He couldn’t see anything but the ground under him, his fists and his opponent. He couldn’t hear anything but his heartbeat and his breathing, but he felt as if he could hear a joyous chorus from his adrenaline-filled blood rushing through his muscles, making him forget any potential pain and soreness, even from his wound. He wasn’t angry. He actually felt sorry for the guy, being deceived. Shame he’d have to break him. He saw the big guy rush his way, but it felt as if he was moving really slow. His muscles were probably heavy, and the fact that he was drunk didn’t help. He was going for a tackle, probably his instinct as a football player, but Edward could see that from miles away. He stepped back from the big guy, then stepped around to his side before sweeping his foot from behind, causing him to fall down. Instead of just going for the finisher, Edward got back and put his fists up in a defensive stance as the big guy got up painfully from the concrete. Edward parted his arms. I was still a little nervous about leaving my wife alone with a strange man, so I walked around the pool once and went back to the elevators. It seemed like a full hour I had to wait for the next elevator. All sorts of stuff was running through my head. I was getting impatient and paranoid, wondering why the hell the elevator was taking so long and wondering if I’d made a mistake. A big mistake. Finally the doors opened and I was headed up. After two stops to let off people on other floors, the number 8 finally lit up. I exited and speed-walked down the hall. I put my ear up to the door, but everything was silent. My heart was pounding and my palms were sweaty. I slid the key card in and quietly opened the door. The main room was fairly dark, lit by a single lamp on the desk. The computer was still open, and Monica’s email appeared to be on the screen. I very quietly closed the door behind me with a faint “click”. I took off my shoes by the door and tiptoed toward the bedroom. The.
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