Catharsis [Novel]

CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR

CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR

            Once I've mentally committed to the approach, I stay and watch the two houses a bit longer and wait for the traffic to die down.  I want to involve as few people in this inquisition as possible.  Just me and door dude, if possible.

            Watching a shiny red sports car pull away from the curb and no  other cars waiting in line, I leap at my chance to move forward with the plan (Quite literally, actually, as I softly propel myself off the roof and onto the house's sparse lawn.).  Staying as alert as possible for the unexpected, I jog straight towards the front door of the first house and rapidly pound on it three times.

            "How much ya need?"  grunts a strong male voice through the door as the thin slot in front of me slides open.

            Hmm.  Tough question.

            "Well, to be honest, I'm not sure,"  I say brightly to my mystery conversation partner. (This is only the fifth person I've spoken to in weeks, and two of the previous ones I attempted to kill...or succeeded in doing so - that's up for debate.  But I'm happy to be speaking to someone and not really worrying about the consequences.  Whatever is still in me after I met the trashman has really boosted my confidence and lack of restraint.  It's refreshing.)  "I was kinda wondering what you have to offer.  So whatcha got in there?"

            Whoever is on the other side of the door doesn't answer, but I can hear him moving.  After a moment, his eyes appear on the other side of the rectangular hole and briefly look me up and down.

            "Go 'way," the man barks before sliding the little opening closed and dismissing me.

            "Well, that was rude," I say to the closed door and commence to pound on the door a bit more vehemently.  I will not be ignored tonight.  Nope.

            I continue to pound on the door with increasingly heavier blows until the man unlatches the little peep slot again.

            "Seriously witch (He doesn't call me a wart-nosed broom-rider, but I'll substitute that here to save him from being judged too harshly.)," he yells through the opening.  "I'm done with you.  Scram!"

            Before I can even reply, the scritch of the opening sliding shut hits me like a slap. 

            "Now it's going to get fun," I say to the closed door and smile.  Running through some of my favorite Krav training techniques (I miss you dad.), I prepare myself for whatever's going to come next.  Practice with my dad and his friends was rough and at times quite painful, but now I'm about to see how well it works in what I am assuming is about to be a combat situation (Where did this side of me suddenly come from?  I'm not sure I’m ready to embrace it, but the aggression and confidence I'm feeling are certainly stimulating.).

            "open the slot," I say quietly to whoever is on the other side of the door, and I push every bit of my desire to see that hole opened into my words.  They will open it.  This is not a choice for them.

            I can hear somebody behind the door, and I wait patiently for them to react.  Nothing happens.

            Hmm.  Well, I certainly can't have that.  Let's try this again.

            Stepping up to the door, I rest both my hands against the cool wood and gently lean forward until my forehead is just touching the door above the three-inch high slot.  Focusing all my concentration on whoever is behind the door and tuning out all other distractions, I listen intently until I can single out the person's breathing and heartbeat faintly pulsing less than a foot away from me through the solid oak.  I then breathe deeply through my nostrils until I can pick their scent out and separate it from everything else (They reek of arrogance, but it’s drowning in confusion and fear.  The smell is a delicious nectar to me.).