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Witcham Hill

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Author's note: This came to me in a dream. Yup.
Author's note: This came to me in a dream. Yup.  « Hide author's note
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Prolouge- The Escape Artist

If there was one think he did not like, Eric did not like getting screwed over. He looked across the poker table in the back room of the almost abandoned bar, one of the freshmen at HU grinning back. Eric glared at him, keeping his grey eyes from shifting color. The freshmen, known as Will, put down four aces and a king, Four of a Kind. Eric’s Full House looked very puny to that.
The cheating little bastard. The boy’s eyes fixed on the deck the whole time, his large lips moving silently with silent numbers. He knew how to count cards…but he couldn’t count in his head.
Very calmly, almost pleasantly, Eric said, “You think I’m stupid?” His voice was quiet, filled with what some idiots thought was happiness. The voice was too quiet to be happy, it was more of suppressed anger, calmed and sharpened to a dangerous point.
“Huh? I know you are.” Will said with a smirk, his brawny arms pulling up, linking his fingers behind his head. Will was apparently, one of those idiots, his brain probably as shriveled with video games and TV as a raisin is shriveled with sun.
Right away, Eric was assessing how to beat him within an inch of his life.
He shifted his right arm out farther than the other. He planned to strike with his left hand, shoving Will’s face into the wall behind him.
“I know you were counting cards, you didn’t hide it very well.” Eric smirked, leaning back to gather himself for the jump. His voice still held that dangerously pleasant tone. He leaned forward again, his legs coming up nicely under him. “So, no, I would not call myself ‘stupid’”
Finally, Will saw the danger in that light banter, and his eyes went from tawny to wide, as realization hit him in the gut. “What?”
“I said, I know you were counting cards.” He tensed, ready to jump.
Will stood up, showing his full size. Impressive, he was about 6”4 and had a football player’s build. Eric stayed sitting down, as calm as ever. Eric stood at seven-foot even, so he knew that Will couldn’t beat him in a height match. He flexed his muscles, grinning at the thought of another murder.
Eric struck, the blow seeming almost casual, yet full of power, as Will’s head smashed into the dry wall behind him, leaving a hole the size of Eric’s stomach. Will fell to the floor, his temple bleeding, his eyes glazed. Eric knew Will was out like a light. He grabbed Will’s legs, and started pulling. Eric walked out of the back exit door, no one noticing the short beat down that just happened, with Will dragging silently behind him, not Eric anymore, but Randal Eethers, the escaped mental patient from Huntress Mental Hospital.
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