Chapter Eleven

Almost Six Months Ago

Jack walked outside for some fresh air, but that was not what he got. The polluted urban stores smelled of bizarre meats and foreign spices. De-feathered chickens and beheaded ducks hung outside the small food stores. Each and every store owner was of Asian decent. This was off-putting to Jack at first. Growing up in Oklahoma, he was not used to such diversity. After more than a moment's thought, it became clear. Jack was out of place in this big city. All he wanted to do was go home and see his wife.

He walked into the closest shop and bought a soda. The can cracked open, and the refreshingly cold soft drink settled his anxiety. He walked back out to the street and stood on the curb, sipping his Coca-Cola, observing this fair city's ethnic underbelly. It was midday now and business was occurring all around him, as usual. A fish market across the street seemed to be the center of all the commotion. That is when the adjacent alley caught Jack's attention.

Down the alleyway, a kid was being thrown against the wall by two thugs.

Jack ran down the alley yelling, "HEY!" But they did not stop. When Jack got to them, his army training kicked in immediately. His first attempt to subdue one of the thugs went successfully. Taking them by surprise by his intervention. While still sprinting, Jack dropped the first thug with a forearm to the neck, freeing the kid. The other thug whipped out a switchblade.

Jack hesitated. Instead of fighting he told the kid to, "RUN!" And in doing so, Jack lowered his guard for just a brief moment in which the thug capitalized, stabbing him in the side. He exhaled an empty breath of shock. The thug ran away in the other direction. Leaving Jack, gasping on the dirty floor, leaking his blood into the broken pavement. His senses tinged around the edges. Jack laid there helplessly staring at the curbside he was just standing at moments ago. He watched as the people walked by; and he thought about how clearly he saw that kid being mugged from over there, wondering how none of these people had the common decency to help him.

Jack stretched out his hand and grabbed the ground, pulling himself over to the wall. He propped himself up with his elbow and got himself up by leaning on the wall. With the added structural support Jack got his legs under him and pushed himself to his feet. His hands were too busy clenching his wound. Blood smeared down the alleyway wall as it trailed Jack, who was desperately trying to get back to his apartment... just across the street.

Dr. Randolph sat inside the apartment, busy analyzing Jack's blood and looking over his charts. He had set up a small desk on the other side of the living room from Jack's bed. The desk and the bed made up the entire interior decor of the apartment.

The door almost broke as it snapped open. Jack stumbled forth, still in distress.

"Ph- Jack!"

"It's okay it's okay."

"What happened?"

Jack sat on the bed and took his coat off. Blood was still everywhere, but he was no longer panicking. "Some punk stabbed me."

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"Right out on the street? In the middle of the day?"

"In the alleyway," Jack went on as Dr. Randolph tried to examine the wound, "I was helping a kid." The doctor looked but could not find anything. It had happened again. This time much quicker. Dr. Randolph grunted.

"What is it Doc?"

"Your condition might be accelerating."

"Accelerating?"

"There's only one way to find out for sure."

"Doc?" Jack stood up, reluctantly giving into what Dr. Randolph was insinuating.

Dr. Randolph walked out from the kitchen with a knife and stuck it in Jack's arm.

"Doc! What the hell?" he jumped back, "A BUTTER KNIFE!?"

Jack threw the knife on the floor; insulted. Dr. Randolph unflinchingly observed the pulsing wound on Jack's arm. The veins in his arm, around the wound, turned blue, just like the plant. Blood squirted out at first but was sealed back in his body. Dr. Randolph wiped Jack's arm with a towel. There was no scab, nor any scar tissue. The skin just reconnected and intensified.

"Amazing..." Dr. Randolph exclaimed.

Jack walked away from him. "That's enough testing for today," he said as he slammed the door behind him. He covered the ripped and stained shirt with a different, clean black jacket. Randolph's jacket. And walked back outside, down the stoop, and onto the sidewalk. He felt no different from before. No fear of the law-abandoned Chinatown streets gripped him. He was a soldier. One thing was for sure though, he wasn't in Oklahoma anymore. He looked around for any signs of the thugs, rubbing his side.

"There he is!" a kid said behind him, "That's the man right there, Grandfather."

Jack turned around to see an old Asian man with a long white mustache and goatee, holding the shoulder of his grandson, the same kid Jack saved in the alleyway.

"Come with me," the old man said earnestly. Ushering Jack with his thin wooden cane.

They walked next door into one of the shops. The old man walked closely beside Jack, poking his side, mumbling, "Where is it? Where is your wound?" They brought Jack through the storefront and downstairs to an empty dojo.

"My grandfather would like to thank you for saving me with a free lesson."

"No thanks, kid. I'm already trained."

"Where is your wound...from the alleyway?" The old man said still prodding and poking.

"No wound. Kevlar." Jack insisted. "Does your grandfather understand me?" Jack leaned in close to the old man's face, shouting, "KEV! LAR!"

The old man did a backspin and tripped Jack off his feet with a kick. Jack's back hit the mat as he blocked another blow to the face. Jack tried to get back up but could not. The old man continued tripping him up, spinning around the mat, laughing. His technique was so… youthful. It completely caught Jack by surprise. The old man was swift and precise. He fought fluently, never wasting a breath. Jack was out of moves and energy. He laid back, winded. The kid’s grandfather stood over him.

"What good is being indestructible if you cannot get off the floor?"

"Leave me alone old man, I'm havin' a bad day."

"You have a tremendous gift, Philip Dresden. I can show you how to harness it."

“You don’t know m- Wait what? How do you know my real name?"