Susan collapsed on her aggressor, but her valiant sacrifice bought enough time for her father to evade the second gunshot and the bridesmaids to disburse. At the crackle of the gunshot echoing in the space, the whole church burst into hysteria. But the people on the pews in front ducking to dodge the danger provided me with a clear line of sight.
It was now or never. And looking at the room of endangered innocents, I tried my luck. I wish I could say I didn't hesitate, but for a splits-second I did; I'd never shot at a person before - much less intended to harm them. But looking at all of the civilians in danger around me, at Kate and her family, I had no choice.
I could be their hero.
My James Bond moment had arrived.
It was almost as if the room slowed down around me. In one smooth movement, I unveiled the bow: my fingers curled around the bowstring and my bent arm, steady. One eye snapped shut and tunnel vision came into play; I locked on my target. My breathing was metronome perfect, and as I breathed out, I relaxed my back muscles and the arrow soared.
Zipping between the masses, the arrow hit the gunman with an audible thwack, spearing him in the chest and flexing as the impetus was stopped. He was bowled to the floor, dropping his gun as he splayed a hand across his impaled heart. Red began to bleed through his top as I rendered him immobile.
Adrenalin was still coursing through my veins, and with the diversion of their ringleader bleeding out, I fired another two arrows in quick succession: A flashbang and a smoke grenade - both were formerly used only for showmanship, but now they saw practical use. The troop of assailants were blinded and floored by the choking canister rolling on the floor.
I was doing it. I could do it. I could be a hero.
"Get out! Everyone out!" I bellowed at the top of my lungs and I heard the thundering crash as the doors at the end of the church were busted open and the galloping of feet like a heard of flighty horses as the entire congregation fled.
"Get your sister," I told Kate, standing on the pew as a vantage point. Shadows in the smoke, I withdrew another two arrows and fired them off - my targets howling in pain as they flopped to the floor kebabed with an arrow, the howls loud enough even to be heard by me.
Kate ducked into the grey haze and came out again with her dad, cradling her sister's scarlet drenched body bridal. Susan looked limp in Kate's arms, head dangling and lulling as they were running and her legs flopping and flailing.
But my job wasn't over yet, I didn't have time to watch her carried away. Three more armed gunmen were making their exit in one of the wings of the church; fleeing the scene they'd desecrated. I slung my quiver over my shoulder and charged into the smog, my arm braced across my face as a make shift gas mask.
My eyes stung as the smoke attacked them, but up ahead I could make the outlines of the shifty outlaws and bounded deeper into the fog; I had a job to do.
I emerged to see them running into the graveyard through a side door and sprinted after them. Not missing a beat, I clipped an arrow into my bow, drew the string back and aimed. Running whilst aiming was new, having to calculate how the jostling and jumping would affect the trajectory.
Every now and then it would line up, and I timed it with my steps. My arrow shot through the gap in the door and made a thud as it imbedded into one of the troublesome trio's back; he fell to the grassy turf with a flop.
I escaped the confines of the place of worship and tailed the menaces as they dipped and darted between the headstones. If I was lucky, this would be their final resting place too.
I reached back into my quiver, but what came to hand wasn't a sharp tipped arrow. I cursed under my breath as I strung the bola arrow into my bow. It would require timing.
I was caught off-guard by a plight of bullets fired back over one of the men's shoulders. A flash! Another flash! And one more for good measure! One gravestone was chipped and stone flaked off it as the bullet vandalised the commemorative monument. Another ricocheted off the church wall with a prang, the bullet on the rebound hitting the grass under my feet. The final one narrowly missed me, sending splinters of wood exploding from the yew tree next to me.
That distracted me for mere moments. Bounding over the lumpy ground, I returned fire. One of the two remaining felons I was in pursuit of was downed by my bola. The ropes wound around him as the weights swung with the momentum of the shot. He was tangled and out of mind. For good measure, I retrieved another arrow and fired it off. He cried out as the arrow stuck in his chest and I ran on past.
Reaching back, another trick arrow from my repertoire came to hand - with no time to change it, I charged on - the fire arrow. It had a catch; igniting it as the indent locked into the string, I only had a limited time to fire it off before the fuel ran out.
The last criminal escaped the churchyard, closing the gate behind him; causing me to skid to a stop - scuffing the newly bought brogues in the process. Watching him run and catching my breath, I came to a standstill and aimed. It clicked as I notched it in, and I let it soar.
The arrow went through him like a needle to cotton and his suit, made of combustible synthetics, went up in flames as he fell to the ground. I looked away. I didn't need to see him writhe and scream or the charred aftermath if anyone came to put him out. He was going to look like skewered meat, for certain.
Chest heaving with breathlessness, I looked around to see the destruction I'd caused. I couldn't look at it. I couldn't dwell on it. With sirens on the horizon: I ran.
~
Upstate New York was a long way from Kate's- no! My home. I made my way to the nearest restaurant, taking refuge inside the walls and to quench my thirst. I strutted straight to the bar and requested a drink; my mouth still dry as the Sahara Desert from my antics. The barman gave me an odd look being a minor - but even that day wasn't a day for alcohol; I opted for an innocuous pint of water.
I condensed my collapsible down and tucked it away by my feet at the bar, my quiver looked inconspicuous enough too with the arrows tucked down deep. The tools of my trade had a newfound memory stapled to them, and an odd sense of catharsis too. I was still trembling with the adrenalin and the feeling amounted to a sweet sense of victory; well-earned through resilience, skill and a smidge of luck.
Behind the bar, there was a television screen lodged on the wall, the news spiel running its daily dose of doom and gloom. But it was a local newsfeed, the breaking headline being 'MYSTERIOUS MASTER ARCHER TAKES DOWN CRIMINALS AT MATRIMONY MURDER', a perky blonde was on the screen talking about the Bishops and their heritage, and sure enough, Derek was on the screen, Kate crying next to him on the back of an ambulance.
I almost wanted to reach out to the screen and extend a hand of comfort to her image.
The title I'd been dubbed with was the cherry on the trifle: I smirked.
The water was delivered to the bar and I thanked the barman.
"You don't look so good, kid - you oughta go find your mama and papa and get 'em to take you home," the barman prompted, caringly, albeit naively, seeing my hand quivering as I cupped the glass.
I downed the pint of water, holding up a finger as I necked it. I slammed the glass down on the beermat, droplets of water dripping from my mouth and spoke "My parents are six feet under and have been for the last three years. Another tap water would be nice." The victory imbued me with a sense of confidence that I wasn't used to, and I spoke unreservedly back.
The man was taken aback and looked almost apologetic. "If you're sure, kid..." He shook his head.
"Oh, and uh, could you perhaps turn the television up?" I requested, wiping my mouth with the sleeve of my dapper suit.
He nodded and finally the news story became clear to my impossibly deaf ears, still sounding with the huskiness of my breathing and my throbbing heartbeat. But my God, I felt like a survivor; I felt worth every penny. By some unprecedented miracle I had saved the day, the sensations electrifying my body remnants of that excitement.
'-Plenty of the event goers are still unaccounted for, post this tragic accident.' The TV blared; then the blonde reporter placed a lithe finger on her ear and nodded, a solemn expression washing over her face. 'We can now confirm that the eldest daughter of publishing magnate Derek Bishop, Susan Bishop, is dead; allegedly owing to a gunshot wound, caused by her husband-to-be; still unnamed at this time.'
I felt sick. Right to the pit of my stomach. The air was punched out of my lungs at the news like being hit by a truck
Kate had lost yet another priceless family member to the scum of the world. It felt like a horrible joke, the bitterness so tangible I could taste it. It was a damper on my mood - but mixed with the choleric feelings already stirred within me, something more passionate and positive was mixed up.
That was the moment I decided to pledge myself to a cause. I was going to find retribution for her, if it hadn't already been found. I pledged myself to fighting for the forgotten and unprotected, because I had it in me to do it. I had the skills; I had demonstrated it that very day. I had proved it to myself. Proved it to the world! I was capable.
And that's when my attention was drawn back to the television.
'-Adolescent hero; equipped with only a bow and arrow. People are calling him Robin of New York City. He single-handedly dispatched a group of well-known criminals with publicised mafia ties, landing the survivors of the arrows in police custody. Witnesses have yet to pin a real name on this valiant vigilante and no trace of him is left at the scene-'
Hero. I was a hero. At long last I had been recognised for being more than the weirdo kid who didn't talk much at school, I was more than the freak with the bruises who worked the knock-off butchers, I wasn't the misfit at the circus and I certainly wasn't just the fix-it at the local apartments.
I had transcended all of that.
I had achieved a victory, and I revelled in it.
I wondered for a moment, if somewhere out there, Barney was watching that news report. Perhaps he remarked on the skill of the kid behind the daring act, perhaps he thought positively of him, perhaps he was rooting for him. But what really gave me a pang of satisfaction, was that I'd achieved far more than he.
I wondered if he'd made it into the army.
Though, I doubted that. He lacked the discipline and zeal.
Pride swelled within me, and I left that bar with my head raised high, not waiting for the next pint of water to be given to me.
I had a new thirst. A thirst for justice.
The wedding had been my first taste of the nectar that was the thrills of crime fighting, and with that taste, I had accumulated an insatiable appetite for that very thing. The high was a rush like I'd never felt before, and the addictive part of my personality - owing, I was sure, to the drunkard that was my lousy late father - craved that high.
The innocent kid within me felt wrong; knowing I had willingly injured those people. But it was okay, right? I had saved so many lives back at the church; though not all of them. But I had a chance to protect people, to become the hero that the city needed, the watchful eye on every street. And the media anointed me a saviour. I became the saviour.
I took up the mantle fate had bestowed on me.
I returned to the streets of Upstate New York and shed my blazer, unbuttoning that poncy button too. I found my way to the nearest highrise with public access and made myself a crow's nest at the top: I found I saw better from a distance. I counted out my artillery: a limited stock; but they were the tools to save countless innocents. I could feel the same high just out of reach, and like a drug addict pursuing that rush, I started my hunt for injustice.
I waited patiently until the sun went down, scouring the darkness for the wrong-doers and scoundrels who worked their filthy trade by the cover of night. And it wasn't all that long before my hawk-eyes picked out a mugger on a street corner.
I could see him scouting out his victims carefully, toying with what I was sure was a butterfly knife in his hand. It wasn't until he saw a vulnerably dressed girl wielding her clutch purse that he began to trail her, stalking her with his hood up.
The girl never even knew she was saved as I lined up the shot and let it fly.
And the righteousness surged through me. I was a guardian angel, a knight of the round table of justice, a paladin of noble cause. I was saving the innocent, so they could remain innocent, even if that meant destroying my innocence in the process.
I was a protector.
He was only the first to taste retribution at my hand that night as I carried out my quest to rid the streets of vermin. Ordinary people like I was would never feel helpless or defenceless again, knowing they were under my watch. And the people to perpetrated received vindication - they had something to fear if they weren't already deterred by urban legends of the archer and his arrows.
It felt good.
I felt good.
But it was sooner than later when I realised that not everyone saw my revenge sprees as righteous.
A/N - Early update at the birthday request of bluespiritwolf! Happy birthday, darling! I hope this chapter wasn't too heavy for what's supposed to be a momentous and joyful day; but it's the first one where Clint really becomes a hero!
Also, I am still horrendously ill; but comic books and 'Great British Bake-Off' are taking the edge off of it.
Dedication also goes to bluespiritwolf! X