I should walk away right now. But I'm a business man. I've come here to do business. And business is what I plan to do. You've brought muscle, Sam. And thanks to him I now know your name. I don't forget names. I would hate to leave here disappointed with only your name on my mind."

The dealer breathes out slowly. His eyes have stopped moving. His hands are behind his back. The muscle is still watching me. I take a step towards the dealer.

"Do I scare you, Sammy? Do I make you shake? That's why your hands are behind your back, right? They're shaking. It's okay. It's okay to be afraid. It's what separates us from the animals. Our ability to feel. Our ability to fear. It's what makes us men. And coincidentally, what makes us cowards."

I lean in closely, my grin widening. The stringy man turns away. A small whimper escapes his lips.

"Are you scared, Sam?" I ask.

The muscle takes me by the arm.

"That's enough."

I back away slowly. The muscle relinquishes his grip. I clasp my hands together.

"So. Do we have a deal? Hmm? We going to behave like civilized adults? No funny stuff?"
"Yeah. Yeah sure," the dealer whispers.
"I'm sorry, you'll have to speak up, Sam. I'm a little hard of hearing."
"I said yes."
"Okay then."

The scrawny man removes the baggie from his pocket. He opens it and nudges it in my direction.

"You want a taste?" he asks.
"No No. Don't want to spoil my dinner."

I reach into my pocket and pull out a wad of bills.

"How much?"

"Depends how much you want," Sam replies.
"For all of it."
"Two hundred."
"Pricey."
"You get what you pay for."

I smile and count out two hundred dollars. I pass the Sam the money.

"Indeed."

He's still holding the baggie up to me. I raise my left hand and begin to dust away at the wrinkled area where the muscle grabbed me.

"This is my favorite suit," I whisper, and draw the knife from under my sleeve.

They don't have time to react. I lunge forward, knocking Sam's arm aside, and bury the blade into his underdeveloped gut, wrenching it across in one swift motion. His intestines spill out in a torrent of blood. He clutches his hand pressed hopelessly against his stomach. He's screaming wildly, his arm thrashing uselessly against me.

The muscle stands still for a moment, his black eyes wide and confused. Finally, he breaks out of the trance and starts forward. I draw the pistol from my belt and fire two rounds into his chest. The sound suppressor creates a quiet hiss as the bullets exit the chamber. Quiet. Silent. The muscle tumbles to the ground.

Sam is still screaming, but his voice is slowly weakening.

"Oh God! Oh God! Jesus, God, Jesus!" he shrieks.
"Shut up."
"Please God. I'm so sorry, God!"
"I said shut up!" I scream, kicking him in the chest.

He stops and stares up at me, whimpering quietly. I kneel beside him, carefully stepping around the pool of blood. I grab him under his chin, holding the blood stained knife up in my other hand.

"Listen to me. Listen well. I will say this as simply as I can. That way even you should understand. If you scream again, I will cut you again. Do you understand?"

His face is white with fear. He shakes uncontrollably. I tighten my grip on his face. He moans in pain.

"Do you understand. Tell me you understand. I need to hear it."
"I-I understand," he whispers.
"Good."

I sigh quietly and glance up at the sky. The stars twinkle high above.

"Such a beautiful night. I can't remember the last time I looked up at night here and saw the stars. A beautiful night. Don't you agree?"
"Please--"
"Do you agree?"
"Yes."
"Then why is it that people like you roam the streets? Why can't you just enjoy the world as it is, what we've been given."

I raise the knife and watch it as it glitters in the light of the moon. Slick with blood, it shines.

"Please. You can keep the money! Take the coke! Please."
"Shh..." I whisper, placing my finger to the the man's lips.

I shake my head.

"Silly Sammy. It was never about the money. Not about the drugs."

I shove the blade into his throat and release my grip on the handle. Sam's hands dart up to his throat. I slap them away.

"You think I care about the drugs? Drugs are a plague upon this world. And you are the cause. People like you are the cause. And I, I'm the cure."

I release the dealer. He falls to the ground, thrashing in his death throes. Blood juts from his throat in a fine spray. I turn away and make my way to where the muscle lies. He's still alive. His chest rises and falls slowly. His breathing is ragged. He gurgles as he breathes. There's blood in his lungs.

I stand over him. He stares up at me, his black eyes still wide and aware. I raise the silenced pistol and shoot him once between the eyes. His breaths stop. His chest falls and is still. I turn away and make my way back to Sam.

He's stopped thrashing. His eyes are cloudy and lifeless. I smile as I watch the occasional twitching reflex. I bend down and pull the blade from his throat. I tuck the pistol into my waist and remove a white rag from my pocket. I wipe the blade clean and stuff both it and the rag back into my pocket. I turn away and exit the alley, my head raised to the sky, watching the beautiful stars.

***

I pause at the door and stare into the glass window, smoothing out my tie and suit. The door opens with a small creak and I shut it behind me, locking all three locks. I sigh softly. It's good to be home. I remove my jacket and hang it in the closet. As I finish closing the door something colides with my bottom half. I glance down to see my daughter staring up at me with wide eyes. Her golden hair falls across her face. Her smile stretches as wide as it can go.

"Daddy you're home!" she says, her voice filled with glee.

I bend down and pick her up, holding her close against my chest.

"Yes I am. And you should have been to bed two hours ago."
"I couldn't sleep. Besides I don't have school tommorrow."
"That may be, Sarah, but rules are rules. Did Maggie leave?" I ask.
"Yeah. She tucked me in and everything."

I brush her blond hair from her face and reveal her deep blue eyes.

"You get more beautiful everyday."
"Stop it," she whispers, poking my chin.

She stops, her brow furrowed.

"What happened to your hand, daddy?"

Shit. I forgot.

I glance at the dried blood on the back of my hand.

"Don't worry I'm fine. Just had a little accident. Now go up stairs. I have to make a couple of calls. I'll come up soon to tuck you in."
"Ok."

Sarah springs from my arms and takes off. Her pink and purple polka dot pajamas rustle as she runs. Two sizes too big, but she loves them. I finish undoing my tie and hang it up in the closet.

I enter the kitchen and turn on the faucet. The blood vanishes with a few scrubs, disapearing into the swirling spiral of water. I watch as it darkens the color for the briefest of seconds, then vanishes. I shut the faucet off and dry my hands. I pluck the home phone from its charger and dial my partner's number. His answering machine comes through the receiver.

"Allen, it's me Peter. Call me if you can tonight. We need to discuss the details of the McKinley merger. I'm taking Sarah to the zoo tomorow so I'll be out from about one to six. I'll be home the rest of the day. Call me. Good night."

I hang up the phone. I open the closest drawer, pushing the cutlery aside. With a click the small compartment beneath the silverware springs open. I remove the small tracphone from the opening and cross the room, glancing up the stairs. Sarah is still in her room. I make my way back to the kitchen and hit the redial button. A smooth woman's voice answers.

"911 emergency, what's your situation?"

I flick the voice scrambler on the track phone's side and speak into the reciever.

"There's been a double homicide. Two men are dead. They're on the corner of 8th and Sanderson, in the back alley of Edward's Pawn Shop. One was shot three times. Twice in the chest, once in the throat. The other was killed by knife wounds. Two of them. They were drug peddlers. I'm the killer."
"Sir-" the operator begins. I cut her off.
"You're welcome."

I press the end button and the line goes dead. I do not worry that I will be found. The line can not be traced. I return the phone to its compartment and close the drawer.

I shut off the kitchen lights and make my way up the stairs. The door to Sarah's room is wide open. She sits in her bed on top of her covers. A poster of Spongebob Squarepants hangs behind her, another of The Fairly Odd Parents hangs to my left. Her face brightens as I enter the room. I take a seat in the small, wooden chair beside her bed.

"Ok. I'm here. And what are you doing on top of those covers?" I ask, feigning shock.
"I was scared."
"Scared. Of what?"
"Of monsters," she replies.

I nod.

"Yes, well that's something to be afraid of. But you know there's no such thing as monsters."
"Yes there are!" Sarah says.
"Ok then. Where was the monster?"

Sarah raises her hand and points across the room.

"In the closet."
"In the closet?" I ask.
"Yeah."
"Why would a monster be in your closet? It's so cramped."
"I don't know. I'm not a monster!" Sarah replies, huffing.

I chuckle and tussle her hair.

"No you're not. Don't worry. I'll check the closet."

I stand up and make my way across the room.

"Be careful!" Sarah says, covering her eyes.
"Don't worry. I'm a tough guy."
"You're old."

I laugh again.

"Old. Well maybe an old guy can't check for monsters."
"No! You're not old, daddy."
"Ok then," I reply.

I slowly raise my hand and grasp the knob on the door. With a turn, the door opens slowly. I peer inside.

"Oh my God," I whisper.
"What?" Sarah gasps.

I let the door swing open.

"Look how messy this place is."

Sarah picks up her pillow and tosses it at me. I catch it and shut the closet door, making my way back to the chair beside my daughter's bed. Sarah sits with her arms crossed, her head turned away from me.

"That was mean, daddy."
"Oh Sarah, don't be mad. You know I was kidding. You were very brave too."

Sarah turns and smiles.

"Really?"
"Oh yeah. You almost scared me."
"You're kidding again."
"No. Not at all. You're a trooper. Now lets get back in bed."

I hand Sarah her pillow and pull the covers up to her chin.

"Better?" I ask.
"Yeah."
"Ok."

I lean over and kiss her on the cheek.

"I love you, Sarah."
"I love you too, daddy."
"Good night."

I stand and make my way through the entrance to the room.

"Daddy," Sarah calls.

I turn and face her.

"Yes?" I ask.
"Are you sure there's no monsters?"
"I'm sure."
"Because if there were, you'd kill them," Sarah whispers.

I swallow hard and nod, watching my little girl. She's so innocent. So sweet.

"Yes. I'd kill them. Now go to sleep."
"Ok."

I watch my daughter as she lies back. I stand there for a few minutes, making sure she is asleep. Then I turn away and shut the door behind me.

***

My name is Peter Baylor. I have a five year old daughter named Sarah. My wife is deceased. I work at a large firm contracting company. I oversee the development of company mergers. I'm currently up for a promotion. I am a taxpayer. I am a widower. I live in a two floor apartment in New Jersey. I am wholly average in every way. I am also a sinner. I am a killer. I hunt the monsters of the night. The dealers. The killers. The rapists.

My acts are recorded on the news. I am written of in newspapers and discussed in magazines. But when I am gone, I will not be remembered. I will be forgotten. A phantom. People will speak of a mysterious vigilante with awe and disdain, but they will never know me. I do what I do to protect my daughter, my friends, my family; all the people I love. I do not seek forture or fame. I am not a vain man. I am no one.

I am destined for hell. I do not work for the devil, I simply do what God is too slow to accomplish. If you are a criminal, I will find you. I will find and I will hunt you. I will kill you. You can not atone for your ways. Do not try to hide. I am coming. Not tomorow, but soon. Not tomorow. Tomorow I'm taking Sarah to the zoo.