Chapter 47

Note:

Just testing out some theories from some readers.

200k Words.

Thank you all for reading all this nonsense that I write, from the beginning of the novel I made it clear that writing is something I do to practice and now it is something that I enjoy doing every day, I hope you will accompany me for the rest of the time that I will continue writing. 

To many more words. Enjoy.

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"What the hell happened to your face?" Bob asked, walking around the sofa and dodging it, for a moment raising his voice before whispering again, "Did you get into a fight?"

"Calling it a fight would be an exaggeration really," I said somewhat embarrassed, "it was just some drunk idiot, and it probably looks worse than it is," trying to downplay the matter, I continued to lightly touch my eye, which I could feel getting more swollen.

"That's definitely going to leave a mark," Bob said, moving closer to get a better look, shaking his head slightly. "Let's put some ice on it," he continued, "by the way, hey guys, at least you look fine," Bob greeted my friends Alan and Georgie beside me, seemingly just remembering they were there.

"Hello, Mr. Duncan," surprisingly synchronized, Alan and Georgie greeted back.

"Can they stay until tomorrow?" walking with everyone towards the kitchen, I asked Bob, who immediately nodded. "Of course, this is their home," Bob said as he entered the kitchen.

Sitting at the kitchen table, before I could reach for the bag of frozen vegetables Bob was offering me, he stopped my hand. "Well, at least you stood up for yourself," Bob said, looking at my bruised knuckles, a strange hint of pride in his voice before releasing my hand again.

Georgie, who quietly took a seat next to me at the table, seemingly unable to help it, let out a small snort, which immediately ceased as he was swiftly hit by Alan next to him.

"What?" Bob asked, puzzled, looking at the now embarrassed Georgie.

"My punch might have hurt me more than him," I admitted again, for some reason feeling ashamed.

Violence was something I never really had to resort to. Being a paramedic in Los Angeles could occasionally be dangerous, and while undoubtedly hearing horror stories at work, fortunately, nothing besides occasionally having to restrain a patient ever happened to me.

"What?" Bob asked again, surprised this time, "but I taught you how to..." he was saying until he stopped, undoubtedly remembering my 'amnesia'.

"It wasn't his fault; the guy attacked him when he was distracted, and he luckily managed to land another punch after the first sucker punch," Alan said calmly, backing me up.

"Oh yeah, and then you tossed him like in that WWE program," Georgie, surely recalling what had happened, said excitedly.

"Just a wrestling move," to Bob's surprised look, presumably understanding Georgie's reference, Alan calmly said.

"But I don't understand, why did he hit you?" after a few seconds, Bob asked.

"Honestly, I don't know," I said immediately, tilting my now sore head, "I know he's Regina's new boyfriend."

"Regina?" Bob asked.

"His ex," Georgie explained pointing to me.

"Oh," remembering, Bob nodded for me to continue.

"He said something about staying away from her," remembering the incident, I said.

"So, are you trying to get her back?" Bob asked interestedly.

"Oh no, not at all," I quickly responded.

"She was there at the party," suddenly Alan said, "maybe you did something without realizing it," he added.

"She was there?" surprised, I asked, "I didn't see her all night," I admitted.

"Then it was possibly her move," Bob said, shrugging, "that's something women do," he continued, "don't tell your mother I said that," he added a moment later, worried.

"I don't know," I said, but I could really see Regina doing something like that.

"Well, and besides the Light-Heavyweight world championship, how was the party?" sitting down in one of the chairs, Bob asked and we told him what had happened, especially Georgie and I.

"Well, guys, great chat, but it's getting pretty late," after recounting the party to Bob, with certain points ignored, Bob said, looking at the kitchen clock, "make yourselves at home," he pointed to my friends kindly, "and you keep that ice on your face so it doesn't get worse. Hopefully, you can think of something smart to tell your mother to explain that," pointing at my face, Bob shook his head and continued, "I'm going to bed."

"Night, Mr. Duncan," Georgie and Alan said again.

Leaving the now not-so-frozen vegetables in the refrigerator, I silently signaled to my friends to follow me to my room, where with blankets and pillows, each improvised a bed on the carpet since it was colder in the living room.

Sleeping was difficult as the pain in my face prevented me from moving my head, and forcing my eyes shut only made the bruises hurt more.

At some point during the night, I managed to sleep, but unfortunately, it felt like just a few minutes before a short scream of pain followed by another scream of surprise woke me up. "What's happening?" I asked, moving with pain as I tried to see in the still-dark room.

"There's someone on the floor," Gabe said.

"He stepped on my face," came the voice I recognized as Georgie's.

"Who's that?" Gabe asked nervously.

"I'm Georgie," my annoyed friend responded.

"Sorry," Gabe apologized as he seemed to move a moment later, opening the bedroom door and leaving, presumably to the bathroom.

"I mean, why do you put your face where he's going to walk?" joking with Georgie, I said, "learn from Alan, he's in the corner," turning on the lamp next to my bed, I pointed to my other friend, "still asleep," I said, seeing the completely straight teenager who slept impressively still in the corner of the room.

"Yeah, my butt," grabbing his pillow, annoyed, Georgie threw it at my still-sleeping friend, who in a highly unlikely act, caught the pillow before it hit his face.

Seeing the pillow now in his hand, Alan sighed, putting it next to him, hiding it between the wall and his body before falling back asleep as fast as he had woken up.

"How?" sharing a look with me, Georgie asked incredulously.

"I don't know," laughing lightly at the absurdity of the situation, I said before forcing myself to stop laughing due to the pain in my face.

After Gabe returned from the bathroom, this time with Georgie's face out of his way, I turned off the light again, managing to sleep faster than before.

The next day I woke up early in the morning out of habit, unfortunately still with pain in my face.

Knowing I couldn't go back to sleep due to the pain, I slowly got up, trying not to wake up those still sleeping in the room, Gabe and Georgie, while grabbing a pair of sunglasses I had never worn before.

In the bathroom mirror, I could see the result of the two blows to my face. It was obvious I would have a black eye, but it was still a novelty for me.

Taking a pill from Mom's kit, I walked to the kitchen to get a glass of water. As I drank the pill down, I glanced out of the backyard window and saw Alan sitting on one of the garden chairs, calmly staring ahead without barely moving.

Slowly, trying not to make any noise, I exited through the kitchen's back door, planning to scare my silent friend in revenge. "Good morning, PJ," when I was a few steps away from achieving my goal, Alan, with a touch of arrogance in his voice, said.

"Oh, that's not fair," dragging one of the garden chairs before sitting down, I said annoyed, "I heard you from the moment you filled the water glass," Alan said with a faint hint of amusement.

"Yeah, yeah, show-off," lightly tapping his shoulder, I said, "what are you doing out here? You know, you can watch TV, right? It's more interesting than a bunch of grass."

"No, I'm good," my friend replied, "how's the eye?" he asked, obviously changing the subject.

"I'll hide it under sunglasses; I doubt anyone will notice that I suddenly wear sunglasses," sarcastically pointing to my damaged eye, I said while showing him the sunglasses hanging from my shirt.

"Sounds like a plan to me," Alan mocked, dripping with irony.

After my friend said that, we remained in a comfortable silence for a few moments, peacefully watching the garden.

"No seriously, what are you doing out here?" I asked again. It was quiet and peaceful outside, yes, but it was also cold.

"I was supposed to train," Alan weakly admitted, "but today, I just didn't feel like it for some reason," looking back at the house behind us, he continued.

"Do you train at this hour?" I asked, seizing Alan's sudden openness. Usually, my friend could easily talk about really irrelevant topics in his life; he had extensive knowledge in many different things and had no problem discussing them. But when the conversation was about a personal topic, there were very few times I could get anything out of him.

"A couple of hours earlier," after a moment of silence, Alan weakly said.

Which means he wakes up several hours before the sun rises, or his father make him do so.

Knowing it wasn't a topic my friend was willing to talk about, again I remained silent. I knew something strange was going on with his father, being still active in the military and from what Baja had said, a Vietnam War veteran who really saw action. It wouldn't be strange if the man suffered from PTSD or something similar, but I couldn't press Alan to talk about it; that would only push him away.

Thinking about my silent friend's situation and theorizing about what could be happening in his house inevitably reminded me of all the physical feats I had seen him perform, leading to an idea. I didn't want to go through a situation where I couldn't defend myself again, so maybe "Alan, maybe you could..." I was saying, but "no," Alan firmly interrupted me.

"You don't even know what I was going to ask you," I said, "you were going to ask me to teach you how to fight," Alan argued.

"No, I was going to ask if you wanted to make breakfast," I said sarcastically, "okay, yes, I was going to ask that, but it wouldn't be to fight, just to be able to defend myself. I'm not going around looking for fights with anyone," I continued after my friend gave me a strange look, defending myself by deducing the reason for his refusal.

"I don't care about that," shaking his head slowly, Alan said, "I just don't want to teach you, or anyone else, what he taught me," in one of the few moments I could discern something in my friend's expression, Alan refused again with a touch of sadness in his face, obviously thinking about something.

"Well, that just leaves me with a few options then, learning from movies, finding a place to teach me, or Sheldon," jokingly I said without insisting on the subject. If he didn't want to, I wouldn't force him to do it.

"Sheldon?" with one of his small smiles, Alan asked.

"Oh, it may not seem like it, but the boy could easily be an X-Men," standing up, I said, "come on, talking about breakfast made me hungry. Yesterday we only had potato chips for dinner. Besides, maybe if I make breakfast for Mom, she'll ignore my eye," I continued, with little hope.

Working alone, as surprisingly Alan had no idea how to cook anything, following instructions on the pancake boxes and cooking some bacon and eggs, I made breakfast for everyone in the house while chatting with Alan about movies and books, topics in which my friend was surprisingly well-versed.

"That smells really good," some time after I started cooking, Teddy, still in her pajamas with disheveled hair, entered, rubbing her eyes as she seemed still sleepy. "Oh, PJ, are you making breakfast?" seeing only me, my sister asked.

"Yes, sit down, it's almost ready," I replied, "good morning, by the way," flipping one of the pancakes, I said, causing Teddy to repeat, still sleepy.

"Good morning," Alan, sitting out of Teddy's line of sight, also said quietly.

"Good morning," Teddy repeated as she dragged a chair.

In silence, Alan and I shared a glance before staring intently at my sister, who after a few seconds quickly turned her head back to my friend, who was calmly drinking orange juice and repeating his first encounter with my friend, screaming loudly before running out of the kitchen hiding her face.

"Is that going to keep happening?" I asked amusedly, not receiving a response from my friend.

My sister's scream obviously woke everyone in the house, possibly even the neighbors. Like her, surely smelling the breakfast I had made, one by one they began to arrive in the kitchen, Georgie and Gabe being the first followed a few minutes later by Bob, who upon seeing my face and the sunglasses hanging from my shirt, silently ordered me to wear them.

Mom arrived later, her pregnancy becoming increasingly noticeable due to her short stature, a fact that Bob had warned us many times not to announce.

"Hello, everyone. Alan, Georgie, I'm so glad you're here," the small woman greeted cheerfully as she dragged a chair, "everything smells delicious. I hope PJ didn't make you do anything. You're guests, and I'm so sorry I didn't make you breakfast," the woman continued.

"Don't worry, Mom, I did everything," behind her, trying to hide my face as much as possible, I said.

"Oh, how sweet of you," turning her body to try to talk to me face to face, Mom said as I did my best to avoid her gaze, much to the amusement of my younger brother.

"Enjoy your breakfast, please," putting my hands on the woman's shoulders weakly, I forced her not to turn, "oh, then no mind if I do," Mom cheerfully said, serving herself food, "why don't you sit down, honey?" trying to turn again after a few seconds, Mom asked me.

There was no way to avoid it. Slowly walking to one of the free chairs as far away from Mom as possible, hiding my face, trying and failing in the attempt to not look suspicious, mentally preparing for what was about to come from the hormonal woman due to her pregnancy when the kitchen door opened, and Teddy, much more groomed even with very little makeup, entered the kitchen.

"Oh, hi, I didn't know we had visitors," smiling, Teddy greeted everyone at the table, clearly ignoring what happened several minutes ago.

"Hi, sweetheart, good morning, is that makeu..." Mom greeted Teddy, looking at the teenager with intrigue before being interrupted, "what happened to your face, PJ?" my sister quickly changed the subject.

"Someone kicked his butt," bursting into laughter, Gabe, who had been eagerly watching everything, shouted amused.

Feeling betrayed, I shook my head slightly, staring at Teddy, who claimed to be my sister, as I saw my pregnant mother widen her eyes upon seeing my poorly hidden face behind a pair of dark sunglasses.

"Would you believe me if I said I hit my door when opening it?" looking at Mom skeptically, I said causing Bob, who remained silent the entire time, slapped his hand against his forehead.

I expected a scolding from the woman, which unfortunately didn't happen. With concern, she quickly got up and walked towards me to remove the sunglasses from my face and begin inspecting the bruises, giving endless speeches of concern about my well-being and cursing whoever caused the damage.

After several attempts stopped by Bob and me to take me to the emergency room, the woman, furious with a teenager she didn't know, finally calmed down, returning to her place now throwing endless questions about the reason behind my bruises, which I summarized quickly and skipped some details, already embarrassed enough.

After making sure Mom dropped the matter, I saw Gabe, with a strip of bacon in his hand, maintaining a big smile on his face, accompanied by Teddy, who was also breakfasting with a big smile.

"I'm going to take Alan home, and then you can go get Sheldon to clean my car," starting my breakfast, I reminded Gabe, managing to wipe the smile off his face, "remember, inside and out. I'll be watching you."

Staring at Teddy intently, I silently promised to get back at her betrayal.

After finishing breakfast, Georgie, thanking for his stay, went back to his own house, probably to sleep more judging by his demeanor.

Leaving Alan watching cartoons with a dejected Gabe in the living room, I prepared to take him home after I take a comforting hot shower and applying some pain relief gel that Mom had in her room.

In the car outside Alan's house, "See you tomorrow at school," I said as my friend got out. "Yeah," Alan replied calmly, fist-bumping me as a farewell. "You'll find someone to teach you, I'm sure," Alan added, his voice tinged with what I could discern as regret.

"Yeah, I hope so," I said, trying to avoid making my friend feel bad about it.

Like last time, Alan stood in front of his house until I was out of sight.

Returning home, I took the TV remote and turned off the set, surprising Gabe who was engrossed in his cartoons, looking around for the culprit who turned it off.

Meeting my gaze, the pronounced furrow on Gabe's forehead quickly disappeared, and seemingly accepting his defeat, he stood up with his head down, walking out of the house towards the Cooper's.

Cleaning 'Debbie' was a torturous process, at least for Gabe. Sheldon, strangely enjoying meticulously cleaning every small part of the car, took his time, even correcting Gabe's method. They took so long cleaning just the exterior of the car that at some point, Billy Sparks, the chicken kid, had appeared and was immediately dragged by Gabe to help follow Sheldon's insistent orders, which he did without any problem, always with his ever-present smile.

When they finished cleaning the car, feeling sorry for Billy, I paid him what would have cost me three comics since the kid technically wasn't part of the deal.

Seeing the boy happily heading home, not really sure if he understood what the money was for, I indicated for him to tell his father what he had done and to show him what he had earned so he could buy something for himself.

I knew that the next day I would again be the subject of indiscreet looks, if they didn't already know the whole school would find out by the end of the day.

With my dark sunglasses on, I quickly walked through the halls to my locker where Kat was apparently already waiting.

"Interesting look, something new?" Kat asked playfully as I arrived at my locker. "Oh my God, your face, it's awful," she exaggeratedly said upon seeing my face, "and you have a bruise here," she added, pointing at her own.

"Ha ha, very funny," I dryly said, walking alongside her to open my locker.

"Oh, come on, it was funny," Kat said, frustrated, pushing my shoulder.

"No, not really," I countered.

"Well, I think it was," Kat arrogantly said, leaning against one of the lockers beside me.

The day continued, and as expected, the story of how a drunken teenager had managed to 'kick my ass' spread throughout the school, and despite my best efforts to fly under the radar at school, I could still feel my classmates' stares.

At the end of the school day, without expecting anything, I quickly headed to the hospital, mentally preparing for what was to come; I knew House wouldn't miss the opportunity to make fun of me.

Something I hadn't counted on when arriving at the hospital was my relationship with the nurses there. During my punishment time doing volunteer work, I had gotten to know many of the nurses who worked at the hospital. After the first one saw my face somehow faster than at school, the word had spread.

Having to explain several times what had happened, gratefully accepting words of encouragement from many concerned women, I made my way to House's office where he was playing with a yo-yo.

"You're late," the man said without taking his eyes off his toy.

"I don't have a schedule," I said, and it was true, I wasn't even obligated to come.

"Today you do, let's go over what you've done, give me your notebook," House said, spinning his yo-yo one last time.

Certain days House took the opportunity to review my progress in the 'art' of diagnosing lies, always without warning and only by asking about what I wrote.

When his gaze fell on my face, an extraordinarily rare genuine smile grew on his own face, "no way," he said cheerfully.

"Yeah, get it out of your system, come on," I said, taking a seat across from him, waiting for the sarcastic comments.

"I got nothing," House said, surprised, leaning back in his chair.

"Really?" I asked, equally surprised.

House simply nodded, apparently thinking of something to say. "I don't think I can say anything more humiliating than just being you right now," he said sarcastically.

There you have it.

"I just want to know how it went," House continued, putting his feet up on his desk. "Let me guess, cheerleader's new boyfriend?" he asked, squinting his eyes.

"Yeah," I said, not bothering to be surprised by his deduction.

"So, what, at a party, or did he come to your house?" House asked excitedly at the idea of the latter option.

"At a party, he was drunk," I admitted.

"And you weren't?" House incredulously asked.

"I was driving," I explained, "you know what, I don't want to talk about this," changing the subject, I quickly took out my small notebook.

"Oh, you're not fun, that's why you got your ass kicked," he said sarcastically, snatching the notebook from my hand, then after a deep sigh, he began to read aloud.

Days passed, my eye and the side of my face felt a little better each day, but I still held a certain bitter feeling as I saw the visible marks in the mirror every day.

Determined never to be defenseless again, I searched the city for places where I could learn self-defense. Medford, being a small town, didn't really offer a wide variety of options.

The first of the limited options was a gym for some Asian martial art, specifically Korean, judging by the small flags they had outside the building, along with many other American and Texan flags.

Upon entering the premises one afternoon after school, I found it surprisingly crowded with a mob of young children practicing in front of an adult man, throwing punches while shouting completely different but equally intense screams.

"Yeah, no," I muttered silently as I closed the door and returned to my car. I had nothing against martial arts; heck, I didn't know enough about martial arts to have anything against any martial art, but being around a bunch of kids who screamed with every punch wasn't something I was willing to do at all.

It took several days to find something recognizable. In the commercial area of the town, hidden among a bunch of other stores, a small boxing gym was my next option.

Despite the modest space, the facilities were good. The equipment looked, at least to my inexperienced eye, somewhat worn but well-maintained. Bags of different types and shapes hung from the ceiling, along with a small section with weights and exercise tools. There were some people training, thankfully all much older than ten years.

"Hey, here to train?" a chubby man with a smug smile on his face asked from behind a small counter a few steps from the door.

"I'd like that, sir," I said, much more formally than I'd have liked, feeling a bit nervous about the sounds of punches echoing in the gym.

Obviously, my strange formality caught the man off guard. "Okay, how about this, kid? I'll give you the first class completely free, but then you'll have to pay," the man said.

"Sounds perfect, thank you," I said, making the man smile even more.

"Since you don't have training gear, I can rent you one of the gym shorts," the man said, turning to a shelf with a bunch of stuff. "Also, if you don't want to get hurt, you'll need to buy wraps for your hands, elbows, and knees, a belt for your waist, your own mouthguard, and gloves," leaving the items on his desk, the man finished, still maintaining his friendly smile.

"So, I have to buy all this for the first class? The free class?" I asked, surprised.

"Oh yes, I don't want you to get hurt, and to avoid that, you need to buy new wraps because the ones I have here aren't very good," the man said with what I could recognize as feigned concern, showing the wraps. "In your hands, elbows, and knees, there are tiny, fragile bones scattered everywhere called ossiculum fragilitatis that, if not protected, could lead to limb loss," the man said with a completely straight face.

"Ossiculum fragilitatis," I repeated, and the man nodded solemnly, obviously such a thing didn't exist.

"The gloves also need to be of quality because the humeropalmaris tendon always needs to be protected, or you could lose mobility in your arm," the man said again with seriousness on his face as he pointed out where the 'humeropalmaris tendon' was located.

It was impressive how calmly the man lied and invented anatomical parts.

"That sounds reasonable. I'm sorry, I don't think I ever knew your name; I'm PJ," I said, raising my hand to greet the possibly fraudulent man.

"Randy," Randy said, taken aback, shaking my hand. "So, PJ, how do you want your payment plan for your gear?"

"Is this your gym, Randy?" Ignoring his question, I asked the man, looking around the gym and at those who were training. It didn't seem like people were doing the exercises wrong, although I couldn't really discern between right and wrong.

"Yes, it was my father's, but he died a few days ago, so I inherited it," Randy replied, unpleasantly indifferent, smiling. "It's a great business, I just have to show up and open shop," shamelessly, the man admitted, surely confident because he was talking to a teenager.

So his father was the one running this. Obviously, Randy had no clue what he was talking about. It was almost pitiful that he couldn't bother to research to lie with at least some basis.

"If you don't mind me asking, Randy, what did your father die from?" I asked calmly.

"I don't know, something with the heart. About your payments..." again, with unpleasant indifference, the man said, "that's what I feared," raising my hand in front of his face, I interrupted his attempt, which was undoubtedly a scam, denying it with exaggerated and feigned concern.

"Randy, you have to listen to me!" I exclaimed nervously. "The school coach had a heart attack a few days ago," I said, "the same as your father," I explained to the man, recognizing that he hadn't understood. "That's why we had a lecture about the dangers of that thing," I avoided the terminology, "it's a contagious disease, but only for the family, and it has factors that increase the probability of it happening suddenly days after it happens to someone in the family, obesity being one of them," I lied, avoiding laughing as the man began to sweat profusely.

"The symptoms can be excessive sweating, blurred vision, specifically deterioration of the right ear," since I arrived, I had begun to observe everyone in the gym, and since Randy and I were in a conversation, I noticed several things, surely due to lack of hygiene, the man would have a cerumen plug in his right ear, as he unconsciously turned his head slightly favoring his opposite ear when speaking. Also, at the base of his nose, I could see a mark from frequent use of glasses, it was a risky assumption, as it could well be just regular use of sunglasses.

Listening to the 'symptoms', Randy began to worry more and more visibly. "There was also something about pain in the hands," pretending to try to remember, I said, and the worried Randy, with his eyes wide open, began to look at his hands, opening and closing them slowly.

"But I could be wrong," immediately changing my concerned attitude, I said calmly, "now about the gear..." I was saying, "we're closed for today!" Randy shouted, interrupting me. "Everyone out, let's go, let's go! I have to go to the hospital," moving comically around the gym, he began to push people out of the place.

Since my search for someone to teach me to defend myself was proving completely fruitless, I had nothing left but to try to learn on my own with Bob and Gabe.

Bob seemed to have some notion of how to throw a punch. "My dad taught me that the best way to end a fight is to hit hard before they can hit you," in front of our own punching bag, Bob said, showing us how to close our fists.

At least if I ever have to defend myself again, I'll be able to hit without hurting myself too much.

Again, days passed, the weekend came and went without anything different until the middle of the following week, just a few days before Halloween. Our house, like many others, was decorated with a bunch of 'spooky' paraphernalia, with costumes chosen by Mom for the whole family, we were ready for a tradition of which obviously, I had no idea.

"Oh PJ," on Wednesday, two days before Halloween, Bob stood up from the couch, seeing me enter the house cheerfully. "I might have found someone to teach you, you know," in complete silence, Bob moved his hands, boxing the air, 'he said'.

Mom had a problem with any of her kids learning to hit another person. When she found out that Bob was 'teaching' Gabe and me how to hit in the garage, there was an endless session of yelling directed at a dejected Bob. So, as an act of prudence, we decided to hide the fact that I was still looking for someone to teach me, at least until I find someone.

"Oh, really? Where?" I asked, genuinely interested, lowering my voice as I walked alongside Bob out of the house and onto the street.

"I was doing a job for a container company, they had a serious problem with rodents, very interesting and resilient animals, but there's a catch; you just have to..." Bob was saying, and as always, when talking about his work, he started to drift off. "Dad, the point," I interrupted.

"Oh yeah, sorry," the man apologized. "Okay, following the animal tracks, I ended up at a strange abandoned place near the company's property," he continued. "There was a trailer there, I thought it was the guard's or something, but in the vicinity, there were a bunch of things, boards with bandages and drawings on the walls of silhouettes, tied ropes, punching bags, and things like that," the man continued, narrating the story.

"So, possibly, a man lived there training on his own," I said.

"Yes, exactly. Well, I was looking for the den when I found him," with a big smile, Bob said, "at first, I was scared; he's a pretty big guy, had muscles where I didn't know muscles could be, and he was hanging from a structure, you know, pulling himself up," imitating the movement, Bob said, "but then he came down, and we talked for a moment; turns out he's a very kind man," amusingly, Bob continued, "I told him about your situation, and he said he trains another person; you can go talk to him on your own, he said depending on you, he'll train you or not," with a big smile, Bob finished.

I had nothing to lose, except my life. The place sounded really unsafe, and a man living alone in a trailer with enough muscles to scare Bob, who is a pretty big guy, didn't sound like something a sane person would do, but Bob was a good judge of character, I guess.

"Thanks, Dad, I'll see," I said, grateful to the man.

"Well, if you go, ask for Case Walker, tell him you're my son," tapping my shoulder lightly, Bob said before going back inside the house.

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Author Thoughts:

As always, I'm not American and Not a doctor.

Victor, knowledge is a dangerous tool. Be careful; I'll be watching you.

Another chapter has passed, so new thanks are in order. I would like to especially thank:

keyakedo

RandomPasserby96

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With that said,

I think that's all. As always, if you find any errors, please let me know, and I'll correct them immediately.

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