In the Darkness of the Night

Fog filled the night’s air and made it seem as though the darkness was moving in from all sides. The figure walked through the gathering fog steadily and with measured step. He, for I perceived it to be a “he”, walked past me without a sound.

Just a single glance at this man made me stop and turn to take another look. I turned to look, but the fog had already obscured his passing.

I tried to make sense of what I had seen, but it was hard for I had seen very little. The only thing I could really say for sure was that he was tall and the wide brimmed hat that he wore made him seem all the taller.

After a moment’s hesitation, I took off in pursuit of this figure for I had but one question in my mind, “What does such a man want on the waterfront at this time of night?”

I felt a strong sense of foreboding, but shook it off and continued in my pursuit.
The sound of water lapping against the docks should have warned me, but the fog confuses sound as well as sight.

I took a step and felt nothing under my foot. My entire body was beginning a slow descent, when I felt a tug at the back of my coat. My drop towards the water was arrested as quickly as it had begun.

I turned to see who my savior was and was surprised and even terrified to see that it was the man whom I pursued.

We were mere inches from one another and all I could see were his eyes. The eyes, his eyes had a cold, hard look to them. The eyes themselves were colorless, but the face that enclosed them was twisted in rage, not aimed at me but some other person or force.

I could see clearly, now, that besides the wide brimmed hat, he wore a dark colored scarf that covered the lower part of his face. He also wore a long dark overcoat that terminated near his ankles.

I tried to voice a thanks, but found my mouth dry and unusable. He nodded as though he knew what I wanted to say. He pointed with a gloved hand in the direction I should go. I nodded in return and he was gone into the fog once again.

I debate with myself as to whether I should continue my pursuit of the figure or continue my original journey to the warmth of my home. I decided at length to continue my pursuit.

I dived into the fog once again, being more careful this time.

At length, I came upon a large waterfront warehouse. My first impression was to pass by and continue my search for the man I had seen. However, the sound of voices arrested my steps and I entered the warehouse quietly.

I made my way towards a light that shone from among the crates and the voices that accompanied it. I made my way as stealthily as possible, but I sincerely doubt that anyone would have noticed my presence even if I had stomped about.

The attention of the three men in the lighted area was focused on the strangely garbed stranger. They had been in the process of opening several crates when he had obviously interrupted them.

As I looked on there was no sound, but that of the figure speaking. His voice was unlike that of any I had heard before, and I have had a fair amount of experience in that area. It was rough and it cut sharply through the air like the sound of a saw.

“I have warned you before,” said the man I had been following, “but you chose to ignore it. You have been poisoning the citizens of this fair City with your foul opium and I intend to stop you.”

“We don’t intend to be stopped by you or any other fool,” replied one of the men in a sharp tone. The speaker stood a full head taller than any other man. His appearances were rough and unmannered. His eyes were a piercing blue color and as cold and the blue ocean they resembled.

“Then I must take matters into my own hands.” With a flick of his gloved hands, the figure threw open his overcoat. The inside of his coat was full of pockets and those pockets in turn were full of many firearms, including revolvers and sawed-off shotguns.

Upon seeing this formidable personal armory, the opium smugglers drew their own weapons. The stranger reached for two sawed-off shotguns and leveled them. Both guns went off as one and the small warehouse was filled with thunder.

As the shooting started, I dived behind some crates and lay there as quietly as I could. Bullets smashed into the wood of the crates around me.

As quickly as it had started, the shooting stopped and there was silence. I peered over the top of the crates to see if things were all clear. The gunsmoke from the shootout was almost as thick as the fog outside. I could only see one figure standing and the rest were sprawled across the floor. As the smoke cleared, I recognized the lone living player in this crazy drama. It was the stranger who I had been following.

He was slumped against a pile of crates. Red blood stained the wood of the crate and made them a mud color. His arms hung limply at his side.
I made my way towards him carefully, almost fearfully. I was afraid that me might be dead, but I could hear him take a sharp breath.

He stood there leaning against the crates as if he was tired and only resting for a minute, my trained eye told me that there was something decidedly wrong.
“Here, let give you a hand,” I said moving forward to help him.

“No!” His voice was much softer than when he had spoken before and it was full of pain, both physical and mental. He pushed himself away from the boxes and tried to stand. His legs would not take his weight and he sunk towards the floor.

I rushed forward and caught him before he fit the ground. “See here, my good man. I have no intention of letting you die before I hear your story.”

“My story,” he said in a pained voice. His breath was ragged and took much effort. “My story is quite dull indeed, doctor.”

“Do you know me, then?” I asked as I looked at his wounds. His only response was a slight nod.

I reached up to pulled the scarf away, but he weakly pulled my hand away. Some of the hardness returned to his voice, “We must leave before the police arrive. Someone surely heard the shots.”

I nodded and helped him to his feet. After holstering his guns, the stranger leaned on me and we made our way into the fog.

He pointed the way, as I helped him walk. We made our way through alleys and down streets that had long been forgotten by most people.

We walked for what seemed like hours. We were forced to stop several times to avoid being seen.

We finally stopped in an alleyway. The stranger pressed a brick into the wall. After hesitating for a minute, the wall opened up before us and we entered.

The room was dimly lit by two gas jets on the wall. In what light there was, I was able to maneuver him into a large leather chair. After turning up the gas jets so that I could see, I again endeavored to remove the scarf.

This time he did not resist and in fact, helped me remove it. The face beneath was young and soft, but the eyes still showed a hardness that only comes with years of life experience. I knew that face.

I lit a candle and brought it close to examine the face.
He smiled in his pain and said, “I told you that my story was dull, doctor.”
I stared in shock. This man was no stranger to me. “Roger, my dear boy. My God, how did you end up like this? The last time that I saw you, you were at the top of your class in medical school.”

“Remember when my parents were gunned down?”

“Yes, you left shortly after that. I heard that you blamed yourself for not being there to stop it.”

He struggled for breath. “That’s true, doctor. I found out that the man who had killed them was looking for money to pay for opium. I decided to take the fight to him and those like him. There was nothing that the police could do.” He coughed violently.

“It seems as though I have failed.” He sighed and fell back onto the couch.
I stood there for several minutes looked at his still warm corpse. It amazed me how young life could be so wasted.

What is this world coming to that honest citizens must turn to violence find justice? Where is the justice in that?