Chapter 10: Breakdown
The door wouldn't open.
"Goddamn it, why won't the door open?!" Maron shouted. The other fighters had started to gather around him, and even Announcer Guy had been rendered speechless. This went well past the count of 10 and a forfeit. Maron heard something on the other side of that door – he'd heard a scream. It came as a noise he'd never encountered before, but he knew all he wanted to. Something happened to Soaka, and he needed to know what it was.
He dove into the door with his shoulder. It caved a bit, but it did not open for him. At this point, he resorted to blindly pounding against it again and again.
It wasn't until someone bearhugged him and tugged him away fiercely that he stopped trying to get back. "Maron!" he heard Carpenter's voice call. "You've got to calm down, Maron!" Even though he knew it was pointless, Maron kept up the struggle. It wasn't until a whisper finally brought him down to earth that he calmed at all, "You're scaring Surrell and Mora half-to-death."
With only his eyes, he glanced towards their direction. They'd risen from the bleachers together, leaning in and whispering about… well, something. It was either Maron losing his mind or Soaka's absence, or maybe both. Either way, he had to center himself. His calm had to make its presence, even if he didn't necessarily welcome it at that exact moment. "Okay, you can let go," he whispered back.
Slowly and with reluctance, he did just that. Maron stood at ease for a moment and ran his hands over his face, then the top of his head, and all of the way to clasping them behind his neck. The suspense ate at him.
A surprising thing happened just then – "Step aside," came a voice, "let me get the door open."
Maron turned to find out just who it was that made this bold claim, only to see Jocan strolling his way up to the door. He gave it a good look and then whipped his hair a bit. To be fair, he never said that he he'd do it without bravado. "Damn near smashed it in," he said as he turned to Maron, "must've been one hell of a blast." Not aware that he did it, Maron rubbed his upper-right tricep, only faintly aware of the aching pangs that shot through them. While he did that, Jocan spun around, took a single step back, and lunged forward, pushing with all of the strength his legs could muster.
The foot connected with the flat steel and sure enough, the door busted out of the frame and fell to the floor the other side. Maron thought he might've heard Announcer Guy mention something about property damage, but no one really cared. Why should they? A fighter was not only missing, but many had to have heard the scream of pain that came from the other side.
Jocan stopped dead once he started towards the corridor. Maron pushed his way through the thin group of people who had managed to steal a spot in front of him in his effort to get a good look at what had transpired on the other side.
What he saw he did not expect, and it rocked him to the core. A blonde heap sat on the ground, not moving or responding to any of the noise around it. His right arm hung in an unnatural way – the elbow pointed one direction, the hand in a most unexpected one. From the head flowed a thin trail of crimson, slowly eeking its way towards the middle of the hallway. The early sun's light beamed into the room on the opposite wall, making the rag doll body lurk in the shadows. Little doubt remained then of what had happened – someone had gotten to Soaka, and they'd done it in a bad way. The only questions that remained were who had done it, and why.
They'd pay… that much Maron knew. The rotten son-of-a-bitch bastard who did this was going to pay. He'd feel a pain like he'd never felt before. A hurt was coming to this fiend like no other. His whole body shook and tensed in anger.
Yet he had to keep calm. Such became to the dichotomy of the situation. He knelt down by his friend, turned to Carpenter, and merely said, "Call an ambulance."
Surrell and Mora made their way around the corner, and both made to move towards Soaka. Somehow, he'd never really remember how he did it, Maron managed to catch both of them and hold them back. All that he could ever remember was saying, "Space… please, he needs space." Whether or not it was true didn't matter. Then and there, he knew, they all needed to step away.
He stood there, clipboard and clicking pen in hand, reading off his notes. The doctor was a man obviously entering his middle years, bits of smoke started petering around the edges of his coal hair. Glasses sat across his nose reassuring that his eyes had passed their prime and started their decline along with them. His stiff posture revealed the nature of a true and tried professional who'd seen it all before. Maron realized that he was glad this was the man who'd be treating Soaka. "Firstly, the good news is that there is no real, permanent damage," the room released air all around as Mora wiped a tear away from her face. Carpenter exhaled heavily. Surrell grabbed Maron's arm in optimism and thanked her lucky stars. All the while he remained completely stoic, trying to keep any weaknesses hidden. The right arm is completely snapped, it'll need surgery to be repaired," he stated. "In addition, he suffered some internal damage surrounding the spinal area."
"The spine itself wasn't damaged?" Surrell asked. Maron had to be impressed with her. She had shown maybe even less emotion during all of this.
The doctor shook his head. "In something of a small miracle, a lot of the impact damaged to his back area was absorbed thanks to a weighted shit he was wearing at the time of the fight. The microweights shielded his back from the brunt of it."
"When can we see him?" Mora asked.
A frown said it all. "The intention is to treat the arm injury right away. The sooner that's mended the better he'll be. You'll see him ahead of time, of course, but he'll be out for another day before you'll get any real communication out of him."
A single day… would that be enough time? Maron turned to Surrell and started speaking quietly to her. "Will you be able to keep Mora company this long?"
The harsh nature of the look came unexpectedly. "You think you know who did this, don't you?" she asked.
Maron looked to Mora, trying and failing to hide her misery at her son's misfortune. Carpenter stood behind her, uneasy but as solid as he'd ever been. He didn't want either of them to hear this, so he gently guided her away from them. "I can't know for sure, but I've got a pretty good idea who was behind it, yeah."
Surrell shook her head, "It wasn't Johnny," she stated. "There's no way he's strong enough to take down either of you."
He shook his head. "Not alone, no, but with someone helping him…"
She stared at him a moment, expecting him to finish. It took a brief while, but then a knowing look came across her face as if to tell him that she knew exactly what he thought had gone down. "You think that pale guy had something to do with this?"
"Well, you met the guy. He just happens to introduce himself to us the day before this all happens? I don't think that's coincidence."
She opened her mouth to retort, but a sound came from behind Maron that he had not expected to hear in the slightest. "It's no coincidence." At first, a statement like that made him think Johnny, but the voice didn't match the person. No, it was the voice of an older man. One filled with knowing wisdom and confidence. He'd grown so familiar with its sound in the past months that just hearing it alone brought a wave of relief to him.
Still, all he could muster was a stupid, "Saizu?"
"David called me when you found Soaka. I took the first train available."
Maron turned to Carpenter… David? Wait, his name was David? God, he'd thought his name was Coach for the longest time, too… Without speaking, Carpenter communicated everything to Maron. He called Saizu down here for a reason.
"As soon as I heard the name Craig Turner, I knew something awful had happened," he said. His old habit of stroking his goatee returned. Even after a long train ride and months away somewhere, he still looked refined and solid as oak. So good at hiding his emotions, Maron tried to couldn't discern anything about Saizu's involvement with Craig. "Unpredictable, violent, misanthropic… he's all of these things. It's to be expected though, sadly. When one chooses a life on the Powder, they choose a life like his…"
He couldn't help but notice the waiver in his master's voice a little. There was more to the story than he let on, but Maron didn't want to find out what it was. No, nothing mattered to him other than Craig. His rage boiled over again. Anger overcame him like a tidal wave crashing into rocky cliffs, and finally the rocks started to crumble. He put his hand on Surrell's shoulder and told her, "You'll be okay with Mora, right?"
Surrell shook her head. "No."
"You have to be strong for h-
"That's not what I meant," she told him. For the first time all day, he really took a good look on her. Her typically smooth and refined brunette hair was sticking out every which direction, her jacket hung loosely over her summer clothing, her eyes spat fire. Surrell didn't need Maron to tell her to be strong. How he hadn't realized it earlier baffled him – Surrell simply was strong. "Maron, I know what you're thinking, and you can't go through with it, okay?"
Mouth agape, no doubt eyes filled with a fire just like hers, he looked from Mora to Carpenter to Saizu. Three faces, three identical messages: Soaka needed him there. In all likelihood, they were right. The two were brothers; every experience in life, they'd gone through together. From first days at school to standing up to their bullies to learning the ways of ki, they'd always been side by side. And now Soaka was bed-ridden, broken by a man stronger than any challenge they'd gone up against before. A vicious foe who struck with sheer brutality. He'd hurt his best friend, he'd hurt his brother. Soaka stood up to him and he was alone. Three faces and three messages… Maron knew they held themselves in the right course of action. And a fourth had bluntly stated the same to him.
So why did he stubbornly shake his head? "No. It's not okay. I'm going to find that son of a bitch, and am going to get the answers I need."
He turned before anyone could say otherwise and began walking towards the entrance of the building. Mora called after him, and he heard someone's footsteps following closely behind him… They couldn't understand, though. They couldn't stop him. He and Soaka went through everything together, and Soaka fought and Soaka lost, and even if it meant doing the same, Maron knew he couldn't rest until his friend was avenged. Now it was Craig's turn to share their experiences. Concussion, broken arm, bruising around the spine… Concussion, broken arm, bruising around the spine… Concussion, broken arm, bruising around the spine… He repeated it over and over in his head like a little prayer to gods. For every injury Soaka suffered, one for Craig.
He reached the threshold of the hospital entrance, still repeating the injuries in his head, when a forceful grip pulled him back and turned him around. Two pairs of eyes met, one Maron's, and one Saizu's. "Maron," he said, "You've learned a lot from me in the last few months in the ways of martial arts. Now hear a lesson of mine from my life experience."
He nodded in reply, giving him one shot.
"Choosing a dark path only leads to more darkness. You hear tails about redemption and coming out a better person, well forget about it."
"And so what? Wanting to help my friend is a dark path?"
"Even if the reasons are justifiable, a dark path is still a dark path."
Maron stopped a moment to think over the words he'd just heard… Saizu's gaze never stopped piercing him as he did so. The longer those eyes locked in, the longer the words lingered, the more they both bored underneath his skin and into his core. God, what had he been thinking? What could he do? He suddenly felt an overwhelming urge to start crying.
His face contorted, he shook his head and managed to breath out, "I don't know what to do." Saizu, hands still clasped around Maron's shoulders, gently bowed his head in response. "I've never had to deal with this before, Saizu." It was the first time he'd ever referred to Saizu as anything other than a formal title. This wasn't his master or his teacher standing there with him. This was a friend. "I want to hurt him so bad."
He let go of Maron, stood up straight and heaved a heavy sigh. "Of course you do," he told him, "and perhaps in time you will get your chance."
"What happened between you and him?" he asked.
For the first time, Saizu looked rattled by a question. His face went through about four different emotions in such rapid succession that it was wonder a face could adjust so fast. He breathed off-time for a moment and looked around the room. Uncomfortable feelings swallowed the air around them. Just for a bit, he stared over to a family resting in a corner. A father, son and daughter all together, no doubt here for a relative of some sort. Perhaps the mother? It didn't matter, Maron realized. The family stuck together.
The two of them silently agreed to end the conversation and return to the group. When he returned, Mora walked over to him, guided him to a chair in the corner, and gave him a hug. "I know you think you need to be strong for us," she said.
He knew what she meant. After spending the whole day thinking he'd been the centered, focused one of the groups, Maron knew, they all had to be strong for him.
"The doctor says he'll need to rest up for another night before he can take any visitors," Surrell told the group. "I'm going to stay here for the time being…"
Carpenter nodded. "I'll wait with you," he said. He turned to Maron and Mora, "I think you two should take the opportunity to get some rest." Maron opened his mouth to protest, but Carpenter cut him off. "Soaka will be fine. Now it's you two that need to take some time to recover. The second we get word from the doctor, we'll get in touch with you."
Maron bowed his head and next to him, Mora only nodded. "Just… let me know if anything happens," she said.
"Of course."
The two of them left, got in their car, and went home. They didn't speak. They didn't have to. What could be said? There was no small talk to be done, no chit-chat to be had. Deep down inside, both were so exhausted that they knew the second their heads touched their pillows, they'd be out. Even with all of the worries and panic and anxiety, wear and tear will win out eventually.
She hung a right on to their street, the sun low in the sky signaling the start of a new day. God, what had happened to the last day? What did they do about the tournament? Where were they going to go from here? All of this spiraled around in his head as he started to close his eyes.
"Maron," came the voice of his mother. He shot up instantly and looked at her. She'd parked in their driveway, but hadn't turned off the car or moved at all. She gripped the steering wheel as tight as humanly possible, knuckles white and arms shaking. Her eyes focused solely on the front door of their house.
He followed her gaze, and realized instantly why she had grown so concerned.
The door had been knocked off of its hinges.
Maron threw his seatbelt off, flung the car door open, and gave her an ultimatum. "Wait here. If you see anything, call for me."
He threw the door shut and looked to the house. All exhaustion wiped away in an instant, he stepped meticulously towards the entryway. Someone had broken into their house, but he had the drop. His breathing shallowed. His heart raced. Step after step, his mindset bounced from one extreme to another. Deep within his aching guts, he hoped the dark path had been walked for him.
And then he raced in.