Breakfall (13 page)

It was just in his mind.

The stress of periodic tests was intense at MIT. Everyone was good and everyone was smart and nobody earned a good grade just by coasting along. He knew the last two weeks had cost him his impeccable grade-point average—he was probably just nervous about the extent of the damage.

Sudden, bone-deep fatigue descended upon him as he finished his tea. Not feeling entirely functional, he decided to pack in the morning. He slipped into his oversize T-shirt and boxers and went to sleep.

Something woke him—a sound from the outside or a mouse in the closet. Perhaps a creak of old wood, or was it a knock in the steam heating pipes? Sean turned his reading light on and got out of bed.

Sudden unease permeated his being. Something wasn’t right.

He picked up his cell phone, thinking to dial and talk to someone—anyone—but it was almost two in the morning and people were asleep. There was nothing to report to the police, nor to the campus security. He’d have felt foolish to call and report a sense of unease.

Silently berating himself, he went back to bed. He crawled under his gray comforter, seeking the warmth of the fuzzy cocoon. As much as he tried, however, he didn’t have it in him to turn off his little reading light. The warm, incandescent glow brought him comfort in the night.

A crash against the garden door woke him.

Glass spilled from the Victorian panes. The tinkling of shards falling to the ground lent the scene a surreal, slow-motion feeling.

A huge figure filled the frame. He hurled himself at Sean. His massive arm shattered the reading lamp with a passing blow.

Sean screamed.

A heavy body landed on top of him. Air was ripped out of his lungs. He had to stand up—stand up—
stand up
to do what he did best.

“Shaddap.”

A fist landed in his face.

Acting by feel alone, he turned his head, catching the blow on his cheekbone. He wouldn’t shut up—his screams continued as he punched up from his prone position. He made contact once, twice.

His attacker seemed unaffected.

Asbjorn’s lessons flashed through his mind.

Palm strikes—not close enough.

Elbow strikes—even worse.

The throat—a vital area—covered by a winter parka.

The eyes and ears—a good target—covered by a ski mask. Too far to reach.

The black terror of the night had no name, no face. He had mass, though, and leverage and strength, and the reach of his longer arms rendered Sean’s defenses useless.

He could feel his eye and lip swell under the rain of blows as he struggled to get out from underneath the larger man. He might have had a chance, having learned at least some basics from Asbjorn and Dud. Except the damn comforter kept him pinned to his own bed.

“Stop screaming and hitting, and I’ll stop hittin’ ya.” The voice from behind the mask was muffled.

Sean felt the strong, gloved hands squeeze around his neck. Air became scarce. He struggled, trying to bend the attacker’s elbow and break his grip, but leverage and the laws of physics were against him.

A gray darkness invaded Sean’s sight. He stilled.

When his vision came back, he saw moonlight fall upon them through the window. His wrist was caught in the man’s larger, beefier hand, and in the pale glow, it appeared as though Sean’s skin was somewhat lighter. Sean filed the information away. His voice sounded… recognizable. Sean had heard that voice before and frantically tried to place it.

“Now, I came here to teach ya a lesson, pup. You’re gonna take a nice, long vacation. You’re gonna leave town, and you’re gonna miss that grand jury you’re scheduled to testify at.”

Dark eyes flashed from the eyeholes of the ski mask, and the massive body pinned Sean to his own mattress like an etymological specimen. “And just so we unnerstan’ each other…. You call the cops, I come back and kill ya. You tell anyone, I kill ya. Got it?”

Sean nodded. The large hand still covered his mouth. They were down on his bed, side by side. Sean was pinned under his gray comforter, and his attacker now rolled to the side, prone yet alert.

As soon as Sean could stand up, he’d destroy this fucker. But he had to make it to his feet first, do it while the adrenaline was still coursing through his veins. It was a curious feeling, a feeling he had never experienced until now. All of his confrontations had happened on his own terms so far.

Three years ago—being chased by a dusted, hallucinating man down the street, throwing him hard before the police could be called.

One year ago—being accosted by wanna-be pickpockets while delivering pizza and standing his ground while getting them off-balance enough to leave.

Even the alley incident a few weeks ago wasn’t so bad—at least he was standing.

But this—this was different. He’d left his comfort zone light-years behind.

His attacker rolled off the bed. He stripped off his gloves, and stuffed them in the pockets of his parka. “Let’s see what you look like under all that… pretty boy.”

Sean tried to kick the covers out of the way and get up, only to have the man grab his hair and yank him back down to the mattress. Another blow landed on his face, renewing the pain formerly obscured by his adrenaline spike.

How long has it been? Thirty seconds? Ten minutes? An eternity?

“You try to run, and I’ll shoot ya in the back.” Sean could place the familiar voice now. It was cold with resolve.

Prone and helpless, Sean looked up.

He had to stand.

Without getting shot.

Somehow.

“You’re gonna be a good boy and get me off, an’ if ya do a good enough job, I’ll let you live. And if you give me any trouble, I won’t let you live. And if you call the cops, I’ll make sure I come back and remind you why you shouldn’t have done that, and then I’ll kill you. Unnerstan’?”

“And then you’ll leave?” Sean barely recognized his own voice.

“Do a good job, don’t testify, take a little vacation. Then I’ll leave ya alone.”

Sean nodded, his eyes wide. He’d jerk the guy off and then pull the Samson and Delilah trick and kill him when he felt weak. Slowly, Sean crawled up to his knees.

“Now just so you don’t get any funny ideas, I have a little incentive fer ya. Don’t think of doing anythin’ stupid, kid.”

It happened so fast. One moment, Sean had a kernel of a viable plan, and just a second later, a barrel of a gun was pressed to his temple. The metal muzzle was cold and round. Sean felt the rough front sight push through his hair, and the cold touch just about drained his previous initiative. He considered making a move to take the gun away when the voice prodded him on.

“Don’ jus’ freeze there, asshole. If you wanna live, get on with it!”

Sean nodded again and reached for the man’s buckle. His parka was already unzipped and splayed to the sides. His movements seemed impossibly slow—or perhaps it was just his perception of time that had changed.

Maintain one point.

Extend ki.

Don’t panic.

The guiding principles he lived by for so many years allowed Sean to settle his heart rate to a bearable range, and he crawled to his opponent’s form. He leaned over the massive man. Their eyes met.

The cold muzzle was still pressed against Sean’s skull. Sean wanted to twist and grab the gun—after all, every technique done standing could be executed from the knees. From a seiza
.
He tried to send a command from his brain to the muscles in his legs, but they failed to obey him. His arms felt like lead, refusing to rise, hands unwilling to grasp the weapon.

Go. Go. GO!

To his horror, he felt a tremor pass through the strong, formerly capable muscles of his legs. His hands, reaching out for the man’s fly opening, shook like leaves in the wind.

His attacker unfastened his pants with impatience, unconcerned with Sean’s state. “Get goin’, kid. Jus’ like I said.”

If his hands shook and his legs trembled and his body moved like molasses and only under his most conscious command, there was little to do but survive. The weight of the realization fell on Sean’s shoulders with such crushing force, he almost fell to his mattress again. Only the irritated growl of the masked gunman stopped him. The stranger pulled his erect penis out of his pants, and Sean, having run out of options upon his body’s betrayal, reached out to touch it.

It felt like forever, stroking the man’s length and hoping he’d come. His mind wasn’t on the task. He tried to stop shaking.

If he stopped shaking, he could move.

If he could move, he could stand up.

And get shot.

No, maybe not.

Maybe he could run into the dark, cold night. He didn’t even feel the freezing air coming in through the broken garden door.

“Use yer mouth.”

It was a command, not a request, and Sean bent over the man’s groin. Almost gagging, he thought of stories of men being bitten off and wondered if this would incapacitate his opponent or infuriate him and cause him to pull the trigger.

He almost did it—almost, for he feared his body’s betrayal. Suppose he failed to bite hard enough?

He let his eyes wander around instead while he focused on his one point and regulated his breathing as best he could. He took note of the man’s Reeboks and their approximate size. They seemed white and navy blue in the dim moonlit night, almost new.

He measured the man’s height as compared to the length of the mattress, estimating his height and weight. The clothing was either black or navy blue, and the odor unrevealing of pertinent detail. The only clue as to the man’s identity was his voice.

Of course!

The mention of the grand jury hearing linked it all together.

When his mouth filled with the man’s seminal fluid, he recoiled at its bitter froth. A flash of a memory brought back the beach, his surfboard a shield from prying eyes as a girl had done the very same thing for him. He remembered the scrunched expression on her face as she had attempted to spit it all out, and her tearing eyes, and her smile. If she had been tough enough for this, Sean resolved to live up to her example as he scanned the area for a good place to save the DNA evidence. His searching gaze earned him a whack on the head. The cold metal felt dense and foreboding upon impact.

“Here. Spit it on my sleeve.”

Still seeing stars from being hit, Sean complied. Never before did he think he’d purposefully try to retain a fragment of a stranger’s disgusting, bitter, musky ejaculate in his mouth, but he did his best.

“It’s time for you to go.” Sean’s croaking voice held resolve despite his internal tremors.

“But I’m having such a good time.”

“You promised. A deal’s a deal.”

The tall, broad man pulled his ski mask off and pushed Sean down. “Before I go, I wanna see what I’m leaving behind for next time… don’t stare at me!”

A fist landed on Sean’s face. Before he flinched, he caught a glimpse of a gold hoop earring glimmering in the moonlight. The patch of blue-white luminescence described by the window frame had moved, signifying the passage of time.

Sean didn’t resist his shirt being raised and his boxers pulled down. His legs clenched together as much as his distressed, fatigued body allowed while his attacker took him in his mouth.

It doesn’t feel good. It feels bad. Very bad.

Think of disgusting foods. Vomit. Scary roller coasters. Mean third grade teachers.

It doesn’t feel good.

“Won’tcha get hard for me? Eh? I ain’t good enough for ya? Mebbe yer other side will be more satisfying.”

Sean felt a hand search between his legs, going where no man had ever gone before. He stiffened, pressed his legs together. “What you’re doing is wrong.” Sean’s voice was a hoarse whisper. “This is no different from rape. I want you to stop. Stop now.”

The attacker continued his groping efforts. For a moment or two, Sean felt the familiar, soothing heat pool in his groin and he suppressed it ruthlessly, fighting as hard as though he were using his fists.

The dark shape lifted his head. Now that his ski mask was off, Sean could see his hair was tied in a bandanna, and his earring was a little dangling beacon in the night.

“I’ll be back when we can spend more time together, and then you can appreciate me better, eh?”

The thought of this menacing man coming back and taking what Sean was unwilling to give, at gunpoint, chilled him. “I’d kill myself first.”

“Nah, you’ll do no such thing. You’ll take a little vacation, forget all about testifying, get it? And if you screw it up, I’ll come back and fuck you up your ass before I kill you. But if you do as I say, I’ll come back later and make you actually enjoy it, pretty boy.”

The stranger loomed over Sean, menacing and invincible. Sean thought hard. Nobody wants to be bad, not really. People want to be thought of as good.

The words spilled out of his mouth. “I can’t live with that. I will kill myself because of what you forced me to do and what you’ve done to me, and then I’ll come to haunt you.”

His mind flitted to his last online gaming session. “I’ll cast magics you have no understanding of just before I die. Then you will die too, and you will go to hell. I have Irish blood—I can do that. My mother was a woman of great power. I will join her spirit, and we will make your life so miserable, you’ll be begging to die.”

Sean didn’t know where all this came from, this desperate drive to connect with his attacker. If he could stay in touch, he could have him caught and punished.

Plan A: Survive.

Plan B: Lose the battle but win the war.

The man halted, and a disturbed look passed across his brow. “You wouldn’t do that.”

“It’s a druid thing…. My family will cast me out. I have nothing to lose,” Sean lied. “My life and death will be on your conscience.”

The man paused uncertainly. “I don’t believe in any of that shit. I don’t believe your mother does voodoo and shit like that, Irish or not. Just don’t testify so I don’t have to kill ya.”