The Burnsfield Project

Chapter 4

Contemplating what was to come, I crossed the street without even looking for cars.  Upon reaching the sidewalk, it was obvious that the main door to the apartment complex had been torn from its hinges and some profane racial slurs had ever so delicately spray painted across the concrete leading to the entrance. 

I don't understand peoples' fascination with destruction.  I don't understand why people are still hung up on racism.  I guess it's beyond my meager little mind.  I'm white, some people are black, and some are Hispanic…so on and so on.  What's the big fucking deal? 

Now that was the only positive aspect to my childhood.  I learned that people are people.  You don't have to be a minority to do stupid or horrible things; you just have to be a stupid and misguided person to accomplish them.  Every night it's the TV and I because it entertains me, seeing crazy white people secretly boycotting racial groups, watching black people protesting for freedom and reparations, observing border patrol capture Hispanic immigrants entering the country illegally.  We all have our part and we all fuck up. 

Hesitantly, I enter the freely opened doorway of the lovely roach infested apartment complex my massive salary allows me to call home (allowed me to call since I just got fired).  An aching hugs my body, I'm tired and I've got to take a massive shit.  Every time I have to take a dump something comes up.  Guess what happens next. 

"Help me, help me!  Rape!"  A frantic womanly voice resonates through the filthy brick-walled stairwell, I'm guessing between the second and third floor.  Being somewhat of the helping stranger's type, I rush up the stairs the best I can, falling only twice.  Reaching the second floor plateau the woman's despair grows fainter, as if she were dying. 

One final set of stairs, might as well be Mount Everest, my still destroyed body finally reaches the third floor junction she is lying in.  There's no blood, at least no fresh blood, no wounds of any sort.  Red flag number one.  Her skirt is torn in multiple spots and her panties are down to her ankles, precariously wrapped up in her heels.  I grab both of her knees and close her wide open legs, my good deed for the day.

Suddenly (obviously would be the more appropriate word), I feel a solid metal object being pressed against my already pounding head.  It was a fucking set up, just like in the movies, just like you'd expect.  Thankfully, right before exiting Sarge's car, my hands happened to "borrow" his belly gun that was lodged between the seat and the door sill.  Still at a very big disadvantage, the timing would have to be impeccable on my part to not get brained in a piss stained hallway.

Every human has this instinct embedded in the backs of their big oversized heads tucked neatly in an air pocket near the rear of their tiny excuses for brains.  Fight or flight?  The level of mental calculations taking place was impressive.  He's on the steps leading down to the second floor.  If I can manage to kick him and he falls down the stairs then I can handle the girl, who conveniently unveiled a very large hunter's knife, like Rambo cut your head off sized knife.

Mentally, life as I knew it was over already.  What was there to lose?  No family to speak of, lost my job, and no immediate plans of becoming rich and/or famous.  What do I have to lose?  My hand grasps for the .38 special tucked away in my jacket pocket.  A frantic dance of panic and necessity on the inside but to the naked eye, nothing more than the shaking of a scared man.  This belly gun was a newer version, hammerless.  Meaning all I have to do is point and pull.  Pleading for a few more seconds to ensure the barrel was pointed as closely as possible to the intended target, I beg my assailant to give me a three count before executing me like one of Michael Vick's dogs.

He burst into laughter, "Seriously?  Why not!" Let the countdown begin, "One" the hammer on his 1911 cocks back, "Two" the gun is repositioned towards the right side of the back of my head, ensuring a diagonal death path for the bullet through my run down brain, "Thr…..UGH!!!!!"

A toxic mix of self-loathing and just plain anti-life was all I needed to accomplish this feat of astonishing superheroesque skill.  I guess toxic is the wrong word but you get my drift.

Plans changed quickly as my desire to accidently shoot myself in the stomach and still get brained wasn't present.  Don't stand with your knees locked, ever.  One blow from my fully extended leg to this cocksuckers fully set knee and down he goes, step after step, tumbling like a rock down the side of a mountain.  Gravity, physics, and a bit of luck and all is right with the world again, at least on the bullet side of things.  Now for the girl and her pretty little (huge) knife. 

Knife at my throat now as my faculties are gathered after that boss move.  Not to sound weird or anything but this is kinda hot, she's very pretty, and the whole could slit my throat but not sure is making me hard.  A grimacing smile fills her eyes, a reflection of my face.  Unsure of what is coming, my female attacker has now eased the tension on my scruffy neck line.  I push my (Sarge's) revolver into her ribcage, no intention to start unloading just sending a message.  The whole knife to a gun fight sort of scenario. 

"Are you high right now?  Get that god damned knife off of my throat; even if you manage to hit something vital that will still lead to the end result of you being dead.  A slash to the throat, no matter how large the knife, will not incapacitate me for at least three minutes, shock will take over and my body will function like normal.  This little belly gun can be emptied in less than three….seconds." The confidence oozed from my mouth and frankly, I had no fear of precisely sharpened metal entering my flesh. 

Doing my best to strike up a calming conversation with this woman in hopes to alleviate the potential for more bloodshed, "What's your name? Your real name.  Mine's Gregg and I'm a," now it was sinking in, my face showed it, "I was a Newport News Police Officer." 

Panic stricken, "Oh shit, shit, shit." This wannabe murdering wolf crier was basically transformed from a lioness on the prowl to a newborn kitten sucking on the teat of its mother.

A comedic charm, one of my many skillsets, "Ok, we know you know how to curse, unless your name actually is Shit.  What is your name, sweetheart?"  I push the gun harder into her side.

Stumbling through her brain, "Ho…Hol…Holly, Holly sir.  I am so sorry about this; we just wanted to get our fix on.  We weren't going to hurt nobody, I promise.  Just let me go and you'll never hear about me again."  The disparity in her voice was practically scripted, it must work on everyone. 

The aggravation grew inside of me like a fetus that never quite sat still, "Get up, Holly…Now!" The stub of my gun was practically a permanent part of her ribcage considering how deep it was buried.

Turning on the waterworks, in her best quivering 'I'm a defenseless female' voice, "Yes sir, I'm, I'm getting up.  Gregg, can I call you Gregg?"  She did her best to be sweet and harmless but who the fuck would care at this point?

She needed to be taught a lesson, a lesson taught by an authoritative figure, "Let me be very clear Holly, if I tell you to sit and bark like a dog, you do it.  If I tell you to jump on one foot and spin in circles, you do it.  Understood?"

Apprehensively, probably full of fear and dread, her head bobs up and down in agreement.

Gun pressed closely, "Come with me, clear his pockets and grab his gun.  I'm teetering on trusting you right now, grab his gun and follow me."  I knew right at this moment, she was acting out of mortal fear for her life.  Or maybe she was actually feeling comfort having someone guide her, leading her like a dog.

We depart the stairwell that was meant to be my deathtrap, gun still in position, a not so subtle reminder that I am the king bitch here, casually stepping over her partner in crime. Her hands are full of this guy's grimy junk, including his gun, but she was in no position to make a move.  Since my life is full of fuckups and mistakes, why not take this young lady to my apartment, 2B, home sweet fucking home.  "Holly, you're coming in this apartment with me and we're going to figure out what to do with you?  Be smart, you could end up going home tonight to set up and mug the next guy or bleeding from every orifice while being rolled up in a nice rug.  Clear?"

"Yes sir, Gregg." Her level of passivity was making me anxious but it was also padding my ego, probably to a fault.

Taking a nice deep look at her as we cross the threshold, plaid mini-skirt, button up white top with a few buttons not being used, purposely of course.  A black lacy bra to go with her displaced matching panties.  Her long, straight black hair meshes perfectly with her light skin, flowing like a river in the moonlight.  The thoughts rushing through my brain are not going to be registering on the good list when Santa Claus comes if you catch my drift.

Hitting the switch to illuminate the unmaintained place I call home, nothing.  I'm not usually the timeliest person when it comes to bill payments.  Having no choice I grab Holly's hand, more so I know where the other gun is more than concern for her safety, and lead her into the center of the living room.  Under our feet, like gravel on the road, a few insignificant possessions of mine are destroyed and I only saw one shadow scurry across the floor, the rats must be getting bored.

I see this as not being a very romantic setting for a woman and a man to get acquainted.  I really just want to fuck her.  I can't help it, its men's nature to want to do this, no need to try to fight the urge.  Plus the little catholic school girl theme she had going on didn't hurt. 

The moon was shining in through the blurry windows.  The light from the moon was pretty much pointing to the clearest spot on the floor.  I rushed and grabbed a blanket after I tripped on a power cord and laid it out causing a miniature dust storm in the process.  I turn back to Holly; she has yet to move from her spot in the center of the room.  She slowly steps forward, I heard some small noises previously from her direction, maybe she's going to use that Rambo knife of hers and end this right here, right now.

As she continues to slowly step forward, the moon light hits her.  The school girl outfit is gone, all of it, except for the shiny black knee-high boots.  I was simple caught off guard as my jaw slammed the floor, smashed through it and into the apartment below, or at least that's what it felt like. 

I guess Ms. Holly wanted to fuck me too.  She read my mind.  I don't care if she is a crack head or a whore.  I cared only about that perfect 34-24-32 body she had been graced with.  The moon light seemed to dim as it struck her thighs and slowly worked it's was passed her pussy and glided up and stopped on her supple, gorgeous breasts. 

Her skin was absolutely perfect, no blemishes, no track marks, no wounds.  There is no way this chick is or ever was a crack addict. 

Ms. Holly slowly, shyly walks closer towards me.  I can tell she is very apprehensive about this. 

"Let me ask you something really quick Holly.  You're not really a crack addict are you?  You're so clean, so perfect.  As gorgeous as you are and as bad as I would love to fuck you right now, it doesn't seem like the right time for this.  It feels forced, I can't believe I'm saying this."

I walk over to my closet and pick out the biggest thing I could feel in there.  I reach out to her, pull her close and wrap the coat around her, "Here, Sweetie.  Let's rest."

As I wrapped the coat around her, she burst into tears.  Her entire life story was summed up in a matter of a sentence.  Her mother was a prostitute; her father was in prison on two counts of first degree murder and she was raped and molested more times then she can count.  Something we have in common, molestation and a dysfunctional family. 

"Holly, do you mind if I call you Holly?  Barbie is no name for a girl like you.  I have suffered many of the same problems in life that you have.  I think there is a reason you guys tried to rob me and almost kill me tonight." I smiled as I said this because I was being sort of a smart ass. 

We didn't even bother to go to the bedroom; we laid down right on the blanket next to the window and just stared into each other's eyes.  The moon was perfect right at this moment, only lighting up our faces so we could see each other's faces.  This girl was beautiful, someone I could spend a lot of time with.

I wanted to assure her that she was safe here, that I could help her with her addiction.  She could help me with my mental problems and she would never have to worry about the hustle she was used to.  I felt such an instant connection with her.  It's odd because I've never felt this before. 

I set my alarm because my big day was tomorrow.  My new gig, doing god knows what at god knows where with god knows who.  Shit.  I hate changes.  I hate everything about changes.  But I am lying right next to a gorgeous, misguided woman that is fully nude and I'm not trying to fuck her.  Something is wrong with me, maybe I should go see my shrink and get my meds adjusted.

I lay on the floor with her and watched her drift to sleep.  She looked very innocent, so delicate.  She was the most beautiful person I had ever been around and that includes the sexy nurse from my dream at the beginning of this chapter. 

Her beauty and frailty kept me up most of the night.  My eyes closed periodically, a cock tease of sleep.  I felt as if it was my duty to protect and save her from the horrible road she was traveling down.  In my mind, I really do believe I can help this woman; we can live together until she gets back on her feet and maybe some sort of relationship could occur for use. 

I haven't had a "girlfriend" since high school.  It feels weird, makes me anxious.  But it is time for bed seriously.  I have a very big day tomorrow.  Life starts anew, I have a chance to make a good impression free from bias and free from judgment about my past.