The Next One

Chapter Ni

July 8th, 2017

10:26pm

Am I an artist or a scoundrel?

If you asked the police, the answer would be clear; scoundrel. In other words, a dishonest person acting above the law, a roguish vigilante. His expertise unappreciated to all who miss it's meaning. If you consider it, an artist has a similar definition; misunderstood sculptor, whose skills stand untestified. The meaning of their work is loose, each interpretation of the work is purely on a spectrum. Beauty, as the saying goes, is in the eye of the beholder. In which case, most would not appreciate one's such work.

I am not an artist or a scoundrel. I am an innovator.

There are those who are toxic to this world, those who hurt others for their own personal gain. Max faced many in his day, I was the one who put them down for their crimes. It was me who cleaned out the trash of this city. Bullies don't belong in a world like this, they are an amalgamation of all the horrors we once had to endure. Rich, powerful, law-abiding, call it what you must. They are the scum of this city. It is my job to get rid of them.

You made your choice long ago, Maxwell Sandoval.

The quiet hiss of the can as I sprayed a red "x" on the wall was somewhat comforting. I wasn't exhausted from the sprint here, as a cadet I was told I was an excellent runner. My heart lurched back and forth in my chest, the breaths quickening as my lungs fostered the sense of adrenaline. It felt good, oh it felt so good.

My own work never ceased to amaze me. The hueish green portrait of Max I had sprayed so long ago on the walls of this eight story office building was disgusting. It was always too realistic. His lips were always curved into a hideous smirk, mocking me each time I entered. I had sketched Max so many times before, during college, within my sketchbook, and on every scrap of paper I could attain.

I loved him, he used to be so beautiful. His eyes would light up when I entered a room, his smile was never daunting nor ignorant. We were best friends. We could've been more; after all I did for him, he could at least do it as thanks. It made me sad to think, this is where we were now. This is how it had to end.

Now the look of his face just left a bad taste in my mouth.

"Richard Vargus, Erin Oyes, Katy Smitch, Angie Smith," The names rolled off my tongue easily, "Jordy Bourbon, Brandly Savanerr, I never forget a name, Max. I killed them all just for you." I slammed my fist into the wall, a sound echoing across the empty garage, red paint dripping down to meet my hand. I smeared the wet paint on the wall. "Unappreciative son of a bitch!"

"I would have freed you from Lindsey too, if you had just let me. She's nothing more than a waste of your time. All she did was hurt you, tear a hole into your heart that I could've filled. But you never wanted that!" I screamed at the portrait, the red X's paint dripping down the sides of the wall.

I wiped the angry tears from my eyes and took one last look at the painting, tossing the spraycan onto the ground, landing with a loud thud. It was time to go.

As I gathered my belongings; I never looked back at that portrait. I grabbed Mr. Ferguson and stuffed him into the pocket of my backpack. An hour passed as I salvaged anything I could. I torched the remaining items and quickly discarded the dust. I left the office as I had found it, desolate, devoid of life. I left a lot of things like that these days.

On the way down the stairs, I heard footsteps on the lower levels. Someone was here. I spent too long saying goodbye to my temporary home. The plan was to get of town, maybe kill Max along the way, who knows. I had one bus pass for a stop that was anywhere but here. I couldn't bring myself to kill Max. I knew he was here. There was no doubting it.

Perhaps this wasn't a matter of bringing myself to do it, but rather the necessity to complete the task. I had put it off for too long. Time was of the essence; I couldn't stop my heart from beating so fast.

It's time.

I slipped my knife into my right sweatshirt sleeve and pulled out my shotgun, proceeding silently down the stairs. I kept my eyes peeled for a familiar face, and my finger on the trigger.