Catharsis [Novel]

CHAPTER FIFTY-TWO

CHAPTER FIFTY-TWO

            "I've got to get outside.  Quickly," I think as I realize the severity of the situation.  I can feel a darkness creeping up inside of me wanting to take over, and I'm not sure what it means.  Right now I don't know if that darkness means death or me losing control to some primal part of myself focused on self-preservation.  Neither option bodes well for me, and one of the options bodes very poorly for the unfortunate fellow sprawled on the kitchen tile.

            The warmth of the darkness flows up into me from some deep well that I didn't even know I had.  It's inviting and friendly, and I can feel my conscious mind wanting to give itself over to it.  It promises a release from all the pain and distraction around me.

            My father once told me that courage means being able to ignore the easy and pain-free path.  Instead, we must embrace the challenging – and occasionally torturous - paths life has chosen for us.  And tonight I'm not willing to give up on being courageous.

            Closing my eyes, I find what strength I have in me and focus it into a ball of motivation. 

            I will get through this, I think before opening my eyes and looking around the room for an exit.

            The back door is boarded up and blocked with furniture as are the two small windows (Talk about a fire hazard in here!  I understand their desire for security, but they've also created a death trap.) so that eliminates any of those choices.  That means I have to go out the same way I came in.

            Doing my best to ignore the burning sensation flooding my gut (Both from the bullets now in me and the hunger beginning to build.), I stand and turn towards the door.  As I start to walk towards the open doorway, some small suppressed part of my psyche makes me step out of my way and grab the guy's ankle to pull him with me.  He's heavy, and it's only going to exhaust me more quickly, but it's something I feel the need to do.  He either needs to be out of this room or with me where I'm going, but right now I'm not going to stop and try to figure out which it is.  That's a thought to save for later. 

            Dragging the cumbersome weight behind me, I make my way down the hall towards the open front door.  Every step I take leads me into cleaner and clearer air.  The burning pain in my midsection doesn't lessen as I plow ahead (Actually the struggle and strain of dragging the guy is making the misery worse.), but the uncomfortable hazy film that had been infiltrating my brain and thoughts dissipates like frost in an early morning sun.  Its loss is gradual and almost unnoticeable until I reach the doorway and a burst of wind whips past me and wipes the last dredges of it away.

            Panting, I suck in the crisp night air of the city and let it cleanse my lungs (I’m sure this is the first time that statement has ever been uttered.) of the horrid filth I had been breathing.  With my lungs no longer straining themselves to clean every gulp of air I punished them with, I get a renewed surge of strength.

            Knowing my time with this strength is limited, I set about dragging both men outside and into the dilapidated grass of the lawn (Reluctant Guy was still living up to his name because his hand did not want to release that door handle.  His grip was impressive.).  Now to take care of my next issue - the source of my misery while I was in that house. 

            There is no way I can possibly leave the drugs in there knowing they could soon be moved out onto the street.  Judging from what affected me as I moved through it, there was enough in there to supply a small town with their poison.  Or at least a large borough of a small city.  Either way, what was in that house needs to be destroyed.