The Fall of Mangiatorvi

1: The Ice Gauntlet

The chains holding up the sandbag squealed in protest as each of Gemma's punches landed. Each consecutive blow echoed rhythmic thuds across the empty walls. The small gym contained a single boxing ring, a few punching bags, and a small selection of well-used CrossFit equipment. It was nothing extravagant, but these four walls had been her second home since she was nine years old. She spent more time here than at home in the past three months since graduating from high school.

Gemma leaned her forehead against the bag, steadying it as she struggled to catch her breath. The scent of sweat and copper filled her nose. A few loose strands of her long, chestnut brown hair fell from her bun. She unwrapped her wrists and reached for her phone. No missed calls. Her repeated attempts to contact Jamal had gone unnoticed. She pressed her eyes shut, letting out a frustrated shout as she slid onto the cold cement floor. Patience was not one of her virtues.

Her eyes fell on the background of her phone, a picture of them taken only last week with nothing but smiles from ear to ear.

She yearned to hear his voice. Her grip tightened before she shoved the phone into her back pocket, only to pull it out again in a fit of desperation. She called her best friend, well, her only friend.

"Still, no answer?" Lily asked, concern dripping off every word.

"No," Gemma said. "Where are you? It's loud."

"Uh, I'm working at the restaurant tonight," Lily said, her voice far away and her tone distracted. "Listen, babe, just go home. You're stressing yourself out for nothing, you know?"

"Yeah, you're probably right. Thanks, love you."

"Love you too," Lily replied as she hung up.

Gemma sighed, throwing her backpack over her shoulder. She headed out to lock up the gym. Shadows, Jamal's favorite bar, beckoned her from across the street. Gemma usually did her best to avoid the bar, despite her boyfriend's patronage. A focal point for gang activity, Shadows whispered dark secrets Gemma did not wish to know. Apprehension nibbled at her toes as the voice in her head instructed her to keep walking. Yet, despite Lily's advice and her common sense, Gemma felt her legs push forth with her arms reaching for Shadow's ugly red doors. Prudence was also not one of her virtues.

The bar was surprisingly packed for a Wednesday night, with dozens of patrons leaning over the rickety plywood they called a counter. The few sources of dim lighting flickered on and off from years of neglect, bathing the frequenters in a sickly, pale yellow. Her shoes clung harder to the sticky floors with every step she took into enemy territory. A couple of women turned toward her with raised eyebrows, whispering to themselves.

The overwhelming bass eclipsed the mediocre raps hissing from the worn-down speakers. The walls shook with the beat, threatening to collapse with every measure. She marched forward, coming to a halt as she noticed an obese man, chatting up a young woman at the counter.

"Terry!" she shouted.

Jamal's goon stiffened at the sound of her voice. His drink slipped out of his hand, shattering to the floor. He turned and set off in a mad dash for the exit. The unexpecting patrons grinding on the makeshift dance floor crumbled beneath his weight as Terry reached for the door in a fit of desperation. Gemma dodged his path of destruction, maneuvering over his bulldozed path with a grace that Terry's obese form did not allow. She grabbed him by the collar, using his momentum to slam him against the wall. He shrunk down into his shirt with a weak smile. His stench reminded her of the homeless shelter where she completed her mandated community service earlier this summer.

"Gemma, didn't see you there."

"Why are you running from me?"

Terry let out a flabbergasted stutter. "Wh-why are you chasing me?"