Instructor of Justice
The crowd of people scattered, ominously parting as if an invisible force were pushing them apart while they peered angry and confused over their shoulders. Screams were attached to some of the victims and a crying was heard in the distance.
After hearing the pleading, John Miller turned to take a look for himself. Just as he rotated around, he saw a man running aimlessly toward him wearing a black, stocking cap over his face with three round holes, not unlike a bowling ball. Before he had a chance to think, much less do anything else, he was knocked to the cement sidewalk with plenty of others.
The criminal was so fast, that no one had seen him coming, until it was too late.
John picked himself up off of the sidewalk and ran to where the panicky cries had come from earlier. There in his building’s doorway, was Mrs. Gerschwinn kneeling beside the steps that led to the door. Snow-white hair bounced as she sobbed into her hands. The bun in her untidy hair always reminded him of a snowball, although now it wasn’t quite as orderly as it generally was.
"Are you alright, Mrs. Gerschwinn?" John asked her, concerned because her husband had just passed away last month and she hadn’t seemed too stable then. As she looked up at him, he could see that misery had run it’s rampant race through her make-up as teardrops trickled out the corners of her eyes.
With her thick German accent, "Yes, I think that I’m okay. Just bruised my pride and scraped my knees." The smile that she attempted to mask her sorrow with was like wrapping that was too small for the package and it didn’t work very well. With an old and wrinkled hand, she pushed a strand of loose hair, into place and tucked it behind her ear.
Offering his assistance to help her to her feet, he escorted her inside the building to her door.
"Would you like to come in?" she cheerfully asked him, regardless of the tears that remained in motion on her white skin, leaving streaks through her rouge.
"Actually, I’ve really got to get going," he announced regrettably, "I’ve got some paperwork that needs to be graded. Finals are next week. I’m sure you can remember how stressful they can be."
The weeping had finally stopped as she cackled, "Nope, can’t say that I do. I just wanted to invite you in for cookies and coffee.. my way of saying ‘thank you’." Before allowing him time to explain himself further, she glanced down at the floor for a moment and continued, "You remember that Percy was killed by muggers last month, don’t you?"
There was a silence as if Percy, himself, was there to help John remember. "Yes, ma’am, I do." Noticing her young, sparkling, blue eyes, he continued, "I’d really love to stay and chat, but I’ve really got to go."
Mustering up some courage, she managed to smile timidly before nodding her head and quietly closing the door.
Pushing his own door open, he noticed that the house wasn’t as messy as it usually was. It was apparent that his housekeeper had been by and spruced it up a bit for him. She was always on him, telling him that in order to meet a nice girl, he had to behave like a respectable man and that cleanliness was next to godliness.
As he thought about this, he laughed. If he could ever do anything god-like, it’d be a miracle. In fact, he found that for him to be able to accomplish anything lately, on the first try, practically took an act of God.
Kicking his shoes off, he reached across the arm of the chair to the stack of papers on the end table. Snatching his red, ink pen off of the table as well, he began to do his nightly correcting of schoolwork assignments. They were interpretations of a filmstrip that he’d shown in class yesterday and some of them were quite interesting.
When he’d added the last paper to the stack of corrected work, he looked at the clock and noticed that it was nearly nine. Time had escaped him again as he set the pile of papers and the correcting pen down and rose to get some tea.
The kitchen was small and blue with barely enough room to turn around in as he turned on the overhead light. He opened the cupboard to reveal several boxes of tea and the opaque, plastic canister which held the sugar. The cup of water came out of the microwave a little warmer than was expected, as he blew on it, setting it down very quickly.
The teabag buoyantly floated in the water, coloring it a reddish-brown. The fragrance was that of apples and cinnamon. As he took the container of sugar out of the cupboard, it was exceptionally light. Anticipating the worst, he found himself to be correct. It was empty.
Without putting his shoes back on, he hurried to the door of his apartment in his stocking feet. If he was extremely expeditious, he might be able to catch Mrs. Gerschwinn before she went to bed and borrow a cup of sugar from her.
Knocking on the door, he became impatient thinking that he needed to get up early in the morning and if he didn’t have his tea, his sleep might not be very thorough.
"Mrs. Gerschwinn, please!" he said, leaning up against her door and talking to the crack of the opening.
Crash!
The sound came from the other side of the door, inside of her room. Trying the doorknob, he found it to be unlocked. Generally, she left it locked it unless she had company.
After pushing the door open, he saw the window directly in front of him with the bent blinds swinging back and forth through the broken glass. Panic flooded him as he scurried about the apartment searching for Mrs. Gerschwinn to make sure that she was okay. The living room seemed smaller than usual, but the apartment wasn’t very big to begin with. He knew that because it was identical to his own.
Finally, he found her. In the bath with the water still running. She was naked, so the perpetrator was evidently hoping that it would appear as if she died of natural causes, being as elderly as she was. There were no cuts or scratches on her body that he could see.
Shutting the water off, he peered at her once virtuously caring, face. She appeared to be sleeping and there seemed to be less lines than there usually was, almost as if she was relieved.
John called the police and waited.
When the officers finally got there, he asked them, "Isn’t it odd how you always arrive to take notes after a crime has happened? You guys should be called ‘note takers’ or something."
The officers looked at each other before one offered, "We are investigators and that’s what we’re doing. If you wouldn’t mind, we need to evacuate the premises before it becomes contaminated. Someone will be here shortly to ask you some questions."
The investigator got John’s room number and told him to anticipate the arrival of a police officer soon for some additional questioning.
John didn’t sleep well that evening. Dreams about the world being taken over by crime continuously invaded his sleep, interrupting his sleeping patterns as he tossed about in his sweat-drenched sheets.
In his dream, his cape was long and black, shining like silk, but it was indestructible. The garb that he wore covered him from head to toe in a black, nylon-appearing fabric that was actually bulletproof. "Crime will not win!" he announced, "With my last, dying breath I will fight to the death!"
Donning his indestructible costume, he gazed at himself in the livingroom mirror. "What should I be called?" he questioned aloud. As his eyes rested on the stack of school papers, it came to him. Pronouncing it aloud, he wanted to see how it sounded, "Instructor of Justice".
Nodding his head in approval, he exited the building, searching for crime. Daring it to happen with him as a witness being able to prevent it.
Dashing in and out between buildings he could find nothing. No signs of crimes at all, until…
"You jes’ shuddup, girl," the deep voice echoed in the alley, stating, "Ain’t nobody gonna hurt ya, long as you do what I tell ya." The dark alleyway with the tall buildings surrounding them caused the jargon to reverberate between them.
John, now the Instructor of Justice, crept up behind the shadowed predator. The alarmed eyes of the young girl caught his, as he brought his forearm hard against the neck of the man standing in front of him. The large man with the fur around his neck, spun around in a flash, teeth gnashing as he belted the Instructor of Justice in the side of the head with his fist.
"Ha!" the Instructor mocked him, "I felt nothing! I’m in my indestructible suit and I can tell you that Crime will not win! With my last dying breath, I will fight to the death!"
With that, he did a spinning back-kick. The hulking mortal spun around, dazed just before he fell in a heap on the ground, unconscious. The girl couldn’t have been any older than the kids in his freshman class at the high school, though she was dressed in a short, red, sequined dress with shiny, black, high heels. Someone had made her up like some sort of Jezebel …
Screaming hysterically, she ran from the alley tripping along the way and glancing periodically over her shoulder. She disappeared around the corner, into the arms of the awaiting outside world.
Standing alone in the side street with a bulking man unconscious at his feet, he didn’t know what else to do but leave. Weighing out his options, it was either that or wait until the man came to which he found difficult to find the advantage of that. That couldn’t possibly solve anything except maybe break his own neck?
Turning swiftly on his heel, he sprinted down the street back to his apartment building posthaste.
The following morning, his throbbing head reminded him of his nightmare and the night before. Poor Mr. and Mrs. Gerschwinn. "This unjustifiably immoral city has been taken over by Satan, himself," he remarked, standing with his hands on his hips and his chest pushed out. Collapsing back on the bed with his hands cradling his head, he reminded himself, "The dream is over… I’m not the Instructor of Justice."
Taking two aspirin from the medicine cabinet, he swallowed them with a cup of juice before getting ready to leave for work at the high school.
As he entered the hallway, he noticed the streamers across Mrs. Gerschwinn’s door warning that it was being investigated.
Class went as well as expected, considering what he had to go on as far as brain cells and an uneasy sleep. Up until the end, everything went relatively smooth, which was a surprise to him. But, he didn’t knock it.
At the end of the day, Mr. Miller had picked up his briefcase and laid it across his desk to empty the basket of homework into it, when he heard an obnoxious, young voice.
"Come and get it! C’mon!" and laughing from several boys in school.
"Knock it off and give it back!" vehemently an agitated teen demanded.
Mr. Miller walked into the hall to see three boys throwing something back and forth across the walkway. The boy being teased was quite a bit smaller than they were, and taking the brunt of their humor.
"Marty, it was funny at first but I’ve gotta go!" the smaller boy pointed out.
"Oh, but the fun is just beginning!" the boy that was obviously Marty stated.
Another boy from the group asked sarcastically, "Is your mommy gonna get upset with you for being late, Timmy?"
Exhausted, the one they called Timmy dropped his hands and began walking away from the group. Noticing this Marty, the clever one of the group, threw the article to another kid and stepped in front of Tim, blocking the way.
Tim said nothing but stopped defeated, noticing the fact that he was out-numbered.
"I didn’t say you could go, yet, Timothy," Marty snidely reminded him, "We’re not finished playing, are we boys?" The other two shook their heads, although one of them seemed like he wasn’t too sure and maybe he’d rather not be there.
Jerking him by the shirt collar and ripping it, he slammed Tim against the brick wall of the hallway, face-first. "Give me that jock-strap!" he commanded, "We’ll make him wear it around his neck all the way home!"
Tim’s nose was bleeding and blood was running down his chin onto his shirt, splashing a little on the tiles. His face was mashed against the bricks sideways as Marty held him, waiting for the final embellishment. "Where is it?" he insisted, as he turned around to see Mr. Miller standing behind him, alone. Spinning around his finger was a boy’s athletic strap.
"Oh," Marty was caught off-guard, "Mr. Miller.. is that yours?"
"No, I believe its Tim’s. Right Tim?" he asked, leaning around Marty to see the kid’s face as Tim peered back out the corner of his eye.
Not answering, Tim remained where he was.
"Tell you what, Marty. Let him go and I’ll let you go or we have the other alternative."
"Really? What’s the ‘other alternative’?" he said as he turned to face the teacher, keeping hold of the back of Tim’s collar, but holding on just the same.
"The other alternative is that the two of us go at it right here," he replied as he let go of the strap, sending it to the glass double-doors, "And who knows how that will read in the papers. Either way, I’ll win."
"You’re a pussy!" he exclaimed angrily as he let go of Tim’s collar.
Tim took off like a fire had been lit beneath him, bent over to grab his strap and ran outside without looking back.
"Think you’re pretty tough, huh?" Marty squinted his eyes, staring through the teacher as he wiped the back of his hand under his nose, sniffling.
"No, and maybe that’s why I won," he smiled, "’Cause I don’t think I’m tough."
Marty started to walk away before turning back and saying, "You didn’t win yet, Mr. Miller, ‘cause the fight ain’t over ‘til I say it’s over."
And he left.
That night, things weren’t as strenuous for John mentally as they were the night before, but he still felt emotionally drained and the "caution" ribbons were still draped across Mrs. Gerschwinn’s door.
Coming into his apartment, he slumped into his recliner and turned on the television. Tomorrow was Friday; the day of the big final. The best thing for him to do tonight was just to sit and relax, for tomorrow he’d need to deal with tenaciously, wired teenagers.
Removing his sensible shoes, he got up to grab a frozen dinner from the freezer and throw it into the microwave.
Sitting down, he snagged a dinner tray, setting it up as he thanked the lord that he lived in the day of trays, frozen dinners, microwaves and television sets.
"Ah," he sighed, "This is relaxation!"
After eating, he simply pushed the table aside with the tray still on top and reclined back in his chair to watch his sports.
Soon, he fell asleep.
The same type of dream came to torment his conscience again. He was the Instructor of Justice, but this time it was with a subject that he was a little more familiar with. Without knowing how he got there, he strode across the top of an apartment building. Again, it was nighttime and the stars were scarcely showing through the clouds of precipitation and smog. It was quiet up here and the only sounds that could be heard were that of the cars honking and people yelling in the city far below.
Walking around the vents, trying to discern the opening that he must have used to get there, he wondered if he had flown. Trying to decide what the best way would be to find out if he could, he glanced over the edge of the rooftop.
"You shit heel!" a very enraged voice pierced the thin, night air.
Searching the rooftop for the location that the voices were coming from, he couldn’t see anything, until he was able to make out some outlines in the distance.
The voice had a familiar ring to it. Not being able to pinpoint exactly who it belonged to, he got nearer and recognized the plump profile of Marty Wodenski. Both of his hands were strapped in the collar of another boy that appeared to be several years younger than he. "I warned you, didn’t I?" Marty scorned him, "What did I tell you would happen?"
The kid just stood stammering, unable to speak because of the fear that engulfed him. Marty shoved the kid to the edge so that his shoes were barely on the ledge when the kid looked down towards his feet.
"Uh oh, looks like somebody had an accident!" Marty laughed, "Should have brought a spare diaper, but I didn’t think of it!"
The kid’s shoes were shuffling around on his tip-toes, trying to get a better hold on the ground under him when Marty said, "You know, we’re pretty far up here. You probably shouldn’t be dancing around like you are."
Just then one of his feet slipped, but Marty’s hold on him managed to bring him back in the fraction of a second.
"See?" Marty pointed out, "I told ya. Now, what do I need to do to convince you that Lisa is out of bounds to a pro basketball player like yourself?"
"Nothing. Nothing, man," he stammered, his eyes rolling around wildly, "I won’t ever see your sister again!"
"Swear to God?" Marty egged him on, shifting ever so slightly away from the brink and dragging the kid with him.
It was then, that Marty noticed that the kid wasn’t fearing his face after all, it was something behind him. Just as he realized it he began to turn around, but it was too late.
"What the ..," he began. The stranger had him by the back of his shirt and gave him a hearty yank, dragging the other boy with him, far away from the ledge.
Whispering gruffly he said, "Let the boy go."
"Yeah, yeah, yeah," Marty taunted him, "Why? I wasn’t going to hurt him. I just wanted to scare him real good."
The boy he was holding onto wasn’t more than twelve years old, it seemed to the Instructor. "What has he done?"
"What the hell is it to you, anyway?" the punk mouthed off, just before he spit a logy next to the intruder’s boot.
"You’re threatening his life and it’s going to pollute the neighborhood, especially if there’s one less good kid and we’re stuck with you," he grumbled, giving Marty’s collar a healthy shake, but not lessening his grip.
Without another word, Marty did let go of the boy. The boy didn’t run though. He took a few steps back and apparently wanted to watch someone get the crap kicked out of them.
"Yeah," Marty began, smirking, "Let the kid watch, maybe he’ll learn something, eh stud?"
"I think we should call it a night, huh?" the Instructor coaxed both boys as he turned to leave the roof. The gravel crunched under his boots as he tried to decide what the best route to get down would be, when he heard the padding behind him of someone running hard. Stepping out to the side, he caught a glimpse of Marty charging at him with a switchblade clutched in his hand. When he could see that he’d missed, Marty slowed and spun around so that the Instructor and the kid were blocked from the exit.
"Guess this is gonna be sort of sad, isn’t it?" Marty said as he began sauntering toward him, tossing the knife back and forth between his hands.
The static of the television woke John up as he turned and peered at the clock on the wall. "Great!" he said, shaking his head shamefully, "Now I can go to bed for two more hours." Clicking off the television, he clumsily made his way to the bedroom, stripped off his clothes and slipped into the coolness of the sheets.
"One more day of chaos," he mumbled as he rolled over to finish his sleep.
School was just as horrible as he had anticipated. In fact, the only thing that was positive about today was the fact that the banners had finally been removed from the Gerschwinn’s apartment.
As the students bustled in to sit down, they were extremely energetic. The bell rang and they managed to take their seats.
"Okay," he began, "Everybody already knows what today is, right?"
There was no answer.
"Are there any questions before I hand out the test?" he prodded them, "For being so talkative before, you’re certainly very quiet now!"
It somehow seemed as if they were smothered in a nasty prank, until a voice came over the loud speaker, startling Mr. Miller. A couple of kids snickered and received glares of hatred from others, as if they’d just exchanged a tasteless joke.
"Attention students, attention!" the principal said in his monotone voice, "A tragedy occurred late last night, as a lot of you know. One of our students, Wodenski, Marty Wodenski passed away. Let’s take this time to offer a moment of silence."
A stillness filled the room as confusion filled Mr. Miller’s head. Marty Wodenski passed away? He’d just dreamed about him, didn’t he? Not certain if he had or not, the thought invaded his head several more times that day, striving to remember.
After school, he was preparing his briefcase once again when he thought that he heard voices rumbling down the hallway. Gently closing his briefcase, he cautiously walked to the doorway and peeked down the hall to see the janitor sweeping up.
"Hello, Mr. Miller," the custodian called as he scooped up the dustpan and shook it into the garbage pail.
John silently waved back and went to gather his briefcase. Speculating a bit, he surveyed the classroom, wondering what it would be like next year.
Then, he left.
The streets seemed a little less hustle and bustle than usual, although it felt as if everyone was watching him. Walking the short distance from the bus stop to his house, he counted fifteen people staring at him, until he gave up counting. The sweat was beginning to collect under his collar making him itch as he ineffectively attempted to scratch it. The watching eyes made him even more uptight as he unfastened his tie to allow his sweltering skin to breathe easier. The perspiration was running in rivulets down his collar and under his armpits, staining his shirt.
Striding faster, he rounded the steps and climbed to his apartment building, stopping briefly to examine the street. Everyone had stood at a standstill to witness his entrance. Feeling extremely detached from the world around him, he entered and went as abruptly to his room as he could.
Promptly opening his door, he made his way inside to discover his apartment was once again clean. "Thank God," he sighed with relief as he achieved a sentiment of normality, "She’s cleaned the place up."
Unwinding in his chair, he reclined back thankful that the week was over and that tomorrow was Saturday. He wanted to do something useful tomorrow, in lieu of Mr. and Mrs. Gerschwinns’ deaths. "They shouldn’t have died for nothing, something positive has to come of it," he mumbled as his head lolled back against the headrest. "I’m going to join the Crime Prevention Team tomorrow. That’s what I’ll do!"
Drifting off to sleep, his eyes opened briefly for one last look around the room and saw Mrs. Gerschwinn disappear around the corner with her apron on and a feather-duster in her tiny hand. But when his eyes flew open a split second later, she was gone.
"Hello?" he asked the empty apartment, "Hello?"
Getting up from his chair, he stood to peek prudently around the wall beyond the doorway, himself. Nothing was there. It was the same dark and drab hallway that he was accustomed to seeing. "Mrs. Gerschwinn?" he called, half-hoping for a response, but not certain that he wanted one, after all, she was dead.
No sounds were heard except for the noise outside which seemed to become increasingly louder as he stood in the silent room.
Curious to see what it was about, he strolled over to the window in the livingroom and parted the blinds, leering between them. The people on the sidewalk ceased to walk and turned to stare up at him.
"Mrs. Gerschwinn?" his voice cracked as it nervously sang and echoed in the room. Gawking towards the hallway, he saw nothing and turned back toward the window. Everyone was forgetting about him again, as they continued on their way.
Pulling his fingers out of the blinds and shakily making himself a cup of tea, he sat down in his recliner and turned the television on. He managed to have the volume up loud enough to drown the hullabaloo from outside.
For hours the television was running program after program until the news came on. It was a middle-aged blond woman discussing the outcome of what was discovered atop an apartment building the night before. They had no identification on the suspect because he was dressed peculiarly enough as some sort of superhero. At least that’s what the one remaining witness had suggested, but the police were still investigating.
John missed the news broadcast.
He was fast asleep with saliva drooling out the side of his mouth, preparing to visit dreamland.
The night air was crisp and felt unusually clean for the city, but John was glad to be able to enjoy it while he could. It wasn’t that often that the air actually felt clean anymore. Sure, he’d thought about moving to a smaller town, but he had a job and a place to live. He didn’t have anyone to tie him down; no wife or kids, siblings or even parents. Actually speaking, he could live anywhere that he wanted to, now.
He suspected that he’d lived here as long as he had because of the Gerschwinns. They had been assumed as his respected parents because they had lived across the hall from him for nearly twenty-two years. John knew their son, that would often come to visit from Baltimore, and had given him his word that he’d keep an eye out for them.
One of the most painful things John had done in his life was to call Keith, their son, and tell him of his father’s death because his mother was too upset to talk. Afterwards, John never spoke of the passing on of Mr. Gerschwinn and every time the poor widow wanted to discuss it, John found himself putting her off. It just didn’t seem fair!
The black boots were tapping along the sidewalk as he passed a vacant park bench and a fire hydrant that was being utilized by a stray dog. The cap that hung from his shoulders enveloped folds of air temporarily before freeing it once again as it whipped back and forth behind him. The night was quiet except for an occasional vehicle the passed him, never slowing down, although someone did manage to throw a can, half-full of beer, at him. It missed as it spun in circles, rolled into the gutter and gurgled until it was empty.
Soon, he would be at the destination that beckoned him to come.. the park.
The entry to the park was closed and locked with its tall, black, iron gates and chains. But that wasn’t the way he intended on entering the park anyway. Behind the bushes was a missing bar which left an opening just large enough for him to squeeze through. He didn’t know how he knew this, he just knew as if he’d been there thousands of times before.
Searching the night for any witnesses, he ducked behind the bushes when the coast was clear and slipped through the opening. The park was another world altogether. It was beautiful and peaceful. It was serene enough that one could talk to himself without being interrupted by the shenanigans of pointless conversation and air-filling gibberish.
No one could see him here. No one would be ogling him like they had been on the ‘outside’. Here, he was in his own world where no one could touch him, rob him or harm him. Almost like a second heaven, he was in paradise.
Tipping his head back again, he began to smile to himself. He had helped a lot of people in the past few days and it could only get better. When he became famous, he could afford to help people in the daytime, too. People would welcome him and cheer him on…
"Help!" he thought he heard a female scream.
There was a very long pause. Long enough that he thought that maybe he’d imagined the plea for assistance.
"Wonder if I can fly," he questioned as he thoughtfully rubbed his chin and shifted his eyes back and forth, "I am a hero!"
"Help me, please!" the same voice sounded a little closer now. Not quite inside the park, but close.
Standing, he tried to see beyond the bars of the gate, but the shrubs were too high and it was too dark.
"Ahhh, no!" the voice screamed shrilly, sounding as if it were coming from behind him, now. But no, there was no crime in here at night. This was his sanctuary! If there was a perpetrator hurting someone here, that is definitely a job for the Instructor of Justice, he thought as he turned and inspected the grounds behind him. All that he could see was the building that contained restrooms and the main office, until he squinted his eyes and peered hard into the night. He wondered if he strained hard enough, if it would give him x-ray vision. Scrunching up his eyes even tighter, he stared toward the corner.
Beside the building, he thought that he’d detected movement and he wasn’t sure if it was the wind blowing the shrubs or not. Taking a step towards the building, he saw that it definitely was something solid and in control of its own movement. Not rhythmic or even the same agitation, it was becoming more and more visible as he neared the enigma.
Seeing the silhouettes of what appeared to be a man holding an old woman from behind by the throat, the Instructor of Justice had no alternative but to mandate the situation.
Running full-board he bellowed, "Crime will not win! With my last dying breath I will fight to the death!" and he unloaded his energy into the man as the stunned mortal turned around. Grasping at his throat, the Instructor of Justice knew that his chances of insuring his safety would increase if the perpetrator was unable to get a lick in before he was finished.
But, it wasn’t that easy.
The felon seemed to be as good at fighting in hand-to-hand combat as he was, though he’d graduated from Special Forces Training in the Service.
Standing face to face, eyeing each other, the Instructor of Justice recognized the height and stance of his offender. It was the man that had scrambled down the sidewalk the other day, knocking Mrs. Gerschwinn down on the stairs.
Now he was here, trying to rob another innocent, old woman, who remained kneeling on the sidewalk with her back towards him, crying into her hands, but afraid to look. Apparently, afraid to move. Almost motionless, her hair was in a shambles as wisps of white floated on air about her head. One shoe was missing and her bare foot appeared scraped on the side.
The stranger seemed to amuse himself as he stood with his arms folded across his chest, feet positioned shoulder-width apart as if daring an opponent to contend with him.
"You," the Instructor of Justice sneered at him, "What are you doing here?"
The rebel said nothing, but began circling around with his hands prepared in front of him for protection.
"Did you hear me?" he repeated, ruthlessly, "I asked what you’re doing here!"
The voice was somewhat garbled and it was awkward to depict what was being said at first. "I live here."
"You don’t live here," the hero told him, "This is a peaceful place, where people go to relax. It’s a park for crying out loud!"
"Why are you here, in your clown uniform?" the man jested.
"I’m here to help people," he explained, "People that are in trouble."
This made the man stop circling and laugh whole-heartedly as he threw his head back, "Who have you helped? You don’t help anyone, you’re incapable of that!" Then, he scoffed him snidely, saying in a calm voice, "You even kill them."
"No, I’m a hero!" the Instructor of Justice argued as he shook his head, "I help people."
"Did you help Mr. Gerschwinn?" the man mocked him, "Or Mrs. Gerschwinn? I’d think if you were going to save people that it would be the people that you considered to be your friends…"
"I couldn’t save them, I couldn’t."
"Really?" the man probed, "Mr. Gerschwinn was going to the store when he got mugged. You knew he was going to the store and could have offered, but no… In fact, it was right outside the store that he was attacked, wasn’t it? And poor Mrs. Gerschwinn had invited you to come over, but you were too busy! You may as well have done it yourself!"
"Shut up!" the Instructor yelled at the stranger, wondering how he knew so much about the people in his life. "How do you know me? Did you kill them? Did you kill my friends?"
The man with the stocking mask ignored him, as if deliberately trying to unnerve him. "Oh, and what about the teenaged hooker in the alley. Who did you save that night? Her angry pimp probably beat the shit out of her when he finally caught her."
The holes in the mask seemed to widen for a second before the seemed even darker and then he caught his breath as if surprised, "Marty! Marty Wodenski, that’s right. He was a trouble-maker. I guess he deserved what he got, right?"
The protagonist nodded as if somehow they were finally communicating and he smiled.
"Really? You really think he’d kill that little boy that his sister had the hots for?" he tormented, "After the kid wet his pants, Marty backed away from the edge. He wasn’t going to kill him, he just wanted to scare him."
"That’s where you’re wrong!" he interrupted him, "He came for me with a knife! He wanted to carve me and the kid up!"
"Did he?" he asked, placing his forefingers to his temples and squinting his eyes, "Where did he pull the knife from, if he had a knife? And after you walked away, leaving the kid there that you’d just saved, why didn’t Marty just throw him off then? You were going to leave him with Marty after saving him!"
The man leaned into the Instructor of Justice as if he was going to let him in on a little secret, "He was found with a rod shoved through his stomach and the poor kid that witnessed it can’t even talk now! Brain-overload for him!"
As furious as he could possibly get, the Instructor of Justice rushed head-long into the chest of the masked man and knocked him down on the lawn with an almost silent thud. The two of them rolled over and over exchanging punches until finally the Instructor of Justice saw an ample-sized rock off to the side.
Lying on his back with the intruder straddling him and choking him with all of his strength, he stretched, reaching for the rock with all of his might.
Getting a good grip on it with both hands, he pounded it with as much impact as he could, bringing it in contact with the assailant’s head with a chilly, hollow, smack!
Rolling over and pushing the body off to one side, he climbed up from under him. "Crime will not win!" he said in between trying to catch his breath and coughing a little, "With my last dying breath I will fight to the death!"
For good measure, he hit him several more times with the rock.
Then, bending over the man he reached out and got a grip on the mask.
"You’re such a good boy!" the woman said as she approached from behind him, "Thank you so much for saving me!"
He had forgotten about her, but right now, he had to deal with his masked avenger and find out just who it was that had been spying on him.
Ignoring her as much as he could, he began to yank it up.
"I don’t know how I’ll ever repay you," she continued, obviously not noticing that he wasn’t paying attention to her.
First, the mouth showed as bubbles of blood forced their way between his lips. Then his nose showed as he wiggled the mask a fraction to get it over his ears. It appeared to be broken and was bleeding profusely.
When the mask was pulled free of his head, he couldn’t believe his eyes! It was John Miller! John Miller was the killer! It all made sense now, it made perfect sense!
John Miller always wanted control of everything but was too afraid to take the bull by the horns. So, this is how he’d done it.
"I wish I’d had a son like you!" she said as the Intruder of Justice turned to look into the eyes of Mrs. Gerschwinn.
"You do!" he laughed as he sat on the lawn. She sat down beside him and they laughed and laughed until the sun came up.
The traffic was rolling along as usual and the white sedan on its way to the office had its radio blaring through the open car windows.
When the song was over, a female broadcaster came on, "In the news this morning, apparently several joggers on their morning run passed the park and saw a man kneeling alone on the lawn in a super hero outfit. They said that he was laughing so hard he was crying. Afraid to approach him themselves, they contacted the police department… I’ve gotta tell you Ben, I wouldn’t want to approach him either, you know?"
"Yeah, I know what you mean, Sadie. Sounds like some kind’a whack-o or something," Ben agreed.
She chuckled a bit before adding, "Well, it also says that they took him away to the Holland Psychiatric Ward to do medical testing. According to an earlier witness, he may have had a part in the two-day-old murder of Marty Wodenski."
"Wow, that’s quite a story!"
"Yep, it’s hard to imagine that the Instructor of Justice, as he refers to himself, was actually a teacher at the local high school…"
The channel was changed to a screaming, rock song and the volume was pumped up as the white sedan pulled into the high school’s parking lot.
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