Enigma

by C. M. Lally

  “How do you two ever plan on coming together if you both keep hiding from each other?” Shawn’s voice echoes throughout the empty room, startling me. My eyes find him casually resting against the wall next to the lockers, with one leg crossed in front of the other. His sad eyes hold mine for a long moment before walking toward me. “You two are perfect together. I wish you could see what we all see.”

  “Ha! Well, no one’s perfect, especially your brother.”

  “You’re right. I won’t argue with you there, but together...” he takes a seat on the bench next to me and picks up the wrist tape. “Well, together, you’d be unstoppable. Apart, you’re both lost.”

  “I’m not lost. I know what I want. I’ve always known what I wanted in life, but everyone keeps telling me I can’t have it.”

  “What do you want?” He spins the hollow roll of tape around his thumb like a toy, waiting for my response.

  “I want to be the top MMA female fighter in the world. I want a belt and a title. I want little girls to know my name and know they can be whatever they want to be.”

  “Okay. I love it. It’s a vision. How are you going to get there? What’s the plan?” He spins the tape on his index finger like a basketball. He’s driving me nuts.

  “Well, the plan was to mentor under someone who knows the MMA business. I only know Brazilian Jiu Jitsu. There are things I need to learn. I chose Kol and Lou as my mentors, but that doesn’t seem to be working out for me.” I grab the tape from him in mid-spin, which in and of itself was pretty impressive. I laid it behind me on the bench, feeling bad for a brief moment about taking a toy away from a child.

  He stands and then sits again, straddling the bench and facing me. “Listen, Jade. It sounds to me like you have a solid plan and a great mind behind that plan. He’s the best. He stands in his own way at times by letting the past eat him up. He needs you, and he doesn’t know how to admit it,” he runs his hands through his hair in frustration “...no, I know, if you give him time, he’ll come around. In the meantime, stick with your vision. Find ways to mentor little girls, like Kol has his work with the Hiking for Hope Foundation.”

  “I have no idea what I’m doing tonight. He’s gonna lose with me at the helm, and then I’m going to lose him and my dreams for good when that happens. I won’t be able to mentor little girls with my one-and-done losing streak.”

  “Stop doubting yourself before you even start. I’ll be right beside you, and I won’t let that happen.” He extends his hand to shake on our alliance. “If we mess up, we do it together, and he can blame us both. You won’t have to bear the burden all by yourself. I promise. I don’t mess around when it comes to my employees. You should know that.” I reach out and take his hand in mine, giving him my firmest handshake.

  “I appreciate it. Alright. I have faith in you. Now, what do we need to do to make this a winning night?”

  “The first thing that you need to do is find your fighter and help set his mind right. Put all personal shit aside and help him focus on the fight. He’s worried about you. He’s worried about Lou. He’s worried about losing the whole damn dream.”

  I SEE HIM, STRETCHING his legs out by the lighthouse. He told me once that’s his two-mile marker. I usually run in the opposite direction knowing the sand is looser here with the rocks surrounding the lighthouse, but not Kol. He does things his own way, like Shawn said. My heart pounds heavy inside my chest when he turns toward me; the sun glints off his bare, sweaty chest.

  He hasn’t spotted me yet, but it won’t be long before he does. I’m hard to miss in this bright purple Rebel’s gear. I blow out a heavy breath and resolve to get this over with. Each step shifts in the loose sand until I finally reach the rocks. He watches me take the last remaining steps toward him.

  “Am I late for something?” He removes his earbuds and squints, making his dark eyes barely visible in the blaring sun.

  “No, I wanted to come and talk to you before the fight.”

  “Okay, about what?”

  “Oh, c'mon, Kol. Don’t be obtuse. You know about what.” I step closer to him and lean against the stair railing next to where he stands. “Why are you so hard on me? I’ve done nothing to deserve this. You took me away for a few days to bond as a team. We bonded; well actually. I was happy and felt closer to you. I learned to trust in you. Then the minute we return to our normal lives, you crawl back into your emotionless self. You rebuilt the wall between us, and I’m too confused and tired to bust through it again.”

  “I’m not emotionless. You make me sound like an ass,” he hisses. “Everyone always wants something from me. Even you, and don’t deny it.” He turns away from me, creating more distance between us.

  “I have no one that wants me just for me,” he says lowly. The hurt in his voice echoes on the sea breeze.

  “I want you just for you. I love who you are— the quiet man and the fierce fighter.” I reach out and touch him with trembling hands, fighting the urge to hold him tightly. “You could walk away from all this tonight, and I’d still want you. I don’t know what to say or do to get you to realize this.”

  He laughs under his breath. “You’d still want me if I couldn’t fight anymore? You think that, but deep inside you’d resent me.” I hate his mocking tone.

  “Stop putting words in my mouth. I know what I want. Yes, I’d love to continue training under you, but that has nothing to do with you fighting. Win, lose or draw you are still the best at this.”

  “Ha. If that were true, I’d have a UFC contract.” The bitterness in his voice surprises me. I’ve never seen this side of him before. The self-doubting, less confident Kol.

  “Look, I don’t want to argue about us right now. Just know, that I fell for the caring man inside. He’s been kicked around, stomped on, and has more than a few dents, but his heart is generous and passionate. I fell for the man, not the fighter. And besides, contracts aren’t the beginning of a career. Time and effort devoted to the cause are where it starts. You know, things like building and branding your style, counting the wins and losses, improving the product, and deciding what kind of professional you want to be— that’s the start of a career. The contracts come into play when all that is syncing.” I curl my body into his, half-hugging and leaning into him. I know he won’t return the affection, but I want him to know I support him.

  “That’s what Lou was working on with Rebel and his gym, my branding and improving the product,” he says, turning to face me. He puts his arms around me and kisses the top of my head.

  “You have a crazy amount of people in your corner working to make ‘The Enigma’ a success. It will happen, but in the meantime— there are more dues to be paid. Let’s head back. Shawn and I want to discuss tonight’s game plan with you. Tomorrow, when the celebrations are over, and the win is secured, we can finish our earlier conversation about us. “Now tell me, who’s a fighter?”

  “I am,” he responds.

  I cup my hand over my ear and raise my voice. “That didn’t convince me. Now who’s a fighter?”

  He smiles because he knows exactly what I’m about.

  “I’m the baddest motherfuckin’ fighter on a paved road of gold straight to the UFC,” he yells into the wind before locking my neck in a chokehold and knuckle-rubbing the top of my head.

  We laugh the entire way back to Rebel’s.

  “THE ENIGMA IS PACKING his punches with dynamite tonight. They’re explosive, but the Bulldawg is taking them in stride; signs of wear are creeping in. That bleeder on his brow line isn’t helping him any.”

  “Don’t let him get you on your back,” Shawn yells. “Hit him Superman-style, but get yourself outta this corner.” The bell rings for the third session, and the referee has to pull the Bulldawg off of him before he can get to the corner.

  “You need to use a wider stance, so you don’t get backed up into the corners, but watch out for his leg sweep. Move faster. Your strikes look great. They’re strong. You need to take him in this round.
Don’t let it go to four,” I say, wiping the sweat from his eyes. I also clean the little bit of blood that’s oozing from a rope burn on his cheek he got in round one. Shawn shoves his mouth-piece back it as the buzzer signals the end of the resting period.

  “This is a close match for sure. It’s going to come down to who wants it more. The scores are close going into the third round. The Enigma has shown more aggression tonight with his grappling, but the Bulldawg is executing his strikes more efficiently. He’s had a few warnings from the referee about the rules. We’ll see if that comes into play with the scoring.”

  “Watch your stance. It’s too wide. Keep moving,” I choke out. My nerves are raw. “He’s gonna sweep you down.” And damn it, he’s got him on his back. Kol quickly glares at me before his shoulder hits the mat. I should have kept my mouth shut. I practically told the Bulldawg what to do. Kol growls as he scrambles to his side and kicks out of the leg hold he’s in.

  “Don’t worry about it. It’s not your fault. His stance was too wide. He knows better than that,” Shawn reassures me.

  “I don’t know about you, but I don’t see a way out of this for the Enigma. He’s locked in tight holding all the Bulldawg’s weight on his chest. Wait, wait. Can you hear the crowd cheering? ‘Snake. Snake. Snake.’ We’ve yet to see the Enigma’s signature move tonight. Will this be his saving grace?”

  Kol’s long arms extend up and wrap around the Bulldawg’s neck, pulling him to him in a classic chokehold. His thumbs press into the fatty jowls of his opponent. Thick, sweaty skin bunches up under his eyes as Kol presses in as deep as he can. His fingernails cut into his face. The Bulldawg howls in agony, and rolls off him, swiping at the blood trickling down his face.

  Kol springs to his feet while the Bulldawg scrambles up from his knees. As soon as he stands, Kol punches at him with a blinding set of quick releases. The Bulldawg retaliates with a steel punch to his chest, knocking the wind out of Kol. The look of panic on his face as he tries to catch his breath makes my heart drop.

  “Looks like the Bulldawg stole the most precious thing the Enigma had, his ability to breathe. He’s struggling to catch his breath as they circle each other in the octagon. Both are still licking their wounds from the previous encounter. This is the ultimate battle of wills. Who wants it more?”

  “Take him now. End this,” I yell. Kol steps in to land a punch, but the Bulldawg sidesteps him into a hip sweep and takes him down to the mat. The Bulldawg throws a series of punches into his face. The last thing I see is Kol’s head bobbling left then right with each hit before the referees storm the cage.

  Chapter Twenty-One - Kol

  I WAKE UP TO A SEMI-dark room; the light in the bathroom shines through a mostly-closed door. The cardiac monitor beeps with each thump pulsing in my head. My head is braced softly, but it keeps me in place like a vice grip. I can’t turn to my left to see who that is breathing heavy in the room. I can’t even focus on the monitor. The numbers are blurry. Fuck, what happened to me?

  Damn, my head won’t quit pounding.

  My fingers fumble in and around the cords attached to my arm to find the call button for a nurse.

  “Yes, Mr. Porter. May I help you?”

  “Send a nurse. My head is pounding,” my voice is a raspy whisper.

  The person sleeping on the couch sits up and nudges a straw into my lips. The ice-cold water soothes my parched throat. “Thanks.”

  “Drink more if you need it.” Shawn’s voice rings in my ears. I take the cup from his hand and suck until the straw whistles that there’s no more drink inside. I shake it around, hearing the crushed ice inside confirm it’s empty. “Here. I’ll get you more from the bathroom sink. Hold on.”

  The nurse pushes through the door with medicine. She scans my wrist and then the bottle before administering it to me. “This should make your head feel better, and help you sleep.” She pushes the bathroom door almost shut again as Shawn places the water cup back in my hand. “Very little light for you for the next few days, Mr. Porter. Please try to remember to keep this door as closed as possible. Just enough light to see the floor. That’s all.” She advises Shawn, before leaving the room.

  “What the hell is she talking about?” I look at him, but he’s a big blur. I can’t even make out the clothes he’s wearing. He’s a black blob with a voice. “And why can’t I see your face? You’re blurry.” I sit up and immediately feel woozy.

  “You’re on concussion protocol. You lost consciousness in the cage. What’s the last thing you remember?”

  “That motherfucker punched my chest and knocked the wind out of me. Did I pass out? I don’t remember anything after that.” The heartbeat monitor ticks up a few beats as anger washes over me.

  Shawn pushes me back to the soft pillow. I sink into it as my headache thrums to the beat of my blood pulsing in my head. Fuck! I grab my head and massage my temples, but it doesn’t ease the pain.

  “You know, you need to rest. Let the medicine work. We’ll talk in the morning. Please go back to sleep.”

  I close my eyes, but still see purple and orange spots floating around behind my eyelids. Concussion protocol. What the fuck happened? I was standing up trying to catch my breath. I try to recall details of my last memory, but it’s a dark nothing.

  I wake a little while later to another nurse scanning my wrist and changing the bag of fluids hanging above me somewhere. She injects more medicine into one of the outrageous numbers of tubes connected to my hand. Her tired eyes look at me blankly. I’m one of probably a hundred patients she’ll tend to today. “Good morning, Mr. Porter. How are you feeling today?” Her cheery voice betrays the dark circles under her eyes.

  “That seems like a trick question. How do I look?”

  She takes a step back from the bed to take in the full picture of me. “Like you got hit by a Mack truck,” she leans forward and whispers to me like it’s a secret.

  “Well, that’s exactly how I feel.”

  “I hope you got the license plate then. It did a number on you.”

  “I have his name,” shaking my head to assure her.

  She tilts her head in surprise and screws up her lips. “Even better. Now tell me, rate your pain on a scale of one to ten, with ten being the brink of death.” She throws me a big smile.

  I push on the mattress to attempt to sit up but wince in pain. “I’d say about a six. No make that a five.” She reaches for the bed remote and helps raise it to a sitting position.

  “Wow. You’ve got a high tolerance for pain then. If I had to guess, I would say you were borderline eight. Good job.”

  “I don’t think it’s my tolerance level. It’s whatever you’re pushing into these tubes.”

  I watch her eyes focus on the heart monitor machine behind me as she types into the computer on the cart she brought in. She catches me staring and winks. “Smart man. Your breakfast will be here soon,” she announces as she guides her cart out of the room, shutting the door behind her.

  “Stop flirting with the nurse,” a muffled voice says from the couch.

  “I’m not flirting. I was answering her questions.”

  “If you say so, now shhhhh. I’m still tired.” He throws the miniature blanket over his face and lays back against the pillow bunched up behind him. He doesn’t look comfortable, but who is comfortable in a hospital? I know I’m not.

  Poor Lou, my mind drifts to him. He’s somewhere up or down these halls and floors. He hasn’t had anyone visit with him for a long time now. He’s either enjoying the peace and quiet or worried that I’ve left him to die.

  I was supposed to return last night with my victory and make him proud. Damn it. I still don’t know if I won. “Shawn?” His heavy breathing tells me that he’s out like a light.

  The door pushes open with a clattering tray banging into it. A young slip of a nurse with the muscle tone of a wet noodle barges through, doing her best to balance the teetering tray in her hand. I can’t smell anything, but I think my breakfast h
as arrived.

  She wheels the room tray into position over the bed, and plops the plate down in front of me, lifting the cover. I don’t recognize any of the food congealing together.

  “Sorry, Mr. Porter. We weren’t expecting an extra inpatient this morning. You’re getting the only extra meal we have: it’s low-sodium, low-cholesterol, and lean protein.” She screws her lips up in a disgusted twist as she looks at the meager meal on the plate and then up at me, sympathy radiating from her big, brown eyes. “Yeah. Enjoy,” her voice lilts upward with the last word like she’s trying to convince me.

  I wish my vision were still blurry because this is not appealing.

  “Drink the coffee. It’s decent. I’ll go out in a while and get you something better,” Shawn’s muffled voice rambles from under the blanket. Long arms stretch out and push the blanket off onto the back of the small-framed couch he slept on. He stands, stretching out his long arms and legs like Frankenstein come to life.

  “He’s alive!”

  “Very funny. How the hell are sick people supposed to get better in a place that is so noisy? I swear, no one slept last night. Well, those of us who didn’t have drugs helping us sleep. This place is loud as hell in the midnight hours.”

  “I want to know what happened last night. Tell me, damn it.”

  Without a look or any gesture of acknowledgment, he walks into the bathroom closing the door behind him; the asshole is ignoring me. He’s shutting me out again. “You’re going to have to tell me, you know.” My rough voice croaks out as a doctor enters the room.

  “Good morning, Mr. Porter. I’m Dr. Eisman, a neurologist. I specialize in Neurotrauma. How are you feeling today?”

  “I’m fine. No, actually. I’ve got a headache, and I’m starving at the moment. Do you mind if I chew while you talk?”

  “Please pardon the interruption. I won’t be too long. I wanted to introduce myself and review your chart. We are going to schedule some testing for you today.”