Chapter 5: THE SUB-BASEMENT

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," he 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; or 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, Porter and TK headed over to the courthouse 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 didn'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, most people 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.

His parent's didn't have much. There were four kids to feed on one income. But they lived in Corbin Kentucky where you didn't need to try to scrape up the funds to play school sports when you could run through the mountains for free. And dad had found him an entire weight set from his weekly visit to the Salvation Army. And then Christopher had found a way to spend his free time. It was a catch 22, though, because as he got bigger he just became even scarier.

Christopher hated thinking back on those days and put it out of his mind as he allowed the music to carry him away while his feet pounded along the treadmill.

Christopher listened to the music, his mind playing the guitar rifts as he silently sang and his feet pounded. Christopher ran and felt free in his little gym sanctuary.