Chapter 8

The cold weather brought lots of changes to my life. Fall was gentle in the mountains. The days warmed up nicely, and the nights cooled down, but not painfully. Those weeks before everything changed were among the sweetest times of my life, because I chose to stay out of circulation, and enjoy working out in my cave / recreation room.

Because I kept the suite in Gatlinburg, I never brought a woman home with me, I felt secure. As far as I could tell there was nobody after Tommy, and nothing to tie me to my former lives. The winter winds brought a quiet calm to me, as opposed to the old restless energy, to do something – anything – before I’d go crazy.

Between my gym and hot spring, I truly focused on fitness, health, and personal defense. It took a little digging, but I found an exceptional martial arts instructor, who was happy to take my money and spend two hours a day working me back into fighting shape. Rob was a retired U.S. Marine fighting instructor, and his approach involved beating me senseless, then tearing apart the beating to teach me how to respond in such desperate circumstances. It worked, as two really stupid, drug addicts discovered one wintry night as I cut across an empty lot, while walking back to my hotel on the mountain.

The first time I sensed trouble was when I saw them separate and walk towards me, but taking care to bracket me as they approached. The two were not very good at beating and robbing tourists. I knew that because of how quickly their attempt to hurt me and steal my wallet was thwarted. The first one tried to run at me, without warning, while the second one pinched off my escape route, so I shattered the closest knee of the one running at me, while grabbing his head and using it as a battering ram, to knock the other one senseless.

It was over so fast that it appeared no one on the street noticed, or heard a thing.

So I left them there.

Oh, well.

When you play in the mud, you’re going to get dirty.

As I walked quickly away and toward my hotel, I was still wound up, and needed to calm down before encountering anyone outside. The less noticeable I was, the less likely anyone would connect me to the two badly injured dirt bags, littering the empty lot. It worked. I was inside and out of sight long before I heard a siren, or other sound of activity. No one came around, knocking on doors to ask if I’d seen anything, and keeping my mouth shut seemed to end anything that might point towards me. Besides, my wrist got a little sore from hurling the first idiot into the second one so hard...

The second event that should have warned me came about a week later.

It was late February and the winter still held Gatlinburg in its claws. My daily trips to the sensei were one thing I was reluctant to skip, so I was staying in my suite for a few nights to avoid the icy roads. The suite came with a wonderful gas fireplace, and I loved to stay in, curl up, and fall asleep on the comfortable sofa facing the fire.

Eventually hunger trumped comfort, and I set out to destroy a steak and sweet potato, like any good American male would. The cold air bit into my skin as I hurried to the four-wheel- drive pick-up, I bought when I traded in the one that came with the fifth wheel. Just as I reached the truck I heard, or thought I heard, a woman scream.

That got one-hundred percent of my attention.

Locking the truck, I hurried towards the noise and became aware that there were numerous voices raised in anger, fear, and maybe panic, so I picked up my pace, and drew my gun. The sound came from behind an abandoned restaurant, dumpster, where I found three people in danger of being mauled by a pit bull.

The dog was obviously out of his head, probably from hunger. His jaws were snapping at the three with such fury that it was clear he intended to have them for a long awaited supper. When I broke his concentration, he decided to take me out of the game so that there would be no competition for his meal. When he lunged toward me at a frightening speed, I shared with him the downside of being the dog in a game of gun versus crazy dog.

The dog almost always loses.

This dog lost spectacularly when the top of his and much brain matter exploded into the frigid air, cutting off his extraordinary snarl, and the danger of his prestigious teeth.

The women were lucky. The angle of my shot was intentionally away from them, and spared them almost all of the gore. Unfortunately, some gore splattered their clothes and exposed skin, but they were far more concerned about confirming that their nemesis was rapidly attaining room temperature rather than the evidence of his demise.

It was cold.

It was cold, and the three of them were not dressed for the outdoors. I looked around to make sure there were no surprises lurking in the shadows, and once satisfied that the immediate danger had passed, I asked, “Why are you out here in the cold?” The startled and truly frightened expressions that answered convinced me that there was far more to this than three girls getting too near a hungry, wild dog.

“My hotel suite is right over there,” I said, calmly. “Let’s get you out of this cold and deal with whatever else is wrong once you are safe and warm.”

As I spoke I looked them over. They were three generations of women. I guessed the oldest to be somewhere between fifty-five and sixty-five, give or take a decade, for the sake of their ragged appearance and apparent homelessness. The oldest looked me over even as I looked them over, and asked, “Is it safe? We’ve not been safe for days and days and days...” That was when I saw her eyes in the light of a street lamp. I decided that she was exhausted. They all three were exhausted, freezing, scared, and obviously out of options, money, and hope.

Sometimes you have to just take a chance. Come on,” I said it so soft they all leaned nearer to make sure they could hear me. “Come inside. We’ll deal with whatever is wrong AFTER you are warm, clean, fed, and rested. Just come...”

And they did...

We snuck in a side door, avoided the security cameras, and they were inside my suite in under three minutes. They looked around to make sure there were no others waiting to do ... something ... to them, and almost on cue, they all sat down on the sofa and looked at me for what came next.

“First,” I said, just above a whisper. “Let’s get a meal sent up from room service. Once I’ve ordered, why don’t we all introduce ourselves, and find out why you’re all three out in the cold in such lightweight clothing?” I kept my voice at that soothing level to avoid frightening them into bolting, and freezing to death out in the night.

Room service promised three double cheeseburgers, fries, a pot of black coffee and two milk shakes within thirty minutes, and when the phone was safely cradled, I turned and said, “I’m Tommy Morrison. I’m from North Carolina and just bought a home out here in the mountains. How about you three...”