Color of Justice

The half-moon's bright side flashed as it came out from behind a thick cloud. Its dark half was a pitch hole, blocking out the stars. The sky stretched behind the lunar vision, big and dark like a child's blanket pulled over frightened eyes.

A man crouched behind a bush on Seminole Street in Detroit's Indian Village, looking up at the half-moon with intensity. The stars beyond the moon's dark side seemed stuck in the murkiness of the night sky, held prisoner by its density. A chill was in the air. It was spring, but the long arm of Michigan's winter still held the city in its embrace.

The man behind the bush rose, pushing up like a weed from the cold earth. He stood still a moment, looking at the area from a new vantage, then quickly walked across the street to the large white house. He counted his steps, a curious habit he could not break.

“…nine, ten.” He counted in his head as he
moved into the street. “…sixteen, seventeen…” He crossed it and stepped on the soft grass of the home he watched. “…twenty-three, twenty—”

Suddenly, he saw something from the corner of his vision. He turned quickly, a movement so fluid and fast that it seemed like a practiced motion. He stood motionless on the sidewalk, his back leg pointed out and his weight shifted onto the forward one, like a dancer.

A stray dog walked toward him, each skinny limb rising and falling with a deliberateness the man didn't think a dog possessed. The man faced the animal. The dog stopped in its tracks, too, assessing. The animal's eyes gleamed evilly in the dark. The man met the gaze with one of his own. He grew worried. He was not afraid of the mutt, but thought he'd have to kill it and the noise would ruin his plan. He saw himself stepping on the dog's neck, crushing it, and hearing its plaintive cry echoing in the cool night air. He wanted to do it, wanted to end its worthless life.

Shifting out of his dancer's pose, he took on a defensive stance, then glared at the animal, trying to put his desire to kill the animal into his eyes. The dog seemed to sense this and backed off slowly, then it turned and ran, conceding the staring contest.

A little disappointed, the man turned his back on the mutt and moved on. Soon he was in the back of the house. He crept to a window and glanced inside. The interior was dark, but he could
make out the alarm system's control box. A row of lights glowed on it.

Without hesitation, the intruder moved to a thick bush at the base of the home. He pushed the bush aside, revealing a power box with a padlock on it. The bush was strong and he had to lean on it to keep it down as he worked. He jimmied the lock and opened the power box. Then he unscrewed the master fuse, cutting the power in the house.

Quickly, he ran to the back door and forced it open. The intruder stopped in the pantry just inside the entrance. It was filled with plants, soil, foodstuffs, exotic spices, and imported canned goods. The smell of garlic and onions was thick in the atmosphere.

He entered the kitchen, moved to the right wall, and quickly dismantled the alarm system. If someone turned the power back on, it might send off a distress signal, and then he'd have to abandon his plan. He broke the box's housing and ripped out the wires, uttering a grunt as he did. Satisfied, the intruder stepped away from the wall and went through the kitchen.

Suddenly, a small sense of panic filled him. It was too easy. Now he was worried because nothing in life came this easy. He took a second to compose himself and when he was sure that destiny was with him again, he moved on.

He walked through the big kitchen into the den. A wide-screen TV and overstuffed leather sofa dominated the area. He glanced to his right and
saw the dining hall, an expansive room with a crystal chandelier and a great oak table.

The intruder walked into the living room. The blinds on the windows were only half shut and the moonlight crept in, cutting the room into light and shadow. He moved across the expanse, taking cautious, measured steps on the hardwood floor, careful not to make noise. The streaked light rolled across his body like waves of intermittent energy. It obscured his visage like a strange, floating caul. Moving faster now, he appeared to be a man caught in limbo, drifting on a sea of light and shadow.

He stopped. On the walls above him were pictures. The faces stared down with cold malevolence and he felt himself step backward involuntarily, afraid the apparitions would tear themselves from the frames and attack. He stood in fear for a long moment, not knowing what was real and what his mind had created. His heart beat loudly and he could feel it in his eardrums, pulsing, like a warning. Finally, he pushed himself forward and began to walk again, heading for the stairs.

Climbing the staircase slowly, the intruder stepped lightly. Like the floor, the stairs were hardwood and heavy feet would make too much sound. With each step, he forgot about the frightening people in the pictures and felt a new intensity for his undertaking. He was ascending toward the future.

On the first-floor landing, he looked down a long hallway. A long ornate rug ran down the mid
dle of the floor and five doors were on the hallway. He headed straight for the first one to his left, turning the doorknob, again careful to keep quiet. The door opened with a soft click and he moved inside.

The intruder stopped again as he entered. More of the cruel pictures hung on the walls of the bedroom, guarding the sleeping couple. He fought his fear, knowing he had the power this night, and not even the monstrous countenances could change that.

He moved to the brass bed in the center of the room. A man and woman slept with their backs to each other. The woman looked blissful and content. The man's face held concern in his slumber. Suddenly angered by the man's face, the intruder felt his fist clench tightly.

He could do it now, he thought. Dispatch them to the other side, never letting them awake. But that would do him no good. He needed to find out what they knew first, and for that he had to wake them.

Quietly, he removed a brown bottle from his pocket, poured a substance on a rag, and placed it over the sleeping man's face. The man struggled a bit, then stopped moving. The intruder approached the woman next. Her struggle was not nearly as great. He gagged them, then removed some rope and tied them to the bedposts.

He sat and waited, checking his watch from time to time. After about ten minutes the man came to. He tried to yell, but the gag was firmly in place. The intruder brought the woman out of it,
gently slapping her face like a concerned caretaker. She, too, struggled, but the binds held fast.

The man looked into the couple's terror-stricken faces. He wore no mask, and they understood what that meant. The woman was crying now, tears streaming down her plump cheeks. The man slumped into himself, giving in to the fatality of the situation.

The intruder stood and checked the bonds on the couple. They had not given, but he was taking no chances. He mechanically pulled at the hand and foot restraints and checked the gags. They were secure.

He smiled at them. He was smart, much too smart for the couple, and they were surely at his mercy. He pulled out a small weapon. He placed it on the chest of the fear-stricken man and looked directly into his strained eyes.

“Listen carefully to me,” he said.

Then he fired into his body.

The man jerked and shook from the impact but did not lose consciousness. The intruder repeated his statement to the woman then quickly fired into her side, sending her into spasm of shaking.

Watching as the helpless couple convulsed before him, he was neither elated nor repulsed. He was calm in his mission, his pulse was steady, his mind focused.

He waited until they stopped shaking, then he checked to make sure they were still breathing. They were.

He pulled out another instrument and covered
the wounds he'd just inflicted. Then he removed their gags and asked his question. The victims answered, pleading with him. Unsatisfied, he replaced the gags and fired again.