I'm working on Ron Stone while also working obsessively on the story for two characters I created for the Supara universe, and am honestly doing fairly well juggling all of these assorted mental threads. Hopefully, myself or JLSpaw will be posting something in regards to these two characters in the coming week. If you're a follower on Twitter, or Facebook, you may have already seen the art we posted... If not check it out, Mr. Michael Mayne has done some amazing stuff for us.
However, back to the task at hand. If you have not done so yet, please read Part 1, Part 2, and Part 3 , so that you are ready for what happens... After the jump.
I shielded my eyes, as I fell back against the wall. More splinters showered me, as the baseball bat continued to break it's way through the paper thin door.
I clawed at the discolored gray carpet as I tried to get away from the man breaking through my door, wet hair lashing at my face with every frantic movement. The sound of the deadbolt being disengaged, inspired an even more profound urgency in me, and I managed to make it back into the bathroom. I closed the door, locked it, and backed up into the shower again, wishing all the while that I had listened to my family and bought a stun gun or paper spray, or any kind of protection for that matter. As I sat there panting, I silently cursed my own over-confidence.
I had little time to ponder this however, because the first hit of the baseball bat against the bathroom door broke it clean in half. I turned my head to avoid even more splinters in the face.
“What the fuck do you want, asshole?” I screamed, fear lending an extra octave or two to my voice.
His heavy breathing was the only answer I got. As he stepped through the remains of the door, I got my first look at my tormenter. He was a big guy, his shoulders scraping against the narrow door frame as he made his way in. His head was completely bald, with eyes entirely too big for his face. His nose was overly large as well, and looked like it had been broken at least once or twice. A scar extending from the edge of his mouth all the way to the spot where his left ear should have been left him with a permanent smirk. This man was the type that seemed to have been bred to terrorize those smaller than them.
He pointed the baseball bat at my face, and then pulled back to swing. I closed my eyes, and clenched my teeth, hoping only that death was less painful than I had always feared.