It wasn't very difficult for Jean-Pierre to find the way to get outside. Now he hadn't a black cap over his head and the light that shined in the corridor. He just would walk the way back and up the stairs. There he would have a connection to reach Katarina and to warn her, to stop her from going to the open place in the forest. If she knew he had escaped, she would certainly listen to him.
The man he had electrocuted had neither an identification card nor a gun on him. Obviously, they were so arrogant that they trusted on their supremacy over him that they didn't find it necessary to arm themselves. When he had carefully looked at the collapsed man, he was glad his plan had worked. He was, at least, a head taller than Jean-Pierre, and he only would have needed one good blow to switch the light off with Jean-Pierre.
The man he had electrocuted had neither an identification card nor a gun on him. Obviously, they were so arrogant that they trusted on their supremacy over him that they didn't find it necessary to arm themselves. When he had carefully looked at the collapsed man, he was glad his plan had worked. He had to be, at least, one head taller than Jean-Pierre was, and he would only have needed one hard punch in the face to switch the lights off for a moment with Jean-Pierre.
He was surprised the passageway was so long. Jean-Pierre saw different doors on his left and right side that he passed very quietly. His had this opinion to let sleeping dogs lie. His priority was to get outside. There were some side-passages but as far as he recalled, they hadn't taken one of them. Just when he thought he was mistaken, he saw that stairway in the distance. He gave a sigh of relief.
Then he held his breath because he heard footsteps. It was too late to turn. It was a dead end and go back to his cell was no option. A man in a purple habit came walking off the stairs. Obviously, the man was rather stout under his habit, because the clothing was tight around his waist. He was as tall as Jean-Pierre, and that was why he saw a chance. Now it would turn out if his exercises would bear fruit.
Meanwhile, the man had noticed Jean-Pierre too, and out of one of his deep pockets he drew a short stick that he pushed open with a sway of his hand. It was a sort of club, and the man was very confident about the matter because he heard a muffled laugh under his disguise.
Fat Habit slowly came closer, now and then hitting his hand with the stick. A warning for later when he would try it on Jean-Pierre, only a lot harder and more painful.
Jean-Pierre let him come closer and carefully made some paces backward. The man must not think he was self-assured. No, it was important to let the man believe he had the supremacy. Jean-Pierre hoped that this way the man would be less concentrated and he could take advantage out of it.
The man approached and arrived at a few meters away from Jean-Pierre.
He heard the man grin under his purple hood. 'That's not very smart of you, Mister Jean-Pierre. My boss wouldn't be happy. Luckily he has said we can do we like with you. You have served your purpose, and now I'll teach you a lesson. The last you will learn, my friend.'
He raised his stick weapon to give his first blow upon Jean-Pierre's head, and that was what Jean-Pierre had been waiting for the last seconds. At the same time, he had turned a bit more sideward to the left and with an unexpected speed had made a torsion movement by which his left arm punched forward. His straightened arm ended in his tightened palm, and the base of it came down with a destroying force upon the nasal bone from the man. Anyhow, upon the spot Jean-Pierre supposed the nasal bone was. After all, it was rather difficult to look under a hood.
The man gave a dry hiccup and sagged as heavy as a salt bag upon his knees and then collapsed sideward against the wall. Blood ran out of the hood of his purple habit. He wasn't dead although this movement was lethal and Jean-Pierre had meant it this way. You could bash the nasal bone in one blow inside the brains and cause instant death. He had practiced this blow in air fights and had learned to increase the velocity and force of it. Today he had put these into practice and because of the hood he had probably missed the nose by a quarter of an inch. The man was lucky.
Jean-Pierre frisk-searched the man but didn't find any identification papers too. He tore the hood from the head and saw the destruction his blow had made on the man's face. He found it strange he had no empathy for him and tried to imprint his face in his memory. Maybe he still could use this information.
He jumped over the unconscious man and ran up the stairway two stairs at a time to get outside. With all the force he possessed, he pulled the door open and saw it was dark. It was late in the evening already. Would he come too late and did they have Katarina already imprisoned?
He jumped over the unconscious man and ran up the stairway two stairs at a time to get outside. With all the force he possessed, he pulled the door open and saw it was dark. It was late in the evening already. Would he come too late, and did they have Katarina already imprisoned?
Jean-Pierre searched for the stolen GSM and wanted to push the number, but then he saw that he needed a password. He cursed like Shakespeare and threw the device to smithereens against the wall. It wouldn't serve him. He couldn't lose courage.
He walked on and saw in the light of the moon they had accommodated him in some old monastery. It was dilapidated and not inhabited anymore by the former religious order. The sect that had moved in had thought it was the right place to plan unobserved their business.
Jean-Pierre began running and, at first, followed the road enforced by cobbles and further on changed into an earthen road. It was the way they had brought him to the monastery. Much to his dismay, he noticed no houses in the distance. Not a single light to detect in the dark. Nobody to stop and to ask for help.
However, nothing would stop him, and he would do everything he could. He was outside, pushed by despair, starting a long march. Looking straight in front of him, sometimes running, sometimes walking because he had to catch his breath, he traversed the moonlighted region. Luckily, he was in good condition. Jean-Pierre tried to squeeze everything that was humanly possible, but he knew he had to dose if he wanted to reach his end goal. A usable phone and that one call that could save someone's life. Katarina's life was at stake.
© Rudi J.P. Lejaeghere