The door hit him in the forehead, hard. Shaken, he leaned forward, his right arm extended against the frame for support.
The creak of the rusty hinge was scant warning: again, the heavy wooden slab found its target. He dropped to one knee momentarily, then half-stood, wavering from side to side on his newly unsure footing.
He stayed on his knees the next time it came, slamming into the crown of his bowed head. And the next time.
And the next. And the next.
And the next.
The self-inflicted pain was bewildering in its intensity. It was constant. It was good.
