any danger, and he didn’t regret not telling Walter that Gilbert was going to present him with a challenge. He wasn’t scared, nervous, or perplexed by the notion. Perhaps he should have been.
Seven calmly walked to the seat he had occupied before and sat with the man he had sat with before. He failed to notice that both of Gilbert’s cuffed hands were tightly clenched into fists.
“Why the fuck do you keep coming back? You’re not my son. You’re trying to fucking kill me. You’re one of them. Get the fuck out of her!” the old man yelled as he grabbed Seven’s limp arms that were resting on the metal table. Gilbert sprung off the bench and dragged Seven across the table with his cuffed hands. Seven’s torso slid across the smooth surface but stopped abruptly as his prosthetic right leg became pinned under the bench. The old man continued to struggle and pull Seven’s arms and hands all the while shouting, “Charlie Manson! I’ll show you Charlie Manson, you government fuck. I may die here but it ain’t gonna be you that kills me!”
Seven’s face was being forced into the metal tabletop. His arms were extended over his head and it felt as if his right leg was being amputated all over again. His father continued the tug-of-war. Frank was an older man, and it took several seconds for him to complete the journey from the wall to the center of the room. The other security guard made it much quicker from the opposite side of the room, but he wasn’t all that effective at freeing Seven from his father’s grasp. Frank lowered his shoulders like a fullback and drove his large frame into and through the old man’s rib cage. Frank’s momentum sent himself, Gilbert, and the other security officer sliding across the polished green tile floor. Gilbert’s grip on his son was released upon impact and Seven was left face down stretched across the metal table like a slaughtered lamb. His nose and mouth were dripping blood from being dribbled across the table like a basketball.
A herd of security guards poured into the room from both exits. Somewhere under a dogpile of polyester uniforms was Gilbert Andrews. Seven lifted his head and was able to focus his eyes just as the