The Brilliance Bomb Ch. 02

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Unlike Susan's dance partner, he was shorter with dark hair and equally dark eyes, but stocky. He didn't posses the classic features that made her notice men, no, but he wasn't ugly either. The strangest part to Lyla was not having to crane her neck back to gaze into his face.

"Hey sexy!" He grinned, showing off a brilliant set of perfect teeth.

"Hey yourself." She retorted, wishing for one more shot.

He let out a short bark of laughter and moved closer, his body not quite as in tune with music as her own. He measured her up in an instant and she wasn't saying no. Instead of escaping for a well deserved break, her new partner was pushing her into another dance just as the song switched to something a little slower. He took the opportunity to pull her closer. She stiffened and then fell into it. Alcohol making her reflexes a little slower than she wanted to admit.

She peaked around to make sure that Susan was close and did a double take as she found her besty tonguing surfer dude, letting out a startled little snort. Geeez...it was then that her brain registered her dance partners hands and how they were cupping her rounded firm bottom. Jerking her gaze back around, she tightened her fingers against the man's shoulders and gave him a little shove. He didn't budge, "Wow cowboy. Hands a little higher."

His hands didn't move either and Lyla began to feel a small pang of alarm, mixed with annoyance. "Look buddy. I came here to dance and have a little fun. I didn't come to get groped."

He let a snort and dipped his face close to hers, his own breath reeking of alcohol. She wrinkled her nose and tried lean away. This only served in helping him push her hips lewdly into his own, grinding against hers as the dance continued. "I figure two chicks out on the town like you two are must be looking for more than just dancin' honey."

"Well you figured wrong, now get your hands off me."

Somewhere between squirming to get away and the mass of bodies, Lyla found herself alone in a sea of people with Mr. Grabby Hands. He wasn't taking no for an answer, his own brain addled by alcohol as he slid a sloppy wet mouth against the side of her neck. A big fat yuck echoed in her mind, and was sobering all at once. Frantic to get away, she twisted and squirmed, her eyes darting around to find a familiar face to come to the rescue. Where the hell was someone when needed them!? She cursed as she searched and then everything froze, including her body. Her mauler had ideas that she'd finally given in and went to town on feeling her up.

But Lyla felt complete shock as her eyes held the ones of a man across the room. Matt!! Her brain raced and she blinked, shaking her head. And then a whole barrage of emotions hit her, robbing her of her breath. A burst of joy, then dread, fear, panic and something so acute and sweet she dared not delve into it. Not Matt...worse...Michael.

*****

The food was barely passable, but at least it put off the inevitable horror of the dance floor. Michael could hear the throbbing bass, like bombs exploding at the edge of a city. As he swilled back Coke to wash away the slime of his fried chicken sandwich, the explosive music forced him to confront the traumatic images creeping out of his imagination. His brother, limbs blown off, dead on a dusty red road; his brother, blindfolded and bound in the dark, with footsteps approaching him stealthily; his brother, kneeling in front of a camera, men in black hoods standing behind him. He put down the Coke glass, the oily liquid shivering in the glass with the shaking of his hands.

Many people saw Michael, sitting alone at a table for four in a crowded restaurant tipping into happy hour. Nobody bothered him. His haunted eyes, fixed on images beyond their comprehension, repelled all advances.

After some time, however, he began to hear the thuds and thumps of music, not bombs, and remembered his mission. Passing a hand across his brow -- cold sweat -- he threw a twenty on the table and made for the club.

Inside was a vision of hell that immediately sent him back into his nightmarish visions. Strobing red and blue lights like emergency vehicles, a track with a siren blaring across anguished vocals, a mangled knot of limbs and parts. As the strobes continued to flash, each limb, each head, seemed disconnected, every face contorted in a snapshot of pain. He couldn't breathe, noticed his head getting lighter, dizzier... then checked himself and stumbled to the long, inviting curve of the bar. He found a stool, and propped himself up with it, like an ungenerously stuffed scarecrow.

The two swift shots of JD helped him back. "This is ridiculous," he thought. So he clenched his teeth, sank the third shot that had magically appeared in front of him, and swiveled round to face the floor.

The song had changed many times, and now some kind of commercial country was in full swing. No strobes, just 70s disco effects. A mirror ball. And several metric tons of panting, middle-aged buffoons, apparently too stupid not to be having the time of their lives. He sorely envied them.

He scanned for Lyla. On another night, he'd have taken a distanced pleasure from the sight of so many scantily clad women, many of them dancing together, as if intimate. But not tonight.

There she was, her top brilliantly illuminated in a passing ultraviolet haze.

Michael paused, again. She seemed... in delight. She seemed young. That is, he checked himself, she is still young, obviously... but young at heart, ebullient. Aflame with life. Without a care in the world. And it was his job to detonate that illusion.

His heart sank through his ribcage and settled in his guts. And there it paused, as he considered an unexpected and sudden development.

"Who the hell is this hobbit?" he said aloud. Stout, hairy -- you could see a dank pelt emerging from the collar of his shirt -- and dripping sweaty malice of forethought, a dark little man was propositioning Lyla. Worse, he already had his hands on her, and she clearly did not like this at all. People around them began to notice her struggle and -- typically -- made room for the spectacle, rather than lending her a hand. This was the land of Freedom, after all. (Susan, he noted, had her eyes closed, as she was kissing a guy with sun-bleached hair.)

Then the gruesome, stocky little man planted a kiss on her, his hands cupping her backside - at which precise moment, Lyla saw through the crowd, saw Michael, and their eyes locked together.

The room was silent for a moment. Perhaps for eternity.

Then Michael sprang across the floor, moving like a panther, a boxer, and a dancer, with stealth, grace and killer purpose. In seconds, he was at her side. One hand on the little guy's shoulder, he span him around to face his considerably taller and stronger opponent.

"And what the hell do you want, buddy?"

"Time to go back to the Shire, Frodo," Michael replied. "Go find a piglet to fuck."

"What the..." he stammered, his hands coming off Ilsa and waving incoherently in the air, a semaphore signifying speechless indignation. Ilsa took a step back and bumped into Suze, who had considerately now stopped snogging and, uncoiling one arm from the guy, passed it protectively around her friend.

Lyla just stared, eyes wide and suddenly moist.

"Why you..." Frodo muttered, and attempted to land some kind of two-fisted blow on Michael, at Michael, or at least in the vicinity thereof. But Michael had studied kung fu for over a decade. Feeling the man's energy approach, rather than striking out, Michael sank back onto one leg, anchoring his own weight, while slightly outstretching his other knee, and thus forming a void through which the man's fists passed, his body then following and catching Michae's leg. This sent him stumbling. Spinning his upper body back round in a tight semi-circle, Michael landed a single, devastating punch into the kidneys of that hairy back.

This all took just three and a half seconds.

Michael stepped over the unconscious heap, took Lyla's hand, smiled apologetically to Susan, and pulled Lyla closer to him. His arms gently closed around her, pulling her against his chest. He leaned in and pressed his lips to her ear. Her body crushed against his, and he could feel her shaking.

"Lyla, we have to leave. It's Matthew. There's been a bomb."

Her shaking ceased.

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