"Get the FUCK out of my way!" I roar, pushing the elderly doctor aside, "stay with me, please."

Tears stream down my face as I take her hand in the hospital bed.

"I..." she looks at me, the room cold as her breathing slows, "I don't feel so good Martin."

"No," I beg, "God please no..."

You know the movies, the ones that protray underage drinking as a rebellion thing. As "cool" all that...

That...

BULLSHIT!

That's what rings in my mind as the life fades from her eyes. Her hand goes cold as ice in my own. I adjust my leather jacket, clench my fist, and mutter...

"He's right. It is Impure."

I turn to the news, where a news anchor speaks, "Purity has once again assaulted a couple in this town. The following footage may be disturbing."

I see the masked man laugh in his distorted, mechanical voice under his white hockey mask, "You don't let a kid drink you old fuck!"

He lifts his brass knuckle over a bruised and beaten man, shattering the man's arm as he cries in agony within a dark, unlit living room, "parents are the fucking problem!" He roars with wrath, "You took my sister! It is war with you impure! To harm a child makes you impure!"

I mutter, everything clear now as Purity howls with wrath on the T.V., "they must be purified."

My eyes go wide.

"Sir you need to go," the doctor pleads, "or I will call security."

I look at her, one final time. And gently close her eyes.

"She in a better place doc?" I ask.

"Sure," the doctor shrugs.

"Good," I smirk, "then I'll see her again. Forgive me I must go."

I walk into the lobby to be greeted by my crew. I look at them. Wrath in my heart.

The leader is the first to speak, taller than me by a mere two inches, he places his massive hand on my shoulder, a metal tooth of his glistens under sunlight as we exit silently.

"That's what ya get for leaving a lightweight unattended at a party," he jokes.

OK.

Imma kill him.

I bide my time in silence. Waiting as he proceeds, "man you are a pussy huh? Never touch a drop? Really? I'm shocked dude. Least she was tough when she went down. That's how you outta live. Live fast, die young."

"You're gonna die young all right," I mutter.

"You say something dude?" the youngest of the crew asks, a sophomore with dyed white hair, green eyes, and tanned skin.

The leader's black hair and fair skin reflect the sunlight of the setting star, as on our way to his car, we pass by a bit of a railed drop off. Sure fencing blocks it so you can't fall, but I can still...

"Hey," he jokes, "how about we grab a couple of beers?"

That's when I do it. I grab his arm, despite being beefy, and weighing more than me by about fifty pounds, I manage, through adrenaline and rage to pin him half over the railing.

"You did this!" I scream, "You fucking did this!"

The fourth and final member of our crew, a young man with grey pants, a grey jacket, shorter than all of us at five feet, but a scrappy, brown eyed fighter with red, short hair, tries to pull me back.

I kick him to the ground and yell, "you stay the fuck outta this Elijah!"

There's fear in his eyes as I push him closer to his demise. "Easy Martin! It was a fucking jo-"

"She's dead!" I yell, "she's fucking dead Russell! Because of you! You challenged her to a drinking contest just to spite me and you fucking killed her!"

I throw Russell to the ground and stomp his massive belly, "what have I ever asked of you!?!" I demand, "nothing! You're fucking scum! Scum! I should crush your skull right now!"

He coughs up blood, rolling, crying, a small pool of blood near his head.

"Guys let's go," I snap my fingers.

Elijah and the youngest of the crew look at me, then back at Russell. Then back at me. They do not move.

"Come on Jeff," I sigh, "you know I'm right."

The sophomore turns away.

I shrug, "well, that's fair. See you two at school tomorrow."

With that I leave, keeping my cool now.

She's dead. She's dead. She's really dead. Oh God she's gone. She was all I had. I was supposed to protect her. If I had just-

The second I get into my old, black, 1967 truck, I break down crying. The truck smells of fast food, discarded cups, bags, and wrappers fill the floor of the car as I am forced to face reality. She's actually dead. In an instant, she is gone from my life. I'll see her smile again as long as I live. Sure I will in Heaven but that's years away...

Or is it?

No.

No.

Not falling for that psychological trap. That's a dangerous game to play. I grip the wheel as I recall the winery incident last Summer...

I walked by the place not long after it happened. Purity, is a vigilante, and he targets abusive parents. One day, while out for a stroll, I passed by a parking lot of a burned down winery covered in blood, ambulances rushing in and taking adults out, cops investigating the scene, interviewing buzzed teens and small children who were allowed to drink by shitty parents. They still haven't caught him, or his accomplices. Only, despite beating every adult there within an inch of their life...

Purity didn't lay a fucking finger on the teens. Even though they defend the actions, and intend to repeat the actions, of their parents. I just...

I don't get it. What attachment does he hold to them? He's gotta be over twenty, with that strength in such a small frame. Dude can fight. He's short, thin, and honestly, he looks to rely mostly on adrenaline and rage to survive the shit he does.

I recall, one time, I went to a place called...

Actually I need a bite I'll go there now.

Up the winding road, the cold Auttum air nipping at my nose as I roll the window down, a stray leaf or two, bright orange, flying into my lap as I drive past the forests of this mountain road, lead me to a small diner with a neon sign saying "open."

"Cool Cat Waffles," I chuckle to myself, "always good for a bite."

There's another reason I'm here. Purity takes requests for targets. Maybe I could have him target some of those bastards.

I enter, sitting in a booth, the restaurant not busy at this evening hour, it being about 8:30, half an hour before closing time.

A waitress approaches me. "What'll it be hon?" She inquires talking out a notepad to write my order. She's of a healthy weight, kind smile, wears an apron.

I look down. I'm not really hungry after what's happened so I reply, "coffee. Black. Lots of it."

She nods and walks away.

The second she goes into the kitchen, the young girl approaches me. Innocence in her eyes, she sits on the other end of the booth.

"What's your name?" She asks.

"Martin," I sigh.

"You here about unkie Purity?" She asks.

I nod.

"Unkie Purity doesn't come here much anymore," she sighs.

"What about the requests?" I ask.

"Cops don't like unkie Purity," the young girl sighs, "call him a psycho every day, but unkie Purity is good."

"He is," I sigh, "or, he's the best we got in this God forsaken town."

"Are you a Purifier?" The girl asks.

"What?" I inquire.

"That's what I call Puirty's friends," she explains, "the ones with masks. Purifiers."

"What if I am?" I demand.

"Purifers help," she replies, a smile on her face, pushing back her hair, "even if it's in a bad way. Or that's what Bertha says."

"I just might be," I chuckle, "what's your name kid?"

"I'm Mary," the young girl smiles, "you wanna take some requests? Unkie Purity would love the extra hand."

"I..."

I know who was in the room where it happened. I know who needs to pay.

"I have my own targets," I explain.

"What's your other name?" Mary asks.

"What?" I inquire.

"All Purifiers have another name," Mary explains, "unkie Purity's real isn't Purity. That's his other name. What's your other name."

"I'm..."

I think for a moment, about her. She always loved Winter, didn't she? I would have loved for her to see one last Winter, but now she's gone. I hate the cold myself but...

"I'm Snow," I smile, "pure... white... Snow."