The Legend

by Augustin, G. A.

  I'm scheduled for physical therapy in the morning. I have been confined to this bed for a week. I'm eager to have these restraints removed. It's mortifying to have a nurse put a bed pan underneath me so I can remove my bowels or have them hold a plastic container while I urinate in it. Even having them scrub my body with a sponge, brush my teeth and feed me like I'm an old helpless man humiliates me.

  Later on at night, I awakened from a nap and found myself lying on the frigid concrete ground in a narrow downtown alley. "How did I get here?" It was the typical downtown alley infested with rats scurrying through sizable piles of garbage bags. There were potholes the size of canyons that I’m certain have busted many car tires. There also was an abhorrent stench of urine. It's drizzling but the distant flashes of lightning in the black clouds reveal an approaching thunderstorm. I'm still wearing this ridiculous hospital gown and I'm bare foot.

  Suddenly I got an earful of wet footsteps behind me. I spun around and caught sight of a man wearing a black balaclava ski mask clenching a sawed-off rifle. It's Hoyt. Just as our eyes met he lurched. The rifle fumbled out of his hands and plunged into a puddle. He took a couple of subtle steps backwards while holding out his quivering hands before him. Then he pivoted around and bolted into the aphotic alley. I leaped onto my feet, retrieved the rifle and pursued after him; following the sounds of his fleeting steps splattering against the wet ground.

  Hoyt fled until he ran into a sudden dead end. A lofty brick wall impeded his path. He stopped before it and gawked at the towering layers of bricks as if he was defeated. He then spun around quivering and flattened his back against the wall.

  "PLEASE DON'T KILL ME!" He begged while snatching the mask off his face and clasping it in-between his folded hands.

  I sauntered towards Hoyt with my right arm extended and aimed the rifle at his forehead. He suddenly faltered to his knees quivering and pleading for forgiveness. I stopped a couple of steps from him and watched him beg. The rain caused his spiky mohawk to collapse and red dye ran down his face. I can't even muster up the slightest bit of remorse for him. I drew back the safety mechanism. He flinched and shielded his face with his arms and hands. At that moment, a sizeable shadow of a figure scampered along the brick wall. I quickly spun around and surveyed the alley. There was no one there. I turned back and began to depress the trigger. Suddenly the shadow returned along the lofty wall. It broadened as the footsteps drew closer. I turned around again and caught sight of the towering inky caped figure emerging out of the darkness and peering at me with his devilishly red eyes; The Legend. "Get out of here!" I demanded. He continued advancing with his cloak flowing off his shoulders and disposing on the ground in a perfect crescent. "I swear I'll shoot you too!" Without warning, The Legend swiftly sprinted towards me with his rampantly flailing cape trailing him. I fired a shot at him but he somehow managed to elude it. Once within range, he leaped in the air and tackled me onto the wet ground. The sawed-off rifle was knocked out of my hands. It drifted along the slippery concrete until it plunged through a sewer drain. We wrestled until I racked up enough strength to hurl him off of me. I made an effort to get to my feet but was suddenly bashed by a knee to my face. The stunning blow caused me to stagger. The Legend then clenched my gown and pinned me up against the brick wall. He drove his forearm into my throat. It hampered my breathing a bit. While being held, Hoyt got off his knees and took off running until he vanished into the dark alley. I struggled to break The Legend's grip but it was too firm. "Why are you letting him get away?" I gasped. He didn't respond. "Get off me, he's getting away!" He refused to acknowledge me. I clenched his mask and snatched if off his face. Before I could get a glimpse of him, I was suddenly awakened by the doctor.

  The security guard unfastened the restraints from my wrist and ankles. "Can I use the restroom?" I asked. The doctor nodded his head. I climbed out of the bed and stepped onto the frigid white tiled floor. The nurse gave me a hand and assisted me in. Once inside, I flipped the light switch and looked into the mirror. I haven't seen my face in over a month. It was buried in a dark coarse beard. My head was cleanly shaved with a five inch scar going alongside of it. Then I took notice of my eyes. They were bloodshot; piercing red demonic-like eyes. Although rather unusual, it was intriguing.

  "You must be wondering about your eyes?" The doctor assumed as I stepped out of the bathroom.

  "What happened to them?" I inquired.

  "The trauma from the gunshot wound caused the blood vessels in your eyes to burst."

  "Is it permanent?"

  "I can't say at this time." The doctor answered. "There are other side-effects you should know of. Like we mention you won't experience fear like you used to. Also your aggression will sometimes be uncontrollable as you noticed. You will experience hallucinations as well. You might not be able to decipher what is real and what isn't. Duane, these combinations could make you a violent person without proper medication. I strongly recommend you take the prescriptions as prescribed. It is imperative. I don't want you hurting yourself or someone else. A man that knows no fear is a dangerous one."

  Detective Bernhardt and Wu returned to the hospital later on in the day. They asked about the shooting once more. A large portion of my memory has returned but the tiny details they inquire about are still vague. Trying to remember causes a scathing headache. "All right Duane. We won't bother you anymore. Just give us a call if something comes back to mind." Detective Wu advised while handing me her business card.

  After enduring several days of physical therapy, I was finally being released from the hospital. Before the doctor signed my discharging papers, he insisted I ingest my medication while he watched. After downing the pills, he reiterated to my parents "It's imperative he continues to take the medication." The hallucinations have stopped. My demeanor has also become tranquil. I don't care for the medication though. I feel like I'm being muzzled.

  In order to be closely monitored I had to move back to my parent's home in Brooklyn, New York. Before leaving Capitol City, my parents drove me to Lolani's grave. I never got a chance to tell her "Goodbye."

  My parents stayed behind while I made my way to her resting place. After hiking up a grassy hill, I caught sight of a grave site with white and orange carnations draped over a marble headstone. It's hers. I'd thought I'd be able to feel some kind of emotion; sadness, anxiety or anger. However, there was nothing. My eyes couldn't even muster a tear. This medication doesn't allow it. I'm just a blank canvass.

  I kneeled before the headstone and rested my right hand on it. The first words that came out of my mouth were an apology. I selfishly brought this on her. I should've told her about the dire straits that followed me around. It was those secrets I kept that cost her her life.

  After moments of prayer, flashes of lightning began to ignite the city sky. They were followed by distant roars of thunder. Gentle raindrops began to fall on me. I stood up, glanced at her site one last time then sauntered down the grassy hill to my father's car. My parents were waiting for me outside the vehicle. Before I could get in, they both embraced me with a firm hug.

  My parents own a three family brownstone renovated into a lofty single family house in a prosperous middle class neighborhood in Brooklyn, New York. The second I made my way through the front door I caught whiff of Caribbean Breeze air freshener. The hallway is immaculate. It's a complete contrast to the cesspool I have been dwelling in. The wood finished floors had a luster to it. It looks like my father managed to refinish the vintage wood trimmings along the walls as well. I had a sudden feel of nostalgia; back to my childhood when life was simple.

  I spend my days sulking in my room. My parents left it precisely how I did before moving; in case I decided to move back. They haven’t removed the pull-up bar that hung in my doorway. My sparring dummy is covered in dust but continued to lean against the corner by the window and my dumbbells are still underneath my bed. I pass time by working out. Every morning I stretch for ten minutes then warm up by throwing strikes
and grappling with the dummy. I do five hundred push-ups, sit-ups, squats, lunges, calf rises, military presses and pull-ups a day. It helps the time pass and keeps my mind off Lolani.

  Since moving back to Brooklyn I seldom leave my room. I ignore the phone calls from my former college classmates checking on my well-being. I have no need for friendships. I'm not in the mood for it. I haven't tried dating again nor have I tried looking for a job. My parents are worried about me. "It's not normal for someone your age to be so antisocial." I don't feel like socializing. I just want to keep to myself.

  I haven’t dreamt since moving back home. The medication prevents them. It’s probably for the best. Reliving her homicide every night would drive me to hang myself. It’s been nine months since Hoyt barged into the cleaners and shot her. I haven't heard anything from either of the detectives since. Detective Bernhardt assured me I'd be kept posted this time. That only means one thing; Hoyt hasn't been apprehended yet.

  It's now minutes to midnight. Just before calling it a night, it dawned on me that I haven't taken my medication today as prescribed. They're kept in the kitchen on the first floor and I'm too weary to walk down two flights. I've been taking the medication for the past eight months. Neglecting the pills for a night can't possibly cause any grave ramifications.

  I fell asleep like any other night. There were no hallucinations, no violent tendencies or voices in my head, initially. My slumber suddenly made a turn for the worse. In the middle of a deep sleep, I heard a disturbing scream and it startled me awake. It sounded as if it were off in the distance. I lurched upright and glanced around the room. The cries continued but I was unable to find the source. "Is someone there?" I frantically inquired. They began to grow louder. "Is someone there?" I persisted to ask.

  The cries have now become unbearable. I clasped my ears in efforts to hinder myself from hearing it. It was ineffective. I jolted off my bed and backed into a corner. The cries wouldn't stop and it was disturbing. Suddenly, my bedroom closet gradually creaked open. "Who's there?" I hollered. A man wearing a black balaclava ski mask cambered from behind the door. He aimed a sawed-off rifle at me. He had a trifling squint in his eyes. Before he managed pull the trigger, I awoke. I sat up in my bed and glanced over at my closet. It was empty. The clock on my dresser displayed four in the morning. "What's happening to me?"

  The homicide kept running through my mind for the duration of the morning. The guilt of hiding in my parent's home while Hoytsworth still roamed the streets was becoming inundating. I can't stay here any longer. Not while he's still out there.

  Later on that night, I wrote a letter to my parents. I disclosed how much I appreciated them for what they've provided me with. I apologized in advance for what I was about to do. But I have to do it. It needs to be done! I fixed the note on my arranged bed and then skulked out of the house.

  I arrived at the bus terminal inside Grand Central Station just in time to secure a nine o'clock ticket to Capitol City. “What happened to yours eyes?” The clerked inquired. I ignored him, snatched my receipt and headed to the coach. The passengers began boarding just as I left the ticket booth. I didn't have any belongings other than the black hoodie and black jeans I had on; my wallet, keys and cellphone were in my pocket. After being jostled by impatient ticket holders, I managed to get onboard and secure a seat in the back. I pulled my hoodie over my head and rested against the window. I couldn't help notice how magnificent and full the moon was tonight. I've never seen it so brilliant in my life.

  The bus was filled to capacity. The tight seating allowed for no leg room. A heavyset male sat beside me cramping me even more. Just as the driver departed from the terminal he informed us the air condition was inoperable. The antsy passengers began to protest and request a discount on their ticket prices. Just as I thought things couldn't get any worse, the husky male besides me unwrapped a homemade tuna and ketchup sandwich that left a foul odor on the bus for the duration of the trip.

  After enduring the torturous five hour ride, I finally arrived at downtown Capitol City bus terminal. The heavy rain pelted the roof and windows of the bus. The line to the exit was hampered by the elderly and passengers struggling to retrieve their bags stored on the overhead compartments. The antsy passengers became unruly as their escape from the malodorous and blistering bus was hindered.

  I felt alleviated the moment I stepped off the bus. However, it wasn't too long before I was bombarded by overbearing taxi drivers badgering for a fare. I jostled passed them and headed to the ATM. I fetched my entire savings, a measly three hundred bucks, then treaded to the subway station and waited on the platform for the next arriving train.

  Twenty minutes past before a red graffiti-tainted train trundled into the station then screeched to a stop. The double doors parted and I stepped into the rearmost car. The puddles of grime from the passengers' wet shoes smeared the floor. There were unruly hooligans inside the car all sporting black leather biker jackets with a red horizontal strip going across the back. They were speaking brazenly amongst one another and scribbling graffiti on the walls and doors. One was carving his street name into the window with a large serrated blade; "Domino Sullivan."

  I came upon a decent seat amongst the piles of gum wrappers, newspapers and snack bags discarded on the benches. I leaned back and hunched my head over my chest. Just as the train left the station I overheard one of the individuals belt a sharp whistle tune and the rowdy crowd drew quiet.

  Suddenly, while my head was slouched down, I heard footsteps approaching. "What's in your pockets?" Domino Sullivan demanded. I brushed him off and persisted to stare at the floor. "You deaf?" He barked while revealing his pristine six inch silver knife. The blade reflected an elongated image of me as he hoisted it before my eyes.

  "Empty out your pockets!" He suddenly clenched my hood that was still covering my head. He was bold and I felt disrespected by him touching me. It had gotten me mad. I swiftly smacked his hand off my clothes and pelted him in the sternum with a right uppercut. He buckled over, fumbling the knife and then faltered to his knees. He clenched onto his chest while coughing harshly.

  "WAH-DAH FUCK?" Another one of the gang members barked. The other three suddenly began barreling in my direction. At that moment, the bane this city caused me to endure resurfaced. It infuriated me. I wanted retribution: violent vengeance. I wanted to inflict deep pain. I wanted to scar their faces so at any moment when they peered at their reflection they remembered me.

  I bent over, snatched the serrated knife off the floor and firmly gripped the handle. I held it up and got into a fighting stance. One persisted to rush me as the others became hesitant. Once in arms reach, he cocked his right fist back and pitched a right hook towards my face. I eluded the punch then slashed him on his thigh. The keen-edged blade caused a profound gash. He staggered to a bench clenching onto his leg as it began bleeding profusely.

  "GOT-DAMMIT!" The hooligan bawled while tending to his wound.

  I clenched the knife tighter and sauntered towards the individuals. "Chill out!" They pleaded as I persisted to advance. The train screeched to a halt at the following station. The hooligans urged me to "Put the knife down" as I neared them. Suddenly, through the window, I caught sight of a dark figure poised on the platform; that black cloak that flowed off his shoulders and disposed on the floor in a perfect crescent, that black mask that concealed his face and amplified his devilishly red eyes. He held me against that brick wall while Lolani's killer escaped through the alley. "You bastard!" I growled and darted off the train.

  Once on the platform, The Legend was no longer in sight. I glanced around the station and couldn't spot him anywhere. The double doors shut and the train began rumbling down the tracks leaving me behind. It was unsettling. Once again he managed to outwit me. My frustration grew to a peak. I lunged towards a subway platform billboard and stabbed it with the knife. The blade drove so deep only the handle was visible. I then began pelting the walls with vigorous combinations. I kicked over the gar
bage cans and ripped the movie posters down. "LOLANI!!!" I bawled as I faltered to my knees. My cries resonated throughout the tunnels. Tears drifted down my face. No longer being restricted by the medications, I was finally able to mourn.

  A number of trains passed while I sulked on the bench inside the station. "...You might not be able to decipher what is real and what isn't. Duane, these combinations could make you a violent person..." The doctor forewarned me. My headache resurfaced with a vengeance and caused my nose to bleed. A train arrived and I brought myself to board. The car was vacant. I sat with my hood mantled over my head and wiped the blood from my nose with the back of my hand. The double doors closed and the train trundled towards the succeeding stop.

  I didn't have a clue as to what I was doing here. I just stood before the dry cleaners as the heavy rain drops pelted me. The red vertical neon sign was left on; "Delancey's Dry Cleaners." Both "D's" still flickered. The boss still hasn't replaced the bulbs.

  I started reminiscing about eagerly waiting behind the counter for Lolani's arrival every Thursday. Then I started thinking about our first date. Soon I was hauled off to a time where we were together; a time when we were happy. I was no longer outside the dry cleaners but in her soft bed lying next to her. We're munching on popcorn and watching a '70s Kung Fu flick. I revealed the ending to the movie and she pummeled me in the head with a pillow. I playfully dove on top of her while imitating one of the characters. She laughed so hard she began tearing.