I scrolled down, my heart thundering in my chest, and continued to read:

  ‘At approximately 4 am last night a shootout took place in Ebbet’s alleyway on the Mulberry Estate. The Estate is well known for gang activity and criminality. Shots were fired indiscriminately in what is suspected to have been a gangland shootout. There were no fatalities, but 2 bullets were fired through the window of a local resident’s flat, into the bedroom of a 2 year old girl. The 2 year old was rushed to hospital after glass cut her while she slept in her bed. Her injuries are not serious and her condition has been reported as stable. This is just another instance of the indiscriminate violence that has gripped the Mulberry Estate. Anger has risen in the local community and residents are protesting at the sight of the shooting.’

  I scrolled further down and saw a video of people gathered outside the cordoned off alleyway, shouting at police.

  I scrolled further.

  ‘We had a chance to speak to Detective Inspector Woodley who has been put in charge of the case.’

  There was another video. I looked at the thumbnail and recognised the jowly face of the Inspector who had come to my home after Mark’s florist had been set on fire. I clicked on the video.

  “The man we believe responsible was found in the alleyway, severely beaten, next to the weapon. Forensics are inspecting the gun and ballistics,” D.I Woodley said, sounding irritated. “The suspect has been arrested and charged with possession of a deadly weapon and intent to harm.”

  “Do you know who he was shooting at?” a female reporter’s voice asked him off camera.

  “No,’ D.I Woodley replied flatly.

  “And what about eyewitness statements that report there was another figure in the alleyway?” the reporter shot back at him.

  A twitch of annoyance flashed across DI Woodley’s face.

  “Any such claims are as of yet unsubstantiated and I’m afraid I cannot offer any more details about an ongoing investigation…”

  “What about the blood trail?” the reporter asked as Woodley walked away.

  And then the video ended.

  Blood trail? That must have been mine! My hands were sweating even though my chest had gone cold. They had my blood. And eyewitness accounts. And a baby had been hurt! Bile rose up in the back of my throat. I scrolled mindlessly through the article and saw pictures of the bullet holes in the baby’s window. I could just make out the floral pink of her wallpaper. I felt like I was going to vomit. How could I have been so reckless? I hadn’t even stopped to think whether there were flats around me or where those bullets had gone.

  “Stupid! Stupid!” I snarled at myself.

  I sat there, my stomach gurgling, my shoulder on fire, raking my hands through my hair. How much did the police know? Could they trace me via my blood? Had someone seen my face? Did I take my balaclava off? What if they tracked me through Sherbert, the homeless man? Would he get in trouble? I cursed in frustration. This mess just kept getting worse! How had I screwed up so badly? I pulled myself off my bed and grabbed my trousers. Even though returning to the scene of my crime was the stupidest thing I could do, I had to find out what the police knew. I had to find out if that little girl was okay. I couldn’t just sit here.

  *

  When I arrived at Ebbet’s alley, there was a frenzy of activity at the mouth of the alleyway. Reporters buzzed around, interviewing people, taking pictures, and recording pieces to camera. Residents from the Mulberry Estate had gathered around the scene. Discontent was brewing amongst the residents like it usually did when large groups gathered. Two young officers stood by the police tape trying to keep the peace.

  I noticed that the entrance to the flats next to the alleyway was also being heavily guarded by the police and I guessed that’s where the little girl lived. I looked down the alleyway and saw a series of windows that backed on to it. I hadn’t noticed them the night before. One of those wild gunshots must’ve gone through the window and could have killed a little girl sleeping in her bed. I felt anger seethe in my gut. Who was this thug that he got to walk around the streets with a gun and put people’s lives in peril?

  I had my hood pulled low, trying to avoid eye contact with anyone. I knew it was incredibly stupid of me to come back to the scene of the crime, but my feet and my body had moved without asking my brain's permission. I looked around and saw angry faces and teary eyes. Maybe they knew the family, or maybe it was just human empathy, it could have been one of their children after all.

  As I watched the door I saw D.I Woodley ducking under the police lines. My feet began moving again, driven by some bizarre instinct. I skirted around the police lines and scaled the side of the building using the fire escape and the magnet glove I had brought with me. I forced open a window and slunk into the hallway. Down the hall was a door that was heavily taped off by the police. There were officers guarding it and two men in suits and long coats outside talking. I recognised one of them. He was the same detective that had come to my house: D.I Woodley. He was being grilled by the other, older man who wore a fancier blue suit.

  I ducked into a small alcove in the landing, my ears twitching as I tried to listen to their conversation.

  "How many shooters do we suspect?" I heard the older man ask.

  "So far, just one. Seems we've only recovered one calibre of bullet, and there's only been one gun found at the scene.” Woodley replied.

  "And you say the thug was unconscious when uniforms arrived?” the old man said.

  "Yes sir. He'd been beaten to a bloody pulp,” Woodley answered.

  "So what are we assuming here?” the older man said. ‘Maybe a drug deal gone wrong? Some sort of street vendetta? Our guy pulls a gun and starts spraying because he's a feckless fucking idiot, and puts two through the girl’s window?”

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  "That's about the size of it," Woodley replied.

  "And then whoever he was shooting at beats him into a pulp?”

  "Yep.”

  "Do we have any evidence yet? Any tape, CCTV?" the older man asked.

  "No, sir," Woodley said. "This part of the Boroughs is notorious for being a black zone. We haven't got anything, anywhere near.”

  “Bloody Boroughs,” the older man said, eyeing the place like filth he found on the bottom of his polished loafers. “Eyewitnesses?”

  “Only ones that could put the criminal at the local park about 200 metres from here.. Apparently, he was a regular there, slinging drugs with his little crew.” Woodley said, sounding bored as if he’d gone over this already several times. “They say there was some sort of incident; people heard fighting, yelling, and someone screaming about being shot.”

  "And so our boy runs and gets chased down?" the older man said.

  "Yeah.”

  "And do we have anything on who was chasing him?”

  "Not really, sir.’ Woodley replied. “We do have blood, though.”

  "We do?”

  "Yes, sir. Seems like maybe the other person involved caught one of the shots. There's a trail of blood that leads back out of the alley but we lost it across the road.”

  "Have we been able to collect samples?" the older man asked.

  "Forensics are on it now. Hopefully, we'll be able to find something usable and run it through the database. But if our suspect’s not in the database, it'll be tough to track him down by just his DNA.” Woodley said.

  "Shit," the older man growled. "Woodley, I want you all over this. Bullets flying through a baby’s windows is not what we need right now. I want this to be clean, open and shut. Understand? We’ve got the criminal responsible, just make sure the evidence sticks so we can give the press something.”

  "Yes, sir," Woodley said, sounding tired. "There's something else.”

  ‘Yes?” the older man said impatiently.

  "He's been spotted again," Woodley said.

  "Not now," the older man snapped.

  "Sir, eyewitness reports state a black-hooded figure, between 5’8 and 6 foot, was seen attacking the gang in the playground and then chasing…”

  "I'm in a political shitstorm right now!" the older man said, cutting him off. "I do not need to add in these wild stories about some vigilante running around the Boroughs!"

  "He's in the mix, sir. I've got four separate eyewitness accounts that all put him in the area at the time of the shooting. I think we really need to…” Woodley began.

  "Enough, Woodley," the older man said. "You’ve got a shooting gift wrapped for you, do not go off chasing shadows and superheroes in the darkness. Understood?”

  "Yes, sir," Woodley said begrudgingly.

  I sank into the shadows, sweat trickling down my brow. They knew I was there, whether they believed I existed or not. That Detective Inspector knew I was there, and they had my blood. Would they be able to track me down? I held my breath and waited until I heard D.I Woodley go into the apartment before I disappeared back the way I had come in. I climbed out of a window, scaled down the fire escape, and back onto the street. I pulled my hood further down my face, tucked my hands in my pockets, and tried to skulk away when I heard shouting and angry voices from the mouth of the alleyway

  "This is all because of that vigilante, isn't it?" I heard an angry, thick-set man yelling, pointing his finger at the police officers. "What aren’t you telling us?"

  Other voices pitched in to support him, and the officers held up their hands for calm.

  "We can't release any statements about the incident right now," the police officer said, trying to shout over the crowd. "But if you have any information, then please call the hotline.”

  "Stuff your bloody hotline," another voice yelled out.

  "If you lot did your job in the first place, things like this wouldn't happen! I know that family. They’re good people!" a shrill woman's voice cried out.

  “She’s only a little baby!” Someone roared from within the mob.

  "Those thugs have been selling drugs in that park for months!" the thick-set man yelled. "I've called you lot dozens of times, and none of you have done anything about it until the vigilante!”

  Another voice shouted from the back, "If he could do something about it, why can't you lot?”

  "There is no vigilante," the police officer said firmly. "That’s just a rumour.”

  "I've seen him!" another voice cried out.

  "We've all seen the video, son. Don't try and lie to us now," another voice added. "He's actually trying to do some good in this community while you lot sit on your arses and leave us to rot out here!”

  "If there is a vigilante," the police officer said, his face going red. "Then this is what happens when ordinary citizens try to take law and order into their own hands. People get hurt.”

  "Law and order?" another voice cried back at him. "Have you been around here recently? There aren't either of those things! Just a bunch of thugs selling drugs and making life a misery for the rest of us good, hard-working people. Whoever this vigilante is, I'd shake his hand for doing something about it, and if I was a few years younger, I'd join him and teach these thugs a lesson!”

  More voices rose up, yelling in support, and I felt my face burning. How could these people think that I was doing something good after an innocent baby had got caught in the crossfire? But there they were, hardworking, earnest people. They'd been terrorized for years by the Syndicate and their thugs, and they were defending me.

  I felt tears stinging at the back of my eyes. I turned with my head down, ready to walk away and disappear, when I bumped into a broad chest. I looked up from under my hood and saw the last person I wanted to see: D.I Woodley. He looked down at me curiously, and then I saw recognition spark in his eyes.

  "Alex?" he said. "The lad from the florist, right?”

  "Oh, yeah. Hi," I mumbled, keeping my face down.

  "It's me, D.I Woodley. I came to your house, remember? Talked to you about the arson attack.”

  "Yeah, right," I mumbled again.

  He looked at me curiously.

  "What are you doing here, lad?”

  "Oh, I saw the alert and I was just passing by," I said lamely.

  D.I Woodley nodded, looked at the baying crowd, and frowned.

  "Dark bit of business,” he said.

  “Is… is the little girl alright?” I asked carefully.

  “Yes,” D.I Woodley replied. “She was scared half to death and some of the glass cut her, but nothing too serious. Poor little thing.”

  I nodded.

  “You’ve got the guy that did it?” I asked.

  “Yep but not the others involved.” D.I Woodley said. “You haven’t heard anything?”

  “No sorry. I only just found out,” I mumbled.

  “Well if you do hear anything lad, we’d appreciate you reaching out.”

  "Yeah, okay," I said, licking my dry lips. "Sorry, I've gotta go. My Grandad's waiting," I brushed past D.I Woodley.

  "Look after yourself, son," I heard him say.

  I chanced a look back over my shoulder. I don't know why, but there was that look of suspicion again in the inspector's eyes, as if he could just sense there was something off about me.

  I turned around and walked with my head down, anger burning in the pit of my guts. An innocent little girl was caught in my foolishness. Cut by glass and woken from her sleep in sheer terror. And that was on me. Because I wasn’t strong enough. Because I was too slow. Because these fucking animals wanted to go around carrying weapons and hurting people.

  No more. No more innocents were going to be hurt.

  Unbeknownst to me, my shadow lengthened and curled as hatred gripped my soul.

  It was time to confront that damned book again and whatever it took, I was going to unlock its secrets. I didn’t care about the costs anymore.

  I needed power. There could be no more half measures.