1.

Aggression will always manifest itself into some form of physical output. He'd learned to channel his into walking.
 It had taken a lifetime; 47 years, for him to learn that long expenses of energy are preferable to quick violent
bursts. He'd walk the dark streets and keep to himself; thinking about the day, the week, the life that had passed
him by and what should but would never be. Walking used to be enough; an hour, then two, then coffee and then 
all night and another workday. Sometimes not sleeping for two or three days. He'd feel he was missing something
or someone if he didn't walk. He'd become obsessed with the nocturnal world he'd found and had never known
existed. He thought as we all do that the world stopped when our sleepy heads hit the pillow. 

He'd walked the same path, knowing how long it would take, how many city blocks. Some nights he'd obey the
traffic lights just for something to do. Tonight he was at a corner waiting for the light to change; it was a game; 
testing his patience. "Why wait?" he thought, "there's no point to it, just cross"; but he'd wait, proving that patience
is the better part of valor or some such phrase he'd heard and forgotten and wrongly repeated so many times. 

"Slap", it was so clear and so close he whipped around. A pimp setting one of his "girls" straight. "Slap" again, 
echoing in his head; he turned away and waited for the light to change, it flashed he saw the green light and white 
pedestrian but he couldn't move forward. "Hit her again!" It was starting. "WHAT?!, mind your own damn business..." he cut him off, "Hit her again and you never make it home." "who the fuck are you talking to?, you should be home in bed; white bread." "No!, it's o.k. mister it's my fault" she said. "Listen to the lady, and move along" he just stared at them, no expression on his face. "What you want, money, here" he reaches into her shirt an pulls out a couple bills she resists but he finds them "take some of this what she was skimming" He smacks her again with the bills, she fusses and he's on him before he can turn around. He grabs his arm and pulls it from her face; holding his wrist he drives his other hand behind the elbow and it snaps, pimp screams but it's muffled from the forearm that breaks his nose, then a knee to the stomach, Pimp doubles over. "Good for you white bread but you better help her across the street and into a new life; cuz once you've gone away, she's dead now, you stupid mother..." There's a car coming, a cab, green light, bad part of town, turns roof light off; without a second thought and as though
it weren't him he feels he's watching himself throw the pimp into the path of the cab which never even slows down 
or veers from the path of the unidentified flying object. Pimp is struck, pump is run over, pimp is dead; hooker 
saved. She stands eyes wide open, now shaking, he gathers the money off the ground and gives it to her. 
She walks very quickly around the corner and out of site. He inspects the body, there is no wallet, checks the 
other pockets, cash, takes it, drugs leaves them, calls the police from a pay phone, another anonymous tip, "thank 
you." 

He lays in bed afterward waiting for sleep that never comes. He smiles; puts his shoes on, grabs a coat and 
heads out for a walk.

2.

He was tired. Tired of living week to week, tired of buying store brands, tired of the limited yet constant supply of
misinformation he received from the daily news about all kinds of things he used to care about but was too tired
to bother with anymore. Except one thing. He had no stomach for the stories about those who prey on the helpless
 the defenseless and the weak. It seemed noone was able or willing to do anything about it. He decided he would 
do something about it and this gnawing feeling that he'd miss something or someone being wronged was what 
ate at that place in his mind which would have allowed him peace and ultimately sleep.

His mother had been a victim, so long ago now. She never considered herself weak; she'd fought back her whole
life and one time too many. He was just a boy when she was returning home from one of her three jobs just to 
keep them from the shame of welfare. She'd not allow that; and over her dead body it was that the attacker walked
off with her wallet. He waited for two days, went to school and made dinner for her but she never showed. The 
police came and found him watching t.v. alone. They never said why he had to go with them but he knew, his aunt 
never told him why he lived with her now, but he knew, he never told anyone that he knew; but they knew.

Now however noone knew who it was that was randomly exterminating the cities least finest citizens. That pimp
two weeks ago, that junky ten days ago still clutching the pocket book that went so badly with his outfit and last 
night the two men were 19 and 20 years old and certainly knew it was wrong to steal, that's bad enough; but to 
even attempt rape; they got what they deserved. He'd heard the squeal of a woman, "please, no my son is only 3!" He ran up onto the train platform and walked directly over to them. He was slashed on the arm of his coat but kept walking and grabbed the knife hand crushing it with his own...he then grabbed the slasher by the hair driving his knee into his face and threw him onto the third rail. The other attacker watched, stricken by the speed with which it all happened, he let her go and ran... Lenny chased, dove and tackled the other one who felt the knees of his pants tear away against the cement platform. Then once and then again his head was pounded on the platform, he was dazed and felt himself flying. Lenny watched and the other one hit the tracks but missed the third rail. A train approached; he looked down as the other one conscious enough to reach out for a hand to help heard the train approaching, his mouth formed but could make no sound. Lenny showed no emotion and walked toward the woman.

Down on the street they heard the plaintiff screech of the train coming to a halt after the realization that there had 
been something on the tracks. The woman not able to speak was put into a cab and sent home. Lenny closed
the door and watched the cab leave. Then he walked home; he was tired.

3.

He wakes or rather rolls over as the first recognition of the days light slowly awakens his senses to the dull ache 
in his head which precedes the impatient "EEEEEK, EEEEEK, EEEEEK" of the alarm clock. This happens 
everyday. Or seems like everyday recently. He can't remember not having what his doctor said was low grade 
migraines brought on by the lack of constant caffeine in his system. "Simply put" his doctor said; "you drink too 
much coffee". "You're kidding" he said to his doctor.

Coffee, paper, train to work he enters the train and sits. How he appreciated living just blocks from the "Last Stop". 
Always a seat in the morning. Sip. Page turn. Page 6. Story Lead; "Another Low-life Loses Life" he had done it. 
No need to read it, he was there. 3 stops down and the train is half full. Other papers; din of conversation rises. 
He picks up little phrases here and there, "...deserved it", "serves them right", 

"want to meet this guy", ...
"How do you know it's a guy?" 
"cuz' a woman can't throw a man 22 feet in the air"
"you never met my ex-wife..."

Then he hears; "page 14, I read it!, a woman next door to the apartment said she heard the slap just one time too
 many; she walked next door and when he opened the door she shot him dead...."

Turns to page 14, There it is, "Vigilant woman turns Vigilante". "...church going woman... quiet helpful type...
 baked for her neighbors"

Story next to it... "Neighbors bond, beat bad guy"... " 8 people said to be neighbors and having no affiliation 
except to want to keep their neighborhood safe; came out of their home and confronted a suspected dope 
dealer on their block. Voices were raised and all eight beat the man into a coma after he allegedly verbally 
assaulted and threatened to "erase them" if they didn't leave the area."

His head was ringing now, it's started. His heart pounded; he'd not thought of this. He'd never acted with the 
thought of how it might affect anyone else. He was just doing what he thought was right. He'd justified his violence 
by assuring himself that society was better without those he'd acted upon. He was sure his victims deserved it. 
Where would it all lead now that he had no control of who and where and when?

His stop came up. He exited and walked up the stairs.

4.
It'd been a month, no more... no he didn't remember exactly how long but long enough to forget how long it had
 been. Every waking hour his head felt as though it was constantly clouded with doubt as if there were some 
metaphoric threat of rain. There was never a silent moment in his head. Something was echoing around. "that's
 what happens when it's empty" his doctor kidded him. He laughed but as happens during everyone's doctors 
visits his happiness was tempered by the antisceptic scent and crinkle of paper on the table and the doctor's 
heavily coffeed breath.

Something was echoing around, a constant though or fear or something else. But he was indeed haunted by it. 
He's not had a clear day in his mind for a while. He couldn't sleep... he was... He stopped short... he couldn't believe
he almost told the doctor about the killings. How did that happen? Had he become so comfortable with the fact
 that he thought someone else could comprehend the nature of what he did and why he did it? "What?" the doctor 
said... "Huh?" he said... "You stopped, was there something else?" the doctor was looking at him now... waiting.
 "uh, no, it's nothing, it really doesn't matter, truly insignificant" he said... and he meant it. He wasn't talking about
 IT he was talking about them; and it made him anxious, he felt he was wasting his time. How much was happening
 while he wasted time here; for what was probably an allergy or something. "Alright!, alright..." the doctor said... 
"but I think to be safe a CAT scan would be a good idea; sometimes the little things are more than they seem." 
CAT scan... what was he looking for? CAT scan? He's going to look in my head? "Can it read my thoughts?" he 
asked. "No" the doctor laughed. "No, but I can read your thoughts" he stiffened; "your nervous, I can tell you're
 nervous; it's precautionary; O.K.?" 

"Yeah" he said and stepped off the table and was led down the hall.

The phone rang. It'd had been 3 days... nothing had happened, the streets were quiet, perhaps it was working.

 "Hello?"
 "lenny?, it's doctor O'brien" 
"hello, hello what is it?"
"Lenny I'm holding your cat scan, you need to come in."
"Come in?, why? I..."
"It's not customary to discuss this on the phone son."
"I can't come in, I have to work" it sounded lame but he wanted to know.
"Please Lenny it's important"
"I'll um, I'll come right down"
"o.k., oh uh how do you take your coffee?"
"dark no sugar" he hung up.

The room was cold, the floor hurt to walk on it was so cold. He was shaking, he was hungry and added to that 
was the sick feeling that his doctor knew what he'd been up to. Somehow he knew, Lenny dressed. He grabbed 
his suit from the closet, bent to put his left leg into his pants and pain ripped across his left temple; his stomach 
emptied onto his pants which were innocently waiting to be pulled up. "Fuck" up it came again and onto the floor. 
His head was clearer than it had been in a long while; there was a white flash and a phone ringing.

"hello"
"Lenny, I'm waiting for you; I've been waiting for 2 hours"
"I'm sorry Docotr,  I'm sorry; I'm coming" It was almost 11 now he was laying on his side his feet cold with the wet 
of his stomach contents and his pants waiting patiently for a dry cleaner.

In the waiting room he fell asleep. 

"Lenny"

He was being shaken... 

"Lenny, come on" He stood, "God I'm hungry" He walked slow the Doctor helped by a nurse got him to a room,
 the smell, the paper the silly outfit with no back. Then the smell of coffee. "thank you"... 

The lights went out, the doctor was using a tone he hadn't before; 

"Lenny this is your scan"
"ooo, lots of colors" coffee is a miracle drug he thought
"Yes except here"
"yes doctor the dark recesses of my mind"
"Well it is now, this scan is of normal brain activity"
"normal, so I'm not normal?" he laughed
"Lenny, this is your second scan from the other day"
"more dark recesses"
"Yes Lenny but in a different area"
"wow"
"Yeah wow. It's not a good thing Lenny. It's consistent with what they find in the physiological psycology field for 
those with very violent tendencies. People who do things for which they have no remorse. They remember what it
 was they did they just don't care. The brain shuts off in the same areas which control emotional response to your 
actions"
"you're saying I'm a serial killer?"
"No I'm saying you've got the brain activity of one and perhaps in someone without a criminal background and a
 healthy mental outlook such as yourself; it's probably what's causing you're insomnia. I mean with this type of brain activity perhaps what you're not feeling is sleepy."
"You got that right"

Writing a prescription, "here, try these, try and get some rest come and see me in a week"

Insomnia, he threw the prescription away as he flagged a cab and headed for work; no he thought and like always, he walked...

5.

He'd returned to his doctor as he'd requested. He'd sat in the examination room on the table/bed with the paper and looked into the doctor's face with the lines of concern which had mapped themselves into a pattern that once seen would make anyone listen more intently to the words that followed. He was looking into the wet eyes of his doctor as he spoke and noticed how his eyebrows resembled breaking waves which must be what caused the milky jellied substance to collect in the corners of his doctor's eyes. His head was clouded as usual and he caught words, "larger" not connected to any particular "shadow" sentence but strung together "painful" they formed their own meaning to which "soon",  he understood "stronger" meant that there was no explanation "anomaly", other than they didn't give him much more time to right the wrongs.

"Lenny", "Lenny?, did you hear me?"

"yes sir"

"Simply put; your brain isn't shutting down, something is shutting down portions of it a virus a selective virus. I've not seen anything like it. It chooses to remanin resident and spread only to the part of the brain which controls your emotions. It's incredible really. It's non reversible you're going to die Lenny. Soon, the shadow area grows larger by the day, your headaches will be come more painful; physically you'll feel stronger or invincible but that's only an anomaly, you're of course not invincible and actually when you feel your best or strongest is when you're at the end Lenny. Odd but you'll feel the best you ever felt and then your brain will shut down, I'm sorry very sorry."

Lenny sat and looked blankly at the crashing waves of eyebrows again, almost laughed and asked; "How long?"

"Oh a month maybe two, I'm writing a prescription for migraine medication, it should help you through the pain, but there's nothing else I can say except to get a second opion. Maybe you can help someone else someday by doing some testing. Use the time you have left to do something you feel will help someone, Lenny. Sometimes that takes your mind off of the brutal reality of these situations."

"I intend on doing that Doctor, thank you." 

With that he was gone, the threw the prescription away, heard his shoes on the shiney floor, saw the bored interns and nurses and healthcare professionals force their smiles that concealed the knowledge they had of every patient waiting or being seen. Funny he thought how it was that someone who held such truths could be so cavalier about their relationships with these sick and dieing people. 

He shrugged it off; there were others who needed his attention and with the limited supply of time he had he did intend on making good use of that time. He laughed a little at the possibilities that lay before him and he felt a little guilt but not much at the "clean up" effort he was about to engage in. 

Behind him there was an angered voice; he stopped and turned, 50 feet behind him a monty dealer was cheating his way into someones wallet, He walked toward the game; it had begun, he felt nothing, he smiled.

6.

He started toward the "monty" dealer. His focus was squarely on man and his chatter, his lies, his deception; the table is flipped over the dealer reaching for a pocket, Lenny driving his head into the dealer's face and that sickening thud. Not really bone on bone, or flesh on flesh somewhere inbetween. He grabs the arm with the pocketed hand and yanks the shoulder from the socket the dealer screams then there is some type of distrubance going on behind him which is trying to waken him from the sweetness of this violence he's found to be more and more addicting each time he rights a wrong. Again there is something behind him no it's on him a man, a knife, he's being stabbed he doesn't feel it. The dealer is sitting and trying to breath through his mouth for his nose is destroyed and his shoulder has paralyzed him with pain. Yes there is a man on his back stabbing him. He feels it now, he turns and pins the man against the wall, drives his head backward, once, twice then steps forward one step an runs his elbow back toward his assailant and catches his temple. He never sees the man, he turns, now the knife coming at him again, Lenny grabs at the sleeve only partially gets it the knife headed for his chest is then diverted toward his face it misses, he thinks because he feels nothing. The attacker stops and looks surprised, Lenny drives his right palm to the collarbone of the attacker, there's a pop a scream of pain the attacker falls. Lenny leans over to grab him and world flips over. He's unsure what's happening, there is a warmth in his chest and on his back, he smiles a little at the comfort of it... there is a sea of worry standing over him, he reaches to the throb he feels in his neck, not a pain but a pulse of life which is quickly leaving him. His hand is crimson soaked and warm he leaves it there as his legs are beginning to feel cold, he's paralyzed from the loss of blood which has rendered his muscle response useless he wants to get up and run to the Doctor and look at the crashing waves of eyebrows and tell him to make it better, he whimpers, there's a tear. He knows it's hopeless, shallow breath, if only his heart would stop pumping the life from him, just doing it's job he thinks to himself, good old heart, he can hear the blood flowing through his veins and he listens for as long as he can until shock comes and though he can feel his eyes open soon he feels nothing as his sight fades into a white frost. He twitches. 

End