The Magnet - Part 1

THE WITNESS

A woman’s scream peels around the corner. It passes one hundred sets of ears all humming with the anticipation for the squeal and slam of the guitars and drums being tuned and tested behind the concert hall’s door. There is a pause. A uniting question mark hangs briefly over all their heads. It dissipates into the sticky, clinging air of a Florida night in summer. Still, after the buzz of the cliquey crowd resumes, a few of Riverside’s denizens, the ones with the skittle assortment of shorts, interesting hats,ragged facial hair and the pixie cuts search the darkness that squeezes the hazy cast of the street lamps into incandescent mushroom heads.

The second scream never comes.

“Must have been a hell of an orgasm,” the one liner dances from a pudgy, balding man in his late twenties. He’s the kind of guy that thinks rocking a chin strap at this point is a good life choice. This earns a wave of chuckles ripple through half of the crowd around him. The other half stares angrily, taking it as a rape joke. However offended they may be by it though, they are swept into surging resurrection of the banter. It rapidly overwhelms the buzz of the streetlamps.

Calin Shaychilde knows what he heard. And while he may have smiled at the joke, he is well aware that around that corner a victim has been born.

As usual, he’s alone tonight. He’s bouncing on his apart from the everyone else, fingers squeezed into the small pockets of his fitted Levis.  He has not attended a live show since he was in high school.

He’d been surprised hours earlier when he stared up at the movie theatre’s marquee and found that he’d already seen every single one of the films. Upon hearing his plight, the ticket seller had suggested he head here to watch his friends band play. So he had, and he was honestly pretty excited for some live music.

The excitement is tainted now though. The scream still echoes through his skull. He knows it will remain. It will linger after every song dancing between the ringing of his ears and the hum of the amplifiers. It is his duty, as a human, to investigate. He knows. If somebody is suffering around the corner it is within his capacity to help. And nobody else is going to.

Sometimes all it takes is a witness.

Maybe.

But his feet have apparently been welded to the concrete. And the pounding of his heart, trying to beat itself through his sternum, is growing louder. He wants to help. Every moment that passes could be the one that the screamer dies, or is forced into a van, raped, mugged. This party of the city is old, something darker could over there. No. Stop. He tells himself to get control of his racing mind. He wants to help. He just can’t. His hands are trembling, jittering away even within the confines of his pockets.

He’s well acquainted with the feeling. It’s the same combination of symptoms that wracked him throughout high school, when he couldn’t decide whether he wanted to share an opinion about a book, or answer a simple math question. It’s the same time stretching sensation that wells up every time he has to demonstrate a skill in front the watchful eyes of any other person. It’s a ridiculous response. He knows that. And he knows that because of it he won’t be helping the screamer. He’ll ignore it like so many other urges. Which is why it bothers him. There is no reason to be nervous about something you aren’t going to do. He knows that.

He needs to ignore it.

He’s focusing on his breathing when the doors to the venue open. The crowd lets out a holler and begins to tightly shuffle through the entrance.

The pounding in his chest hasn’t grown any better. Another heavy heartbeat hits with each footstep toward the door. He’s taken three steps when he turns his head to look over his shoulder at the corner of the building the sidewalk cuts around. He turns completely around with his next step and rounds the corner.

Several yards down between the parallel parked cars and the iron stained brick of the building he sees them, a man and a girl. She’s pressed against the building. Her feet are not touching the ground his hand is around her throat. He’s bigger than any man Calin’s ever seen. Not overly muscular or weighty, he just takes up a lot of space. The girl is small, lithe, jet black hair in a wild mess around her head and shoulders.

“What did I say? Are you stupid, or do you just not listen?”

Her mouth opens and a painful cross between a gag and gasp escapes. Her fingers claw unfruitfully at his vice like grip as her legs kick uselessly beneath her.

His grip loosens and she crumples to the ground. “Fucking stupid.” The glow of a neon sign paints his face red.

She’s gasping in great gulps of breath. “I’m sorry.” She manages to say between coughs. Her hands tremble as she touches her throat.

His foot lifts from the ground. Calins knows the kick will kill or cripple her. Against the wall leans a broken metal post with a handicap sign bolted to it. He doesn’t even realize he’s closing the gap until the sign is in his hands and arcing toward the man. The aggressor sees the approach from the corner of his eye and raises an arm defensively. There’s contact. It's the hardest Calin’s ever swung something and the impact rattles up his arms in separate quakes that shake the bludgeon free from his grip. They meet between his shoulder blades and settle there painfully.

The man grunts, and leans to the side as his forearm absorbs the blow. A growl escapes his throat and his other hand wraps around the square, perforated rod as falls to the ground.

Calin ducks as the man arcs it powerfully toward him with a single hand. It whistles over his head and goes sailing over the car to clatter on the asphalt out of sight. He’s reaching for Calin now, who knows that this man’s hands will mean death. Calin dances past them and behind the man where he shouts for the girl to run.

Fear has her though and it isn’t until he shouts again, “RUN!” That she climbs to her feet and jogs on wobbly legs toward the corner. Calin watches her disappear around the building. The distraction earns him contact with a sledge hammer fist that sends him dancing into the brick wall. He hits the sidewalk. His vision is black, but he feels the man’s foot move the air beside his face, and hears it against the concrete as he takes a step. Calin’s hand grabs the tree trunk of an ankle and the man falls.

Vision a blur he pushes himself to his feet and moves passed the rising hulk. By the time he rounds the corner the lights are still screaming but his eyes aren’t swimming quite as much.

She’s not far ahead, pleading with the doormen to let her in.

“-out a ticket.” Calin hears the end of one their denials.

“Please.” It's a raspy whine. “He’s going to hurt me.

She’s turning to leave just as Calin reaches her. She looks passed him to see if he’s being pursued. He’s not.

“Hi.” His mouth tastes like blood, he can hear the swelling in his voice.

Her eyes search his face for a second before she turns away from him and starts moving down the sidewalk away from him.

He catches up to her with some effort.

“Hey, wait.”

“Leave me alone.” She walks faster.

He reaches for her arm to try and stop her. She recoils the  instant she senses his touch. “What are you doing?” Her back is pressed against a tall blue and white truck, her finger in his face accusingly. She’s angry.

“I’m trying to help.”

“I don’t need-”

“I’m sorry.”

There’s silence. He produces a key. “That's my Bronco you're leaning on. Let me drive you some place safe.”

She steps away from the truck door. “I don’t need your help.”

“I know. It’ll make me feel better though. Like that guy ruined my face for a reason.”

Surprised by this last statement she stares at his rapidly swelling face. “He hit you?” She seems doubtful.

He just nods, rubbing the spot. There's still too much adrenaline in his system for it to properly hurt yet.

“No.” She says getting back to the topic of him driving her. “How the hell are you even standing right now?”

“I’m tougher than I look.” He doesn't look like much he knows. It hurts to smile.

She doesn't smile back. Shock fills her eyes, and then her mouth twists into a snarl. A large hand pushes Calin forcefully out of the way. He looks back in time to see the girl's hand grab the man’s face. There's a flash of light and he’s sent sailing through the window of a shop.

Her eyes lock hard with his, they’re green as a river valley in spring. “Fine.”

He doesn't understand what he’s just seen. “Huh?”

She walks around to the passenger side door. “You can give me a ride, but you better be quick. He’s getting up.” She points to the form rising in the darkened shop.

The truck is already gone by the time the man has climbed bloodily back through the window.