Authors: Pepper Pace
Federal employees got to use it for a small fee. It wasn’t the
money,
or even how good the facility was—which actually was just so-so compared to the expensive gyms. But it was all about the quiet
. She’d been to big gyms before
where really toned people worke
d out damn near every day. They woul
d pound away on the treadmill at a sprint for nearly an hour and then look at you with a friendly smile and say
shit like, ‘H
i, how’s it going?’ And you just
wanted to say, ‘bitch, shut up,’ w
hile you
’re panting
after ten minutes of brisk walking.
It just wasn’t for her. Good intentions failed at the sight of so much perfection. She needed a small place where it didn’t seem that people were there for the purpose of making a hook-up. She could deal with a handful of perfect people, but not fifty of them.
After returning home from her disastrous blind date with the very sweet but boring Ivan, Ashleigh had done a very critical self-assessment of herself. Ivan found her attractive because he liked big women, DeAngelo had been into her because he wanted her money but Ashleigh wanted someone to want her for just being Ashleigh Marie Dalton; whether she was big or small. But the key fact is that she wanted someone that she was physically attracted to. Oh she could sit there and think about how she had no room to be judgmental, but if toned, in-shape guys wanted the toned in-shape women, then she’d just have to be that person…or she would have to settle for being with someone that she didn’t find physically attractive. And that was all there was to it.
So she tossed out the cakes and chips knowing that keeping them in the house would be too much temptation. She bought boneless, skinless chicken breast patties to put into the boiler, turkey lunchmeat and salad packs. And when Monday rolled by she bought her gym membership. Ashleigh had never even been to the sub-basement and was a bit intimidated by the underg
round facility as she was given a
tour.
“Now, I just want you to understand that when the red light flashes it means that the floor is going on lockdown while they transport prisoners. You’ll have five minutes to move around before the doors and elevators lock.”
“When you say lock…you mean locked in the basement with prisoners?”
“Well the prisoners never come into this section and you wouldn’t have access to their section. It’s just a precaution to make sure that you are completely secure in the area that you’re located in.”
“But you said the elevators lock…”
“Oh that. You’ll have time to move from floor to floor before that happens, so don’t worry.”
Ashleigh was worried. She had a slight case of claustrophobia and the idea of being in a basement was disturbing enough, but the high ceilings and openness helped. Yet the whole trapped-in-the-elevator thing was a little different.
“Has anybody ever been trapped in the elevator before?”
“Oh yeah, but it’s no big deal. Lockdown never lasts longer than ten minutes. And there is a call button inside of each elevator and stairwell.”
“Oh! Can you show me the stairwell?” That would be much better for her. It would only be two flights of stairs; the basement, then the sub-basement, much better than to risk being trapped in an elevator. The woman led Ashleigh from one corridor to another, explaining how to follow the ever changing diagrams until they finally reached the stairwell. She gave her a d
ubious
look.
“Oh don’t worry, you’ll find your way around her in no time.”
“Now, I’m not going to accidentally walk into a restricted area, will I?”
“Oh no.
You’d have to have card access for that.”
Ashleigh sighed in relief. Tomorrow she would come to the gym before work and she’d do it each day until coming to the gym became like any other routine. For the first time in a month, Ashleigh felt like she was actually doing something to put back the shattered pieces of her life.
~***~
Christopher Henry Jameson stared at the monitor screens. Most didn’t actually stare at them the way he did. Most talked on their cell phones to their girl friends or they played on their handheld gaming systems. Some even snuck magazines and books in even though to get caught would be a boot to the rear end.
But Christopher actually enjoyed watching the monitors. The people entering and exiting the buildings had lives that he caught a glimpse of and in his mind he would recreate them into an image that he would find more acceptable than the ones they probably led.
“Beast.
Beast?”
He finally tore his eyes from the screen. “What?” His voice sounded even more rough than usual. He didn’t spend much time talking and wasn’t much of a people person. It tended to cause many to take it that he was a bad ass when actually he was just a loner. With his looks it had been a choice not all his own, but being alone was something he’d gotten used to regardless of whether or not he would have wanted it differently.
“Go take a break. I’ll take over.”
Bruce was his supervisor and someone he thought of as a friend. Though to Christopher, a friend was just someone who didn’t take pot shots at you. Bruce treated him fairly and therefore Christopher thought of him as a friend.
He got up out of the rolling secretary chair and headed for the commissary where he went straight to the refrigerator for his bag lunch. It wasn’t quite the bag lunch that would come to mind for the average person. His was an actual grocery bag half filled with food. Of course Christopher Henry Jameson—also known as Beast wasn’t the average man.
He stood 6’7” and weighed three hundred and two pounds. He didn’t like the extra three pounds. He rather liked being in the two hundred weight range even if it was by just one or two pounds. Regardless there wasn’t an ounce of fat on his perfect body. Beast was muscles on top of muscles, yet not hulking like some of the others that worked in the Marine Corps division assigned to The Department of Home Land Security or better known as DHS. Too big made you slow. He’d seen guys bigger than him hospitalized during the CRUCIBLE training.
Crucible had been a breeze for him. He’d long ago pushed his body to its limits. He never needed much sleep, and he had learned a long time ago to keep his mouth shut and to see without being seen. Even now, as he watche
d the monitors for the Federal B
uilding and the Federal Courthouse
,
he saw the same people arrive each morning; how they dressed, who they hung around with and not one of them had ever seen him.
He took his bagged lunch over to the crowded table and was greeted by several others that worked with him in the sub basement. Once upon a time when he was a kid no one would have welcomed him to their lunch table. But it didn’t matter to these guys if he was ugly. He had proven himself to them and they judged him rightfully on that and not on his looks.
“
Yo
Beast,” h
e was greeted in a friendly manner. He assumed people called him this because of his face and not because of his build—most of them were built the same way if not bigger. But they didn’t mean it in a bad way and so he didn’t mind.
“What you bring us for lunch?” TK asked. He was a black male that wore sunglasses every single day, even in the subbasement.
Christopher grinned and opened his bag, spreading the food out before him. Half a loaf of bread, a big bowl of spaghetti, another big bowl filled with salad, a container of ranch dressing, a carton of Kraft Parmesan cheese, a gallon sized jug of Lipton Citrus Iced Tea—half empty and a Twinkie.
TK reached for the Twinkie and Christopher’s hand shot out, gripping the other man’s wrist tightly but not painfully.
“Not the Twinkie.” The black man dropped the snack cake and only then did Christopher release his grip.
TK scowled. “You
gonna
heat that spaghetti up?”
“Nope.”
He opened the lid and forked cold congealed spaghetti into his mouth. TK made gagging sounds. Everyone ate a lot, but not everyone ate the way Beast did. But not everyone worked out the way he did, either.
As a member of the Federal Protection Services; o
r
FPS for
the Department of
Homeland Security, surveillance was more or less downtime. It was alternated by field assignment. Most thought DHS was just about terrorism but they worked a lot of drug enforcement, gangs, and even international assignments. That was when his scary looks really paid off. But here; monitoring the protectees, it didn’t do well to show himself.
After lunch he, Po
rter and TK headed over to the c
ourthouse via the underground tunnels. They transferred prisoners to the transport and then ran a sweep. It was night when he finally climbed into his Dodge Ram and headed home. He pulled his cap low over his face which helped. Pulling up his collar also helped but people still stared due to his size alone. But he d
idn’t have to think about that
since he didn’t have to do anything but go straight home.
Maggie greeted him with several low purrs. He dumped his things into the closet and reached down and tickled her behind her ears. She arched her back and her tail stiffened and pointed straight into the air as she purred loudly.
He chuckled and put cat food into her bowl and got her fresh water. Then he turned on the stereo and checked his messages while John Mayer played softly in the background.
“Sonny, you come down visit granny Sunday. Uncle Goo and Aunt Verna
goin
’ be there for spring break. They
gonna
bring Millie in from the special school and no
tellin
’ when the next time we’ll get a chance to see the poor dear. Call me back. Love you, son.”
He smiled and called his Mom right back.
“Hi Mom.
You need me to bring anything? You want me to drive?” She exclaimed that she didn’t want to put him out and for him to get down to Corbin early enough to visit. He promised he would and chatted for a while before hanging up. “See you and Daddy Sunday. Love you.”
“Love you, son.”
Christopher started dinner; meatloaf, mashed Yukon gold potatoes, and steamed green beans. He made it as much for dinner tonight as in anticipation of several meatloaf sandwiches for lunch the next day. While dinner cooked he went into the spare bedroom and changed into athletic shorts and an old shirt. He hit the treadmill as he watched the news from the flat panel television that was mounted on the wall. After his workout he showered and by then dinner was ready.
Christopher sat down at the table and ate his meal. His eyes drifted to the empty chair opposite him as he chewed.
~***~
Christopher headed for the subbasement gym. No one ever came in at 5:00 am; no one. Most of the FOB employees didn’t begin straggling in until about 6:30 and he would be finished long before then. He liked the little gym because it was small. He would go in, slip in a mixed tape or CD
;
usually something with guitars and more than likely some vintage rock. He was only 25 but liked Zeppelin, The Who, and
Ozzy
just as much as he liked the
The
Dave Matthews Band and Jason
Mraz
for their singing ability. Good music was good music no matter when it had been made.
He cut on the lights and slipped in Neil Young’s; Cortez the Killer. As the mellow guitar rift drifted from the speakers Christopher stretched. It wouldn’t take much for him to lose the extra three or four pounds without sacrificing his daily Twinkie.
Wearing workout pants and a hoodie which he kept over his head when in this portion of the subbasement, Christopher hit the treadmill. He loved to run. More than that, he liked the control he had when he exercised. There was nothing much else the loner could do as a teen but workout. He didn’t have any friends and he had learned that while it didn’t matter that beneath his shy shield he would have
been
a good friend
to have
,
but
most never tried to find out. You couldn’t really change
what people thought
even if you smiled your crooked smile or said thank you softly or even if you kept your head down and didn’t meet anyone’s eyes. But what you could do is run. And then when his body began to transform he lifted weights.