Monday 9 p.m. October 3rd

The human body is a miraculous symphony of organ systems working in perfect synchronicity. I have so many pieces to play with.

Paul had spent the last two hours in his Relaxzen Rocker poring over the ins and outs of human anatomy looking up the perfect ways to exact his revenge. The death of Joseph Banford had been a mistake that he regretted. A potential source of income that had gone to waste, but it had taught him a valuable lesson. Whatever that violet light had been, it had bestowed upon him a gift that he intended to take full advantage of. Those four were never going to laugh at Paul Neiman again.

Paul had kept tabs on them over the years, waiting for the right time to strike, but the opportunity never seemed to present itself. Until now. Cade Jahns was the most logical target. The sorry piece of shit hadn't done anything with his life after his football days. As it turned out, impregnating some trailer trash in Idaho and getting a job at the local sugar factory right out of high school wasn't the recipe for a fulfilling life. From what Paul had gathered via the Idaho State Repository, local news outlets, and various social media postings, it sounded like he'd blamed the Missus for his own shortcomings and let her know with a clenched fist. She took the kids when she finally had the gumption to leave, and something told Paul ol' Cade didn't shed any tears over their departure. A few years after that, a bum knee, courtesy of his football days, blew out, and the lucky bastard had been collecting disability ever since. Now, he spent his days drinking at O'Connells on the dime of Amalgamated Sugar. In other words, Cade Jahns was a sitting duck.

While driving back from Boise after the Joseph incident, Paul's mind reeled with all the potential applications of his newfound talent. From what he had gathered, he had the ability to manipulate the immediate environment using only his mind. It wasn't long before he'd pinpointed the source of his sporadic feelings of weightlessness that morning. Not only could he affect the things around him, but it seemed that he also could apply it to himself to a certain extent. He itched to experiment on passersby, but he managed to restrain himself until he reached the comfort of his living room. He'd been rewarded for his patience, and he wasn't about to squander his talents on innocent bystanders. They were reserved for VIP members on his shit list.

Upon arrival, the experimentation began in earnest, but he hit a stumbling block right out of the gate. Paul found that he struggled recreating the strands that he had witnessed at the coffee shop. Try as he might, he could not move even the lightest household objects. With each object he tried, his frustration mounted. Sweat poured down his face from the effort he expended in the sample task of moving a crumpled napkin across the floor. His legs trembled beneath him threatening to collapse under the continued strain of staying upright; even the feeling of weightlessness had departed. Paul stumbled his way to the sweet release offered by his Relaxzen Rocker.

Panting, his breaths coming out in ragged gasps, Paul realized that all this exertion had left him thirsty and famished. He reached for something to drink off of his side table only to find it empty. The expanse of space between he and the fridge may as well have been insurmountable. Closing his eyes, Paul visualized the entire living room and kitchen, every individual piece of furniture. Next, he envisioned the strands extending from his mind and connecting him to all of it. That did the trick. They erupted from the core of his mind coming into contact with the entire room until he had complete awareness. It was time to put his abilities to the test; after he got that drink of course. Dr. Pepper had never tasted so good.

Upon further experimentation, he discovered that there was no discernible weight cap to what he could lift. The entertainment center stocked full of DVDs, video game consoles, and his 70" TV was just as easy to lift as the television remote. However, there was a limit to how many things he could control at once. He could only manipulate as many objects as he could concentrate on, which at the time, was about three. The second his focus wavered, he'd feel his grip slip on all the objects he was holding. The last discovery he made was that walls were not a hindrance. His reach extended all the way to the boundaries of his property, but an inch past that was blankness as if nothing existed at all. Every individual blade of grass was connected to him just as surely as the contents of his living room. Armed with this knowledge, Paul had begun his research into the functions of the human body.

At 9 p.m., Paul was satisfied Cade would be stationed at his usual drinking hole. The drive to O'Connell's passed by in a blur. Paul's mind was preoccupied with visions of Cade's face, the mixture of fear and confusion, when realized that Paul Neiman was going to have the last laugh. At the thought, Paul felt the stirrings of arousal upon him. By the time he pulled into the parking lot, the feeling had grown so strong that Paul needed to release it before he could continue. He cleaned himself off with an extra napkin in his glove compartment and strode into O'Connell's, feeling weightless, unsure of his ability was the cause.

The smell of beer and cheap cologne greeted him at the door. Paul scanned the room looking for his target, and he had to admit that dim lighting was ultimately to this establishment's benefit.The place was stuffed to the gills with the residue of society; men that hadn't even bothered to change out of their shit-stained coveralls, women past their prime with dead eyes gyrating to the music hoping to attract a lay for the night, and Cade Jahns seated at the far end of the bar with a half empty pitcher of beer as his companion.

The first thing Paul did was head to the jukebox and queue up a song. Once he was satisfied with his choice, Paul positioned himself at the opposite end of the bar, and motioned for the bartender to come over. He ordered a drink that consisted of vodka, orange juice, cranberry juice, and Peach Schnapps, in other words, a Sex on the Beach. After completion of his order, he gave explicit instructions for the bartender to give it to Cade, and say "From your secret admirer." A $20 bill exchanged hands, and the bartender shook his head accepting the twenty. The bartender took his time preparing the drink, wary of the inevitable fight that was about to ensue.

The drink sliding into view disrupted Cade from his torpid stupor. His eyes widened when he realized what stood in front of him. Cheeks flushed, he scanned the room for the poor soul that had publicly threatened his masculinity. As if on cue, "Take Me Home Tonight" by Eddie Money, blared from the jukebox. When Cade's eyes landed on Paul, he batted his eyes and blew Cade a kiss. The man's stool clattered to the ground from the force of his lurching attempt at standing up. He somehow regained his balance and advanced on Paul fists clenched at his sides. I'll get my revenge, but I might as well have a little fun first.

"Sex on The Beach? You think you're real fucking funny don't you?' Cade said through a strained smile.

"If you play your cards right, it could be called Sex in the Parking Lot," Paul said with a wink.

At that, the man barked an insincere laugh, "Pork Neiman thinks he's a tough guy. Man, if only the boys could see you now."

"Would they find that as funny as you doing the impossible?"

"Huh?" he asked confusion painting his features.

"Thanks for playing. Everyone said it was damn near impossible for you to sink any lower in life after you knocked up Cindy Losser and quit football, but I guess you proved em all wrong didn't you buddy ol'pal?"

Redness rushed to his adversary's cheeks. His teeth clenched and the muscles on his neck strained looking like thick cords of rope. All this, coupled with his blocky features and beady, brown eyes, made him look like a bull ready to charge. Time for the nail in the coffin.

"Now, if you think that's funny, you're going to get a real kick out of this. You used to be the talk of the town. People kissed the ground you walked on, and now, your only chance of getting action tonight is a fat guy at the bar."

Paul braced himself to stop a punch that never came. Instead, Cade had closed his eyes and was taking deep, controlled breathes. A few seconds passed, and he looked down on Paul, eyes scanning where burns had marred his face and smiled, "Ya know, I actually felt bad about what happened to you Pork. The guilt. It kept me up some nights. I would hear your big, pathetic sobs, and the screams, like they was that night, and I hated myself for making another man make a sound like that. But now, I really oughta thank you. I reckon I'm gonna to sleep like a baby tonight after you reminded how much you fucking deserved it. You never did know when to keep your mouth shut. Looks like I'm gonna have to refresh your memory. Let's go ahead and take this outside."

Paul listened to the man rant with a patient smile and replied, "Why darling, I think that is a lovely idea. After you."

Paul made an exaggerated gesture with his arms motioning for Cade to lead the way. Paul followed him resisting the urge to kill him right then and there. The only thing that stayed his hand was the promise of a slow, painful death outside where nobody would be able to see them, or hear him scream., all it would take is a small snip of the vocal cords. I've finished the appetizer, now it's time for the main course.

The cool, night air rushed to greet him, and he revelled in it. The darkness of the alley outside the bar was complete, and not another living soul to experience it. The time had finally come and he was ready.

"Any last words Pork?"

"You know, I was just about to ask you the same thing," Paul said visualizing the tendrils sprouting from his mind and encircling his target.

Nothing. Not a thing. No violet web to snare the object of his desires. Paul stood there unable to accept the reality of his situation.

A heavy object impacted his stomach ejecting the air from his body. While trying to regain his breath, another punch landed. This one forcing the partially digested Doritos and Dr. Pepper out of his stomach. He fell to his knees doubled over in pain when another blow landed on his jaw; the connective tissue connecting his jawbone to rest of his face snapping with a pop. Before that pain could register, another pummeled his left ear knocking him off his feet onto the ground.

While his body lay there, punches and kicks raining down on it, his mind travelled elsewhere dislodging itself from his body. A place where evergreen stung the nostrils and rope dug into flesh. A place where lilting, musical laughter tormented him to the accompaniment of course, braying laughter. A place where heat caressed the skin of his face past the point of being comfortable.

With one well-placed blow to the temple, Paul was in no place at all.

SaintCole here, 

Thank you for reading this far! This chapter was a lot harder to write than I thought it would be. I'm sorry for the abrupt ending, but I truly believe this is where it needed to leave off. 

Please vote, pretty please with sugar on top and a cherry and hot fudge.

What did we think about this interaction? Was it satisfying for Paul to get his butt handed to him? Or did we want revenge here? Tell me your thoughts!