Free at Last

It all came back to him. The small-time drug deal. Grandma Pearl's kid. Jefferson knew that they were just a bunch of stupid kids doing stupid things, but he thought he'd scare some sense into them. Jefferson had emerged from the night, bellowed, "crime doesn't pay, fools!" then chopped the money right out of one kids hand with his sword. He roughed them up a little bit, but he didn't think it was that serious. Then it hit him. The other kids must have thought that Grandma Pearl's kid was in on it; they must have been the ones who beat him up. Jefferson's mind raced. By trying to prevent crime, he had only made it worse. Much worse. Jefferson thought of all the past events, especially his recent thefts. Had he become one of them? Had he become... a criminal?

"I'm waiting," Oscar said, impatiently. Jefferson didn't think; he only acted. Everything he did at that moment was completely instinct. Jefferson reached behind him and grabbed his sword, then swung it at Oscar, hitting him in the face with its flat side. Oscar stumbled back into the hallway, dazed. Then, in one fluid motion, Jefferson grabbed the door, locked it from the inside, stepped into the hallway, and slammed the door. Then he ran down the hall, down the stairs, and out onto the street. He wandered aimlessly for a while, unsure of what he was to do. The more he thought about it, the less he wanted to think about it. Then he saw a familiar sight: an abandoned building with a large boarded up hole in it, roughly the size of a small sports car. He pried open the boards with his sword and climbed inside. Finding an area on the floor that didn't have a puddle or broken glass, Jefferson lied down and tried to stay warm. All he could think about was sleeping, so he slept.

Jefferson hid out in that building for several days. He fortunately had some cash on him when he left, and was able to buy food and supplies, but he was basically miserable. The days were cold and overcast, and all Jefferson could do was think, which made him even more miserable. Jefferson's thoughts did eventually help him out, however, as he was able to decide what to do. He would leave Washington Heights; in fact he would leave Baltimore altogether. There was nothing here for him now. But he would not leave empty handed. He couldn't. Not if he had any hope of starting a new life somewhere else. He would have to take the stolen drug dealers' treasures from under his floorboards. And he would have to do it soon.

Night fell. It was time. A storm had moved in, and it had begun to drizzle, but Jefferson feared if he waited too long there would be no treasure to take. Jefferson walked out into the street. Thunder rumbled in the distance. Jefferson grabbed a trash bag, emptied it of its contents, and stuffed it into his pocket. He walked up to Washington Heights, careful to steer clear of Oscar's. The building now looked alien to him, though it had been his home and base of operations for the past couple of months; thjis was only accentuated by the rain and lightning. The storm grew worse. Jefferson hurried inside.

He snuck up the stairs, as the elevator could attract attention. Fortunately, the night and the rain meant that everyone was fast asleep in their apartments. Hopefully. Jefferson reached his floor and proceeded down the hall to his room. He slid a brick out of the wall and grabbed the key that was hidden there for just such an occasion. Jefferson opened the door and flicked open the lights. It was exactly as he had left it. He pried open the floorboards. There were his various treasures. He filled the trash bag with everything that he thought would be of use to him. Then he grabbed a few other things from around the room. He slipped on his bulletproof vest, just in case. Then he left the room and locked the door. He tied the end of the bag in a knot and slung it over his shoulder, like some Bizarro Santa Claus. Lightening flashed, and a figure revealed himself at the end of the hall.

It was Holger Vollsunger. "I have been looking for you," he said, "The city is mine!" "You can have it. Just let me go!" Jefferson. "Not after what you did" said Holger. He took a swipe at Jefferson with his huge sword, but Jefferson was able to parry, but just barely. The bag over his shoulder was hindering him greatly. He blocked Holger's slashes successfully, but each swipe forced him to take a step backward. He was slowly being backed towards the window at the end of the hall. The rain was hitting the window at almost horizontally. Lightening illuminated the hallway again. Jefferson had only one means of escape: the window, and the fire escape behind it. He knocked Holger's sword out of the way and kicked him in the chest. As Holger stumbled back, Jefferson opened the window and climbed out.

The wind blew violently and the rain was hard and cold. Jefferson had to grab on to the railing just to hold on. The metal was wet and slippery. Jefferson struggled to hold on to his bag as he attempted to climb down the fire escape. Lightening flashed and the storm grew stronger. Jefferson had to hold on for dear life. Then it stopped. Jefferson climbed slowly down to the last balcony of the fire escape. He was sopping wet. Then a huge flash illuminated Washington Heights as though the sun had come out for a millisecond, and a boom shook the neighborhood like a sonic boom. Lightening had struck somewhere nearby. The rusted bolts of the fire escape gave way, and Jefferson tumbled to the ground, unconscious.

Jefferson woke up. The sun was out. finally. He felt terrible and cold. He got up, and walked across the street. He could see an ambulance at the street next to a downed tree. Then Jefferson left Washington Heights forever. He realized that he was doing what no one else was able to do. He had escaped Washington Heights