"You either die a hero or you live long enough to see yourself become the villain." - Harvey Dent, The Dark Knight
Issue #1: Now You See Me, Now You Don’t.
IT DOESN’T take a Bachelor’s degree in Logical Thinking or a Master’s in Common Sense to figure out that something was off.
Something was just so weirdly off about my biology professor, Dr. Harding.
Maybe it was the way he wore that white lab coat with the ridiculous surplus of pockets everywhere he went. I had seen him from time to time at the supermarket somewhere in between the produce aisle deciding between apples and avocados with it on.
I’d seen him where it at his nephew’s soccer games, sitting in the stands with his nurse sister and her attorney husband. Some say he even showers with it on. Though, the real and more terrifying question is how do you know he showers with it on?
Perhaps it was the way his hair did that thing whenever the wind blew in that direction. Possibly, it was its smoky, ghostly white color or the way he greased his entire skull, even though he only had hair in the back.
But, perhaps it was the way he talked in the most I’m-a-maniacal-evil-doctor voice of all time and laughed like he belonged in some comic book made in the 80s whenever he found something funny. Maybe, juuust maybe all those signs were clear enough to let everyone know that Mr. Harding was, well…sort of nuts.
So, did anyone really not see this coming? Is there anyone – human or otherwise; living, deceased or a combination of two in the state of Indiana that was even remotely shocked when Dr. Harding walked into class, collected the homework he had assigned on respiration the previous session and assigned homework on Atoms to be collected the next class before he proceeded to unbutton his lab coat to reveal a ticking bomb wrapped tightly around his waist; humming lightly from whatever powered it on with numbers winding down in big, red digital font; ones that resembled an alarm clock.
Not Me. Not the other kids in the class, who lazily packed their notebooks back into their bags while grumbling about getting up at six-fucking-o-clock this morning to make it to this class on time …for this shit? as they huddled (lounged) in the back of the room as Harding instructed; threatening us all the way with blowing us up into just particles of matter.
Not the news crew(s) outside; all huddled on the grassy lawn that had a court seat view into the classroom where we were and certainly not The Ginger Valley Police Department. They were here within seconds when the call was made that some biochemistry teacher ingested too much bath salts and was trying to (once again) destroy the city. But the thing was, who wasn’t trying to destroy the city every now and then?
Sure, some outsiders, tourist and passer-throughers may have gasped a little at the sight of a high school surrounded by half a dozen cops cars and yellow tape. Some may even use adjectives of the negative variety like travesty or perhaps horrifying to describe the events that were currently unfolding on every news channel at the moment.
They all pointed with their mouths covered by their palms as they watched in horror. Which, fine, maybe they weren’t used to seeing a sight such as this one in whatever big city or little town they were from, but it was so common for a day to start like this that instead of using adjectives to describe a hostage situation, the residents of Ginger Valley just called it Tuesday.
“Come out with your hands up, Mr. Harding.” Police Chief McCarty’s voice echoed through a loud speaker and it sounded more annoyed than anything. It was almost like this was a movie and the scene had been done for the 6000th time today. “Or we’ll have to remove you with force.” He continued with the some uninterested, can’t be bothered tone.
The red and blue lights from the police vehicles that lined the front lawn of the building were bouncing off of the white, marker-ridden board that Mr. Harding had written our next homework assignment on.
Atoms – Complete Exercises 1 – 4 by September 25th, 2013 it read in a dark black color that was strangely mixing with hues of blues and reds that flashed in some form of random order from the outside. I hated the topic of atoms, and if we weren’t in mortal danger, I’d be jumping for joy that Mr. Harding picked today of all days to diverge into villain-hood.
“Last Warning.” Police Chief warned. I wondered where he stood, because I couldn't see him out of the windows. Just bystanders and other students who had been evacuated out of the building. “If you don’t come out and let those kids go, we will use force.” His voice went down a decibel with each word he spoke as the grittiness and venom rose in potency. He sounded more abrasive this time; perhaps to scare Harding into better judgment.
And if his goal was to frighten The Good Doctor (Harding’s villain-alter ego), it was working. Mr. Harding was starting to sweat profusely as he gazed outside the window in sheer bewilderment at the gravitational pull his hold-up was starting to generate. He wasn’t ready. Not for…this.
“GVNBC News is here.” He had noted to himself, staring mindlessly out the window before swallowing balls of fear and went back to pacing around the room in huge strides. “My mother works there.” He bit his nails as he panted and huffed around the room. “She’s isn't going to like this. Not one bit.”
It had become potently clear that Harding obviously didn’t know what it took to be a super villain. He was missing several very important things. One – he didn’t have anything to hide his true identity. He might as well have been stark naked if he was going to wear that coat. Two – he didn’t even have a list of demands neatly typed and ready for when a phone was sent into be read in a menacing fashion.
“D-demands?” he had stuttered, as if it was some unspeakably dirty profanity. I tried to visualize the confused look on McCarty’s face from outside; perhaps it was similar to the wack-job in the room “I have no demands. I’m honestly going to just blow these kids to hell!” Then he, frustratingly so, hung up and rested the phone on the desk and got back to his pacing and incoherent murmuring.
“Uh, Dr. Harding?” Dylan Summers, the quarterback of the football team, raised his hand to catch the teacher’s attention.
Harding’s pacing stopped once Dylan had broken the rule and leered with manic eyes at him. “Yes, Dylan.” He sighed, annoyed, “I’m in the middle of something right now.” He always had the softest spot for the football star, seeing as he couldn't tell you the difference between Nitrogen and the back side of a football. “Do you need something?”
“Yeah,” the 6’1 blonde, blue eyed boy answered back, hand scratching the back of his neck nervously, “I was wondering that…in the event that you get caught and go to jail or… whatever, do we still give in our homework…or?” Summers queried, leaning against the wall with his hands in his pockets. “I could use the extra grade.” Dr. Harding blinked a few times at the (reasonable) question before he scowled at him and went on with his pacing. “Sorry I asked...” Dylan mumbled, rolling his eyes and sliding down the wall to sit with the rest of his jock friends who shared the class with him.
While everyone else in the room had already stopped paying attention to Harding and started texting and playing angry birds on their iPhones, I had kept a small eye on the professor, or more so, the ticking time bomb that was hugging him and losing digit after digit by the passing second.
000:000:000:000:04:36
Years Months Days Hours Minutes Seconds
“You kids don’t understand what it means to be a teacher.” Harding rumbled to himself, pointing fingers at random students as that ticking sound started to echo a bit more loudly in my ears and those numbers started unwinding down at a pace faster than I had previously noticed. “Day in, day out with you snotty, privileged little brats who wouldn’t know work or a job if it slow danced with you.”
000:000:000:000:04:06
“It’s time I teacher got the last laugh! It’s time a teacher one the battle! It’s time someone rose up! Rose up and-and-and, crushed you little apathetic adolescents who can’t even read a single chapter of one damn book because its soooo long and soooo hard and soooo boooring” he whined to mock us, and if my life wasn’t in some form of danger, I’d be honestly offended by the uninspired acting. He picked up the blue covered hard back text book that seemed heavier somehow in his hands and dangled it in front of our faces. “Try writing a book, you waste of semen and then tell me what’s long, hard and boring.”
000:000:000:000:03:56
“Someone needs to do something. He’s not letting us go.” Alexia Markwood brightly remarked from behind me, and I held back the intense urge to thank her for her keen observation skills.
But she was right. Someone had to do something before that bomb lost anymore numbers. We needed someone to save us. We needed a hero. And not just any kind of hero. We needed one of the masked variety.
Other cities had other things to define them. New York was The Big Apple; Chicago was The Windy City and Detroit was The Motor City. Ginger Valley was known as The Super City.
People didn’t just come to Ginger Valley just for the warm hospitality of the people. Ginger Valley, Indiana was known for its masked men and women in tights who soared through the sky and sat perched up on buildings at night to watch the city. Who fought off malfunctioning robotic men who tried to enslave the human race and masked capers who planned to destroy he city for one reason or the other. We weren't very abundant in coffee, or oil or salt, but we had an excess and rich supply of superheroes. That’s right. Actual tights wearin, cape danglin, sky flyin and laser beam eyein superheroes. And they protected our city from the ones who tried to destroy it.
“And they need to do it fast.” Sherry Bishop, Alexia’s best friend noted; she obviously shared the same brain power as well. Still, they weren’t wrong. We needed a superhero and fast.
I groaned internally, fully aware that, I may well had to be the one to put an end to this. I may not have my own super suit, but I possessed the…talent to do so. The problem was, if you were a superhero, you weren’t supposed to reveal your secret identity under any circumstance whatsoever. I was banned from using my powers in public for that reason. That and the fact that my parents told me that I wasn’t ready for it.
But one look at the clock – 000:000:000:000:01:59 – and it was clear that desperate times called for desperate measures. And so, I watched Mr. Harding and followed his pattern of footsteps.
Step, step, step, turn around. Step, step, step, turn around.
I took a deep breath. Step. Closed my eyes. Step. Inhaled again. Step. Exhaled harshly. Turn around.
With Harding’s back to me, I shot to my feet, but before I even had the chance to tackle him, the door to the classroom erupted and split into peices. Bits and bites of green hued wood spewed through the class, sending me hurdling back to my position on the floor; butt bruised and back aching.
Dust had flown up into the air. Screams echoed from the inside and outside of the class as everyone tried frantically to see what in the blue hell caused such a tremendous boom.
“Who’s there?!” Harding’s voice shakily spilled, mixing in with the panic of the room and it became clear that he himself was just as shocked by it as the rest of us. And if Harding was surprised, that could only mean one thing.
“It’s him!” Alexia boomed from behind me. Her fingers pointed towards the silhouette that had formed at the in the frame of where a door once stood. “It’s Mr. Terrific!”
The dust had fallen and coming into sight was a pair of knee high black boots, a shiny metallic silver suit, a mask of the same color and two enigmatic blue, electric eyes. It was him.
“We’re saved!” Sherry shouted, giggling as she swept up to her feet, bringing her bestie with her. The rest of the kids did as well, all clapping their hands and hooting and hollering as the masked hero stepped into the room.
“He’s so hot.” Someone whispered and I cringed.
“Stop right there!” Harding warned, but he was shaking so much that the words came out a jumbled mess of spurs and spit. “I-I-I’ll blow us all to smithereens!” he warned again and pointed down at the bomb.
000:000:000:00:10
Mr. Terrific stepped closer.
000:000:000:00:09
Mr. Harding backed up.
000:000:000:00:08
Mr. Terrific eyes met mine.
000:000:000:00:08
I blinked back.
000:000:000:00:07
He smiled.
000:000:000:00:06
I cringed.
000:000:000:00:05
Dr. Harding tried to run.
000:000:000:00:04
Mr. Terrific was engulfed in a blurry blanket as he sprinted towards him.
000:000:000:00:03
Mr. Harding found himself surrounded being circled by a tornado of silver.
“Get away from me!” he shouted, swatting at it.
000:000:000:00:02
“I’m killing us all!”
000:000:000:000:001
I covered my eyes and expected the worst.
000:000:000:00:00
No boom. No bang. Not even a crackle.
I removed my fingers from the front of my eyes and brought them to a slowly, blinking open. Unsurprisingly, Mr. Terrific was holding a bundle of white lab coat in between his clutched fist with Mr. Harding suspended in the air by its tail while a bomb that was no longer whistling anymore in the masked man’s other hand.
The cheering had begun; from inside and out. People were mesmerized how he had, once again, saved the lives of the innocent citizens in the city. I just sat there; pride wounded, butt soar, lungs filled with dusty air and watched as the man-in-tights took a bow. “Stay in school, kids.” He waved, nearly dropping the bomb and mostly likely killing us all before he soared out of the class room through the roof with Dr. Harding, leaving a gaping hole in it as he flew away.
No one seemed to notice (or care) though. Everyone in the room stared dusting themselves off and went back to their normal chatter and were discussing the dread of doing the atoms homework and the fact that we were going to get a brand new biology teacher pretty soon.
I huffed and picked up my backpack from off of the floor from a few inches from me. Got up, dusted off the dirt and exited the room.
I didn’t have the chance to even step through the frame of the doorway before my eyes caught glimpse a goofy smile from on the other side of the crowded hallway. He waved his hands from side to side as to signal me, which I found horribly embarrassing and unnecessary since Donny was virtually a skyscraper standing amongst suburban two story homes. He had those manic eyes and a smile that was some strange mixture of creepy and friendly.
There isn't a loud and long morning voicemail that goes by that I don’t question what on earth possessed me that first day of school back in seventh grade to befriend that weird kid who was terrorizing that village of red ants on the sidewalk. But here I was, some odd years and he still waited for me outside of my classes like some loyal canine.
“So, give the details little bro.” he chimed the second I made it to him through the bustling crowd of gossiping students. He haphazardly threw one of his ape-like arms across my shoulder, making me wince slightly at the heaviness. “I heard your science teacher finally lost his last loose screw.”
“You heard right.” I grumbled. “Why are so many people in here?” I queried, looking around at the massive amount of student packing this one hall like canned sardines. “I thought they evacuated the rest of the school.”
“They were. Then Mr. Terrific flew inside and no one saw the need anymore.” He hummed. “Was it serious?”
“Well, if you don’t count being held hostage with a bomb serious, then no. Just another regular Tuesday morning.”
“Great!” he chuckled, latching my side to his as we exited the lab hall and entered the one with the junior class’ lockers. I opened mine and Donny waited by the side of me, smiling at everyone who passed, because he was weird like that; and boy, did they pick up on it. Once the kids had stopped coming so frequently, he leaned back on the locker to the right of me and came closer to my right cheek. “So,” he breathed, breath smelling of the pancakes he most likely ate this morning, “did you get to save any days in there?”
I took one of my hands out of my locker and pushed his face back with any open palm. “Personal space, dude.” I reminded him for the eightieth time this week. “And I have no idea what you’re talking about.” I mumbled, more concerned with finding a place to put this damn book without all the contents of my locker spilling out.
“You know,” he gargled, using his hands to try and illustrate his point, even punching me light in the shoulder. ““did you kung-fu chop anyone or roundhouse a hoe or judo chopped any crazed men?”
“Donny,” I said, honoring him with just one fleeting what that fuck are you blabbering on about glances before refocusing to the more important task at hand. “I didn’t bring my Idiot-to-English dictionary today; you’re going to have to be more specific than just naming different moves from movies you watched this weekend.”
“Did you use your powers!?”
My head nearly banged against the steely, sharpened edge of the metal locker door trying to pull myself out to glare at him. I grabbed him by the his black and white striped collar and pulled him close enough to me so I could properly whisper-yell in his face. “What did I tell you about using the P word in public?” I growled at a bewildered Donny who, only offered a helium tinged “sorry” as a response before I released him.
I slammed my locker door shut and leaned on it. “And no.” I mumbled, resting my bag down in between my beaten down sneakers. “I didn’t get to save anyone. No thanks to Mr. Hero in there…” I mumbled.
“Ah.” Donny chuckled. “I see. Mr. T beat you to the punch.”
I scoffed. “He didn’t beat me to anything. I wasn’t going to do anything in a room full of people who I have to associate with every damn day.” Okay, so I lied. But, my pride was still severely wounded here so I had no choice, really.
“You’re crazy, Keegan.” Donny muttered, punching me lightly in the arm. “If I were you, I would have already been flying through the air with my long ass cape and mysterious identity. Think of the chicks – or in your case, dicks – you’d have if everyone here knew that you had super…” he stopped when glared at him, “that, uh, you were…gifted.”
“Dude, first rule of being a super hero: No one is to know-”
“-your secret identity because then the villains know who to go after yada yada yada bloody death of family, blah blah blah quest for vengeance only ending in more death I know, Keegy.” He huffed dramatically. “You’ve only said it a thousand and forty times.”
“So, stop asking before it’s a thousand and forty-one.”
“Jerk.” He grumbled.
“Idiot.” I spat.
“Ass.” He quipped.
“Heterosexual.” I swiped.
He gasped. “You know sexuality is off limits!”
“Yeah, yeah.” I grumbled. “I know.”
Donny and I had made a pact about six months ago when I first came out to him. One night when we were watching wrestling, the question came up of which WWE superstar was our favorite and why. Donny selected Shawn Michaels and said he was the greatest in-ring performer he had ever seen and that he was in love with him. “No homo.” He added at the end, chuckling before asking me who I favored.
I responded with CM Punk and that I just liked his rebel without a cause attitude and that, I too was in love with him. Seconds had floated by before I had, in a quiet voice added, “No Hetero.” And things got pretty awkward after that. It wasn’t until a week of radio silence that he said he was okay with it and that he wouldn’t say “No Homo” if I didn’t say “No Hetero”. Of course he was joking, but I kept the promise and so did he.
“So, have you mastered the skill of flight yet?” Donny questioned.
I went to smack him, but seeing as the hall was empty, I decided to humor him. “No. It’s harder than it looks.” I had no idea what it took to fly. I didn’t know if there was a word to trigger it or maybe you had to think of something in particular, maybe? No one ever told me. “My other powers are coming along, though.”
Donny smiled. “You can go invisible on command now?”
“Most of the time.” My lips fell into a frown. “It still happens when I don’t want it to; usually at the most inopportune times.” I cringed at the boat load of those memories. “And for some reason whenever it happens, people can’t seem to hear when I’m speaking. It’s almost as if it’s not the power of invisibility; it’s like I’m dead, or something.”
“Maybe your power is to become a ghost.” He chuckled. “Keegan The Moody Ghost.”
I smacked him on his forehead with an open palm and rolled my eyes. “You’re hilarious, Donny.”
He pursed his lips in a straight line. “I know when you’re patronizing me.”
“Good.” I responded. “Plus, it can’t be that. I can’t walk through walls or possess people or anything like that for me to be a ghost.”
Donny nodded and placed a hand underneath his chin. “Maybe it has to do with your emotions. The more work up you are…maybe the more out of wack your power is.”
“Seems…plausible.”
He gave me a little smirk. “Maybe you should go around Wren and see what happens.”
I blinked and eyed him down. “How would that even solve anything?”
Donny gave me this you know what I’m talking about stop lying look and folded his arms over his chest. “Dude, you told me you’ve had a crush on Wren ever sense he let you borrow his glue to paste pasta on your fourth grade project. You even wrote that horrible poem for him.”
“That was years ago.” I insisted. “And it was macaroni, not pasta.”
“Whatever, lover boy.” He snickered. “And how did it go?
"Wren, Wren,
My heart beats for Wren
Wren Wren,
I love you even if your name was Sven”
He pretended to dry heave. “I’m getting sick just thinking about it.”
“You want Hemmingway,” I shot, hitting him in the arm, “buy the fucking novels.”
“I would, but I’m working on my own and I’m scared I might leech off of his work.”
I raised a brow. “You never told me that. That you were writing a novel or whatever.”
“A writer never reveals his craft before it is completed, Keegy.” He kicked himself off of the locker. “I’ve got to get to my next class. I’m already twenty minutes late.”
I furrowed my eyebrows. “That didn’t even make sense!” I cried and he looked back with a big grin.
“Which one of us is the writer here, Keegan!” he laughed.
“None of us!” I yelled back as he turned the corner and disappeared from sight and mind
There were two things wrong with what Donny had said. One – Donald couldn't tell a metaphor from a bowl of soup and was incapable of stringing together coherent sentences verbally, much less on paper. The chances of him writing a good novel were slim to negative one.
And two – I didn’t have a crush on Wren. What I had for Wren was residual; sort of like when you’re sweeping dirt into a dust pan. You could sweep and sweep the heaps of it in, you can empty it out and start again, but there will always be that little annoying line of dust bunnies and potato chips on the ground.
Wren was my potato chip. I had liked him for so long and, it had faded away in time, but there was still always something about him. Not enough for me to have a crush, per say…but enough to still let a stare linger at his pink, full lips a second longer than it probably should.
I shook my head of the thoughts. After all, I had quite larger fish to gut. Mr. Terrific, that being. And so I sank to the floor of the hallway with my back up against one of the lockers, searched and dialed the number on my phone and waited as it rang.
“Y’ello, Mr. T speaking.”
I nearly upchucked. “Can you not say that ever again, please?”
“Shouldn’t you be in class, Keegan?” he asked, annoyed. “I’m pretty busy right now.”
“Oh.” I chuckled, contempt palpable and sarcasm evident. “I didn’t realize that when you crashed into my class room and destroyed everything.”
“I did what I had to.” Mr. Asshole, answered defensively. “You weren’t going to do anything.”
“That’s because you have barred me from doing so.”
“Correction: the rules have barred you from doing so.”
“You created the rules!”
“Tomato; potato, Keegan.” He answered with a soft huff. “Look, I’ve got to go.”
“This conversation is not over.”
“It is for now.” he retorted. “Talk later, son.”
“Whatever, Dad.” He hung up before I did and grudgingly followed suit, throwing my phone into my bag and going to the library for the remainder of the period.
The entire day was filled with chatter of the hold-up. Even English, the only class that I marginally enjoyed had stopped to debate why Mr. Harding went postal. The theories poured in; Kids murdered, wife killed by government and he’s exacting his revenge and my personal favorite, he's getting old, so he's losing his mind and stuff.
I hadn’t been paying attention. I was too be scribbling words on the front of my book with my tongue hanging out of the side of my lips to even hear what Ashley Moss was blabbering on about. And, when the bell rang to signal not just the end the class, but the end of the day, I had sighed in relief, picked up my stuff and got the hell out of there before I had to sit there from another second and listen to the words “super” and “hero” or any combination of the two again.
The sun was hot and pummeled against my skin unmercifully, but the pain wasn’t in vein. The bus had just arrived, right on time at 3:10 and there were no people at the stop. I sighed in relief, texted Donny that I was safe on the bus and made my way to one of the seats near the middle.
I stared mindlessly out of the window and at the dozens and dozens of teens who were stopping to talk to one another instead of getting into whatever vehicles were there for them to get home. It was weird seeing it occur every day. Maybe because, I, myself never had anyone to stop and talk to. Donny had band practice after school and we didn’t see or talk to each other until much later and…well, Donny was my only real friend. Not that I didn’t talk to other people, but those relationships were easily expendable and far more breakable.
“Is this seat taken?”
I hadn’t registered the fact that the voice was speaking to me until a few seconds later when someone coughed awkwardly. My head floated from the bus’ dirty bus window and the sea of high schoolers to a slightly more pretty and pleasing image of two full pink lips, big blue eyes; all wrapped in a pair of washed out, faded blue jeans and tussled brunette hair.
“What?”
Wren frowned. “Is anyone sitting across from you here?” I looked at the empty seat and blinked.
“I…” I exhaled softly. “No. I don’t think there is.”
Wren nodded, smiled a little and took the seat across from me. I immediately looked down at my fingers and flexed them. Tangible. Thank God, I said to myself. I could across Donny’s theory off of the list.
I sighed and plugged one of my headphones in once the bus had started to move.
“Hey.” That small voice mumbled half way through the ride. “Do we know each other?” His head was cocked to the side ever so lightly and his eyes were bright with curiosity. “You look oddly familiar.”
I swallowed. His eyes were just big and were almost as if they were staring into my soul. I could practically feel my heartbeats banging against the inside of my chest as my brain and gut fought on how to exactly answer that question. “Science project…”
He narrowed his eyes, almost as if he was searching his memories for the encounter. When he frowned, I waved him off with a smile, a small one, of my own. “Don’t worry. It was fourth grade. I borrowed your glue for my-”
“-macaroni project.” My heart fluttered when a smile stretched across his lips. “Keegan. Keegan Paul.”
“That’s, uh,” I sneezed and wiped my hands on my red jacket. “That’s me.” I answered and the silence had taken back over again, only this time it wasn’t so restricting.
“So, Paul.” Wren started again and his constant chatter made me uneasy. I wasn’t used to this. This one on one conversation thing; truth be told, I tried my hardest to avoid the thing. It was unnerving. “Where are you headed? I’m off to the mayor’s office.” He frowned. “I’m interning for him and could use some company."
Home. I’m going home. “Me too.” Damn it.
Wren raised a brow. “Really? I’ve been there about two weeks. I’ve never actually seen you there.”
I was confused. I don’t work for the mayor. I lied. “I…just started. T-today.” Christ, Paul. Get it together.
“Oh. What are you doing?”
No crush. This won’t end well. You could go to jail. Dust Bunny. Potato Chip. “I’m helping set up for the Mayor’s Ball Invitational next month.” You’re screwed. “You know,” I chuckled, “setting up chairs, painting the hall and what-not.”
Wren’s lips formed an ‘O’ before smiling again. “Then I guess we’ll be seeing a lot of one another, then.”
Nearly gone and died right then and there, but settled for an absent minded nodding of my head. This was already a bad idea and I hadn’t even gotten off the bus yet. I could’ve still said I was lying or joking, but my tongue wouldn’t let me. And I had no idea why. It was puzzling; sure, I…had feelings for Wren, but this was reckless and stupid and immature. Everything I wasn’t.
And that trend up stupidity continued as the bus came a halt and Wren got up. He blinked down. “You coming?”
I frowned and looked out the window. “This isn't town hall.”
“It’s only a twenty minute walk there, I promise.” He smiled and nudged his head. “You could use the exercise.”
“Okay.” I quietly answered, feeling something unfamiliar pinch my stomach and grip my cheeks.
I followed Wren off of the bus and quickly noticed that we weren’t in the best part of town. City hall was at least thirty five minutes away. So either Wren was horrible at time estimation or he himself had never walked this route there. But on we trudge in a silent, steady pace. My eyes stayed on the ground for the most part with my hands stuffed inside my pockets.
The sun was beginning to turn that orange tinged color as five o clock started to approach. I started to quicken the pace; the quicker we got out of the neighborhood, the quicker we’d be safe.
“People are following us.” Wren had seemingly out of the blue noted mid-way through an alley that looked like a short cut. My eyes lifted from the gravel and over to him. He kept his eyes straight. I looked by back myself and saw two men following us in a distance.
Oh.
“There was only one of them a minute ago so I thought nothing of it, but now they’re two.”
I spun around again and narrowed my eyes to glimpse better look. I noticed that one to the right was taller than the other to his left. Bandanna, red and white in pattern were tied around their mouths and they were both carrying items; one with a bat and the other holding a steel chain in between his hands.
Oh.
“Any suggestions?” Wren asked, still a bit calmly, and it really surprised me. If I were him, I’d be tailing it by now.
“We get to where there are a lot of people.” I answered. “Fast.” I grabbed one of his hands and started to speed walk, but the attempt to escape the men from behind was thwarted by two men who appeared at the end of the alley in the front; both wearing the same kind of bandannas as the other men.
One of them, skin as white as snow, took his bandana off and allowed it to find a new home around his neck. “Hello.”
Wren swallowed. “Uh, hi?”
The one the side of him, darker in color but taller in stature chuckled and removed his. “Do you know where you are?”
“Ginger Valley.” I answered and Wren through me a crazed, worried glance. “Indiana. Earth.”
“Kid got jokes.” The pale one laughed and I was starting to get agitated. “Let’s sees who laughing by the time this is over.”
“Look, we’re just trying to get where we’re going.” I tried to say calmly, but the annoying tone slipped through in several syllables and I had probably rolled my eyes twice already. “Can you just crawl back into your shadows or caves or whatever and let us go?”
“Give us all you have, pretty boy.” The darker one ordered. “Starting with that pretty little iPod of yours.”
I looked down in my hands, cocked a brow before looking up. “This is expensive.”
“Give it to him.” Wren barked. He was obviously scared and I wanted to tell him he didn’t have to because, well, I could handle them…but then the voice that reminded me of rule #1 started back up in my head again.
So I sighed aggravatingly and handed him the iPod. “Well, then.” Wren said, trying to smile. “Now that you’ve got what you came fo-” Wren choked and my head immediately spun to his direction. One of the guys who were following us had him by the throat and held a knife in one of his hands.
“Let him go.” I warned.
“Or what?” one them laughed. The smell of whatever disgusting, cheap alcohol he had consumed was still on his nasty breath. “What are you going to do about it?”
Wren choked and I growled. “You don’t want to know.” I spat. Let him g-”
I didn’t have finish the sentence. I blur swept pass. A heavy gust of wind knocked me off my feet. Wren was on the ground and the two men that followed us were gone.
“What the fuck was that?” the pale guy said. “What wa-” he choked on his words. I spun around and he was mysteriously gone too. And so was his dark friend.
And then it became clear. “Dad.” I grumbled and crawled over next to Wren. The boy sputtered and choked and gargled; panting hard. He clutched onto my arm. “It’s okay. Mr. Terrific saved us.”
“Not exactly.” My head spun around at the sound of the voice, unfamiliar and far too young sounding to be dad. What I met standing behind us with his hands on his waist certainly wasn’t Mr. Terrific. He was tall and slim and was obviously around our age; give or take a year. His suit was yellow with black gloves and boots, and his mask only covered his eyes. That left his wild brunette hair able glisten in the sun and his plump lips to smirk. I had not a single clue who he was. “You okay?” he asked, extending his hand to me.
I rejected it. “We’re fine.”
His eyes went to Wren, who was looking up at him with some kind of wonderment. Perhaps this was his first time seeing a live, breathing superhero. “Right.” He answered, eyes still heavily lying on Wren; I didn’t enjoy that. “Stay in school, kids.” He said with half a smirk and a wink at the smaller boy. And he shot into the sky, taking up half the debris from the road with him.
Through coughing and sneezing, Wren spoke in a shaky voice, “Who was that?” he was watching the sky with those big doe eyes as the blurred yellow and black ball flew away.
My eyes were just as wide. “I don’t know.”
Big opening. Wasn’t planning on it to be this long, really but whatever. VOTE and COMMENT if you liked it and want mooore! :D