Fight the security guard

The guard's hand is firm and insistent upon my shoulder, but instead of giving in, I square my shoulders and clench my fists, determined not to back down if it that's what it takes to get to the bottom of this insidious rash of suicides. I charge at the guard, feeling a wild, adrenaline fueled rage course through my veins.

She is bigger and stronger, with longer reach, and manages to land the first few punches on me, her knuckles connecting with my jaw, my ribs, and my stomach. If not for my demonic bloodline, I'd drop like a sack of potatoes. As it stands, each blow sends shockwaves through my body, but I grit my teeth, refusing to falter.

As the security guard charges toward me, I instinctively pivot to the left, sidestepping her lunge. I simultaneously kick out with my right leg, delivering a lightning fast roundhouse kick to her torso. The **** of the strike knocks the wind out of her, and she stumbles back, drawing the baton from her belt.

I dodge one of her wild swings, coming inside of her reach. She is over-balanced and I seize the opportunity. My right palm connects with her chin, and I can see a glint of pain and surprise flash in her gaze as she reels back. I follow up with a swift stomp to her inner knee, sending her stumbling and grunting. I don't relent.

Wasting no time, I spring forward, locking my right arm around her neck in a chokehold. I squeeze hard, cutting off her air supply, and feel the guard's struggles weaken. In a smooth, practiced motion, reaching across her body, I apply a wristlock, dislocating her shoulder as she lets out a guttural scream of pain.

The guard's grip on the baton gives way, and the weapon clatters to the ground. I can see the blood dripping from her nose, her blows no longer connecting with the same ferocity. Finally, I deliver the coup de grâce, my fist crashing into her jaw, rendering her ****. I stood over her, panting, feeling a strange mixture of exhilaration and exhaustion.

The hellish fury that had driven me begins to dissipate, replaced by the cold realization that I've gone too far. I lean down and shake the **** guard, hoping to rouse her, but she remains motionless. Red and Mouse and the other girls have long sense fled from the fountain, and other students are filming me on their phones.

I step back, a sickening sense of guilt weighing on my conscience. I can hear my mother's laughter, echoing in my head. I wipe the blood from my knuckles on my shirt, turn, and walk away from the scene. I've tasted victory, but at what cost? The stakes have risen immeasurably. I can see a pack of guards descending on the fountain, their radios crackling with urgent messages.

I dash back to the pickup, reverse it, and tear away from Williams Women's College. Sirens wail in the distance, the approaching wail of police cruisers. My time is up. Adrenaline courses through my veins, urging me to move swiftly. I make a beeline for the motel, scanning for any signs of law enforcement.

I manage to pull up stakes and toss my gear in the truck, pulling out just ahead of a few cruisers, their flashing lights reflecting in my rearview. Without wasting another moment, I swing my pickup truck onto the back roads, my heart thudding in my temples. I feel like a fugitive, an outcast.

As I near the city limits, I can't shake the infuriating feeling of failure that clings to me like a shroud. I'd let the guard get the better of me, and now, the weight of my actions and the unanswered questions haunt me. I have **** but to head out of town, leaving the mystery of the suicides unresolved.

THE END