Catharsis [Novel]

CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN

CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN

            The rush of adrenaline and excitement that floods my body as I stand on top of the dark man-mountain almost overshadows my ability to sense their reaction to me.  Almost.

            Contrasting smells of surprised curiosity (from the big man's friend) and absolute terror (from Leroy) fill the air and accentuate the snare drum rat-a-tat of their heart beats ramping up. 

            Attack - advance - attack, I remind myself.

            "Who the holy har-," begins the friend before I leap straight at him from the fallen man's back.  He's tall and lanky and physically unimpressive (Not just in comparison to the original baritone who entered the room - who would make even most NFL lineman appear waifish - but just in general.  He's not an imposing drug house thug at all.), and I decide to dispose of him equally as quickly.

            Landing feet first on his chest I let my legs curl underneath me, and allow my full weight and momentum to load itself into my body, before I jettison myself backwards off of him.  The strength of my push combined with his surprise and loss of balance results in a spectacular finish.  He leaves the ground as his body rockets backwards the short distance to the solid plaster-covered wall a few feet behind him.  He impacts hard enough to smash the drywall into a body-shaped crater that cradles his body and holds him upright and leaves him vertical long after he's lost the natural ability to do so on his own.

            As he flies away from me, I arch my back so that my hands come in contact with the ground first and I use what little momentum is left in me to bring my feet over my head and into a perfect backwards somersault.  Leisurely, I straighten myself into a standing position and turn to face the last person in the hall.

            Standing less than three feet away from me is a scrawny mouse of a man (I can now see why the "ferret" crack earlier bothered him.  The resemblance between this man and an elongated rodent are uncanny.) dressed in dirty, dark jeans and a white t-shirt sporting a red smiley face with a sword behind it and what I can only assume is some rarely heard band's name emblazoned over it in faded and cracked letters.

            I cock my head slightly to the left as I smile at him.  "Hello, Leroy," I say in a deep, husky voice just slightly louder than a whisper.  It has been less than ten seconds since his friend (Or accomplice...or acquaintance...or co-worker.  I'm not really sure what the proper terminology for people working in an illegal drug den might be.) burst through the room's door.  It's been a very productive time for me, but I imagine a relatively terrifying one for this poor man.

            Everything about Leroy's posture, scent, breathing and heartbeat scream at me his intentions to flee.  His desire to run from me is so strong that it almost convinces me to let him do it.  Almost.

            "stop," I continue in my quiet voice, and I push the thought into him.  "you will not run.  you will stay."  Even after I say the words, I continue to be amazed at how this works.  At my ability to now make people do what I want.  It's exhausting mentally (I can only imagine it's similar to attempting to do long division in your head.  At gunpoint.  While spectators yell out random numbers to distract you.  And a giant countdown timer ticks away right in front of you.  It's certainly possible to do...and impressive when pulled off successfully, but it's not something you want to do often and remain sane or cognitively strong.), but it's preferable to chasing him down if he bolts.

            If he runs, I might hurt him in an attempt to incapacitate him.  And although the chase might prove to be an exciting release of energy, right now answers are more important than thrills.