The Vindicator

Devils bend revenge

Scythe sat on the edge of the bluff, legs dangling over the rock ledge. He stared off into oblivion, or so it would seem to anyone watching him. But he was listening like a predator, lying in wait for his prey. His chest slowly rising and falling and occasionally flickering his eyes to the left.
The river below flowed with a quiet hum. It looked like a small creek from the top of the bluff.
All was quiet, in a naturalistic way. The trees rustling, squirrels chattering and the breeze dancing thru the leaves that were leftover on the ground from the winter.

Scythe whipped his head to the left, Staring up the river. No one was visible but he could hear the obnoxious laughter and drunken chaos interrupt the peaceful scene, minutes before the canoes filled with people appeared around the bend in the river. Their voices and laughter echoing off the rock ledges and carrying down the stream.

Never taking his eyes off of the river guests, he made his way silently down the rock ledge. Using a small tree to launch him to a shallow cave then on down to the river side. He remained unseen as he made his way to a rock bed on the side of the river, half a mile down stream from the floaters.
The river was a roar now, a rocky waterfall nearby. The river branched off, the right being a canoe friendly avenue and left having a waterfall that was known as Devils Bend.

Devils Bend was the culprit of countless canoe overturns, lost belongings and lost lives. Last year alone it had claimed 4 lives in the span of 6 months. The steep drop off turned into a suffocating current that would hold you down with a relentless grasp and literally take the life from you before discarding you from it's grip. The giant rocks under the surface were warning enough, but humans aren't the smartest of creatures, especially when influenced by liquid courage. And the floaters headed towards Scythe were beyond intoxicated and reeked of alcohol and bad decisions.

Scythe pulled a rusty colored, leather bound book from his overcoat and flipped it open about midway. He studied the photo one last time. The man in the photo was young, late 20's. Paul was his name. He had a dark look to his eyes, a manipulator and an attitude as if the world owed him another universe. And that's how he lived his life-taking things as if he was entitled to them.
Today, however, Scythe would make sure the tables were turned.
The canoe rounded the corner and Scythe immediately fixated his eyes on Paul, in the last canoe.
Paul tossed his hair and handed his female passenger another beer.
Scythe moved in closer to the rivers edge and crouched low.

It was time.