Justifying Death

My fingers instinctively tighten into fists as I watch a middle aged man berating the teenage barista behind the counter. He's wearing a starched three piece suit and his arrogance is far more smothering than the liberally applied aftershave that's permeating the air of the tiny café. The barista cowers with every jab of his index finger, her eyes brimming with tears from his raised voice and needless belittlement. Once he has a complimentary coffee in his hand from the apologetic manager, he's exiting the building with a smug grin. I glance at the barista once more but she's already slipped into the bathroom; her sobs are amplified from the echoes of the small tiled space. I click my tongue and swiftly turn on my heels to follow the man. It takes no effort to locate him because he's standing only a few feet away from the coffee shop, loudly barking commands into his cell phone; The person on the other end can only get in a few broken syllables between his screaming fits. 

"Well it's your ass on the line if this deal falls through, got it?" He doesn't wait for a reply before he's shoving his phone into his pocket and tossing the nearly full coffee into a trashcan. 

There's very few towering businesses in the area so it would be fairly easy to assume which one he'd be heading to, but jerks like him are a dime a dozen and not worth the chase. I close my eyes and slowly exhale to lower my blood pressure. It does very little to help, but fortunately when I open my eyes again he's out of sight. 

I press my back into the brick wall behind me and take the opportunity to people-watch on the busy street. There's mothers toting along crying children, food vendors shouting out their daily special, skateboarding teens with blasting music, and couples cooing at one another before sneaking kisses and continuing down the sidewalk hand in hand. A muffled sound to my right catches my attention and I turn the corner to see a woman tossing a black garbage sack into a dumpster. My eyes catch brief movement in the bag and my stomach is already twisting before I can confirm my suspicions. The woman kicks the dumpster with a sneer then lights a cigarette before casually continuing down the alley while flipping up the hood of her jacket to hide her face. Images fill my mind of wrapping my hands around her throat to watch the life drain from her face before tossing her limp body into the very same filthy dumpster. 

"Those cigarettes will do her in soon enough." I grumble under my breath then sprint to the dumpster to retrieve the garbage bag. 

My hands tremble as I untie the sack, already knowing what I'm going to find but hope against all hope that for once I'm wrong. No such luck. Weak mews escape the bag and my throat tightens as I scoop three drenched kittens into my palms. They're so tiny and emaciated that they seem more like strips of matted fur than actual animals. If it weren't for their soft cries, I would have assumed they were already gone. 

"I'm so sorry, little ones." I choke out. 

I press tender kisses to each kitten's forehead and hold back tears as they go stiff in my hands. One gives a final garbled cry before the alley is filled with painful silence and they're cold in my palms. I give one final nuzzle against their wet fur before gingerly tucking their bodies into the large pocket of my hoodie. This world is too cruel for such innocence. 

"I hope that woman chain smokes her  way to life support." I bitterly hiss out in a curse but know that she'll continue smoking her way to old age until she's surrounded by doting loved ones at her deathbed. 

I place a supportive hand over the lump in my hoodie and make my way down the alleyway. The local clock tower chimes to signify a new hour and I check my watch to verify the time. I'm going to be late for work if I keep dawdling, but these kittens deserve to be mourned and I'm the only one that will do it. 

I locate a quaint cemetery with a cherry blossom tree that seems out of place given the expected melancholy atmosphere. The vibrant pink flowers seem like the perfect location to give the kittens their final resting place, so I dig a shallow grave with my hands until they're tucked into the sun-warmed earth. I wipe the tears from my cheeks with my sleeve, careful to avoid getting dirt in my eyes. A flash of movement darts behind the tree and I take a few steps until I see a brunette woman curled into a ball with her arms around her knees. She flashes frightened eyes at me and I grit my teeth at the dark purples and greens that cover her swollen face. Her bloody dress is in tattered shreds and the rest of her body mimics the assorted colors of her face. I carefully take a step closer to her but she flinches and scoots further away from me. I don't want to scare her so I pause and hold up my hands in a hopefully pacifying 

gesture, shaking my head to show her I don't mean her harm. It's no use. She continues watching me with terror stricken eyes while scrambling around the tree to escape me. I look at her ankle that's still peeking out from the tree and shudder at the large hand-shaped bruise wrapped around her boney ankle. I try to picture the cowardly man that did this to her but I can only see red. I circle round the tree once more, causing her to shriek in surprise when I stand before her. I crouch onto my haunches and look her in the eyes with a solemn expression. 

"Tell me his name." It's less of a question and more of a command. 

Her eyes wildly scan my face, trying to decide if she should speak but finally she gives a weary nod and licks her parched lips before talking. 

"Chris." Her voice is cracking and harsh. "Ch-chris Wilk-wilkerson. Chris Wilkerson." She adds with a heavy swallow. 

I give a curt nod and stand up to gesture with my thumb at the hill behind me. 

"Take yourself to the hospital. You'll be okay, but please take care of yourself."

She breaks out into ragged sobs, stumbling to her feet and wobbly swerving towards the direction of the hospital. I peek at my watch again. I'm already twenty minutes late, so I might as well pay a little visit to Mr. Wilkerson. 

I despise how well I know this city. It was far too simple to locate the bastard, and I was standing on his doorstep in less than ten minutes. I grip the blade tighter with my left hand that's behind my back and with my other hand give three firm knocks on the door. He answers the door wearing nothing but ratty boxers and blinks at me through hooded eyes before giving an incredulous laugh. 

"What the fuck is this?" He slurs, the whiskey on his breath assaulting my nostrils. 

I ignore his question, stepping forward to press the blade against his throat and push him backwards into the house so I can shut the door behind us with my foot. He trips on his feet and lands on the linoleum of the entryway with a loud thud that's music to my ears. I reach up to push my hood off my head and crouch down over him until I'm straddling his beer belly. His eyes widen as they fall upon my face and he begins to stammer out incoherent pleas but I simply press the blade further against his neck, relishing in the drops of crimson blood that trickle down his jaundiced skin. He begins sobbing and I hear the gush of him urinating himself so I scoot further up his body to avoid soiling my clothes with his fluids. I have no words to say to him or ominous threats, only the immense need to see the life drain out of him. 

"P-please! Don't! I-I don't want to die!" He pleads with snot running down his nose onto his quivering lips. 

"No one wants to die." I retort with a humorless laugh. 

He continues babbling about changing his ways, cutting out alcohol, and finding a rehab center but the shrill alarm of my watch interrupts him. He sniffles while I look at my watch and click the button to silence the alarm. I consider ignoring it. It seems like a good reason to miss work for once, but I pride myself too much in my work ethic to play hooky. I look back at the pathetic excuse of a human beneath me and sigh before releasing my blade from his throat, then use the carpet behind him to wipe the blood off my weapon. 

"I'll be seeing you real soon." I warn. 

He coughs, rubbing at the wound on his neck as I leave him soaked in urine before his opened front door. 

The sun is sinking into the horizon by the time I stroll into the empty halls of the hospital. I stop in front of room 412 and listen to the steady beeping rhythm of the heart monitor within. The door is already open so I slowly make my way deeper into the room. It's dark with the exception of the flickering TV that's set on reruns of some 70's sitcom and I pull back the curtain until I can see the frail, elderly woman in the bed. She's a shell of her former self and looks like she would break in half if a gust of wind came through the room.

"Harold?" She asks with a quivering voice. 

Her eyes are closed but she tilts her head in my direction while reaching her hand out to pat the air around her. Harold was her loving husband of fifty years who was killed by a drunk driver last year. He was a lively man with a goofy crooked smile and I knew she would weep tears of joy at getting to see that smile once again. 

"No." I say softly, taking the chair beside the bed and placing her boney hand in mine. 

Her eyes flutter open and she squints at me then lifts her eyebrows briefly in recognition. 

"Oh." 

That's all she says and we sit in silence for several moments while the steady blips from the monitor fill the room. 

"Will it hurt?" She finally rasps. 

I can hear the fear in her voice and my chest tightens. No matter how many times I do this, it never gets easier with the innocent ones.  

"No." I shake my head and give her hand a reassuring squeeze. "Let me make it easier for you." 

I keep hold of her hand but lean forward to brush my other palm over her eyes until I feel them rapidly fluttering from the rush of memories of a life well lived. I flood her mind with every tender kiss, shared laugh, and treasured moment. I replay her wedding day, seeing her children grow up, building a life together with her husband, and the warmth she felt at holding her newborn grandchildren. I finally pull away when my hand is wet with her tears. 

She nods and weakly pats my hand with a sniff. "I think I'm ready to see him now." 

"Of course." I stand up to lean over her and press a soft kiss to her wrinkled forehead. I keep my lips to her skin until she lets out a long sigh and sinks into the bed. 

 "Let's go see him, Ruth." I urge with a smile once she reopens her eyes. 

She allows me to guide her off the bed so we can make our way into the dimly lit hallway but she hesitates in the doorway. My eyes follow her gaze until they land on three small kittens playfully batting at the hem of her nightgown. 

"Ah." I grin, scooping them up to plop them into Ruth's arms. "They're newcomers as well and could use a little extra loving right now if you wouldn't mind." 

We continue down the hallway with Ruth cuddling the bundles of fur while nurses rush into the room behind us. Once we reach the end of the hallway, the piercing alarm can't be heard anymore and I sigh in relief when a man with a crooked grin is waiting for us.