Fearless (4 page)

ED FARGO PUSHED HIS WHEELS AS fast as he could. He sailed over the curb and bumped along the cobblestones. He’d often dreamed of running over somebody with his wheelchair, but he’d never actually done it before. His lungs ached for air and his arms ached with exertion as he plowed through the low bushes and into the guy with the razor blade. Thank God he’d been coming along Mercer just then. Thank God he’d heard the scream.

He heard the powerful meeting of metal and shin bone.

“Ahhhhhhh!” The attacker fell backward.

“Gaia, get out of here!” Ed shouted again. He’d never felt quite so important in his life.

She looked stunned. Why the hell wouldn’t she get her ass out of there? Was she paralyzed with fear? So traumatized, she couldn’t move a muscle? Thank God he’d arrived when he had. “Please go!” he commanded.

The guy with the razor blade fumbled back up to his feet, and his two accomplices came closer in for backup. Ed realized he didn’t have much time. Panic was taking hold of his chest. He looked at Gaia’s frozen form. He looked at the three hoods gathering for attack. Oh, man. This time their vicious eyes weren’t focused on Gaia; they were aiming directly at him. Oh, oh, oh.

His brain was spinning. His heart was pounding at least five hundred times a minute. The obvious thing to do was get out of there as fast as his arms would carry him, but he couldn’t. He couldn’t just leave Gaia standing there. She’d be slaughtered.

“What is wrong with you?” Ed bellowed at her. “Get the hell out of here
now!
“

Three big angry thugs were closing in and that stupid girl wouldn’t move. Panic was now weirdly tinged with resignation. He was dead. If they wanted to kill him, that is. Maybe they’d be satisfied just mangling him or slashing him to ribbons.

The biggest of the three took hold of the armrest of his wheelchair and gave it a powerful shove. Ed collided hard with the street and rolled from the toppled chair.

This was sad. It sure would have been handy if his legs worked right now. He looked up at the stripe of night sky between the old cast-iron buildings, waiting for the first blow. He put his arms over his face for protection.

Slam! He heard the sound of a foot connecting with hard flesh and then a deep moan. Was that him? Had he made that noise? He heard another searing blow. Jesus, was he so far gone, he couldn’t even feel the pain?

He moved an arm away from his face and cracked open one eye. He heard a groan and then a barking shout. Strange. He was pretty sure his mouth was shut. He opened the other eye and sat up. Then he shut both eyes again. Had he gone into cardiac arrest and died already? God, that was quick. Weren’t there supposed to be a lot of warm feelings and long tunnels and a bright light?

He simply could not have seen what he thought he saw. He was dead. Or hallucinating. Maybe that was it. His mind was dealing him some truly mind-bending hallucinations. Awesome ones, as it happened. He opened his eyes again. His mouth dropped open.

Gaia Moore, the lovely girl with the slim frame and sullen expression who haunted the back of his physics class, had suddenly transformed into Xena, Warrior Princess, only blond and even more beautiful. She crushed the jaw of Thug 1 with a roundhouse kick.

She struck Thug 2 in the chest with such violence, he was left gasping for breath. Thug 3 came swinging at her from behind, and she spun around and neutralized him with a stunning kick-boxing move he’d only ever seen executed by Jean Claude Van Damme.

Holy shit. Could this actually be real? Gaia’s dauntless, intense, angry face looked real. The thonk of her sneakered foot in Thug 1’s belly sounded real.

Unbelievable. Gaia was a superhero. Hair flying, limbs whirling, she was the most graceful, powerful martial artist he had ever laid eyes on. Her every move was a mesmerizing combination of ballet and kung fu. And not only was she magical, she was lethal. Thug 1 was writhing on the ground, Thug 2 was ready to flee. Although Thug 3 appeared to be rallying, Ed almost pitied him.

Suddenly Ed sucked in the moist night air. A chill began in his fingertips and crept up his wrists and arms. He saw only a flash at first, and then the image resolved itself. Thug 3 had a knife. Ed saw it clearly now glinting in the streetlight, looking awfully real.

Oh, my God.

Did Gaia see the knife? Did she realize what was coming? He certainly couldn’t tell by her expression. Her eyes revealed not even the tiniest hint of fear. Jesus, she was tough. That or paranormally stupid.

“Gaia!” he heard his own voice bellowing. “He’s got a knife!”

Her gaze didn’t flicker. She stood there motionless as Thug 3 went after her. She looked as if she were in some kind of deep meditation.

Ed was hyperventilating. He didn’t care how tough Gaia was; she couldn’t defend herself against an eight-inch blade. Presumably her skin was made of the same stuff his was. He had to do something.

He supplied his seizing brain with some oxygen, then dragged himself toward his wheelchair. He pulled it upright and set his sights on the slouching back of Thug 3. Ed’s legs might be useless, but his arm strength was formidable. He launched the chair like a missile.

Strike! The chair hit its mark, and Thug 3 staggered forward. Ed briefly registered the look of surprise on Gaia’s face as Thug 3 careened into her and sent her sprawling backward. His stomach clenched. Oh, God. That hadn’t been his intention at all.

Now the guy retrieved his knife and leaped on top of Gaia. Worse yet, from Thug 2’s cowardly hideout behind a parked car, he saw the tide turn and was racing back to join the fight. Ed dragged himself toward Gaia as fast as he could, his eyes fixed on her vulnerable throat and the knife hovering over it. “Stop!” he roared. “You’re going to kill her!” He felt tears stinging his eyes.

It happened so fast, Ed wasn’t sure he’d actually seen it. Gaia delivered a powerful kick exactly to the groin of Thug 2 and almost simultaneously struck Thug 3 in the side of the neck with her hand. Thug 3 rolled over, unconscious. His knife skidded along the stones. Thug 2 pitched to the ground, screaming in pain.

Gaia was instantly on her feet. She scooped up the knife and stepped over the prone body of Thug 3. Suddenly Thug 1 and Thug 2 seemed to forget their pain and sprinted for safety like jackrabbits in traffic.

Ed was watching Gaia, his heart overflowing with relief and admiration, when she surprised him again.

She got to the sidewalk and collapsed. Her legs literally crumpled under her body, and without a noise she fell in a heap on the pavement.

GAIA BREATHED DEEPLY AND WAITED for it to pass. She wouldn’t struggle to move or attempt to get to her feet. She knew by now it wouldn’t work. The only thing to do was wait.

Pretty much right on

schedule, she heard a noisy approach and felt a hand on her shoulder. Argh. She didn’t need to open her eyes to see the worried, eager face.

Once he’d reached her, she heard him collapse beside her. Listening to his labored breathing, Gaia’s heart was pulled forcefully by two equal and opposite desires:

Her desire to hug Ed for his valiant, misguided efforts on her behalf.

Her desire to murder him for being such an unbelievable pain in the ass.

“Are you okay?” He touched her shoulder again. She could hear the fear in his words.

She would have really liked to rouse herself right then. It was unthinkable that he should see her in this state of weakness—to see what happened to her after one of these episodes. And yet there was just no way around it short of killing him, which, though tempting, didn’t seem all that sporting under the circumstances.

“Gaia? Gaia?” His voice was rising with panic.

“Mmmm,” she mumbled.

“Oh, God, are you hurt? Did they hurt you?”

A yellow cab cruised past them, slowed for a stop sign, then drove on. If anyone in the car saw them, they apparently hadn’t felt the need to get involved. That was New York City for you. Its inhabitants set

a high standard for unusual.

With great effort she fluttered open her eyes and very slowly, by inches, shook her head. The sidewalk made a really bad pillow.

“What’s the matter? Should I call for an ambulance?”

She gritted her teeth. If she’d had any energy left, she would have rolled her eyes. “Mm. Mmm.” After another pause she reinforced it with another slight shake of her head.

“No? Are you sure?”

She wasn’t accustomed to anyone seeing her like this, and it was irritating. She found the strength to open her eyes for real and concentrate on Ed’s face. It had suddenly become a much more significant face—the face of the guy who knew her secrets.

Holy shit. How had she let this happen?

It was so ironic. So ironic and pitiful and stupid and weird, she wanted to laugh. For some reason this guy had become her self-appointed guardian angel and nearly gotten her killed in the process. How typical that her guardian angel would be a slightly scruffy ex-skate rat in a wheelchair who caused so much more trouble than good. How strange it was that he suddenly knew more about her than anyone else on planet Earth. (Except her father, of course.)

Gaia had been so careful over the years to keep

everything secret. It was another of her father’s curses:
I’ll make you into a freak and not let you tell anyone
. Not like she was going to tell, anyway. She had no confidant and meant to keep it that way. Besides, the strange facts of her life were all connected. Telling a little would ultimately mean telling a lot.

“Gaia? Please tell me you’re okay?”

It always seemed that when her body sank into this state of paralytic exhaustion, her mind zoomed into overdrive. She summoned the energy to move her lips. “I’m fine,” she whispered.

“You don’t look so fine.”

Patience, Ed, she asked of him silently. She felt the energy returning to her muscles. It was tingly at first, as if her whole body had fallen asleep. She groaned a little as she sat up. She studied Ed. Worried, terrified, astonished, concerned Ed. She couldn’t help but smile a little.

“I’m fine,” she said. She paused for breath. “Except for the fact that I may have to kill you.”

To: L

From: ELJ

Date: September 25

File: 776244

Subject: Gaia Moore

Last Seen: Mercer Street, New York City

10:53 P.M.

Update: Subject observed in fight with 3 suspected gang members, one armed with knife. Attack complicated by appearance of young man in wheelchair. Motive unclear Confirmed subject’s mastery of jujitsu. Subject displayed other martial skills previously documented. All 3 attackers subdued

Subject appeared injured but later observed to walk from incident unharmed.

To: ELJ

From: L

Date: September 26

File: 776244

Subject: Gaia Moore

Directives: Identify and create file on young man in wheelchair.

Issue immediate instruction: Subject not to be injured under any circumstances.

Repercussions will be severe.

There
is this other really freakish thing about me. I ‘ v e never told anyone. I ‘ d be way too humiliated.

Humiliation, by the way, is a truly terrible emotion. It’s at the bottom of the pile. Much worse than fear, I bet. Since I don’t have to have fear, why do I have to have humiliation? If only I could toss it wherever fear went. And while I was at it, I ‘ d get rid of anger, hurt, compassion, betrayal. And selfishness. Oh, and guilt. Definitely guilt. It’s out of there. Without all of those things, I think I could imagine maybe being happy someday.

Hey, that’s it. I, Gaia Moore, have discovered the secret to happiness. People have been searching for it since the beginning of time, but it took me, a seventeen-year-old with no philosophical, medical, or psychological training, to discover the truth:

Lobotomy. You don’t have to feel anything at all.

You heard it here first, folks. And a full frontal lobotomy probably costs no more than the average nose job.

Okay, where was I? Oh, yeah. No wonder I ‘ m digressing-I don’t feel like putting this into words.

I’m a virgin.

No, no. It’s way worse than that. I wish it were only that.

I’ve never had a boyfriend.

True, but nope. That doesn’t convey the depth of this particular humiliation.

I’ve never kissed anybody.

Okay, there you have it. Can you say “loser”?

Let me try to soften this information with an excuse or two. When I was twelve, I had something approaching a boyfriend, in a preboyfriend kind of way. His name was Stephen, and he lived around the corner. He was the one with the right kind of hair (light brown, straight, no cowlicks), the right kind of bike (specialized, like you care), the right kind of jeans (Gap, at the time). His parents had the right kind of car (red Jeep, good stereo) and a very large pool. For these reasons the popular girls sought him out. I liked him because he was secretly just as weird as me. We both played chess and knee football. We concocted these elaborate fantasy games set in Camelot or a mile under the sea, long after imaginary games are socially acceptable Cage four, roughly). We were nerdy enough to watch Bill Nye, the Science Guy, but cool enough not to admit that to anybody but each other.

Hold on. Wait just a second. Why am I telling you all this? Am I really so desperate that I ‘ l l try to pass off a neighbor without underarm hair as some kind of romantic conquest? This represents a new low.

But it points to something real, which is that I’m stunted. My love life got left behind with the rest of my life the autumn after my twelfth birthday. Eventually, when the moving van came, I told Stephen I hated him, just so as not to leave any threads dangling.

My life ended then, but I keep growing.

I usually pride myself on the fact that I don’t care about being a freak or a misfit. I don’t care what people think of me. But for some reason this kissing business, this lack of kissing business, bothers me, and I can’t pretend it doesn’t.

That’s the very worst thing about it, really. How much it bothers me. How much I think about it.

I’m going to be brutally honest-right now, and hopefully afterward I can snap back into some more comfortable state of denial.

Ready? Okay.

Of all the terrible things that have happened in my life-my mom, my dad, the life I lost-I’m such a vain, petty, and selfish person that I am most ashamed of the fact that nobody has ever kissed me.

This thought drives me to more than the desire for a lobotomy. This drives me to something worse.

Yo, Rapunzel. Forget the ladder. There’s a faster way down.