Logan bellowed as he took a running kick. His foot struck the killer’s arm. The gun fell from his hand again as the killer fell back, smashing his shoulder on a headstone. Logan wanted to reach for it, but before he knew it, he was on the man. After all the wicked things the killer had done, he felt determined to carry this out personally.
Lunging forward, Logan put his full weight on the killer. His knee was pinning the man down, making him struggle for breath. Logan reeled back and drove his hardest punch into the man’s skull. It drew blood, both on his head and on Logan’s knuckles. It washed away quickly in the rain, but more punches came, hurling themselves as if by their own volition.
Logan quickly found he was no longer in control. By now, his body had taken over, and he was merely a passenger. Years of built-up anguish were in the driver’s seat, forcing him to throw punch after punch. The killer lay there taking it, each vicious strike dazing him more and more, drawing more blood, breaking more teeth.
Vaguely aware of the police lights flashing nearby, Logan tried to stop himself. He wasn’t going down for this, but he couldn’t stop, either. He paused for only a moment, wrapping one hand firmly on the killer’s throat as he thought about those young women. He drew back his arm to deliver the finishing blow as he remembered his family, their graves pissed on by the same vindictive rat who had taken their lives in the first place. Sense and reason told him to stop – to not spend the rest of his miserable life in jail – but everything else in his body shook him with rage. There was only one thing to do.
Logan took the final swing.