Most people wouldn’t have noticed the change in the air. The switch from comfortable silence to sharp anger. But Darien Kategan felt it as sure as he felt the weight of the grocery bags in his arms. He didn’t have to turn around to know who had walked up behind him.

“Thanks, Joe.”

“See you next week, Darien.”

Darien shouldered open the door and caught his reason for anxiety swiftly pursuing him out the corner of his eye. The bell above the door jingled brightly as the door slammed shut behind him. He headed towards his truck and wondered if he’d at least have time to set his supplies down before they got him.

He wasn’t so lucky.

The bell above the door banged loudly and footsteps bounded hard on the concrete behind him. The first shove at his back sent him spiraling into the back of his truck like he was trying to kiss it. He tightened his hold on his groceries and clamped his teeth together as he slowly turned around.

“Darien fucking Kategan.”

Darien bowed his head. “Tom.” Anger flared in the other’s eyes, white-hot and raw.

“Don’t use my fucking name, you piece of shit. Don’t you ever use my name. You have no right.” Deep breaths. There everything was all good.

Tom came closer, eyeing him up and down, assessing, as his two friends circled in closer. Darien stood up straight and hefted his groceries against his chest. He peered straight into the eyes of the man taunting him--the same eyes she’d had. A beautiful mixture of gray and blue, like God had made a special mixture just for her when she’d been born. Of course, her brother had been blessed with the same color. God was a son of a bitch like that.

Darien saw the fist coming and didn’t move. If anything, he lifted his chin enough to help the punch to catch. The first blow was like a balm to him. The second came from his right in a fast arch that caught his cheekbone. The flare of pain was hot and quick and slammed him back against the truck.

He sighed it felt so good. The next blow hit his lip and the sharp biting pain reminded him of the time he’d fallen as a kid and bit down on his lip so hard it bled. Only this hurt worse, split his lip open with burning pain.

Hit after hit assaulted him. Catching his eyes, his nose, the corner of his mouth. His grip on the groceries loosened, he couldn’t command his fingers to hold on to them anymore. They sagged then fell to the ground.

The blows pounded into his stomach and chest. Wonderful pain, delirious hurt bloomed across his pecks and deep into his ribs and organs. The bell above the door jingled and he almost sighed with regret. Light footsteps bounded close.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing, Tom?”

“Giving him what he deserves.”

“That’s a load of bull and you know it. Now get away from him. I said get back now!” Gentle hands wrapped around his chest and lifted him from his slouched bend against his truck. “Alright I got you now, Darien. Do you want me to call the cops?” Joe the cashier was half his height and weighed less than that. Darien wasn’t surprised when Joe’s arms started shaking trying to keep him up right.

With a sigh, Darien braced his feet and stood up straight, shaking away Joe’s thin arms. “No need to call the police, Joe. We were just taking care of some old business.”

“Yeah, right,” Tom said. He gave one last hateful glance then walked away, his friends trailing behind.

Darien bit back his sigh and bent to retrieve his groceries. The brown paper bags were torn so he just started chucking his groceries into the bed of his truck. He crumpled the paper into a big ball and handed it to Joe.

As he started for the driver’s side door, Joe sputtered, “Wait, where are you going? You need a doctor. You’re bleeding. Don’t you want to press charges?” Humans. Joe had no idea that in a few days, his face and this fleeting pain would be just a happy memory.

“Would you mind throwing that away for me? Thanks, Joe. I appreciate the help. See you next week.” Darien climbed into his truck, turned the key in the ignition, and took off.

It took him under half an hour to find the dirt road he needed. He slowed and the road into the forest. Parking the truck under a large canopy of trees, he took a second to catch his breath. His chest felt like it’d had a hammer taken to it. Each breath was like a knife jabbing between his ribs over and over again.

Wincing, he leaned across the seat and snatched a plastic bag from under the passenger seat. By the time he finished loading the groceries into the bag, a sheen of sweat covered his forehead and his breathing was labored.

He pressed his teeth together and marched into the woods. Normally the chirping of birds and the pattering feet of squirrels and deer calmed him, but today it only deepened the throbbing tempo beating at his temples.

Sometime later, he passed through the thick layers of trees and into a small clearing with a small cabin. It was a tiny, one-bedroom cabin. About the size of his bedroom and bathroom combined back at his real house. He opened the door that he never locked and set his groceries on the table.

The restlessness that had been riding him for so long itched at him, clawing its way into him until he stomped outside and picked up the axe leaning against the cabin. Walking over to a fallen tree near the cabin, he eyed the wood, looking for the perfect spots to make even cuts.

Darien lifted the axe over his head and let it fall in a hard arch, cracking into the waiting log and splitting it halfway down the middle. He lifted the axe and let it fly again and again. Until sweat dampened his shirt like a wet rag and his hand cramped around the axe’s wooden handle. When the last blow fell he stopped.

Pulling his shirt off he used it to wipe the sweat off his face. The pain in his arms was just dull enough now that he could feel it every time he bent his elbows. His stomach and abs felt battered and his face burned swollen and hot where he’d been hit. The burn was better than any amount of relief whiskey or drugs could ever provide.

Inside the cabin he tossed his dirty shirt in the bin and grabbed a bottle of water from the counter. He downed the entire bottled until it crinkled in his hand.

Suddenly, he stilled, his head cocking to the side. The water bottle crinkled loudly as he set it back on the counter. There it was again. The mush of leaves and dirt...like steps.

Darien snatched his knife off the table and silently sprinted through the trees. Hunching down against a tree, he was grateful nighttime was pouring in and darkening the forest. It’d be hell for anyone to see through, except he had fantastic night vision. With a deep breath, he let his beast out to the surface.

More of that noise like the soft rustling of leaves but constant and with weight to it. And it was headed his way. Sprinting to the right, Darien turned left and headed north with the intent to box in whoever it was. The steps grew slower and slower, and he followed, too far back to see who it was. Though now he was certain it was a person and not a deer. He wished like hell there was some wind tonight, something to send their sent to him, but damn if he wasn’t an unlucky son of a bitch.

Darien crept closer, but it was unnecessary because a loud curse blew through the forest and then a solid thump. He kept his ear poised towards the sound. Had the person walking just dropped something heavy or did they just drop? He listened but heard no other sound except for the voices of insects.

Darien tightened his grip on his knife and tracked down the perpetrator. He broke through a low canopy of branches and his gut tightened at what he saw. Sniffing the air, he caught the person’s scent. Goosebumps shivered over him at the smell. Flowers.