THE VIGILANTE: THE SERIES[BOOK 2]

Ep.10 - The Legend of The Nightwatcher

Reading my uncle's journal was like watching a movie. Every word painted the picture so vividly, so clearly. I lost myself in every word, imaging myself in it. I was fascinated by his adventures, by the stories, by his perspective. Reading the wisdom he spoke to me every chance he had made me miss him every more than I do. I wasn't reading about my Uncle Don, I was reading about 'The Nightwatcher', "The Black Crusader of Liberty City". It was reading stories about an urban legend. I learned so much about him, like the time he had to change in the elevator and flew 20 stories down to take out armored thugs in the elevator shaft. I read about the time he chased a man 10 blocks for stealing a woman's purse, only for her to tell him it wasn't hers. I read about the hero my uncle was, but the deeper I dug into the stories, the more I saw his face. I started to see the pain behind the mask, the pain behind 'The Nightwatcher'. I stumbled upon an interesting story, one that shook me to my core:

Nightwalker's Journal. November 18, 2008. 2AM.

"...Liberty City. The streets are dark, the people are frightened. Blood paves the sidewalks like a bad stain in the carpet, gang wars rage in the streets, and only one man can stop them. He is a guardian, a protector, a black crusader...a nightwatcher.

The streets were quiet tonight, not too much activity. Mike is always harping on me about 'keeping myself'. After hopping two rooftops, my knees are burned out. It didn't matter though, it didn't matter how much pain I was in, what mattered was that people were safe. What mattered was kids being able to walk the streets at night without questioning if they'll make it back home. I understood this city, not only it's beauty but also it's ferocity. I've seen some dark things, some really dark things, things that'll keep you up at night.

Lately, I haven't been able to sleep. I've put in more hours down at the center, more hours at work, even staying way later on patrols. It's the only thing keeping my mind from drowning. I've put some distance between my 'lady friend' and I. I think she's a wonderful woman, but I know she can't help me with my situation.

A few nights ago, I was working on a case on a Lorrance Langley, registered child sexual offender. He got off a few weeks ago from the Francine case. I was keeping tabs on him in the meantime. Seeing a human being like this, who does these types of activities, with no remorse, no conviction, frankly pisses me off. It's unjust, it's wrong! I was covering surveillance on his old apartment, thinking that was the first place he'd go. He hadn't come for a few nights, but tonight I got lucky. I watched him from the rooftop across the apartment building. He walked into the apartment, I could see him through the windows. He was moving around, in the dark, nothing out of the ordinary yet. Then he stopped at this spot in the room for a while. He was talking, screaming at it even, splashing the rest of his bottle. I couldn't make out much more, I thought he was just drunk. I watched him leave the apartment, closing the door behind him. I watched him exit from the front, and walk down to the street corner. I decided to go inside and get some more intel. I got across and climbed the fire escape. I opened the window, sneaking inside. It was quiet, and had this awful smell filling the living room. The furniture and decor was all very old and distressed. I check the bedroom, inside his closet, under the bed, nothing. I walked out into the living room, heading towards the window when I heard a sound. The sound of someone whimpering, quietly. I followed the sound and stood exactly where he was previously. It was the fireplace. The hole was very small, surrounded by brick. There were no coals or wood, through the darkness, I could make out someone's tiny toes. It was a girl, inside the fireplace. She was balled up inside, locked behind this small gate. I tapped on it, and I could see her eye peeking at me through the gate, through the darkness. I yanked at the gate and it frightened her. She squirmed, but couldn't move much. I used my knife to cut at the chains on the sides. I snatched at it again, and pulled the gate right off. I slowly opened my hand to her. She was terrified and shivering. I kept my hand out, patiently waiting for her to come out. She ducked her head under, and crawled out of the fireplace. She softly laid her little hand in mine, then I helped her stand. She was tiny, completely covered in dirt. She was wearing a flower dress that was distressed and worn, and she had these dry red stains at the bottom. I took a closer look, and found more red stains in between her thighs, as her knees shook in fear. My heartbeat began to raise. My heart rate jumped when the door swung open. Langley had returned. It took him a second to notice us. The girl quickly jumped behind me, digging her nails into my arm. I locked eyes with him. My ferocity grew with every step he made towards me. Flashes upon flashes of the hurt he's caused, the lives he's ruined, the innocents he has tainted, I lost control. I darted at him, smashing his head against the wall. I dragged him, throwing him over the couch. I beat into him, letting out all of my aggression. The moonlight peered through the window, shining on his bloody face. The smirk. The nerve of him to smile, to take pleasure out of this pain. I lost it again. I picked him up over my head, and forced him through the window. I watched as he flew through the air, and splattered onto the street below. My aggression outweighed my disappointment in myself. I walked back over to the girl, extending my hand once again. She cowered away from me. I stepped closer, and she crawled right back into her hole. She rejected me. She was afraid of me. That's when I realized, I hadn't enacted justice on that man. I had become vengeance."

Nightwalker's Journal. March 5, 2010. 11PM.

"Tonight I failed. Again.

Three days ago, I was in a hostile situation. This nobody-random guy with a gun is holding this teenage boy by the head. He was arm wrapped around his neck, with a gun jammed into the side of his head. The teenage boy is yelling at me, screaming at me. 'What are you waiting for?! Get him! Get him off of me!' I was steady, slowly creeping closer to them. We were the only people on the bridge that night, and I had already called the commissioner. I just needed to stall, but make no sudden moves.

The truth was the thug was no older than the teenage, practically in the same age bracket. So when I looked at the boy and the guy with the gun, I saw the same things. Fear, worry, hopelessness, desperation, so many other things. This was different. As much I knew I could disarm, the teenager would be safe, I could remove the gun from the equation, I stayed patient. I stayed calm and chose to use my words. I talked him down, but he was anzy, itching to pull the trigger. I knew he didn't want to do it, I could feel it. I used my words. The more I talked, the more he listened. The more he listened, the closer I got. The closer I got, the closer I was to saving them both. I was inches from them. I slowly took the gun from his hands, emptying the clip. He let go of the teen, who ran off. The guy just held me, crying his eyes out. I told the commissioner to not press charges on him, the guy was worth redeeming, or so I thought. Two days later, he went back and shot the teenager anyway. I was stunned. All these thoughts came rushing through my mind: should I have saved him? I could've tossed him off the bridge easily. It was my fault! I was stupid! Then, those thoughts of the little girl from two years ago came creeping in. My heart became heavy, while my mind was torn.

This isn't a perfect world, I know that. We all make choices, we all make hard decisions we have to live with. I don't know how I will overcome this, but hopefully it gets easier. Whoever may read this, understand that all choices have consequences. Good or bad, right or wrong, just and unjust. How we navigate those choices I can't explain, how we live with those choices I can't comprehend. I guess you just have to do what's right in that moment, and have faith for the best. The worst however...don't let it break you."

Everything was backwards now.

"I had the chance, Mike, to do it. I had a clear shot, right in between his eyes...couldn't even keep my arm straight. And because I was weak, two men died. That blood is on my hands. I thought reading this would make me feel better, help me understand, but it brings way more questions than answers. Should I have done it? Should I have crossed that line? What does it mean for Mr.Padder, and Officer Kelly and his family? But what would it also mean for me? I know with every fiber of my being that killing is wrong, and is against everything that 'this' stands for, but after reading...I don't know." I explained.

"I know it's scary. It's a hard choice Jake, I prayed you never have to make. It's what I tried to warn you of." Mike said.

"Have you ever killed anyone?" I asked him. He hesitated, then took a seat.

"No, came close one time, but no. This con artist was hustling women out of their leases, using their apartments at collateral. I found a lead on where he was staying, broke in and found him half dead on a coke overdose while two teenage girls were asleep in his room. Every crazy scenario ran through my mind of what he could have done, and that was enough for me. I got so mad, I dragged him off the couch and beat him until my knuckles bled, even pulled a gun on him. The girls woke up and screamed as I stood over him. They begged me to spare him...it was then that I understood. Despite all his horrors, despite all his criminality, despite the terrible things he had done...more or less, he's just as human as me." Mike explained. 

"It only takes one shot to separate a hero from a vigilante. The line is thin, very thin. Every night we come closer and closer to it, inches from it. All we do is trust our morals and follow our code, because that is what keeps us from the other side."

His words were moving. He rubbed my shoulder, comforting me. He stepped out for a moment, while I sat with my thoughts, contemplating my code and 'the line'.