Feeling the Way, CH 02 (Patreon)

I woke up slowly. 

I heard sounds, got a sense of my body—I was seated; then the sounds began making sense.

“He is waking up already?” I knew that voice, but I didn’t know from where.

“You want me to hit him again?” a new voice, male, deeper, it was familiar too. I focused on the ‘again’. Right, I’d been hit already. He’d hit me before.

“Don’t bother.” The previous voice. “He’s tied up. He isn’t going to be a problem now.”

He was right about being tied up. The cord was thick, rough. He remembered I’m strong.

Right, I was strong. Stronger than normal.

And it all came back.

I raised my head with an intake of breath, my lungs hurt. Had I forgotten to breathe? The light was bright, artificial. As my eyes adjusted, I heard motions. More than the two speakers. Shapes resolved themselves. 

The fox from the diner, a bear holding a 2x4 in one hand, two weasels on their left, a cat and a dog on their right. Sounds behind me, a trio of sheep.

In that look over my shoulder I caught a few extra details. I didn’t have my jacket on. I located it on a table, my phone was next to it. Still in one piece. The other detail was the chair I was seated on. Light brown wood, solid to the touch. I didn’t dig a claw in it, because when I looked down and around to get a better look at it, it was good workmanship.

This was the kind of chair my dads would like to have at their table.

“What is this, Maple? Beech?” I asked, more to myself.

“Oak,” the bear replied. “My dad made it.”

My heart sank. “And you tied me to it?”

“It’s tough.”

Not tough enough. I looked around. “Is there a metal chair you can move me to?” there had to be something here that didn’t have any emotional connotation to someone. 

A factory of some sort, machinery covered with a thin layer of dust. This place had closed down recently. I nodded to the closest machine, it had inch thick metal legs. “Why don’t you tie me to that? I won’t cause problems while we get that done. We can pick up after that.”

“Why?” the fox asked. “Is wood your kryptonite or something?”

“I just—” I sighed. He was like dealing with my fathers, this was an emotional thing. I looked at the bear. “You.”

“Milo,” he offered.

“Milo, do you really want your father’s chair in the middle of this? You guys are planing on hitting me, right? What if one of you misses and damages the chair? I swear, I’m not going to cause any trouble while you move me to another spot.”

“Dale,” the bear said. “Maybe we can—”

“It’s a trick. The moment we loosen the ropes he’s going to jump us.”

I sigh. “I’m sorry about the diner, I—”

He punched me, my head swung to the side form the impact, and I worked my jaw.

“You fucking got her to leave me.” He punched me again. I didn’t resist. My head snapped to the side. When he didn’t hit me again, I looked at him.

“She hasn’t left you yet.” I wasn’t lying, I told myself. I couldn’t know what decision she’d make while driving. Maybe she wasn’t as smart as I hoped. “I just gave you two space to breathe. Deescalate the—” He punched me again. “Or redirect your anger. That works too. I understand that life’s tough right now, but it’s not a reason to take it out on your wife, or anyone else really, but—”

The fox, Dale, the bear called him, laughed. “You understand? A rich boy like you understands what we’re going through?”

I sighed. “What gave it away?” I tried to downplay my status as much as I could. My riding clothes were good quality, but not top of the line. My phone was when I bought it, but that was three years ago.

“The Ducati,” Milo said, “you’re wearing motorcycle gear. It was the only bike there.”

I closed my eyes and groaned. “Please tell me you didn’t touch my bike.”

“We haven’t,” Dale said, “yet.” His malicious grin was from ear to ear.

“Don’t, it’s not a Ducati, that’s just the emblem my father put on it so the police wouldn't ask too many questions. He built it for me. If you touch it, I’m going to have to beat you up and I promised your wife I wouldn’t do that.”

Dale punched me again. His anger compensated a little for his lack of muscle. “Don’t you fucking mention her.”

“Fine, I won’t. Just get it out of your system and we can all go on with our lives.”

The fox stared at me. “Is there something wrong with you? I’m planning on beating the crap out of you, and you just want me to ‘get on with it’?”

I’d been beaten up by better people than him in my life. I’d been beaten up by the best of them. Any fight I had with Wolfgang that lasted more than five minutes ended with me getting the shit beaten out of me. There’s no way to win a fight against him. At all. Not one on one anyway. So these punches? I felt them, but they didn’t hurt. The head snapping was more physic and me not trying to hold my head still.

Working the jaw…well that was more for effect than anything else.

I started to reply, but my phone rang; the Society ring, so I couldn’t just ignore it. “Milo, can you check and tell me what number is calling?”

“I think you’re busy right now,” Dale said.

“Yes, but I have to know the number to know if that’s more important than this.”

The fox punched me. Speaking between each one. “Nothing’s more important than what I’m doing to you. Do you understand?” In the middle of dale’s rant, Milo read the number off the display.

418 area code, so Quebec City. I wasn’t aware of current business with the Carbonneau family, so it could wait. When the fox stopped, I nodded to the bear. “Thanks. We’re good,” I told Dale, “they can wait.”

The fox stared at me, looked at his fist, me again. “Mac, beat him up.”

The largest of the sheep stepped in front of me, cracking his knuckles. “Oh I’ve been looking for an occasion to beat one of the little rich boy.” He swung back. “You people are a cancer on this country.”

“Stop!” I told him. The sheep froze at the intensity in my voice. I looked at Dale. “I thought his was about your wife.”

“What do you care why you get beaten up?”

“I had something to do with your wife. My family’s got nothing to do with the economic downturn.”

“You rich folks all hoard the money. Find loopholes so you don’t have to pay taxes. This problem is your fault,” the fox spat.

I couldn’t deny the country’s wealthy were a large reason the economy was still tanking. Even the Society’s family had played their part, not all, but a lot more than should have.

“My family pays their taxes, more than what’s requested. Our wealth is our city, so we invest in it.” San Francisco was one of the few cities doing well because of how hard my family work at making sure it weathered this storm. “I am sorry you were hit hard, that your factory had to close. If it was within my power, I’d put an end to it, but I’m just one tiger. Even my entire family doesn’t have the pull to fix this. So beat me over your wife, but do not make me the face of the current crisis.”

Dale was in my face, trying to look scary. “You think you I fucking care what you want? You’re going to get beaten up because the sun rose this morning, if that’s what I want. Mac, shut him up.” He stepped away.

I fixed my gaze on the sheep. “Are you certain you want to do this?”

The hesitation vanished under a sneer and he wound back.

* * * * *

I need to pause this here and explain something, otherwise you’re going to say I’m making all this up.

First, this is predicated on me assuming you are at least a little aware of the existence of magic. I know I’m taking a chance. If you haven’t heard about any of the shrines that popped up since the Diamond Incident, you’re going to have to take me at my word because I am not going in details.

My family is one of those magical people. We’re not one of those who advertise; our shrines are private. This isn’t a judgment on the others, it’s just so you don’t waste your time looking for ours, and even if you found one, we don’t do healing like the Monaco shrine, or give wealth charms like the few places in China. Our magic is personal to ourselves, so keep in mind the magic I do isn’t the lightning bolt or fireball kind. It’s all about me, my body, and my abilities.

* * * * *

Time didn’t slow down, it was simply my awareness that increased. As Mac pulled his arm back, I rocked myself forward, planting my feet down, grabbing one of the exquisite dowels that made the back of the chair in each hand, and stood.

The chair shattered before the ropes broke, the wood didn’t have the flexibility. Mac was swinging at me now, his eyes wide, registering I’d move, but too late to do anything about it other than swing at the empty space. I brought the hardwood stick down on his forearm, wincing as the bone snapped.

Someone slammed into me, and I went to the floor, but my body was already adjusting. Moving without me thinking, instead of hitting the concrete face first, I landed on my back, legs already in the air to keep my momentum going. I pushed myself with a hand, launching myself up, with the other I hit the sheep my spin dislodged across the head.

While in the air I noted where everyone was, except for the sheep who’d tackle me, they were all standing still, stunned. I landed on my feet, spun my improvised escrima sticks and waited. I wasn’t attacking first. And maybe this was enough for them?

The two weasels came at me holdings knives. I stepped back, parried, raised a leg at an attempt to kick it out from under me. I was nowhere near as good as Paul; the gift he granted me is only a fraction of what he can do, but those two amateurs telegraphed their intentions so I sidestepped them with ease. Letting them tire themselves out as I felt more alert.

I swept the feet out of under one with my sticks, and on the return planted them both in the other’s chest, lifting him up and propelling him away. 

The last sheep, the cat and the dog rushed me, swinging and kicking wildly. I parried a kick, redirecting it so it hit the dog. I maneuvered so that when I dodged the punch, the sheep was hit instead. The cat I kicked directly.

In the breathing space, I saw the 2x4 swinging at me and made a decision. I took it. My head snapped, my jaw hurt, I tasted blood, but the fight had lasted long enough I was stronger and tougher than when it began. The end of the 2x4 was a shattered mess.

I reached for the bear, grabbed him by the collar, put a hand on his stomach and with a scream lifted him over my head to throw him at a stack of crates.

Among the sound of shattering wood, I heard the distinctive sound of a hammer cranking back. I threw myself down just before the detonation, rolled to a crouch and threw a stick at the fox. It impacted the gun hard enough to shatter. The gun flew out of the fox’s hand and I casually strode toward him. I kicked the bear in the face as he struggled to stand.

“Sorry, Milo, you need to stay down.”

The fox’s eyes were wide in fear. His hand bled from multiple cuts cause by wooden shrapnel. “You promised Mirabel you wouldn't hurt me.”

“That was before you pulled a gun on me.” I glanced at the antique piece on the floor. “You’re lucky that thing didn’t explode in your hand.”

“What are you?” he asked, looking around at the groaning and unconscious men on the floor.

“Pissed,” I replied, punching him harder than I should. While he groaned on the floor, holding his stomach, I put my jacket on. I curse myself as I went through my pocket, confirming everything was there. I shouldn’t have let my temper loose like this. I should just have let them beat me over the damned economy if it made them feel better. They didn’t deserve the beating I’d given them. I checked my phone, no message, so definitely not important.

Milo groaned as I approached, trying to put a hand under himself and push up.

“I’m sorry about the chair. Your dad does really good work.”

 He dropped down, panting.

I walked out of the factory and walked up two blocks until I saw the diner. My bike was still there, not one scratch on it.

I got on, slotted my phone in, and took off.

I sped out of the town and kept accelerating until my bike shook under my hands and threatened to careen out of control. I put all my attention on keeping control of it, so I wouldn’t be able to think about what just happened.