It was meant to be this way.

He took my parents, and that led to everything. He started it all and who I was before will end with him. Only then can I truly be Marcus.

The bad guys always lose and he is a bad guy. Even if he smiles. Even if his brother is a senator. Even if tonight he decided to walk instead of getting into his car. His victims don’t get to decide anything anymore.

If he hadn’t done it again, if it hadn’t been in the papers I scavenged while rummaging in the dumpsters that lined the alley hours away from here, it never would have occurred to me. I wouldn’t have chosen him. But he did do it again and they let him go. They gave him another chance, but that’s not fair when the man he killed didn’t get another chance.

Harold is a bad man and his time is up.

A numbness pricks down my arm, my fingers twitching for the cheap blade I found last week. The very day my plan came together. It’s funny how things all align when you have a plan. How the pieces fall into place and it’s so much easier to sleep, to move forward.

His death is my purpose.

As we round the corner of the liquor store, the parade falls behind us. With a bottle wrapped in a brown paper bag, it seems he’s given up on the beer and moved on to something harder. I’ve watched Harold for nearly a week and his routine is simple. He leaves his home around noon. He wears jeans stained with old paint. He goes to the bar down Fifth Street and when they kick him out, he goes to the liquor store he just came out of.

Then he goes back down to Fifth but he takes the alley. It’s so he can piss on the wall or the cars in the parking lot behind the bar. He’s only done it twice, but his rough laugh that echoes late at night indicates he truly enjoys it. It’s just as much a part of his nightcap as the bottle of gin he’s got gripped in his right hand.

I’m grateful he’s gone down this way tonight. I don’t know why he’s already headed down the back path, given that he wasn’t even at the bar for long today and left to see the parade. Old habits die hard, I suppose.

Back here it’s quieter, but the music still filters through. I keep to the left, next to the trash cans and look down at the old stone that’s unrepaired and the rubble of concrete that was used to fill the gaps years ago.

My heart races, moving so much faster than my footsteps in the worn sneakers that don’t quite fit. Everything feels hot, even though I’m aware I’ll be freezing tonight, wherever I lie down to rest. The blood rushes in my ears so loud I can barely hear him.