There are decisions in a person's life which can define a person forever.
Every so often, one is faced with a specific kind of moment. At such times, the choices you make reveal what kind of person you are. Sometimes, it's as simple as taking a moment out from a busy schedule to help a friend. Every so often it involves a real test of courage, physical or otherwise.
I came across such a moment in the most mundane of surroundings. I was sitting in my car on a Thursday night in the parking deck at work listening to a football game.
I'd graduated college the previous June, degree in hand and big plans. I was lucky enough to land a job with a top firm in my field, working on technology that would be used by NASA and could lead to breakthroughs in alternative energy. I was thrilled. I'd be helping build the future.
It was hard work, but I believed it was meaningful. Plus, I was eager to get ahead. I'd put in ten or even twelve hour days, stopping at the gym on the way home then back to the apartment I shared with a friend. He bartended and wasn't home nights so it was usually a solitary dinner for me and then I'd fall asleep exhausted.
There was no time for girls, no time for anything. I'd even come in on Saturday sometimes. I felt like I was getting noticed, though, my supervisor Doug pulling me aside the week before and complimenting me on the work I was doing.
A bright spot amidst the challenging work was Gina Garcia. Gina was the receptionist for our department on the fifth floor. Every morning, she'd great me with a big smile and a "good morning, Jonah!" She'd flash her dark brown eyes at me and sometimes we'd flirt a bit before I headed off to my work in the simulation lab.
Gina was cuteness personified, shorter than me by a foot with a nice round butt, full breasts, long black hair, and a surplus of Latina good looks. I was interested in her, but wasn't sure if she was into me.
When Doug asked me to work late that fateful Thursday, there was no way I was going to refuse. He was preparing a huge presentation for the senior executives scheduled for the next morning. I knew the fact that he asked me and only two others to stay late was a big deal, indicating a growing trust in me. It didn't matter that my pro football team was playing and I was looking forward to the game. I'd be working.
Around eight we ordered take-out from the pizzeria around the corner. As soon as it arrived, Doug grabbed his meatball sub and headed into his office. He told us to eat and take our time. He was going to check over the presentation. From past experience, I knew he'd be in there at least a half hour.
I decided to catch a few minutes of the game on the radio in my car, taking my chicken parm sandwich with me.
"Dude, text me if he comes out and I'm not back," I told my friend Greg.
"Will do," he said, barely glancing up from his phone.
I'd been worried about the game all week. Our best receiver was hurt, we were beat up in the secondary, and playing on the road after playing on Sunday. To my pleasant surprise, however, we'd taken an early lead and appeared to be rolling.
I finished off the last of my sandwich, ready to head back up. There were only a few cars in the parking deck, including a blue Mercedes sedan. I saw the lights flash on the Mercedes through my rearview mirror, someone with a key fob opening the doors. Its owner stepped out of the elevator and strode towards her car.
It was Helena Davis-Wickham, senior vice president. I knew her instantly, as I'd had a crush on her since the first day I started work and she said a few words to the new employees during orientation.
You see, I've always liked older women. During college, I developed intense crushes on a few of my female professors. It was the same way with a couple of teachers from high school, too. This preference helped my grades, though. I studied my ass off in a subconscious effort to impress them, as if they'd want to fuck me because I overachieved.
Yet no MILF of my dreams could hold a candle to Helena. She was tall, with straight ash blonde hair parted down the middle and cut neck length. Her hair framed a face highlighted by high cheekbones, a thin nose, and light blonde eyebrows. She bore herself with an easy, regal grace projecting calm confidence coupled with a sharp mind.
Helena also had the most dazzling green eyes I'd ever seen. They were deep yet bright, a shade lighter than jade and hauntingly iridescent. It was impossible not to be distracted by them.
Helena was always dressed in designer suits with knee-length skirts and high heels that hugged and accentuated her curves yet remained impeccably professional. Her clothing hinted at a stellar figure underneath. She had an ample chest and a round ass which drove me crazy. Her butt wasn't what you'd call fat, but it was soft and curvy like a woman's rear end should be.
Helena was at least twenty years older than me and I lusted after every inch of her. I dreamed of being her boy toy, at her beck and call and subservient to all her many perverse demands.
I watched her in the rearview mirror and sighed. Helena was as unattainable a dream to me, a lowly corporate peon, as some queen of old was to a humble stable boy. Still, a guy could dream.
That's when it happened, my moment of decision.
Helena was striding along, her keys in one hand and her bag slung over her shoulder, the clip-clop of her high heels the only sound in the silence of the parking deck.
There was a sudden flash of movement from the shadows, a bulky figure emerging from behind a column lunging at her. It was a large man in dark clothing and he grabbed her from behind. They struggled, her purse falling to the ground. Helena shrieked and screamed as the man pulled her towards a nearby stairwell.
I could've called the police and let them handle it, maybe shouting something to try and chase the attacker away. In the shock and surprise of the moment, though, I didn't pause to think. Instead, I ran across the parking deck. I yelled, but the assailant didn't seem to hear me.
Looking back, I should've paused for a moment and considered the situation rationally. Sitting on my backseat next to my gym bag was my baseball bat. I liked to hit the batting cages when I could. Pausing even a moment to grab it would have been the smart thing to do, but I was going on instinct. It's amazing I wasn't killed.
By the time I reached them, Helena's attacker had pushed her into the stairwell. He was on top of her, a hulking figure with short blonde hair and broad shoulders. She was screaming, clawing and struggling furiously.
I flew into him hard, knocking him into the cinderblock wall. He had a knife in hand which clanged to the ground.
He didn't pause, cold gray eyes glaring as he lunged at me. He was an older man, in his fifties by the look of him, but powerfully built and strong as an ox.
A minute earlier my biggest concern was my pro football team's third-down conversion rate. Now I was grappling with a crazed psychopath possessed of what felt like inhuman strength. Helena was gone. I figured she'd fled the scene and I was left to fight off the maniac myself.
In all my life, I'd only been in one fight. This guy called my older sister Juliette a nasty name when I was in ninth grade, shouting it across the cafeteria and I charged him. We grappled, but the teachers broke it up before anything else happened. Now here I was doing battle with a crazed killer, and losing.
Helena's attacker forced me down on my back against the stairs. He got hold of his knife and stabbed at me. I twisted my torso, avoiding his first stab. I reached for his throat and he slashed at my arms. His knife cut deep, my left forearm erupting in an explosion of pain.
The attacker raised his knife again, poised for another stab. His face suddenly contorted and he roared in agony, a jet of liquid spraying in his eyes. He dropped the knife, desperately covering his face.
Helena had pepper-sprayed him. She'd only run off to grab the spray from her purse and hadn't abandoned me, after all.
Helena's assailant reeled, howling in pain. I staggered to my feet and kicked the lowlife in the face with all my remaining strength, my heel smashing against his forehead. The blow sent his head backwards where it slammed against the cinderblock wall of the stairwell. He fell to the ground like a lump of meat.
I stood there, my hands shaking, looking down at him. He lay unconscious, a great inert bulk.
Helena looked at me, her eyes filled with horror. Her hair was disheveled and her shirt torn. She was bleeding from her lip.
"Oh, God!" she shrieked.
My shirt felt wet and I looked down. There was a red spot above my hip where the attacker had slashed at me and I thought he'd missed. He must've slashed me after all, I realized, but not too bad.
The wound to my arm was another matter. My entire shirt sleeve below the elbow was soaked with blood. I felt light-headed at the sight and collapsed on the stairs.
Helena ran back to her purse again, calling 911 and calmly describing the situation. When she was done, she crouched down next to me.
"Hang in there," she said. "It's, um, Jonas, right?"
"Jonah...Jonah Sullivan," I muttered, fading fast.
"It's going to be all right, Mr. Sullivan," Helena said, grasping my hand tight.
The next thing I knew policemen were looming above me, telling me to hang on. Then the paramedics showed up and I was on a stretcher being raised into the back of an ambulance. Doug and a few co-workers stood nearby watching, their faces ashen.
***
