Hello Lisa, Hello Jane

They might've had the element of surprise, but we had the element of adaptability.

The first thing that happened was that a bat whistled through the air, hitting hard against my upper back. It was probably aimed for my neck, but luckily the person obviously didn't have good enough hand-eye coordination. Still, it knocked me down onto the floor, breathless with surprise. Yohan heard the noise and turned around quickly - but then someone skidded around from the corner and hooked his/her arm around his neck. No - wait - her - I could now see her face - it was Jane Hadsky.

Rolling over to face my own opponent who was looming over me, just ready for a second swing, I realizedd the other assailant was Lisa. Lisa Smithson. A flashback shot through my head in the split second before I saw the silver glint of swishing metal coming down upon me.

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So of course I took the plane to Bangor. At the time of the brief but in depth flashback, I wasn't focused on how I called my father and told him goodbye, gave a notice of resignation to my boss, or anything like that. I skipped over that junk to the moment in which I left my  flight, which ended in New York City, and hopped on the connecting flight to Bangor.

I plopped down onto the seat, and when I looked to the right I saw Lisa.

Brownish-gray hair. Intelligent brown eyes. White teeth, a lot of freckles. She reminded me a little of the mailwoman. I wasn't hasty to start a conversation due to the fact that it might lead her to asking me what I was going to Bangor to do - and that last little part of the letter clammed my mouth up right then and there.

But then I noticed that she was sitting on something. A white piece of paper. I could read a corner of it INDUCTI- 

And I realized we were both going to the same destination. I smiled and said, "Well, how are you?"

She smiled back.

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Flashback over. 

Lisa swung the bat down, hard, crouching a little to get near. She probably should've kicked me or jabbed the bat downwards, but she most likely didn't have any personal combat training. I rolled sideways quickly as the bat hit the tiled floor. I scrambled to my feet.

"What the-!" I shouted, but protesting was futile. She swung again, connecting with my right abdomen and slamming me sideways. Playtime over. 

Before she could ready for another swing,  I tackled her to the ground, chivalry ignored. The bat skittered away. We wrestled for a few moments, then I locked her and held her down.

"Checkmate," I said, breathlessly.

She struggled, but it wasn't too hard to keep her down. I looked over at Yohan. Knife won over bare hands. He had her pinned against the wall.

"You devious little crapheads," Yohan hissed. He wasn't happy, and neither was I.

The End

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