I can feel my blood flush and warm beneath dark skin as a group of students stare at what used to be my Corvette. It's like someone crushed it with such force it warped into a yellow, mangled VW Bug. And of course someone had to spray paint the letters F-A-G on to the sides along with any other homosexual insults they could muster up.
It's like an episode of 9-1-1. The fire department, EMT's, and those state troopers Mayor Goodwin summoned are all over the place. They make an attempt to control a filming crowd and examine my car while everyone stares and murmurs to each other.
Several teachers shoo off the students and barricade the scene. State troopers direct gawking traffic through the parking lot while Principal White approaches me through the crowd of bystanders.
"Shiloh!" he yells in urgency over the noise of chaos. "What's going on? Do you have any idea who could've done this?" he requires, his face holding on to genuine concern.
"No, but I have an idea," I mumble just barely above a whisper. I'm so sure it's DeShea. And the others. Maybe the whole team at this point. I'm so pissed inside, but I can't let it show.
There's so many people watching and forming their opinions of me. And the more I watch them, the more I realize it's not just students. Parents have started gathering as well. Anything I do now will just fan the flames.
"What was that son? Speak up." Principal White leans his towering figure over to me and the smell of Tom Ford and eco style gel cascades down.
"Nothing. I don't know who could've done this Principal White," I lie.
"Well we've already informed your mom, so sit tight. She should be here any minute. Until then the Detectives wants to speak with you on the matter." Principal White waves over Howard and his partner from the crowd and he rushes over eager to pick my brain again.
"Detectives? Is it really that serious?" I ask Principal White.
"I know you guys aren't used to the police being around, but we aren't the bad guys. On the force, we take hate crimes seriously. Nip situations like this in the bud before they can escalate." Howard carries a smug grin over to the conversation. "I'll take over from here Principal White. Shiloh, we meet again." His voice is warm and friendly as Principal White walks away to continue managing the crowd, but I know the callous man behind that smile.
"Once again, against my will," I give as I turn my back on the crowd.
"At least we're not alone this time. I brought a friend." He grins again as if he's truly excited to introduce us, but that can't be the case.
"Shiloh? I'm Detective Ross. I work special victims cases like this all the time I just want to ask you a few questions. Is that ok?" She looks slightly crowed brown eyes down at me and her sleeked brows furrow with gentle concern.
"Do I have a choice?" I sigh, feeling their hidden motives.
"I just want to make sure we get the punks that did this to you," she says with stern sincerity. "Do you have any idea who could've done this?"
"Principal White just asked the same thing. I told him no." I offer as I peep How's game. He purposely chose a black, warm, and motherly cop to disarm me.
"Did you tell him the truth?" How glares at me as his grin slips and I have to fight the urge to walk away.
"I thought you guys were here to help me. Are you assuming something detective?" I ask doing my best to keep my face blank, emotionless.
"No Shiloh. We are helping you." Detective Ross chimes as she reigns Howard in. "We just don't want you to make the mistake of protecting the people tormenting you."
"That and we have to work every angle, but if you don't want to talk about your car then maybe you can shed some light on what happened in the parking garage just up helm street yesterday. Any thoughts about the scene at The Upper Crust?" How butts in again and my mood shifts as I can tell he isn't truly on my side. Just the mention of yesterday is enough to figure that.
"I don't know what you're talking about," I respond, failing to keep my voice from shaking as I lie.
"See, I think you do Shiloh," Detective Ross tags back in. "And we can't help you if you don't trust us. These are the facts. We have eye witness account of you arguing with some of your classmates at the pizza shop. The same shop where your classmate DeShea was burned. You were also spotted running off into the parking garage after your scuffle. Shortly after that, all the alarms of all the cars go off and your car is spotted leaving. Our officers get there and lots of windshields are smashed in. Can you help us clear some of this up? What was the argument about? And who would've wanted to hurt DeShea like that?"
She works so hard to seem calm and level headed as she lets silence linger between her questions. And it's not hard with How pressing me like he does. But I'm not naive to their good cop bad cop routine so I remain silent. They exchange a look and How continues to dig.
"The interesting part of all this is that when I tried to run back the security footage there was none. So here's what I've come up with. You had an argument with your friends likely about the infamous video and all the rumors spreading around. They called you hateful slurs. You got rightfully angry, threw a tantrum and decided to vandalize their property to blow off steam. They got angry and decided to retaliate. Or maybe you did this as a cry for help. Either way you spin it, somehow you're involved in all this. So we need you to start telling the truth," he grills. He just won't let up.
"Detective when I went into the parking garage my driver side window was cracked as well. If I wanted to vandalize property it wouldn't make sense to wreck my own car too." I rebut poking holes in his theory. And like clockwork, his good cop clocks back in.
"I mean, it would kind of make sense if you wanted to cover your tracks. So you're going to have to tell me what happened. Or do we have to take you down to the courthouse to figure this mess out?" She threatens like a scolding mother, but I don't back down.
"Detective Ross my mother is a lawyer so I have a pretty good idea of how these things are supposed to go. I know for certain that it is illegal to interrogate a minor without the consent of a parent. And the fact that you didn't just arrest me, take me to the police station, and put me in a proper interrogation room with my mother further aids my theory that you have nothing to bring to a judge that, at this current moment, would allow charges to stick, just maybes. And even in a court of law a motion to suppress statements would have this case thrown out. So while you sit here interrogating me for the destruction of my own property, which I clearly have no motive for, all of your potential eyewitnesses, or even further, suspects, that your men just pushed to the sidelines, have vanished. If you would like to explain to me, or my mom, how I've gone from being a victim of a hate crime to being a suspect in vandalism in the space of a few exchanges of dialogue, or better yet find the people that did this to my car be my guest. Otherwise I have nothing further to add except for the fact that you should go back to the police academy and—" my lawyer style jargon that could only come from helping my mom practice her courtroom takedowns is halted by an immense thundering that seems to slow down time. The deep sound, the vibrations, rattle us. And then the force of it snatches us from the ground. Our bodies soar and land hard on the grassy median.
There's a din that starts at my ears as it floods my body. I struggle to catch my breath as if all my biological functions were just reset. I push myself on my elbows and up to my hands as I turn quick, sharp breathes into deep, soothing ones.
"Shiloh are you ok?" I just make out from How over the sound of my ears ringing. He reaches out a hand and helps me to my feet.
"I'm fine. Thanks," I tell him as I pull away from his grip.
Still on the ground, Detective Ross pushes herself up and we hear a strained cry escape from her.
"I need a medic over here!" Detective Russell calls as he rips off his maroon v-neck pullover. My eyes draw down to the wails of his partner as How rips into his pullover. There's a shard of metal that pierces the side of her stomach and as she writhes in agony, How wraps the scraps of his shirt around and dresses the wound. How uses a free hand to keep her still as she tries to sit up "Stay down Ross. You'll be ok. Just don't move!"
Uniformed EMT's rush over to us and I draw away from them as they administer aid to Detective Ross and How. My chest tightens as I look away from the pain in her face. Pain I caused.
At first I don't realize it, but it had to have come from me. This is my fault. I didn't even realize I was so angry. I lift my hands and find they're shaking, but I'm not sure if it's from fear or rage.
A wave of inescapable and mosaicked feelings surge through me as I realize it's not just her that's hurt. There were officers sweeping the car for fingerprints. Taking photos as evidence. More people could've been hurt.
It's like my body is on autopilot as I stumble over to the fiery remains of my car. My desire to know the extent of the damage drives me. It's like curiosity rides on the wheels of thrill fueled by adrenaline. Terror and guilt fight in the backseat and call each other names while excitement holds the wheel.
On the other side of the fire, I can see a single still body being treated by the medics. Everything slows down. And sound fades like a dying light as I wander over. I can see firefighters running over with hoses as I round the surging flames. With visceral frustration they wave me away from them, but it's like I watch them slowly swim through water as they push their arms through the air.
They don't want me to watch. They don't want me to see futile chest compressions. To see a lead medic have his determined subordinate stand down and call it. To have him force the truth of this moment on all of us. Force us to face it.
The heat of the fire ascending up the oak tree reaches out and hovers over me as I back away from them. I embrace it as it singes leaves and branch. Where others would cower at a raging flame, my feet become firmly planted in the ground. It's warmth is the only comfort I understand right now. It could engulf me and I wouldn't fight against it. It would be like falling into myself because, somehow, I am that fire.
Maybe I would deserve the torment of being trapped inside myself. To be my own prison for the pain I've inflicted, for the life I've surely taken, and yet it doesn't come. I don't get pulled into the wrath of the fire. The world just shifts and changes like a fever dream.
A force so great I can hardly keep my eyes open envelops me. It overwhelms me. In its thrall, a flash of Keon floods my mind. Somehow I can feel him holding me. It's like he carries me away from my own compounding feelings.
But when the ringing in my ears fade, when the world opens to me again, it isn't him I hold. I find myself cradled in Mati's arms. One hand gripping the side of him, the other crumpling the epaulette of his gray pea coat in my fist.
"Guess it's a good thing this coat is so well made," he laughs as I climb down from him, my face blank and my body still. "Shiloh? Shiloh are you ok?" he wonders as he takes in the shake of my hands, the heave of my chest. I don't respond to his concern as I stuff my hands in my leather jacket.
I notice he's brought me to Viper Stadium as I search my surroundings. I walk down the wide concrete steps and sit on a cool purple and tan metal bleacher and cradle my arms around my knees. I stare out at the green grass of the football field, the yard lines fading with each fresh cut.
"When I first started playing in the peewee league, I'd plant my bare feet in the grass early in the morning. It'd still be wet and cold and I'd wiggle my toes in it. I used to call it sweaty grass. I had the whole team saying it until coach taught us that it was dew. It's crazy to think this used to be everything to me. Football was my life. My team was my family. Now, I might as well have lost it all. Why did you bring me here? In fact, why did you even pull me out of there?"
"I'm your buddy remember?" Mati chuckles as he takes in the setting sun. "I've been where you are, it seems, over and over and being somewhere familiar seems to help me reset."
"I just hurt those people. I think I killed someone and you think I should just reset? Do you know what this is like?" I feel my anger rise as I set the truth free. My hands ignite in a crimson flame. I toss burning flames into the bleachers and they spark and die all the same leaving little rings of soot in their place.
"You've seen some of my thoughts," Mati says. "I know what it's like to know, without any doubt, that I've killed someone." He doesn't even flinch or move at the sight of my tantrum. His calm instead simmers my heated rage. I sit down beside him as I process his words.
"I told you we aren't gifted Shiloh. We are dangerous. I've spent years of my life atoning and forgiving myself for the hurt that I've caused. This ain't a game. We aren't meant to be superheroes. I try to do right by people where I can, but we could, even unintentionally, destroy this world if we wanted to. It's why we hide and keep people like Drew Bastion from finding us."
His remarks of us feel so unlike what I know of my lineage. Scores of my family, people just like us, seemed to do good with their abilities. They seemed to bring people joy.
"Maybe we're only dangerous when we're provoked," I offer, wanting so badly to believe that any of this is just. To believe that I am truly good and that somewhere inside the chaos I cause doesn't excite me.
"And that doesn't make it any better. Humans fear what they don't understand. And with that fear they provoke and attack us en masse. Just look at how they treat black people in this country, hell across the world. You think they won't do the same to us when they see the power we have? And what happens when they come with their weapons trained on us. Would we peacefully protest as bullets fly knowing we have our own? It isn't right. It isn't fair. But it's the nature of the world. I believe we can learn control, but that's not a foolproof answer. It doesn't mean you're forever safe from being where you are now."
"So what do I do now?"
"Nobody actually knows the truth but you. Normal humans will chalk it up to a freak accident. They'll call your crushed car a powder keg. They'll say it was a tragedy. You can either tell them the truth and let humans react however humans will, or you can let the evidence do it's job.
"I guess you've taken the route of self preservation, huh?"
"Just another reason I atone. My motives are selfish. I don't want to be someone's lab experiment. Someone's weapon. But I'm not the only one who's affected by my choices. The second I reveal what I am to the world, they'll look for more of us."
"I think I'm gonna turn myself in," I cry. I don't realize the cool wetness of tears at first, but the weight of the present wears at me. "It's the right thing to do, but I'll do my best to keep my powers a secret. My mom will help me keep it quiet. And I know she'll fight for me as best she can." I raise my hands to my face and a bright green flame sparks on. It warms my skin with it's light, but it doesn't feel very hot. Mati pulls away from me almost recoiling.
"And then there's door number three," the husk of his voice rings further tensing the air around us. I struggle to even take in his ivory skin—his incriminating locs that bud and fall just over his brow—as I'm suddenly chilled. He wears a dark smirk as a nonchalant hand reaches out to us. "Cooperate with the SIA, whereby, we can and will protect you. Matias Shaw, how's it going?"
"Murk!" Mati yells and in a flash we're at the gates of my home. Before I can even process what happened, I'm crashing into the meticulously manicured lawn of our compound. Mati leans over me scowling. "If I find out this was part of your plan," he starts as he lights his hand aglow. "Well you've seen what I can do." And as quickly as his threat comes he vanishes leaving me more perplexed than ever before.