SNAFU: Wolves at the Door

George stared at the scene with a blank expression on his face as he tried to absorb the damage. “Cheryl? Hon, are you here?”

No one answered him at first. But he heard a floorboard creak in the direction of the kitchen and felt his mouth go dry and his bladder threaten a revolt.

Some of his friends liked to keep a dozen or so firearms in the house, liked to go on talking for hours about how good they were with their weapons and how much fun it was to blow away a hundred or so Osama Bin Laden faces on the targets at the local range.

George didn’t give a good damn about weapons. He went hunting with the guys because it was fun to get together with his old high school chums once in a while.

Oh, Lord in Heaven, how he wished he had their obsession on his side tonight. He didn’t even own a gun. He borrowed one of Mark’s every year when they got together.

George looked around for anything that would make a suitable weapon and found nothing.

In the hallway, he heard a footstep hit another of the loose floorboards, this one several feet closer to where he was standing.

“Cheryl?” He could barely manage a whisper. The chill from outside was still sticking to his body, but a sheen of sweat seeped from his pores just the same.

“She’s not here.” The voice was deep and bordered on a growl. The man who walked into view was a complete stranger as best he knew, but looked like he should have been locked away on general principles. He stood six feet, four inches in height. His broad shoulders threatened to split the seams of the dark blue flannel shirt he wore along with dark jeans, dark boots and a black leather belt that was cracking from age. The man had a mane of golden brown hair with a blend of silvery and reddish highlights and the clearest blue eyes George had ever seen. His face was wind burned, a little weathered, and broad.

“Who are you?”

Blue Eyes looked at him for a moment and shook his head. “You really don’t remember me?”

“No.” George was unsettled, but doing his best to keep a level head. It didn’t pay to jump to conclusions. The man might be an ex-lover of Cheryl’s, he might be an old high school buddy who hadn’t aged well, or he could even be a cop. Not every person he encountered had to be somebody sinister, even if the man in question had no reason at all to be in his house.

“Well, that’s a peach, isn’t it?” The man stepped closer and his eyes narrowed. “I remember you, George. I remember you very well. You were the one who told them to stop.”

He looked at the stranger and shook his head. “I’m sorry, but I have no idea in hell what you’re talking about. Why are you in my house and where is Cheryl?”

“Cheryl has taken a vacation, George. She didn’t want to go without leaving you a message, but I convinced her that I would explain everything to you.”

George felt his calm exterior starting to crack. “What have you done to her?”

“Not a blessed thing.” The man crossed his thick arms and looked down at George. “And I won’t do anything to her, either, as long as you follow a few simple rules.”

He’d tried so hard, been so good about not losing his temper, and he wanted to keep that inner peace, but the man standing in front of him was making it very difficult. “Listen to me. Whatever game you’re playing, I don’t want any part of it. Bring Cheryl back here, now, and this doesn’t have to get ugly.”

The man smiled — smiled, like they were having a smoke break together — and shook his head. “That’s not the way this works, George. You have to play by the rules, my rules, or the only way you’ll ever see Cheryl again is in a morgue.”

“You miserable fuck.” His vision went red and the muscles in his body tensed. Adrenaline kicked into George’s body like an old familiar friend, and before he knew what he was doing, he’d grabbed the bigger man by the front of his shirt and lifted him off the ground. George slammed the man into the wall, his teeth bared, his breaths coming in hard fast gasps, and he snarled as he spoke. “You don’t want to fuck with me! Where is Cheryl?”

The knee that hit him in the solar plexus hurt, but George was almost beyond feeling anything. He grunted but didn’t let go of the man he held against the wall.

“You’re about to get me angry, George. Don’t do that.” The broad, almost brutal face looked different, but he barely noticed the transformation. George was too busy losing his ability to stay calm.

“Where is she!?!”

The man sighed and slammed his knee into George a second time with far more effect. George let go of him and staggered back, his body bent over on itself and he fell against the far wall, gasping for air.

The stranger jumped as he landed on his feet and in the space of a heartbeat, he had his hands on George’s lapels and was returning the favor. George was not a small man, he was taller than average and a little heavier than was healthy, but the man shook him like a temperamental toddler and slammed him into the wall with enough force to crack the plaster.