Chapter 18

There are many things I like about my apartment. It is close to pretty much everything and the layout is nice. It is not too big, or too small. The walls are insulated so I seldom hear any noise from outside. Plus, it is supposed to be pretty safe, which is why there is a big fence surrounding the apartments and a gate at the front.

One downside is the door has no peephole or window on that wall to look outside and see who is at the door. I have a pretty good idea who is attacking the door so violently, but also have no idea how he found us or got into the apartment complex.

I am not into physical confrontations. My last fight was in the sixth grade. A boy named Gary Stoops beat the living tar out of me. That was enough of a lesson to convince me that trying to injure a person with your fists is not a good idea.

I was more worried about Sandy. There was no way I could take on Trevor and come away with anything but a serious beating. Hopefully, my reconfigured face would one day resemble the model I currently sport, or the plastic surgeons might even make me better looking.

But I couldn’t let him do anything to her.

As soon as the door opened, the man burst inside and grabbed me. There is a wall behind the door. He picked me up by my shirt and drove me into the wall. He was foaming at the mouth and looked rather insane.

But it wasn’t Trevor. He looked like the type of man who could and would be friends with Trevor, but it wasn’t him. He was a monster, one big muscle. His head was shaven and he had a goatee that needed trimmed badly.

His shirt had no sleeves, showing off the huge arms built from spending way too much time pumping iron and injecting steroids. He stuck his face right next to mine. Both my arms were pinned and I felt like a rag doll compared to this freak.

“Where is she?” he hollered loud enough to be heard downtown. He added a little shake for emphasis, making my head bounce off the wall.

I tried to break free, which caused him to increase his grip. He was putting so much pressure on that it was getting hard to breath.

“Who?” I muttered out. I was looking around for any kind of weapon. Sadly, I was not prepared for attackers and there wasn’t anything around to hit or jab him with.

“You know who!”

“No, I don’t.”

He pulled me back and slammed me against the wall again. This had to be some pretty tough sheetrock to take this much abuse.

“I know she’s here!” he screamed.

I was hoping Sandy was calling 9-1-1, Batman, Superman or anybody who could get rid of this animal.

“There’s nobody else here,” I lied.

This was probably not good. He let me drop to the ground, then picked me up and squeezed me in a bear hug. I tried to headbutt him, like you always see in the movies. It probably should have been left on the giant screen. I thought he would automatically drop me and stagger back in pain.

That’s what happens on the movies. In real life, or at least when I’m the headbutter, that’s not what happens. I leaned back and tried to whack him a good one. Turns out his head must be a lot harder than mine. It didn’t even bother him, but left me feeling very dizzy.

He even smiled.

The monster shook me. Oxygen was having a tough time getting to the old head. I was close to passing out and could feel a trickle of blood coming from my head, courtesy of the foolish headbutt.

“Leave him alone!” she screamed. I turned and saw Sandy in the middle of the room, crying.

The man threw me back against the wall. I had a picture of my mother on the wall. I watched it fall and crash to the ground.

I tried to grab him from behind but failed. Suddenly, the man stopped.

“Who are you?” he asked.

“Who are you?” she hollered back.

“I’m the Terminator.”

The what? I staggered over and hit him in the back with all my remaining strength. It must have felt like a mosquito bite to him.

“Stop it,” he shouted.

Okay, I decided, thankful he didn’t pound me again.

“Your name is Terminator?” Sandy asked.

“Nickname.”

“Do people actually call you that?”

“No, I try to get my buds to call me that, but most of em call me Tristin, you know, cause that’s my name.”

I laughed, which was not a good idea. Terminator Tristin wheeled around and grabbed my left ear, like my ear has ever done anything to him.

“Stop laughing!” he hollers, giving my ear a good twist.

“Let go of his ear…” Sandy doesn’t know what to call him, “…Terminator.”

That seems to please him and he releases his grip. I fear that ear will now be a cauliflower, like all the wrestlers have.

“Who are you looking for?” Sandy asks. She is clearly in charge now.

“My Katie,” he answers, looking around. “Nice…my place is a lot smaller cause I got one of those fireplaces in the corner. I never use the thing so all it does is take up room.”

Tristin the Terminator complimented me on the size of my apartment. I should feel honored, but I don’t.

“There’s no Katie here,” Sandy adds.

“Are you sure?”

“Yes.”

“My bud told me she was in C-21 with some goober,” Tristin the wannabe Terminator says. “You don’t look like the type of guy who would steal a guy’s girl.”

If only he knew.

“I don’t think my Katie would go for you, either,” he adds, quite unnecessarily, I might add. “You’re a little old and not buffed enough for her. She only likes guys who work out.”

“This is D-21, not C-21,” I reply.

He walks over to the front door to check this out. Tristin comes back looking like a little boy who was caught doing something bad and is prepared for a switch.

“Gosh, guys!” he says, trying to smile. “My bad. Dude, you cool?”

No, I wasn’t cool. I would be feeling this for weeks. I nod, hoping that will get him out of here.

“Man, I bet you guys think I’m a doofus!” he adds, all smiles. I want to nod again, but resist. “Hey, I own a fitness center gym over on 32nd and MLK. Come by some time and I’ll hook you up with a free workout. We have low monthly rates and free tanning for all new members.”

I couldn’t believe this idiot. First off, he nearly kills me, apologizes and now is trying to get me to go to his fitness center.

“I’ll think about it,” I respond.

He walks over and hugs Sandy. Tristin approaches me and holds out his hand. I shake his hand, then the dork pulls me close and chest bumps me. It hurts again.

“Later,” Tristin said, waves then walks out the door.

Sandy comes over and puts her hand on my back.

“Are you okay?” she asks.

I nod. It hurts to breathe, let alone move.

“At least it wasn’t Trevor,” I answer, wishing I had never said that after seeing the look on her face.

“We’d better get going.”

I get the few things that we initially stopped for and then we leave. The traffic is not too bad and we make it out on the Broken Arrow Expressway fairly quickly. It turns into the Muskogee Turnpike and my truck’s four-cylinder engine is struggling to go 75.

We had not talked about April and her request on the drive to Tulsa. I tell her as we cruise along the turnpike. Sandy has changed and I hope this trip has not been a mistake. She rarely says anything until we get to Poteau. We stop at the hospital and she drops me off. Sandy will have to drive my truck back to Squiggy’s to get her car.

“Are you okay?” I ask. She looks like her life has fallen apart.

“I’m fine,” she snaps back.

She is sitting in the driver’s seat. I am standing outside the truck, wishing she never had to leave.

“Thanks for going with me.”

Sandy nods, refusing to look at me. She rolls the window up and squeals the tires while leaving the parking lot.

I walk into the hospital. The smell hits me first, one of antiseptic, death and sickness. Two old women are approaching me. They are both crying and trying to comfort each other. The women are taking the small steps of the old. Their hair is a mess, but right now, they could care less. Each woman has a hanky held to their face, wiping away tears and runny noses.

They pass by. It’s like I don’t exist. I feel for them, wondering if a loved one just passed away, or if they found out why a family member or friend has been feeling so bad.

It takes forever to find anybody who can tell me where my father is.

Then, I can’t find the room. Finally, I figure out where he is and arrive. I don’t want to go inside and see my father with all kinds of tubes and gadgets stuck to him. I get up the nerve, open the door and slowly walk inside. The room is dark, the only light the glare from the instruments.

Dad is asleep. He looks terrible, much worse than yesterday. Mom is sitting in the chair next to the bed, holding his hand and crying. I walk over to my mother and put my arm around her.

“Why are you walking so funny?” she whispers. I ignore her question.

“How is he?” I ask.

“Sleeping,” she answers, like I couldn’t see that. “Michael, I had to rush out of the house and couldn’t get anything. Can you take me home and let me get some things?”

“Did you drive?” I ask.

“Yes, I followed the ambulance.”

“Sandy drove my truck. I’ll drive you in your car.”

She nods, that will work. Mom slowly stands up, leans over the bed and kisses my father.

“I love you,” she whispers. Dad slowly moves.

We arrive back in Langford about fifteen minutes later. I had explained to Mom why my truck was at Squiggy’s. Thankfully, nobody is there when we arrive. My truck is parked alongside the abandoned and rusting trucks.

Mom gets out and comes around to the driver’s side.

She gets in and drives off. I walk over to my truck and open the door. The interior light comes on. There is a piece of paper folded on the seat with my name on it.

I open it and start to read.

Chapter 19