X (Kinsey Millhone 24)

I wasn’t concerned with any of the above just then. Oxygen deprivation is a speedy means of leaving this earth. I figured three minutes tops—unconsciousness followed by crippling brain damage followed by death. The pain in my lungs was searing, the need for air so acute that I nearly gave myself up to it. I could not make a sound. No air passed in or out of me, and the carbon dioxide in my system built so rapidly that I felt like I was being consumed from within. The hand was warm and fleshy, and if he’d been doing anything other than killing me, I might have appreciated his strength. All the times I worked late, the nights I’d stopped off at the market on my way home, times I’d found myself on empty streets in the dark. I’d always felt safe. I’d thought I was prepared.

Straining for air was pointless. I lay still, trying to signal submission. Did he know he was killing me? Of course he did! That was the point. My heart hammered and my blood pressure soared as my systems labored to feed my brain the oxygen required to continue functioning. Heat radiated through my chest and spread along my arms.

What aggravated the hell out of me, in the brief time I had for reflection, was the thought of all the time and energy I wasted learning to fight. Success at hand-to-hand combat is predicated on traction and balance, on the landing of solid kicks, on strikes with knuckles, elbows, and knees. I thought about all the orderly exercises I’d participated in, learning self-defense. In class, grabbing your opponent’s arm gave you sufficient leverage to turn the tables on him, dispatching your assailant with speed. Hair grabs and forearm blocks, heel stomps to your attacker’s instep, a chop to the back of his neck. Head butt, followed by elbow smash to the solar plexus. I could flip my opponent with the best of them. I couldn’t remember a training scenario in which I’d been flung to the floor while my aggressor stopped my breathing by the leaden application of dead weight, mouth and nose blocked until death ensued. I pictured the books on self-defense with the stern admonitions to jab your attacker’s eyes while you snapped a knee to his groin. In my current prone position, none of that was possible. I was going to die here and I wanted my money back.

I was tipping toward the swelling black. My hearing had begun to fade and a rising tone sounded in my head. The good news was that the pain was beginning to recede. It crossed my mind that you never think you’re going to die until you do.

He pressed his cheek against mine, and I realized he’d eased the weight of his knee and he was no longer pinching my nose shut. This allowed me to take in a teaspoon of air, for which I was profoundly grateful. He was whispering and it took me a moment to hear what he was saying. I expected to hear threats until it occurred to me that a threat would be silly when he was already in the process of killing me. I was still immobilized, but he’d eased his weight just enough for me to suck in a bit more air; not enough for normal breathing, but enough to ease my panic. I blinked and took stock.

His breath against my ear was hot, a cloud of Listerine fumes disguising whatever he’d eaten earlier. His voice was strained. Despite the efficiency with which he’d taken me down, he’d had to exert himself, and even though my struggle was minimal, his efforts had taken a toll. He whispered hoarsely, as though short of breath himself. When I’d seen him at April’s, I remember thinking he was soft. Judging from his pasty complexion and the bags under his eyes, I’d assumed he was weak. A miscalculation on my part.

He said, “I’m good at this. Really good, because I’ve had lots of practice. I can bring you back from the brink or take you out so far you’ll never get back. Are you hearing me?”

He seemed to be waiting for a response, but I couldn’t manage it. Warm breath against my ear. “Listen carefully,” he went on. “You have to stop, okay? Don’t insert yourself in business that’s none of your concern.”

I tuned him out, rejoicing at the feeling of air on my face. The pressure had lessened just enough for me to take in half breaths. I wanted to gulp. I wanted to suck huge mouthfuls down into my lungs. I didn’t want to hear what he had to say, but just in case it was pertinent, I decided I better pay heed.

“Leave it alone. What’s done is done and nothing will change the facts. Do you understand? No more of this.”

I couldn’t nod. I couldn’t even move my head. He was so matter-of-fact, it was disconcerting. If I screamed, if I even managed to moan (which I wasn’t capable of in any event), the mouth and nose clamp would come back. The idea filled me with horror.

“Don’t make me come after you again.” He spoke as though it pained him to spell it out, but anything that transpired from this time forward would be my fault.