Old Porters

Chapter Thirty One

Thirty One

The throbbing heat in Roger’s face caused him to screw his left eye shut. Through his right eye he watched as the Demon, the maniac who had half killed the vigilante at the Milton hotel, stepped into the house. He still had the same red plastic Halloween mask over his head, but now he wore a dark brown combat jacket. Lots of pockets, lots zips, a high funnel neck collar. He also had on dark cargo pants and leather gloves with big old army boots. The Demon had come prepared.

The villain lunged at the vigilante, in his right hand was a strip of metal, possibly even a carpet edging strip, wrapped in a damp cloth that had an orange tint to it, as if it had been used to mop up watered down orange paint. This was not how Roger had expected his evening to go. Not even close.

The split second before the plastic faced man landed his second blow, Roger kicked him backwards. The glass at the top cracked as the maniac hit the door.

The vigilante sprang to his feet. Once upright Roger felt dizzy. That sucker punch really had rattled him. His face felt like it was blistering.

As the Demon regained his balance, the vigilante jumped forward with a wild swing from his right fist. Maybe it was because his socks slipped on the floorboards, or maybe it was the pain from his face, whatever the reason, the punch missed its target and Roger ended up smashing the row of key hooks mounted to the wall. Keys, sky blue wallpaper, plasterboard and whatever cheap plastic the hooks were made of flew everywhere as the teenager recoiled.

The Demon launched another punch with his make shift knuckle duster. The student dodged it just in time, but took a hay-maker from the other side. He flew back, smashed through the wooden struts of the banister and tumbled onto the rug in the hallway. Well most of him tumbled onto the rug, his forehead collided with the wall and the bridge of his nose managed to find the top of the skirting board. His glasses dropped to the floor, although in his current position, that was only a drop of a few inches.

“Nothing personal, I just need a lab rat,” the Demon said. He grabbed the student by the collar and went to deliver another punch with the wet rag.

Growling as he did so, Roger caught the punch in his palm almost without looking, as if he could sense that the blow was coming. Instantly his skin burnt.

The Demon yanked the student to his feet and kicked him through the open living room door. The teenager crashed into the sofa he had spent so much of the past sitting on and shunted it into the coffee table, sending a number of remote controls flying through the air.

Feeling punch drunk, Roger shook his head, trying to ignore the pain in his face and in his hand. The vigilante looked down at his palm and noticed that the skin was not burnt. It looked a little pink and there were beads of whatever that orange stuff on the rag was on his hand. Apart from that, there was no reason why his hand should hurt so much, which made the teenager wonder what the hell was going on even more than he already was.

The Demon grabbed at Roger again, but the teenager swept his foot around in a semicircle across the floor, accidentally kicking the surround sound remote into a framed family picture mounted on the wall. The villain was forced to jump to avoid being knocked off his feet and whilst he was in the air, the vigilante jumped up, into the man in the red mask, slamming the pair of them into the living room ceiling. The plasterboard cracked and white powder fell to the floor at a slower rate than the combatants.