Immortal Fear - 5.1

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I opened my eyes, sitting up with a gasp.  It wasn’t the first unexpected thing to happen to me today.

The most disorienting thing about being unconscious isn’t, Where am I? it’s, Why am I? I looked around and was overwhelmed by the musky smell of old people.  An assisted living community? No. A hospital.

That’s what they should call hospitals anyway, I didn’t think I’d be living without their assistance.  I took stock of my injuries.

My right arm was in a cast at my elbow, raised above me, while my left was strung with IV fluids and slung to my chest. Flexing my left hand, it worked alright, though a little numb from lack of use. I struggled to get my arm out of the sling then reached out to examine my body beneath the hospital blankets. I panicked briefly as I reached down between my legs at the unfamiliar object attached, then let out a sigh of relief.  There has got to be a better way to have an invalid man relieve himself than jamming a tube in his dick. I mean really, it wasn’t about the discomfort.  A man’s just gotta have some dignity.  I guess some guys are into that kind of stuff though. I gingerly removed the catheter. A cast covered my right leg.

Nothing to it, right?

I wiggled the fingers on my right hand. No pain there, I thought and tentatively raised it, relieving the weight from the sling holding it above my head. My wrist was fine it seemed, the doctors must have thought so too, as they hadn’t placed it in the cast. I tried to test the extension of my elbow. I remember very clearly where the break happened and there was no sign of lose bone as I felt my arm press against the cast. I looked up at the IV to be sure I wasn’t simply high. My meds were draped on a long metal poll with a box about halfway up. I was most likely doped up on narcotics.

Medical dramas like to paint a picture of a hospital that isn’t really fair.  Sure, a hospital is where you go if you’re sick or hurt and people will care for you.  I mean, they don’t even ask for payment upfront if you’re in as bad a shape as I must have been in, but on T.V. there’s always bright, crisp lighting. Glass doors so the doctors can keep an eye on all the patients at once.  They look clean and modern, like people are there to do science.

By contrast, pastel colored flower wallpaper adorned my room.  It was ancient; its color bleached out from the sun, which was odd in-and-of-itself because the only light entering the room was through windows to my right, high up toward the ceiling.  It felt more like a dungeon for 1950’s art than a place of healing.  A curtain hung from a track attached to the ceiling giving me, what I could only assume, was an administrators idea of privacy.

The job had gone bad but I needed to decipher what was real and what was a product of my over stressed mind.  My body ached faintly but a ball of warmth swam in my stomach.  I thought back to the shape I was in coming into the operating room; these must have been some serious pain meds.  The truth, the real question that rocked my mind, fought to the surface.  I had just been in Hell fighting off demon dogs and the creature, Sigyn?  I lay back in bed, exasperated, trying to wrap my head around it all.

“Sweet merciful Maker,” I voice intoned.  I looked up to see a man no older than me. He wore a black windbreaker and carried a cup of coffee in one hand while crossing himself with another.  He looked at me, stunned.  If not for his priest collar, I’d have assumed he was just another beach bum. His combed red hair slicked to the side showed the respectability of his station but his shaggy beard left me wondering if it was just casual indifference.  He hurried over to my side and sat on a chair I hadn’t yet noticed, a warm smile lit his face.

“Well, Son, aren’t you the Lord’s miracle at work?” His voice was thick and Irish.

I squinted at the irony of his words, “I’m not sure I would put it that way.”

His laugh ambled forth from deep within, “When we left the ambulance you looked no better than haggis!” he had a glint of familiarity in his eye.  He looked as though trying not to embrace me due to my condition.

“I’m sorry, do we know each other?” I asked, beginning to feel annoyed.

“William.” He said, switching coffee from his right to left hand, extending it to shake. “Father William, I suppose.”

I eyed his outstretched hand then fell back onto my pillow ignoring it.

That apparently didn’t bother him because he went on in the same friendly tone, “We’ve all been calling you Joe, does that bother you?.” He waited expecting me to answer the unsaid question. I didn’t see any reason to answer it, “I suppose Joe will do, then.”

“How long have I been here?”

“Three days, actually.  It truly is the Lord’s will to see you up this soon.  Why, you’re lucky to be alive at all.  As a point of fact, I read you your last rights at the scene.”

“I remember the accident.” I started, remembering his words.  More specifically, I recalled my annoyance with his presence. “I’m sorry I don’t remember.”

“Doctors say some memory loss is to be expected,” he said.  The smile, I was growing aware, was a permanent feature of his face. “Though who can be sure you were even conscious by the time I arrived.”

Three days. In three days, I had experienced some hellish nightmares.  I had to admit though, it was terribly unlikely that I could have recovered so quickly from that accident.  Seeing my body in the operating room, though for all I knew that could have been a dream as well – my mind trying to deal with the trauma to my body.  I’ve had some pretty lucid dreams but the nagging feeling that it stemmed from some sort of reality were hard to shake.

“It truly was the work of God,” Father Williams said, smiling down at me.  He had mistaken my troubled thoughts for reverence.

“How bad is it?” I asked.

“Well,” he began, “your arm was broken as well as your hip. They took you off intubation last night. You had several broken ribs and a punctured lung. When I came in last night they seemed surprised you were able to breathe on your own. I should probably go let the doctors know you’re awake.” He started for the door.

I laid back and waited for the bad news.

A nurse was the first to enter; she didn’t really pay me much mind, just went straight for the monitors and checked my vitals and medication levels. A clean cut guy in a white over coat came in next, followed by Father Williams.

“With the speed of your recovery I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised,” he said. He leaned over with his penlight and flashed it into my eyes.

I squinted back, “Easy, Doc.”

“Sorry,” he said absently, “I’m just checking for pupil response.”

He clicked his light off and moved on to the stethoscope pressing lightly onto my chest. “Does that hurt?” he asked.

“It’s a little cold.”

He looked over at the nurse.

“His dosage isn’t that high,” she said.

“His pupils are responsive as well.”

Father Williams sat back watching the whole scene, grinning from ear to ear.

“You guys want to let me in on your little secret?” I asked.

“You had three broken ribs on your left side. We couldn’t surgically repair them due to your loss of blood prior to surgery. You should be in a lot more pain than you are.”

“Well, the rib fairy came and left me a butt-load of medical bills, but missed one? I must be a total badass.”

“I suppose it does,” he said, looking at my chart. “I’d like to double check some test results, but it seems like we’ll be able to discharge you in a couple days, Mr. Adams.”

I wasn’t expecting them to have one of my aliases. I looked to Father Williams who gestured me to go with it. I looked back to the doctor just as he was setting down my chart. “Uhh… call me Joe.”

He nodded as if expecting that. “I’ll refer you to a physical therapist that you should speak with immediately. The sooner you get started on your recovery, the more likely you’ll regain full function of your extremities.”

“Well thanks, Doc, but if you don’t mind, I’m sure the good Father here is excited to get me home. The sooner I can be discharged, the better,” I said. Father Williams shot me a worried look.

“You do realize, recovery from injuries this severe takes an incredible amount of time,” the doctor said. “We want to keep you here for observation; to be sure there aren’t any of the usual complications.”

“I understand, Doc,” I said. “I’d really like to get some air though. Any chance we can take a stroll in a wheel chair?”

“I would prefer you didn’t. With your injuries, it’s not out of the question that you’re recovery is temporary and the trauma will return once you’ve been conscious for a few hours.”

I gave him a level look. I picked up my right arm, cast and all, and wiggled my fingers and wrist at the other end. “A short ride won’t do me any harm. Really, I feel pretty good.”

“I can help him out of the bed, doctor,” Father Williams chimed in. “He’s my brother, you see. I know that look in his eye: Joseph won’t give up until he’s had his way.” He managed to hold onto that grin even through the lie.

“Family is family. He should be fine to move, there’s no signs of continued internal bleeding. I just don’t want to see him worn out on his first day back in the waking world.” He turned to leave, then, as if remembering at the last minute: “You really have made a miraculous recovery, Mr. Adams. Your brother never left your side. I’ll likely be publishing a case study on your file.”

“Please, could you list me anonymously?” I asked. “I’m not really one to seek out attention.”

He smiled then nodded, turning to leave the room.

“I’ll bring in a wheelchair in just a couple minutes,” the nurse said. “Just make sure you hang on to your IV stand. You’re going to feel like you were hit by a truck once we start weaning you off of the pain medication.”

I stared at here in disbelief. She looked at me, then at Father Williams, who I’m sure had a look similar to mine.

“Sorry,” she said. “I guess that’s how you should feel.”

“Don’t worry about it. Besides, I’m pretty sure it was an SUV.”

She walked out of the room, abashed. A short time later, she wheeled a chair in and placed it at the foot of my bed. Once we were alone, I turned to Father Williams.

“You’ve got a pretty good poker face.”

“It’s not just choir boys that are called to the cloth, brother. You’re a gambling man yourself, though, expecting me to take you out of this place.”

I sat up, slowly putting my feet off the side of the bed.  Father Williams looked as though he were about to stop me, but in seeing the fluidity of my motion he let me continue on my own. I took in a deep breath, grabbed the IV rack and hoisted myself into a standing position. I was shaky, without a doubt, but I eased myself over and into the wheel chair that Williams brought to my side. He stood before me, arms outstretched ready to catch me if I were to fall.  I waved him off as I plopped myself into the chair with a sigh of relief.
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Immortal Fear - 4.2

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The mist dissipated from around my body into an unfamiliar enclosure. The woman was nowhere to be found.  Instead, in front of me slept an enormous beast, two heads full of teeth and claws.  Its body was the size of a bear with jaws like a wolf.  With a silent breath, I took a step back. Usually I got the better end of an exchange with women.  We’d have sex; I’d give cab fare.  I guess I appreciated the challenge.

“Okay, I’m sorry,” I mouthed looking for an exit.  She’d sent me here; I could only hope she would take me back.  I continued back peddling away from the two-headed beast, heart pounding in my chest. It was another circular room but darkened by mist more than the previous. The hound snored softly.Hurray for small miracles, I thought.

My heel thumped against something and my heart stopped. I turned. Beneath me, the skin of a two-headed dog began to smolder like the embers of a dying fire. The all too aware glow of its yellow eyes found me and bared two sets of vicious fangs.

Predator instincts or not, I ran for the only exit that I could see which is to say, into the blackened abyss beyond.  With each step, the glow of the hound’s skin told me that the pack had awakened. Their burning skin illuminated the hall; the black stone walls reflected the horrible scene in front of my eyes: a nearly naked man running for his life from a pack of wild, two-headed hounds. There was only one explanation.

I was in Hell.

The hounds nipped at my heels. I turned back to gage the distance when one leapt towards me.  I twisted, falling onto my back and extending my foot out, throwing the hound over me.  Its jaws snapped wildly as it sailed through the corridor. 

I just started to regain my footing when the second of the pack plowed into me with a double head-butt.  I groaned feeling the force crack ribs beneath my burlap coat-of-arms. Its right head snapped at my face. I threw my arm between its jaws forcing it away.  Razor sharp teeth sliced through my skin and I let out a bellow of rage, punching the beast between its heads.  It shuttered, releasing me, my left hand hung limp and blood dripped down my arm.  Five more hounds charged me, skin ablaze and eyes burning.

Maybe I was dead.  Maybe this was the manifestation of my eternal suffering, but I wasn’t going to go down without a fight.  I got up to my feet just as the first of the pack arrived, welcoming it with a kick to the chest.  It stumbled slightly as agony exploded from my foot, its chest was hard as steel. The first attacker leapt onto my back, pinning me to the ground.  The hound’s ember skin hissed as it began to burn into my flesh.  I cried out as the jaws closed around my shoulder, cracking my collarbone. I gritted my teeth and closed my eyes, sure the rest of the pack would descend upon me any time to finish the job.

I opened my eyes back in the woman’s room still laying on my stomach.  My broken collar made it impossible for me to look for the dogs, but the missing weight from my back made me hopeful.

“Respect is something you would be wise to learn, lest you find yourself in a similar situation.”  The woman hadn’t moved from her bench facing the brazier. 

I lay my head down on the cool stone with a sigh of relief.  “Thank God,” I whispered.  My body must be in a state of shock because I was only vaguely aware of a growing sense of exhaustion.

“Rise, Youngling.  Let me look upon what the tide has wash upon the shore.”

I lay there breathing, trying to get my head wrapped around her request.  “Look lady, I was just mauled by a pack of burning demon dogs,” I croaked, “You’ll have to excuse me if I don’t just jump up and—”

A piercing crack emanated from the stone beneath me; I pushed myself up to my knees by reflex then examined myself in stunned silence.  My wounds were closed, all signs of scare tissue fading with them.  I looked up at her reverently.

The woman was standing now, a dark wooden walking staff held in her hand, as tall as her eye.  She was much taller than I’d first guessed but her hair still flowed down to her waist.  I tried my best not to look at her tits – I knew where that had gotten me last time.

“I think you and I got off on the wrong foot miss…”

“You may call me Sigyn.”

“Miss Sigyn—”

“Just Sigyn,” her accent was sexy and soothing all at once.

I took in a deep breath and asked the question I’d been wondering all day. “What’s happening to me?”

She walked towards me. Her eyes locked on mine, until she stood a foot away searching my features.  She gently cupped my hand then with blinding speed she pulled a knife from her loincloth, slicing across my palm.  I gasped in pain, a cross of anger and confusion in my eyes as I looked back up at her. She nodded back to my palm.

The wound had begun to seal itself.  I looked back at her; she must have seen the questions in my face.

“I may have a use for you yet, Youngling.”

I poked, testing the new flesh at my hand. “So what does this mean?”

“You are a man of little faith, Silas Bishop—”

“How does everyone I meet know that name?” I began, frustrated; though the emotion never reached its full potential as she spun, staff leveled at my head, cracking my skull at the ear.  I fell to the side in a heap.

“You burst into my realm and expect me to reveal to you truth such that the gods themselves seek? All things come at a price, Youngling, a truth I can see written in your own mind.  Listen well, for Odin himself in all his wisdom sought prophecy among the seers and desperation is all that could drive him to pay the toll.” Her voice burned with scorn in my eardrums even over the ringing.

I gasped in a stuttering breath as I returned to my senses, eyes opening wide.  I’ve killed a lot of people; I’ve taken a lot of beatings.  All that fighting had left me blunt – tact wasn’t my strong suite. I pulled myself up to my knees and sat back with my eyes cast down. My head throbbed. The last thing I needed to do was antagonize the woman anymore. I’m accustomed to deadly games, but I clearly didn’t know the rules to this one. 

My skull throbbed along with my collar and back.  Whatever was holding me together certainly wasn’t keeping me from feeling the pain.  I was accustomed to that, though. Mind over matter; pain is my body’s, my mind is my own.  “What’s the price?” I asked, not looking up.

I could hear the smirk in her voice, “Already you kneel before me and that is a start.”  It was a tenant of information brokering: always set your terms, they’re non-negotiable.  All I had to give now was my obedience; I had to hope it would be enough.

“You imagine yourself a broker of men’s lives not of information, Bishop.  I have long known mortality the blessing that it is – a lesson you are certain to learn yourself.  Now, cursed with the frailty of your body and the endless suffering of the Gods, living in the shadows of those they have created.” Her words dripped with bitterness, I dared not look at her even as my heart began to race with excitement.

“I find myself… inconvenienced,” she said. I looked up when she paused, her hair tossed over her shoulder, her hand reaching to her neck.  On it, I saw the strange rune that was burned onto the headless corpses. “You,” she said, her gaze bearing down on me, she knelt down cupping my chin in her hand “are free of the restrictions placed upon me in this realm.”

“What do you mean?”

She smiled. It was the sexiest thing I’d ever seen in my life. “So long as your body lives, you remain tethered to the realm of Midgard. Yet, in your pain, you drift between worlds; down to Niflheim itself.”

I wetted my lips. I felt flush. Why was it so hot all of a sudden? “You mean I can get back?” I asked. My mouth must have been dry too because it came out in a croak.

The sudden lust in my body was overwhelming as she spoke. “Yes. I have what you want,” she said reaching between my legs and grabbing my hard shaft, “Mortality ever plays to my advantage.” She shoved me to my back, legs parting over me and mounting without a flinch, still holding the massive walking staff vertical.  It happened so suddenly I couldn’t control myself as I began thrusting wildly. She slammed the stick down with an ear-shattering crack, pressing her body onto mine, a bestial smile gripping her face.

“The nine realms hold perils for gods as well as men. The mists of prophecy are clouded by immortal threads of will but I care little for that. My son walks free while my daughter keeps me in this cage.” Her words nearly lost to me in my uncontrollable lust. My eyes locked on her hips as we writhed together on the glossy black stone. “Find the portal to this realm, there the Wolf shall greet you; answer to me until I’m free, a slave to all who bind you.”

What had she just said? I think it was important, but I was close now, deep insider her ethereal hips. She slammed her hand around my neck stopping me cold. Her eyes deep black and her mouth twisted in fanged smile, she looked down on me as a harpy to her prey. “You would know your way through the Underworld? Then you will satiate my desire.” With that, her fangs dug deep into my neck and my scream finally echoed through the cavern.

I wasn’t sure if from pleasure or pain.
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Immortal Fear - 4.1

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I cast my arms out, shielding my face from the fire as it consumed the room.  The roar of the conflagration consumed my senses. 

My eyes were shut tight as I realized the roar was actually coming from me; my voice raw and animalistic.  The flames I had expected to consume me were nowhere to be found.  Hands still in front of my face, I slowly opened a hesitant eye.  Baffled – it was all I could do just to peak outside the veil of myself. What I saw was… confusing.

I ceiling of glossy black rock hung above me, alien in its shimmer. I opened my other eye, relaxing, aware that I was out of the immediate dangers associated with cremation. Confused wasn’t the right word: disoriented. This was not a hospital by any means.  The walls shown with the orange glow of firelight, though dim it gave me a clear view of my surroundings.

I sat atop a large rectangular stone altar.  Bones, claws and scales rested near the edge surrounding me.  I held my composure. These things had obviously been meticulously placed but whoever did it hadn’t stuck around for the party.  The altar stood in the center of a cylindrical room, intricately carved out of the stone.  The altar angled upward to a point in the middle, which wasn’t doing my back any favors. Intricate canals were etched into the stone. A deep crimson oozed downward gathering in a pool around the base of the altar. 

My arms and legs all seemed to be accounted for.  I wasn’t in any pain that I could associate with my accident.  I was wearing some kind of burlap tunic.  Actually, it was more like a potato sack with a rope tied around the waist.  Modesty apparently wasn’t an issue.  Wherever I was, pants weren’t a part of the fashion.  I was on full display.  Seriously, I lived on the edge but this was easily the weirdest day of my life.

Life? Careful now.  Life is more predictable.

The room and hallways were carved directly out of solid stone.  Whatever had the ability to accomplish such a feat was something out of my imagination I had no intention of running into.  A flat walkway surrounded the altar along the edge of the room.  I sat up, my legs dangling off the high stone when I noticed the bones laying below.  I finally realized that I hadn’t appreciated the gravity of my situation.  I thought I had traded up from my previous encounter.

The room was split in thirds by hallways entrances. I reached out with my legs towards the ground.  The goupy sludge of blood and decay seeped between my toes.  It wasn’t the greatest feeling in the world but then again, I thought I was going to be paralyzed. I walked towards the cavernous enterence; I had no idea where I was or where I was going so I figured, screw it! Door number three.

There was no sound. Anywhere. Though firelight lit every surface I couldn’t hear the flame. It was frightening. I was unaware of how much noise we tolerate in our everyday lives. Even in nature, the wild life screams at you. Then again, there was nothing natural about this place.

Silence.

“Hello?” I yelled.  It was dead before it left my mouth. It wasn’t just that there was no echo – the walls didn’t reflect the sound at all. It’s just as well, I thought flinching at my own stupidity.  The last thing I wanted was for someone, or something, to come find me down here; with my luck today it would be Godzilla’s baby brother.  I straightened; wherever I was, I was brought here.  Someone or something was behind it but this was one hell of an inconvenience: if they wanted me for something, they could come find me again. I set one foot in front of the other and made my way down the hall.

My senses were playing tricks on me. As I ran my hand along the stone wall. It was completely smooth. For it to have the silencing effect, it had on my voice it had to have been porous. Though light shown off the walls as if the walkway were lit from beneath but the light cast no shadow. I looked down at my hand; the air was thick with moisture that had condensed on the wall, sopping into my hand when I touched it.  Looking down at my feet, the gelatinous remains from the altar base were bubbling up between my toes leaving a distinct trail in my wake. I peered down the hall. The mist was thick. Even with the dim, apparent firelight, the mist kept my visibility to a minimum.

The long hall ended in another, larger, oval shaped room; it’s where I found the first of the bodies.

They were haphazardly stacked along the outside walls in piles, hundreds of them; each one bearing a burlap tunic like mine; each one headless. The room looked like it was used as a barracks at some point.  Beds of straw surrounded an old hearth, its inhabitants long gone or… beheaded. The stench of decay was pungent.

This wasn’t my first rodeo. I’ve seen, and made, plenty of corpses but these were preserved somehow.  There was no ichor dripping from the neck, as though the bodies were drained completely then mummified. How that worked with all this humidity, I wasn’t sure. The other option was these were just really fresh corpses.  I walked closer to the nearest pile, inspecting them.  The neck was cut cleanly; there were no jagged tool marks you would normally see with a serrated blade or multiple hacks of an axe. My hand rested on one of the bodies trying to get a closer look when I noticed it was still warm. There was a brand on his neck.

A sudden chill snaked down my back.  It was a simple mark, I couldn’t know its meaning but you don’t brand men.  You brand cattle.  These bodies had served a purpose.  I had regained consciousness on a sacrificial altar – I had no intention to join them.

I ran to the opening at the end of the room.  Another hallway curved away towards my right.  I looked back to the corpse-filled room once more, paranoid from the silence. I’ve hunted men. To understand how to stalk prey, you have to understand how they think: get into their mind. I was beginning to feel like prey. The last thing I needed was to start running in fear. Giving chase is what the hunt is all about, after all. Panic would be the end of me, I realized.  Training worked best with a level head.  In the teams, they condition your responses. This was different. I needed to have my wits about me. I took slow, deep breaths regaining my composure. I took slow, calm steps into the misty hallway. Sweat pooled on my forehead and legs. The density of the mist seemed to grow thicker the further I went. The air was so thick that with each breath I inhaled more moisture than air until I was nearly gasping. The light began to fade, as the air grew thicker until I was gasping alone, in the dark. Talons scrapped on the stone behind me.

I reached out, fingers to the stone wall, and ran as quickly as I could using them to guide me in the thick fog of darkness. My legs went rabbit as the hunter gave chase. The scrapes of claws grew closer, its rhythm accelerating to a full sprint and the sound of a multi-legged beast in full pursuit. It wouldn’t be long now; I was running in the dark from a creature that was going to devour me. Grimm was right – I hadn’t been in Hell.

Now I was.

A chill ran down my back as it nudged me.  I pulled my arm off the wall and bearing down into a full sprint.  The sounds still played tricks on me, I had no idea the creature was that close.  My bear feet splashed in the puddles forming in the slick stone in panicked strides. I slipped; the ball of my foot sliding out from under me was the moisture got the best of me.  My shoulder struck a wall. Would this finally be the end of my nightmare? I rolled, spiraling downward and I slid finally releasing the scream I had been holding in.  Tumbling head first, my adrenalin focused solely on breaking my fall, I slammed down on my shoulder onto level ground.

The claws continued running, growing distant. Running in the darkness, I somehow managed to slip to my salvation. I took in my new surroundings. The room I was lit by a small brazier; smoke billowed out its top yet it somehow dissipated as it reached the ceiling.  It was decorated, a stark contrast from the other rooms and oddly mist free.  Tapestries hung from the shimmering walls, each one depicting a great battle.  Returning to my senses, the smells of phosphorus and sulfur was replaced with sage.  The brazier lit a benched alcove, at the far end of the room sat a woman.  Her back faced me as she hunched over the brazier. Her gray hair hung in a loose braid but ribbons of black color still spun through, an echo of youth left behind.

She hadn’t stirred since my sudden arrival.  I wondered how old she was. The fire cast a silhouette of a body in conflict with the aged hair. Her breasts were swollen and taut. She straightened as if noticing my attention and the glow of the embers emphasized her immaculate golden skin. The loincloth would be simple enough to remove, I thought. With all I’ve been through today, I felt like I deserved a little…

“You don’t know what it is you desire, little man. You would not be the first mortal to taste my flesh,” she said in a dark, rolling accent. She slowly turned her head, her eyes were a dark jade and the bangs of her hair were woven into a circular braid around her crown.

“I’ve told a lot of women I can’t read their minds – you’re the first to read mine, so far as I know,” I said, a smirk drawing up my face.

“You would do well to heed the danger of your situation, youngling,” her words sounded ancient but her voice was young and vibrant. I stood, trying to look nonchalant but was betrayed by my shaky legs.

“Yeah, danger,” I said waving a hand. “So far as I know, I’ve died twice today.  Now this is a weird, freaky place but I’ve gotta tell ya: as far as weird shit goes a topless chick in a stone maze barely scratches the surface today.” As cool as I was playing it, I kept my distance; a woman was dangerous enough, let alone one with the power to read minds.

She smiled, but pity was all I saw in her face. “If you wish to act as a child I shall send you out to play with the hounds. They grow tired of their lifeless toys – you would be a joy in their dull lives.” She snapped the mist that the brazier had been keeping away suddenly coalesced around my body. I scrambled, trying to push it away but the mist had weight behind it and my body was soon encased in the thick vapor of the outer halls. Her mocking gaze said it all as the fog closed around my eyes: I didn’t know anything about women.
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Immortal Fear - 3

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        “B.P.’s dropping, eighty over forty-six.”

What?

“O2 sat is eighty-three, he needs to be intubated.” The voice calm but full of adrenalin.

What’s happening?

“He’s lost a lot of blood, hang a liter of N.S. - wide open.”

My body was rattling around; it felt like I was holding in a shit after a night of heavy drinking.  Who was this guy?  Why couldn’t I get my eyes to open?

Oh right, the accident.

I couldn’t move, not because I was strapped down – though maybe I was.   My limbs were completely numb.  I was a prisoner in my own body.  I heard a sharp click and a tube was shoved down my throat. Then the pain finally washed over me.

I’ve been beaten up a lot.  It’s a guy thing, right? School yard scrapes, Pop may have been drinking too much that night; eventually you toughen up and do your own ass kicking.  I remember I used to bitch about my dive suite chaffing, it used to drive Chief Robins crazy. You made it through BUDs, you can deal with some sand in your vagina.

I never hurt like this, though.  I was flayed out. I’d been smashed repeatedly by a meat tenderizer called asphalt and every strand of my being wished for death.  I would never bitch about dropping a dumbbell on my toe again. Air was forced in and out of my lungs but the rich, gurgling of blood kept me short of breath. I started to panic.

“His pulse is spiking,” it must have been the paramedic.

 “Shit Frank, we’re right around the corner,” a new man said.  “Get his heart rate under control or he’s going to bleed out.  At least wait until we get him inside.”

Just don’t die in my ride, eh?

Each second was pure agony and there was no escape.  I was worthless.  Nothing more than a pile of shredded meat. 

You think the world is gonna watch your back, Frogman? Chief Robins voice came to mind. Life doesn’t give a shit about you. When you’re out there, it’s you and your team. If you ain’tgot a team, your all on your own and from what I’ve seen, you ain’t worth a shit.

Chief was a crazy son-of-a-bitch but his advice was always motivated me. I guess I was on my own but at least this way, no one would see what I had become. One thing was for sure, no one was going to get me out of this but me.

Think objectively. Be methodical. See the objective off in the distance but remember: each destination has a path. To walk a path requires the right steps. The government spent thousands of dollars training you; don’t let it go to waste.

Step one: decide.

I wasn’t going out like this.

Okay now that you’ve decided not to die, quit panicking!

Easy as that, right?

I stopped fighting against my body. I knew it was fucked and no amount of positive thinking was going to fix that.  I let the breathing tube do the work; taking in slow, deep breaths.  The paramedics are doing their job, all I can do is stay as lucid as possible.  As lucid as…

Immortal Fear - 2

Image: https://eatsleepride.com/

< < Back to Immortal Fear -1

I’m dead.

It’s weird how logical you can be, flipping eighty miles per hour end over end through the air.  I wasn’t scared. My life didn’t pass before my eyes. It’s kind of like a video game – some stupid kid tosses a grenade into your path and you amble right over it. I’m dead.  It’s a pretty normal reaction, right?

Life isn’t like a video game, though.  It’s weird, I must have been flipping pretty quickly, I eventually lost track of which were oncoming headlights and which were stars – it was disorienting enough to make a guy nauseous.

No, that isn’t right. Really? What was making me nauseous? The view, or the spinning?

A traumatic event doesn’t make time slow down, it’s more like your ability to perceive increases.  As I tumbled through the air I saw everything.  My motorcycle, like some ballet dancer, pirouetted in the air before slamming into the guard rail.  Fuck, I thought with an odd calmness, there goes my Ducati.

God, it died almost as sexy as I would. 

That’s not morbid, it’s a fact – Ducati’s are the sexiest motorcycles on the market.

Cars swerved and slowed in the mayhem.  I couldn’t hear anything though, which I thought was odd since the buzz of the engine was ever present on the open road.  Kelly always told me that bike would be the death of me.  Or was it Marissa? Jillian? It wasn’t important. Women were always telling me how to live my life, starting with my mother. 

The ground was closer with every rotation. How do you brace yourself for a fall like this? The DMV makes you take a motorcycle safety course before they’ll issue you a license.  It’s a big song and dance about knowing your vehicle, how to control a slide, and what type of clothing will best protect you from road rash. I guess it doesn’t really matter – there’s no way I would be getting up from this.  My leathers sure as hell weren’t going to protect me.

I tensed my body hoping my left arm would hit before my hip, breaking a portion of my fall. As I struck the asphalt my arm hit with a guttural pop and grind.  I’d broken my arm before as a kid, but not above the elbow.  I remember it  hurting like hell and I felt like this time it should hurt a lot worse, but… nothing: just like popping a knuckle.  Maybe there wasn’t enough time, almost immediately afterwards my hip slammed into the pavement – suddenly I knew what it felt like to be a snail; that soft crunching sound when you step on them?  The sound must have been really satisfying.  The pressure on my body was overwhelming but I wouldn’t describe it as painful.

A near death experiences was supposed to be a blur of raw emotion and fear.  Mine was crystal clear.  Ever see on the Discovery Channel when a gazelle stops to take a drink and an alligator pops out.  Surprise!  The gazelle struggles to escape but it’s got a calm, almost logical, accepting demeanor.  I couldn’t forget this moment with all the whiskey in Ireland but if I walked away from this, I intended to try.  I rolled sixteen and a half times: nine in the air and seven and a half after hitting the street.  My ribs snapped like a dry wishbone.  If there had been two people pulling on my ribs, they’d both likely get their wish. One of them punctured my lung around roll twelve.  As I stopped I realized I couldn’t catch my breath.  Maybe this is what it felt like when I stole that kid’s inhaler back in the fourth grade. 

I hadn’t realized what a sadistic guy I was.

Then again, I kill people for a living.

I laid in the middle of the road face down.  Every breath I took a gasp.  I still wasn’t in any pain.  Maybe it was shock.  I must have closed my eyes when I hit the ground.  Every muscle in my body was taunt.  My eyes finally opened to see blood oozing to the ground beneath me.  Most of my nose and chin would be smeared on the road behind me.  My visor must have splintered and broken away. That what I get for buying a helmet based on looks, not on safety features. 

Wear a better helmet nah-nah-nah, I heard her say, as if mocking myself.  She’d said it a hundred times with her incessant nagging. God, how is she nagging me on my death… road?

Turning over would probably be a good idea.  I mean, I doubt breathing in asphalt was good for your health – although neither was a pack a day habit or wrecking your bike on the interstate for that matter. I tried to move my legs.

Nothing.

Not a good sign.

How had this happened anyway?  I was tailing my mark in the Maserati, then…

White cars. Right.

Did I still have my gun? If someone had it out for me but didn’t have the common courtesy to just put a bullet in me, they probably wouldn’t break their stride to put me out of my misery after so blatantly sending my bike and I tumbling across the interstate but just in case, I wanted to be able to show them my ‘gratitude.’

I heard a car door slam, and footsteps running towards me.  If they had come back to finish the job, I didn’t have a whole lot of time.

It takes a handsome, brute of a man to conceal a Desert Eagle .50.  Luckily, a more sexy or brutal man than I, you could not find.  I felt the muscles tense in my arm, then the rough blacktop beneath my hand as it tried to reach under my body into my shoulder holster.  That arm was definitely broken.  It had the same feeling as though it were asleep; you know, pins and needles? Almost like it tickled – no, not in a good way.  There was no way I’d reach my shoulder holster in this condition and the footsteps were growing closer.  Like it mattered. Vengeance was a dish best served when you’re not dead.

“Easy, lad. Don’t move. Help is on the way,” a thick Irish voice said from above me.

“Gurnnnngggg…”

That wasn’t right.  I’d meant to say, let me die in peace you… you…

I guess if he wasn’t going to put a bullet in me, he didn’t deserve my wrath but god, good Samaritans were annoying.

I realized then the street sounds were back.  That’s a good sign, I guess. I tried to get my hands underneath me – I was tired of sharing fluids with the street. That didn’t work out too well. The minute I tried pushing myself up I began to cough violently. Blood splattered on the ground in front of me.

Oh right.  Punctured lung.

“Stay still, lad,” a hand pressed on my shoulder. I’m sure it was meant to be a comforting gesture but it was forceful enough to keep me in my place. “Exacerbatin’ a spinal injury is a good way to wind up in a wheelchair.”  I couldn’t even see this prick and all I could think of was punching him in his fat potato face.

Suddenly all I could think of was a giant Mr. Potato Head doll restraining me in the middle of a southern California interstate. I must have lost a lot of blood; I mean, I’m not usually a racist, but potato face?

That’s hilarious.

With that level of lunacy I should have been knock, knock, knockin’ on Heaven’s door already. I wasn’t complaining, mind you;  It wasn’t all that bad. I could barely breath, moving was out of the question and I had the cheery company of strangers I already knew I didn’t like.

Just like my birthday.

“Oh god!” That was a new voice. “Is he okay?”

I can’t even see me and I know the answer to that one, lady.

“Give him space, I think he has a broken neck,” Potato Face said.

Broken neck, that would make sense.  I loved in those Hollywood espionage movies; they’d sneak up behind someone, snap their neck and down they’d go.

“Stay with me lad, and you’ll make it through this,” he lied.

I envied those spy bastards. 

“Everyone just stand back, please. The paramedics are on their way.”

Everyone? I didn’t expect my fifteen minutes of fame would come on the interstate.  Freak show always draws a crowd I guess, no matter where it is. I must have been a hell of a sight, too.  Broken ribs, arm – my lower half couldn’t be in much better shape.  My face! How could I have stolen that light from the world? Hell, it was that trustworthy face of mine that made me so successful.  No one noticed a handsome man as long as you didn’t do things to draw attention to yourself. Like the opposite of a homeless man; everyone ignores you until you start begging, then they just pretend to ignore you.

I felt someone kneel down beside me. “Our Lord, God, has sent me to your side”

What was this guy, some kind of priest?  If there was a God, he had a sick sense of humor.

“Our Father, who art in Heaven. Hallowed be Thy Name,” he continued but I stopped listening.  If there really was an afterlife I hoped it was the seventy-two virgins kind.  I’m not a womanizer, I just really like banging chicks. Didn’t the Vikings have some kind of hall where you could get shit-faced and kill each other until the end of time?  That was probably more my style, I didn’t want to be nagged for all eternity.

It was getting really hard to breath.  I forced out a cough and blood gurgled in the back of my throat.  I started to feel very cold.  Why did blood have that weird metallic taste?  I could hear the faint sound of sirens approaching.  Small miracles I guess, they would arrive just in time to pronounce me dead.

“May the Lord protect you and lead you to eternal life.  In nomine Patris, et Filii, et Spiritus Sancti. Amen.”

The commotion from the crowd rose as the sirens came to a stop. Doors slammed and footsteps silently approached me. My last thought was, How can I get to the afterlife without my bike?
To Immortal Fear - 3 > >

Immortal Fear - 1

Image: http://businesstech.co.za/news/internet/

       We think of the modern world as this vast interconnected place, where people can trade information freely and spread knowledge and science to the four corners of the world. And see, in the same breath I talk about the spread of knowledge I describe the world as having corners.  Technology may make learning easier, sure you can just use Google to figure out what the current teen-aged heart throb likes to eat, or even pick up a great recipe for dinner.  That’s all harmless.  You could pick that stuff up from a sewing circle, the internet is an enormous redundancy for that triviality.

Real information - information people want, information people complain about society not using the internet for is still very secretive.  Information is dangerous and powerful. It can make you a king just as easily as it can make you dead.  Manipulation of information is the same as manipulating people because let’s face it, people are stupid enough to believe anything, except their own gullibility.  This abundance of information inevitably creates shadows.

I lurk in those shadows.

Not like Batman – capes are a bit dramatic for my taste.

The deep web; the places your search engine can’t take you.  These shadows exist because of good upstanding people like you trying to make the world a better place.  Following the proper channels, advocating legislation.  Problem is, just because something’s illegal doesn’t mean people don’t want it anymore. You can blame capitalism but it’s simply human nature. 

I exist to get things done.

Unsettling things.  Anonymously.

My name is Silas Bishop, though no one has called me that in many years.  Bounties hunted.  Secrets gathered. Problem solved. I’d put that on a business card if I were legitimate, but when existing outside of the law is your profession you tended to stay away from giving people your real name.  It’s not like I pay taxes or anything: I’m a ghost.  No one simply stumbles upon me and my services.  I’m the guy you have to be looking for.  Maybe you know a guy who knows a guy, then that guy knows another guy.  Eventually you’d find your way to me, though no one you’ve talked to knows anything about me and neither would you. 

I found myself most recently in San Diego. It had been a lifetime since I'd last been in the city but homecomings always brought a fit of nostalgia.  I’d been contracted to kill a man, David Philips.  He and his wife lived up in La Jolla. The place was big. He'd made his fortune investing in shipping. The guy was a household name down by the docks. He greased all the right palms, had all the right connections and philandered with the biggest billionaires in town. His brand, Infinity shipping, was plastered on crates in every ship in the dock as well as nearly every train that left the station.

David’s wife, Francesca, walked around the house every day in virgin white – which still makes me laugh because every Thursday the pool boy had her bent over on the patio barking like a seal.

Rich people, right? 

A trophy wife to the tee.  She didn’t need to work so she collected charities to sponsor. I’d picked up a few of the benefit pamphlets for her most recent events – socialites have the most bizarre sense of charity.  Most recently she held a benefit to raise money for a foundation called “Soon to be home,” a charity that helped the homeless population in San Diego.  Instead of building a food kitchen or a shelter, this organization engraves hopeful messages on the back of old keys, “Recycling them to the homeless as an inspirational memento, commemorating their journey home.” This was an actual quote from their website. She gave ten thousand dollars at this benefit.

She threw his money away at every opportunity. 

Philips helped the homeless in his own way; kidnapping and selling them into slavery.

He obviously knew how to get a little more bang for his buck.

Men like Philips attracted their share of enemies even without his involvement in black market affairs; the corporate world held its own dangers. I like to know who I'm getting into business with when I take a contract so I traced the IP address of the correspondence and learned it came from the Philips’ own address.  The neglected wife was ready for her payout. Murder is always cheaper than divorce in the higher tax brackets.  
I like to know who I'm working with, but I always remain anonymous: rule number one. I'm sure she wanted to remain anonymous herself, but people are never as clever as they think: rule number two.  She did manage to set up a single proxy – I’m sure she was very proud of herself.

The two of them slept in different rooms.  It had an odd sense of romance to it.  Husband supporting his family and criminal underworld.  His lovely wife trapped in an ivory tower scouring the internet for a man to kill him.

I’m not one to judge – I’m a professional. 

I’d been taking my time.  I found the house quickly and begun tracking their schedule.  Like most married households this one’s routine was like clockwork.  I lay prone on the roof of a neighbor’s house looking into the back of the Philips home.  The back porch looked out towards the ocean and the windows were floor to ceiling all the way across.  They say people in glass houses shouldn’t throw stones, then again if you could afford a glass house you could likely afford people to throw them for you.  It definitely wasn’t a prime space for privacy. I glanced down to check my watch and time sheet: 8:15, there would be a blow out any minute.

The coastal city shown like a fire next to the darkness of the ocean as David Philips emerged from the house.  He had taken off his perfectly tailored suit jacket and tie to reveal a man with an athletic build rolling up his sleeves.  It was a stark contrast to his usual meticulously crafted look.  Francesca wasn’t far behind him.  He’d gotten home at eight o’clock, as usual, and she’d immediately laid into him.  The things she bullied him over were odd considering he’d be dead later this evening.  Couldn’t she let the man have one night of peace?  She was feisty though.  I’d have to bang her before I left town. She wouldn’t know I was the man that she’d just paid quarter of a million dollars to kill her husband, but I would.  That always made it hotter.

The neighbor’s roof was a perfect roost; I laid at its lipped edge observing the fight through binoculars.  Had I brought my rifle he would be an easy target.  I was paid to do things discreetly though, not implicate my theoretical employer in the murder.  Things were heating up, it looked like tonight would finally be the night.  When their fights were especially bad, he would get in his Maserati and drive into Mexico.  Usually a trip into Tijuana at night wasn’t the brightest idea for an affluent white man but running in the sort of circles that Philips did, I’m sure it meant a good place to blow off steam doing things that weren’t entirely legal in the States.

She finally turned to face him. I could see the hatred in her eyes. His casual stance showed what little respect he had for the woman who’d planned to kill him. Some words were exchanged that I couldn’t make out. I’d decided not to bring my sonic equipment tonight as I’d already devised a plan, I was merely waiting to execute it.  She pulled back her arms, winding up to push him into the infinity pool; casually, hands still in his pants pockets, he sidestepped the blow with a raised foot, tripping her and with a splash she fell into the drink.

His laughter billowed forth, louder than the splash, louder than her flailing limbs splashing the water, louder than her furious screams.

“I’ll kill you!” she wailed, beginning to cry.

He laughed even harder.  This man had complete power over her.

Controlling your own life wasn’t enough, you must control the lives of those around you.  The men who convinced other men that they knew what was best for them.  Seeking power for power’s sake.
Guys like Philips were the reason I got into contract killing in the first place. It was going to be really satisfying to blow his brains out.

He walked back into the house not sparing his wife a second glance.

I slowly rose from my perch heading for the towering palm tree I had climbed to get to the roof.  I moved cautiously even knowing that no one was inside. I’d chosen this place because it was a summer home; it would be empty until April or May.  I ran out of the side gate and began ascending the hill on foot.  My bike was parked around the bend as to not raise suspicion when I started it and chased after Philips.

It took him one hundred and eighty-five seconds to get to his car.  The throaty growl of his Maserati erupted from behind me as I rounded the corner to jump on my bike. I checked my side arm, a .50 caliber Desert Eagle in my shoulder holster; for safety’s sake I should probably have stowed it in the side saddle but there was a comfort in having it with me. The Maserati pulled out of the garage heading down the hill just as I started my Ducati. Giving him a comfortable lead, I slowly made my way down the hill after him.

The hills of La Jolla are a mess of stream-like roads that crisscross all the way down to the main avenue.  I sped down past the Philips’ house and took a different street that would take me just ahead of Philips’ path, you know, assuming I didn’t obey traffic signs.  I felt like I was flying down the hillside.  The Italians really knew how to make a fine piece of machinery.  I made sure to rev my engine as I came to each crossing, announcing my plan to continue on uninterrupted – no one made a complaint.  I came to a stop at Prospect Street just in time to see Philips’ Maserati drive by.  I pulled out slowly after him.

You don’t want someone to know you’re following them. It defeats the purpose.  It’s a surprise attack.  That’s why I was dressed in black from my helmet down to my boots.  It wasn’t just to be inconspicuous, it was also sexy as hell. Just like the black of my bike. I was as the shadow behind the loan head light.  Come to think of it, maybe the Batman reference was appropriate.

I wanted to make sure I kept my distance.  The last thing I needed for Philips to catch wind of me and run off, sail in the wind.  I made sure to keep a couple of cars between us at all times while still keeping a comfortable eye on him.  I knew where he was going, but the last thing I needed was to have him change his plans last minute, loosing this opportunity.  Soon we approached the I-5 south; from here it would be a straight shot to Mexico.

This was what I lived for.  Stalking my prey; the thrill of the hunt. I may not have found what I was looking for when I joined the SEALs but I did find something I couldn’t live without.  The ferocious anticipation that overcomes me when danger is near.  When the full force of my animal instincts were set into motion.  The hunt was merely the prelude to a much darker symphony; the kill was orgasmic.

Wind whipped across me speeding down the interstate.  Philips was driving at a steady pace down the five lane freeway.  That was good.  There was no sign that he’d been spooked.  It would take another thirty minutes before we arrived at the border.  I settled in, relishing in the anticipation, it kept me focused.

A white sedan pulled up and began to change lanes right on top of me, forcing me into the commuter lane. It was an omnipresent hazard riding a bike but one you could count on – people are idiots and don’t know how to share the road.  I shook myself off and refocused on Philips.  His car was further ahead then I’d like.  I twisted down on the throttle, cutting in front of the white sedan.

The traffic was light by southern California standards.  I made my way closer to the Maserati staying a lane to the right, keeping my cool, allowing the thrill to continue to build. A white car suddenly veered in front of me, cutting me off.  I gripped my break pulling to the right, away from the tail of the car. The bastard had nearly slammed the noes of my bike.  This was an odd night for--

In my side mirror, headlights were approaching.  Fast. I downshifted, twisting the throttle and holding on tight with my legs.  
This was no full moon traffic accident.  These guys were doing this on purpose.  
I accelerated quickly, darting between traffic.  Splitting the lane between cars is technically legal in California, but only just.  I didn’t like making myself conspicuous to the law, especially when on a job but I wasn’t about to let myself become road-kill either.

The white sedan pulled back toward the center of the highway as I slipped between two cars, cutting into one of the center lanes.  The two cars were gaining on my quickly.  I had to stay far enough ahead to keep them from boxing me in.  That’s the last thing you need on an op. To be stranded alone behind enemy lines.  I took a deep breath speeding into the empty portion of highway as fast as I could.

I was much more comfortable with stealth than this kind of righteous bravado.  I mean, if you look at someone wrong on a motorcycle there’s a decent chance they’ll call the cops out of fear.  As I flew down the highway over a hundred miles per hour, engine screaming, I was sure the cops would be out in no time looking for the lunatic but at the moment reckless driving charges were the least of my worries.

In the brief time I’d been distracted, Philips car had pulled far ahead and nearly out of my vision.  Cursing under my breath I made my way to catch up.  The bike reacted to my every command, like an extension of my being.  The traffic was light but I still made my way between cars whenever possible pulling my body tight against the tank to take as much control away from the wind as possible.  The two white cars perusing me were barely distinguishable but for their sharp zig-zags in the chaos of traffic behind me.

This wasn’t working, the mission had been compromised.  Whoever these clowns were, I wouldn’t be able to finish my job with them in pursuit.  There was only one thing left to do.

Abort.

Philips car had become indistinguishable in the night traffic.  It was time for me to get off the freeway to somewhere my mobility would be an asset. The next exit was 1^st avenue. Downtown. Gas lamp quarter. It was the middle of the week so there wouldn’t be huge crowds, but I could lose these white sedans in the narrow city blocks and one way streets.

I swung from the center left lane to the off ramp, cutting off traffic on the way.  Tires screeched behind me. I wasn’t sure if it was from the chumps I’d cut off or the bastards who were following me.  Slowing only slightly as I approached the intersection I headed right into downtown.  The muffler echoed more loudly in the city streets off the high rise buildings.  I ran the first red light. I needed to get into pedestrian cover. Checking my side mirror, I couldn’t tell if they were still following me or not.  Traffic was much more congested, headlights all looked the same against the black backdrop.  I cut left, nearly being hit by an oncoming SUV.  I didn’t have the luxury of assuming I’d lost them.  When you’re in the field, it’s always life or death. 

I cut left again, this time slower trying to avoid pedestrians.  It may have been a week night but this was the trendy part of town.  If I weren’t running for my life I’d have made a comment about the number of hipsters per square block. I came through a small thorough fare back to the main street crossing an indented patch of sidewalk, pedestrians jumping away.  Once I ditched these guys, I thought still speeding around corners, I’d have to head for my safe-house.

These guys had to be working for Philips.  He must have caught wind of the assassination.  There must have been surveillance I had missed.  I didn’t have time to consider it now. I had to get myself to safety.

I reoriented myself back towards the freeway.  If they had followed me they were long lost in the trail of dust I’d left.  I took in slow breaths as I road through the city, slowing my pace.  Now that there wasn’t an immediate danger I needed to blend in.  I was already exhausted from the chase, but it was going  to be a long night erasing every trace of me from this city while remaining hidden from prying eyes.  Francesca would likely threaten me because the job wasn’t done.  That was a loose end to tie up, eventually.

The freeway was up ahead and still no sign of my pursuers. I wasn’t home free, simply on the next dangerous leg of the journey.  As I drove up the north bound ramp I saw a car accelerating on the shoulder, quickly matching my speed.

It was the white sedan.

Shit. My heart began to race again, adrenalin coursing through my veins. The car had matched speed and I was redlined.  The sedan forced me out into traffic across multiple lanes.  I down shifted, breaking, trying to swing around behind but traffic was much tighter in this direction.  I couldn’t escape it. I was frantically thinking, calculating, desperate for a  way to escape.

The back car tapped my back wheel. The stutter in its rotation sent the body of the bike rocking violently.  I held the handlebars tight, flexing every muscle in my body to keep the wheel straight. It was no use.

The handlebar ripped free and then I flew.
To Immortal Fear 2 > >