The Fugitive

The Showdown

I wiped the sweat off my forehead. Maisie was fast, I'd give her that. What she lacked in strength she made up for in agility. And she certainly took every chance she could to use it against me.

I faked left, then right, then actually punched left. The hit clipped her arm, sending her off-balance, but she quickly recovered and returned to her fighting stance.

Neither of us had landed a solid hit on the other yet, but nobody was willing to take the first blow. Maisie was strategic. She knew what a hit could do to your mentality in a fight like this.

Some of her blue hair dye trickled down her pronounced cheekbones, carried by the sweat dripping off of her. Her eyes flashed fiercely, wildly, as if she was an animal. Her cheeks were flushed with the exhilaration of a real fight. I'm sure I looked the same.

Maisie launched a punch. I ducked her swinging fist and countered with one of my own. It was sloppier than I would have liked, but it made contact. I had landed the first blow.

She grabbed my arm and tried to flip me, but I kept my feet planted. I pulled myself from her grasp and used my body to ram her against the wall. She gasped as the air rushed out of her lungs. But she didn't hesitate. A hand reached out to scratch my face, one nail hitting its mark.

Blood. Blood was dripping down my cheek. Slowly, I brought a finger to the side of my face to touch the warm liquid. I hadn't felt such a sensation in a long time.

Maisie took the opportunity. Her first punch glanced off my chin. I noticed it was a feint too late, though, when the second caused me to double over. The ragged air I had been breathing left my lungs.

In my peripheral vision, I saw her hand zooming for my pressure point. I lifted a hand and deflected the blow, twisting her arm. Maisie had done it. She had underestimated me and left herself open. In a split-second, I had her arm angled behind her back and pressed her against the wall. Yet even as I forced her arm further and further, she didn't give up. Only a slight wince on her face betrayed her pain.

"Will it take me breaking your arm for you to give up?" I managed to ask.

"If that's what it takes," Maisie said breathlessly.

I frowned and pushed harder. Harder.

Pain exploded through my groin, and I involuntarily stumbled backwards. Maisie gave me a sly grin as she stretched her arm and curled her fists. She had kicked me.

I needed to do something unexpected.

I rushed her. Maisie braced herself, prepared to use my own momentum against me.

But the impact she expected never came. I dove to the ground and swept her legs out from under her. Quickly, I rolled out of the way so she wouldn't fall on me. I scrambled to my feet, but Maisie caught my leg and brought me down, too.

We grasped each other's arms and rolled around, locked in combat. Our sweat mingled and fell to the ground, but we both had eyes only for each other. Only for a weakness. For one mistake that would give us a victory.

With one final push, I managed to land on top of Maisie. Afraid to release her for even a second to deliver a finishing blow, I ran my hand up her arm to the soft spot where her shoulder connected with her neck. When my fingers sunk into the place, I didn't hesitate to dig in.

The lighting changed as a shadow was cast over the two of us. I didn't think anything of it, though, because I had to win. I was so close.

I should have paid attention to the shadow. That was Aldridge, delivering a karate chop to the side of my neck.

And then darkness.