Purpose

by Andrew Q. Gordon

  “Anyway, the Ryan Pity Party is over. Things are too good to be true for me. Hearing about some hot guy who’s hitting on you just brings back the negative images.”

  “Who said the guy was hot?” Was humor really the right approach? Ryan slapped his chest lightly—yeah, it was fine.

  “Don’t do that.”

  “Fine, next time I go out in public, I’ll make sure people see an ugly—the ugliest—guy they can imagine. Better?”

  “Unless we’re out together.” He hugged Will tighter. “Then I want everyone to see how hot you are.”

  Will laughed, a real laugh. Three days ago, he couldn’t remember the last time he’d smiled, let alone laughed. “Your wish is my command.”

  “Oh, really?” Ryan’s fingers brushed lightly over Will’s chest until they reached his semihard cock. “I think I have a few wishes left.”

  “ARE your parents still alive?”

  Will was glad he was curled up behind Ryan, or else his frown might be mistaken for anger.

  “No.” What else was there to say?

  “I’m sorry.” Ryan began to stroke Will’s arm. “What happened to them?”

  Biting back the sarcastic “They died” response, he tried to understand why this question at this moment.

  “Dad died of a heart attack about fifteen years ago. Mom had a stroke three years later. Why the interest?” Too harsh?

  “You never talk about them.”

  “I don’t talk about anyone.” Why would he? He’d cut off all ties long ago.

  “Did your family tell you?”

  Maybe it was the “loss” of his family that had Ryan interested.

  “No, they had no idea where I was or how to get in touch with me. But I said good-bye.”

  “You went to the funeral?” His hand came to a stop, pulling Will’s arm tighter. “Were your siblings surprised to see you?”

  “I attended the wake and went to the burial, but no one saw me. I signed the guest book with my real name. Someone thought it was a joke, but my mother recognized my handwriting. It was the only thing people could talk about at the luncheon after the interment.”

  “You didn’t speak to her?” Why was Ryan surprised?

  “It would have only been worse.” He hadn’t wanted to explain to her or anyone else what had happened. “She would have wanted me back, and I was nothing like she remembered. It would have been worse.”

  He whispered the last five words, unsure if they were true. Without reading Ryan’s mind, he knew what he was thinking. It was the same thing he’d thought when he first “disappeared” on his family. After a time, it just didn’t seem important. Part of him knew they missed him, wondered what happened to him, but it was the part he buried under the weight of the Purpose.

  Attending the funerals felt necessary, but he he’d still been so detached.

  “Not even to let her know you were alive?”

  “She knew.”

  “How?” He twisted so he faced Will. “If you didn’t tell her, how can you be sure?”

  “She told me in a letter.” A letter he got after she died.

  “If she didn’t know you were alive, how’d you get a letter?”

  Not much got past the kid. “My mother was different. She always wrote to us, even when we lived in the same house. To her, it was easier to express her feelings in writing. She said it ensured she never forgot to say what she really meant.”

  With his walls down, the grief from her passing pressed down on him. Twelve years ago, he was incapable of an emotional display. Now, it felt raw again. A soft hand reached up, brushing aside his tears.

  “Sorry to bring this up. I didn’t know it would hurt like this.” Ryan leaned closer, pressing his lips tenderly against Will’s forehead. Slowly, he stroked the back of Will’s head, whispering “It’ll be okay” in his ear.

  “When she died, I was in full detached mode. It wasn’t even a dull ache. Now…? I feel it like it was yesterday.”

  He sniffed, determined to tell Ryan about her. Someone close to him deserved to hear his opinion of her. “Even given fully to It, I felt it important to see if she left me a note. Turns out she did more than that. She left me a third of the family assets. The lawyer said my siblings were shocked, wondering if my mother was delusional.”

  Ryan smiled. “Guess it’s true what they say. A mother always knows.”

  “Actually, she never changed their will. If I hadn’t shown up, they would have declared me legally dead eventually, but I contacted the lawyer to collect her message.”

  In the dark, Will still made out Ryan rolling his eyes. “Bet that was some reading of the will.”

  “Wouldn’t know. I told the lawyer I wouldn’t attend and he was not to discuss anything about me with my siblings other than I was alive and received what Mom left me.”

  “You had the chance to tell your family and you didn’t?”

  “Twenty-five years is a long time.” Forty is even longer. “Too many questions would have been posed. It was easier to do it out of sight.”

  “I suppose that makes sense.” Ryan ran his hand lightly over Will’s body for another couple of seconds, then he sat up. “Actually, no it doesn’t. I’d give anything to see my family again, and you ignore yours.”

  Will knew he needed to say something. This wasn’t about him, it was about Ryan, but he had to think about his response. Rolling onto his side, he brushed a lock of hair from Ryan’s face. “It’s not that simple….”

  “Sure it is. You pick up the phone and say, ‘Hey, I’m still here and I wanna talk.’ What’s complicated?”

  Smiling, he shook his head. “No, I meant it’s not as simple as saying I’m ignoring my family. They can’t know about me, about It.”

  “Why not?”

  “Ryan….” He knew how exasperated he sounded, but Ryan still didn’t get it. Sure, he tried, but Gar was so different. How could he expect anyone to understand? “Everything comes back to It. I have to do what It wants. Agent Barrington is not the first one to try to track me, just the newest. Imagine if my family saw me, knew what happened? All seeing them would do is create a trail for someone to follow. It’s hard enough keeping one step ahead of everyone. If they knew my real name….”

  Ryan bit his lower lip, then sucked on it after a moment. “You say I don’t get it. Will, you don’t get it. Change your appearance so you look older, or make up a story. Tell them you’re working for the government and this is what happened. That you’re an experiment gone wrong… or right.”

  So much passion for something so remote. But Ryan did make a good point. He didn’t have to show up looking like the Will who disappeared. Maybe…. “If I agree to call and meet them, will you come with me?”

  “You… you want me to come with you?”

  His first thought was to say, “It’s your idea,” but he caught himself. Ryan needed to be included, not put on the spot. “Yes.”

  Ryan’s lips slowly curved up until it was a full smile. Will found it infectious and joined him. “So, will you?”

  Leaning in, he brought his lips to Will’s ear. A gentle kiss later, he said, “Of course.”

  After a moment’s pause, Ryan twisted so his back was pressed against Will’s body. Wrapping his arms around his companion, Will tried to forget what he’d promised to do. It could wait a day.

  The feeling of peace Ryan projected left Will drowsy. Content to lie wrapped together, he cleared his mind, ready to just sleep. Ryan’s breathing announced he was in similar state.

  It chose that moment to make its presence known again.

  “What was that?” Ryan looked up but didn’t move.

  How? It wasn’t possible. “You felt that?”

  “I don’t know what ‘that’ is, but I felt something. It was like a tug on my whole body.”

  “That was an innocent calling for vengeance.” Ryan shouldn’t be able to feel it.

  “How…?”

  Will kissed the back of Ryan’s head a
nd said, “I don’t know. Being close to someone is new ground for me.”

  Neither moved, and Will focused on the call. Ryan’s silence was expected; he wondered if Will would go or if he would ignore it? “I have to deal with it.”

  “I know,” Ryan whispered. “Does it always hurt like that?”

  “Hurt?” It had never been painful for him, and he didn’t sense anything from Ryan.

  “I feel… incredibly… sad.” His voice cracked, and Will pulled him tighter.

  “The only one that hurt like that was the first one.” David. “After that, I don’t remember it.”

  Ryan shivered, burrowing into Will for warmth. “Doesn’t this affect you?”

  “No, it’s just another call to take action.” It was, wasn’t it?

  “Will, how can you be so unaffected?” The hint of disbelief in his voice bordered on disgust.

  “Ryan, I don’t feel the emotions of the innocent, just their pull to avenge them.” Making sure he didn’t delve too deep, Will scanned Ryan, trying to find some clue. Whatever Ryan felt, it wasn’t coming from Will. “I’m not sure why you can feel more.”

  “What’s happened to me?”

  “I know I keep saying this, but I don’t know.” Soon he needed to read Ryan’s mind and find out what was in there. “Are you okay?”

  “It’s gone now.” He didn’t move away. “What next?”

  Ryan knew the answer. Did he need to hear Will say it? “I’ll go find the killer and deal with it.”

  “Are you going to kill them this time?” Here was what he needed to know. Why? The sudden link between them left Will unsettled.

  “Not if I can help it. I’m going to show Detective Griffin what I can do for him if he trusts me.” Hopefully, he wouldn’t, and he’d bring Barrington.

  Ryan relaxed in his grip. “Good. It feels better if you don’t kill them.”

  He didn’t bother asking “What feels better?” There was no point. Ryan didn’t know. “I may still end up doing that. I don’t know.”

  “But at least you’re trying to change.”

  Trying? That had already happened. Another kiss, this one to the nape of the neck, and Will rolled away.

  “I need to call Detective Griffin and let him know. Otherwise, the killer will end up dead.” No reason not to carry out vengeance if there would be no consequences. The spirit wouldn’t find peace.

  Peace, there was the issue. If the spirit was satisfied, like ’Nisha’s was, his mission didn’t need to end in death. But if not…. Was he capable of not killing the guilty?

  He located his phone and scrolled down to Griffin’s number. Yeah, it was late, but this was his job. When the call was answered, he didn’t bother with a greeting.

  “Another innocent has died, Detective.”

  “Do you know what time it is?” The voice was groggy, but alert enough. This wasn’t the first middle-of-the-night call the detective had received.

  “Of course, but you must know why I’m calling. If you’d rather I go deal with it myself, I can.”

  “You mean you haven’t acted yet?”

  “It just happened. He was seventeen. An honor student at Cardozo. Hispanic. He was killed as part of a gang initiation. Do I have your attention yet?”

  “I don’t need you to give me a preview of the chief’s morning crime report.”

  “The details are so you’ll know I’m not making this up. If you want the killer, let me know. Otherwise, I’ll go handle it my way.”

  Griffin didn’t answer, but Gar heard him plug in his earpiece and he was typing. Sending a text to your new good buddy, Agent Barrington. Of course.

  “Okay, let’s talk. What do you have?”

  “First and foremost, do not contact Agent Barrington.” It was already too late for that, but Will wanted to hear his reply. “If I don’t give you what you need to make an arrest, then the deal is off and you can tell whomever you like, but as a show of good faith, I ask you keep him out of this.”

  More silence, but the texting stopped. A heartbeat later, it resumed. “Fine, Barrington isn’t involved.”

  Will smiled. No, he couldn’t be trusted. Excellent.

  “I don’t have a fix on the killer yet, only that he is gang affiliated. He is somewhere in Columbia Heights. When I get closer, I’ll have more information. I’ll call you then.”

  “Wait.” Griffin’s voice was loud enough for Ryan to look over. Will shook his head, letting him know it was fine.

  “Yes?”

  “How long ’til I hear from you again?” More typing.

  Definitely couldn’t be trusted. “As long as it takes to get the information I need.”

  “Oh.”

  “Don’t worry, Detective, you’ll have this solved before the chief has her morning coffee.”

  “I’ll wait for your call.”

  Gar hung up. “Yes, I’m sure you will.”

  12

  March 27, 2010: Journal Entry 39-26

  AN INNOCENT died tonight, a boy, barely a man. It was no innocent cross fire, no crime of opportunity. He was targeted by mistake. His soul calls to me, demanding retribution.

  I hide myself like I have a hundred times, but this time feels different. Columbia Heights, a “gentrifying” neighborhood with a gang problem. The two sides are not in open warfare, but neither are their interests aligned. I’m not here for the gentry; I’m after gang members. MS-13 members, to be exact.

  The killer is here, in the building at 1111 Lamont St. NW. It’s full of them. But I only want one. Despite my unsettled psyche, there is nothing wrong with my abilities. No one sees me because I tell their minds I’m not here. Standard fare, so why do I feel something isn’t right?

  People come and go through the front door. Not people, gang members. The few I see are not the wannabes, hangers-on, or “associates.” These are the real deal. Interestingly, I feel their past sins, their résumés of death, if you will. That’s new. I really need to figure things out.

  Griffin is near. I can feel him too. Reading someone’s mind gives me a certain affinity. Don’t know why, it just does. Perhaps I need to start looking into the “why” of things a bit more. Accepting without inquiry is so much easier, but suddenly it’s become a distraction.

  The dead boy lived five blocks away. His mistake was wearing something that closely resembled 18th Street colors. Ignorance is not bliss. In this case, it was tragic.

  The building is in full party mode. My skin prickles at their callous attitude. They think they’re heroes, street soldiers called to war and worthy of praise. Nothing could be further from the truth.

  Even at my darkest, I never reveled in the death of my victims. It was just my purpose. To them it’s a way of life.

  If Ryan knew what I was about to do, he’d go crazy with worry. Once he understands my powers better, he’ll worry less. Until then, I keep such things from him.

  First, I need to get my target away from the others. Then I need him to talk about what he did. The last part only matters if the police are around to hear it. Not a problem. In fact, a live demonstration of my skills might bring the good detective around.

  The laugher and congratulation is starting to grate on me. Another new sensation. I don’t like new things, especially now when I’m “working.”

  The roar of laughter is my signal. I want this over. Time to let them know I’m here. Three steps toward the building, I see someone in gang colors tearing up the block. He’s one of them, and he’s in a hurry.

  The party dies down immediately, so I wait. Someone says the word “police” in Spanish, and people start to bolt. Irony stretches my face into a smirk. I can do so much more than the police, and yet they track me.

  Two SUVs, unmarked but clearly known by all, stop in front of the building. Five plainclothes officers jump out. No doubt they have others waiting in the rear for the rats to abandon ship. I change plans, taking the cut to the back of the building.

  Chaos rules the rear of 1111 Lamon
t. The intel was wrong. There weren’t ten gang members. It’s more like thirty. Not only can’t they corral all of them, I feel fear from the five officers stationed to catch the fleeing roaches.

  Guns out, it’s either shoot or let most of them escape. Hidden as I am, I see a couple whose thoughts are on neither escape nor getting captured. No one sees them. With all the activity, how can they?

  In the same instant I expand my baton, I see my prey. He’s young, maybe sixteen. A knot of his “friends” surround him, trying to whisk him away. Unable to get to them, the officers have no choice but to let them go.

  I feel the pull of the innocent demanding I intercede. Once I would have blindly followed, but today I pause. There is something else I need to do: save someone.

  Bringing the thin metal rod down, I shatter the first gunman’s arm. His gun, a Sturm-Ruger .40 caliber, goes off, losing its round onto the pavement. Too fast for others to follow, I see the bullet ricochet up, missing everyone.

  The report gets everyone’s attention. That and the gangbanger‘s piercing scream of agony as he clutches his ruined arm. Scanning desperately for the attacker, the second one still has his gun out. Without his wingman and with the element of surprise gone, the ambush has failed. From hunter to prey in two seconds.

  People duck. Others run as officers train their weapons on the remaining gunman. I should force the police to shoot, but I don’t. His heart is beating so fast, it’s a wonder no one else can hear it. Who or what took out Eduardo?

  Oblivious to the police and their shouts to put down the weapon, he is two heartbeats away from death. I got lucky with the first one. No one was hit. This time, there is going to be a shootout. Still hidden, I smash my fist into the teen’s face. He’s out before he hits the ground.

  The “jump outs“ come rushing out the back, taking tactical positions. One is calling for all available units. Boxed in the corner with the would-be shooters, I leap up and grab the windowsill ten feet above me. Swinging my legs, I push myself over the heads of the three officers coming toward me. Two others stand watch over their prisoners.