The Cure May Kill You: A Cassidy Hudson Mystery

by Carlie Lemont

  Abuse and violence could happen to anyone of any age, and those in attendance proved just that with the wide variety of people. Cassidy’s attention was drawn to one particularly young-looking woman who couldn’t have been a day over twenty-five, dressed in a yellow Lycra unitard and what appeared to be purple hand-knitted leg warmers. She’d partnered with another woman sporting blue eye shadow, green hair extensions, and three-inch-long fingernails that’d been painted black, each pinky nail pierced with a dangling cross earring.

  “Classy,” Cassidy said, before receiving a muttered rebuke from JJ. She blinked. “What? I thought I said that to myself.”

  “Oh my goodness. How old do you think she is?” And JJ pointed discretely.

  To her left stood a woman who gave true meaning to the expression “as old as dirt.” She appeared to be in her nineties, thin, but still surprisingly mobile as she managed the soft mats with the ease of someone two or three decades younger. Cassidy smiled, admiring the woman’s spunk and desire to defend herself, even if the physical therapist in her was concerned that the woman might be killed if she was taken down to hard. Or at least break a hip or shoulder. Gym mats would do little to protect withered old bones eaten away by osteoporosis. Cassidy had seen the x-rays, and Swiss cheese had fewer holes in it. Getting old was hell, or at least that’s what her patients had always told her.

  All around the room, people displayed typical behaviors of those forced into a confined space with strangers. Some chatted loudly so everyone else had to partake in their obnoxious conversation, while others sat and read magazines or played on their phones. One particularly unsettling scene, however, was unfolding against the far wall of the makeshift gymnasium: a woman sat alone, devouring a foot-long frankfurter mounded high with chili and onions. Just the thought of the woman’s breath, or any potentially toxic fumes erupting from deep within, made Cassidy shudder.

  And no sooner had she had that dreadful thought, when the horror manifested itself in the form of a deep, rumbling belch that exploded from the woman’s face. But it didn't phase the woman, she continued to chew furiously, before swallowing the food with a diet coke chaser. Then it started all over again with another large chomp of the chili-drenched wiener.

  Cassidy began to rethink her decision to take a self-defense class. Who needed self-defense, when they’d rather be dead?

  She tried to clear her mind with something else, but became all too aware of something that wasn’t entirely lost on JJ.

  “I’m the only male here,” he said. “I knew this would happen.”

  “Well, maybe you can find that special someone”—at this, Cassidy used air quotes—“to share your life with.”

  “I hate you.”

  “You love me, and you know it.”

  The heavy wooden double doors that kept the smell of the gymnasium from wafting through the rest of the building burst open, and everyone in the room turned to the oddly dressed man who walked in.

  “Okay, ladies!” he announced with a loud clap. “I need everyone’s attention!”

  Cassidy elbowed JJ. “See? You’re not the only guy here.”

  JJ walked away in disgust and sat against the far wall, waiting for further instructions.

  The obnoxious man sauntered to the center of the room, dressed in clothing that must have come from a thrift store back in the 80s. “I’ll be your instructor today. Everyone, please remove your shoes. I don’t want the mats to get ruined.”

  Oh no! Cassidy’s face drained cold. I think I’m going to be sick. I’m not prepared to see these people’s feet!

  She rushed over to JJ. “Hey, I can’t do this. Come on, let’s go.”

  But JJ merely gave her a squinty-eyed smirk. “Not on your life,” he said, discarding his own shoes. “This was your idea.” He then removed his socks, waving them in her face. “Come on, Cassidy. Take off your shoes.”

  “Hurry up, people!” the instructor said. “Hey, blondie! You’re holding up the class. Get your shoes off and come sit. I have some instructions to go over before we can begin.” Then, he adjusted what Cassidy hoped was just a protective cup in his pants.

  Cassidy grimaced, but succumbed to the peer pressure of all eyes trained on her. She peeled off her Louis Vuitton pumps, and one at a time, her bare feet eased down onto the dirty old mat. Defeated, she hung her head and sat next to JJ in the circle.

  “Honey, would you like a pair of socks?” the elderly woman said.

  Cassidy looked at the offered socks, which seemed to have been freshly laundered, so she accepted the gift. “Thank you very much. Can I give you some money for them?”

  “Oh, that’s okay. I borrowed them from the nursing home. My husband, Morty, lives there.”

  “Well, thank you very much. I truly appreciate this.” Cassidy pulled the clean, soft fabric over her feet.

  JJ leaned close. “Bad idea to wear heels to a self-defense class.”

  “But I always wear heels, and I figured I’d need to learn how to fight wearing my normal clothes. Plus, my legs look really hot in those LV’s.”

  The instructor circled the group like a predator—quiet, unnerving.

  Finally, he broke the silence. “Now that we’ve all decided to follow my instructions, I’d like to personally welcome each of you ladies—u... and gentleman.” He nodded over to JJ, who squirmed, turning fifty shades of red. “We’re all here today to learn how to defend ourselves. Each of you will have had different circumstances that led you here to me. My goal, though, is to teach you all the same thing: self-reliance. So, from this point forward, you will no longer be afraid. You are all strong, empowered, capable individuals who’ll never again be called a victim.”

  Three people clapped.

  No matter how inspiring the instructor tried to be, Cassidy couldn’t stop staring at everyone’s feet. The biggest offender was the woman across from her with calluses so thick, Cassidy had no idea how she even managed to wear shoes.

  She leaned closer to JJ. “People with ugly feet should never go barefoot.”

  “If you think that’s bad, look at her.” And he gave a curt chin toss toward a pair of feet with deeply cracked heels, soles as clean as a truck stop toilet, and long ragged nails that had something green growing under them.

  Cassidy turned away, suppressing her gag reflex. “I think I’m going to be sick.”

  “Oh look,” JJ whispered, “she’s picking the nails now.”

  Cassidy grimaced, and tears flowed down her cheeks.

  “Well, what do we have here?” drawled the instructor, who’d sauntered over to them during his class greeting. “Does someone have something they’d like to share?”

  “No...” Cassidy wiped away the tear and squinted at the instructor’s nametag. “Jagger. Why? Can’t a girl wipe away a few tears without getting the third degree?”

  Jagger barked out a strange guttural noise that was some kind of laugh. “We haven’t even started yet and you’re already crying. Thought maybe you had something you’d like to say to the class.”

  Cassidy scowled. “The only thing I’d like right now is a full decontamination shower. This mat’s harboring some seriously disgusting disease and fungus.” She fought against the desire to cross her arms, unwilling to touch her own clothing since her hands had made contact with the flooring earlier when she’d sat down. “And by the looks of the feet in this room, I have a feeling many of you have been here before. Listen up, people”—Cassidy clapped her hands—“other than toenails, nothing’s supposed to be growing on your feet. If you need the number for a doctor, I can provide you with that after class.”

  At this, the group gave a collective grumble, and the woman with the petri dish toenails, tried to hide her feet. Guilt tugged at Cassidy, but she wouldn’t apologize—no need to—and JJ, who should have been used to this kind of outburst by now, clutched his face in his hands.

  Jagger snorted. “What did you say your name was?”

  “Natasha,” Cassidy said.


  “Funny”—he scanned his clipboard—“there’s no Natasha on the roster.”

  “Oh.” She glanced around the room. “What, this isn’t the basket-weaving class? My bad. Come on, JJ. Let’s go find the right class.” And she tried to pull JJ to his feet, but he wouldn’t budge.

  All at once, someone rushed up from behind, wrapped a meaty arm around her neck and wrenched her arm behind her back.

  “Let go of me!” Cassidy said, voice cracking. A handful of people gasped, but others chuckled, and even clapped at her uncomfortable situation.

  Panicked, Cassidy wriggled back and forth, attempted to elbow the attacker, and even tried to drop to her knees. Nothing worked; the more she struggled, the more her fears and emotions spiraled out of control. So, she doubled her efforts, clawing at the vise-like arm around her neck. She wanted to cry, wanted to fight, wanted to master the situation. Hot breath wafted over her nape, and that was the last straw. Cassidy screamed and flung her head back, solidly cracking into the face of her attacker.

  “Whooft!” Jagger stumbled back, reaching for his face. “Nicely done! Did everyone see her progression of emotions, the decisions she’d made, consciously and subconsciously?”

  The group’s impressed affirmation did little to calm Cassidy’s nerves. She was still shaking and breathing hard.

  “Sorry to have to do that to you,” Jagger said. “There’s usually one in every group who needs a little more convincing. The moment you’d started speaking, I knew that’d be you.” Then, he turned to the class. “We want our reactions to be both automatic and definitive. She wasted a lot of time and energy before she found a strategy that worked. Had this been a real kidnapping or assault, there’d have been little to no time to consciously react.”

  Jagger handed Cassidy a towel, which she took without thinking, wiped her face, then draped it over her shoulders.

  “What’s your real name, young lady?”

  “Cassidy.”

  “Thank you, Cassidy. You did a great job and show a lot of promise.”

  “Thanks... I think.” With her adrenaline rush gone, the towel suddenly felt gross around her shoulders, so she laid it on the mat and stood on it.

  Jagger clapped his hands. “Okay, people. Let’s break into pairs. You’ll be partnered for the remainder of the class, so choose wisely.”

  While others milled around, sizing one another up, Cassidy marched straight over to JJ. “You’re mine.”

  A minute or so later, with everyone paired up, they all settled in to await further instruction.

  Jagger paced before them. “All right, everyone, listen up! I’d like to start off with some simple sparring. Please keep in mind, your partner is not really your enemy. In fact, they might become your friend by the end of the class.” He paused with a cheesy grin. “I beg of you: do not hurt each other.”

  “Wow, I feel really energized,” Cassidy said to JJ.

  “Please don’t hurt me.”

  Cassidy laughed. “I’m not going to hurt you, but it’s your job to try and fight back. If you don’t, I can’t be held responsible for what happens to you.”

  “Okay fine. It’s a deal. But I have a question: why again did you want to take this class? I mean, you have to touch people.”

  “It’s a necessary evil. Touching you, I mean. And I don’t know what else we can do to keep ourselves safe, so I’m doing this for us.”

  The attendees were instructed on the techniques for take-downs, counter-attacks, and offensive maneuvers that, if properly executed, could inflict serious bodily harm. Each sequence was then numbered for easy reference. It all made perfect sense. As a physical therapist, Cassidy prided herself in her knowledge of the human body; she understood how it was all put together, including where structurally weak spots could be found.

  After a review of various handholds, fight sequences, and blocking techniques, Cassidy felt on cloud nine. She surveyed the others. Not a chance in hell any of them could defeat her. Inflicting maximum damage with minimal risk had a nice ring to it.

  Jagger again called the room’s attention, and said, “Time to practice on your partner. And I can’t emphasize this enough: do not actually hurt your partner. Now, do I have any volunteers? Someone who’d like to show off for the rest of the group?”

  “I’ll do it!” Cassidy stood, hand raised. “Come on, JJ, get up. It’s go time.”

  JJ whimpered. “Please don’t hurt me.”

  “JJ”—Jagger walked over—“stand behind Cassidy and prepare to attack her. Cassidy, attempt sequence three. Remember what that is?”

  “Of course.” And Cassidy smiled. Sequence three was a beautiful combination of fluid movement delivering maximum damage, and had become her favorite series of maneuvers. She’d take it easy on her friend, though, naturally.

  “I’m not sure about this...she’s going to hurt me.”

  “I will not! I promise.”

  JJ begged anyway. “Please don’t make me do this, Cassidy.”

  She was about to agree and handpick a different person, when Jagger stepped in, offering support.

  “You’ll be fine, big guy.” He patted JJ’s shoulder, although Jagger looked doubtful of his own statement.

  After whispering into JJ’s ear, Jagger moved out of the way, averting his gaze as JJ crept toward Cassidy. At his stealthy approach, the hairs stood up on the back of her neck, and she closed her eyes, slowed her breathing. Seconds later, JJ’s sweaty hand grabbed her right arm.

  “No!” she yelled, then twirled around and jabbed her elbow at JJ’s face, careful not to make contact.

  He cried out and fell to the floor, covering his face with both hands.

  “Oh my God!” Cassidy rushed over. “Are you okay? I didn’t hit you, did I?”

  “I don’t like this...at all. That was scary.”

  She tsked. “How am I ever going to learn, if you don’t participate?” And she tried to help him up, but he crab-crawled away backwards. Cassidy huffed. “I need a new partner.”

  “Does anyone want to volunteer?” Jagger said.

  “I do!” a voice rang out from behind. “I need a new partner, too. I don’t want to be responsible for hurting this wrinkled bag of bones.”

  All at once, Cassidy’s fears were realized when Bertha, the human garbage disposal, stepped forward. Bertha was at least a half-foot taller and a hundred pounds heavier, but Cassidy was more concerned about that chili-cheese dog Bertha had eaten before the class had started.

  “Eh? What did she say?” Bertha’s partner said. “I took my hearing aides out and this orca mumbles when she talks. I think her blowhole might be clogged or something.” Viola, the delightful old woman who’d offered Cassidy the socks, cocked her ear toward Bertha, trying to hear. Cassidy grinned. The more the old woman spoke, the more she wished Viola were her real grandmother. Hopefully she’d have that level of spunk and fight left in her when she was her age.

  Bertha frowned. “Shut it, wrinkles.”

  “Don’t fool yourself,” Viola said. “You’d be wrinkly, too, if you had any room in your skin.”

  “Can’t we all just get along?” someone from the group said.

  “Ladies, please, keep the insults to a minimum,” Jagger said. “Staying focused is the most important part of self-defense, no matter what’s happening around you. Viola, JJ, you two are up next.”

  JJ cringed. “But, that seems wrong to me. I don’t want to hurt her.”

  “Worry about yourself, pig.” And Viola checked him hard with her shoulder as she walked past.

  “Ouch!” He rubbed at the side of his chest.

  “Viola, use sequence four,” Jagger said. “JJ, come with me.” He led JJ a few feet away and whispered instructions to him. JJ looked concerned, but nodded nonetheless.

  JJ crept toward Viola, approaching from the right, then crossing over to the left. He paused for a moment and then advanced straight toward his target. Everyone in the room sat silently enraptured by the unfolding scene, and C
assidy was reminded of the show Wild Kingdom, with JJ as an immature lion hoping to take down an old and deaf wildebeest.

  Then, JJ lunged, seizing hold of Viola’s left arm and pulling it up behind her while attempting a choke hold, which looked good, but Viola was agile for her advanced age.

  “Hiyah!” she screamed, and turned into the attack, using her free hand to strike him in the face. As he collapsed to the floor, her knee flattened what remained of his manhood while she repeated her warrior cry, “Hiyah!” A sad, pathetic whimpering sound emanated from his near-limp form.

  Jagger rushed over to JJ’s side. “Are you okay? Viola, I thought I told you to be careful.”

  “Not my fault the boy can’t hang.” She hustled back over to the sidelines.

  Jagger offered JJ a hand, which he refused, so Jagger had no other choice but to drag JJ from the center of the room and over to the sidelines where his assistant tended to his superficial injuries.

  “Okay,” he said, returning to the class. “Bertha, Cassidy. You’re up. Make it fair, and let’s see what you’ve learned.” Jagger stepped away, leaving the two women to hash things out.

  “Clearly, you’re going to be the attacker,” Cassidy said.

  “Oh yeah? And why’s that?” Bertha wheezed from the effort to stand up from the floor.

  “You look the part. Large, smelly, and desperate.”

  “Whatever. Let’s just do this,” Bertha said. She rubbed her belly. “I’m not feeling so great.”

  Cassidy grimaced. “Try to keep that chili dog to yourself.”

  “Come on, ladies. A lot of intense energy, here,” Jagger said, “but keep the fighting in the circle. Don’t make it personal. Stay focused.”

  Cassidy readied herself—she closed her eyes, channeling any fear, anxiety, or pure rage into her limbs and core. From the sheer size of her opponent, she’d expected the floor to shake under her as Bertha approached, but the woman surprised her. It was true killer whales surprised seals from time to time as well. Bertha’s arms tightened around Cassidy’s midsection, and it became difficult to breathe. Sequence two—her best defense against this attack.