The Fallen

Shadows

I followed him as he trolled the streets in the dark looking for his next victim. He was grungy, like that of any homeless addict, and he was young. Though I was aware of my mission, his face saddened me. He was a soul, among thousands, that would never experience the pleasure of a happy life.

This would be the last night that he would spend searching for his next high.

My footsteps were silent and, for the moment, I was invisible. It was late, the sun had gone down hours ago, and the streets of Manhattan seemed nearly bare as the young man limped his way down the sidewalk. His body seemed to shake as it begged for just one more hit. He was smoking and I could hear the chattering of his teeth as he mumbled to himself.

I had been following for him for nearly two weeks. I knew his contacts and the location of every one of his dealers. I knew where he would go to try and score; but I also knew that he was broke. He would need money, and he wasn't going to get it through conventional means. I had seen him steal, pawn and beat his way into his next fix. Tonight, I was sure, would be no different.

His was the soul that I needed. He was my mission.

It was easy for me to keep my distance, my supernatural vision easily allowing me to see every detail from afar, and I walked quietly, hoping that tonight he would end my misery. The thoughts of past souls like him continued to haunt me as I watched; the afterlife I had sentenced them to was something I wished on no one.

A matter of minutes when I knew was headed to the only part of the city that was still alive; the late night bars and restaurants that served cocktails for patrons looking to drink away their pain or forget that they were single workaholics who would get lonely at home without the liquor.

I followed him around a tight corner, under the canopy of a bar called the Blind Tiger. From inside, came the noise of a small scuffle and from the door stumbled a man in a dark gray blazer and matching slacks. His light blue tie hung loose on either side of his neck and the top buttons on his white shirt were undone. Obviously drunk, he was laughing as he tried to catch his footing.

"Lighten up, Timmy." He slurred. "It was just a joke."

"Go home and sleep it off, Dan. Your wife's waitin'." The man, who I assumed was Timmy, shouted back.

Dan stumbled down the street, and I could sense the addict tense up.

He had made his decision. Dan didn't know it, but he was the man of the hour.

The druggie followed him, and I the druggie, whose name I had not bothered to learn because knowing it would make my task that much harder. Like a late night parade, we walked under street lamps, both of them unaware of my presence. We came upon the mouth of a dark alleyway and it was here that I knew my addict would make his move.

As Dan moved into the dark, the druggie didn't disappoint.

He grabbed the back of Dan's expensive jacket and threw him violently into the alleyway.

Dan took a couple of long strides before mumbling, falling and hitting two metal trashcans. Both of the cans fell loudly against the cracked pavement, spilling their contents. Surrounded by rotting food and other trash, Dan laughed out loud, sure that the fall was a result of his state of inebriation.

My addict was on top of him quickly. I sneaked to the opening of the alley and watched from the shadows as he rolled Dan over and bent down low to his ear. I couldn't see his hands but I was sure he had a weapon. I had seen this before; him threatening someone with a gun or knife. His victims would pay him in fear and he would disappear, looking for one of his dealers. Tonight, however, would be very different.