Unlocking the front door of his apartment, James took off his trench coat and hat, hanging them up before unbuttoning his top button. Only once his coat was off did he feel the breeze on his arm and look down at it. The sleeve on the arm that had been crushed was torn apart. Taking his shirt off, he walked to the bedroom and put on a thin undershirt before going to the bathroom and leaning over the sink.
Staring at himself, he brushed his black hair to the side, revealing his eyes. They were a dark colour, black with a hint of gold. It was unnatural in colour, but something he assumed was associated with his ability, knowing that sometimes they influenced how a person looked. Shaking his head, he rubbed his sharp jaw, feeling a little stumble forming. Carefully shaving, he leaned over once done and splashed water on his face, looking at himself a final time.
With a smile, he walked back to the front room and fell onto the sofa, turning the TV on and putting the news on that was littered with talk about the mayoral election.
"We are in the final days until the vote begins. This year it does feel different, wouldn't you agree, John?" The man on the TV said to the cohost, getting a chuckle from him as a map of Newport popped up behind the two, showing how each district was likely to vote.
"Well, it is a first that an independent has garnered such a strong lead in the closing days since Mayor Kinton." Turning around, he looked at the screen, "Maryland, Port District, Chaplin, Jefferson. All looking like they are voting in favour of Candidate Hopkins. That's four of the six."
James nodded in understanding, looking at the map. All the districts in favour of Samuel belonged to the poorest areas of Newport, bar Jefferson. As for the rest, the Financial District favoured the conservative candidate, Jonas Burns, an expected outcome. In Trent, it leaned towards the Reformist candidate, Talia Davis, a strange vote but not out of reason, as she was a local to the area.
"Steven, now we can't be sure if these are the final results, after all, these are the predicted, but based on these numbers, we are looking at a landslide." Steven nodded and smiled.
"I think we may see a few drops in support from the men and women on the force, however, after the controversial interview Hopkins gave today. To praise vigilantes has always been seen as political suicide, and yet he dared to take that risk." John said, getting a chuckle from Steven.
"Yes, but can we blame him. After so many years, it has felt like things have only gotten worse. I, for one, am in agreement with Mr Hopkins. These men and women don't get paid to do what they do, but they do it anyway. Do you know why? Because they believe in their city but have lost faith in those sworn to protect them. I'll say it, I am in agreement, and I know many others who are."
"That's a slippery slope, Steven," John replied.
"It may be. And sure, some of these people are dangerous for the normal citizen of Newport, but take Maryland." The screen behind them changed, showing a picture taken from CCTV of a man wearing a plastic chicken mask dressed in blue denim jeans and a bomber jacket, covered in blood. Over his shoulder, a broken baseball bat.
John laughed, looking at the picture, "You always bring this man up. I think it's safe to say you're a fan."
"I'm from Maryland, John, and I have noticed how, at night, men and women feel safe staying out later. Growing up in Maryland, you know where to avoid, but that has changed. I can now walk down some streets without fear of being mugged or killed that I never could before." Steven turned to the screen and pointed, "This man may be a little brutal, but when he is fighting thugs, I say let him carry out his own justice. He has my approval."
Steven pressed a button on the desk, changing the image again. A bald black man with a white smile stood waving to the camera, wearing a leather jacket and black jeans, "If he is too brutal, then what about him. My kids and their friends call him Brightsmile, and I can't help but find the name fitting. A man who works with the law and has helped make Chaplin just a little better. Now I know our brave officers' hands are tied many times, but to disregard the work these men and women do for free is frankly foolish."
James turned the TV off and sat staring at his reflection in the black screen, his frown evident. 'They don't know what we deal with.' Grinding his teeth, he knew it was wrong to get mad at someone who didn't know the issues the force had. If he could, he would love to be used as a loose cannon, going around and being judge, jury, and executioner. He knew many deserved that fate, but it wasn't his choice. There were rules for a reason, and without them, there would only be anarchy.
Taking a deep breath, he calmed himself down. Getting up, he walked over to his computer and searched for Samuel Hopkins, scrolling through the oldest known records of him. The gut feeling he had was something he could never shake, and seeing that he spat on the work he and his fellows did pushed it to the edge.
For hours, James read article after article in the newspaper and couldn't help but wonder if he was wrong. Each one spoke of a new charity he started or an event he hosted to help the needy. 'Maybe he is just a saint.' Despite that line of thought, he kept looking, scrolling down. One year, two years previous, he kept moving until he hit a wall.
James froze, staring at the screen as he took a few deep breaths. Sure, articles went past four years, but when Samuel entered politics and first surfaced as a patron of Newport, it all started in mass four years ago. "It has to be a coincidence." The nagging feeling in his mind ate away at him: that he and Alannah were linked, yet he had never seen the two together in any pictures.
A coincidence was likely, after all; he knew that things like luck were real, tangible things. But the feeling in his mind, what he knew, everything pointed to the fact that the two had to be connected in some way.
James leaned back in his chair and let out a breath. 'He's wealthy and well-connected. Although not as open with his connection as someone like Xavier, he definitely has them. Xavier said only someone well-connected could protect Alannah for so long. Everything matches, but there's no proof.'
James ran his hand through his hair, chuckling to himself. It was weak, but it existed. He knew it was dangerous to move in this way; the attention on Samuel would never provide a chance to get close or snoop around. Looking at his phone on his desk, James took a deep breath, hesitating for a moment before picking it up and calling Xavier.
The call rang for a few seconds before Xavier's flat tone spoke on the other end, "I know you can't stay away, but it is late."
"You said Alannah popped up four years ago, right?"
"Roughtly. Why?" James clicked on the earliest article about Samuel.
"Someone else popped up in Newport at that time. Samuel Hopkins." James heard Xavier sit up in his bed and chuckle.
The sound of flesh hitting flesh echoed in the phone as Xavier hit his leg. "That little saint." James could hear in Xavier's voice that a broad grin was on his face. "It's a reach but could work."
"All politicians are actors at the end of the day, Xavier. You should know that." Xavier chuckled.
"Keep this to yourself for the moment. Let me look into this. I will get back to you." Xavier hung up, and James threw his phone on the table. Pulling a cigarette out and lighting it. Staring at the photo of Samuel with a happy smile, looking into the camera as he cut the ribbon for a new soup kitchen he opened, James couldn't help but feel satisfied that his feeling might have been right all this time.