Chapter 4: Sooner or Later

The bar smelled of stale beer and Marlboro reds while the beat up jukebox is blaring "Sweet Home Alabama." John rolled his eyes and stepped into the truck stop bar. He's underage but has a look about him that causes no one to question him. He made sure his gloves were tightly in place and approached the bar. The barmaid looks about twenty years old with tight Levi jeans, a low cut red tank top, and curly blonde hair. John flashes a smile at her.

"What will it be darlin'?" she asked him while leaning over the bar.

"A beer's fine; Budweiser..." John replied. "…just want the bottle."

"Coming right up, sweetie," she said pulling one out from under the bar. She twisted the cap open, and handed it to him.

"I'm John by the way. What do they call you baby?"

"Trisha," she answered throwing him a seductive glance.

"Well Trisha, what time do you get off?"

"Not until four, if I'm lucky. There always seems to be some asshole you can't get out of here when the sun comes up."

He laughed and surveys the patrons. Most of them are men in their forties, wearing flannel shirts, torn jeans with burning cigarettes hanging from their mouths. Some are bent over pool tables while others are watching sports on the old televisions.

"I can see what you mean."

"Listen, I'm gonna take my break. Why don't you meet me out back?"

"Sounds good to me," he said, watching her walk out from behind the bar and through the back door. Not wanting to be too conspicuous, he made sure no one was paying attention and exited through the front. He walked around to the bar and saw her leaning against the wall.

"I only got ten minutes, but I'll make it worth your while," she said.

"Fine by me," he said feeling his heart pound in his chest. Feeling like a dog in heat, he pressed up against her. They began to kiss furiously not stopping to come up for air. She pulled away from the kiss and began to nibble on his neck. He groaned and closed his eyes; he felt a shudder run through his body. He wasn't able to explain it, but Kelly came to mind just then. He remembered that time in drama class when she projected his less than pure fantasies for everyone to see. He didn't know whether to laugh or cry.

"You aren't like anyone that came in here before, you know that?" Trisha said interrupting his thoughts as her hand slid down his stomach.

"I'm probably like no one you've ever met," he said coyly and put his hands around her hips. Their bodies were dangerously close, and he could feel his alpha male instincts kicking in. He wanted to take charge and just have his way with her then and there. Not caring that they were outside behind a shitty bar, he reached his hand up her shirt and growled. Becoming more aggressive, he almost tore the shirt in half as he continued kissing her.

"TRISHA!" they heard a man's voice call out.

"Damn it that's Don, my boss. I better get back before he kills me. Shit, what am I gonna do about my shirt?"

"Here, take mine, I'll just wear my coat," he said, taking it off and handing it to her.

"TRISHA GODDAMN IT I'M NOT PAYIN YOU TO FUCK AROUND!" Don hollered.

"You're a lifesaver," she said, grabbing the shirt quickly and slipping it over her. "I promise I'll make it up to you."

She gave him a quick kiss and ran back into the bar. John smiled, pleased with himself despite the annoyance at the interruption; he walked back into the bar. She winked at him and then began helping other customers. John grabbed his beer and walked over to an empty pool table. He set up the balls and grabbed a pool stick off of the wall. After everything was set up to his satisfaction, he leaned over to take the first shot. As he tried to figure out the best move to make, his instincts told him trouble was coming. Feeling a presence behind him, he wheeled around quickly, still clutching the pool stick. He was facing a man about 6'5 who was wearing a very angry expression on his face.

"Can I help you?" John asked with a snarl, clutching the stick so tight it almost snapped in his hands.

"I don't appreciate when people flirt with my woman," he said taking a step closer.

"Your woman? What the hell are you talking about?"

"Don't play stupid asshole, two of my buddies that were here earlier told me that you were hittin' on Trisha and I don't take to kindly too that."

Oh fuck.

John shot a pleading look at Trisha, but she just stared at them with a stunned expression on her face.

"Listen, your friends probably just misread the situation, I just got a beer from her."

The man laughed and John saw out of the corner of his eye a few guys get up from their tables. He began to feel nervous and eyed the door to gauge how far it was.

"You think you can just roll up in here and be a big shot? Time to prove it..."

The guys that joined the aggressor began to form a circle around them, causing John's anxiety to become full blown panic. Trisha's boyfriend threw a punch at John, but he was able to duck.

I need to get the fuck out of here, there has to be a way out.

The men started to close in on John, amplifying the terror. His breathing became quick and shallow as he began to hyperventilate. They began hitting him and he fell to the floor with a cry. There was only one way out and he had hoped to God it would never have come to this. His primal nature overcoming his better judgment, he ripped off his gloves and sank his claws into the first leg he could. The man cried out and began to bleed profusely.

"What the fuck are you!" Trisha's boyfriend yelled in a mixture of anger and fear. Trisha screamed and hid under the bar. John did not acknowledge what the man had said to him and instead lunged at the bleeding drunk. He pinned him to the ground and began to beat him on the face. Due to his heightened strength, John's blows caused his face to shatter and eventually killed him. John turned to face the other men, who were now backing up towards the door. John went after the boyfriend next, springing on him so quickly he wasn't able to react.

"No, please!" the guy pleaded, but John had no humanity at this point. He picked him up like the flailing man weighed nothing and tossed him across the bar. He smacked into the jukebox, causing glass to fly in a million directions. He writhed on the floor in pain, unable to pick himself up. John grabbed his throat, and applied the pressure so much that he snapped his neck. He felt the man go limp and dropped his lifeless body on the floor. The other bar patrons ran out of the bar for their lives and John finally snapped back to his senses.

"Trisha?" he asked weakly, approaching the bar.

"Stay away from me, you goddamn freak! Murderer!" she yelled, cowering in the corner.

"I'm not going to hurt you, please..."

"You killed them!" He began to walk towards her so he could comfort her, but she grabbed a glass bottle and smashed it. "Don't come any closer!"

John's heart sank as he looked at her and noticed the expression in her eyes.

She thinks I'm a monster...I am.

John's adrenaline pumping, he turns his back on the crying, screaming barmaid and flees out of the bar into the night. He ran for miles, not looking back once. He was a couple of towns away from the bar in a matter of minutes, pushing his body faster and faster. As he ran, thoughts flashed through his mind; thoughts of being trapped. Horrible recollections as life being the son of Sabertooth and Mystique (he never bothered calling them mom and dad) began to play before his eyes and he heard himself screaming.

"STOP! MAKE IT STOP!"

The images tormenting him and his body finally giving out after running for miles and collapsing in a forest. He panted as his chest heaved painfully, and he curled up on the ground. He clenched his eyes shut and began scratching his arms, begging for a release that would not come. There is no way to separate from your mind or memories, no matter how much torture they put you through.

"You are so pathetic...so weak. How can I even call you my son?" Sabertooth said in disgust, shaking his head. His gaze was upon a large cage in the basement of his house. Inside was a ten year old John, banging on the bars and circling the perimeter of his cell like a trapped dog.

"Please daddy, let me out! I'll make you proud, just let me out!" He tried to pull apart the bars to no avail, causing Sabertooth to laugh coldly.

"No, I think some time in here will teach you the proper discipline and obedience you obviously lack. Maybe it will give you the opportunity to reflect on your failures."

"Don't leave me down here in the dark again! I can't be down here!" John pleaded, banging harder on the bars. He wanted to cry, but knew that showing any tear would worsen his punishment and possibly enrage his father more.

Mystique came down the stairs, and stood next to her lover. She watched John's anguish but instead of feeling any kind of affection or motherly instinct, she watched with indifference.

"Will you join me upstairs?" she asked, touching his arm with a come hither look.

"I'll join you in a minute," he said, kissing her before she sauntered up the stairs. He turned around to face his son again before leaving with hatred in his eyes. He turned off the lights and walked out, ignoring his son's cries

Two months later...

John wanted water desperately, but the chain around his neck wasn't long enough. Sabertooth purposely placed the bowl a few inches out of reach, and he watched the spectacle with amusement. John growled, driven mad by thirst he pulled himself harder, being denied any nourishment for a week.

"You are not a predator, but a stray dog. You possess no self control or higher thinking, making you no better than a mutt on the street. You'll never accomplish anything and no woman will ever want such a sniveling puppy."

John ignored his father's taunts and continued the impossible task of obtaining water. Reduced to nothing more than an animal, he had given up trying to reason with his father or thinking about anything but survival. Pure instinct drove him and only his physical needs concerned him. Sabertooth watched for a moment more and then kicked the bowl before leaving. Water spilled all over the floor and the bowl went flying into the wall.

Startled, John's eyes shot open and he sat up from the ground. It is morning and the sun is creeping up on the horizon. He breathed a sigh of relief when he realized that he wasn't physically back in Sabertooth's house and slowly picked himself up off of the ground. He examined his hands, which were covered entirely in dried blood. He noticed that his jacket and pants were saturated with the reddish brown substance as well and he snarled in annoyance.

"Just fuckin' wonderful," he said out loud.

He began walking down the path that cut through the woods until he stopped at a spring. He quickly pulled off his stained clothes, and noticed an old campfire at the edge of the spring. He dropped is clothing on top of it, added some timber that was in the vicinity, and pulled out his lighter. As the clothes and wood burned, he slowly walked into the water to clean himself off. He scrubbed furiously at his hands first, accidentally scratching himself a few times as he washed away the blood. After it was removed to his satisfaction, he began to wash the rest of his body, unfazed by the freezing temperature of the water.

'I need to find some clothes…'he thought to himself when he was finished bathing and utilized his acute hearing to pick up any signs.

Bingo.

His senses picked up two voices approaching, a male and a female on a morning hike. He crouched amongst the trees until they got close enough and then lunged at the guy. He was a few years older than John and not much bigger. The hiker's eyes widened in surprised and his companion froze in fear. He pinned the frightened man to the ground and snarled,

"Your clothes, now!"

He could feel his adrenaline rising again and he strongly had the urge to kill and take what he needed.

'No goddamn it!'

He fought off his instincts and let his victim get up, who quickly began to disrobe except for his boxers.

"It's freezing out here; what am I going to do?" he asked nervously.

"I don't fucking know, now hand them over!"

The shivering hiker cautiously handed over his clothes, and John ripped them out of his hands.

"You saw nothing," he said before taking off into the woods. When he reached a far enough distance, he quickly put on the pants, Rugby shirt and jacket. His senses picked up movement a few yards away and he scanned the area. Before he could blink, four hooded figures jumped down from the trees and stood before him. He eyed them suspiciously as they approached him, but he kept his temper in check.

"John Creed, or should I say Wild Child, correct?" the group's leader asked him.

"How do you know who I am?"

"Not important however what is important is that we found you. Not easy by the way."

"Get to the point," John said impatiently, crossing his arms over his chest.

"We are members of a...special group, you could say. And let's just say we're extending an invitation. Consider it an honor."

"Listen, I don't have time for this. I don't know how you found me or know who I am, but I'm not joining your stupid club so get lost."

The leader laughed, followed by the others.

"Oh, I think you misunderstand us Wild Child. We aren't a "stupid club" as you say; we're an organization of creatures just like yourself."

"Like me?"

"Yes, creatures that don't deny their natural instincts, but embrace it. True survival of the fittest, kill or be killed. With us, you can unleash the inner beast and do what you do best."

The inner beast....

"You're talking about...killing people?"

"Of course, and why not? Humans are weak, nothing more than cattle. Why are we to be the ones shunned and treated as inferior? You join my pack, and nothing you want will ever be denied. It's time to be appreciated for who you really are, John. No need to suppress it any longer"

'But who am I, really? Am I nothing more than a beast, a rabid dog? Is killing the only destiny this life is offering me?'

"Who are you, exactly?"

"You will find out soon enough, we'll be in touch."

Before John could respond, the figures disappeared through the woods as quickly as they came. He was more confused than ever, and leaned against a tree to think. He looked at his hands, the same hands that have taken lives.

'What am I, man or animal? Do I belong anywhere?'

Mentally and physically drained, John walked out of the woods and towards the next town; towards a world that neither accepted him nor understood him.