Thoughts of Morgan roared out of the corner of his mind. He remembered watching her sleep at night. Her little snores, her shallow breaths. He recalled his arms around her and hers around him. Bodies intertwined under cotton sheets, pressed so close together he could almost feel her heart beating inside his chest.
“Today’s, uh…” Once again, Caplan pushed the memories into the deepest recesses of his mind. This time, he tied them down with heavy mental restraints. “Today’s class, by necessity, may seem somewhat dry at times. That’s why we’re going to spice it up on occasion. Over the next few hours, I’ll offer impromptu demonstrations of survival skills. You’ll see me use parkour to cross an entire block without ever touching the sidewalk. You’ll watch as I break into a car — don’t worry, it’s owned by a friend — and start the ignition without keys. And you’ll see plenty of other stuff, too. Stuff that all of you will be doing over the next eight weeks.”
The students stared at him with bright eyes. The things he’d just mentioned were red meat to bored rich folks. For the most part, they didn’t care about how authorities worked or optimal survival strategies for a real-life disaster.
They just wanted to see and do cool stuff.
“I need a volunteer.” Caplan scanned the eager faces, settling on a fresh-scrubbed masculine one. It belonged to a rapidly aging, twenty-something year-old man. The man’s wrinkled visage indicated he worked in one of those hundred-hour week professions, probably investment banking or law. His jittery limbs and nervous manner hinted at a burgeoning Adderall habit. “Think you can handle it?”
“Sure.” A crooked smile creased the man’s wrinkled face and he stepped forward. “But can you handle me?”
The students tittered.
Caplan grinned. “What’s your name?”
“Dalton. Dalton Nevins.”
Dalton Nevins, Caplan repeated inside his head, storing the name in his memory banks. He found it useful to recall as many student names as possible. It made people feel like they were friends and friends were far more likely to become paying customers.
“Okay, Dalton.” Caplan reached into his pocket and pulled out a strip of rigid nylon with a built-in ratchet on the far end. Small teeth ran down one side of the strip. “Do you recognize this?”
Nevins’ head bobbed. “It’s a zip-tie.”
“Very good.” Caplan held out his wrists, side by side, and touched them together. “Put it on me.”
Nevins took the zip-tie. Awkwardly, he wrapped it around Caplan’s wrists and pulled one end through the ratchet.
“Really?” Caplan shot a wink at the other students. “Is that the best you’ve got?”
Laughter rang out and Caplan grinned devilishly. Of course, this was all part of the act. He needed the zip-ties to be tight. The tighter, the better.
Nevins’ jaw tightened. Grabbing the zip-tie with both hands, he cinched it tight.
As the nylon strip dug into Caplan’s flesh, he felt other ties, mental ones, enclose his heart. They squeezed so hard he thought the vessel might burst inside his chest. What the hell was he doing? Was he really going to keep teaching like nothing had happened?
Caplan held up his wrists for everyone to see. “You’ve probably seen zip-ties in plenty of movies and with good reason. They’re fiendish devices. This particular set is extra tough and comes with a rating of 200 pounds.” He paused. “Here’s the problem. Any forward movement of the zip tie will cause it to cinch even tighter. And any attempt to pull my wrists apart causes the ratchet to lock. So, how does one escape them?”
Truth be told, escape was a simple matter. He’d deliberately held his wrists side by side while Nevins had applied the zip-tie. The resulting position, one of four basic ones, was the easiest to break.
Using his fingers, Caplan shifted the ratchet until it was directly between his wrists. Without warning, he swung his arms downward. His wrists hit his belly and he propelled his elbows backward, as if to touch them behind his back. The impact overwhelmed the ratchet, busting the zip-tie and sending it flying to the ground.
Like always, the students exploded into applause. And like always, Caplan took a mock bow. But something was different this time. Normally, he felt invigorated by the demonstration. This time, however, he felt empty. Hollowed out.
Picking up the broken zip-tie, he stuffed it into his pocket. “And that’s how…” He trailed off. The mental ties binding his heart cinched tighter and tighter.
“Zip-ties are…” He trailed off again.
He couldn’t do this. Not today.
“Thanks for coming,” he said awkwardly. “Unfortunately, something’s come up. I’m going to have to postpone the rest of this session.”
The bright eyes faded away. Darker ones, curious but annoyed, took their places.
“Did you hurt yourself?” Nevins smirked. “Did I make it too tight?”
“No,” Caplan mumbled. “I just… I need to take care of something. I’ll be in touch with all of you soon.”
Without another word, Caplan strode forward. The students parted, making way for him.
As he hiked across the Great Lawn, he heard the students chattering amongst themselves. Some sounded irritated, others were downright angry. He didn’t blame them. He’d wasted their time and he doubted he’d see any of them ever again.
He walked farther, passing the softball players, the kite flyers and their parents. He passed dogs on leashes. Men, women. Old folks, youngsters. As always, people surrounded him.
But at that moment, he felt utterly, painfully alone.
Chapter 8
Caplan sprinted down the sidewalk, dodging a pair of walkers and startling an elderly woman as she walked out of a flower shop, bouquet of white roses clutched in her gnarled fingers.
Halfway down the block, a truck pulled out of a garage, effectively blocking his path.
Caplan quickened his pace. His trail runners pounded the sidewalk as he sailed past a group of men in casual suits.
With a sudden leap, he sprung off the ground. Colliding against the moving metal, his shoes kicked furiously, transforming his forward momentum upward. His fingers latched onto the roof. With his feet still kicking the truck’s side, he pulled himself onto the roof, rolled across the flat metal, and dropped off the other side. It was a perfect pop vault, one of the basic moves he taught in his parkour-centered classes. Unlike most practitioners, Caplan hadn’t learned the move while living in the city.
He’d learned it in the wild.
Caplan had spent most of his life in the outdoors. He loved to run and had often taken advantage of the solitude and natural beauty provided by nature. It felt so free, so uplifting. But over time, that feeling began to change. He grew tired of running the well-beaten path. Of running around obstacles, of avoiding them. He’d longed to take his own path. And so he did.
Many years ago, he’d started experimenting with jumps and vaults, leaps and swings. He’d taught himself to cross over dense bushes, to leap rocks with nary a touch, and to scale trees. And he’d taught himself to leap from tree to tree, to move great distances without ever touching the ground. He was exceedingly good at it. Even better, he found the whole thing therapeutic. Running and jumping with reckless abandon freed his mind, giving it a chance to wander.