Reverse Metamorphosis book one of the Irrevocable Change trilogy

Book One

Of The Trilogy

The Evolution of an Assassin

A Novel by

R.E. Schobernd

Published by R.E. Schobernd at Smashwords

Copyright 2011 by R.E. Schobernd

Other Novels by the Author

In the
Irrevocable
Change
trilogy

Book Two

Book Three

Also by the author,

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This book is a work of fiction. Any
resemblance to persons living or dead is purely coincidental.
Locations have been referenced only for color and story line and
convey no other implications.

T
he normal order of
metamorphosis is for some ugly life forms at creation to develop
into a creature of wonder and beauty. The caterpillar crawling
along a tree branch before a beautiful butterfly emerges, floating
and rising in the slightest breeze is the most recognized of these
transformations.

By contrast, human beings are born beautiful
of body and innocent of mind, but can be subject to reverse
metamorphosis into creatures of ugliness. These changes are not
part of the natural process of evolution which is destined to
occur, but happen due to choices made by each individual. Social
and environmental pressures influence these changes, but ultimately
the responsibility rests with the mind and soul of the person
bending to and adjusting to the pressures and circumstances around
them.

Clayton Lewis Albrecht is one such reverse
metamorphic being.

Later, he would wish he had driven straight
home. Instead, at a small town just south of the Wisconsin state
line he exited the highway where several bars competed for the
drinking trade. The one he randomly picked sat beneath a gaudy,
flashing neon sign taller than the single story brick front
roadhouse. Only a half dozen parking spots remained at the back of
the gravel lot, most of them up against a line of weeds and hedge
trees bordering an adjacent field. The musky smell of freshly
turned earth mingled pleasantly with the aroma of fried food and
stale beer coming from the exhaust fans. The temperature was in the
mid fifties; typical for Chicago in late spring.

At the entrance got carded and paid the three
dollar cover charge. Weaving through the crowd he inched his way to
the bar. The single room was packed, with the lucky patrons at
tables surrounding a hardwood dance floor he guessed to be twenty
feet square. Bodies were jammed together doing at least six
different dance steps no matter how the music tempo changed. The
music was loud, but good for a local group. He raised his hand
until one of the bartenders caught sight of him through the low
hanging smoke cloud and took his order for a draft. In a few
minutes an older guy slid off his stool and headed toward the
door.

After beating two other men to the seat, he
settled in and looked in the back mirror to see who was bellied up
to the bar. On his left he watched and listened to a couple arguing
loudly. He took note of the girl sitting next to him; she saw him
watching her and smiled. Several minutes later the guy she had been
arguing with got up and walked away. The busty red head turned
toward him, introduced herself, and started a conversation. She was
about nineteen or twenty going on thirty. Already there was a tough
bar room look about her; not unattractive, but too rough and
knowing for her age. The thin rayon blouse she wore let her breast
show through nicely and promised bigger rewards behind the fabric.
She was underage to be there, but he'd experienced the same problem
only months earlier before he turned twenty one.

They had been talking a few minutes when
someone behind him yelled loudly and a hard punch land on his back,
throwing him against the bar. As he got turned around, under more
blows, the drunken boyfriend was yelling about Clay hitting on his
girlfriend. He slid off the bar stool as he pushed the guy away. A
bartender must have signaled the bouncers because shortly after his
feet hit the wood floor and he landed a right upside boyfriend’s
head and a left to the man's gut, the drunk was under the control
of two bouncers and being manhandled toward the door.

Another bouncer, bald and muscular, was in
front of Clay getting his attention, “I know the other guy started
it and if you want to sit back down you can stay. Otherwise, out
you go, and you two can continue the fight outside while I call the
Sherriff. What’ll it be?”

“No problem, I didn’t come here to fight, so
it’s over. Thanks.”

When he was seated again the girl touched his
arm, "I'm sorry. I had heard Cleve could be a real idiot when he
drinks too much. I won't be going out with him again." She didn’t
make a move to leave.

"It's not your fault, and it's done with."
Clay laughed and continued, "He's too drunk to throw a decent punch
anyway." She smiled and continued their conversation.

He ordered fresh drinks, thinking things were
finally going his way for the first time that night. With any luck
he might have her in a motel room later. After the drinks were paid
for he excused himself to go to the john and walked off through the
mass of mostly young people.

When he returned the stool next to his was
empty, but the girl’s drink was still on the bar. Looking out over
the dance floor he spotted her dancing with an older guy, nearly
thirty or so. When the band took a break she and her partner came
back to the bar. She sat with her back to Clay, talking to the new
love of her life standing on the other side of her. Having crashed
and burned for the second time in one evening he decided to finish
his beer and head home.

Finally he was outside in the fresh air and
walked around the corner of the building, heading back toward his
car. By then the lot was completely full, with cars and trucks
crammed into every possible spot and thirty or more parked out
along the highway on both shoulders.

He was cutting through the rows of cars to
the back but was still far to the left of his car. Behind him and
to his left there was the sound of someone running in the gravel
and closing in on him fast. Clay turned his head and shoulders to
see what was going down and saw a blurred motion up close.
Instinctively he raised his left arm while twisting and moving his
head to the right. A slightly built figure of medium height had his
right arm raised with a large object in his hand. Getting his arm
up probably saved his life as a brick careened down with momentum
and scraped his left ribcage. During the twisting, dodging
gyrations his feet got tangled together, he lost his footing in the
gravel, and fell against the side of a car on his right rib cage,
with the upper right arm extended over and onto the trunk. The
assailant didn’t fare any better and was trying to regain his
balance and get his bearings. Clay recognized the attacker as the
loud-mouthed drunk who had hit him in the back earlier. The thought
of the two attacks pissed him off and gave him the strength to
launch himself at the aggressor. The assailant still had the brick
in his hand when Clay landed three good punches to the head and
kneed him in the groin. He knew it was a good blow when his
assailant’s legs went together and bent slightly at the knees as he
groaned. They were between the rear ends of two cars and the drunk
was slowly bending over toward him with his left hand grasping for
something to hang on to. Slowly he continued to slide down the side
of the car. While Clay debated whether to hit him again the
attacker’s knee touched the ground giving him enough stability to
swing the brick in his right hand at Clay’s knees. Clay jumped
back. The assailant started back to his left with the brick for
another attack as Clay grabbed the end of the man’s outstretched
arm and flung the hand holding the brick toward the man’s head with
all his strength. The corner of the brick struck the right side of
the head, pushing it against the cars fender. A dull, sickening
thud was heard when his skull made contact with the Buick’s fender
where it was molded to receive the taillight and had no give to it.
The strangers head absorbed the entire force of the brick. The
attacker collapsed onto the gravel with blood flowing from his
crushed skull.

Clay grabbed the man’s outstretched wrist and
felt for a pulse. None! Standing up quickly and looking toward the
back of the bar he didn’t see anyone in the back lot. He didn’t
know whether to go back to the bar and report what had happened, or
just leave. Hastily he decided to avoid trouble and just leave. If
the Sherriff was called he could be there for hours and might even
be locked up overnight.

Grabbing the man by both ankles he dragged
the body down the line of cars and dropped it behind two he found
backed into their parking spots. With the body concealed in the
weeds at the fence he looked again for anyone in sight. Back at the
scene of the fight he kicked gravel over the blood spot on the
ground and searched for small dribbles left while the body was
being moved.

His car was about eighty feet away and he
hurried down the line of cars, still keeping in the shadows and
under tree limbs. The music was loud in the background and he was
surprised he didn’t remember hearing it during the fight.

As he got in the car and started the engine
he noticed his hands were shaking and his chest was pounding.
Slowly he backed out of the parking spot and drove toward the exit
as normally as possible; he resisted the urge to spin the tires and
get away quickly. Four people were near the front of the bar
talking before heading for their cars. He doubted they noticed him
or would remember his car.

After getting out on the feeder highway and
then up onto the freeway his heart was still pounding and he was
breathing fast and deep. He was exhilarated knowing the man had
attacked him twice from behind and yet he was the one who survived.
The bastard got what was coming to him. I’ll teach him to fuck with
me, he thought. His hands felt cold and clammy and he began to
shake. He’d killed a man! He didn’t even know the bastard. Oh God!
What if somebody saw him and got his description and license
number? Did he leave fingerprints on either of the cars they were
between? His breathing had slowed, but he was shaking
uncontrollably. He pulled the car to the side of the freeway and
parked. Sitting inside the car he hung his head and cried
uncontrollably. The let down from the adrenaline rush coupled with
the realization of what the consequences could be caused the
trembling and sobbing to continue for several intense minutes. The
image in his mind of the dead man lying in the gravel with blood
running from his head gave him a sick feeling and he began to get
the dry heaves.

Leaving the car he moved to the right rear
fender and began to vomit. Deep spasms originated in his bowels and
worked up his torso ending at his jaws. Never had he imagined being
so scared. All because of some damn drunk he didn’t even know.

He knew several people who claimed to have
killed others, but it had never happened to him! Not until now.

As soon as his emotions were under control he
got back in the car and finished the drive home. At his parents
house he parked in his usual spot and quietly slipped in the
backdoor. Downstairs in his room he took a shower and crawled into
bed. It was after one o’clock but he couldn’t sleep. The initial
shock had worn off and he was starting the process of accepting
what had happened. His main concern was he could be identified and
traced. If his first move after the attack had been to get help,
instead of hiding the body as if he had done something wrong, there
most likely wouldn’t be any problem. But you live with the results
of your actions. It was too late to go back and explain he only
defended himself and panicked when the man died. Finally, as the
sun was rising, he drifted into an uneven sleep.

Just before eleven he awoke and stretched,
then washed, shaved and got dressed. His right rib cage was sore
and slightly bruised where he had fallen against the car fender the
night before; proof of what he wished was a nightmare was in fact
reality. His initial thought was, Clayton Lewis Albrecht you really
stepped in it this time.