Have you ever done a kettlebell swing? It’s an amazing exercise, one that builds core strength, arm strength, and legs all at the same time. There was a time I hated going to the gym, that working out was a chore. I even gave up running for a while, I think more out of apathy than anything.
When I’d returned to Reading, I’d finally gone back to running regularly, and felt so much better for it. But it was Crew’s suggestion I try some weight training along with my cardio that turned me on to kettlebells. And, I had to admit, I was hooked.
I’d never had upper body strength before, nor really any abdominals. I have to say, if you’re planning on being the focus of someone trying to kill you by pushing you around? Yeah, take up kettlebells. You’re welcome.
Even as I tumbled forward, my whole being shrieking in silent horror at the long, terrible fall ahead, my arms snaked out and grasped the railing, fingers digging into the wood, upper arms flexing biceps not so long ago weak and girly now strong enough to keep me from tumbling head over heels down to the stone floor and a broken neck.
My body flexed, tightened, legs bunching under me and pushing back against my attacker, though the pressure on me was gone before I could return the force. I stumbled to my knees, clinging to the rail with deathly attention, breathing harsh gasps into the air while Petunia barked her head off. At me or my attacker, I had no idea, but she stayed at my side instead of giving chase, which told me a lot.
As in, that whoever pushed me was male and she was already afraid of him.
Bill appeared from the dark, pounding up the stairs, Moose at his side, a door down the hall slamming open as Jill came tumbling out. Mom was close behind her, tugging at her robe, reaching for the row of light switches that returned illumination to the upstairs corridor. I sat down now that help had arrived, legs shaky, and cuddled my equally trembling pug.
“I guess we know who the target was after all,” I said. Tried to make a joke of it. Burst into tears. Sheesh, talk about lack of composure. But I was getting pretty freaking tired of people trying to kill me, thanks.
Not to mention the fact Crew was going to yell at me for this, wasn’t he?
Mom hugged me when I finally choked out what happened, Bill looking furiously around him, though there was nothing he could do right now. My mother spun on Jill who looked equally upset and frazzled.
“I thought all the doors were locked?” She didn’t mean to sound accusatory, I was sure of it, but from the way Jill flinched she took Mom’s words like a challenge.
We checked all the doors together, the men—and one woman—tucked in safe and either asleep, faking it, or demanding to know why Petunia was barking. Jill simply locked them all away again while I hugged the pug against me and refused to let her go no matter how much wiggling she did.
“If they’re all in there,” I said, keeping my voice down, partly to prevent the suspects from hearing me and partly to keep from freaking out, “does that mean I was right? The murderer is out here with us still? Someone we don’t know?”
Jill looked like she wanted to throw up. “We all stay together from now on,” she said.
“No, we make sure someone stays with Fee.” Mom hugged me again while my anger woke up at her words. Right, baby the poor little target. I was grateful for the push of temper because it straightened me out like nothing else.
“I’m fine,” I said, putting Petunia down. “Mom, I am. Here’s the thing. Petunia stayed with me. Whoever attacked me just now, she’s afraid of that person. And she’s only scared of men who she feels are intimidating her or mean her harm.”
Mom nodded, looking sad as she bend and patted the pug on the head. “Good girl, Petunia,” she said. “Poor thing. Robert has a lot to answer for.”
“Forget Robert, Mom,” I said. “I want to know what makes me a target and who thinks they can get away with it.” So there, shadow attacker dude. Growl.
We searched the whole building and found nothing. Nada. Zippopalloza. I was so tired by the time I went to my door and firmly closed it in Jill’s face with the promise I’d stay put the rest of the night (whoops, now morning), I fell on the bed and exhaled the last of my pent-up fear into the cool air while Petunia whined at my feet.
Right, no stairs to assist her ascent. I sat up, grasped her under her front legs as she stood up to allow me to lift her and heaved her into my lap. The reflection of the pug in the mirror caught my attention, held it.
But not because of the two of us looking back at me, the pug licking her lips as she settled on my knees and tipped her head to one side, black triangle ears lifted. No, because for some reason that same wardrobe door, previously closed, now stood partially ajar.
I set Petunia back on the floor and stood, hands shaking, pulling the door open the rest of the way. Nothing, just an empty wardrobe. Right? Wait, no, not exactly. Because the front door to the big piece of furniture wasn’t the only thing ajar. The back panel seemed crooked.
When I touched it, it clicked, the wood swinging softly open and I gaped, heart now in my throat, down a dark and quiet tunnel that disappeared into utter blackness.
***