He attempted to nurse the vacant sockets that once held his eyes, but the blood continued to trickle down his cheeks. They’d been plucked clean from their protective eyelids with telekinetic precision. The relative ease by which his almond-colored portals were removed didn’t lessen the incredible pain of having them extracted.

A foreboding darkness surrounded him, consumed him. It was like he’d been buried alive.

“I didn’t mean to hurt her!” the man cried.

He listened intently for a response, but heard only the whistling of the wind as it passed under the glass pane of the bedroom window, raised slightly from his earlier entrance.

A myriad of stuffed animals lined the room, although most of them had been trampled in the man’s paranoia. Pink paint glazed the walls with a princess themed border spanning about three feet from the beige carpet, now peppered with a red mist.

The man turned away from the door and located the source of the high-pitched whistle. Crawling, he worked his way along the wall and reached the window.

The frigid breeze stung his fingers as they crept into the opening. He appreciated the stinging sensation, because the pain meant he was still alive; it meant that survival was still a possibility.

If the freezing wind induced happiness in this man, then raping pre-pubescent girls was all out euphoria. His heinous crimes were finally catching up with him, though. He considered them accidents, instances where his passion spiraled out of control. Clearly, someone disagreed with his perspective.

Lifting up against the wooden window frame, the man had nearly forced an opening by which to escape. Blood continued to ooze from his hollow eyes. The wintry chill nipped at his pale face and death no longer seemed inevitable.

The man identified an unusual lapse in the flow of cool air only seconds before being struck in the face with a heavy, fast-moving object, knocking him back into the kingdom of stuffed animals.

Dueling rivers of crimson streamed from his nostrils. A mixed sensation of frenzy and fear crashed into him like a tidal wave.

He retreated from the window until his back pressed against the twin bed at the opposite side of the room. Pulling his knees to his chest and wrapping his arms tightly around them, he wept and prayed to God for forgiveness.

Nearly thirty minutes ticked by without further consequence, but the man dared not leave his newfound safe haven, his back still leaning firmly against the little girl’s bed.

She had been his tenth victim in less than six months. Feeling a connection to his recent victim, he had risked apprehension to revisit the scene of the crime.

Sometime around the thirty minute mark, the man heard someone enter through the window. He shifted his head, trying to hone his senses and locate the intruder, “Is someone there?”

A brief cone of silence passed before the heel of a black dress shoe plunged into the man’s nose.

Pleading for mercy, the rapist threw his hands above his head in protest, “Please, just stop for a second!”

Emerson Cook stood over the rapist, respecting the man’s request for a temporary truce. The rapist had suffered a great deal in the preceding hours. Like the dozens of innocent young girls that he’d ravaged and killed.

What sort of human being rapes and kills children? Emerson thought.

Emerson had dedicated a substantial amount of time to terrorize this sad excuse for a man. The torture didn’t instill pleasure or pride in Emerson. But it was necessary. He needed to place the rapists and murderers at the feet of the Almighty, and allow them to grow cold in His overwhelming shadow. Everyone was god-fearing in the right circumstances. It takes a killer to know how to break a killer. And Emerson was a killer.

Saliva spewed from the man’s lips as the speed of his shortened breaths increased. He worried that the end was near.

“Do you believe in forgiveness?” the rapist asked desperately.

Approximately ten seconds passed before Emerson answered, “Yes.”

The battered man breathed a sigh of relief. Comforted by this answer, his bloodied lips peeled back to reveal a smile, “Thank God.”

Emerson removed the safety from his handgun, “But not for what you’ve done.”

The deafening gunshot pierced the man’s sleazy grin, splattering his demented psyche across the pink comforter behind him.

Emerson gazed at a photo of the little girl with anger and sadness tearing at his heart. She was yet another drop in the already overflowing bucket of victims that Emerson had failed to save.

*****

“Emerson! Where you been, lover?” Jasmine teased, blowing a kiss to him.

His partners loitered near a pair of bodies on a severely ruptured sidewalk. This urban neighborhood was familiar with supernatural crime, residing squarely in the middle of Attrition, Maryland. A war between two rival groups of super-villains had overwhelmed the city and its inhabitants. This particular conflict was akin to the storied mafia conflicts of the olden days.

Emerson’s forest green tie flapped against his navy suit coat, falling ill to the restless wind. His eyes exhibited an uncommon bluish green tint, sparkling in the glow of the street lamps like a pair of lab-created gemstones.

Jasmine’s promiscuous comment failed to elicit the desired reaction from Emerson. “What’ve we got here?” he asked plainly.

“Professor Duval sent Paulie and me out to kill the kid, but y’know, Paulie just couldn’t help himself,” Jasmine explained, indicating the young woman. “He got trigger happy and plugged the kid’s fiancé, too.”

Two twenty-somethings were lying on their backs, facing the cold darkness above. Emerson’s breath plumed as he exhaled.

Further examination indicated that the female had sustained two chest wounds. Her lifeless gaze told him that she was gone.

The young man appeared to be breathing, although death was knocking on his door. Paulie had seemingly unloaded an entire clip into the young man’s chest. Somehow, the kid had managed to survive the brutal assault.

Paulie took one last drag of his cigarette before flicking it carelessly into the street, “Damn superheroes. They never die easy, do they, Emerson?”

“No. They don’t.” Emerson responded.

Invading Emerson’s personal space, Jasmine ran her polished fingernails through his short brown hair, “What’s he thinking, baby?”

Emerson studied the young man, gasping for air, “He loved her, and thinks that he failed her.”

The young man’s eyes squinted in agony upon hearing his thoughts recited aloud.

Reading minds was one of Emerson’s many talents, but it was the only one that Jasmine and Paulie were familiar with.

Emerson locked eyes with the young man, “he’s as good as dead. Let’s get out of here.”

The trio turned away from the young couple and walked toward a black sedan parked across the street. Jasmine grabbed Emerson’s arm, allowing for some distance between them and Paulie.

“What took you so long to meet us?” Jasmine whispered.

“I had some personal business to take care of,” Emerson responded.

Jasmine stared at him for a moment, but eventually accepted his answer and continued toward the car.

Emerson peeked over his shoulder. With a wave of his hand, he removed the rounds from the young man’s chest and repaired his injuries, reviving the kid.

Realizing that death had been miraculously driven away, the young man sat up, his confused expression focused on Emerson.

Placing a finger over his lips, Emerson signaled for the kid to stay quiet. He utilized his mastery of telekinesis and forced the kid to lay back. But the kid fought off the mind control and pulled himself closer to his departed fiancé. His fingers stretched for her hand, but it was just out of his reach.

*****

“Yo, Em!”

Emerson immediately recognized the signature greeting of his boss and longtime friend, “Hey Blink.”

The hulk of a man wrapped his burly arms around Emerson. Blink exhibited the size of an offensive lineman, but maintained the shape and definition of a middleweight boxer. His muscles flexed as he hugged his friend, “I heard you was takin’ care of some personal business durin’ your mission last night.”

“Yeah. It was an emergency,” Emerson replied.

Blink was a lower level officer in the criminal organization called Precision Weapons Incorporated, known in most crowds simply as Precision. The organization was headed by Professor Dwight Duval, a renowned mathematician and geneticist. Composed of mainly super-villains and extraordinarily gifted staff, the organization’s secure compound housed approximately two hundred people in total.

Precision doubled as a successful business that farmed out villains to private contractors for various illegal activities. The professional aspect of Precision didn’t detract from the never-ending feud with rival competitor Deadly Instruments, or DI, another group of super-villains taking residence in the Attrition. The media portrayed the two criminal organizations as super-powered mafias, fighting for years over money, territory and respect. Government officials had been bought by both sides to keep the feds from interfering in the continuous war.

“No worries, Em. You’ve been part of this organization your entire life, just like me. It takes more than a personal errand to piss off the Professor. Just don’t make a habit of it.”

“You got it, buddy,” Emerson assured him. “Is Avery around?”

“Yeah, she’s been lookin’ for you, too. What’s up with you guys?”

“Nothing,” Emerson replied.

“Really? Because y’all have been best friends for too long. You’re twenty-five, Em. Twenty-friggin’-five. Boys and girls quit bein’ best friends when they’re teenagers.”

“I’d guess that we’re probably dating, but we haven’t been on an official date yet,” Emerson explained.

“It’s because you’re a workaholic, man. Always doin’ something related to work. It’s time you settled down.”

“C’mon, Blink. No one really settles down in our line of work.”

“Yeah, I guess your right. Your parents were a perfect example of that,” Blink said, immediately realizing that he’d hit a sore spot, even though Emerson refused to admit it.

“I’m gonna swing by Avery’s room before hitting the sack,” Emerson stated, ignoring the reference to his parents while breaking away from his friend.

“Em…I didn’t mean…y’know?” Blink stuttered.

“I know, Blink. Don’t worry about it,” Emerson responded. “Take it easy out there today.”

Blink silently cursed himself for upsetting his lifelong friend, “Will do. Get some rest and I’ll see you tomorrow, buddy.”

*****

Making his way through the compound, Emerson encountered Harvard Preston as he entered the residential wing. Most villains bypassed higher education and dove directly into the business, making this Harvard grad a unique breed of super-villain. Professor Duval shared this distinct accomplishment with Harvard. Perhaps that was why Harvard had been appointed second-in-command at the ripe age of twenty-four.

“Cook, I’ve been informed that you were tardy to your assignment last night.”

“I’ve already spoken to Blink about it,” Emerson asserted, planning to scoot by the higher boss with minimal resistance.

Harvard grabbed Emerson’s bicep, halting his momentum, “That sort of behavior is unacceptable. If it wasn’t for your tenure, I’d have you demoted.”

Emerson glared at the slender gentleman with feathered blonde hair, “Lucky me.”

“Please, make sure it doesn’t happen again,” Harvard said, retracting his grip on Emerson’s upper arm.

Without issuing a response, Emerson continued along his path towards the residential wing. Harvard might look like a pansy, but his abilities were nothing of the sort. His skin was impenetrable aside from the back of his skull. This lone vulnerable spot of his anatomy resulted from an injury immediately following his birth, before his powers had developed. His god-like strength and endurance amplified his indestructible exterior. No one dared to challenge his authority.

After climbing three flights of stairs, Emerson arrived at Avery’s apartment door. Most outsiders probably thought the interior of the compound resembled a prison, but one trip down a residential hallway would convince anyone otherwise. The doors were personalized and painted by the occupant to identify them by a distinct design and color scheme.

Avery’s door was rendered white, sporting a midnight blue cross inside an empty square; the square’s border was rendered the same midnight blue color of the cross. She conceded that a red cross would have been more appropriate given her status within the organization as a healer. But after spending a long day spread across light and heavy healing, red was the last color she wanted to see.

Emerson issued his signature knock on the door – a rapid sequence of knuckles rapping against the hardened wood. Nearly thirty seconds ticked by until the sleepy redhead finally opened the door.

“Hey, Emerson!” Avery greeted him with enthusiasm, although her vampire-like reaction to the hallway light implied that he’d woken her.

“What took you so long to answer the door, you lazy bum?”

Her plump lips revealed a guilty smile, “I was sorta hoping whoever was knocking on my door at 7am on a Saturday morning would go away.”

“Sorry for the early disturbance. I brought you a present.”

Avery looked to her right, and then to her left, seeing nothing but empty hallway, “Is it invisible?”

“Hey, the pretty girl has a sense of humor,” Emerson chuckled, removing a flower from the interior of his suit coat. “It’s a violet.”

“Flowers?!” she uttered in disbelief. “Wow! What’s next? A romantic night on the town?”

“I would like to ask you out on a date, but I have plans tonight. Maybe next weekend?”

Avery twirled the stem of the violet between her fingers as her smile faded, “Always the mysterious one, Emerson Cook. What is it you do at night?”

“Would you believe that I’m a male hooker?”

The redhead giggled, “Now that explains the fancy suit and tie.”

“Seriously, I’d like to take you out next weekend. Anywhere you want to go.”

“How long have we known each other, Emerson?”

“Since we were babies. You know that.”

“All that time and you never asked me out on a date. I mean, it always felt like we were sorta dating, but you never asked me out…until now.”

“I’m the kind of guy who tries to figure everything out. And I’m finally realizing that some things are too complex to wrap my head around. So, this is me trying to overcome my emotional handicap.”

“Well, you’ve taken an excellent first step,” she encouraged. “I’m looking forward to our date. Now go get some rest. You look exhausted.”

“Long night. I’ll catch up with you sometime tomorrow.”

Emerson hugged her goodbye and strolled down the hall towards his own apartment. Avery watched him instead of returning to bed. Her emerald eyes gleamed with enchantment as she observed the love of her life walking away.

He turned back as he arrived at his own door. Their eyes met and they shared a precious smile. For the first time in months, Emerson enjoyed a full eight hours of undisturbed rest.