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When I reach my assigned classroom, I see a group of ten boys sitting at a round table and waiting expectantly. When they see me, they shrink a little, clearly expecting the jovial face of Seer. What do I talk to them about for an hour? I hate Seer for putting me in this position.
I take the empty seat at the front of the room. Then I stare back at them, unsure of what to say. I clear my throat and search my brain.
“What’s up, dudes?” is all my stupid mind can come up. Do teenagers even use the worddude? Damn, this is such a bad idea.
“Is Mr. Seer okay?” a small, young boy asks. Though he’s the runt of the group, he’s the bravest. The rest won’t meet my gaze.
“He was attacked by an alligator,” I deadpan. “The doctors say he may not make it. If anyone here knows how to heal, that would help a lot.”
A smattering of unsure laughter comes, but a couple of the boys go pale, not understanding that I’m just kidding. These kids love Seer. The fact they were here on time and are so well-behaved shows me that they have a lot of respect for him. The least I can do is show them the same amount of respect.
“So, tell me,” I say seriously. “What do you guys talk about with Seer?”
The silence is deafening. Then the same small boy pipes up. “He tells us how we can use our gifts to help society.”
I’m surprised me. What the hell do I know about that?
“Well, I don’t have a gift,” I tell them. “But I have a lot of friends who do. A lot of my friends’ kids do. This might not be like your regular class with Seer, but I’m curious. Tell me your favorite thing about your gift and your least favorite thing.”
It takes a moment, but a calm settles around the room. The boys start opening up. I sit on the edge of my seat, rapt with attention. The hour flies by, and I’m genuinely surprised when the same boy from earlier raises his hand to let me know it’s time for them to go home. I look up to see a few faces in the window, waiting for their children to be dismissed.
When the last boy leaves, I exit. The center is dark already. I realize I’m the last person there. Well, almost the last. I see the light in the dance room on. I creep by and see the dance teacher packing up her things. I slowly back up and wait in the dark hallway until I hear her leave. The last thing I need is for her to see this as an opportunity to talk to me.
The door to the room opens and I see her exit, turning the light out as she goes. She walks boldly through the dark hallway toward the front door, unaware I’m there. I roll my eyes, annoyed by her lack of caution. The fact that she didn’t sense that someone else was near shows that she’s never dealt with any serious altercations. She has the air of a privileged princess. Even more reason to avoid her.
Once she’s out of the building, I wait two minutes, sure that she’ll get into her car and leave right away. When I walk out, I see no sign of her and sigh in relief. I head straight to my bike and pull my helmet on, only belatedly realizing another car is in the lot. It’s not my problem. But then I hear a muffled scream.
It’s sharp and quick, but it’s undeniably a woman. I look around the parking lot and see nothing. Now I’m on high alert. I close my eyes and listen, picking up the sound of shoes scraping against asphalt. Sighing heavily, I hop off my bike and investigate, hoping it’s an animal. My gut tells me it’s something more serious. Someone’s in trouble, and I’m the only one around who can help.
CHAPTERFIVE
When I was in college, my dad forced me to sign up for self-defense classes. He didn’t like the idea of me leaving the house and being out of his protective grasp. He was also staunchly opposed to me learning how to shoot a gun. Instead, he took me down to my campus gym and signed me up for self-defense classes. He drove me twice a week. Then he made me show him what I’d learned, to be sure I paid attention.
Now, I can’t remember a single thing I learned. In fact, I can’t remember anything at all. My body is useless and has been since someone grabbed me as I walked out of the center. I should’ve called a friend to come meet me. I’m never the last person at the center.
Worse, I have no plans with anyone because I was working so late. No one will miss me until tomorrow. I could be dead by then. The thought courses through me. I already see the headlines, mourning the tragic death of a young woman murdered too soon. Tears spring to my eyes and I cry out.
A hand clamps down on my mouth, covering my nose so it’s hard to breathe. I struggle against the figure, recalling that assailants don’t like someone who puts up a fight. I might not be able to remember a single self-defense move, but the more fight I put up, the less interested this man will be. I assume it’s a man. I haven’t seen his face since he grabbed me from behind, but he’s larger and stronger than me.
I let my body goes slack and we both fall to the ground. He releases my mouth as he tries to regain control. With my mouth free, I draw a deep breath and let out a loud, long scream for help. No one is around. The center is on two acres of land. The closest building is a business that closed three hours ago. Maybe if I scream loud enough, the person trying to grab me will get spooked. Theoretically, it’s a great plan.
Unfortunately, he clamps his hand over my mouth again and pulls me back up to a standing position. I can’t tell if he’s got a weapon. Considering how hard he’s gripping me around the waist and holding my mouth, I assume he’s unarmed. That’s good, I think. I try to kick at him, but I can’t find purchase. He pulls me backward, probably toward a vehicle I didn’t see before.
Words dance through my head.
“Don’t let your assailant take you to a second location.”
My college instructor’s face is clear in my head as she says this, looking at me with a stern look.
“If he takes you to a second location, you’re as good as dead.”
Back then, I thought she was being dramatic. She was a very stern, dramatic woman in general. My class friends and I would snicker, rolling our eyes at how much she catastrophized our potential attacks. We were too young and naïve to believe something so horrible could ever happen to us.
Now, though, fear courses through my body. I realize she was trying to genuinely warn us. She was a cop who’d seen a lot of terrible things. She’d probably been called in for dozens of poor girls who’d been taken to a second location. I wonder, nearly hysterically, if she’ll be the one to find my body. If she’ll use me as a cautionary tale one day to a new generation of students.
“I tried to warn her when she was a college student,”she’ll tell them.“I told her not to let herself get taken to another location, but she laughed at me. I’m not saying it’s her fault, but…”
No. She wouldn’t be that cruel. More importantly, she won’t have the chance. I have to fight back. I have to stop this person before it’s too late. If takes every ounce of my strength, I’ll stop him from putting me in his car and driving me away. I’ll give him hell.
