James punched in the pin number he had entered every morning since he started this mission, then stepped through the doors of the building he called home, an old mental asylum that had been closed for fifty or so years. He moved down the hallway, taking a left, then heading to the door that lead to the basement stairs. James figured if anyone were to come here they would stop at the graffiti filled walls of the first floor, and cops wouldn’t show up unless someone gave them a reason to. For most, this building was just an eyesore in an ever expanding city, However, just beneath the surface in the basement of the compound was the base for what some considered the city’s guardian angel.
     James walked past the basement door as it locked behind him. He sat in his old leather chair and opened his laptop. On it was a blue message board with the name “contact” and a notification had already popped up.
“Anything interesting tonight?”
“ There was another murder. Real brutal stuff, head caved in, and any form of identification was gone.”
“Jesus. That is the fifth one in the past two months, any idea what’s going on?”
“None. But if you have anyway to help that would be great.”
“You know I can’t go asking around about this one. People could use it against me and I’m running out of favors in the police department.”
“So you are close to the police department?”
“ Not this again. I told you this only works if you know nothing about me, besides I’m not. Why don’t you take the holiday and go be with your sister?”
     “ No, whoever this is, they’re still out there. I have to go, work starts in twenty minutes and I’m honestly surprised they haven't fired me yet. Talk tomorrow.”
     James closed the laptop in disappointment and headed out the door with his blue wool coat. For James, this coat brought more warmth than it would anyone else. All the cold nights before making him who he is, it was there. The hood slid on with ease, perfectly conformed to his head. The dark blue color was perfect for night or day, with the silver shining through in the morning when all was done. For James, it was pure comfort. 
     Only, there was something off. As he exited the asylum, locking the door behind him and the sun shining in his face, he could see a small silver string hanging off the coat. He pulled it out but everything still felt a little off, like his world had been shifted two feet to the left. He shook it off and continued on to work.
     That night, James left the office where he had spent most of his work day wondering about the poor people who had died, how he could have prevented it if he had maybe just tried a little hard or searched a little longer.Walking home he could hear the TVs screaming in the background,
“THAT IS THE FIFTH CHRISTMAS MURDER TOM, WHAT DO YOU MAKE OF IT?”
“ WELL, JOANN, IF I HAD TO GUESS ITS THAT NIGHTMARE OF A VIGILANT WE HAVE”
“ REALLY TOM? THIS REALLY ISN’T HIS SORT OF THING, YOU KNOW HE STICKS TO ARROWS NOT, HAMMERS AND KNIVES.”
“ WHO KNOWS? MAYBE HE FINALLY LOST WHATEVER  DROP OF SAN-”
     James walked away. The anger on his face spelled murder. He couldn't believe that anchor would try to pin this on him. I’m trying to help them. Why can’t they see that?  Trying not to think about it too much, he kept pacing down the street. As he walked, he noticed the school that had burned down three years ago. The building brought a deep feeling of annoyance in him, a small pinch in the back of his head. All those years ago he had been there. When some pyromaniac kid took a teacher, his wife, and son hostage and said he was going to burn it all down. James was just starting then but still entered the building, smelling the gasoline in the air and he had approached the last room the student was spotted in. The student had just graduated, but hated the school and the teacher. James remembered how he had tried to spout some speech to him, but he wouldn’t let him. An arrow flew from James’ bow into the young man's knee, but as he approached to drag him outside, the boy lit a match and the whole place went up. He had turned the kitchens ovens on, letting them fill the school. James made it out, but he couldn't say the same for everyone else. Their bodies were so badly charred that no one could be identified. But this didn’t bother James, what did was the media went on a crusade to slander him about all of it, saying it was his fault the man had died. “ My job isn't to save people.” he said under his breath as he started past the school building.
     Before James could take another step, something caught his eye snapping him back to the present. A shadow, something dark in the window of the school. Probably some punk kid, he thought but I should go and tell him to get out, the building could be unstable. He ran across the street and down the side alley to get in the school discreetly. Almost instinctively, he put on his hood, but this time it didn’t feel right. The silver string tugged at him, almost holding the hood back. He walked to the second level, every step feeling heavier than the last. Why this room?  James wondered approaching the room he was forced to jump from three years ago. Looking at the door, he could see it was already open. James could feel his stomach weighing him down, sinking closer and closer to the ground. He slowly pushed the door open, and what he saw made him numb.
     A tall man in a black hoodie stood over a woman on her knees, his face obscured but the shadow of his own hood. He stood tall almost hitting the ceiling of the room; it gave james a looming feeling. Something wasn’t right to James. He felt a tingle from his toe to his head. The man felt was wrong. Something was off about him, but he couldn’t put his finger on it. James instinctively looked for identifying marks on the man, anything to give him an idea of who this was, something to grab on too. The only skin he could see was the man’s right fist. Looking at it he could see it was grotesquely scarred, the skin weaved around it self with stretched circles as if trying to cling to the man.
“You finally caught up to me. It took you long enough”
     The man’s voice was rough and raspy, like every time he talked it caused him pain.
“Who are you? Whats going on he-”
     It was then James understood what was happening. The lady on her knees beside the man dressed in white flannel was the cop at the crime scene. There were tears in her eyes and her hair was everywhere. Why would someone randomly attack a police officer? Especially this one. This couldn't have been a coincidence, this man had to be the serial killer, but who was he?
“Really? You of all people don’t know who I am? I watched my child DIE, I watched my wife DIE, I could feel my skin bubbling, and you didn’t bother to even know my name?”
     It made sense to James now. The building. The hand. This was the teacher from all those years ago. All the bodies had been burned so badly no one knew but it was possible for him to have gone unnoticed.
“Do you really think you help people? You swoop in and you take out the bad guy and you think that helps people? YOU LET PEOPLE DIE. Do you think they feel helped? Do you think I feel helped?”
     James stood silent. I prevent more murders he told himself If I let them go more people die, that is the worst outcome, right?
“ You know I hate you. I really do, in fact I think that is what kept me alive.”
     James was starting to get antsy. He could feel his feet wanting to move, to do something. The man breathing heavier in anger raised his hand to his own hood.
“I know everything about you now, James Burr.”
     He removed his hood, revealing the scarred and bubbled skin on the right side of his face. He stared at James with an unblinking glass eye, practically foaming at the mouth in rage. Is this my fault? What the news said about me, were they right? James, unsteady, could see the teacher about to make his move. No...no I don’t save people, I get the bad guy. That helps people.
“FINE you don’t have to say anything, but I’m going to make you suffer.”
     The man removed his left hand from behind his back, revealing a spear of sorts. It had a longer blade at the end and was shorter than normal, but it would work better in smaller environments. He charged at James, heaving his large arms and legs with every step. James could see the cop trying to untie her hands, but he couldn’t help; he had to get out of the way. James strafed to the right behind a large science table, but the teacher could not stop in time and slammed through the door to slow himself down. James only had a second before he would be charging again. He pulled a pocket knife out and threw it to the cop. As soon as it landed, the teacher charged at him once more, and making an attempt to get away, he tried to hop over the table but felt the teacher’s large hands grab his jacket, removing his hood and then slamming him onto the table. Pain surged throughout his back and head, and taking advantage of this the teacher dragged him down the table into the wall, knocking off charred school supplies and a chair. Another pulse of pain blurring his vision hit James, but out of the corner of his eye he could see the man’s spear on the ground. Taking the only chance he had, James grabbed the man's head with both hands and slammed it on the table.
     James ran for the spear, but was tackled by the man, landing him face down on the ground back where he once stood.
“You think I would let you touch my spear?”
     The teacher picked up his spear while james scrabbled to get up, looking for anything to fight with. The chair he had knocked down had lost its leg, but it was all he had. James dove for it, grabbing it, then jumped back up onto his feet to face the man. He was already swinging the spear down to his head, and James barely blocked the blow, but soon after the spear was heading for his chest. He blocked again with the leg, but the spear busted through it, yanking it from his hands. While the teacher tried to pry off the leg, James slid under the table to the other side, catching a glimpse of the cop using the knife to free herself. As soon as he was back onto his feet, he felt a diagonal cut rip through his jacket and into his back. James fell to the ground in pain; it burned worse than anything he had ever felt.
“Oooooh I bet that one burns, doesn’t it, James? Ya see, I coat the tip of my spear with a venom. You can’t get enough venom on to kill someone but it sure does leave it open for infection.”
     James was blinded by his pain and rage; there was only one thing he could see in focus: the silver string that once helped to hold his coat together. The coat that he had for years, the coat that he wore through more countries than most even knew about. James lost himself in rage, dropping to the ground rolling to his left to dodge the spear lunging for him. Pulling himself up to his feet, he punched the teacher with everything he had, feeling the wound on his back tear further open more along with his coat. James fell to his knees, following through with his punch, but the teacher stood up, seemingly unfazed by the hit. Looking up, he could see the man’s glass eye had cracked. The teacher raised his spear to finally end James, but as it came down, the man was tackled by the cop whose shirt had been stained near black by all the old ash.
     As fast as he fell, the teacher got back up, hitting the cop and knocking her out, then removing a lighter from his hoodie.
“ This is it James, this is where you let more people die because you are too STUPID to realize you aren’t helping anyone.”
     How could I be so stupid? All the ash and dust I couldn’t smell the gasoline he had poured. The lighter flew from the man’s scarred hand to the corner of the room, igniting the gas. The teacher made a break for the door, and James stumbled to his feet. I have to catch him, I have to. This is what helps people: stopping the bad guy, preventing more murders. It has to be. In that last moment before James rushed through the door after the teacher, he looked back to see the cop lying on the ground, out cold. This cop had saved him. Why? Why would she do that. She knows who I am and what I do but she tried anyway. She could have just left. Am I right? Is all of this right?
     James flipped, turning to the woman, running to her. The fire growing larger and closer, he picked her up, only tearing open his own wound more. He carried her and jumped from the window, landing on his shoulder. It was broken and the Teacher was lost, but at least the cop was safe.
Is this what’s right?