Ransom X

  *****

  Chess sat stretching with her legs inching toward the splits. She was developing her own intuition, which told her that this move would almost definitely hurt, YES! She was right. A wave of the strain crossed her face. She was going to be a cheerleader if it killed her. “Now, uh, was not the time to, uh think about pain.” She reminded herself. At a certain point in her inching downward, her weight suddenly became gravity’s subordinate and it carried her to the floor, legs perpendicular to torso. She practiced her father’s restraint for only a moment, and then tears welled up in her eyes. There was not an emotion for the kind, except perhaps the hatred of floor wax, and the rubbery tension that she was putting on her muscles inducing a time-tested response. She screamed.

  Legacy was nearing his apartment door when he heard Chess' scream. His keys were in his hand and with practiced precision locks opened, CLACK CLACK CLACK. He pushed the door and met resistance from the chain lock. A hard shoulder into the center of the door ripped the chain from the wall and sent it door flying open.