Chapter 55 (1/2)

Dan was woken by loud knocking on his door, the following morning. He ignored it at first, burrowing deeper into his bed and muffling the sound with his pillow. Unfortunately, his door's assailant was relentless.

Thump thump thump!!

Saturday was Dan's designated 'sleep until noon' day; a little gift to himself to keep him sane during an otherwise brutal workout regime. Abby had always been a demanding trainer, but ever since Dan's ill-fated ride along, she had been ramping up her efforts to just shy of manslaughter. It seemed to be her way of working out stress, by turning Dan's muscles to putty and his body into hamburger. He didn't even want to contemplate how frantic she'd become once he told her about his conversation with Matilda.

She almost certainly had her suspicions already. Dan had declined to talk about his training exercise when he visited her yesterday, citing mental fatigue. They had spent the afternoon watching old Western movies and eating popcorn, while Dan recovered from his stressful morning. Abby would wait for Dan to tell her what was wrong. She was good like that, letting him process things at his own pace, without pressing. He would tell her, of course. She was his best friend; he had nothing to hide from her. Eccentric coping methods aside, her worry was genuine.

Besides, Dan could deal with an increased workload. He could feel himself growing each day. He liked the person that he was turning into. The process was excruciating, sure, but the results would be worth it. So long as Dan had a day or two of rest each week, he could cope.

Thump thump thump!!

So his reaction to this morning's visitor was completely reasonable. Once it became clear that they were not going away, Dan's irritation quickly evolved into apoplectic rage. He teleported out of bed, not even bothering to change out of his pajamas, and ripped open his door with a snarl.

”What the fuck do you want!?” he bellowed in a sleep addled haze.

The subject of his wrath was taken aback for less than a second. A finger was jabbed in front of Dan's nose, and an arrogant voice declared, ”Did you think I'd allow you to call me out without consequence!? Fool!”

The response was so befuddling that, for a moment, Dan forgot to be angry. He blinked blearily at the young man in his doorway. The world slowly swam into focus, revealing...

”Graham?” Dan asked with confusion.

Sure enough, Connor Graham, police trainee, kidnapping victim, and dickhead extraordinaire, was standing outside Dan's hotel room. Though his hair was gelled backwards in an immaculate coif, the rest of his appearance did not quite match the refined image that Dan was used to seeing. The young man was clad in what could best be described as gym clothes for the outrageously wealthy (and vain).

His shirt was clearly made out of nylon, but it was fashioned into a facsimile of a suit and tie combo, and—Dan squinted incredulously—tailored to fit Graham's body. His pants were the same: heavy cotton weave, dyed black, and custom-fit to his waist. He was clearly too good for elastic bands. The only sensible item of clothing that Dan could see were Graham's shoes. It seemed that even Graham was not willing to wear dress shoes while exercising.

This fact did not lessen Dan's confusion.

Dan's eyes quickly roamed the hallway, trying to determine if this was some sort of horrifying prank. With no cameras in sight, he helplessly engaged with the crazy person.

”What are you wearing?” Dan blurted out.

The question had Graham glancing over himself with visible confusion, clearly unable to see the problem. His gaze drifted back to Dan, taking in his pajama-clad glory. The younger man's eyebrows rose to his hairline.

”What are you wearing!?” Graham demanded, somehow managing to sound offended at Dan's completely normal bed-wear.

This conversation was quickly becoming surreal.

Dan took a step backwards into his room, where sanity still reigned. He shook his head, ignoring Graham's question, and retorted, ”How the hell did you find out where I live? And why are you here!?”

”You challenged me!” the fop replied indignantly. ”My Freya told me so. She would not lie about such a thing!”

That... was a thing that he had done, yes. Dan was deeply regretting the brief moment of empathy that had led him to this moment.

”I expected you to pass along a message, or maybe meet me after class. Something, you know, not this. Now answer my questions!”

Graham sniffed disdainfully, tilting his head upwards in order to look down his nose at Dan. ”Hmph. It seems as if I'm already ahead in our competition. You are taking a class on tracking, no? Perhaps you should pay closer attention.”

”That's— You're not... What!?” Dan sputtered, at a complete loss for words.

”As is fitting for a future police officer,” Graham continued pompously, holding one hand over his chest, ”I have cultivated many contacts within the local community. It was a simple matter to determine your living situation.”

Dan processed this statement, considered Graham's personality, then immediately disregarded it.

”You asked Gregoir!” he accused angrily. ”That blonde ox ratted me out!”

Graham floundered for a moment, but quickly rallied. ”Officer Pierre-Louis could be considered a contact of mine, yes. Naturally, I chose the most efficient method of achieving my goal.”

”Your goal that you still haven't stated,” Dan muttered with murder on his mind.

Graham leaned back incredulously. ”Of course I have! You insulted me, you challenged me, and so I have come to compete. For now, I shall simply join you on your daily training routine, and prove myself your physical superior. Come! Lead me to your trainer!”

Dan slumped against his door, running a tired hand down his face. ”How do you know I have a trainer?”

”Oh please,” Graham scoffed. ”You beat a professional mercenary in hand-to-hand combat. I can do basic addition, Daniel Newman.”

”Of course,” Dan hissed from between gritted teeth. ”It's social studies where you struggle.”

While Graham struggled to unravel whether he'd just been insulted, Dan considered the problem before him.

Today was his rest day. He had hoped to sleep in, then spend most of the day at Abby's house; they had things to discuss, after all. The first half of that plan was well and truly dead, but the latter still trumped the irritant at his door.

”Today is my rest day,” Dan informed the human-shaped peacock.

That seemed to take the wind out of Graham's sails.

”Oh.” His face fell. ”I see.”

With those three simple words, Graham's energy seemed to drain out of his body. It wasn't a leak so much as a flood. His posture fell into an undignified slouch, his shoulders drooped, and his arms dropped down to his sides. It was as if he had been driven entirely by indignant pride, and Dan had just cut his fuel line.

Watching a human wilt in real time was never a pleasant experience, and Dan immediately felt like an asshole. Then, he remembered who was responsible for him being awake at this godforsaken hour, and he immediately felt a whole lot better. It was an unusual situation for Dan to be in, feeling both responsible for Graham's misery, and inordinately pleased by it. The boy was (arguably) here at Dan's behest, but he'd gone about issuing his challenge in the most obnoxious way possible.

Then again, that was Graham in a nutshell. Dan really should have seen this coming. He had invited it upon himself. Like an idiot.

Dan sighed. His conscience would be nagging him for the rest of the day if he left things like this. There had to be a way of resolving this situation in a way that left both parties satisfied. It was just a matter of making sure that both of them got what they wanted.

Graham clearly wanted an opportunity to prove himself, to test his competence against an opponent whom he felt had bested him before. Dan doubted that victory was even a necessary outcome for the young man, so much as the challenge itself. Dan could sympathize with that, at least. Graham was stuck in a rut, and was trying to fight his way out of it. Dan was much the same, not too long ago.

So what did Dan want?

Well, he wanted his morning back, for starters. That wasn't about to happen, so he needed to settle for the next best thing.

Violent retribution.

Oh, look! A convenient punching bag!