Purpose

by Andrew Q. Gordon

  I used to ignore the victims, but now their stories tug at me almost as much as their need for vengeance. A long time ago, I learned you can’t have feelings in this job. Job? I could almost snicker. Some job. Where’s the boss? I want to quit.

  Barrington’s open file on me makes me cautious. Two unexplained dead bodies and no suspects would bring him to Philly. Close to my family. Too close to my family. So I give the police a reason. Turf war.

  I convince one target that the other is encroaching on his turf. He and his associates decide to “set things right.” All I do is make sure they both are killed in the shootout. Easy cases for the police to close. Hard to see my hand in this. Ryan might be upset they died, but he’ll be glad it wasn’t me that killed them.

  The third one is vexing. She was twenty when she died, more than thirty years ago. I should have felt her call before today. I’ve been back many times. Why now? I’ll find out soon enough.

  Norristown. Once it was more than the run-down small town it is today. There are still good areas, but not where I’m standing. As a kid, we avoided these neighborhoods because we were snobs. Now it’s just dangerous.

  The victim is calling to me. Her killer’s inside. When she died, he was in his early forties, a married father of two. Now he’s almost seventy-five. This feels wrong, but I have no choice.

  I want to sigh, but it won’t do much good. Better to just get it over with and go home.

  Home. Weird day from the beginning.

  Once this had been a grand home. Now it’s run-down, chopped up into apartments. His unit is on the middle floor. He’s awake. That’s something at least.

  Walking up the narrow stairs, I feel the innocent calling, almost shrieking in delight. Another first. I guess thirty years of waiting will do that to you.

  A lockpick, a bit of luck and mucking with his mind, and I’m inside, unnoticed. He’s alone, watching television, a half-eaten sandwich on a plate near his arm. I don’t let him see me at first. Snap his neck and leave, simple.

  So why can’t I do it?

  I enter his mind and tell him I’m here and not to panic. A cataract in his left eye leaves his vision blurry, anyway. Mostly bald, he has that horseshoe patch of thin gray, almost white, hair that reminded me of Santa Claus as a kid.

  “Who are you?” The voice is weary, without hope.

  “Vengeance.”

  “Nice to meet you, Mr. Vengeance.” No fear, no shock, just tiredness.

  “You know why I’m here.” It’s not a question. He knows.

  “Every night for thirty-one years I’ve expected something.”

  “Tell me what happened.” It stirs, agitated, unsettled.

  “A loveless marriage, two kids, dead-end job….” He shrugs and runs an arthritic hand over his bald head. “She paid attention to me, made me feel young again.”

  “So why did you kill her?” Forty damn years and never anyone like this.

  “She asked me to leave my wife. Abandon the wife and the kids and take care of her.” His eyes are distant. If I enter his mind, no doubt I’ll see him thinking of one of them. Which one? “Fool that I was, I told her I would do it. After we made love, she started to plan, talk about what she was going to do once the wife and kids were gone. Stupid kid, she knew nothing about alimony, child support, and the like. Needless to say, she didn’t take it so well to learn I’d be nearly broke once the divorce was finalized.”

  “Thought she’d be a kept woman.”

  He never looks up. “One way to put it. We argued, got mad, fought. In a fit of anger, I grabbed the first thing my hand touched: a brass lamp. At my trial, they said she died before hitting the ground.”

  One question answered. “Where’d you do your time?”

  “State Correctional Facility at Frackville.” Each word is intoned like it’s been told a thousand times. “I asked the bureau not to put me at Graterford. Too close to home. Why tempt the wife and kids to come see me?”

  “Because you didn’t want them to suffer or so she couldn’t gloat?” I’m stalling, but this isn’t normal.

  “The former. She blamed herself for being a bad wife.” It’s her he sees. “The kids blamed me, but she never did.”

  “How long has she been gone?”

  A bushy eyebrow rises. “You’re awful curious for an assassin.”

  “I’m the Spirit of Vengeance, not an assassin.” Who am I trying to convince with that statement?

  “Eight years in February. Two years before I was released.”

  Wasted life. Realized too late what mattered. “She’s still demanding retribution.”

  Surprisingly, he chuckles. “Sounds like her.”

  A beer commercial plays as a backdrop. A month ago, he’d be dead and I’d be on my way home. It’s not last month.

  I feel the anger, an attempt to pull me toward him, but I refuse. “I came to kill you tonight, but I won’t unless you are ready.”

  “I get a choice?” Speaking these words, he sounds less weary.

  “Perhaps.” The compulsion to act isn’t immediate, and I need time to think. “I may come back. No promises.”

  “If you come back, make it quick, please.”

  Now it’s my turn to laugh. “It’s not like you get to dictate terms.”

  “You seem like a decent sort, for a spirit of vengeance, that is.” Pushing himself up, he struggles to stand. “My granddaughter has forgiven me and brings her two youngest to see me. They don’t deserve to see it happen.”

  “I’ll do my best.” If I have to come back at all. “Good-bye, Phillip Greer. I hope we don’t meet again.”

  “Can you tell her I’m sorry?”

  I shake my head. “It doesn’t work like that. She can’t hear me, and if she could she wouldn’t listen.”

  Another shrug. “It was worth a try.”

  I leave as silently as I came. Ryan and I need to have that talk tonight, before It starts to agitate.

  A guilty man didn’t die tonight. I let him live. He didn’t deserve to be punished any more. God help everyone if I’m wrong.

  18

  DARK, the house still managed to pepper Will with memories of his previous life. Yet, even with Gar shunted to the sidelines, they weren’t enough to claim his old self back. Then again, no one was ever the same person they were yesterday. Life was about evolving day to day.

  In the quiet house, his snort seemed to boom off the walls. Who was he kidding? Other people might grow, but he wasn’t like everyone else. Ryan’s presence might have allowed more of Will’s personality to come through, but he was fooling himself if he thought he could completely separate Gar from Will.

  Was “Gar” even real, or was it just a way to cope with what he’d become? Calling the emotionally devoid, purpose-driven person “Gar,” made it easier to accept what he was doing. It also kept him sane, and that was his greatest concern.

  That alone told him Will had never left. What else could account for his fanatical devotion to staying in control? Gar didn’t care if he really existed. That concern was a vestige of Will, not It or Gar.

  Behind the closed door, Ryan’s light snores made him smile. He didn’t want to wake him, but tonight he had to. Without answers, everyone could be at risk. Staring at the knob, he remembered the moppy-headed kid who raced here to avoid his older siblings or to hide from the staff or, worse, his parents. The room hid him from prying eyes as he explored his sexuality with his brother’s friend, who once took an interest in him. It was where he took David the night his parents kicked him out of their house and their lives. Now Ryan slept here, waiting for Will to come back, hoping for the best.

  Will closed the door behind him, but Ryan didn’t stir. Hair covered the side of his face but couldn’t hide the peaceful smile as he hugged the pillow. How could anyone not want him? For an instant, he felt the same anger as when David’s family rejected him. This time, he had the power to do something. But, just as then, the “victim” didn’t want revenge, only to forget
and move on.

  Wearing just his boxer briefs, Will slipped beside Ryan, staying atop the sheets. Ryan stretched when Will wrapped his arm around him.

  “You’re back.” Ryan’s smile brought a matching one to Will’s face. “What time is it?”

  “It’s 3:42.”

  Pushing back into Will’s chest, Ryan turned his head. “Had to add those two minutes in? Couldn’t just round down or up?”

  “Nothing wrong with being precise.” He kissed the top of Ryan’s head. “When did you fall asleep?”

  “About five minutes after you left.” He pulled Will’s hand to his lips. “Tell me what happened. Did you take care of all three… calls?”

  “I’m not sure.”

  The answer played across Ryan’s face as the sleepy but content expression turned hard.

  “What does that mean?” Ryan didn’t release Will’s hand, twisting his body until he was half sitting in the bed.

  Inching up, Will rested his head on Ryan’s chest. They needed to have this talk. Now. Circumstances dictated they couldn’t wait, not even until morning. Once madness began, he didn’t know if he could reverse it.

  “The first two were easy.” He traced the lines of Ryan’s chest, noting it felt tighter. Resisting a shrug, he placed his hand flat. “Rival drug dealers, turf war, guns, and drugs. I sent one to find the other and convinced both the other was poaching his rival’s customers. Crossfire killed them both.”

  Ryan tensed. “Isn’t that dangerous? Couldn’t an innocent bystander get shot too?”

  Once he wouldn’t have cared, but this wasn’t “once.” “I made sure it was an empty part of the city, ‘told’ the others not to pull their weapons, and made sure they both shot straight. Two shots each, both hit the targets.”

  From his breathing patterns, he knew Ryan didn’t like the news. “What about the third?”

  Letting out his breath, he sat up. “That’s what we need to talk about.”

  Tensed, relaxed, and tensed again, Ryan’s body spoke to Will as he explained what had happened.

  “You just walked away?” Barely a whisper. Ryan sought and held Will’s eyes. “I thought that wasn’t allowed.”

  He nodded. How could he explain what he didn’t fully understand himself? By all he knew, he couldn’t have left without feeling it. There were supposed to be consequences.

  “It’s not, or at least it wasn’t until today.” Chewing his upper lip, he twitched his head to the side, leaving the rest unsaid.

  “Today.” Staring at the wall, Ryan nodded. “You mean until you met me.”

  “Ryan….”

  “You can look, Will.” He turned his head slowly, a hint of fear accompanying the offer. “You have to.”

  Since they’d met, Will had wanted to search Ryan’s thoughts for answers. Now it was time, and he hesitated. What if he ended up hurting him? No, he wouldn’t let that happen. He had enough control to prevent that.

  “I know,” he whispered. “We should talk about it first. That way you know what I’m going to do, what to expect, and how you can help.”

  “Help?”

  Without meaning to, he practically lifted Ryan off the bed, trying to make him comfortable. “If I really want to find information in someone’s mind, I bring up the topic I’m interested it. That way, the person’s thoughts are focused on what I need to know, less rooting around for answers. They’re at the top, so to speak.”

  “I don’t know what you’re looking for. How can I think about it?”

  A smile danced across his face. “You can’t, but I think I know where to start our search.”

  Ryan didn’t look convinced, so Will tapped his head. “Super brain, remember?”

  Smirking, Ryan shook his head. “Jerk.”

  Leaning in, he kissed Ryan on the cheek. “Guilty as charged. If there is a connection between you and me, I suspect it happened around the time we met.”

  Rolling his eyes, Ryan shook his head slowly. “You needed a super brain to figure that out? A third grader could’ve told you that.”

  “Okay, so I’m not smarter than a third grader, but that wasn’t exactly what I meant.” He felt his boxers bunch uncomfortably around his legs when he shifted. Straightening them out, he saw Ryan wiggle his eyebrows. “Not now, horndog.”

  “Horndog? That’s, like, so ’80s, Will.” Ryan glanced at Will’s crotch again, but only for a second. “So, what did you mean?”

  “Before you met me, did you ever feel like you couldn’t leave after meeting someone else?” If his hunch was wrong, then he might not be able to find his answers.

  Ryan stared at nothing for a moment, then shook his head. “No, never. You’re the first.”

  “And when did it start? At my place? On the walk there? After I saved you? Or was it when you first saw me on the Metro?”

  Ryan brought his free hand to his lips and chewed on a nail.

  “If it helps”—Will’s voice drew Ryan’s attention—“I felt it the moment you looked at me.”

  “Felt what?”

  “I don’t know, but I felt something.” He stroked Ryan’s hair, trying to soothe him. “Like I knew you, or needed to know you.”

  “Needed.” Ryan nodded slowly. “On the Metro.”

  “Huh?”

  “It started on the Metro.” Ryan sounded confident, almost relieved. “At first, I just thought you were hot—a bit rough, bad-boyish, but still hot. But when you spoke to me, I felt something. I thought I was just lonely and depressed and a hot guy was being nice to me, but it wasn’t that. There was a need to speak to you. When you almost left, I had to blurt out something to keep you there. So I told you I lived in Bowie and hoped you wouldn’t leave.”

  Will nodded, remembering clearly how things had played out. “I wanted you to talk to me, but part of me couldn’t accept making you feel worse. That’s why I got up to leave. Not because I wanted to, but because I couldn’t stand upsetting you.”

  “You weren’t….”

  “Yeah, I figured that out.” Another quick kiss. Time to get to it. “I’d never experienced that feeling before.”

  “Not even with David?”

  “David and I were together almost a year before It picked me.” He’d thought about him and David on the way back from Norristown. If they’d shared this feeling, he couldn’t remember it. “If I felt the same thing with him, it probably got lost in our already strong feelings for each other.”

  Ryan bit his lip again. “You still love him.”

  “Always.” Will’s nose tingled, and he felt pressure behind his eyes. “But that’s how it should be. If I really loved him, that wouldn’t die with him. It just took me a while to clear a space in me for someone else.”

  “I don’t want to replace him, Will.” Tears were forming in Ryan’s eyes as he spoke.

  “And I’d never ask you to.” Drawing Ryan closer, Will held him against his bare chest. “I want you to be you, because that’s who drew me away from what I’d become.”

  They stayed pressed together until Ryan’s body slackened against Will. “But, we need to focus on what’s going on. I can’t risk letting Phillip Greer live if it will put others at risk.”

  “Right.” Tenser, but still relatively calm, Ryan scooted back against the pillows. “What should I do?”

  “Relax.” He ran his hands through Ryan’s hair. He smiled. “I promise not to hurt you.”

  “I know.” The words were barely more than a whisper. Ryan placed his fingers around his face. “Don’t you need to give me a Vulcan mind-meld or something?”

  “I can do it that way if you like.” Gently, he pushed Ryan’s hands to the side. “But, it’s best if you make yourself comfortable.”

  Ryan wiggled around before settling back. “Can I hold your hand?”

  Will laced their fingers, smiling with the contact. “Of course.”

  Without telling Ryan, he slipped into his mind. “Take a deep breath and think of when we first met. All I want you to
do is think about that day, and I’ll do the rest.”

  Seeing himself through someone else’s eyes and feeling their thoughts was always a bit weird. Truly an out-of-body experience. Ignoring as best he could the more personal thoughts, he pressed backward, trying to find a…. He didn’t know what he was looking for. Something, anything that didn’t seem normal.

  Certain whatever he sought was before they met, he needed to trace backward, but that meant watching and feeling everything Ryan experienced. Those memories were things Ryan needed to tell him, not for him to find out this way. But could he find what he needed without delving into those personal moments?

  Before deciding, he focused on what to look for. Did he even know? Definitely wouldn’t be a strong memory, since Ryan had no idea when or if anything had happened to him. Memories could wait. What was left? Feelings, emotions, thoughts. Like eating Jell-O with a fork.

  Rooting around for longer than he planned, he found nothing. The lack of results notwithstanding, It was exceedingly calm, too calm, almost relieved.

  “Are you doing okay?” His voice startled Ryan.

  “Of course.” Ryan met his eyes, yawning lazily. “I think I fell asleep. Why?”

  “Just making sure.” He smiled, trying to hide his frustration. “I’m still searching.”

  “Are you sure it’s in here?” Two fingers tapped the side of his head. “You’ve looked and can’t find it. How do you know it’s there?”

  “If I knew for sure it was there, I would go right to it.” Bending, he kissed the top of Ryan’s head. “Give me a few more minutes, and if I don’t find it, we’ll stop.”

  Ryan shimmied closer, pressing more of his body into Will’s. “Is there something I can do to help?”

  “No,” he said gently. “Not unless you can point me to something unusual.”

  “You mean like me having lots of weird dreams lately?”

  About to start again, Ryan’s words stopped him. “Have your dreams changed recently?”

  “No and yes.” Ryan’s face scrunched up. “It’s like, not really my dreams, more like faces.”