CHAPTER FOUR
The Incredible Bulk
About four months passed.
Since Peter’s revelation, he’s been more relaxed around me. A couple of months back he asks me to help in the search of his crush.
I say okay. It’s not like I have anything better to do.
Besides, I wanna see this mystery girl for myself.
A couple of times we go door to door, fake people into giving us information on MG (Mystery Girl).
So far, we’ve got a reliable lead.
The source comes from a cranky crack whore. She sends me into an alleyway where some lovely thugs jump me.
But Peter, being the nosy bastard he is, comes to my rescue. He beats them up within seconds.
Woah.
He grabs what seems to be the leader’s arm and twists it unnaturally. Peter kicks the back of the guy’s legs and the leader faceplants onto the concrete. Peter stands above him, his foot in the arm joint, pulling the guy’s arm towards his lying body.
It takes a couple of interrogation techniques, but the guy gives us what we want.
That was Wednesday.
Right now, it’s Friday, and we’re at mine. I’m on the bed with my laptop. I scroll through different mapping sites. Mark down on a page the most recent clue. The page is from the notebook that Peter gives me back when we first start our stalking. The book is three quarts full of notes when I get it.
Now, we’re on the second last page.
Peter sits at the edge of the bed. He grips the biggest barbells from George’s home gym in the garage, working out his arms. He grunts every time he flexes.
It’s annoying.
Nowadays, he obsesses with working out, getting fit. He was thin before, but now he’s got serious muscle going on. He complains about his shirts not fitting because his exercise regime has made his torso bigger.
Show off.
I flick through the notebook, the grunting in a rhythm in the background.
“Okay, if we’re on the right track with the last source, MG should show up at this address at about quarter twelve,” I tell him.
He looks at me, holds out the barbell towards me.
“C’mon, you should work out too,” he says.
I laugh. “What, so I can beat them up too?” I joke, “I’m okay, really. Thanks anyway man.”
He grins, and places the barbell in my right hand. “You need it man,” he laughs.
He lets go, and the barbell slams my hand down onto my solar plexus. A mix of a grunt and gasp escape my lips, as well as an inkling of pain on my stomach, like someone slammed a sledge hammer into me.
I roll the barbell off me, and I see the weight.
44lbs.
Peter stands up, casually drops the weight on the carpet like it weighs nothing. I can hear the crack of the boarding underneath. “Oops, sorry there John. Hey, can I use your shower?” he asks, points his thumb to the bathroom door. I nod, mouth open in shock. He hums as he leaves the room.
Where the hell did that come from?
*************
“Have you ever considered a life not being a stalker?” I ask him.
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SIDEKICK
Teen FictionWhenever someone, out there, creates a story that involves a hero, they'll always be someone in the form of a sidekick. Male, female, young, old, alien, paranormal, dog, whatever. Anything. But there's something that no one is aware of. You see, in...
