by Rowan Casey
“What did you tell him?”
Dex grinned. “What do you think I told him? Nobody named Jessie Noble hangin’ ‘round here.”
“Thanks, Dex. Appreciated.”
“Anytime, girl. You know I got your back. Now go home and get some rest. More than one fool’s gonna show up tomorrow night thinking he can take you down and you gotta be ready.”
Jessie nodded and turned away, then slipped out the back door and into the street. Dex was right; she needed to go home and get some rest, but only after she tracked down her guy. She just hoped he was still at his usual spot and hadn’t called it quits for the night.
Forty minutes later, Jessie unlocked the door to her ramshackle apartment and slipped inside. The place wasn’t much to look at; just a one room studio with a tiny little bathroom off to the side. A counter ran along one wall, with a sink, a microwave, and a few dilapidated cabinets hanging above them. Most of the rest of the space was taken up by her refrigerator, a small wooden table with an accompanying pair of chairs, and the beat-up couch that doubled as her bed.
She threw her keys on the table, then stepped into the bathroom and took her kit out of its hiding place behind the toilet tank. Returning to the main room, she grabbed a glass out of the cabinet, filled it with water from the sink, and then took that and her kit over to the table. She sat down and removed the glassine envelope filled with grey-white powder she’d bought from her dealer shortly after the fight.
She held the bag up to the light, frowning at the color. It was greyer than usual, meaning it had been cut harder than she typically liked. She eyed it a moment, then thought, “Fuck it,” and went on with her preparations. She didn’t care; she hadn’t had a fix since the day before yesterday and the visions were already coming back. The smack, even badly cut smack, would keep them at bay and that’s all she really cared about.
Unzipping her kit, she pulled out her mixing bowl, spoon, and syringe. She opened the envelope, dumped its contents into the bowl, and then added some of the water from her glass, using the spoon to mix it all up into a milky-looking solution.
Jessie swapped the spoon for the syringe and, dipping the needle into the bowl, she pulled back the plunger until the syringe was filled with the desired amount. Kicking off her shoes, she pulled one leg up into her lap for easy access. Just as she’d done dozens of times before, she looked for an obvious vein – this time, it was one on her calf – and then injected the solution into it with a steady hand.
The job complete, she put the syringe down on the table where it wouldn’t get accidentally broken during her trip, and then rose and moved to the couch, her favorite place to ride things out. Settling into a comfortable position, she closed her eyes and waited for the drug to take hold.
From across the street, Dante Grimm stared up at the window that marked Noble’s apartment, watching the shadows play across the shade. He remained where he was even after they stopped moving, just to be sure, and then, with a glance in both directions for traffic, crossed the street and headed for the door of her building.
3
It didn’t take long for the heroin to race through her system and take hold of her thoughts and feelings. It pulled her down into the hazy netherworld of regrets and lost dreams, until she found herself back at the crossroads that had changed her life…
She stood at the entrance to the auditorium, looking down the aisle through the crowd at the octagonal-shaped fighting arena that she would shortly enter. She was here to take the bantamweight title away from the woman who had held it for the last two years and felt her heart sing in her chest at the thought. This was it; this is what she had worked so hard for over the last few years.
Twenty-five minutes from now, it would all be over, one way or another.
She stood there, her trainer and corner-man standing on either side, waiting. The crowd was loud and rowdy, making it hard for her to hear the words of encouragement her trainer, Emilio Williams, was trying to impart to her. Then the driving guitar and drum beat of her theme song – Ozzy’s Crazy Train – drowned them both out as it thundered out of the arena’s sound system.
The auditorium lights went down and she felt her energy surge as the spotlights high above the arena floor found her and her entourage standing in the entry corridor. She smashed her gloves together and strode confidently forward, ready for the challenge to come even as the crowd around her shouted and booed in equal measure.
Her opponent that night was Nadine Hagland, a 11-0 fighter who had successfully defended the title twice already, though the last match had gone to the judges for a split decision and Jessie thought it really should have been awarded the other way. She’d been taught to never leave the fight in the hands of the judges and she was determined to win or lose on her own merit that night. She’d either win, and win big, or go out in spectacular fashion; nothing less was acceptable.
The media, in its typical moronic fashion, had taken to calling the match the “Battle of the Blondes,” even though the official name was Noble v. Hagland, but Jessie didn’t care. All she wanted was the chance to get in the ring and prove that she was going to be a tougher opponent than some of the reporters were claiming she’d be.
Jessie’s own record was a solid 9-0, with an impressive eight of those wins coming from knockout as compared to her opponent’s five. But that wasn’t good enough for some of the media flunkies, who had focused on her unorthodox rise through the ranks, claiming she was taking the place of more “legitimate” and “deserving” fighters. Well, fuck them and the horse they rode in on, Jessie thought as she reached the steps and climbed up to the ring. Emilio held the ropes down so she could duck under. Once in the ring, she went directly to her corner, foregoing the traditional once-around-the-ring. She wasn’t here for the media circus; she just wanted to get on with the fight.
The lights dimmed for a second and the crowd went wild as her opponent’s entry music filled the arena, the bass pounding off the walls as Hagland made her entrance. Unlike Jessie, she played to the crowd once inside the ring, making a full circuit and then throwing a flurry of punches for the camera in the center of the ring before settling into her corner.
Jessie watched her but didn’t let her expression give anything away. Hagland had been making a lot of noise in the media about how she wasn’t worried about her opponent’s striking ability and the little show was no doubt designed to get under Jessie’s skin. Jessie wouldn’t give her the satisfaction; anyone could shadowbox for the camera.
A microphone was lowered into the center of the ring and the announcer took it in hand, ready to get the show on the road.
“Ladies and Gentlemen! This is the main event of the evening!”
“Sanctioned by The California Athletic Commission, Commissioner Susan Destafano, and Executive Officer Andy James. Our three judges scoring the contest this evening are Michael West, Damon Howard, and Marcus Rosales. And when the action begins, our referee in the ring will be John Lee.”
“A-a-a-a-nd now! This is the moment fans around the world have been waiting for! Live, from the sold-out Staples Center arena in Los Angeles, California! I-i-i-i-i-i-i-t’s time! Five rounds for the undisputed women’s bantamweight championship of the world!”
“Introducing first, fighting out of the blue corner, a mixed martial artist holding an undefeated professional record of nine wins, no losses. She stands five feet eight inches tall and weighed in at 134 pounds, fighting out of Venice, California, presenting the challenger, Jessie ‘The Berserker’ Noble!”
There were a few boos here and there, but for the most part the crowd was enthusiastic, as she’d expected them to be.
“And now, introducing the champion, fighting out of the red corner, a striker, holding an undefeated professional record of eleven wins, no losses. She stands five feet seven inches tall and weighed in at 135 pounds. Fighting out of Denver, Colorado, presenting the reigning, defending, undisputed women’s bantamweight champion of the world, Nadine ‘Knockout’ Hagland!”
Jessie stared directly into her opponent’s eyes, letting her know she was coming for her. Hagland stared back, her attitude full of arrogant confidence.
Lee leaned in between them to give the usual instructions.
“Ladies, remember what we talked about earlier, I want you to fight clean, fight hard, fight fair. Protect yourself at all times and obey my commands. Now touch gloves and let’s go!”
Jessie bumped fists with her opponent and then they returned to the respective corners to wait for the signal to fight.
When it came, just seconds later, Jessie moved in quickly. She knew that Hagland would try to shoot in on her and take her down, so her strategy was to stay on her feet as long as possible and punish her opponent with fists, elbows, and knees every time she went for the take down. When her opponent had worn herself out, Jessie would move in for the kill.
As strategies went, it was a good one. It spoke to her strengths and wasn’t too complex; no need to get fancy when plain old basics would do. Most of Hagland’s fights had ended in the first round. If Jessie could take it to the second round, or, better yet, the third, Hagland would most likely be too gassed to continue. When that happened, the fight would be Jessie’s to lose.
All she had to do was stay on her feet long enough for Hagland to get winded and start making mistakes.
The first round went pretty much the way Jessie expected. Hagland came charging out of her corner, intent on taking Jessie down and ending the match just as quickly as she’d done against previous opponents, only to run up against Jessie’s superior footwork and take down defense. The champion tried again and again to shoot in on her and Jessie made her pay dearly every time with a flurry of fists and the occasional knee strike.
Jessie hadn’t gone on the offensive even once during the first round, but by the time the bell sounded she was feeling pretty confident that she’d come out ahead in the judges’ scoring.
Back in her corner, Emilio felt the same apparently.
“One down, two to go. Work the plan, baby, work the plan!”
Jessie took a gulp of water and nodded. This was a championship match so it was scheduled for five rounds rather than the usual three, but Jessie knew Emilio didn’t expect it to go that far. Neither did she. She’d already beaten the odds by getting past the first round. She could do two more.
And then there’d be a new world champion.
The bell rang and Jessie went back to work. This time Hagland, however, was more circumspect, choosing to meet Jessie strike for strike rather than going for the takedown. It was a side of her opponent that Jessie hadn’t seen before and it threw her off her game enough to allow Hagland to break inside her defenses. One minute Jessie was standing on two feet and then next she found herself slamming to the canvas with Hagland swarming over her, trying to get into position to take her out with one of her trademark submissions.
But Jessie wouldn’t go out that easily. She and Emilio had known she’d end up on her back at some point in the match and so they’d trained hard at submission defense, drilling the moves into her until they were second nature. Hagland fought like a demon, but Jessie was able to hold her off long enough to wait out the end of the round.
As she climbed to her feet, she noticed Hagland breathing heavily through her mouth and knew her opponent had expended most of her energy trying to finish Jessie off. The fight was now even, with one round to each of them by Jessie’s reckoning, but the very fact that her opponent hadn’t been able to pull off the submission sent her spirits soaring. Losing the round didn’t matter; it was what she did in the next five-minute round that was going to make all the difference.
Hagland was gassed; it was time to press her advantage.
When the bell rang for the third round, Jessie went on the offensive, pummeling Hagland with a blistering series of strikes that had the other woman backpedaling as fast as she could, trying to get away from the onslaught. Jessie didn’t give her any quarter though; she relentlessly pressed forward, until she had Hagland cornered, covering up as best she could to withstand the blows Jessie was raining down on her.
Above the roar of the crowd, Jessie heard Emilio screaming, “Finish her! Finish her!”
Jessie intended to do just that.
She landed several punishing shots to Hagland’s midsection and then a crushing left to her jaw before the other woman slipped away to the left, staggering as she went.
Jessie pivoted, intending to pursue, only to come up short when, just like that, everything in front of her disappeared.
4
Her opponent, the ring in which she stood, the cheering crowd that filled the arena around them, hell, the arena itself! - they all vanished in the space of a single heartbeat.
In their place Jessie found herself standing on the edge of a grassy plain that stretched out ahead of her as far as she could see. A great battle must have recently been fought there for the ground about her was littered with the bodies of the dead and dying, the smell of blood and offal rising off them so heavily that she found herself gagging against the stench. She covered her nose and mouth with one gauntlet-covered hand, but it didn’t do much good, and she spent several seconds bent over at the waist wrestling her vomit-reflex back under control.
When at last she became inured to the stench, she slowly straightened, noticing as she did so that it wasn’t just her hand but her entire body that was clad in a suit of protective armor, like that worn by knights in the Middle Ages. A sword rested in a scabbard on a belt around her waist and lying on the ground near her feet were a helmet and shield, the latter bearing the symbol of large two-headed bird – an eagle perhaps? - its wings spread wide.
Jessie’s thoughts whirled at a maddening pace. Where on earth was she? How had she gotten here? What the hell was she doing wearing a suit of armor in the middle of a battlefield? None of it made the slightest bit of sense and she could feel a rising sense of panic threatening to overwhelm her.
A glance behind her showed that she stood with her back against the trunk of a large oak, no doubt for defensive purposes. The tree stood at the edge of a thick wood, the late afternoon sun casting deep shadows amongst the trees that seemed to twist and turn of their own accord. Jessie was struck by the notion that stepping beneath the boughs of those trees would spell nothing but doom for her.
Almost against her will, she found herself moving away from the trees and out into the sunlight, deeper into the field of battle, spooked more by the woods than the presence of the dead. She stepped carefully, doing her best to step around the bodies while trying to avoid the pools of blood that slicked the grass at the same time.
She’d only gone about twenty yards when noise behind her caught her attention. She turned, her hand instinctively going to the hilt of her weapon, but she needn’t have worried.
A massive white stag stood just within the tree-line, close to where she’d recently been standing. It was deep-chested, with a bit of swag to its belly, and its rank of antlers was so big that they caused its head to rock a bit as it took a few steps forward. The stag’s dark eyes were fixed so intently upon her that for a moment Jessie thought it was going to open its mouth and speak.
Thankfully, it did not.
It regarded her for a moment and then, with a seemingly contemptuous flick of its head, turned tail and bounded off into the undergrowth where it was quickly swallowed up by the encroaching shadows.
Having already started across the battlefield, Jessie continued in that direction. She hadn’t gone far when a shout reached her ears. Looking around, she saw a woman striding across the field toward her. The long gown she wore was stained in several places with what could only be blood, but the way she
moved, without hindrance or seeming discomfort, told Jessie that the blood was not her own. The woman’s presence here on the battlefield was so incongruous in Jessie’s mind that she stood rooted to the spot, waiting for the other woman’s arrival.
As she drew closer, Jessie could see that the newcomer had dark, shoulder-length raven-colored hair, porcelain skin that glowed with vitality, and features that looked like they’d been created with infinite care by a master sculptor, everything perfectly in proportion.
She was gorgeous, until you looked into her eyes and saw the danger lurking in their depths, saw the cold, reptilian disregard with which she viewed the world around her and you felt the cold hand of death reach out and stroke its finger down the length of your spine.
Jessie got a nice, long look into the depths of those eyes, for the woman strode right up to her, grabbed her face in both hands, and kissed her deeply on the lips.
“Well done, my knight!” the woman exclaimed, when at last she broke the kiss. Her voice was deep, smoky, and against her will Jessie felt something stirring deep inside her at the sound. In that moment, no matter what this woman wanted from her, she would have gladly given it, no questions asked, and a quiet voice in the back of her mind trembled at how easily the woman had usurped her will with but a kiss.
“You’ve dealt a sure blow to Arthur’s forces today. Well done, indeed. Come, let us celebrate!”
Knight? Arthur? Jessie had no idea what on earth the woman was talking about, but before she could say anything the woman slipped her arm in hers and began walking in the direction she’d been traveling when she’d first arrived.
Confused, wondering how the hell she’d gotten here, wherever the hell here was, Jessie allowed herself to be pulled along as she fought the confusion in her mind, trying to give voice to the thousands of questions that were vying for primacy in her mind. As she turned, her gaze fell upon a shield still strapped to the arm of the dead soldier who had carried it into battle and she got yet another shock as she caught a glimpse of herself in its polished surface.
