by Blake Pierce
She felt like she ought to know better than to expect Daddy to express concern about her safety for more than a minute or two.
She reached for the axe to start chopping again. Suddenly, she felt her father’s arm snap tightly around her throat. Before she knew it, she lay flat on her back on the ground. Her father planted his knee on her chest and held a hunting knife to her throat. The tip of the blade felt sharp against her skin.
Riley gasped with horror.
She wondered …
Has he lost his mind?
Is he going to kill me?
CHAPTER TWENTY NINE
Pinned down by her father, Riley felt like a small trapped animal staring into the eyes of its overpowering prey. For a moment neither of them moved. He held the knifepoint perfectly steady against her throat.
Riley’s thoughts raced.
Where had the knife come from?
Then she remembered—her father always carried a hunting knife strapped to his ankle. He’d grabbed it so quickly she hadn’t even noticed.
But why did he attack?
She had no idea. But if he intended to kill her, she had no way to stop him now.
Their gazes stayed locked. She saw no bloodlust in his eyes. His expression was grim, but hardly murderous—canny, not crazed.
As suddenly as he had struck her down, he pulled the knife away, took his knee off his chest, and rose to his feet.
He said, “You’re dead, girl. Or at least you should be. I’d say you deserve to be.”
Shakily, Riley got up off the ground.
“What the hell was that all about?” she demanded.
“You tell me,” her father said. “First a good friend of yours got killed. Then it was your roommate. What’s the matter with you? Hasn’t it occurred to you that you’re as likely as anybody to be next?”
Riley squinted with surprise.
No, it really hadn’t occurred to me, she realized.
She’d been so devastated by both deaths—especially Trudy’s—and so obsessed with what she could learn about the killer’s mind that she hadn’t even thought about her own safety.
Her father shook his head with a growl of disapproval.
“If that’s the best you can do, you’re a goner for sure,” he said.
Now he stood facing her arm with his legs slightly apart. He tossed the knife to her. Riley was a little surprised—and relieved—that she caught it neatly by the handle. Then her father waved his arms.
“Come on,” he said. “Attack me.”
Fueled by the recent adrenaline rush and by rising anger, Riley raised the knife and charged toward him. She didn’t care if she did wound him.
In a flash, she was buffeted by a blinding tangle of blows, and she found herself on the ground again.
“What the hell kind of fighting is that?” she asked, gasping as he helped her back to her feet.
“It’s called Krav Maga,” her father said. “It’s an Israeli fighting system.”
He cut the air with wild and aggressive movements as he explained, “It originated in the years just before World War Two. Jews in Eastern Europe used it to defend themselves against fascist attackers. It combines elements of several disciplines, including Aikido, judo, and karate. But mostly, it’s just plain down-and-dirty street fighting. Anything goes—anything that works. That’s why I like it.”
Riley stood watching his gestures with her mouth hanging open.
It dawned on her that she’d had good reason to make this visit after all.
She remembered again what her father had said to her over the phone …
“You’re just not cut out for a normal life. It’s not in your nature.”
Despite her earlier doubts about even coming up here, this trip was beginning to make sense. There were things her father could teach her—and maybe not just about fighting.
Maybe he could help her understand herself.
Right now, he was obviously waiting to see how she would respond.
Riley said, “Show me what I should have done when you attacked me.”
Her father guided her through a series of violent motions—all carried out slowly and carefully so as not to cause injury. Bit by bit, she started to get the hang of certain maneuvers.
Following his instructions, she went into slow-motion action as he locked one arm around her neck and wielded the knife with the other. She brought one arm down as if to strike his groin, and almost simultaneously grabbed him by the hair with her other hand and yanked him back, then finally switched hands again to smash him in the face, breaking his grip and forcing him backward as the knife flew from his hand.
“Not bad,” he snapped. “Now speed it up.”
They carried out the same sequence several times, each time a little faster than before. Riley was almost alarmed at how quickly it began to seem natural to her.
Then her father showed her how to deal with a series of possible attacks—pushing, lunging, and grabbing from behind and in front. As they worked through each situation, he explained the core ideas of Krav Maga.
“Sheer aggression is the key thing,” he said. “In most kinds of fighting, you defend and attack separately. With Krav Maga, you do both simultaneously, and you move fast. You don’t give your opponent time to breathe. And you don’t stop until he’s debilitated—or dead. If someone really wants to kill you, you’d better kill him first and get it done with. It’s not a game.”
Riley was both fascinated and frightened by the fierceness of Krav Maga. It was based on street fighting, after all. She learned that the idea was to attack the most sensitive parts of an opponent’s body—eyes, throat, groin, solar plexus, and so forth, causing a lot of physical harm as quickly as possible. One also grabbed whatever objects one could use in combat—rocks, bottles, sticks, or anything else that happened to be within reach.
After teaching Riley one especially ruthless maneuver, her father suddenly turned and walked away.
“I guess it’s time for you to get back to school,” he said. “And it’s time for me to get back to work.”
He turned away and walked back to the stump where he’d been splitting logs.
Riley felt baffled.
“That’s it?” she said. “That’s all you’re going to teach me?”
Daddy picked up his axe, glanced back at her, and shrugged.
“What do you think I’m here for?” he said.
That’s a good question, Riley thought.
As Daddy set up a log to split, he said, “If you want to learn how to fight, take some lessons. You can’t get it all in one afternoon.”
As he swung the axe, he added, “As you can see, I’m busy getting ready to survive the winter.”
Riley was about to protest, but quickly realized it was pointless.
Her father was chopping wood with a relentless rhythm.
It’s like I’m not even here anymore, she thought.
She said, “Well, goodbye, Daddy.”
Then she added with some bitter sarcasm, “It’s been great seeing you.”
He didn’t reply, just kept splitting logs.
As Riley got back into her car and drove away, she felt her eyes stinging a little.
Don’t cry, damn it, she told herself.
After all, what did she expect to have happen? Did she think a little hand-to-hand combat training was going to magically change their relationship for the better?
At least the car seemed to be doing better as she drove it along the winding road down the mountain. As she took in the beautiful scenery again, she asked herself …
Was it worth it?
Should I have bothered coming here at all?
As she thought it over, she began to realize that the answer was yes.
She’d learned some useful self-defense tactics, but she’d learned something else as well—something that was harder for her to put her finger on.
Then she remembered something her father had said a little while ago …
&n
bsp; “If someone really wants to kill you, you’d better kill him first and get it done with.”
The sheer aggressiveness of Krav Maga had already worked its way into her system.
“It’s not a game.”
And understanding that grim fact made her feel somehow closer than ever to the killer himself.
*
Riley’s spirits began to sink during the short drive home.
Now she had real, mundane, everyday problems to deal with.
She’d been in a hurry to leave Ryan’s apartment, to get out before things got any worse between them. Then she’d been focused on going to see her dad and on everything that had happened there. During all that, she hadn’t given any serious thought to where she was going to live now.
She only knew one thing for certain. She’d never be able to sleep in the dorm room she’d shared with Trudy again. Perhaps, if she called her floor’s RA, she could get assigned another room with another roommate. But the idea of even setting foot inside the dorm building made her stomach feel queasy.
Sooner or later, of course, she’d have no choice. Most of her clothes and belongings were still in that room, and she’d have to get them somehow. Meanwhile, the few necessities she’d had brought over to Ryan’s apartment—toiletries, books, and changes of clothes—were right here in the car with her.
I’m like some kind of nomad, she thought as she drove into Lanton.
But where was she going to stay next? She couldn’t even sleep in the car, which she’d rented just for today.
When she pulled into the rental car lot, she remembered something. A couple of days ago she’d called Gina from Ryan’s house. Gina had said that she and her roommate, Cassie, couldn’t deal with the dorm anymore either, and they’d found somewhere else to stay. She’d given Riley their new phone number.
Wherever they were living right now, could they make room for Riley?
She turned in the car keys at the rental office and got her deposit back. Then she lugged her bags of belongs outside the building, where she’d seen a payphone. She dialed the number Gina had given her.
An unfamiliar female voice answered the phone.
“Hello?”
Riley stammered awkwardly, “Um—could I speak to Gina Formaro?”
“May I ask who’s calling?”
The voice sounded none too friendly.
“Riley Sweeney,” she said.
“I’ll go check.”
Riley heard the rattle of the receiver being set down. Then she heard voices and knocking. Finally came the welcome sound of Gina’s voice.
“Hey, Riley! What’s up? How are things going with that guy of yours?”
Riley gulped a little.
“Um, things didn’t work out so good with Ryan, and I …”
She hesitated, feeling more embarrassed by the moment.
Then she said, “Gina, I can’t go back to the dorm.”
Gina let out a sympathetic-sounding sigh.
“I hear you,” she said. “Cassie and I feel the same way.”
Riley said, “I was wondering … what are your living arrangements these days?”
Gina said, “Remember Stephanie White and Aurora Young? They lived on our floor in the dorm until last year.”
Riley remembered Stephanie and Aurora. They’d hated dorm life and had decided to find a cheap place off campus.
Gina continued, “Well, Cassie and I moved in with them. It gets a little crowded and nerves get frayed once in a while. Still, it looks like maybe it’s going to work out OK, with four of us to pay the rent and all.”
Riley stifled a discouraged sigh.
Four girls are living there already, she thought.
There didn’t seem to be any point in even asking if she could join them.
But then Gina said, “Hang on just a minute, I’ll go talk to Steph. She’s kind of the mother hen around here.” She added in a whisper, “She’s kind of a tyrant, if you want to know the truth.”
Again Riley heard the phone receiver rattling, then Gina talking with someone who sounded like the girl who had answered the phone in the first place.
Finally Gina got back on the phone.
“Steph says you can move in. We’ve got a little room in the attic that nobody’s using. We can work out your share of the rent when you get here.”
Riley suddenly breathed more easily.
“Oh, thank you,” she said. “That would be great.”
“Where are you? I’ll come and pick you up.”
Riley had almost forgotten that Gina had a car. Maybe her luck was starting to take a turn for the better. She told Gina that she was at the rental car place, and they ended the call.
Flanked by her bags of belongings, Riley slouched against the wall of the car rental building. She was suddenly seized by a wave of helplessness and futility as she thought …
I must look like some kind of bag lady.
And in a way, she couldn’t help thinking that that was pretty much what she was …
Just some homeless bum hoping people will be kind to me.
She choked down a sob and blinked back her tears.
It wouldn’t be good to be crying when Gina pulled up.
It just seemed hard to remember how she’d felt a little while ago, sparring so aggressively with her father, feeling truly powerful.
She certainly didn’t feel powerful now. She felt like a breath of wind would carry her away like a speck of dust.
She reminded herself …
He’s still out there.
And she felt in her gut that she was somehow fated to confront him someday.
And whenever that day came …
I’ve got to be strong, she thought.
CHAPTER THIRTY
Although Riley knew that the physical attack was coming, she felt eerily calm.
Even her breathing was perfectly under control.
As her larger assailant lunged and grabbed her by the left wrist, Riley’s own movements became eerily dancelike. Time seemed to slow down.
Is this really fighting? she thought.
It seemed more like dreaming.
She turned her own left hand in a small, graceful semicircle, twisting his hand loose from her wrist. Then she took hold of his hand with her right hand and subtly moved her hips, hands, and feet simultaneously. She raised her right hand up to his elbow and lifted it up over his head.
His whole body turned forward as if he were hinged at the waist. He fell to his knees and she held his arm up behind his now helpless body.
Both Riley and her attacker froze in that position for a moment.
Then she let him go, and he stood up and smiled at her—a bit flirtatiously, she thought.
Not that she minded.
She found him charming, good-looking, and likeable.
This was Riley’s first time attending the Aikido class in the campus gymnasium. When she’d gotten here, she’d been surprised to find out that the certified instructor was her psychology professor, Brant Hayman.
Professor Hayman called out to the class, “All right, everybody—switch ukes and toris.”
Riley had learned enough Aikido terminology to know that he was telling all the partners in the room to switch roles. The uke was the designated attacker, and the tori was the designated defender.
Now it was Riley’s turn to be the uke.
She and her partner had spent just as much time learning to attack and fall as they had learning the defensive maneuver.
At Professor Hayman’s command, she reached out and grabbed her partner’s wrist, and he turned his own hand exactly as she had a moment before. She felt her grip loosen, and then felt his right hand come up to her elbow. Her whole body cooperated with his as he lifted her elbow over her head and she slipped down to her knees.
They froze again. This time her partner was holding her arm up behind her.
“Very good,” Professor Hayman called out to the class. “Now let’s do some more breathing.�
�
Riley and her partner and the other ten people in the class moved into rows. Professor Hayman began to lead them in an exercise of gentle arm movements accompanied by deep breathing. Hayman had explained earlier that this exercise was all about increasing one’s ch’i—an Asian concept having to do with energy and flow.
As Riley breathed and moved, she found herself wondering …
Do I really believe all this stuff?
All during the class, Hayman had been using words that seemed to her to have nothing to do with fighting—harmony, creativity, spirit, and even peace.
She found it all strange and unfamiliar.
The brief Krav Maga lesson her father had given her several days ago had been all about sheer aggression—attacking fast and brutally. There was nothing brutal about what she was doing now.
Still, she had to admit, everything she was doing felt very good. It made her feel both relaxed and energized.
As the class continued, Professor Hayman led them through several more maneuvers interspersed with breathing exercises. Finally the class ended just as it had begun—with formal group bows.
As the other students left the gym, Riley walked over to talk with Professor Hayman.
He smiled and said, “Hello, Riley. What do you think of Aikido?”
“I’m not sure,” she admitted.
Hayman’s brow knitted inquisitively.
“What’s troubling you about it?” he asked.
Riley thought for a moment, then said, “Well, not to sound uncouth about it, but … will this stuff actually do me any good if I’m physically attacked?”
Hayman smiled again.
“That’s a good question,” he said.
“Well?”
Hayman looked away rather dreamily.
“Tell me, Riley,” he said. “If you were attacked—in a dark alley, say—wouldn’t it be good to be able to turn your attacker’s own aggression against him? To end the confrontation without having to fight at all?”
Riley couldn’t help but smirk a little.
She said, “I think I’d just as soon beat him to a bloody pulp.”
She was relieved when Hayman let out a hearty laugh.