Braving the Boneyard

1 I heard the squeak of sneakers, right before the man slammed into me from behind. His choking arm bent my body backward and nearly lifted my feet off the ground. I grabbed his arm with both hands, but there was no give in it. “Gimme your purse,” he said. My hands slid down his arm, looking for a weakness. His other arm clamped his wrist, doubling the strength of his hold. I inhaled the slightly musky scent of his deodorant and felt the heat of his body against mine. My heartbeat filled my ears, louder and faster, overpowering the voice that said, Come on, Brennan; you know what to do. Because I didn’t. I didn’t know what to do. I couldn’t breathe. A field of gray swallowed my peripheral vision and made its way toward the center of my eyes, clouding the world as it moved. My legs grew numb, weak … Time and space shifted and my feet did leave the ground this time, coming back down to rest awkwardly on someone else’s, someone with intense body odor. A hand grabbed my hair at the base of my skull and yanked my head back. The sky was relentlessly black above my wide-open eyes. His voice pushed its way in, through my ear, on to the nerves and the brain. Are you a real redhead? I hear there’s only one way to tell for sure. His arms loosened enough for me to plant my feet back on the ground. I tilted my head forward, then slammed it back into teeth and chin. The man let go, and I stumbled sideways. Run. Run for the trees. But before I could run, something smashed into my face. Pain shot from my cheek through my skull, to my eyes and my neck, and the impact spun me around. Disoriented, I shook my head to clear sudden, intense nausea. Bile rose in my throat, and I struggled to not vomit. When I lifted my head, he was staring at me, dark eyes behind a darker mask, filled with the knowledge of the ways I would die before he was finished. I shrieked and swung my leg with everything I had. His knees buckled and he rolled forward, moaning and clutching his groin. My legs gave way, dumping me to the floor with a thud that rocked my tailbone. I scuttled backwards, then hugged my knees as my body was overcome by shaking. “You sure you’re okay?” Glenn asked. I nodded, uncertain if he could make out the motion but not trusting my voice. My hands were still trembling, so I’d tucked them beneath me. I hoped that would be enough to quiet the physical yearning to crawl under the desk and curl up in a ball. We sat in a small office on the far side of the dojo, alongside the bathroom. I wasn’t sure how I’d gotten to the office, or how long I’d been here. Couldn’t have been that long. Someone had turned off the lights, but there was a hint of a streetlight coming through the blinds, and the glare from the still-active dojo was visible through the doorway. Vince, the Sensei, was making noise about taking someone’s belt away, whatever that meant. “I dropped by to check in with Vince on some things.” Glenn leaned forward, his long, reddish-brown braid falling over his shoulder. His voice was low and soothing. “Not just you. But that’s why I was in here for all the commotion.” I nodded again, pulled my feet up on the chair, and fought the urge to rock back and forth. Glenn should be checking on me. He was the one who’d pressured me to come to his friend’s self-defense class in the first place. I’d told Glenn there was a reason martial arts expertise wasn’t included on the Florida private investigator’s licensing exam. He’d said someone with my demonstrated skills at pissing people off needed to be prepared for the moment I pushed someone too far. Okay—he may have used the plural moments, and pointed out a few occasions when that had already occurred. Eventually, I’d agreed. Three classes before having a meltdown … must be a record. “The little bastard is lucky he was still on the floor holding his balls when we got out there. Otherwise, I would have kicked them up his ass.” Glenn crossed one jean-clad, booted leg over the other, as if his legs were twitching at the prospect of assaulting a student two decades his junior. We sat for a while in silence. I missed the reassuring sound of Glenn’s gruff voice, but hadn’t yet reconnected to the world enough to figure out how to make him keep speaking. I set my feet back on the floor. Closed my eyes. Felt the texture of the padded chair. It was an old chair. Vinyl or pleather. Heavy wood arms and legs, with some padding on the arms. Circumference bigger than most people, even today’s hefty people. I inhaled deeply and felt my heartbeat slowing, its rhythm losing those extra Fear Improv beats. I let my breath out in a ragged sigh, and Glenn looked over at the sound. “Good job, by the way,” he said. “I don’t know about that,” Vince said, blocking the light from the doorway briefly as he entered and went to sit behind the desk. “It sounds like Patterson was letting you go when you head-butted him.” Vince’s pale face, bracketed between dark hair and a white T-shirt, appeared ghost-like in the dark. I hadn’t had much interaction with the Sensei. The young guys looked at him as if he were a god (if not the God), and that made me a little uneasy. But Glenn trusted Vince enough to send me here, and I trusted Glenn enough to listen. “But it also sounds like Patterson had it coming,” Vince said, looking at Glenn. “They had some words beforehand …” My chest seized up as I remembered being called to the front for the exercise. “You ever think you shouldn’t look so excited about attacking a woman?” I’d asked. “You ever think you should keep your mouth shut in the dojo?” he’d responded. Later, I’d laughed because his breath tickled the back of my neck when we walked through it. And then, he’d tried to hurt me, while Daniels—the guy in charge—kept telling me I knew what to do. Vince’s calm voice cut through my growing anxiety, and I latched onto it. “… Patterson let his temper get the best of him. Daniels finally clued in to what was going on and told him to stop, but Patterson didn’t listen.” “I want to apologize, Ms. Brennan,” Vince continued. “Training is one thing, but I should have known better than to leave a student in charge of a self-defense class, especially one with … special referrals.” Vince turned to Glenn and asked, “What’s your opinion?” “My opinion is you should go old school and let me show this Patterson prick what it feels like when—” “What’s your opinion of her?” Vince cut in. Glenn grumbled, not ready to let go of the prospect of ass-kicking, but he answered. “Syd’s got good instincts, if she can get out of her own way. Shut off that goddamned busy brain. But I also think she’d have better instincts if she had some training. That’s why I brought her to you.” Vince nodded, setting his hands on his desk as if it were speaking to him. “Okay, here’s what I’m thinking. If you’re interested, we’ll have a special class. A small class, with people like you.” I cleared my throat to get my voice free. “Broken people,” I said. “Maybe just a little cracked,” Vince said, with a hint of a smile. “People who know—from first-hand experience—that they aren’t indestructible.” “But they’re still ready to kick somebody in the balls when he’s got it coming,” Glenn said, heavy mustache fighting the curl of his lips. “Okay,” I said. “When do we start?” Glenn rose, flinging his long braid back over his shoulder. “We’ll let Vince figure that out. I gotta hit the head before we leave. I’m giving you a ride home tonight.” I didn’t argue. Once Glenn had gone, I asked Vince, “Was Patterson wearing a cup?” “No.” I cringed. “He should’ve been,” Vince added. “I tell them to, but he said he didn’t think he needed to tonight. Doubt if he’ll go without again.” “Here.” Vince pulled a soft ice pack from a mini fridge and tossed it to me, along with a thin hand towel. “I can already see the bruise. Patterson’s elbow?” I shrugged, still not sure what had happened, and wrapped the blue pack and held it firmly against my cheek, relishing the cold sensation. “You can bring it back next class,” Vince said. “I told Patterson he could keep his, once it had been on his groin.” My cheek punished me for smiling, but I forced a small one anyway. “Thanks,” I said, and stood slowly. My legs were tight, with the ragged muscle burn that accompanies losing a sprint, but I made it out of Vince’s office without tripping. The floor area was brightly lit, but thankfully did not have a mirrored wall. I hugged the back, trying to slip out of class unnoticed by the three rows of mostly young men. Patterson was nowhere to be seen, but one of the other front row gunners, a blonde twenty-something in a badass black T-shirt, looked over his shoulder at me. His fists clenched, and I could almost hear his teeth grind. I flipped him the finger, and hoped he couldn’t see my hand shaking from across the room.