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She was hideous — the vigilante had nothing against her as a person, having not even met her until a few minutes ago, but her apparition was utterly repulsive, nor was it only he who felt so: this cringing was only the instinctive reaction that anyone had upon her revealing herself to them. Yet her words and acts were those of anyone: not perfect, mostly good, and without malice at almost any turn.
She was tending a beggar, having brought him food and drink.
As he watched, the beggar thanked her for having come by. They seemed to know each other well.
How many times before had she done this?
How many others had she helped in such manner?
“Come,” she told him as she arose from her crouch.
“Where to?” he asked, still unsure that he should trust her.
“We will walk as we talk,” she replied, “that I may then continue my work.”
“And what is... your work?” he ventured.
She laughed lightly.
“A coffee shop,” she replied, “It is no great thing, but it helps the community some, and permits me to see to my needs.”
Nervous now, he slowed his step, one hand absentmindedly fingering his weapon, concealed within his clothing.
“Your needs?”
She eyed him now.
“Shelter; sometimes some clothing.”
He relaxed again.
The moon had come out from hiding, the clouds dispersing further as evening turned to night.
The streets stood empty now, and he was keenly aware of how dangerous the situation remained.
“You have killed so many,” he said, choosing the direct approach. And why not? It couldn't be that she knew not his mission here.
“Indeed,” she agreed calmly, a dropping note, her back turning to him once again as she returned to her path.
“Yet you seek to ease that man's hunger.”
“Indeed,” she agreed once more, this time with a rising pitch.
“Do you think that you stand to fool anyone so?”
He could almost hear her smile as she asked “And in what way might I do this, and toward what end?”
“To seek to hide your true nature, to deceive all about you into forgetting.”
“They know what I am,” she said. A simple statement, and he didn't doubt it.
“And the dead? How do they fare now?”
Approaching what must be her place of business, she turned to him and asked “How would their victims fare?”
Flustered and confused, he didn't answer.
Unlocking the door and entering, she invited him to sit as she lit the lamp by the window and bustled behind the counter.
“You know my business,” he stated, inviting her answer as if by question.
She nodded as he looked around.
No evil signs, nor yet overtly false cheer. A pleasantly but simply decorated café near the heart of the village, not a stone's throw from one of their places of worship. Stale pastries remained for the hungry who might yet show, even some chocolate, the air holding notes of coffee and bread baked en suite.
“And these acts of contrition absolve you?” he tried again.
This cut, it seemed, as she now stilled and sighed.
“I think not,” she said, moving now as if having aged by decades.
“Then why?”
“Because they should be done. They need doing,” she said, but went no further.
“Will you continue killing?” he asked, knowing full well the truth.
“Indeed,” she said again, surprising him with her honesty.
“You would see me leave you to this?”
“Only if that is as you see fit.”
Again he knew not how to take this. She offered no argument, no resistance, sought not to dissuade him nor coerce, nor even to bribe or distract.
“Why?” he asked, “What reason have you for their deaths?”
“What reason had they to be here?” she countered.
“Had they no right to be?”
“They did,” she agreed.
“So you would see them dead out of hand,” he realized, confirming all of his suspicions now. His resolve firmed, and now he awaited only the right time for her to drop her guard.
“I would see this village in peace.”
Once more unbalanced, he waited.
“Those dead that you name, do you know their minds?”
“I know their business,” he replied, seeing no cause to avoid her question.
“Know you their histories?”
“I know they lived, they traveled, and now they do nothing more.”
“Know you their hearts?”
“Where is this going?” he demanded.
“Those who live here seek solace and peace, to live their lives quietly. Those who came and now lie dead sought deception, fraud, suffering, death, and the wealth of others,” she said quietly.
Stunned, he took a moment before asking “How came you to know these things?”
She caught his eye now, smiling as she looked deep and directly into him, as if all about him were lain bare to her in an instant, a single glance telling her all that there was about him and ever had been or would be.
“You come from a small town ten leagues to the north. Your family was poor, but got by. Your father a baker, your mother a seamstress, and your older siblings fished the streams and ponds to supplement your family income, while your younger ran errands. By the age of twelve, you had seen so much unnecessary pain wrought with intent that you resolved to fight it at all costs. Your path brought you to many beatings, and through some mercenary training, eventually to follow rumors and legends of ancient evils. Having dispatched some lesser creatures, you sit here before me now and ask yourself how long it might be before I attack or make a mistake.
“Did I miss anything?”
The blood having drained from him as she'd spoken, he reached for the cup that she'd set down, the sandwich and cookies lying forgotten beside it.
“How...?”
She smiled again.
“This village is under my protection. What I am is of no consequence to them, for as long as they have such need. What services I render are my own choice. Should you see fit to end them, I will not struggle. Your heart is good, and I will not blame you, nor curse you with my dying breath.”
He sat there, thinking on this.
As he did so, she set out the pastries in a lidded box affixed to the door frame without.
He stayed a while longer, talking more with her as the hours passed by unnoticed.
When it had grown late, she showed him to a spare room, clean and comfortable.
He stayed the following morning, seeing all those who came to her, chatting, seeking her wisdom, dropping off small gifts at times, or simply sitting and absorbing the atmosphere for a while before they moved on.
He stayed the remainder of the week, seeing her go through her rounds, checking on those ill of health or otherwise indisposed, redistributing those same gifts and more.
In the second week, he assisted her in these same things to an extent, observing her more closely, scrutinizing her goals, her words, her very being.
At the end of a month's time, he was still there, and the villagers had never shown sign of distress, neither from her presence nor from his own.
After two months he realized that he felt no pull to move further in his plans, nor even onward toward the next evil.
He had found a home.
He had found peace.
O ~~~ O