Chapter One: The Bankhead Boogeyman. Part Three.

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The fringe guy was upon him now from the left, not all magic was smoke and mirrors, sometimes all it took was a little misdirection.

“Is that a shotgun?” He asked without fear, smiling. The young man wielding it either didn’t notice or didn’t care about his potential ‘victim’s’ matter of fact tone. Both would soon be revealed as rather large errors.

The young bandana clad man held his confidence despite his inexperience becoming increasingly obvious. “Sure is asshole! Now don’t move or I’ll blast your guts all over this bitch before we finish our game!” The wraith smiled, the ignorant never learned.

“What kind of gangster carries his daddy’s shotgun?” His question was cold, hollow, mocking. Not the tone of someone might associate with a man caught at the end of a barrel.

“The kind that’ll blast your ass!” He could feel the barrel of the gun against his spine, it shook and trembled just a touch…this glorified child was a wannabe gangster, and possibly a rapist, but he was no killer.

Spinning inward and to his left, the weapon was pushed upward with his left hand while the point of his right elbow connected cleanly into the temple of the wannabe gangster’s skull.

Dropping to the pavement, The now shotgun wielding shadow asked another question. “Who’s next?”

The speed at which their hands shot into the air surprised even him, “Now miss…if you’ll kindly join me over here…” His voice was soft, his tone tender…after experiencing {No Means No} firsthand at the hands of Esmeralda Von Krauss, this wraith now had no patience for these so-called ‘men’.

Pointing the shotgun at the leader, he orders. “You. Lover boy, take the rope and tie your big friend there and do a good job because I’ll be checking and if I don’t like what I see, you’ll be first.”

Watching him tie the other conscience would-be assailant, he smashes the leader in the back of the head with the butt of the shotgun, dropping him to the pavement face first and drawing a slight scream from Alyssa.

Turning to the lone free thug wannabe, he motions for him to step forward. That’s when the pleading began.

“Man, you don’t gotta do this! I…Umm I didn’t touch her man!” The realization had set in. This homely looking disheveled man was the Bankhead Boogeyman.

“Yes, I must.” He responded flatly. “For it is the only way you’ll learn. It won’t hurt for long.” He final word was accentuated by a right kick to the side of the beggar’s head leaving him sprawled on the ground with his two friends.

Not content to simply wait his turn, the big one decides to make a break for it. Running with desperation, the boogeyman smirks briefly before throwing the shotgun low and hard.

Clattering around the big man’s ankles, it trips him sending him stumbling face first into a trash can before continuing on to the brick walls that lined the alley.

Collecting the weapon, she was right behind him. Just like old times.
“Was all that really necessary?!” She asked, afraid of the answer. Quickly realizing her folly she corrects herself. “I…I mean, I’m sorry. Thank you, I probably owe you my life…you know, again.”

He made a habit of saving her life. In fact, this now marked the third such occasion over the ten years they’d known one another.

“Yes.” He answered flatly as he collected the shotgun. Emptying it of any ammunition, he next searched the four men for cash, valuables, anything he could sell for a quick buck. The Bankhead boogeyman was a wraith, but he was a mere man and men must eat.

She watched him with tears in her eyes. She was to marry this man once upon a time, she couldn’t believe ‘They’ were telling the truth, “Look at what you’ve become!”

Any additional scolding Alyssa might have planned was cut down instantly. “I am what I have always been.” He said with the resolve of a man speaking truth. A shadow. A wraith. A revenant doomed to walk this miserable existence seeking justice. I…am no one.”

She didn’t want to believe that. She had gotten him to open up before. She could do it again. They were both broken in their own ways. “We could try again. I still love you. Now isn’t the time…”

Cutting her off again, “It is the perfect time!” He yelled, but not out of anger. The passion in his voice held strong as he gathered himself. “There is a virus killing people, governments lie to their people, the masses riot in the street for equality…so I have to ask you, if not now; when?”

He was turning away from her now, she was safe, he was leaving. That was his M.O. .

The carvings? They satisfied a deeper urge, a darker urge…one manifested from his own unhealed trauma.

“Don’t you usually carve a message into them?” She wasn’t disappointed so much as she was curious.

“Only when there is a victim.” His words were short, meant to hurt.

Having narrowly avoided a horrid fate, then witnessed, what was essentially, a wild animal attack a pack of kittens, she stood confused and just a little insulted, “Then what the hell was I?”

“Bait.” He responded as he walked away.