Hurricane Party

I get really horny when i'm aggravated. Sometimes when I'm pissed off, sometimes when I'm antsy. Every time the girl from the end of the block walks by I get a huge hard on. Like a lightning bolt. The tv articles and books say I'm a sexual predator because getting angry makes me horny. That really kills me. I've never even had a speeding ticket. There's gotta be more people like me out there. I've been with a few girls, but it always felt weird. I just don't feel I'm in my place in bed with a pretty woman. Don't get me wrong. I love pussy. I daydream about it all the time. Every time the girl from the end of the block walks by I find myself wondering what hers looks like. I just don't feel right when I'm with a pretty girl. I can't help but feel she can do better than me, and that makes me feel like shit.

I've always been a loner. Most people seem to sense it right away. I don't carry around a big fake smile and try to win people over. I just try to be nice as it takes to get by and go on about my way. Alot of people try to chum up with me. I don't trust any motherfucker with a big salesman smile. Sometimes I think there is a sign above my head that says sucker and everyone can see it but me. I work my ass off. I pull boxes at the p.o. at night, and work ten hours a day Monday through Saturday in the shipyard. Between my two jobs I've managed to put a nice chunk of money back. 

It really amazes me. I stay out of people's way and don't bother anyone. I don't harass anyone, don't drink or party. I've never once been behind the wheel of a car when I was drunk. Matter of fact I can count on one hand the times I have been drunk. And get this shit, the fact that I don't make a big blip on the social radar makes me stand out. I just fucking love it sometimes. I'm no lawyer, but I am sure there isn't a law against being a quiet person. 

I try not to feel guilty about watching the girl. I try to justify it. I never watch her for more than just a few seconds. She's tall. Her hair is long and jet black. It's so black it shines in the sun. Most days she wears it up in a bun. I think that's sexy. I've seen her with her hair down a couple of times. It's long and thick with nice curls. She always has these two little ringlets of hair hanging down, even if she is wearing her hair in a bun. She wears what I call business clothes. Always dark material. She usually wears a skirt and a white blouse, with one of those sport jackets made for women over that. It makes her waist and hips stand out nice. Her tits aren't big but they look great. You can tell she doesn't need one of those wonderbras. Tits like that are a wonder in themselves. 

She has a sway to her walk. It reminds me of the way women in the movies walk when they are trying to seduce someone. It's really noticeable. She just has a sexy walk. Her tight little ass lifts and bounces every time she takes a step. One day about three weeks ago I saw her going by and her walk was all different. She looked like she was almost staggering. Have you ever seen someone who was drunk, doing their very best to walk like they were sober? That's what she looked like. Ok, I admit that day I watched her for more than a second. 

What I saw really pissed me off. She had a bruise under her right cheek, just below the slope of the jaw. She had a compact in one hand and a little makeup brush in the other. She was covering the bruise in a hurry as she walked past my apartment building. She must have been leaving home in a hell of a hurry if she didn't have time to cover that big shiner. She's a pretty girl, so I find it hard to believe she would leave the house without her face on unless there was something wrong. I've had my licks before, and I know that bruise didn't come from slipping on a wet bathroom floor or tripping in heels. Last time I took a shot like that, the guy was trying to knock me out. Looks like a hard right uppercut that didn't quite reach its mark. 

I can't stand myself for saying this, but dammit seeing that bruise almost made me cry. God only knows how she felt about it. It pissed me off, and sure enough as she walked out of sight I was sporting a huge hard on. When I get pissed off and get an erection I feel like the most pathetic thing in the world. I don't want to fuck anyone. I just want to crawl up in a hole and die. I'm sure a bunch of high dollar shrinks would slap a label on me in a heart beat and claim I'm some kind of rare find. I think I'm just a real fucking loser. 

Here's the bad part about the whole situation. Her boyfriend lives in my building. The next floor up to the right. I can hear him and his buddies partying all the time. And they do party all the time, mind you. I have a big screen tv and I can hear them over it clear as a bell. I never turn it up too loud, but even at higher volume I can always hear them above me. He has these two slack face looking buddies that hang at his place all the time. I can tell they don't work. They're soft all the way around and think they're bad asses. My hands bleed sometimes from the abuse they get at work, and I wouldn't hurt a fly. They've never had to live through any hardships, never had to go hungry. I guess since they wear Abercrombie and listen to gangster rap, it's enough to convince them they are bad asses. 

I've been trying to distract myself lately. I watch tv every now and then. Usually I watch The History Channel when they have a show about world war two. Then again when do they not, now that I think about it. I also like Discovery and the classic movie channel. I collect things, too. In my spare time. Over the past couple of years I have started collecting replicas of ancient eastern weapons. Swords, katanas, naginatas, sais. All the names sounded exotic to me. The ninja and samurai weren't just masters at fighting. They were also masters at making. 

Two weeks ago I bought on an authentic manriki. It's a hand made chain. The links are all filed down and honed razor sharp. On both ends of the chain is a porcelain handle about four inches long. The warrior wielding it would swing it like a whip, then when it wrapped around the arm, leg or neck of the opponent, he could snap it back and it would cut right down to the bone. Even take the limb or head right off. I got it from one of those pawn shop dummies. He didn't even know what it was. I got it for twenty dollars. I did some searching online, and if this thing is the genuine article it's worth about seven grand. 

Every time I look at it, I am convinced it is the real thing. It's really my pride and joy. I can just imagine who held this thing, who used it. Maybe this one was ceremonial or a gift. The porcelain handles have tiny little flowers painted on them. Whatever they used to coat the porcelain is some pretty good shit. Both handles shine like they are wet. The white is clear and clean looking. The blue flowers look like the kind you see on those old Chinese tea sets. I always handle it carefully. It'll cut the shit out of you in a heartbeat.

I've seen her walking by with the boyfriend a few times. I don't think either one of them has a car. Every time I see her I try to distract myself somehow. Today she walked by and I suddenly decided I needed to watch tv. I like this tv. Not so much because it's big and fancy, but because it's big and fancy and it's mine. I went to the mall after work one day looking for a new tv. I was standing in front of this tv looking it over. A smarmy looking sales guy walked up and gave me the routine. He took one look at my dirty work clothes and told me I was welcome to apply for store credit. I pulled a knot of hundreds out of my pocket and asked him how long it would take to have it delivered. Sometimes saying nothing at all is the best response you can give. 

 So anyway I clicked on the tv. The first thing I see is a weather screen with a  huge white blemish in the middle. Great. I can't fucking believe this. Another hurricane is on the way. This is the fourth one recently. I'm just about sick of the whole damned hurricane experience. According to the weather channel it's two days away from the east coast, gaining strength as it goes. Looks like I'm going to miss more work. I hate missing work. Something tells me this hurricane is going to be a huge pain in my ass. 

I hear a sudden thumping noise from above me. It's probably the asshole and his friends watching another football game. Seems the only thing they enjoy more than watching a game is yelling at it. I hear another thump, and then hear raised voices. One of them is a woman's voice. I turn off the tv and listen. Two voices, the words muffled. A few words come through loud and clear.

"Goddamnit Eric. I can't take you any more!" The female voice says. She is almost screaming.

"You can and you will. Stop your bitching Lidia." The male voice yells in angry response.

Lidia. Her name is Lidia. Pretty name. More muffled words, sounds like she is crying. 

"No hell I won't! Why did you have to hit me? You haven't worked in three weeks and it's my fault? I can't lose my job Eric. I can't and I won...." Her words are cut short by a flat sound. I can hear two or three fast clicking sounds, then a thud. The motherfucker slapped her then she staggered back and fell. I can hear alot of babbling  back and forth, both trying to talk over the other. She's crying, he's yelling. 

"Don't you dare complain to me. You can't get by without me. You can't wipe your ass without me you stupid bitch. You need me." He screams.

"Eric why do you have to be this way? I can't live with you like this. I love you but goddamn you I fucking hate you." She is crying more than talking now. God that sound hurts so bad. 

I hear another sharp sound, and her cries draw out into one long wail. I can picture her lying on the floor on front of him crying. Her black hair splayed about her, her eyes red and puffy with tears. It occurs to me that I've never seen her close enough to tell what color her eyes are. Suddenly I hear loud footsteps and the slam of a door. Her footsteps are clicking down the stairs to the ground floor. Before the entrance door slams shut behind her, I hear her voice clearly.

"I don't need you."
Ch. 2

I've been sitting at my kitchen table for about three hours now. Just thinking. I've given up any attempts to distract myself. The sound of her crying keeps echoing through my head. Her boyfriend's voice is like an angry buzzing in my ears. I've been having some pretty disturbing thoughts for the past few minutes. I know I should feel guilty about even thinking like that. Every time the sound of her sobbing resonates through me I feel like my blood is boiling. Right now I'm having a hard time feeling guilty about anything. I've entertained foolish thoughts like approaching her. Telling her that she can find help in her situation. Telling her she can get out of it and be safe. But I'm a loner, you see. She'll take one look at me, see my eyes and then she will be afraid of me. It's just that way. It's the most frustrating feeling in the world.

I'm going to lie down for a while. It's useless trying to sleep, but I have to at least get some rest. I've always been a restless person, but since their fight I can't think about anything else. I guess I'll try the most dependable distraction known to man. I'll lie here and daydream about pussy.

When I was twenty two I worked with a girl named Sharon. I was working at a small seafood restaurant. She was a hostess and expo. When she wasn't greeting people and seating them she was helping the servers run food to their tables. I was amazed by her the first time I saw her. Have you ever seen a girl with perfect skin? It seems to almost glow. It looks soft beyond description. She had long blond hair. And her eyes. Let me tell you, this girl could hypnotize a man with those eyes. They were a pure crystalline blue. Just the slightest smile and look from those eyes turned my legs to water. 

I was working the cook line. I was the new guy so I got the shit detail most of the time. She was nice to everyone, and all the guys were hot for her. She was only seventeen, though. I remember that she never used her 'untouchable' appeal to tease anybody that I ever saw. I thought that was pretty impressive of her. She had a great body and could have had men running around after her with no effort at all. Instead she worked her ass off. She worked after school five days a week and a few hours on Saturdays.

Most of the guys at work were really hot to get into her pants. I heard several of them ask her when she was turning eighteen. She just smiled and told them soon enough. She wasn't buying into their stupid come-ons. Telling them when she turned legal was like declaring open season on young pussy. Not letting them know her birthday was very smart of her. It kept the guys at a safe distance. 

She had nice tits. Big and well shaped. Alot of women with big tits have just that, big tits. Size isn't everything. A pair of big sloppy saggy tits doesn't do anything for me. Hers were shaped perfectly. They stood proudly. The slope and fall of her breasts was enough to make me ache to touch them. You could see the shape of her nipples even through her shirt and bra. The girl didn't really flaunt it. She just had it. 

Truth be known she was well built all the way around. She reminded me of a really hot softball chick. Well developed legs. Plenty of muscle but still very nice. Her ass was rock solid. Her waist and hips had that violin shape. I was very taken with her, but there was no way in hell I would have told her. She was always nice to me when she would pop in the kitchen long enough to pick up a plate of trays or snag a bite to eat. 

One busy Friday night she struck a conversation with me. She was on her break. I was re-stocking my station near the end of my shift. I forget exactly what happened, I was too immersed in watching her. I think we were talking about a movie we both had seen. No, wait. I do remember now. We were talking about music. She told me she liked The Mamas And The Papas. I was surprised she even knew who they were. We chatted for about ten or fifteen minutes. When her break was over she said bye and surprised the shit out of me by giving my her number. The whole time I was trying my damndest not to look at her tits. I know that pisses women off sometimes, and I can understand why. Her tits had a way of bouncing when she moved. It was really hard not to stare at them. I think you could put a Greyhound bus on her chest and those tits would still be standing tall. 

I got off work about ten. As I was leaving I got some shitty looks from the other guys. Oh, well. Fuck 'em. I went home and cleaned up. I must have stared at that telephone for an hour before I got the nerve up to call. She answered the phone. I can still remember how the anticipation felt. She erased my anxiety when we started talking. She was just about the nicest person I have ever met. Even to today. Over the next few weeks we talked alot over the phone. We formed a pretty amazing friendship. Even her voice was pretty to me. 

I was slowly building up the nerve to ask her out. Nothing that could be considered a date, mind you. I always kept her age in mind. Last thing I wanted to do was hurt this girl by trying to start something between us that simply wouldn't work. I decided I would invite her to the planetarium. It seemed pretty innocent. Not like a club or a bar. Alot of people there. They had laser light shows with themes. One of them was the Pink Floyd laser light show. I had been wanting to see the show, but honestly I didn't want to go alone. When I finally worked up my nerve and asked her I was completely shocked by her response. We were at work, so I expected her to politely decline me. 

"Sure, I would love to. I've told my mom all about you. She was wondering why you haven't asked me out yet."  She told me.

I remember it like it was yesterday. I told her I didn't want to take anything for granted. That was just a lame way of saying I was too shy to ask until now. She asked me why I had never asked when her eighteenth birthday was. I told her it didn't matter. I was happy to be able to hang out with her. She took her driver's license out and showed it it to me. She was smiling. I looked at the date on the license. She had turned eighteen three weeks before I called her that first time. She was looking at me with this complacent grin.  

"My mom's in Mobile until tomorrow night. You want to come over?" She asked.

I think my jaw hit the floor and shattered. I told her a stuttering yes. She hugged me and kissed me. I could feel her tits rub against my chest. I didn't think any off the other guys had seen us, but as I was leaving that night I heard someone behind me mumble. 

"Fucker."

Yep, they saw us. 

 I arrived at her house about eleven. She answered the door wearing pajamas. I thought that was the cutest thing. Then I saw how the snug fitting pajama pants clung to her ass, the word cute didn't come to mind. She wasn't wearing a bra, and her nipples were standing out like perfect cones under the fabric of her pajama top. Next thing I knew, we were making out out on her couch. I started easing my hand inside her shirt. She always had ways of surprising me. She took the shirt off herself and smothered my face in her tits. I felt like I was obliged to show some kind of restraint. I didn't want her to think I was some slobbering kid.

"Suck on them all you want. That's what they're for."

And that's exactly what I did. I gripped and squeezed her tits while I sucked her pert nipples. She moaned and cooed happily. I couldn't believe it but she seemed to be enjoying it as much as I was. She stopped me long enough to pull her pajama pants off. She wasn't wearing any panties. Her pubic hair was a lighter blonde than the hair on her head. I started rubbing her pussy. I slid my finger inside her and she started sucking on my neck. 

She stood and led me from the couch to her bedroom. She laid down and tucked a pillow under her head. She didn't say a word. She spread her legs and closed her eyes. I took a long moment to look at her. Her skin, her hair, her hips and stomach. Her breasts and her legs. Even her belly button was arousing. And yes her pussy. Her pussy was so fucking fuckable. I can't think of any other word to describe it. I started licking her pussy. I was surprised by the size of her clit. It was perfectly pink. It was about the size of a pea. I licked it and she jumped. I haven't met a woman since who has such a sensitive clit. I licked her clitoris, sucking it and teasing it. She came like a rocket a few minutes later. I mounted her and slid inside. Her pussy enveloped my cock in  intense delirious friction. She pulled me close to her and welcomed my cock. Moments later and I was pulling out of her as I was about to let go. 

The words  'I'm sorry that was so short'  were about to come from my mouth, but before I could speak she grabbed my cock and began jerking me off furiously. My orgasm seemed to multiply inside me when she touched me. I came like a fire hose. Cum shot onto her stomach and tits. She kept stroking my cock until I was spent. I could barely move, now that I think of it. 

"I can tell you're stressed. It's ok." She said softly.

 One of the most arousing things I have ever seen was her lying there with a placid look in her eyes, my cum dripping down between her cleavage. She pulled me close to her and we lie there in a big sticky happy mess. We lie there for about an hour then took a shower together. She let me wash her hair. I really enjoyed that. I lathered her with soap head to toe. After we rinsed off I sucked the water from her nipples. 

"When do you have to be home?" She asked me.

"I have to be at work early in the morning." I told her, frowning. 

"Pick me up at seven for the laser light show." She told me. "I want you to meet my mom."

"That's sweet of you. I'll be here at seven on the nose." 

We toweled off and got dressed. We kissed goodnight standing on her front porch. I had the most surreal feeling of warmth as I drove home that night. 

This memory isn't going where I wanted it to go. 

Three days later Sharon was killed in a traffic accident. I quit my job and left town. 

Dammit man. 

I was trying to think about pussy. Now all I'm thinking about is her. The hurt doesn't sting as much after all these years. It's the things that could have been. They always kill me. 

I can't lie here in bed any more. I can hear voices from upstairs. I hear two voices. A third every so often. Two guys talking. Another one adding a little to the conversation. I'm going to figure out a way to make this motherfucker leave this girl alone. I haven't done anything with myself for a long damn time. I've got another erection. I guess it's my divining rod. I stand on my couch and hold my ear close to the ceiling.

"We're gonna have this  fucking party." The first voice says.

"Yeah but Lids isn't gonna play along."

"Yeah she'll bail like a bitch before she dances for a party."  The third voice interjects. 

"If I fucking tell her to she damn well will." The first voice. Must be Eric. Already I hate that name.

I've seen him. I know what he looks like. He's a stringy looking guy. Not tall. He's what my mama would have called lanky. He has a tattoo on the right side of his neck. It's a small black pointy shape that starts right above the collar and goes down. Looks like the tail of a dragon or a lizard or something. Probably something stylish that runs down his chest or maybe over to his right arm. I want to shank him right where the tattoo starts and pull down on him as hard as I can. Now he's wanting the girl, dammit her name is Lidia, now he wants Lidia to dance at a party for his trashy friends. You know, every time I picture her face I find it a hell of alot easier to imagine gutting that motherfucker like a pig. 

"You think she can do it?" The second voice.

It? What is 'it' ?

"I'm gonna spring Lisa on her. She won't expect it. If Lisa gets naked and dances Lids will have to outdo her. If she doesn't try I'll kick the shit out of her."  Eric says.

I feel like I'm being pumped full of hot air. I didn't know words could make my temper rise like this. 

"You think she's gonna do what you want? I think that would be cool as fuck. Lisa scrubbed me last time she was here. That was cool."  The third voice.

"You're fucking right she is. Lids is a fucking weakling. After Lisa comes in I'm gonna tell her to suck my dick right there in front of everybody. If she doesn't do it then Lisa will and she can go fuck herself." Eric replies. "And I'll deal with her later."

I hear a smacking sound. He's popping his fist into the palm of his open hand. 

I feel like a cartoon rocket. Building up and squirming around before it takes off. Eric keeps talking. I think this is about to get the better of me. I'm not a boy scout but goddamnit treating her like this just isn't right. Eric keeps talking. I guess I'm helpless not to listen. Even though I want to storm up there and kill the three of them.

"I want you to take the pictures for me. If she won't play then I'll fucking hold her down. After the way she talked to me I'm ready to ditch her ass anyway." Eric says.

"My little bro knows all that web page stuff. He can have that shit together in a couple of minutes." The second voice responds.

"Yeah man." The third voice says. He sounds like an imitation of Tommy Chong. "This hurricane party is gonna fucking rock."

Before I realize it I'm walking toward my door with the manriki in my hands. I'm going to go up there and knock on the door. When someone answers I am going to boot kick his ass and then cut Eric in two. And I'm going to do it right now. She's never done anything to deserve this.

Something stops me at the door. The doorknob in my left hand, the manriki in the right.

Wait. 

I don't know this girl. I'm assuming she's some sweet innocent little flower. What the fuck am I doing? I'm getting myself worked up over a stranger. The shame is, she is a stranger. I want to know her but the fact is I don't. Don't know a fucking thing about her. 

I knew a couple of girls back home who liked that kind of treatment. Hell, they lived for it. There was this girl named Gina who wanted me to slap her while we were screwing. Not just a little pop. A hard slap. I didn't do it. I liked it when she gave me little love bites during sex. I just couldn't bring myself to rough her up. Even if she did want it. We didn't get together again after that. And There was Jesselyn. She wanted me to whip her with my belt. Not just spank her. I mean whip her until she was bloody. She dropped her pants one time and showed me her ass. She had welts everywhere. I could see the clear impression of a belt buckle in several places. 

"Now that's what a girl wants." She told me.

If that is what a girl wants, then she's not the girl for me. I think I've been subconsciously hoping Lidia is the girl for me. But that's just foolishness. 

I'm going to have to do something to get this whole fucking thing off my mind. I sit down and drop the manriki in my lap. I'm going to check this girl out. I hate thinking of it like that. That's what it is, though. If she's like Gina or Jesselyn I'm going to find a way to make myself just let it go. Fucking force myself. Her voice sounded so anguished. I've heard my sister's voice sound like that before. That tore me up inside, just like Lidia's voice did. 

One good thing about this damned hurricane bearing down on me. Everything is closed now. The storefronts are boarded up. 'You loot we shoot' spray painted across plywood and particle board slapped over windows. I'm going to ride it out in my apartment. My building is an old brownstone. My apartment has only three windows. All three of them are barred and protected from the wind by other buildings on three sides.

 Lidia's apartment is at the end of the block from mine. The waterfront stretches around behind us to the south. It curves inward the closer it gets to the end of the block. It's about a quarter mile from the back of my building. I guess it's about a hundred yards from the back of hers as the waterfront curves in. Her building is a renovated office building. I looked at the apartments in there once. All the apartments are on a floor to themselves. It was too rich for my blood. I couldn't afford it at the time. That's how I ended up here. I realize I have a good idea what her apartment is like. How it's laid out. Each floor has a section of window with dozens of small panes about a foot square. Looks kinda artsy when they are kept clean. The multi pane windows all face the waterfront. There used to be a little park out there. Old guys playing chess and pretty girls jogging. Now it's used to dock boats. I bet the view isn't as nice as it used to be. 

I am thinking that the view in might be more interesting than the view out. This gets me to thinking.

I have been working the shipyard for a while now. I know alot of people. I never really talk to any of them but they all know me. My super at the shipyard gave me the nickname 'heavy' because I'll tackle anything. That's his word for anything rough or hard to do. ' That's a heavy job' or ' This is gonna be a heavy day '. I work the block and tackle that feeds cable into a big metal reel. The reel feeds the cable out to be used as a feeder line to pull hulls out into the bay. The welders finish their work on rigs built around the boats on the water. All day long I work the cables. I know it's the worst detail out there, but the other guys don't know how much I make, either. I earn more than the lower level office execs. My boss is a fair guy. Lucky for me. 

What I do is simple. I could be replaced by a machine that can do it faster. It just so happens that the machine that can replace me costs about a million times what they pay me in a year That's good job security for me. When I first took the job I got my ass whipped every day. The cables would draw and tense and jerk me around like a rag doll in a pitbull's mouth. I learned to watch the cable and know when it was going to bind or buck. Now I work that bastard like it's a fine violin. My arms have gotten alot more solid, but it's not really a matter of muscle. It's a matter of finesse. 

Sometimes the other guys will come along with their big arms and big mouths. 'Let me show you how to work this thing.' They all say. I play out about a yard of slack and hand them the cable. The same thing happens every time. They square off and give it a hard tug with both hands. The cable is big, so you have to hold it with two hands to get a good grip. A half second later they get jerked off their ass and look up at me all crazy like. They always remind me of the way Wiley Coyote looks after he smacks the side of a cliff. I pick the cable up and play out two or three yards. The line tenses up and I let go with my left hand. I hold the cable tense with my right hand. When I feel it begin to draw up the least bit I ease an inch or so of slack out. This lets the cable seat on the reel while it moves, and it spools up on the reel in perfect even loops. I keep my right arm flexed so it looks like I'm making a tremendous effort. 

The guys says all kinds of things when I do this. My response is always the same.

"If you think you want to fuck with me, think again."

That's probably the most I've said to anyone at work except my super. He's a good guy. He can tell I don't like to talk. Neither does he, matter of fact. 

Sometimes when I'm working the cable I pretend I'm working with the manriki in my hands. Seems this old weapon is natural to me. Just a little finesse and it really springs to life. I have the motion down to a science. It's ironic this thing ended up in my hands. I don't believe in any of that spiritual shit, but maybe there's a reason why this thing came to be mine. 

So I'm going to walk down to the waterfront and take a look at the boats there. I'm familiar with boats, I know how to look at them and look like i'm looking at them, if that makes sense to anybody. While I'm looking at the boats to the casual eye, I am going to be checking Lidia out and get all this hinky shit over with. People are scrambling around securing stuff all over. I won't stand out a bit. Everyone there will know my face. I'm a familiar on the biggest shipyard in town. They will think I'm here helping to bolt things down. 

About an hour has passed and I'm walking along the waterfront. It's raining like a mad bastard. I have a pair of binoculars inside my rain jacket. People are scurrying around like crabs. I stop and help this old couple anchor their sloop. The big wet ropes are giving them a hard time. I take the rope from the old lady's hands. She thanks me with a smile. She is standing their in her dark green rain slicker holding her hands close to her midriff like she is cold. I knot the rope at the bottom of a piling and brace my right foot on the edge of the concrete and wood barrier. I pull the boat to and as it floats closer I loop the rope around the piling and scotch it tight. I hold my boot out and the stop the boat as it floats toward me. The man repeats this at the stern of the boat. He climbs onto the boat. I push the boat out until the ropes are almost taut. He drops the anchor and hops off the port side then ties it to the pilings on the other side. I'm not a sailor, but that boat ain't going nowhere. The man gives me a slap on the shoulder and thanks me. 

"Anytime." I tell him.

Good. Just a guy helping to prepare for the storm.

I walk further down the waterfront until I'm behind her building. The windows are still intact. Some of them have been cleaned up by the tenants. You can see new panes in some of the square frames. They stand out even in the driving rain. I scan up and down the building. I can't see the higher floors with the naked eye so I use the binoculars. The window in the fifth floor stands out. The panes are all colored. It looks like stained glass at first. I wipe the rain drops off the lenses and dry them with my shirt. Another look and I can tell the panes are painted.

Nothing suspicious here. Just a guy surveying damage, maybe looking for missing shingles. 

There are about fifty panes in the window and all of them are painted. Pastel colors that flow together smoothly. Lots of blues and faded coral colors. It doesn't look like they make a picture. Maybe from the inside they make a recognizable image. From the outside it's just a big mosaic of pretty colors. I can imagine cruising by in a big yacht and seeing the sun shining bright on all these pretty window panes. I bet it looks peaceful. That's something a woman would paint. 

I tuck the binoculars back in my jacket. I scan the area around me. Plenty of people moving around the waterfront. Two buildings down from Lidia's there is a man climbing a service ladder up the side of the old brick structure. Well now. This is just too convenient. I walk to the back side of her building. There are two ladders. One on the left side of the building and one on the right. The one on the right leads up close to the outer edge of each window. It goes all the way to the roof. The right hand ladder also faces the inside of the alleyway between her building and the next one over. That's good. The one on the left stops two floors short of the top. I guess it's for checking the down spouts or gutters or something. 

I step on the right hand latter and apply some weight. It's solid as bedrock. I start scaling the ladder. I don't look around me first. If someone sees me I want to look like I know what I'm doing. The rungs are close together so I have to goose step my way up. I stop a few times on my way up and pretend to inspect the building here and there. When I finally reach the window with painted panes I decide to make sure I'm not under any kind of suspicion. I hold steady with my left hand and pull my wallet out with my right. I take out one of my old check stubs. I look at it, look up at the building. I look at the paper again and look back at the building. I nod and then put the check stub back in my wallet and return my wallet to my pocket.  

Nope, nothing suspicious here. Just a guy checking the building out. He's using a diagram and looking the place over. Probably looking for surface cracks in the brick face of the walls. Just like the guy down the row. 

I slowly swing to my left and look into the painted window. At first I can't see anything. The apartment is dim. A light is on to the right of my field of vision. A shadow is moving around there. The view through the painted window pane is distorted and blurred. I still can't tell what the painting is supposed to be of. Right now it's giving me some much needed seclusion. 

The shadow grows short and a form walks into my sight from the direction of the light. It's her. I freeze.

I don't need to be doing this. It's wrong. It's criminal. If I saw someone else doing this I wouldn't ask any questions. I would drag his ass down and kick the living shit out of him. But now I'm up here so I have to stay or go.

I stay. 

She's walking toward me. She turns a couple of feet short of the window and plops down to the right.  She's seated with her back to me. I can see the back of her head. I press my ear close to the window. A bright light comes on. I pull back and realize I'm breathing really fast. She sat down in a chair by the window and turned a lamp on. I creep back into place. The sky is cloudy and turbulent. No chance of a peek of sunshine coming through. With the light beside her I can't cast a shadow inside and alert her to my presence. I listen intently. 

I hear little beeps. She's dialing a telephone. She stops. More beeps. A pause, then more beeps. 

She's tying to make a phone call. Are the lines out? Shouldn't be. We haven't got any bad winds yet. More little beeps. No, she's just trying to make up her mind. She's dialing the number. Hanging up. Dialing it again. Hanging up again. She has to be terribly nervous. She's probably calling Eric. That fucker.

I hear her voice. She finally let the call go through.

"Mom?"

This comes as a relief to me. I'm glad she's calling her mother. Hopefully telling her she's going to stay with her until the cane blows over. Maybe she'll decide to stay there and not come back to Eric. Or maybe Eric won't be here when she comes back. 

"Yes Mom I know. You're right."

Come home baby. You still have time to evacuate safely. I'll have dinner waiting when you get here. 

I can't hear her mother's words but I know what they are saying. I know they are tugging at Lidia's heart.

I'll have your room ready. It's just the way you left it. 

"I want to Mom but I can't. Besides I'm on the outside edge of the bad weather . I just checked the weather."

It's still not safe baby. 

"It's no more dangerous than driving in this rain. I just wanted to let you know I am alright."

Lidia are you alright? Despite the weather. I know you Lidia. You've been depressed lately. Is there anything you need to talk about? You know I'm here for you honey.

"It's Eric Mom. I don't know what to do."

Tell me all about it Lidia.

"He's so different now. I want to break it off with him but I'm afraid to."

Lidia do you need me there?

"No Mom. I can take care of myself. I just hate the situation. He was really good to me when I met him. He made me feel strong. He gave me what I needed. Now that he knows I need him, he is making me hate him."

Some men are like that baby. You deserve better than that. You are a beautiful woman Lidia. The man for you is out there.

"I know. I just felt in my heart of hearts that he was the one. Now I know he's not. Some things have happened Mom. Things I can't live with."

Has he hurt you Lidia?

"I'm going to break it off with him tomorrow night. He's having some stupid hurricane party. I'm going to tell him it's over."

Lidia, darling, do you think it's a good idea? Come home and call him from here. 

"No Mom I have to do this face to face. The only way I can look at myself after the way he hurt me is to tell him to his face. Mom he used to give me support, make me feel able. Now he treats me like I can't live without him. I thought I needed to be treated that way, but I've made a terrible mistake. I've grown up alot in the past few weeks and I don't want to feel ashamed any more."

Her voice is trembling. She is close to tears.

Lidia you are a strong person. I don't want you to do this but if you think it is what you need then do it. Please just know what you are doing. Angry men are unpredictable animals. If he lays a hand on you call the police. Please baby.

"I will Mom." 

She is crying now. Little sniffles and snorts. She's close to breaking down and bawling. I know what she's thinking. If he lays a hand on her? He's already made a habit of slapping me around Mom and I let him do it. It excited me the first time but now it's gone too far. But I can't tell you any of that. I want to break up with him but I'm scared as hell to do it. Especially with his friends around. But now that I've talked to you about it I have to. I have to.
 
Lidia do what you think is right.

"Yes Mom I will. Promise. I got another scholarship offer in the mail yesterday. They want me to post a new painting on their web page and see the feedback they get."

Lidia I'm so proud of you.

She's an artist. That makes perfect sense to me. She's a work of art in herself. I can picture her standing in front of the window in a paint spattered t shirt and shorts. Her hair tied up in that sexy bun. A slender paint brush in one hand and another clenched in her teeth. An easel to one side of her with a neat row of open paint cans sitting on the little ledge. A paint smeared canvas resting in the easel where she mixes the colors to her liking. 

Right now she's sitting here crying to her mother over the telephone while I hide behind her like a fucking chicken thief. 

"Thank you Mom. I'm glad I can talk to you." 

I always have time for you Lidia. If you decide to come home I will be waiting for you. Just be safe. Please.

"I promise I will be. I love you Mom. Goodbye."

Goodbye Lidia. I love you.

I hear a beep. She hung the phone up. Now I can hear her crying. Long wails and sobs, deep breaths followed by more crying. The sound pierces me. Am I torturing myself as she much as he is torturing her? I look down. Sure enough I have a huge erection. My cock feels so hard it hurts. I've finally made up my mind. In my life of loneliness, scars and doubt, one solitary thing is for certain. 

I'm going to crash this hurricane party.

Ch. 3

My mind is racing. I walked around the waterfront for over an hour after I left Lidia's building. It was stupid of me to hang around afterward, but it didn't occur to me. Now I'm sitting here thinking of what to do. She's walking into a trap. Eric isn't going to listen when she tries to break up with him. He's not going to be reasonable. He won't be understanding. He will beat the hell out of her while his friends watch. His friends won't try to stop him. They will jeer and laugh while she cries and tries to run away. He said he would hold her down if he had to. I believe he will if he can.

But he won't. Because I won't let him. I have always felt like I was a stranger in the dark to the rest of the world. Tomorrow night that is exactly what I will be. 

I have seen some very sick, dark shit in my life. Lately I have been thinking of my own sick and dark shit. I'm not happy, you see. I can think of few brief moments in my life when I think I was truly happy. I am jeapordizing myself by taking this upon myself. I have to ask myself something. I know what a waste my life has become. I know how dysfunctional I am. I realize that I haven't done anything grand in my life. No one is inspired by me. I don't have any kids or wife to come home to. I'm one of those nameless faceless people who floats through life every day never truly being noticed or remembered. I can't remember one accomplishment so great I want to take the memory to my grave with me. I have had some friends and been with some people who made me feel proud in my past. They are all gone now and this wrecked person I am is all that is left behind. I have to ask myself.

If I do this can I learn to live with myself?

I know what the consequences can be. Probably will be. In the past my temper has got the better of me. Never without being provoked, but when I lost my temper I also lost self control. I had a friend tell me once 'You will find your place in this world'. That was almost twenty years ago. She's gone now. In the ground. I haven't found my place in this world. But goddamnit I am going to do something worthwhile for a change. Maybe I can make a place for myself in this world.

Most likely I am going to end up sitting in a prison cell. No one will write me. No one will plea for my pardon or appeal my case. No letters from a sweetheart waiting on the other side of the bars for me to come home to and screw her brains out. No cakes with files in them. If I go through with this I sincerely believe I can live with myself. So I can handle what life throws at me afterward no matter what.

I'm tired of sitting here. I've got things to do. I checked the weather channel a few minutes after I got back from the waterfront. The hurricane is poised about a hundred and ten miles off the coast from me. The tropical force winds are radiating out from the storm around it in a wide arc. The wind and rain are picking up outside. A few hours from now and it won't be safe to go outside. Most people won't go outside now. So that means it's time for me to get moving. I know this sounds redundant, but I need to go back to the waterfront. 

About twenty minutes later and I'm walking along the docks. A shadow lost in shadows. The wind is a constant high wail. It is almost pitch black out. No moonlight can penetrate the thick barrier of angry clouds. There are lights on in a few of the larger boats docked here. I steer clear of them. I am working my way to the pier near the end of the waterfront where the old guys like to fish. Something I need is there. Once I reach the pier I walk to the end. The wind is buffeting me pretty bad now, but I want to get a good look at the ocean. Whitecaps are raging everywhere. The hurricane is over a hundred miles away and I can barely walk for the strong winds. I can't imagine what it's going to be like when the bastard gets here. 

Along the pier at regular intervals are huge wooden beams. On every fifth beam is a big piece of pvc pipe with a curved fitting on top. They are for disposing of fishing line so they won't kill fish and other marine wildlife that can get tangled up in the line. The top is curved out to keep water from getting in. I've seen a few dead birds wash up on the shore with pieces of monofilament fishing line tangled in their feet and wings. They are pretty pitiful. I feel sorry for them. I carefully slide my hand down inside one of the plastic pipes. I feel a knot of fishing line. I pull the tangled mess of line out slowly, careful not to rake my hand through a bunch of fish hooks. I take a small plastic grocery bag out of my rain jacket and stuff the mass of fishing line in it. One more item and I can go home. 

Shipyards and docks are great resources for finding stuff. I mean just stuff. Pieces of rope, all kinds of discarded metal items. Lengths of chain. The problem is I don't really know what I'm looking for now. It's dark as hell outside and raining like a cow pissing on a flat rock. I know I'll find plenty of things out here. When I see one I can use it will come to me. It's kinda scary what I plan on doing. Then again I have been scared my whole fucking life. Time for someone else to be scared. 

After a few minutes of cautious rambling I have found it. I have come across an old sailboat with a salvage sticker on the hull. Sarah Lee is written along the ass end in big red letters. I guess someone likes cheesecake. It is only tied in one place. I guess since it's already beat to shit it won't affect the scrap value if the hurricane beats it a little more. And if it sinks big deal. 

Fuck the salvage. That there is an artificial reef now boys. Let's go fishin'  They would say.

There is a small decorative anchor hanging from a silver chain on the bow of the boat. The anchor is about twelve or fourteen inches wide from tip to tip. The chain gleams in the random lightning flashes. 
I keep a diver's knife in my boot. The tip is thick and blunt for prying oysters and such off of rocks. I hinge the blade under the anchor and pop it off with relative ease. I wipe the blade of my knife on my pants before I put it back in its sheath in my boot. Old habits die hard. The chain is still attached to the hull. I wrap it around my right hand and give a hard slow tug. Never snatch a chain. That'll cut the piss out of you. Steady does it and she'll give every time. The chain has some kind if plastic sheath over it. Probably to keep it looking shiny. I push the plastic up and wrap the bare chain around my hand, then pull the chain slowly. It separates from the boat with ease. There is a small metal plate with four rivets hanging from the end of the chain. Flecks of fiberglass are stuck to the rivet heads. I splash the chain in the water to wash the fiberglass fragments off. Fiberglass plays hell with you if it ever gets in your skin. You will never stop itching. I wrap the chain around the anchor and put it in my jacket. Time to go home and make preparations. 

I have found inspiration in strange places in my life. I knew this old guy a few years back who was an ex-con. He was a guest of the Alabama prison system for a long time. That must be about as close to hell as you could get. He used to tell me the wild shit he saw while he was in. Often when he would tell me a story about the hardships of Alabama prison life, he would punctuate the tale by showing me scars he got when the story was happening. I learned alot of things that people do to each other in prison. One night he called me out of the clear blue. He was shit faced drunk at some dive and wanted me to give him a ride. I won't go so far as to say he was my friend, but at the time he was the closest thing to a friend I had. So I went to pick him up. When I got there he was getting into a shouting match with a bunch of bikers outside the bar. I apologized to the guys. They were pretty cool about it once he quit yelling. Then the drunk fucker got mad and turned on me. Next thing I know and he's taking a jab at me with a knife. A cheap knife, too. I don't know why but that pissed me off more than anything. The knife was old and ratty looking. The handle was deer antler that had turned yellow with age. The blade looked like it hadn't been sharpened or cleaned in since it was bought. The last thing you want is a rusty knife in your gut. Trust me, I know. 

He took a staggering run at me and swung the knife. I side stepped and dodged him. I planned on goose stepping around him until he had to stop to get his wind, then getting in my car and speeding off.  To my surprise he was alot quicker than I had anticipated. He spun around and leapt right at me, knife held out in front of him. I came down hard with my left hand and hit his forearm just below the wrist, then punched him in the crook of the arm with a hard jab. His arm flew up limp but he still had the knife in his hand. I balled my right fist up as hard as I could and punched him in the throat. It felt like hitting a pinata. A little resistance then a soft mushy feeling. He tripped backward gagging and hacking. I stood my ground and waited for him to give up. People are unpredictable when they are drunk, more so when they are drunk and stubborn. He regained his balance and dived at me. His eyes were bulging out like that blue puppet Gonzo. He was still trying to catch his breath, but that didn't stop him from trying to kill me at the same time. I waited til he got about two good steps away then hooked to his left. I came around with my right elbow hard and fast. My elbow caught him squarely in the throat. He fell like someone had reached up his asshole and pulled his skeleton out. He lie there about for two minutes puking and bleeding until he decided to give up the ghost and die. 

The police showed up shortly thereafter. They questioned me for all of thirty seconds then started canvassing the crowd gathered outside for witnesses. I wasn't put in cuffs or told to stay put. I didn't even have to sit in the back of the squad car. Apparently the witnesses told them what they wanted to hear. They came back to me a few minutes later and told me I wasn't going to be charged with anything. They didn't ask me to come downtown, didn't ask me for my full name. They even asked me if I needed a ride home, to which I politely declined. I'm not entirely convinced they filled out a police report. They don't call it the dirty south for nothing. 

I learned alot from that old cuss. Tonight I am going to put what I learned to use.

It took me a while to untangle the mess of fishing line and old hooks. Now I've got about ten feet of the fishing line played out. I tied it to a kitchen chair and walked across my apartment until it tightened up. I walked back to the chair, doubling the line over itself once, twice, then a third time. I cut the line from the chair, then at the bottom of each loop, then at the top. Now I have three even length pieces of line. I knot them together on one end and tie that end to the chair. I make another small knot about two inches below the one attached to the chair. I pull a chair up and sit close to the one with the line tied to it. The fishing line is pretty heavy gauge. I would say maybe sixty or seventy pound test. More than enough for what I am using it for. I start braiding the three lines together. In ten minutes or so I have a piece of braided monofilament rope about three feet long. I tie it off at the end then cut the line between the two knots at the top. Last I tie a loop about the diameter of a quarter in one end, and a loop about the size of a nail head in the other.

I need a soda straw. I look through my kitchen cabinets and drawers and find three. One big one and two skinny ones. The big one is white with yellow stripes. The skinny ones are solid red. I'm pretty sure the skinny ones won't work. I might have to go digging through the dumpster to find one the right size. If I have to, I'll do it. 

I look through the jumble of fishing line and hooks. There are a few sinkers and several hooks in the tangle. I carefully cut the hooks and sinkers out of the line. Most of the hooks are big and rusted. When I am finished I have ten sinkers and eight hooks. Two of them are small treble hooks. Perfect. I got snagged on a treble hook once when I was a kid. I remember I was scared shitless. They have three sharp prongs and can get hooked in damn near anything. It got me in the skin of my right palm. I had to pull it out and it hurt like merry hell. 

I take one of the smaller sinkers and ream the hole in the center out with an ice pick. I slide the sinker over the neck of a treble hook. I have to force it a little but that's ok. That means it will stay put and work well. Next I tie the treble hook to the small loop of the braided rope I made. This is the moment of truth. I pick up the big soda straw and put the treble hook into the end. The hook slides in easily. That's a relief. It isn't touching the inside of the straw with all three prongs, so it has room to move. I hold the straw up and let the hook slide to the bottom then hold the straw upright on the kitchen table. I slowly pack the rope into the slender body of the straw. I twist the rope between my fingers as I pack it in, so it will roll into a neat spiral inside the straw. When all but the big loop is stuffed inside the straw, I wrap the loop around the base of the straw. Now all I have to do is lie the straw on its side and tape the end so the treble hook won't fall out. 

I just realized I have an erection. It doesn't seem like it but almost four hours have passed since I went back to the waterfront. It's almost daylight outside. Less than twelve hours til the hurricane party.  I know Lidia isn't sleeping right now. She's thinking of Eric and trying to find a peaceful way out. I'm thinking about him trying to think of a quiet way in. 

For a moment I can picture her sitting in front of her painted window. How hopeless she has to feel looking out through the blues and coral colors at the raging sky and the ocean in its tantrum. The view has to be blurred. 

That is how our life has been, isn't it? We go through life holding on to the hope that there is some true happiness for us. Most of our life the vision and the realization of that happiness is blurred. I don't even know who I am any more. It pains me to know she must feel the same. Eric hurt her pride and turned her need against her. Now she is trying to regain her pride and it is tearing the girl apart. 

I'm going to take a long hot shower and lie down.  I know I won't get any sleep. I just need to try and calm down. I might find myself at peace with this situation. I am going to crash the hurricane party tonight and kill all three of those bastards. Lidia will be shocked and scared for a while. The shock and fear will wear off. Eventually she will be living by her own free will and that thought is worth all this to me. In the not too distant future the view out of her painted window will be much brighter for her. Right now I'm going to lie my head on the table until I work up the energy to take that hot shower. 

Fade Out

Whoa. I can't believe I fell asleep. Shit it's almost six o'clock. 

I bolt to my living room and stand on my couch. I can hear moving upstairs. Scraping noises. Sounds like someone moving furniture around. Eric's getting ready for the party. That means I have time to get ready, too. If I know his scumbag friends half as well as I think I do they will be there early. They practically live there anyway. Lidia will be arriving early to talk to Eric. This could be a recipe for disaster. I have to get my ass in gear. I have to take a quick shower and rinse off three or four times with really hot water. That way I won't smell like soap or shampoo. 

I'm standing in the shower five minutes later rinsing like mad. I step out and begin to towel dry, when the power goes out. I fumble in my medicine cabinet for a candle. I clumsily slap around until I find a small candle and a lighter. The candle is just about shot. I light the little nub of a candle and go to my bedroom and get dressed in the half dark. Black shirt. Black leather jacket. Black gloves. Black denim jeans and black flat soled shoes. Did I mention I like black?

I take the candle and set it on my dresser. I cautiously open the drawer where I keep the manriki chain. How do I carry this thing around without sawing my leg off? Wait, the chain on the anchor. I grab the manriki by the handles and go to the kitchen with the candle in the other hand. Drops of wax hit the floor as I walk through my apartment. I set the manriki down gingerly in a chair and the candle on the tabletop. The anchor and chain are on my kitchen table. I strip the plastic sheath off the chain and slide it over the manriki. Like a fucking glove. I slip the soda straw in my front jacket pocket. With the plastic sheath over the manriki I can fold it up nice and put it in my back pocket. Last thing I grab is the anchor. I have to loop the chain around the neck of the anchor so it won't fall loose. I stuff the bottom of the anchor down the front of my pants about four or five inches. It sits flat against my stomach. Last I felt inside my jacket pocket and pulled the tape off the front of the soda straw. I pushed it hard into the bottom of the pocket so the treble hook can't fall out.

I can see my pants are tented. A blue vein throbber, guys in high school would have said.  I hear voices from above me now. I climb the couch and press my ear hard against the wall. 

"Yeah it fucking sucks. Don't shit yourself, though. I have a shitload of candles and we have ice for the beer so it's all good." That's Eric's voice. I recognize it.

"Where do I stash the camera man?" The Tommy Chong impersonator asks.

"Beside that chair. She won't see it anyway." Eric replies.

"When is Lisa gonna get here? I got some ass kickin' ditchweed from my little bro this morning. I wanna get her flyin' and poke her ass tonight man." That's the other guy. So all three of them are there. 

I hear the high shrill ringing of a cell phone.

"Yeah? Ok, yeah whatever. Just hurry." Eric barks. "Lids is on her way. About twenty minutes."

"This is gonna be so fucking cool man." The second voice says.

"Just don't fuck it up. I told Lisa what a bitch Lids is being so she is cool with it. If Lids shows her ass I want you to help hold her down while Trip takes the pictures." Eric commands.

"I just push the button man?" Mr. Chong asks. Seems he ends every sentence with the word man. It's obvious he's an intelligent one. 

"Just push the fucking button when the green light comes on you fucking douche." Eric snaps. 

The cell phone rings again. Eric answers.

"Fuck!" He blurts. "Lisa ain't coming."

"I guess that means we get to work Lid's ass raw eh?"

"You damn right Trip. You are abso-fucking-lutely-right". Eric says in response.

Time to get moving. 

Thirty seconds later I am padding up the stairs. Good thing this hurricane is in town. This place is a ghost town. Most of the tenants here are older folks. They don't want to ride out a hurricane. They want to sit it out from three hundred miles away while watching the fucking thing on the news. Good for me. Less than twenty minutes now.

I'm asking myself can I really do this. Before I can answer my hand is touching the knob on Eric's apartment door. I turn the doorknob just the slightest. It turns freely under my hand. I didn't expect it to be locked anyway. These guys have the responsibility level of a cockroach in a shit house. I turn the knob slowly, dammit seems like it's taking forever. I spin the knob a bit farther then it won't turn any more. I open the door and slide inside.

It's dark in here and smells like three tons of reefer. There are seven candles illuminating the apartment. Four of them are sitting side by side at the far end of the room. I guess that's where he plans on making Lidia suck his grimy cock while the stoner takes pictures. The other three candles are scattered around, not really putting off much light in one place. I press myself against the wall and slide behind a big easy chair. I try to train my eyes on the base of the chair. Eric said the camera would be here. I can see a faint silver reflection near the right side of the chair. I touch it with my toe. Yep that's it alright. I push the camera under the easy chair with my toe. 

The chair reclines back. Shit someone is sitting in the fucking thing. I press flat against the wall. Fuck which one is it?

"Fuck." Eric screams.

His voice is from somewhere away from me.

"Dude don't you have any more candles? You have to be like, prepared for this shit ya know?"

That's the second guy. So then the guy in the chair is Trip. Hello Mr. Stoner. Are you enjoying your seat? 

I can smell his oily hair from here. I don't have to worry about him smelling me, this bastard stinks. I brace my right hand on the back of the chair then put my foot on the reclining lever on the side. I push the lever down and shove the chair upright. Trip flops forward in a comical little jump. He stands up and turns to face the chair.

"Whoa dude. Eric man your chair is fucked ....."

I can see the yellowed whites of his eyes.

"Who.." 

I'm waiting for him, standing not twelve inches away. My right arm is half extended. The palm of my right hand is laid flat with the fingers pointed in and the thumb hard against my palm. I punch him under his nose with the flat of my palm. I shove his nose upward into his brain like a grenade made of cartilage. He makes an odd 'urf' sound then goes limp and falls forward. I catch him as he falls and spin him around. I seat him back in the easy chair. 

That was your last trip asshole.

"Trip what did you say?" The second guy's voice. 

I see a dark shape walk into the room from a door on the right. I pull the small anchor out and let it swing from the chain.

"Trip what did you say dude? " The second guy asks again.

"I said anchors away motherfucker."

"Wha?"

With a snapping motion I swing the anchor up, then over my head and in a fast left hand spin. Just like working the cables. Not 'heavy' at all. The chain wraps around his neck one loop and the anchor circles back around and smacks him in the face. One of the prongs buries itself in his left eye socket. My cock feels so hard right now it just might explode.

I grab the back of his head with one hand and shove the anchor in with the other. I can feel a moment of sickening resistance, then the prong glides through the eye cavity into his brain. I rip the chain from his neck and grab it with both hands, then pull as hard as I can and slingshot his body into a dark corner behind me.

"What the fuck are you two doing in there?" Eric barks.

"Just enjoying the hurricane party." I say.

I pull the soda straw out of my pocket and palm it in my right hand.

Eric walks into the room through the same door the anchor man did. He sees me and freezes. 

"Who are you? Did Trip invite you?" He asks me angrily.

"No." I say. "Lidia did."

Eric takes a step forward and raises his right arm. Like he's going to tell me to get out. I jump forward and grab his right shoulder. I pull down with all my strength and bring my right knee up into his gut. He coughs out a belch of air and doubles over. I pull him upright. His face is turning a bruised purple color. His eyes are bulging in their sockets. His mouth is wide open, gasping for air. 

I put the soda straw in my mouth then lean forward and stick the other end in his open mouth. I blow  hard into the straw.

He suddenly gets this confused expression on his purple face. I jam the straw back in my jacket pocket. He has about two feet of the braided rope hanging out of his open mouth. I punch him in the chest as hard as I can. He inhales in a loud whooshing sound. A foot of the rope disappears down his throat. I hook my finger through the loop at the end of the rope and draw the rope tight.

He starts acting purely insane. He's screaming and trying to slap at me. I tug the rope and he starts making gurgling crying noises. I pull the rope down and he drops to his knees. Good doggie. I pull it to the right, he crawls to the right. His eyes are shot with insane panic. Blood trickles from his mouth. He's trying to talk, trying to cry, trying to breath.

"Shhhhhhh." I whisper to him.

He tries screaming and I give the rope another tug. He immediately grows silent. Something in his pathetic garbled words sounded like 'I'm sorry'. I can't be sure. I bet he is, though. I take the rope with my left hand and pull the manriki out of my back pocket with my right. I give it a snap and the plastic sheath falls off. His eyes seem to grow to ten times their original size. The razor sharp links of the chain shine and catch in the candle light. He makes a feeble attempt to back away from me on his hands and knees. A slight tug on the rope and he stops cold. 

"You shouldn't hurt women." I tell him, then let go of the rope.

He makes a desperate dash backward on his hands and knees. I snap the manriki and it wraps around his neck. I give it just a slight tug and his skin seems to erupt in a gout of blood. I put my right boot on the back of his head and shove his face hard into the floor. A dark puddle spreads around him. I whip the manriki up in a snapping motion, and his body lies still. 

"That was for Lidia. She deserves better. Better than both of us." I whisper to the bastard.

"Oh my God." A voice says from behind me. 

I spin around, the porcelain handle of the manriki still gripped in my hand.

Lidia is standing there.

"What? Oh God what is happening?" She screams.

I'm frozen. I can't fucking move. Our eyes lock. She is ash white. She takes a step back toward the door. She's in shock. She can barely move. Neither can I.

Oh God no I've done more damage to her than Eric ever did.

She takes another step backwards.

Maybe if I do this I can live with myself echoes through my mind.

"I, I couldn't let him hurt you again." I say breathlessly. "I saw your bruises Lidia."

Her hand is on the door knob. Any second and she is going to break and run. She looks like she has just been shot.

"I saw the bruise when you walked by. I, I can't tell you. I mean, I don't know why I had to, why I had to do this. It just, I couldn't stand myself." I stammer. I can't even fucking speak. "I couldn't live with knowing he was hurting you. I had to do something and things, things just went too far. I got too mad about it because I saw how happy you could be." 

I should give up on trying to talk.

Her hand left the doorknob.

"Do I know you?" She whispered through tears.

"No. Nobody does. I'm nobody. Especially to someone like you. I had to do it. It was killing me, it was just, it was just because you are beautiful and you deserve so much better. I was eavesdropping. They were going to take pictures of you. The camera is under the chair. Eric was going to make you, he wanted, he wanted to do things."

 I break into tears.

"I'll wait here for the police if you want me to. I'll turn myself in. It's just that, it's that.."  I can't breathe to talk. I blurt the words out in a painful shove. "I have never had anyone in my life so beautiful as you who didn't die or go away, and I just couldn't stand to see you being torn apart."  

I'm consumed by crying now. I drop the handle and fall to the floor on my knees. I bury my face in my hands and let my anguish take me. I'll sit here and wait for the police. My breath is hitching and catching I am crying so hard. I'm kneeling in a puddle of Eric's blood. 

I've killed three men. I believe they honestly deserved to die. Now I realize I didn't just kill them because of Lidia. It's because my loneliness has consumed me. Look at the animal I have become.

I look up and Lidia is gone.

I guess I will sit here until the police arrive and carry me away.

An hour has passed and I'm still sitting here. 

Another hour passes.

And another.

I slowly rise to my feet. My knees pop and hurt. The police station is two blocks from here. She could have walked there ten times by now. I have gotten myself in over my head. This is all too heavy for me. I don't know what to do. 

Wait. Yes I do.

Fade Out

Somewhere in a small apartment in Charleston South Carolina a young woman is watching the news. She has watched the news channels all day. The headlines all repeat themselves. The same stories over and over again. She always grows still when one headline plays. She watches it, then waits breathlessly until the same news reel is played again.

"A grisly discovery in the aftermath of Hurricane Jeanne. The remains of three men were found in a pile of wreckage at a central Florida boatyard. The men were apparently drinking while seeking shelter on a boat that had been tagged for salvage. Authorities believe the men were killed as the boat, the Sarah Lee, broke free from its moorings and was thrashed between the docks for several hours. Authorities say they have not yet been able to identify the three men because their bodies were badly disfigured by being submerged in water for several days. Authorities also noted the waters are teeming with fish and other aquatic life that mostly skeletonized their remains and that is making the effort to identify the men more difficult. 

In an unrelated incident, a seven story apartment building was consumed by flames less than a mile from where the three bodies were discovered. At a press conference Monday morning the fire marshal stated that drug paraphernalia was likely the cause of the fire." 

I went back to the waterfront after the cane blew past. Debris was everywhere. Several of the buildings had lost windows. Lidia's building took a hard lick. Several of the window panes were missing. The gutters were twisted and torn away. The ladder I climbed to peer through her window was gone.

I found one of her painted window panes among the endless litter left behind by the storm. I keep it with me now. It's my talisman. It's a reminder. 

Time to move on.

Fade To Black

Copyright 2004 LE Darkeyeddemon.com