As blood exploded off the point of impact, the man didn't make a noise, and instead just fell over lifeless to the ground.

"I bet it is," came a rough voice from the left.

"What the fu-?" Wyatt felt the grip on his head relax, and his face flopped to the ground. He twisted his body to try to get a better look, and he saw a large shadow of a man holding a baseball bat. The shadow wound up quickly, and with another quick swing the man who'd been holding Wyatt was down on the ground, screaming in pain. "My knee!"

Wyatt looked around for his gun, and immediately realized that he wouldn't know what to do with it if he found it. The man holding the bat turned towards the other two at the swings, and Wyatt tried to make him out in the darkness.

"Hey asshole, what the fuck are you doing here? This is none of your business." The one who'd been grabbing Tanya pulled out his switchblade, and moved to face him. Wyatt stood up slowly to watch as the shadowy figure advanced, twirling the bat around nonchalantly. He was handling it almost as if he were a ninja and it was his blade. It was a ludicrous thing to imagine, though, a ninja with a baseball bat... Wyatt was able to focus in on him better. The jersey was dark with white pinstripes, and the number 0 was written on the back, with SLUGGER over the top of it. The cap was also dark, but underneath it was... a mask?

The man with the bat stopped twirling it long enough to point it straight at the knife. "If you're going to do something with that, do it." The voice was rumbling, oddly clear despite being from behind a mask.

The guy with the knife edged forward apprehensively, before making a swipe. It was defensive, not coming close to the batsman, who chuckled. The guy took another hurried swipe, before the batsman spun around, caught a grip on his bat, and lunged forward with a swing that hit the other right in the ribs. "Augh!" he yelled.

"Shit, Cyrus," called out the one who was doubled over next to Wyatt. "Take him out!"

The one who was holding Tanya shoved her into the sand below the swings. Wyatt only just realized how big the guy was. He must have been well over six feet six, and broad as an ox and practically busting out of his college jacket. "Come on, little man," the guy who must have been Cyrus said. "You think I'm afraid of you and your twig?"

"I don't know," rumbled the batsman. "Are you afraid of the guy who's pointing an arrow at your back right now?"

Cyrus paused where he was standing, and Wyatt's heart lept inside. He saw that Tanya was frozen as well, shocked and also somewhat fascinated by what she thought might be coming.

"What are you talking about?" Cyrus said.

"Don't you read the news?" the guy rumbled. "There's a new gang in town."

"Who's pointing an arrow at my back?" Cyrus said, turning his head slightly to see who was behind him.

That was all the batsman needed, as he lept into the air, swinging straight at the guy's head. Cyrus saw the attack in time to lean back to dodge it, but the batsman continued, letting the bat swing over his head, before continuing around for another circling blow as he crouch-landed, this time aimed at his ankles with all his body's weight put into the swing. It collided with a crunching impact, and Cyrus yelled as his legs kicked up awkwardly to the side before he toppled over to his side, clutching the base of his legs and screaming in pain.

The batsman looked around, making sure that everybody was disabled, before calling out, "You guys want more?"

"You fucking bluffed. There's nobody else out there," said the one who'd been holding the knife, clutching his side as he leaned against the slide.

The batsman turned his way, and Wyatt could see that his eyes, the only thing visible behind the mask, were flashing brilliantly in the darkness, even showing some dark markings underneath them, as if painted with the same stuff real ballplayers use to reduce the glare. "You're right," his voice rumbled. "It's just me. If you feel cheated, you're welcome to have another crack at me."

The man shook his head, and ran over to where Cyrus was writhing in pain. The one who'd been holding Wyatt down was crouched over the batsman's first victim, and was gradually bringing him to by shaking him. "Come on, let's get the fuck out of here. Get to the van!"

The batsman walked over to where Tanya was, and talked to her in a low voice that Wyatt couldn't make out. Wyatt was still trying to find his gun on the ground, and couldn't. He didn't know what to do, so he went close to the guys on the ground, but the one who'd been holding him stared up angrily. "Keep back, asshole."

Wyatt paused, and decided it was best not to come at a guy who was obviously feeling cornered. He helped his friend to his feet, and the two stumbled off into the darkness together. When Wyatt looked over, he saw that the other two were also stumbling off, much more awkwardly as Cyrus was a much heavier load to support.

Wyatt didn't know what to do. Without a gun, did he want to try to give chase? He turned towards his sister and the shadowy figure standing before her, and ran up to them.

"Yes, yes, I'm fine. I'll need a new blouse," she said exasperatedly, showing the tears in it, "but that's alright. Thank you, thank you so much."

"It's nothing," the man said.

"Yes, thanks," Wyatt said, and the man turned to him and pointed the bat straight at him. Wyatt could barely see the whites of his eyes from behind the dark mask. The rim from the cap -- Wyatt thought he could make out the Minnesota Twins logo on it -- was casting a strong shadow over his face.

"You," he rumbled. "Why are you alone? Where the hell are the other cops?"

"There aren't any. Somebody was supposed to phone. I guess he didn't-"

Suddenly, from far off, the sounds of a siren wailing slowly eased into the park, and as it grew, it started echoing off the trees.

"Every night this week we've had someone here in this park, and there's never a cop. Never," the man rumbled. "Something needs to be done about that."

Wyatt looked at his sister's face and felt shame wash over him. Her eyes looked upon him. Oddly enough, despite having almost been raped, he could have sworn she was pitying him. He looked at the ground. The sirens were getting louder and the flicker of red and white lights was starting to flash in speckles on the ground. “I’m sorry,” Wyatt pleaded. “I can’t do anything about that. Nobody listens to me.”

"Then I guess they'll have to listen to me," the batsman said. He tilted his head, and pointed at the ground behind him. "Your gun."

Wyatt turned around and saw a black, metallic shape barely catching the flashing light. He ran over to get the gun, feeling sore from the way he was manhandled earlier, and it was surprisingly difficult to bend over to pick it up. When it was in his hand, and he was upright again, he looked over, and saw that Tanya was alone, facing into the darkness and calling out "But who are you?"

There was no response.

Wyatt came back over to her side, and she turned to him. Her face was filled with relief and fatigue as she asked, "Are you ok?"

"Am I ok? Are you ok?" he asked.

She bit her lip and nodded, before looking off into the darkness where the stranger had gone. She continued nodding, and Wyatt saw her eyes welling up with tears before she turned to him and hugged him, and began crying. Wyatt tried to support her weight as best he could, and hugged her back, and didn't let go until the voices started reaching them.

"Wyatt," she said breathlessly as she leaned back. "Do we tell them?"

"What do you mean?" Wyatt said. "We have to tell them something."

"I know," she said, "but do we tell them everything?"

Wyatt opened his mouth, but didn't know what to say.

A half-hour later and they were back at the department. An officer took their statements, and Tanya, sitting there with an ice-pack on her cheek and bandages on her forehead, calmly related the story. One guy followed her, and she ran for help to three other guys, but they attacked her altogether. One of them had gotten the drop on Wyatt before he could draw his gun. They wrestled on the ground, one of them had kicked him, but Wyatt had managed to keep them from getting his gun. When they heard the sirens, all four guys ran away.

Wyatt said nothing the entire time.

"Milter?" the officer asked. "Is this how it went down?"

Wyatt nodded silently.

The officer looked at Wyatt curiously, as though he were surprised Wyatt could have managed to keep two attackers from getting his gun when he'd dropped it... but there it was, sitting in his holster. The officer explained that something similar had happened in a park in the North end of the city. Two guys had scared a Portuguese girl walking by herself, and she went for help to another two guys, and all four ganged up on her. She was raped by three of them, and the fourth was about to get his turn when they were scared off by a group of guys leaving the gym late. Same general description -- four white guys, well-dressed, Lettermen jackets, one much bigger than the others.

Wyatt looked over at his sister as the officer told them about the other victim. She stared into the cup of tea that they'd brought for her but that she hadn't touched. She didn't look up until the statement was passed over to them to sign, which she did quickly. Wyatt did as well, and before long, they were both out the door and sitting in a taxi cab.

"I wonder if we should have said something," Wyatt said.

"What?" she asked, staring out the window. "I didn't feel like explaining it to them."

"Yeah, but, it's a lie..."

"The truth is too weird, Wyatt," Tanya said. "You heard what the guy said. There's a new gang in town. He was talking about that guy who's shooting arrows at people."

Wyatt looked down at the scrapbook on his lap. He'd snagged it right before they left the department.

"I don't want to get involved in any of that," Tanya said. "Something really fucked-up is happening in this city, and I want to stay out of it."

"But you were almost-"

"Almost, Wyatt," Tanya said, putting her hand up and waving him away. "But I'm fine. We made it out of there fine."

Wyatt exhaled, and looked out his own window at the street. Small groups of people were walking over the sidewalk like trains on a track, huddled over in the crisp autumn cold, not really looking anywhere else but where they were going. Twice he saw policecars parked near restaurants.

Anyone of them, Wyatt thought. Anyone of these people could be lunatics.

The cab pulled up to their house, and Tanya paid for it from money pulled out of her now-ruined purse. Soon they were inside, Tanya cleaning herself up in the bathroom, and Wyatt was sitting in the kitchen with the scrapbook in front of him, a mug of hot chocolate in his hand that he suddenly had no interest in drinking.

Tanya came out of the bathroom. The bandages were off, and the cuts and bruises didn't look so bad.

"I'm going to bed. Goodnight," she said as she turned to head up the corridor to her room.

"Tanya," he called out.

She came back and peaked her head around the corner. "What is it, Wyatt?

Wyatt felt a stirring in his gut. "I'm sorry I wasn't there for you."

"It's ok, meine bruder," she said. "You tried. It turned out ok." She smiled, before continuing her way to the bedroom. When he heard her door close, Wyatt suddenly felt cold all over, and the stirring in his gut stayed there as he flipped through the scrapbook with disinterest for a few minutes, and it continued even when he went to the den to watch some television, and it stuck with him throughout that, until he couldn't even bother to watch the screen anymore, and when he headed to bed and tucked himself in without even taking off the uniform, he let the cold and the stirring in his gut take over, and the tears started pouring out, tears of fatigue, relief, and shame.