My thighs felt like they were going to rip apart as we neared the top of the hill. “How far’s the route you normally take here?”
He didn’t reply immediately. “I’ve been running consistently for years—”
“How far?” I panted, trying not to collapse when I crested the top of the hill, only to get a peek of the next one up ahead.
“Around eight miles,” he answered.
“Liar,” I grumbled.
There was an uneven smile on his face when he glanced back. “Eight miles—one way.”
“More like it,” I mumbled, reaching for my side that had been aching from the first quarter mile. “All this running . . .” A few broken breaths before I could continue. “Why do you do it?”
When the trail widened, Noah fell in beside me, both of our headlamps creating one bright stream of light into the darkness. “It’s a form of therapy, I guess.”
“Therapy for the therapist.”
“Something like that,” he said, pointing out an exposed root before I tripped over it. “In my experience, there are two types of runners. Those who are running toward something, and those who are running away from something.”
I gave that a moment’s thought, arriving at the conclusion that I was neither as I was in no way, shape, or form a “runner.”
“Which one are you?” I asked, examining his effortless stride from the corner of my eyes. He moved with grace and power, a panther in human form.
Noah took a moment before answering, our footsteps filling in the silence around us.
“A little of both,” he replied in the kind of far off voice that suggested there was no end or beginning to the story.
“Since we’re on the topic of voluntary suffering.” I caught my breath, still digging at my side. “How would you feel about teaching me a few of those fancy martial arts moves?”
His pace slowed to a walk. “Moves?” A hint of teasing rested in his voice.
“Whatever you call it. Moves, holds, positions, can of whoop-ass . . . just show me a few basic things for self-defense.”
“Self-defense?” He stopped walking. “Is there anything I should know about?”
“No,” I replied, my breath slowing now that we were stopped. “I’m just curious.”
“You’d tell me if anyone was threatening you?”
“I’m not the one with a death stamp spray-painted across the back of my car. This is strictly for curiosity’s sake.” The loose scree rolled beneath my feet when I shifted. “And maybe a bit to do with the recent revelation that all of the measures we take to feel safe are nothing more than an illusion. Laws, street lights, security systems, it’s all a smoke screen when it comes down to it.”
“There’s a deep thought for a Friday evening.” After scanning up and down the trail, Noah dimmed his headlamp to its lowest setting. “But you’re right. All the good intentions in the world won’t stop or deter the monsters among us. Security is society’s lullaby, meant to lure us to sleep when darkness encroaches. Safety is a lie packaged under the pretense of a guarantee. Good people follow the rules. The evil ones make their own.”
I wiped the sweat from my forehead with the back of my sleeve, staring at the man I’d tied my life to and wondering how much of the iceberg still resided beneath the surface. The more he exposed to me, the more I realized was still hiding.
“Sounds like I’m not the only one feeling philosophical tonight,” I said.
He plodded off the trail onto a relatively flat section of terrain, kicking aside a few loose rocks and branches. “Jiu Jitsu is as much about offense as it is defense.” He clicked off his headlamp entirely, sliding it from his head into the pocket of his light-weight jacket. “It levels the playing field, taking away the advantage of size and raw brute strength when used properly. A person your size could overpower someone two times larger with an understanding of pressure points and limb manipulation.”
I watched him unzip his jacket and slide out of it one arm at a time before setting it aside on a rock. Now that we weren’t running, the cold was creeping in, made more potent by the night and elevation. I felt entirely out of my element in this sort of environment, while Noah seemed most at home, thriving in the harsh climate where discomfort eclipsed well-being.
“So I could take you down?” I asked.
Under the shine of my light, his eyes flashed. “You could try.”
“This isn’t going to be one of those things where you let me win?”
“You don’t want your self-defense training to be constituted of your opponent letting you win every time.” Noah slid off his running shoes and socks, bare feet tramping over the cool earth. “Turn off your light and give your eyes a minute to adjust.”
“How can I fight in the dark if I can’t see you?” I clicked off my headlamp and set it aside, but kept my jacket and shoes in place.
“When and if you ever need to protect yourself, it will never be under ideal circumstances. Train for the worst possible scenario so you’re prepared when the worst comes.” His voice came from behind me, though I hadn’t heard him move.
Blinking in an attempt to adjust my vision quicker, I spun around. He wasn’t there. “Noah, it’s dark, my body feels like putty, I’m pretty sure I just heard a coyote howl, and I’m stuck on some mountain trail I’ve never been on before. I don’t need you adding to the creepy vibe.”
“Don’t forget you’re on Tiger Mountain.” This time his voice came from the side, far sounding and high, as though he’d scaled one of the trees lining the trail. “Where a skull belonging to one of forty-eight victims of the Green River Killer was discovered.”
“Did you really have to bring that up? This place feels haunted enough without the mention of unearthed human bones.”
My eyes had adjusted enough I could differentiate the landscape from the dark, the faded line of the trail stretching beyond.
“What is it about the northwest that seems to attract serial killers? Ridgeway, Bundy . . . even the Huntsman for a lone kill?” I turned when I heard a sound, but there was no sign of Noah. “The rain? Lack of sun? Something in the water?” I attempted to keep my voice light, despite the increased beat of my heart, this time not from the uphill running.
“Up here, in the dark, wet corner of the country, a killer can hide right in plain sight.” Out of nowhere, he appeared in front of me, lips parted and eyes excited. “Boo.”
A surprised cry rattled low in my chest before I shoved him back. “Not helping.”
Once his chuckle tapered off, he extended his arm toward me. “Grab my wrist.”
Exhaling, I clutched his wrist.
“With your other hand, reach under my armpit and grab hold of the back of my arm.”
Doing as instructed, my fingers curled into the sinew of his tricep, feeling the heat burning his skin, as though he had a fever.
“Now use that leverage to lunge behind me, then wind your right arm around my neck as fast as you can.”
“You are, like, half a foot taller than me,” I replied.
His head tipped. “So?”
“Fine,” I grumbled, tightening my grips before going into motion.