Fearless – Chapter 4 – An ugly SOB

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Fearless – A web novel

Chapter 4 – An ugly SOB

I strained my ears to learn what I could from the sounds my guest made. I thought, if not furiously, then quite actively about what might be going on. Curiosity never killed no cat. At least not any halfway intelligent cat. I did tense my muscles as lack of fear never made me stupid.

I was after all still chained to a stone wall in a pitch black room and safe and cuddly comfortable is probably not something any reader would associate with this particular scene. Wrong? Right? *Narrator rising a questioning perfectly shaped eyebrow.*

He or she although I doubted that it could be a she, had a heavy step. He was stomping his way across the floor towards me, then past me. His breathing was disgustingly loud and wet sounding. Past me he went like a steam train or perhaps a horny buffalo, misjudged something in his planned progress, I guess the darkness didn’t help either and he cracked his face hard against a very hard wall. He grunted and staggered wildly as far as I could hear.

Ok. Now I knew where that wall was. I was chained perhaps five paces from the door that the big oaf had come in through and not quite four paces from that wicked wall. I guess the oaf didn’t know that either. Who were these people? Escapees from the Sunny Meadow Funny farm or the local high-school jock self admiration squad?

If possible, the moron/ jock/ oafs breathing turned kind of mushy, raspy and shallow. Slobbering like a St. Bernard with a nice juicy butt chop tied to the forehead. Oh, I know it’s so cruel. But funny as hell. Ever tried it?

The oaf was making some really strange sounds now. I wasn’t insensitive by any means. Not at all. I could recognize pain when I heard it.

“Bet that hurt like a MotherFucker.” I said to the oaf in a conversational tone. I wouldn’t call it sympathy directly. Just… well, recognition of the event.

He growled. Ok, then that was settled. It really was a he. Or an “It” as nothing so far had proven that it/he wasn’t simply an “It” Even though there was nothing to see in the darkness, I let my eyes follow his movements with a slight frown creasing my brow. I liked making that face. My mother said once that it was a show of serious disapproval and that such a face should be saved for the most severe social misbehaviors. I didn’t much care about him stomping into my private little cell without a word of greeting. I didn’t really have any qualm over him promptly ignoring my presence. I could even forgive him for attacking my wall. Nah, not really. That wouldn’t do it. I just wanted to make sure that when he did find it in his very slow mind to light a torch of a similar light bringing device, he would see my face, the expression it bore, and he would maybe think twice about doing it again. I mean, it’s perfectly okay to arrive late to one Sunday dinner. If there was a really good reason that is, something like a tsunami shattering your home and destroying all of your Sunday attire. A diagnosis of medieval black plague could suffice as well. But twice?

I’m getting off topic here.

This thing, this oaf, jock, It…. Started towards me, sniffling and scraping his feet along the floor and stopped right in front of me. Well, not too too far away from right in front of me. I guess, and started growling at the wall somewhere behind my left shoulder. I listened for a long while, assuming he would stop, but when he ran out of air he started drawing another slobbering wet breath. I cleared my throat. The sound stopped and he adjusted his position slightly and continued the growling. That’s when I caught the reek of him full in the face. The rot, decay, the dross of digestion, the … the…. I whipped my head back and to the side, gagging, backing into the wall. I was trying, unsuccessfully to avoid the noxious, most likely toxic air, the breath from hell, roadside skunk and eggs fait pourri were the memories of sights and odors that decided to flash through my mind with a really creepy clarity just then. Panicked revulsion made me kick. My leg shot out and with perfect aim and a speed that was all but an instinctual reflex in my muscle memory. Naked toes met… steel. Well, ok. The steel might have been some type of plastic and in all honesty it was covered with a layer of leather or similar. That didn’t help my toes from taking a beating. A split second, joints popping, toes screaming in outrage at my brain that hadn’t quite registered the pain that was fast to follow. Excruciating. I hopped on one leg with the other pulled up. I wanted to grab my foot with hands that couldn’t grab anything at all unless I could fold myself double and take my toes to my hands while hanging from a chain. My yoga training hadn’t reached quite that far yet. I struggled for air but couldn’t seem to do anything with it once I had access to it. The stink had retreated somewhat though and it seemed safe to breathe, if I could that was. I chopped it to bits between my teeth perhaps, blew it out through the nose in quick spurts. Holy fuck that hurt. Hurt bad. I finally managed to stop hopping, stop chopping air and just stood there letting the pain do what it willed… It would fade. It did fade but so slowly. My mind was blank, not yet recovered from the stupidity of my last act. I heard something then. A bit slobbery, hoarse and rumbling. I would have called it Rhythmic growling if my mind had been clear. Suddenly I knew what it was. The bastard was laughing at me. He had taken a step back and was chuckling. A gut wobbling hearty chuckle. It stopped when he spoke for the first time since entering. In a warm and melodic bass he said: “I bet that hurt like a MotherFucker.”

The bastard Oaf kept chuckling as I felt the pain in my foot downgrade from throbbing to dull. I gingerly let it down to the cool dirt floor. It was wonderfully soothing on the burning digits. Nothing was broken as far as I knew. I had broken my fair share of bones in my life, very often due to idiotic things just like this. Things like that just kept happening to me, by no fault of my own of course. I glared at the figure I couldn’t see and heard clothing rustle and boots shifting around restlessly. He seemed to be searching for something as he kept muttering between sniffles and snorts. Well, he could search all he wanted, I had no wish to assist this intruder, I thought petulantly in lack of anything more profound to be petulant about. I endured more nauseating sounds of slimy throat clearing, hawking violently and spitting. Then a foghorn started blaring. In powerful bursts the man rid himself of mucus, and perhaps even blood and deposited it in something I really hoped was not a palm. I shuddered and stopped thinking about it. It was one of those things however that were damn near impossible not to think about once you started. Like saying, “Don’t think about a pink, or red, or green elephant or blue, or… or whatever colour sperm whale.” It’s simply not done. I dare you. Do not think about a pregnant goblin just now. See?

So I tried to think hard about a…. I couldn’t think of anything else to think about. He had at least turned away from me. I took great satisfaction in the small groans of discomfort he emitted between honking. I wondered if the inside of a brain could really tolerate that kind of sudden change of air pressure. I was curiously fascinated by the possibility but not really hopeful. He finally quieted and seemed to breathe normally. He suddenly walked a few steps away from me and when he stopped there was a scraping, a muffled profanity, and then a click and a really bright light. Actually, physics say that the light probably reached me before the sound of the light switch mechanism did but let’s not mince science here. I shut my eyes instantly and allowed the painful afterglow to entertain my visual cortex as the retina adapted to see light again. Very very slowly I opened my eyes a fraction, blinked and opened them another tiny bit. The first thing I saw was the floor, which was in fact hard packed dirt as I had suspected. My feet were filthy with greyish brown dust up to my ankles. I postponed taking a look at the rest of me. I had seen it before. More than once actually and I felt anything other than narcissistic just at the moment. I lifted my head and the next thing I saw was a pair of hiking boots, well worn but no doubt expensive and well kept. Continuing up from the boots was a pair of legs in black scuffed leather. I let my eyes slide fast past a package that I knew was well protected. My toes tingled in remembered agony. Tucked into the pants, although how it was possible to tuck anything into that sausage skin I would never know, was a plain black T-shirt stretched around a generous beer gut. On Around that, a black leather vest adorned with so many sown on patches and metal that hardly any of the leather could be seen. Out of the shirts neck line sprouted tufts of hair. The same black fur grew most everywhere else too on this creature. Head, arms, face, armpits. I stared at him. He stared at me with the bluest eyes I had ever seen. They sparkled with curiosity and narrowed with speculation. I searched for evidence of his sudden meeting with a stone wall but he seemed unharmed but with all that hair, how could I know. Thick and wild it fell down past his shoulders.
Unruly coarse hair covered his face from nostrils to neckline. He wasn’t an oaf, he was a fucking Sasquatch, but in black. He was certainly tall enough with his near seven feet and near 250 pound frame and feet of size enormous. The arms folded over his chest were covered with crude porn from elbows to shoulders.

I don’t really know what came over me then. I winked at him.
“Let me guess. You don’t drive a Honda Civic do you?”

His face split into a wide grin and he stepped towards me. He unfolded his arms and offered me a huge hand in greeting.
“Dinky Meyers.” he said with a cheerful rumble. He seemed genuinely happy to meet me. The moment stretched as I looked at his hand. It was clean, I noted. No mucus. His hand fell a few inches and the smile faltered but before he could pull his hand back I raised my right leg and placed my foot in his palm. I grinned when he carefully grasped my foot and shook it, giving me an apologetic smile. “Marcy Malone. Nice meeting you Dinky.”

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