He doesn’t have time to finish, because I jump right on him, tackling him to the ground and punching his head with all I’ve got. The other guy is surprised for a second, but by the time he’s trying to pull me off, greasy snake is good and stunned, and I can start wailing on Harvey, too. Neither of them seems to have much hand-to-hand experience. They have grossly underestimated me, much to my advantage; just because I don’t have my powers doesn’t mean I’m helpless. I punch him square on the nose, and before he’s recovered his wits, I kick him in the stomach, pushing him away from me. I run toward the door, and straight into a huge guy, hard enough to make me bounce back a couple of steps. He seems completely unfazed, though, and just lifts an eyebrow at me. He’s gotta be at least a good head taller than me, and twice my weight, but I’ve fought full-grown men as a boy, so he doesn’t scare me. I punch him across the face hard enough to hurt my fist, and when that leaves him unmoved and unimpressed, I try kicking him in the groin. He just looks down at my foot like it’s a funny little thing, then picks me up by the shirt like I’m weightless, and throws me hard across the room. I hit the wall so high I think I bounce of the ceiling before falling to the ground, and my head spins when I try to stand up. Finley the greasy snake is standing back up, Harvey is holding his bleeding nose, and they’re both glaring at me like I’m the one who’s out of line.
Finley brushes imaginary dirt off his cheap suit, and looks at me with an annoying sneer.
“I certainly hope you’ve understood the futility of trying anything of the sort again. I do believe we should let you think about what you’ve done for a little while before we come back for you. That was terribly ill-behaved of you.”
He pulls on the lapels of his jacket as if to adjust them, gives his left sleeve one final brush, and turns to walk away, followed by the two other guys. The door closes behind them, leaving me alone with my misery. I hear Julie’s voice on the other side, asking me if I’m ok, but I don’t feel like answering, and I just curl up on my singed bed. I feel defeated right now. Trapped. It brings back really unpleasant memories; I haven’t felt like that since I was fourteen years old. I know I’ll get other chances, but I don’t want to talk about it with some stranger through an air vent.
Presses Renaissance Press 