L. Sellers - The Gauntlet Assassin

“When do you compete again?”

“Not until Wednesday. They’ll run Challenges all day tomorrow and post my time for the Puzzle sometime after five.”

“Good luck. Show ’em how smart you are.”

“Thanks.” Emotions she never thought she’d feel again were bubbling to the surface. “I have to go now. Say hello to everyone for me.” She blew a kiss for fun, then felt foolish and signed off.

At six-thirty, she considered going out to dinner with the group who’d invited her, then decided against it. Her inability to eat solid food meant that most social gatherings were awkward for her. People always pushed her to eat and she never did. She also didn’t bother to explain why. Jackson was the only person who knew for sure about her condition and he understood without being told. Guilt was something he lived with too, even though he had no reason for it. Lara’s guilt was well-earned.

She made another small shake with a banana, milk, and protein powder and drank it while surfing the net for news. She felt like a junkie in need of a fix. She normally tuned in to the news intermittently throughout the day, but now she was going on twenty-four hours without any. The headline was a deadly flash flood in Illinois. She thought about Jason Copeland and wondered if he knew. If he did, would it affect his performance? The civil war in Syria was still going on, a tornado had hit the southern states, and summer temperatures were predicted to be in the 115-120-degree range for most mid-Earth locations. On the bright side, a Chinese doctor had implanted an autologous-liver into a patient.

As Lara read the details, the door burst open and Kirsten stormed in. Her roommate stopped between the desk and the couch and blocked the path to Lara’s bedroom.

“You little old bitch.” Kirsten’s face twisted with bitterness and her breath reeked of alcohol. “First, you get lucky in the tunnels, then you earn the sympathy vote. It’s pathetic. I should have won the Challenge.”

Lara started to laugh, then remembered the cameras. Had Kirsten forgotten about them or did she no longer care? “It was a fair competition. I’m sorry you’re going home.” It was the best Lara could do. Without the cameras, she would have told her to fuck off.

“Fair? They handicapped me at every phase because I’m younger and better looking.”

“Get real. I’m sure every male viewer in the audience gave you a constant thumbs-up.” Lara didn’t want this fight, but it wasn’t in her nature to roll over either. She knew it was best to isolate herself now. She started to go around her roommate, but Kirsten stepped in her way.

“I could’ve taken you in the Battle for sure.”

Lara bit the inside of her cheek. “I have twenty years of martial arts training. I don’t think so.”

“Let’s find out,” Kirsten taunted. “Let’s do battle.”

“No thanks. I’m saving it for the contest.”

Lara started past her again, and Kirsten leaned over, causing Lara to brush against her shoulder. Kirsten spun around, grabbed the back of Lara’s hair, and yanked. The pain and aggression sent a white-hot ball of fury into Lara’s brain. Her reaction was primal, beyond her control. She had sensed the move as Kirsten made it, so she threw herself in the direction of the pull, body slamming Kirsten and forcing her off balance. Lara released a quick jab from her waist and connected with her roommate’s soft spot in the hollow of her ribs. Kirsten made a strange grunting sound and went down to her knees. Lara forced herself to step back, rather than deliver a second blow.

“Don’t touch me again.” She spun and headed into her bedroom, where she locked the door. Lara checked her iCom: 7:59 p.m. Crap! The cameras had caught the physical exchange and would now shut off. She sat on the bed and took long slow breaths. Would Minda boot her out for striking Kirsten? It had been self-defense as far as she was concerned, but the director might not see it that way. Her fate depended on how the viewers reacted, Lara realized. This might be one of the circumstances in which Minda polled voters before making a decision.

Lara waited until Kirsten went into her own room, then she pulled on running shoes. She had to get out and work off some steam or she would never get to sleep, even with her meds. Lara strapped on her 9-millimeter, grabbed her room card and her mini-flashlight, and headed out. She would have liked to run through the neighborhood on the other side of the expressway, but she didn’t have permission to leave the property. She crossed the empty lobby and noticed the hotel clerk reading on his Dock. He didn’t look up.

She took an easy run and circled the outer perimeter of the arena property several times, losing track of the count. Her knees ached from the Challenge, so she didn’t push herself.

She re-entered the hotel and stepped on the elevator, thinking about how she would spend her free time the next day. The idea of sightseeing in the middle of the contest seemed weird now, and she decided to hang around the hotel and arena, in case something important about the competition came up.

On the third floor, Lara slipped her card into the slot and pushed open the door to her room. She flipped on the light and let out a startled grunt. Kirsten was on her back on the floor and appeared to be dead.

Six months earlier: Tues., Dec. 13, 5:07 p.m.

Paul took his third MetaboSlim before leaving work, washing it down with the remains of his afternoon tea. The diet pills were working incredibly well and he was down a pound since Saturday. They also gave him an energy and confidence he’d never had before. Tonight he would need both. Camille had noticed the change in him that afternoon and had commented that he seemed “perky.”

He would have preferred a more masculine adjective, but for someone who’d spent his life on the sidelines, it was great to be noticed. He’d asked Camille for the name of the gym where she worked out and decided he would join. He was beginning to understand that his makeover had to be more than just physical. He needed a social overhaul as well, and joining a fitness club seemed like a good start.

Outside, he peeled off his tie just to be rid of it and walked nine blocks to the nearby gym, battling a cold wind the whole way. His iCom beeped as he arrived at the new facility, so he stood in the lobby and answered it.

“It’s Isabel. Did I catch you at a bad time?”

“No, sorry. I’m hungry, that’s all. How are you?”

“I’m okay, but feeling tired. I’m a little worried about you. Why haven’t you called lately?”

“I’m sorry. I’ve been busy at work and have a lot on my mind. But I’m doing great. I’ve decided to get a nose job.” For some reason he hadn’t told her before. Maybe because it still didn’t seem real.

“Oh Paul.” She hesitated. “I think you’re perfect the way you are, but if it’ll make you happy, then I’m happy for you.”

“Thanks. I’m pretty excited about it.” The woman at the counter signaled him. “I’ve got to go now. I’m joining a gym. I’ll see you Sunday for dinner.”

“A gym? What’s going on? Have you met a girl?”

“I can’t talk about it yet.”

“Okay, but soon. Bye, sweetie.”

Paul spent half an hour touring the facility with a tiny Asian woman, then clenched his teeth and signed a year contract. He hated to spend the money but the wild weather made outdoor exercise nearly impossible and he knew his VEx had limitations.

When he finally arrived home, he took Lilly out for a few minutes, then scarfed down a chicken salad for dinner. Having food in his stomach took the edge off his irritation and he relaxed in front of his NetCom. First, he searched for a cosmetic dentist, then he watched a live cam of a woman in Montana who raised and trained Great Danes. Paul loved the creatures but the thought of owning such a big dog intimidated him. He stroked Lilly as he watched the woman teach a Brindle to sit and wait for permission to eat. “We’re not like that here,” he reassured his little pet.