Bodhi Crocodile 4: Vigilante

Bodhi Crocodile 4

The explosion rocks the ground, causing a stir amongst a nearby crowd, but the sound of a single gunshot keeps them at bay.
The veil of a gray sky shrouds the buildings as a low cloud of smoke billows across the street, leaving behind the stench of gunpowder and a metallic tang like the grand finale aftermath of a fireworks display.

Anna steps from behind a brick wall with strands of wet, dark hair clinging to her skin. She scans each direction, and her pupils reflect every detail like tiny black mirrors.
The city streets are still.
The coast is clear.
It’s quiet. So quiet she can hear the blood beating through her ears, thumping an anxious rhythm as her thoughts spiral out of control.
This wasn’t part of the plan.
It’s not supposed to end like this.
He didn’t bring a gun, so who fired the shot?
She tells herself to stay calm.
She forces herself to breathe, to focus.
Reverberating cracks and bangs rip the silence apart like a cloudburst of hail on a tin roof. Anna bolts like a track runner released by the sound of the starting pistol. She sprints so fast, her heels barely touch the wet asphalt.
The cold air scorches inside her chest.
Sweat stings her eyes.
Running through each city block feels like a marathon. Yet, she forges ahead.
Red and blue lights dance off nearby walls, imbuing the scene with an unsettling pulse. She slows her pace, making cautious steps, and peeks into an alleyway as if the slightest motion might cause the enclosing brick walls to come crashing down.
Terror digs into her bones as she enters a grim scene. An outstretched limb sprawls from behind a dumpster, and the last droplet of rain lands on the palm of a lifeless hand.
The worst-case scenarios play in her mind.
She tells herself it could be anyone.
She bargains with whoever might listen and says, “Please, don’t let it be him.”
The hand belongs to a body dressed in a black raincoat riddled with bullet holes, surrounded by fragments of shrapnel, shattered glass, and spent shell casings. Trails of maroon spill from the arm and seep into a clear water puddle.
Anna moves closer to observe chunks of blood and brain matter clinging to ominous black hair. The face is unrecognizable and grotesquely mangled amidst torn flesh and shattered bone. This dreadful wake of violence fills her with profound horror. As if trembling wasn’t enough, an abrupt masculine voice sends a jolt through her body.
“Ma’am, this is a crime scene. You can’t be here.”
A police officer emerges from behind a wall, walking in reverse, unfurling a roll of yellow ribbon.
Anna gasps and uses the brief retention to ask, “Whose body is that?”
The officer responds with authority.
“Ma’am, I won’t tell you again.”
Despite his warning, Anna’s curiosity drives her forward. She cranes her neck to get a better view of the deceased individual.
It’s too late to turn back. She has to know, regardless of how painful the truth may be.
Her breathing shallows. She closes her eyes, trying to regain control of her thoughts, but the images already burned in her mind are impossible to erase.
The officer steps over and places a firm hand on her chest.
“Ma’am. Stop.”
He senses her desperation and feels her heart pounding against his palm. He whistles to another cop who stands at a nearby intersection.
“Curtis, help me out over here!”
Officer Curtis comes running, and when he arrives, Anna’s gaze drifts past his shoulder to a green object near the corpse. Something stained with grime and damp from the wet pavement.
Her mouth falls open.
Her head sways from side to side.
The world shifts around her, contracting and expanding like a twisted carnival mirror. Her body jerks as if the ground has vanished beneath her feet. She inhales, and the tension expands her lungs like a pulled-back slingshot.
It’s unmistakable.
There’s no denying it.
The item entangled in this brutal scene is a dead giveaway—a plush toy crocodile.
Anna releases a heartrending scream.
“Oh, God, NO!”
Officer Curtis pulls her head to his chest.
“Don’t look.”
Her knees buckle, and she falls into him.
“No-oh-oh, please! Please! Not him!”
She’s trapped in a nightmare, her own personal horror story, written by death, and engulfed in a flood of unbridled emotions.
Breathing feels like drowning, suffocating.
Sobbing burns her throat.
Her hands ball into fists, and with a surge of raw energy, she pounds them against the cop’s vest.
“What did you do?” Her words erupt like a volcanic blast. “What did you JUST DO?!”
Her fists strike harder in a desperate attempt to shatter reality. Her body quivers as if she’s knee-deep in a puddle charged by a fallen power line. Every muscle is taut. Every nerve sparks.
Anna grips his arm, digging her nails into his uniform as though she could somehow claw her way back to the moment before everything shattered.
“You killed him…You KILLED HIM!”
The officer does his best to console her, holding her close in a tight embrace. Tears flow as she grapples with her unbearable loss and devastation’s cruel reminder that life can turn on a dime.
As the crime scene becomes a blur of activity, Anna’s mind fills with regretful thoughts.
You should’ve talked him out of it.
You should’ve gone with him.
You should’ve done it yourself.
Every fiber of her being longs to give up, yearning to trade places with the man lying stiff in a pool of his own blood. The sweetest, most kindhearted person she’s ever known.
With a final rub across her back, the cop pulls away. Anna weeps, curling against a chain-link fence and shielding her eyes with her hands.
Near the dumpster, Officer Curtis greets an FBI agent, a tall man cloaked in a finely-tailored wool trench coat and luminous white hair parted to one side. He sips from his foam cup of hot chocolate while observing Anna’s harrowing turmoil.
“Do we have identification?”
Curtis adjusts the leather band on his wrist.
“Not yet, but I’m willing to bet a year’s salary it’s him.”
Anna peeks through her fingers, watching the coroner cover the body with a white sheet.
The worst part is the love of her life is gone.
The worst part is he’s dead and never coming back.
The worst part is nothing will ever be the same.
Extending her arm in desperate reach, she bawls, and her raw, piercing voice shrieks as she calls out his name, “BODHI!”