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Back Ten Years Gone
Chapters (43)
  1. Cover
  2. BOOKS BY JONATHAN DUNSKY
  3. Dedication
  4. 1
  5. 2
  6. 3
  7. 4
  8. 5
  9. 6
  10. 7
  11. 8
  12. 9
  13. 10
  14. 11
  15. 12
  16. 13
  17. 14
  18. 15
  19. 16
  20. 17
  21. 18
  22. 19
  23. 20
  24. 21
  25. 22
  26. 23
  27. 24
  28. 25
  29. 26
  30. 27
  31. 28
  32. 29
  33. 30
  34. 31
  35. 32
  36. 33
  37. 34
  38. 35
  39. Thank You
  40. A NOTE FROM THE AUTHOR
  41. BOOK CLUB DISCUSSION QUESTIONS
  42. ABOUT THE AUTHOR
  43. BOOKS BY JONATHAN DUNSKY

I drew a long breath. The heat of the day had broken and a nice breeze was blowing from the south, freshening the air. I began walking north toward my apartment and was in the process of extracting a cigarette from its pack when I caught a fast movement from the corner of my eye. A large shadow had detached itself from the darkness pooling in a recessed doorway and was hurtling across the two meters that separated it from me. It swallowed the distance in one quick bite. In the split second before it was upon me, my mind registered that it was a man, very tall and broad, and that one of his huge hands was bunched into a fist that was flying at my head. I didn't have time to duck or sidestep or bring up my hands to block his blow. All I managed to do was turn my head a little, so that instead of on the mouth, his blow caught me behind the ear.

It was like being hit with a hammer. A supernova of hot white pain burst in my head, and all sense of solidity drained from my body. My knees gave way and I crashed sideways against a lamppost. Then I melted to the pavement.

And then everything went dark.

25

I must have been out for no more than a couple of seconds, because when I came to, I was still lying on that same strip of sidewalk on Allenby Street, and my assailant was standing over me. He grunted something I couldn't make out and leaned down. One of his hands curled itself into my hair, pulling hard, making my scalp scream. His other hand grabbed a fistful of my shirt. The son of a bitch was as strong as an elephant. He easily dragged me along the sidewalk, into the recessed doorway where he had waited to ambush me.

He hurled me against the door. My head banged painfully against the wood, making me feel like my brain was being rattled inside my skull. The side of my head throbbed where he had hit me, and my ribs hurt where I had banged them against the lamppost. I thought about crying for help, but worried that Greta would hear and come out to investigate. What could she do against this man? He would crush her like a bug.