The evening was cool and crisp. Brown leaves crunched beneath the Janitor’s feet as they headed back the graveyard to bask in the glory of their successfully cleaned victims. Only he knew what they were, and it was his pleasure to keep their roles to himself.

As he turned and strolled past the gates, he noticed a young lady with long hair and a white dress sitting at a different grave. The Janitor squinted and recognized the Jailor’s grave. Who was this girl? Was she a crazy witch trying control a corpse?

He hid behind a tree and watched her perform some sort of ritual. Suddenly, a white beam glowed from the sky to the grave. The lady in a white dress stood up; the janitor could see even from here her knees were shaking.

Then, they waited. The Janitor supposed an owl hooted.

Out of nowhere, the dirt on the Jailor’s grave shifted. A hand popped out. The Janitor gasped internally. This tiny girl was a Retributionist?

The rest of the Jailor eventually made it’s way out of the ground, with the help of the lady in white. They hugged. But the Janitor didn’t want to see any more of this. He turned away and ran the other direction.

The Retributionist heard a twig snap and someone running away. She glanced to her right to see a person disappearing among the weeds.

The next evening, the Janitor snuck up to the Retributionist’s home and peeked in her small place through a window. She seemed to be baking something and humming a merry tune. The Janitor watched with wide eyes until suddenly, a shadow came out of nowhere and stabbed her.

He gasped and rushed into the house in alarm. Blood was pooling around her and soaking her dress; it turned the silky white to a horrifying red. However the lady heard his footsteps, glanced up at the Janitor, and smiled tiredly.

“Let me help you, uh-miss,” he said, in a rush to find paper towels

“It’s okay,” she answered him, “I can’t survive this wound, I’ve lost too much blood already.”

“But is there anything I can do?”

“Yes, please stay with me until…”

“Will do.” The Janitor sat down beside her and held her hand.

“Were you the man who ran yesterday?” the Retributionist inquired timidly.

“How do you know?” answered the Janitor, shocked.

“I saw a glimpse of your face before you ran.”

“I see…”

“Can I ask why?” her voice was becoming weaker. The Janitor shrugged.

“I…I don’t know…”

“But I think you do,” she murmured and moved her hand to put it around the Janitor’s neck. The Janitor realized what she was doing and moved in automatically for the kiss.

Their lips touched lightly and their eyes closed for a minute. The Janitor’s opened first, and the Retributionist’s fluttered open second and they shared a gaze full of things they couldn’t say out loud.

“I love you,” she whispered, before closing her eyes one last time.

The Janitor let many tears escape before fully out sobbing. He swore he’d find the Serial Killer who murdered her until the day he died. He glanced down at the bloody mess; the least he could do was clean up the mess.

So that’s what the Janitor did. He spent the night scrubbing the floor, her dress, and cleaning her face gently. Before leaving for the last time, he noticed the pie she had made sitting on the corner still warm. An unfinished note sat by it. He stepped closer, and read.

“Dear Mr. Stranger,

I think I saw you yesterday when I brought back the Jailor. Tonight, you were watching me making this lovely pie. I had originally intended to make this for the Mayor, but then I saw you outside. Please take this. I have no idea who you are or what you were doing, but my gut feeling tells me you are go-

The Janitor closed his eyes, trying not to shake. He took the pie with him, along with her ring from her finger. The Janitor knew she would want him to have it to remember her by.