The Stories of the Wild One (continued)

Feeling only slightly foolish, John pulled out his taser, aiming it ahead of him as it were a real pistol. Anyone who understood how the weapon worked--and he knew that his father did--would not be fooled, but it might make him hesitate just long enough for John to, if needed, disarm his father and subdue him.

John wondered, for a moment, if his father even knew how to handle a weapon. Sure, while he was growing up, there had been fake machine guns and swords, and even the occasional light saber (some of which his father still apparently owned), but he could not recall his father ever brandishing a real weapon of any kind. If anything, his father deplored violence in almost any form.

Even with those thoughts in mind, John did not let down his guard. The gun held up before him, John reached out and tried the door handle. It resisted at first, tightening his throat with a knot when he thought it was locked, and then turned. John breathed a slow breath of relief, not realizing that he had been holding it.

Slowly, cautiously, he pushed the door open, half-expecting it to be slammed closed in front of him. Although that did not happen, he was deliberate in his movement, listening for any sounds, alert for any motions.

The door swung fully open. The room was empty.

John paused, frowning. It was possible that the door had closed of its own accord, even prompted by his earlier movements within the room. His gut told him otherwise, even though there was no obvious evidence to support that feeling.

John turned slowly, moving in a tight circle until he once again faced the open doorway. He listened.

Nothing.

All he heard was the almost inaudible sound of air moving through the vents. If anyone else remained in the house, they remained silent and unmoving.

"Damn it," he whispered.

He wanted to turn back and search through the boxes on the floor and items on his father's desk, but something in him did not want him to turn his back on the open door.

That's strange, he pondered. He could not imagine his father attacking him from the rear unless provoked or fighting for his life.

*Maybe he is . . .* John considered grimly.

With a small, guilty start, he realized that he could close the door and lock it. If his father tried to enter, he would have plenty of warning in which to defend himself.

He reached for the door handle, and then stopped.