The Night Vigilante

IV. Grace

     VIIII. Grace

                It’s the sound of a soft snap that wakes me up.

            Blinking in an attempt to wake myself up, I glance around the room, my gaze landing on my balcony door swinging open against the wind.

            I stiffen, my heart leaping into my throat as my door throttles about, the noise thickening the entire room.

            The house was deserted-empty of every one but me and that simple fact did nothing to comfort me.

            Pulling the covers off, I swing my legs over the bed and pad over to where the balcony door is open.

            The night is imbued with the smell of rain and clean air-something unusual in such a big bustling city.

            But then again, Major Dawson-Thatcher’s dad- spent thousands in his clean air, clean environment campaign so it makes sense why our city is considered to be one of the most industrious but also one of the eco-friendliest.

            Stepping partially out of the door, I scan the city ahead of me, the lights torched bright like ethereal stars in dark night.

            I wonder if Cole is out there somewhere, fighting crime like a true vigilante.

            Even though the media portrayed him as a rebellious teen fighting to make a name for himself, nearly everyone in the city thought he was the hero of the story.

            Maybe it’s because people look for something to put their hope in when the city is plunging into the waste hole of increased crime and corruption but people saw him as the protector-the fighter of justice.

            He was a shinning symbol of hope, whether he knew it or not.

            I exhale lowly, stepping back into the recesses of my room, grabbing onto the door handles and pulling them closed.

            Well I probably just bashed about every possible future meeting him, he probably hates-

            A thick calloused hand slides over my face, quickly pulling me back forcefully.

            Raw fear engulphes me as my scream lodges in my throat-a panicked, guttural sound- as my hands fly up to peel the unknown hands off of me.

            “Easy there tiger, I just want to get this over with,” a deep, unfamiliar voice says by my ear.

            A shudder rolls down my spine, revulsion flying through my body like a rusty arrow at the feel my body against his.

            He walks deeper into the darkness of my room and I dig my feet into my carpet, beyond panicked.

            My screams are muffled as I round my elbow hard, shoving it into his gut.

            He grunts, his grip getting sloppy enough on my mouth for me to exhale a fleeting scream but it’s quickly cut short.

            He regains his hold on me as I fight and trash against him, his body too big o even properly harm.

            I reach up as he lifts my body off the ground, my back pressed against his chest and attack his face, aiming for the eyes.

            He lets out a strangled noise of surprise, flinching to the right and flinging my body like a rag doll.