The Hunter

By James Martin

John Hunter, a young man with very few marketable skills, accidentally discovers that people will reward him for doing good deeds. He takes this revelation and runs with it, and patrols the city at night as a masked vigilante.

John learns the hard way that it's actually very difficult to find crime, much less stop it. Instead, John hires a publicist, and together they turn John into the celebrity superhero The Hunter.

The Hunter's popularity wanes, and John is desperate to stay popular. What will he do to stay relevant? Will he be forced to become a villain?

• Language: English
• Publisher: James Martin
• Release date: Jun 16, 2011

James Martin

Rev. James Martin, SJ, is a Jesuit priest, editor at large of America magazine, consultor to the Vatican's Dicastery for Communication, and author of numerous books, including the New York Times bestsellers Jesus: A Pilgrimage, The Jesuit Guide to (Almost) Everything and My Life with the Saints, which Publishers Weekly named one of the best books of 2006. Father Martin is a frequent commentator in the national and international media, having appeared on all the major networks, and in such diverse outlets as The Colbert Report, NPR's Fresh Air, the New York Times and The Wall Street Journal.  Before entering the Jesuits in 1988 he graduated from the Wharton School of Business.

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The Hunter

By James Martin

Copyright 2011 James Martin

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PART 1

Hero

CHAPTER ONE

Origins

There was nowhere for me to go when I left my parents house. I was never the most social kid, and I kept most of my friends at a comfortable distance. None of them were likely to let me stay at their house, especially since I wasn't sure how long I would be staying. Despite everything that had happened I wasn't scared. The images of my mother and her new boyfriend were enough to keep my mind occupied, and my brain wouldn't let me think of much else.

I wandered around aimlessly for a while, and ended up in the slums of the city. The houses had gradually changed from bright and clean to dirty and run-down. When night fell, I collapsed in a heap on the street, and fell asleep almost immediately.

The most important lesson I learned my first few days of being homeless was that dumpsters can be all-you-can-eat buffets. I found a dumpster outside an old, rundown restaurant that was filled with old food, and I ate as much as I could. Meat from the dumpster was horrible, filled with maggots and god only knows what else, but there was some good bread and old, leftover vegetables that hadn't browned yet.

After being in the dumpster for about half an hour, another man jumped in. He started picking through garbage as if he'd been doing it his entire life, and I stopped and stared. He moved with a mechanical quickness, sorting through the trash and sorting it into small piles. Every once in a while he'd glance over at me out of the corner of his eye.

The man was hefty. He wore an old bathrobe like it was a jacket, and his stomach jutted out like he was pregnant. His scraggly beard had trapped a few scraps of food in it, so I guessed he was eating well.

I looked at the few paltry scraps I'd collected over the last thirty minutes, then at his findings after only a few minutes. His pile was much bigger, and he seemed to be very conscious of it. Eventually, the man walked over to me and handed me a fresh piece of hamburger.

Here, he said. I eat too much anyways.

Thanks! I said. I turned the meat over in my hands a few times, then took a bite.

Whoa, not so much! Small bites, kid.

I looked at him for a few moments, trying to figure out what he meant. Finally I realized that this would probably have to last me for a long time. Oh right. Thanks. I watched him more, and noticed that he nibbled his food, and stashed the rest in his robe's pockets.

The man stood up, hopped out of the dumpster, and started to walk away. After taking a few steps, he stopped and hesitated. Glancing over his shoulder he asked, You need some help?

As much as I hate to say it, yeah, I do.

You can come with me. I've got a place to stay, we can hide out there.

Okay! I said. I jumped out of the dumpster, and he started leading us slowly through the maze of streets. Hey, I never got your name.

The older man stopped and turned, shuffled his rags, a little and said It's Peter.

I'm John Hunter. Pleased to meet you! I said. I was definitely overzealous, but I just couldn't help it. Peter just grunted and nodded, and pointed down a nearby alley.

This is it. This is home.

The place he called home was an alleyway with a few dumpsters and boxes scattered around, but to Peter it was a mansion.

I've lived here for about a month. It's a great spot because it's wedged between these two apartments, it never gets too hot or too cold. We'll be pretty well sheltered from the elements, and if the rain ever gets too heavy we can always just hop in one of the dumpsters.

Peter graciously gave up half of his living space to me, an even fifty-fifty split. There was even a middle section we shared for cooking, eating, and talking. We each had our own separate sleeping areas and some degree of privacy. By laying cardboard and old wood across two dumpsters, I even managed to get myself a roof over my head.

That night I learned a lot about homeless life. Peter told me that the city was divided up into unofficial territories, called neighborhoods. It was sort of like being in a gang. There was no way to determine which group lived where, everyone just seemed to know. Our particular area was in between neighborhoods, and we didn't really belong to any group. Peter and I were on our own, and I get the feeling he preferred it that way. I wouldn't have minded having a little more help, if only for peace of mind, but Peter was enough for now.

We built a small trashcan fire and huddled around it. As the light faded, we gathered closer and closer to the heat of the flames. The light flickering from the fire gave the alley an unsettling look. As the shadows grew longer, everything seemed to grow menacing.

My mind started playing tricks on me, so I decided I needed something to keep my mind occupied. Peter seemed pretty quiet, so I thought I'd try to strike up some conversation with him.

So, what happened to you before, you know, you came out here? I asked.

I'd rather not talk about it, he said.

Oh. Want to know why I'm here? Maybe it'll cheer you up?

Not really, I don't see how that would help.

Instead, I just talked about my old life, while I was still in high school. That really seemed to perk him up. I told him about the ups and downs of high school, playing on the city tennis team, and living with my parents before they got divorced. Then I told him about my sudden spiral from my comfortable life as a student to my current situation, and he seemed engrossed in my every word.

One story really seemed to get to him. It was a story about my first girlfriend, when I was a sophomore in high school.

Sarah was one of the most popular girls in our school at the time, and there was no way I should have been with her. We were from two different worlds, and she was way out of my league. Sarah, a cheerleader and our class historian, was from a rich family. Her dad owned a business, something to do with plastic containers. My family was a different story.

Peter was sitting on the floor, listening intently. He was like a little kid listening to a teacher read a book to the class.

"My parents had just gotten divorced. I didn't even know they were having problems, my dad just came in one night and said he was leaving. He never told me why, and that was the last time I saw him.

"A week later, I asked Sarah on a date. She took pity on me and said yes, and we went to the movies and saw some Stallone action movie. We talked a little bit throughout the night, but she really had nothing interesting to say at all. She talked about her friends, parties she'd gone to, and funny things she's heard recently. I didn't find any of her stories particularly funny, and I just couldn't pretend to pay attention to her anymore.

We had a short-lived relationship after that. Relationships are tough, you know?

He looked up at me, and I could tell he was tearing up a little bit.

No, he said. No I don't. Peter took a deep breath. I've never had much luck with women.

I didn't know how to respond, so I just stayed silent. Peter poked the fire with a stick, and sparks flew into the air.

What happened to your head, anyway? he asked.

I reached a hand up to my forehead. The blood was still a little sticky even though the wound had scabbed over. Oh, this? I asked, feigning a laugh. It's, uh, nothing.

Ah, I see. You fell down the stairs. Peter sighed. Look kid, we're all ashamed of why we're here. A green kid like you sportin' a gash like that? I think there's something to that story. He paused and poked the fire again. Sorry. If you don't want to talk about it, that's fine.

No, no, I think I do, just give me a minute. I took a deep breath and collected my thoughts. The memories were still fresh in my mind, and Peter was probably right. I needed to exorcise them.

It started a week ago, I began. No, that's not quite true. It started when my mom divorced my dad. I guess she went ahead and tried to find a new man. A replacement.

That's okay, take your time, said Peter. I looked up at him in surprise and realized that now I was tearing up a little.

Well, one night I came home and she told me she was moving in with him. I could either join them, or leave. I... some unpleasant things were said and her new man gave me this, I said, indicating the cut.

And that's why you're here. It wasn't a question. I nodded and Peter lowered his eyes.

Oddly enough, he never told me anything else about his own life, and to this day I still don't know why that is. Perhaps he was shy, or was self-conscious, but I guess I'll never know.

The next day was Halloween, and the one of the apartments by our home had a party. We stayed away from the guests, of course, but it also meant we were probably going to be feasting on their leftovers the next day.

Holidays for us are generally a day later than the rest of the world, explained Peter.

November first we truly did feast. It was the first time I had ever seen Peter break a full smile. We even managed to piece together a glass or two of punch.

Another thing we found in the trash that day was an assortment of costumes and clothing. Since we were on our own, and we had absolutely nothing else to do, we had our own little fashion show, trying on all the discarded costumes and parading around. It was the closest thing we had to a party.

Peter told me that the costumes could serve another purpose as well. I'd only been on the streets for a short time now, and already my clothes felt old. Soon they'd be reduced to rags, just like Peter's. He suggested that we wear the costumes under our clothes for more warmth, and I thought it was a good idea.

As we were enjoying the party, two other homeless men approached.

Hey, give us some of that, said the tallest one. He drew himself up, I guess to try and scare us.

No, get your own, snarled Peter.

The two men began advancing on us, and Peter drew himself up as well. He was surprisingly the same height as the other man. He must have hunched when he walked.

C'mon, we just need-

I know what you need. You ain't getting it.

But-

"Fuck you, Fred. You lost last time, you'll lose again. Get out of here, now," said Peter.

Peter and the men began to circle each other, keeping an even distance between each other the whole time. The men's eyes locked, and they seemed to communicate silently. Suddenly Peter let out a half scream, half roar, and started running towards them waving his arms. The two men ran off, and I never saw them again.

Wow! I said. You scared them off! What did they want, anyway?

They just wanted a place to stay, replied Peter rather quickly.

Well why didn't you just let them stay here? We've got plenty of room.

Because that's where it starts. First they'll want to sleep here, then their friends, and pretty soon this nice little place we got here will be full of people. Then comes the booze and drugs, and then the cops take an interest in us and we have to move again. Happens all the time.

Really? Well-

Let's just drop it.

Peter turned beet red, and walked back to his bed, hands shaking. Everything about the situation was raw, and animalistic. They could have been lions defending their territory, their humanity stripped away.

Well, I thought, looks like the party's over.

As I retreated back to my makeshift bedroom, I thought about everything that had happened over the last few days. As far as homeless people were concerned, this place was great. I wanted more, I wanted my life back.

I remember looking at the costumes all piled up, and imagining myself in another world, a world where costumes weren't just pretend, and monsters were real.

Soon, I fell asleep dreaming about werewolves, vampires, and witches, a world where I had incredible power over my surroundings, and I woke up the next morning the happiest I had been since I left my mother's house.

Peter was gone in the morning. It was the first time he had ever been gone when I woke up. At first I thought it was a little strange, but quickly shook it off. He was probably just looking for food, or maybe he had decided to try begging. I felt surprisingly optimistic, and remember thinking that maybe he even went looking for a job. Seems kind of silly now, but I was feeling great that morning. Nothing could get me down, or so I thought.

Midday came and went, and I was getting pretty hungry. I was used to eating a lot more food than I was getting. In high school I had a nice flat stomach, but after graduation I had developed a small little pot-belly.

With Peter gone I started looking for my own food. I couldn't find very much; he was still much better than me at searching for food. I found a few scraps, and even a sliver of pumpkin pie, and surprisingly, that filled me up.

Around dinnertime I was still on my own. No sign of Peter at all. Laying back in my bed, I let my mind wander for a while. I was looking at the costumes again, and saw one that stood out. It was a superhero costume, but it wasn't anything I recognized. I started thinking about the different Halloween costumes I had as a little kid, and I remembered a Superman costume my mom hand-sewed for me. It looked terrible, the fabric was of poor quality and the stitching wasn't very even, but I loved that costume. I used to have the best time running around my front yard, pretending to be Superman.

When I snapped out of my daydream, I found I was wearing the costume. I must have put it on absent-mindedly, because I don't remember actually doing it. It didn't quite fit, but it was close enough. The legs stopped a few inches above my ankles, and the arms were way to short, but it was oddly comfortable. It even had a mask that covered up most of my face. This costume was obviously factory made, it was way too perfect to have been made by someone's mother.

I noticed was that I was no longer in the alleyway. I had walked out to the street, in view of the public. People were openly pointing and laughing at me, thinking I was some sort of entertainment for their children, or a party act.

All the attention I was getting sent shivers of excitement down my spine.

I started clowning around, and a small crowd of maybe ten or fifteen people gathered around me. Doing silly walks, telling a few jokes, I felt popular again. Part of me felt absolutely ridiculous, like I had hit rock bottom, and another part felt like I was alive again.

I stayed for about twenty minutes, and when the crowd started dispersing I received applause, and a few people gave me money.

I made seven dollars total. That's barely anything in the modern work-a-day world, but a small fortune to me. It was basically just another form of begging, but when I was out there, people didn't see me as just another homeless guy. They saw me as a normal man doing a silly job.

I ran back to the alleyway, hoping to find Peter there, but he was still missing. Getting worried, I decided to start searching for him.

I checked every alleyway I knew of, every dark corner that he frequented, but there was still no sign of him. I had just about given up looking when on a whim I decided to check some places on the other side of town.

He was in the third alleyway I checked across town. It wasn't really our neighborhood, and I have no idea to this day what he was doing there, but there he was, sprawled on the ground.

Staggering a bit, I found I had to use the wall for support. Everything seemed to spin, and I'm pretty sure I vomited. After I had collected myself, it seemed impossible not to get a closer look.

He had been stabbed in the neck with a piece of glass. The scene was gruesome, and I was devastated. I don't know who did it, but I have to assume they were the same men who were had threatened us the day before.

He must have gone after them, I thought, the poor bastard. He tried to protect me. He'd tried to get even with them for threatening us, and he'd paid for it. Pride had no place out here on the streets.

Now I was completely on my own. No family, no friends, and no money. I went back home and wept.

CHAPTER TWO

Criminal

After Peter's death, I moped around the alley for a few days. I didn't eat or sleep very much, and I think I was becoming depressed.

Local cops eventually came in and removed Peter's body. They usually left us alone, but the customers of a nearby café started complaining about the smell. The cops carried his body away and I never saw him again. His body had been stripped of anything of value long before they showed up.

Pretty soon a new guy showed up in the alley. I had no