Judgement's Day

[Kikuyu_Black_Paws]

“Now get out of here before I blow your brains through your ears!”

 

The man stumbled away, blood pouring from nose and mouth, his eye swelling shut under a dark black bruise and smudge of street grime. His attacker grinned after him, waving a gun menacingly in the air as he rifled through the man’s wallet and bag—a newly bought sapphire ring, a diamond necklace. “really hit the jackpot tonight!” the thug laughed roughly.

 

He strolled casually down the alley, throwing the pictures of wife and children on the ground and stomping on them with a cruel twist. He spat and laughed again, stuffing the diamonds into his dirty pocket.

 

A sound made him jump and he whirled, firing a single shot from his gun at the empty wall. He stared, shivering like a startled hind. He glanced left and right, waiting for someone to come after the gun shot, but the alley was silent.

 

“Need some more sleep,” the thief said shakily, wiping sweat from his brow. He looked up again as a white cat, its face half white, half black, yowled loudly from a tower of precariously stacked cardboard boxes. The thug sneered and raised his gun again. “Stupid cat,” he muttered.

 

“You shouldn’t shoot cats.”

 

The thief felt strong fingers grip his wrist, prying the gun from his hand. The cat had disappeared. He turned angrily.

 

It was just a man, tall and thin and dressed in a knee-length black coat. His sallow face was long and sorrowful, his ghostly pale blonde hair cut in an angle around his jaw. The thief took one look at the man’s face and froze in shock—his apprehender had two different colored eyes, one sloe black, the other an albino pale white. The pupil dilated weirdly in the white iris, and the thief wrenched away with an oath.

 

“Get away from me, you freak!” His fist swung around to strike fiercely at the man’s temple.

 

The thief stumbled as his own momentum caught him. “Wait,” he gasped. “Where’d he go?”

 

“You mean me, I presume?”

 

The thief turned around—the man was now behind him. His lips were curled in dislike. “The ‘freak’ I believe you said.” He glanced at the gun he now held loosely in his gloved hands.

 

The thug held up his meaty palms, taking a faltering step backwards. “Now take it easy man,” he stuttered. “Don’t need to do anything hasty. A brother doesn’t do another brother like that, you know?”

 

The man stared at him coldly. “I am not your ‘brother’,” he said. The gun tip raised. “I am your Judgment.”

 

 

 

JUDGMENT’s DAY

 

 

 

 

My name is Judgment. I don’t know what you would call me, exactly. A fallen angel? Hmm, no that’s not exactly right. The Scriptures say that the Devil is a fallen angel, as are his minions. I am certainly not the Devil’s minion, nor another Devil myself. There is only room for one master of Evil in this world.

 

I guess I am...an avenger. An avenger of all the darkness that human beings and that Angel have polluted this beautiful world with.

 

I like cats.

 

My personal appearance...I don’t look at the outside. I concentrate on the inside of a person.

 

Ok, not really. I don’t like the way I look. The pale, dour face that looks back at me from the mirror doesn’t instill confidence that I’ll ever find love, and my eyes...

 

I live alone. My appearance and occupation assure that. It isn’t a bad existence exactly; I found a cat like me, with half a face of white and half of black. I call her Misty. She’s been my companion from kitten-hood and has never asked any questions or looked at me with terror. Terror...hmph. My heart tells me I should feel hopeful—the only people who look at me with terror are the only people who see me, and they’re the only people who need feel terror. But I don’t think that would change the reception if I were to meet someone that was not assigned Judgment.

 

In any case, I broke the mirror three days ago. Now it shows my true self, shattered and incomplete. Misty looked at me askance when she saw all the broken glass and started cleaning her startled fur into a more appropriate neatness. If only I could share her disregard. Her freedom.

 

In any case, I must set out her milk now.

 

 

 

 

The little girl walked down the sidewalk with her hands in her pockets. She was just old enough to have stopped skipping, but the lightness in her step hinted that, were she not the stately age of eleven, she would have been.

 

The grimy apartment buildings, cracked paint smeared with ash, mud, and other unmentionable city slime, did not seem to match her. Or, rather, she did not seem to match the buildings. Which did she live in? Where was her mother, a guardian to keep an eye on her in the dangerous outside world?

 

 

The girl crouched near to a grate in a building and poked at a fallen bit of silver under the mud. She dug and pulled up an old, broken pocket watch. Enchanted she twirled it on its chain, clogged full of dirt and mildew.

 

A movement caught her eye and she looked up. A cat, sitting at the edge of the building, blinked lazily at her with large blue eyes set in a white-black split face. It licked its whiskers and meowed pitifully.

 

“Oh, pretty cat!” the girl cooed, inching forward carefully. “Let me pet you, please!”

 

The cat purred and arched its head under her stroke, digging its jaw into her fingers. The girl glowed with delight, scratching the proffered chin. “Who do you belong to?” she whispered. “You’re far too pretty for a street cat, and too well fed. If you’re lost, your mommy will be worried about you.”

 

The cat stood, trailing its tail through her hand and sauntered away. The girl glanced over her shoulder and followed. They left the open street behind to wander into the darker, shadowed alleys.

 

 

 

 

 

Misty brought a girl today. She couldn’t fit through the small window that my precious cat finds suitable for an entrance, but she did try. I hid in the corner, but she ended up heading home frustrated.

 

I never thought there would be a soul courageous enough to brave the dark alleys that I consider my address. But Misty kept her safe, even though it was for nothing. I wonder what her purposes were, my little kitten. Perhaps she thinks I am lonely. Ha.

 

 

 

She came again. This time she found the door. I was not expecting her—she came in as if she lived here and plunked a few notes on the piano in the corner. I was so startled I dropped my ink bottle and spilled it on the floor. It was the noise that scared her, as she had scared me.

 

“I’m so sorry!” she cried. “I didn’t know anyone lived here! Do you live here? It’s so dark and hard to find.”

 

 

I was amazed she could pack as much into a fearful cry as all that. I admit I was struck dumb. It has been so long since I have met a child, and a respectful, pure child at that. Kids today are almost as corrupt as their parents, and twice as wicked.

 

She immediately grabbed a scrap of cloth and tried to mop up my spilled ink, even gripping my pale hands and cleaning the black from them. I could not stop her, or pull away, or say anything. She held me spellbound with her fearlessness.

 

I did ask her about it, once I found my tongue. “Are you not afraid?”

 

She looked up at me—at my eyes. Her own widened slightly and I saw her gaze flickering from one to the other. But she swallowed and shook her head. “Do you live here all by yourself?” she repeated.

 

“I have Misty,” I replied lamely.

 

The girl’s eyes went to the cat, sitting elegantly with her tail curled about her paws on the piano’s top. “Misty,” she repeated. She put down the ink-stained cloth and dusted her hands off on her shorts.

 

“What’s your name?” I asked breathlessly. I was weak: the idea of a normal relationship made me forget who I am, what I do. It was the most foolish decision of my life.

 

“Lydia,” she said. “What’s yours?”

 

I stumbled over it even as it came to my lips. “J—” I gasped. “Jaye.”

 

“Jaye,” she said. “I had a friend named Jaye once. But he pulled my hair and he wasn’t very nice. But that was a long time ago. Why are boys so mean?”

 

I bit my tongue at this, stories of how little girls can be real witches popping into my head. Perhaps I would be disappointed. Perhaps she, perhaps Lydia would turn out to be just like the rest of them. I turned away as bitter hopelessness constricted my throat.

 

 

She put her hand on my shoulder. “What’s wrong?” she asked. “Are you sick?”

 

“No,” I said softly. “You should probably go. Your parents will be looking for you.”

 

 

 

 

She came back the next day with a bag of animal crackers.

 

I don’t know what to make of her. Why did she come back? There is nothing here appealing except Misty, and even she is a small sort of reward for creeping through dank alleys where any number of monsters could be hiding, figuratively and literally. Her answer to my question stunned me most of all.

 

“To be with you of course,” she said. “It’s so dark here, and quiet. Do you play the piano?”

 

I nodded mutely. She shrugged and sat on the bench, trailing her finger down the white keys. It is the only clean thing in the room, other than Misty and myself. I like to believe my only sin is pride in my cleanliness, or vanity. Or cynicism.

 

“I like the piano,” she mused. An idea came to her and she brightened. Her whole face lit up like a flower and she turned her glowing eyes towards me as if I could somehow give her happiness. “Will you play me something?” she asked.

 

I did not know what to say so I said nothing. I stood and strode over to her, feeling awkwardly tall next to her tiny stature. I chose this apartment, first, not only for its isolation and privacy, but also for its high, lofted ceiling. It tends to make me feel less out of place.

 

I sat at the bench beside her and set my fingers on the keys. I hesitated. “What would you like me to play?” I murmured.

 

“Anything,” she said, leaning on the top of the piano’s lid. “What you like best.”

 

Again I paused in thought. Then I began to play.

 

She listened, though it didn’t seem the kind of music a child would appreciate. She and Misty, even the rafters and walls of the building seemed to listen.

 

She sighed when I finished and leaned her cheek on her arm. “What was it?” she breathed.

 

“Mozart’s Piano Concerto No. 23,” I replied. “One of my favorites.”

 

“Mine too,” she agreed. She reached into her pocket and pulled out a broken pocket watch, cleaned of dirt and grime. She put it in my hand and smiled. “I’ll be back tomorrow.”

 

I watched her go and felt the weight of the watch in my hand, but I did not look up. I kept my eyes on the piano and felt the weight of her gaze as heavy as the silver watch until it disappeared from the room. The strains of the Concerto still trilled in my head. I squeezed the watch and put it in my pocket, beginning another song on the piano. Misty watched me with, I think, a smug smile.

 

 

 

She was hovering over me when the sun was spitting its sparks through the broken glass of my ground-level window. I blinked, uncomprehending, then started from bed. I must have risen too fast, for the blood rushed into my skull and I gripped my temples irately.

 

“I brought you breakfast,” she said, holding something flaky and steaming towards my mouth.

 

I took it in both hands curiously, forgetting my former irritation. The scent of apples filled my nostrils and I hesitantly took a bite. The hot paste exploded into my mouth with a pleasant, soft sensation and I chewed thoughtfully.

 

She giggled and I looked up at her. “You should see your face!” she laughed. “When was the last time you had an apple pie? It’s just a single serving, but it’s filling.”

 

I swallowed and murmured my thanks. Lydia grinned and bent down, opening a can of food for Misty. The meaty smell of cat food brought her down in a leap and a skip, and she nibbled daintily, hungrily at the dark sauce. I felt a tinge of guilt for never obtaining cat food for her somehow.

 

“I want you to come with me today,” she said. “It’s the city faire, and there’s a carousel and cotton candy and popcorn, and even a Ferris wheel! I’ve never been on a Ferris wheel before, but you have to have an adult with you, so...”

 

I stared at her as she rattled off her reasons only to pause staring at the floor, scuffing her toe nervously awaiting my answer. I replied by standing up and walking towards the piano.

 

“It’s just one day!” she said urgently. “Just one day and then I won’t ask you again. We can stay here and you won’t be bothered by anyone else. Please!”

 

 

I paused at the instrument, resting a hand on its sleek surface. “Tell me you aren’t just using me,” I said darkly. She took a nervous step backwards as I turned a stare on her, a stare I didn’t even realize I was wearing. A stare I only used for those to be Judged.

 

“Of course not!” she said vehemently. “I’ll swear by anything you want!”

 

I held up a hand, convinced by the fire in her voice and the indignation, hurt in her eyes. “You don’t need to swear,” I said in a gentler voice. “You don’t need to.”

 

“So will you come?” she whispered.

 

I stared at the piano, suddenly wanting to go. I had not been among other people since...I could not remember. I glanced at Misty; she licked her chops and stared at me lazily, flicking her tail towards the door.

 

It was all the advice I needed. I grabbed my jacket and slipped it on over my white shirt and black vest. Her little pocket watch she had given me was looped in the chest pocket—she smiled shyly when she saw I was wearing her gift. I pulled on my loose cap and sighed, glancing in the broken mirror. I looked quickly away again and let her little hand pull me out of the door and up into the sunlight.

 

 

 

 

 

 

The faire grounds were packed with people. Popcorn flying, cotton candy ballooning in great gobs at the corners, great tents of vibrant stripes set up at every possible square of land selling cloths, toys, and crafts in silver, steel, and wood. The little girl jumped up and down with delight, rode the carousel and the Ferris wheel, and ate cotton candy until her tongue was red.

 

All eyes inadvertently turned to her strange overseer and quickly away again. Like a great black crow, he was thought to be a body guard, a child-services agent, anything from A to Z but a friend. A companion. His wild eyes and dark demeanor out ruled that possibility. Next to this charming, brightly colored child, he was a black rose already beginning to wilt.

 

As the sun began to set the man held back from the tension on his hand that the little girl had kept constant pressure on. She looked back in surprise—the man was staring at the horizon, up and over the faire grounds. His eyes were distant, and no pulling on his arm could grasp his attention.

 

Finally he started and looked back at the girl, who was close to tears in worry. “What’s wrong?” she gasped. “You didn’t move for so long, I thought...”

 

“I’m fine,” the man said. “I have to leave you now—can you get home by yourself?”

 

The girl blinked, nodded, and watched as he melted into the crowds. Each bystander leaned unconsciously away from him, so that she watched him disappear as though traveling down a very, very long tunnel ribbed with people and faces instead of stone and metal.

 

 

 

 

 

“Hey, gorgeous, come back!”

 

The woman walked quickly, terror and disgust rising like gall in her throat. The sound of drunken laughter followed her down the street, and she reached into her purse for her pepper spray. How she hated being out at night! She refused to look behind her, but quickened her pace as she heard multiple, heavy footsteps speed up behind her.

 

A rough hand grabbed her elbow and she swung around, slamming her purse into the thug’s head. He swore and fell back, but another grabbed her waist. “Get off me!” she screamed, and the pepper spray went right in his eyes. He screamed loudly, but the third grabbed both her arms and pinned them behind her. She cried out in pain, the spray falling from her limp hands.

 

The first thug touched a small cut on his forehead and grimaced. “You’ll pay for that one,” he hissed. He reached out and grabbed her jacket. “But first we’ll all have a little fun with you. An eye for an eye, eh?”

 

“That sounds about right.”

 

The two thugs looked up in surprise. A man in dark clothing stepped out of an adjoining alley and let the peppered man fall from his grasp. The men followed his descent with wide eyes. The gasping woman stared in horror but had the good thought to kick out wildly, catching the thug in front of her in the groin. He screamed and flung his hand out, backhanding her across the face.

 

The black-clothed stranger swooped on the cringing, agonized criminal, grabbing his throat in his long, gloved hands.

 

A moment’s struggle. He stood up again, panting slightly, his blonde hair somewhat mussed. His eyes turned to the last thug, the white and black both gleaming brightly in a fall of light.

 

The final man was holding a gun to the woman’s head, panting so loudly it echoed off the walls. “Now take it easy man,” the mugger gasped. “You move one step and she gets blasted.” He took a few faltering steps back, glancing over his shoulder for the exit to the alley. Each step he took was mimicked by the black clad avenger.

 

“I said stay back!” the man screamed, his voice so wild that even the woman cried out in fear.

 

“Mom?”

 

Lydia was standing at the edge of the ally where the pseudo-hero had first appeared, watching with wide eyes. The woman looked at her and groaned in terror, tears spilling from her eyes. Her mouth moved, wordlessly crying the same negative over and over.

 

“Lydia, get away from here!” the stranger cried.

 

“But Jaye,” the little girl gasped. “What...”

 

From the alley a white cat with a split face yowled loudly.

 

A shot rang out as the terrorized criminal screamed in fright.

 

Jaye turned—Lydia’s face was pale. A small hole darkened the front of her shirt in the middle of her chest, grew with surprising speed as blood poured from the gunshot wound.

 

The woman yanked free from the criminal’s loose grasp with a shriek and grabbed her daughter as she fell.

 

The criminal stared dumbly at his handiwork. “I didn’t mean to,” he muttered dumbly. His eyes turned to the stranger, his old fear rising in his face again.

 

“Whether or not you meant to,” the stranger breathed hoarsely, “you did it. And such an act requires due Judgment.” His eyes met the murderer’s and a chill of horror ran between the two gazes.

 

 

 

 

 

Jaye watched the scene unfold from a distance. Three dead men and a shrieking, sobbing mother cradling her dead baby’s body. Her little girl. Lydia.

 

The police were scrambling, trying to lift some trace of the one missing link. But none would be found. Not ever. Lights flashed yellow and blue and white and red against the dark alley walls, but no light could penetrate the blackness.

 

Jaye looked down at Misty and tears swam to his eyes, pouring out grey on his cheeks. “Love,” he whispered, looking back at the woman. “You did this to show me there was love in the world still? Well, you can have the world. I’ve done with it.”

 

He turned and walked away from the cat. He crossed alleys and streets, not caring who saw him. The entire night passed as he paced away.

 

Finally, as dawn approached, he found himself in a cleaner, brighter alley with clotheslines and neat trashcans. A household nearby was just beginning to wake, opening a restaurant of some cuisine or other. Music caught his ears and Jaye turned his head, listening to the piano that crept along the air.

 

“Chopin’s Piano Nocturne in Ebm,” Jaye said softly. He smirked and closed his eyes, swaying as he listened. He turned away again, took a few steps, and sank to his knees. Blood pooled between the fingers of his hand pressed tightly against his side-- he had not been quick enough this time to dodge. An image of Lydia running down the alley towards him made him start, but there was nothing there—only the rising sun.

 

The music swam through his trailing thoughts, mixing with reality and imagination. The light swelled around him, leaving nothing but the dawn and the music. Jaye gasped, his eyes widening as if he had been struck by a thought, or as if a tiny hand had just grabbed his own again. “Judgment,” he whispered. The piano swam to its minor crescendo and light spilled over the edges, purging the darkness and leaving nothing in its wake. The ground tilted, rose to a dark vertical hatch of black stone against white dawn, and shuddered as if something heavier than the world had fallen against its surface. The blackness faded to white and the piano trilled its finale, petering out the last, beautiful note.

Edited January 29, 2009 by Kikuyu Black Paws