2019.

Kevin steadied the heavy punching bag that hung from a chain in the room of Finn Manor that he called “the dojo.” Gracie felt the boxing tape squeeze as she readied her fists one more time and tried to make herself want to hit it. But she wasn’t angry at the bag. It wasn’t hurting anybody. It didn’t sneer, didn’t judge, didn’t have anything to say about who a person’s parents were or how often the cops came to break up a fight at their home.

She readied her aim. That’s what I do. My job is to know things… Gloves met leather, but once again, her punch landed off-center, losing any force she put behind it.

“Ok, stop,” said Kevin.

Gracie dropped her hands. Her head followed. This was not working out.

“What are you thinking about?”

She could feel his eyes on her, but the cold quivering in her stomach warned her that she might start to cry if she met his gaze. “I don’t know,” she said.

“No, come on. Really basic here. What are you thinking about? No wrong answers.”

“I guess,” said Gracie, “I’m thinking about the bag.” For the past seven years, that used bookstore is the only place you’ve been more than a few months altogether… “And about hitting it.”

“What else?”

“Um, like, I guess what it feels like in my knuckles and in my elbow.” Day one — hell, day zero — and you want to ‘tell it like it is’… “And, I don’t know, the sort of gym smell in the room, kind of chemical, plasticky.”

Kevin smirked. “Yeah, either it smells like cleaning products or old sweat. What else?”

Gracie shrugged.

“Okay, listen, you don’t have to tell me. But what you’re thinking about right now doesn’t seem the same as what you were thinking about on the treadmill — or maybe you aren’t thinking about it in the same way. Before, whatever you were thinking of made you angry, and that anger energized you. I don’t see that energy now. So, if you are thinking about the same thing, then maybe you’re feeling less angry about it and more defeated.”

Did everyone at Finn Manor see right through her? Was this the price you pay for hanging out with crimefighters, to be constantly laid bare in front of them? At least there was a kindness in Kevin’s voice. She didn’t feel judged and dismissed. Not yet, at least.

She shook her head. “I’m sorry. I’ll try to focus up here. Let me try again.”

Kevin said, “We can do that, but only if you want to.”

“I do. I want this. Really. I want to be good at this, to be able to help you. I want to be part of team Crimson Wraith.”

“Good. That’s what I want too.”

“You are giving me your time,” she continued. “And I appreciate that. Already you’ve given me so much.” Gracie gritted her teeth so the sob caught in her throat instead of making it into her eyes. “Who the hell else has an actual, for-real superhero offering to teach them how to fight?”

It had only been a matter of days since her first encounter with the Crimson Wraith, not two weeks even. Things had been so crazy since — going to jail, watching Zack dangle over Titan City, sleeping in a bed about a million times softer than she ever thought possible. Had she been crazy to think that she could trade her the life she knew before for this one?

“It sounds like you’re putting some big pressure on yourself,” said Kevin. “And that makes sense. All of this — the legacy, the mission — it’s a lot. It was a lot for me too. Probably, it was for each of us who came after William Finn. We’d all heard about the Crimson Wraith and what that meant to people before donning the mask ourselves. If you didn’t find that intimidating, well…” He chuckled softly, “You’d have to be a real asshole.”

That made her smile, but then she thought about Danny again. “Yeah,” she murmured, “an asshole.” 

And it struck her. Danny must have thought that she was the one who was being the asshole, not caring enough about this thing they’d all devoted themselves to, not taking it seriously. 

Kevin went on. “The thing is though, I’m not going to teach you how to fight. You already know how to fight. You have speed and strength. You show awareness of your opponent and your environment. You can take a hit and keep going. I can help you develop your technique, sure, but it’s everything else around the fight that I want to help you with.”

Although the effort made her tremble, she lifted her head to meet his gaze. Even if she couldn’t seem to land a decent punch, Gracie could make herself take whatever Kevin had to say. “What do you mean?”

“The fights I saw you in were reactions to a threat, first against yourself and then against someone you cared about. When that threat hit, your body responded, instinctively. But if all you have in that moment is instinct, it can be difficult to think strategically and remember why you’re doing what we do. You can go too far when you ought to hold back or you can fall short when you ought to keep going.”

Gracie thought about when she ought to hold back — like the fight with Zack, wanting to take it one step further to slit his throat — and when she ought to keep going — like maybe right in that moment, feeling like she was going to fail her Crimson Wraith training and be sent back to live somewhere like she had with Kristen, maybe worse.

“When we fight, it has to be as much about things that we hope for as well as things that threaten us. I want to help you find peace in the fight so you can face an opponent with a clearer head. That’s why we practice, to make the fight familiar, something you can slip into and out of when you choose to, not when the fight chooses you. Does that make sense?”

When had she started crying? It felt strange to be looking Kevin in the eyes while just letting the tears slowly seep from hers. 

No one in her twenty-three years had spoken to her this way, none that she could remember. It wasn’t criticism, and it wasn’t praise. It was respectful. It was hopeful. Gracie realized that Kevin actually believed in her, not because he didn’t understand what was going on with her but because he did.

She wiped at her cheeks with the length of her arm not covered by a boxing glove. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s all right. This is new.”

“Yeah,” she said. “Real new.”

“Well, it’s new for me too. I haven’t trained anyone like this before. All I know is how Michael taught me, so let’s both hope I don’t suck at it.”

Gracie laughed. “You’re doing okay so far, I think.”

“Nice. That’s good to know.” He stepped back and braced the punching bag once more. “How about you take a minute and close your eyes?” 

She did. 

“Now breathe, nice and slow. Think about what you whatever was making you mad on the treadmill. However you are feeling about it now doesn’t matter. Choose to think about it. Hold it in your mind.”

The images that Danny had resurrected for her returned to Gracie’s mind. Red and blue lights flashing outside her bedroom window. The crack of a softball bat. Leering eyes and an unwelcome hand.

“There you go,” said Kevin. “Now open your eyes. Focus on the bag.” 

Gracie blinked memories away and took in its shape, the way its weight tugged at the chain it dangled from.

“See it just where it is. Now, find your stance. Lift your gloves. And breathe…”

In and out. In and out. And on that breath rode so many things Gracie really didn’t ever want to think about but, fuck it, there they were. There they were, and there was Kevin. She wasn’t alone. He was with her. He had invited her there because of something he saw in her, something she didn’t have to pretend to be because she already was. 

“Now, whenever you are ready, give me one punch — one firm, focused punch, hard or light as you want. Whatever you feel like throwing, you go on right ahead and throw.”

Gracie snapped a clean jab right to the center of the bag. Then another. And another, followed by a right cross that made the chain clatter against the ceiling.

Maybe Danny was right about some things. Maybe he wasn’t. But for now, his words didn’t get the last word. This was where Gracie belonged.