Vindicator

The Vindicator

Part 1

The Question of Faith

Chapter I

It never seemed real. Everything that's happened to me in the last year always seemed distant, as if I were watching it happen to someone else. But here and now, I realize that I have been hiding from the truth. I didn't want to believe, and so I didn't. But now, as I sit here in my gray boxers, the realization hit me like a rampaging bull elephant.

In the last year I was disowned by my family, my friends turned their backs on me, and I have been beaten almost daily. I met the love of my life, but that love was violently shattered in a spray of blood.

Well, now I'm getting ahead of myself. Let me tell you a little about myself. My name is Michael Cross, and I am fifteen years old. I live in southeastern Michigan, in a town called Livonia. It's right next to Detroit. But the differences between the two are like night and day. Livonia is full of mostly rich, or middle class people.

I am five foot six and a half inches tall, I have blonde hair and piercing blue eyes, and weigh about one hundred and sixty five pounds. And, I am gay. Its not an easy thing for me, not by a long shot, but I have come to accept the truth.

With that out of the way, let me start at the beginning. Great place to start, huh?

"Hey, FAGGOT!" The words burned in my ears. I froze. I silently hoped and prayed that he'd move on and leave me alone. Scott Gibson and I had been friends at one time, but we had a difference of opinion (about what I do not remember) and he has hated me ever since.

"Hey, I'm talking to you FAGGOT!" Scott screamed. I reluctantly turned and faced him. By now, quite a large crowd had gathered.

"What do you want, Scott?" I asked, not really wanting to know.

"Well, Mikey the Queer Boy finally acknowledges my existence. I am truly honored," Scott sneered. A few members of the crowd snickered at his tiny insult.

"You know what I think?" he spoke to the crowd in general, "Little Mikey here needs to be taught a lesson! What do you guys think of that?"

With that, I turned and tried to leave, but someone pushed me back. The force of the push caused me to lose my balance and fall onto my back.

I quickly turned over and got up on my hands and knees, but I wasn't fast enough. Scott kicked me in the stomach causing all the air to leave my lungs. As I lay there, gasping for breath, he continued his onslaught. Others joined him in what I knew wasn't the last of the beatings that I would receive.

What seemed like a long time later, the beating stopped, and I lay in an ever-expanding pool of blood. The fingers on my left hand were surely broken, as was my nose, and I'm sure other parts of my body. My hand had been stomped on repeatedly, and the pain was almost unbearable. And I could not move my jaw.

I looked around, and noticed that I was just outside one of the school's many restrooms. I hobbled in and took a look at myself in the mirror. Although my vision was a little blurry, I could see that my face was covered in blood. I had a rather large cut above my right eye, and one on my left cheek. Blood was pouring out of my nose. In short, I looked like shit.

Just then, Dave Wilson, one of my last remaining friends walked in. He didn't see my face because I was facing the opposite direction.

"Hey Mike! How's it going?" he asked. I turned and faced him, and I saw his face go pale right before I passed out onto the hard tile floor.

I awoke many hours later in an unfamiliar room. The lights were off, but I could tell that I was in a hospital. I looked around and found the button to call a nurse.

When she came in, she looked as if she had been asleep. She was young, maybe 29, and very attractive. . . at least to a straight male. Her name tag said Elizabeth.

"Well hi there! My name is Beth. Do you know where you are?" she looked sleepy, but she sounded very much awake.

"In. . . in a hospital?" my jaw stung as I said these words. "My jaw hurts," I told her.

"Well, that's `cause it was dislocated. But don't you worry, we fixed you right up." she had a slight hint of a southern accent.

"What time is it?" I asked her.

"About 4:30 in the mornin'. You've been out for quite awhile. We had to practically force your parents to leave. . ."

"My parents were here? Was anyone else here?" I interrupted.

"Well, there was two handsome young men outside in the waitin' room, but since you were unconscious, only your family was allowed to see you. They left the same time as your parents, and promised to return tomorrow." She checked her watch again and said, "Its 4:41 now, and you need your sleep. The doctor will be here in the morning."

She got up, and said goodnight, and walked out of my room. As I lay there, trying to resume my slumber, many thoughts were going through my head.

I couldn't believe that my parents seemed to care about my well being. They had hardly spoken a word to me since they had found out that I was gay. Then I remembered what Beth had said: TWO handsome young men. Surely, Dave was one of them, but I had no idea who the other boy was. That was my last thought before I fell into a deep sleep.

Chapter II

I awoke many hours later to the sound of quiet sobbing at my bedside. I looked over and to my surprise Dave had his head in his hands and was crying. I had never seen him cry before.

"Dave?" I asked. He looked up at me with red eyes. Tears were still streaming down his face.

"I'm so sorry! I should have been there! I should have stopped this!" he was getting hysterical.

"Dave, there was no way you could have known that this was going to happen. Don't blame yourself," I said. A look of anger, confusion, and relief washed over his face.

"I'm so glad you are alright," he said in almost a whisper. "Who did this?"

"Scott Gibson. He just won't leave me alone," I said. The anger reappeared on his face.

"I'll kill the bastard. I'll FUCKING KILL HIM!" he screamed.

"Dave, don't do anything stupid. I wouldn't be able to live with myself if anything happened to you," I said, in what I thought was a commanding voice.

"No, Mike. This asshole is going to pay for this," Dave said, sounding determined.

THE PREVIOUS NIGHT

Homicide Detective Stan Davis was used to getting calls early in the morning, but every time he got one, it still pissed him off.

"Hello? This is Davis," Stan mumbled into the phone.

"Davis, this is McFarlane. Get your ass over to Rotary Park, we need you on homicide tonight," Chief of Police, Thomas McFarlane said. Before Stan could respond, the line went dead.

He reluctantly climbed out of his bed, and went to the bathroom. Then he searched through his closet, and decided to wear his black dress shirt, with a silver tie, and black dress pants. He pulled on his old, black, leather trenchcoat. He may have been tired, but he still looked good.

Twenty minutes later he arrived at Rotary Park. It looked like they'd taken a scene from the movies. Patrol cars were parked at every exit, and there was yellow "POLICE LINE DO NOT CROSS" tape around the playground area. Three detectives stood in a circle next to the swing set.

"What's goin' on, you guys?" Detective Davis called over to the other detectives.

"Double homicide. Two white males, approximately fifteen years of age." Danny Gilmore said. Davis and Gilmore had worked together previously.

"The only reason that you're here, Davis, is because it's a possible hate crime," John Richardson said, sounding annoyed by Davis' presence. Stan had only recently "come out of the closet." It had not bothered most people, but a few narrow minded individuals, like Richardson, hated Davis for it.

"What makes you think that?" Davis said in a calm voice. He knew that would only irritate Richardson even more.

"There was a note, typed on a white sheet of paper," Gilmore said, handing me a copy of the note.

It read:

Two queer boys,

Strolling through the park.

They think they're alone,

Out here in the dark.

They share a kiss,

As silent as the gentle breeze.

And I watch from my perch,

Inside one of the trees.

They look so happy,

Like they were meant to be.

I know this is not true,

From what was taught to me.

Then I feel ill,

Dizziness fills my mind.

And as I search for an answer,

Rage is all I find.

The love these two boys have,

Is a love I've never had.

I look down on them,

And I know that I've gone mad.

I'll make sure they pay,

That love should be mine instead.

And as I walk away,

Two queer boys lie together DEAD.

THE VINDICATOR

The last words were written in blood. As he finished reading it, Stan had to wipe a tear from his eye. He felt like he was going to be sick.

Five minutes later, Stan was surveying the crime scene. Right in the center of the park. It was amazing that no one had seen anything. The two boys had been covered up with a black sheet some time ago, and it looked as though they were sleeping. It was a thoroughly creepy thought.

Davis and Gilmore walked together toward the horrifying scene. As they got there, a paramedic named Dave (or at least that's what the name tag said) pulled back the sheet.

Stan gasped at what he saw. He was struggling to control the rage that was threatening to boil over. The first boy's lifeless eyes were wide open in a gaze of pure terror, and his mouth was open as if to scream. The boy was very handsome, except for the gaping hole in his throat.

A feeling of sadness swept over him as he looked at the second boy. This boy looked as though he had been hit repeatedly in the face. He had a similar wound on his throat. But the most horrifying thing was that Stan recognized the boy.

"Oh god," he whispered. "It's Jake."

Chapter III

After Dave had calmed down enough, I decided to ask him about the boy that came with him last night.

"That was my cousin Josh. He just moved here from Florida," Dave replied. "He's gonna be staying with us for a while, until his mom finds them their own place."

"Why did you bring him here last night?" I asked. Everything has been so confusing today.

"Well, he had nowhere else to go," he answered. "And since he's new here, I wanted to introduce him to my best friend."

"Me? I'm your best friend?" I was amazed that he'd called ME his best friend. "You've got tons of friends! Why me?"

"You are the only person that I feel like I can trust with anything. you've always been there for me."

"Alright, enough of this sentimental crap, lets check out what's on the TV." Dave got up and turned on the TV monitor that was installed in the corner. He quickly flipped through the channels, but as usual, there was nothing worth watching. We settled on the news. It was better than anything else.

We watched the usual stories about some muggings in Detroit. But the next headline caught our attention.

"Two boys were found murdered today in Rotary Park, in Livonia. Authorities say that the boys were murdered because they were gay," The anchorman said. I'm sure I must have looked pale.

"The police have released the boy's names," a picture of two very handsome boys replaced the anchorman on the screen. "Fifteen year old Samuel James Robinson, and fourteen year old Jacob William Thomas."

My eyes went wide. I couldn't believe it. I had been friends with Jake Thomas ever since the rumors about my homosexuality had started. He helped me to accept the fact that I'm gay. I had only met his boyfriend Sam once, but he was very nice. Suddenly I was very dizzy. I felt like I was going to throw up.

When I awoke many hours later, I found my mother at my bedside. She appeared to be lost in thought. She hadn't noticed that I was awake.

"Good morning," I said, even though I knew it was well past noon. "Where's dad?" I already knew the answer to that.

"Your father had to work late. He has an important project due tomorrow," she said. I'd heard that one before. Every time there was something important to me he had to work late.

"Bullshit. He doesn't care if I live or die and you know it." I said with an obvious edge to my voice.

"You watch your language! Finding out that your son is gay is not an easy thing to accept. . ."

"Imagine how I feel!" I was screaming at her now. "Everyone that I've ever cared about has turned their backs on me!" I couldn't stop the tears. "Do you know what it's like to be hated? I doubt you do. Now, please get out of here."

"Michael. . . I'm so sorry. I would never stop loving you," now she was crying too. "I should have been there for you. . ." She started to sob uncontrollably. Now I was comforting her.

LATER

When Detective Stan Davis got back to his office, the first thing he did was buy himself a cup of coffee. And then another. And another. This had undoubtedly been the worst night of his life. And more was still to come.

"Davis," Chief of Police Thomas McFarlane called out from across the crowded office. "Come on into my office. I'd like to introduce you to your new partner."

"Joy," Stan whispered as he headed toward the Chief's office. Moments later he walked through the door. The Chief was sitting behind his desk, and a much younger man stood in front of it. He had short, blonde hair, and a blonde goatee.

"Stan, this is your new partner, Detective Brian Thomas Baker. He was just promoted on Tuesday," the chief told him.

"It's a pleasure to meet you, sir," Baker said. He looked more than a little nervous.

Stan couldn't help but laugh at his politeness. "First off, stop with the sir crap. Second, relax! You can call me Stan." If there was one thing he couldn't stand, it was a rookie detective trying to suck up to the boss.

Brian breathed a sigh of relief. He'd been afraid that Davis would be the typical jerk that's too full of himself to even acknowledge anyone else's existence.

Stan quickly brought Brian up to speed on the details of the case.

"No fingerprints were found at the crime scene, except for the two victim's. Size 14 footprints made by Caterpillar work boots were found near the crime scene. This means that the killer is most likely very tall. The murder weapon was found on the opposite side of the park. No prints were found on that either," Stan reported. "The weapon is a lock-blade knife with a black handle. The blade has a serrated edge."

"Ugh! He's a sadistic fucker," Brian said in disgust. "What about the note? Were there any prints on that?"

"The Print Lab hasn't found any prints other than the two victims," Stan said. "But the note is the key to catching this guy."

"What the hell are you talking about? This is just a random hate crime. Plain and simple," Chief McFarlane said. He obviously couldn't care less that two boys were dead.

"The note was typed," Stan continued.

"So?" McFarlane asked.

"The note said he was watching them from a tree. I doubt he typed it while he was in the tree," Stan explained. "This means that he would have had to have been watching the two boys for quite some time. He knew exactly where to be, and what time to be there. This was no simple hate crime. He calls himself `The Vindicator'. To vindicate means to justify, meaning he thinks he is doing justice by killing them. This is only the beginning. He will never stop."

Robbie Jamison hated his life. Every day he thought about ending it all. Today was no exception. He'd been taunted every day for the past year, ever since he told the person that he thought was his best friend that he was gay. His dad beat him every day.

Today, as he was walking home, he was thinking to himself that today would be the day. He'd end the pain and suffering. He was lost in his thoughts of suicide, and didn't notice Jackie Armstrong. Jackie was the school's bully.

Robbie's thoughts were interrupted by Jackie's powerful fist. Robbie landed hard on his back, hitting his head on the sidewalk.

Jackie spit on him and said, "Watch where you're going, fag." Jackie walked past Robbie without looking at him.

Robbie sat up, and felt the back of his head. He looked at his hands, and saw red. He slowly got up and continued his journey to his shit hole of a house.

A short, middle-aged man with graying hair and a graying mustache was ahead of him, walking in his direction. The man had his gaze fixed on Robbie.

"Hi," the man said. Robbie really didn't feel like talking to anyone. He decided to ignore him.

"You are Robbie Jamison, am I right?" Robbie stopped in his tracks.

"Who are you?" he was more than a little confused. He'd never seen this man before, but the man knew him by name.

"Oh, you don't know me, but I've had my eye on you for some time now," the man broke into a sickeningly wide grin.

"How do you know my name?" Robbie asked. Fear was evident in his voice. "Who the hell are you?"

The wide grin shifted into a look of anger. "I have been called many things," the man said. "But my most recent one is The Vindicator."

Before Robbie could react, the man pulled out a knife and jabbed it into his throat. Robbie fell to his knees.

"Sweet dreams, queer," those were the last words Robbie ever heard. The killer left a note beside Robbie, and continued down the sidewalk, whistling to himself as he walked.

Chapter IV

I left the hospital a day later. My father wouldn't even look at me. I felt as if I wasn't welcome in my own home. I decided to call Dave.

"Hey, man! How are you feeling?" He asked.

"Depressed. My dad doesn't even acknowledge my existence." I said. "Would you mind if I come over?"

"Of course not! But give me at least twenty minutes," he replied. He always seemed to be in a good mood.

"Alrighty," I said in a bad southern accent. "I'll see you in a few."

Twenty five minutes later I walked into the front door of Dave's house. I just walked in, as I had always done.

"Hey, moron!" I shouted as I entered.

"We're in the living room," he said. We? Did he mean his cousin? As I entered the living room, Dave was sitting in his favorite chair, and another boy was lying on his stomach in front of the TV.

The other boy turned around, and I found myself in awe. He was the hottest guy I had ever seen.

The boy got up, and walked over to where I was standing. He offered his hand. As I touched it, it felt as if electricity was surging through my body.

"Hi," he said as I shook his hand. "I'm Josh. I just moved here from Florida."

"That's what Dave said," I responded. "So, why did you guys decide to move?"

Josh's smile was replaced by a look of tension. "Um. . . we just decided to move." I could tell he was not comfortable talking about this, so I decided not to push him. He's got his reasons.

"Hey Mike," Dave said. He was trying to change the subject. "Josh and I were trying to think of something to do. You got any bright ideas?"

Josh looked relieved. I was going to have to remember to ask Dave what was up with Josh. "Why don't we show the newbie here around the mall?"

"Great idea!" Dave looked enthusiastic. It was quite amazing how happy he was all the time.

"I gotta call my mom and make sure it's alright," I said.

"You know where the phone is," Dave said. "You don't have to ask."

I picked up the phone and dialed my phone number.

"Hello?" my mom answered, thank god. She sounded irritated.

"Hi mom," I said. "Hey, Dave and I were planning on going up to the mall. Is that alright?"

"Okay, but be back before 9:00. You know how your dad is," she said. My dad is really strict about my curfew. He yells at me for hours if I'm just one second late.

"Alright. I'll see you later. Bubye!" I said. I heard the line go dead, and then hung up.

I gave Dave and Josh a thumbs up, and we were on our way out the door. About fifteen minutes later we arrived at the mall.

"Hey Dave, lets go over to the arcade," I suggested.

"What, you want me to kick your ass at air hockey again?" Dave joked. He had never beaten me at air hockey.

"Yeah, right," I smiled. "Let's give the new guy a shot at the title." We played air hockey at the arcade practically every weekend. We played so often that the employees new us by name.

For the next three hours, we wasted our time (and our money) playing various games. We must have spent at least fifty bucks on air hockey alone. On our very last game, Josh finally defeated me.

"I win!" he cheered. God, he was cute. "I am the MAN!"

"Yeah, the WOman, Dave corrected him. "Mike beat you like eighty to one!"

"Still more times than you've beat him," he pointed out. It was fun being the topic of their argument.

"Shut up you guys," I said finally. "Let's head back over to your place, Dave. I gotta be home in two hours.

With that, we headed back toward the exit. Josh stopped at various stores, and we had to practically drag him out of the American Eagle store. I'll never understand why some people have to buy the expensive crap, just so they can act cool. But he did look pretty good in it.

As we were walking, someone stuck their leg out and tripped me. I fell, and hit my face hard on the ground.

"When did they start letting fags in here?" Scott Gibson said from above me. Dave helped me up. I was sure my nose was broken. Again.

"Why don't you leave him the fuck alone?" Josh yelled. This surprised even me. I had never seen Josh this pissed off before. I doubt that Dave had either.

"Oh, you don't want to get yourself into this, fag-boy. You'll be on the ground before you know what hit you," Scott countered.

"I'm already in this, asshole. Get ready," Josh dared. He must have gone insane. I was sure Scott was gonna kill him. Scott was much larger than any of us.

Scott threw the first punch, which Josh avoided easily. Scott went for a right hook. Josh dodged it, and used Scott's momentum to throw him to the ground.

Scott was quickly back on his feet. Josh faked a punch, and kicked Scott in the face. Scott was off of his feet again. He wasn't moving. Josh moved closer to Scott, and Scott kicked his legs out from underneath him.

Josh rolled away, and was on his feet in one swift jump. As he landed the jump, he punched Scott in the face, and then kicked him in the groin. As Scott was bending over in pain, Josh kicked him hard to the side of the head. Scott was out cold before he hit the ground.

I was simply astonished. "How the hell did you do that?" I asked. "Where did you learn that?"

"I've taken karate since I was seven. And, I won't ever let anyone mess with my friends," he answered. "C'mon, we gotta get outta here."

We ran out of the mall faster than I ever had before. We kept on running all the way until we got home. We got inside and I collapsed onto the door, and sank all the way to the ground. To put it mildly, we were tired.

For the next fifteen minutes or so, we sat in silence. The events of earlier kept on playing through our minds. Then to the surprise of Dave and I, Josh broke the silence.

"Is it true?" he asked. I couldn't be sure, but his eyes looked somewhat hopeful.

"Is what true?" asked Dave.

"What that guy said about Mike. Is it true?" he said.

I truly did not know what to say. I wanted to tell him the truth, but I also wanted to know what his opinion of gays were.

"Would it make a difference IF I was?" I asked.

"No, not really. I try not to judge people. I have been judged before, and I hated it," he responded.

"Then yes, I am," I said. I knew it was risky, but there was something about him that made me think I could trust him.

His eyes lit up brighter than a Christmas tree once I had said those words. He was almost grinning from ear to ear. I was baffled. That definitely was not the reaction I was expecting.

"What the hell are you grinning at?" I asked him.

He didn't answer my question. Instead he leaned in and pressed his lips to mine. People say that your first kiss is like fireworks going off. That is one of the largest understatements ever made. This was better than a million fireworks shows combined.

I don't know for how long we held onto the kiss, because time seemed to stop completely. It could have been seconds, minutes, hours. . . I wasn't sure. But we were brought back down to earth when Dave suddenly cleared his throat.

I don't think my skin could have turned a deeper shade of red. I'd never been more embarrassed in all my life. It looked as if Josh wasn't handling it much better than I was.

"Get a room, you guys!" Dave joked.

"Ooo, can we use yours?" Josh countered. I couldn't help but laugh out loud at the horrified expression that appeared on Dave's face.

"Hell no, you can't use my room!" he said, a little louder than necessary.

"Shut up, dumbass! Do you want the whole world to know?" Josh said. He sounded angry. I couldn't stop laughing at their stupidity.

"Look, Josh. My parents already know about Mike, and they still like him. I'm sure they'd still like you. You ARE family, you know," Dave replied.

We played around for a while, until I happened to glance at one of their many clocks.

"Shit! I was supposed to be home twenty minutes ago!" I said. I knew I was in for it now. "I'll see you guys later."

I made it home in ten minutes. That was pretty fast for being on foot. As soon as I walked in the door, my father was waiting.

"Where the hell have you been?" he snapped. I was more than a little afraid.

"I'm sorry, dad. I was over at Dave's house, and we lost track of time," I answered.

"Don't give me that bullshit. I don't really want to know what you were doing, but it's never going to happen again," he said coldly.

"What are you talking about?" I asked. Instead of an answer for a reply, I received a slap to the face instead.

"DON'T YOU DARE TALK BACK TO ME, PANZY!" he screamed. He grabbed my arm with a vice-like grip. He threw me up against the wall, without taking his hand off of my arm. I could hear my shoulder as it ripped out of its socket. I screamed in pain, and tears fell down my face.

"I'll give you something to cry about," he said. Then he punched me hard in the face. Blackness engulfed me.

I have no idea how long I was unconscious, but I awoke on the floor, in the middle of my room. It looked as if I had been thrown into it. My shoulder was still dislocated, and throbbed with pain. My face hurt just as bad, if not worse than my shoulder.

I heard the front door open, and was expecting the worst.

"I'm home!" my mom announced. Relief flooded through me. I sat up, but my head was spinning from the pain.

"Is anybody here?" she yelled. Apparently my father had decided to head out.

"MOM!" I yelled as loudly as I could. My voice sounded strained and in pain. I guess she noticed this, and she was at my door in seconds.

"Oh my god, what happened?" she asked in a panicky voice, as soon as she saw my black eye and the dried blood from the fight with Scott on my shirt.

I tried to answer her, but before I could get the words out, I slipped back into unconsciousness.

Chapter V

When I woke up the next time, I was in the same hospital room that I was in before. I remembered the nasty green paint on the walls, and the poster that said "An apple a day. . ."

My mother was seated in a chair next to my bed. She was asleep. At least the pain had gone away. I was probably on painkillers.

I knew I couldn't tell my mom what my father had done. I'm sure that he would kill me if I did. I had to think up a lie, quickly.

Suddenly my mom's eyes snapped open. Relief washed over her face.

"Michael! Are you alright? What happened?" she asked me.

"I'm ok, mom," I slurred. I was definitely on painkillers. "I fell off of the ladder to the attic."

She looked as though she didn't believe me, but she didn't bug me about it. After a while, the same nurse that had been here before, Beth, told my mom that she should leave, because I needed my rest.

Stan walked up the small walkway to the Thomas' front porch. He rang the doorbell, and a very attractive woman answered the door. Martha Thomas was a thirty-six year old widow to Bill Thomas, although she looked no older than 20 on a good day. This was not a good day. The death of her son had been very hard on Martha Thomas, as it would be for any loving mother.

For ten years Bill and Stan had been partners. And then on one night a man had decided to hold up a liquor store. The two cops were sent in as back up. Bill entered the building first, and was shot in the head right in front of Stan's eyes. Out of rage and horror Stan unloaded an entire clip on the gunman. At that moment he swore to never let another innocent person die in his presence.

"Hi, Stan. I never thought they'd send you," she said as she opened the screen door to let him in.

"Yeah, well they weren't gonna. But I. . .insisted," he said with a smile.

She shook her head and chuckled.

"Always the comedian." She turned around and started to head toward her kitchen. "Would you like some coffee?"

"Oh yes, please. I haven't slept much since all this happened."

"Well, that makes two of us, at least," she said. She suddenly sounded sad.

"I'm sorry. I cannot even begin to imagine how terrible this must be for you," Stan said.

"I hope you never have to find out, Stan," she said. "What did I do to deserve this? First Bill, and now Jake. It's as if I am never meant to have happiness." she was now sobbing uncontrollably. Stan let her cry on his shoulder.

It took her at least twenty minutes to calm down, and by that time the coffee was ready. She poured it into two, small, black coffee mugs. She walked back over to the table where Stan was now sitting, and handed him his coffee.

"Black coffee. Just the way you like it," she tried to smile, but she was obviously only trying to hide the anguish she felt inside.

"Thanks," he replied. "I'm so sorry to have to do this so soon, but if I question you sooner, important details are more likely to be fresh in your mind."

"Okay, I'm as ready as I'll ever be," she said.

"Alright, where were you on the night this tragedy occurred?" he asked.

"I was at work, at St. Mary's hospital. You can check the log, if you want to," she answered him. She was a nurse.

"Did Jake recently make enemies with anyone? Someone who would be capable of doing this?" he asked.

"Jake had more enemies than he had friends. Many of the kids at school hated him because he was gay," she said. "I cannot imagine that anyone would go as far as to murder him."

"Its hard for me to believe as well," Stan said, "Did anyone besides yourself know that Jake and Sam were going out to the park?"

"I didn't tell anyone that they were going out. I would imagine that Mr. and Mrs. Robinson might have known that Sam was going out, but they had no idea that he was gay. They were very surprised when they heard that."

"I can imagine," Stan said. Just then someone called his beeper. "Well, it looks like we'll have to cut this interview short. I'll contact you to continue this later."

Stan stood up, walked over to her, and she hugged him. He wasn't expecting that.

"Thank you, Stan. You're the only person who seems to care," she said. A tear escaped and rolled down her cheek.

"Just remember, when you need me, I'll be here fore you."

As Stan walked out, he looked down at his beeper. The number was Chief McFarlane's code for Stan to get to the office immediately. The code was 666.

Brian Baker met Stan just as he was entering the office. Stan did not like the look on his face.

Brian's hair had seen better days. It had been a VERY long day for him. His eyes were wide, and his face was pale.

"What happened, Brian?" Stan asked. "You look like you just saw your grandmother in the shower."

"He's done it again," Brian said. "A young boy was found on a sidewalk not far from his home. His throat had been cut, and a note was left behind."

"Are we sure it's him? The Vindicator?" Stan asked.

"Yes. The note was signed in blood, just like the poem." Brian answered.

"That's just great," Stan said. He sighed loudly.

"I'm afraid there's more," Brian continued. "The body was found at 3:15 p.m. The body was still warm, meaning that it was very recently done."

"So, our scumbag likes to take risks. He did it right out in the open, and in broad daylight." Stan said. "Who's at the scene now?"

"Jones and Richardson."

"We'd better get down there. They are the two most homophobic men in the station. They won't care about the boy," Stan said.

"I'll drive," Brian said.