The First Superhero (Novella): Richter Page 4

  He knew he needed to get home, and fast. Since Lace had survived the party too, he felt much less nervous about revealing himself as having survived the massacre. Now he wouldn’t be the only suspect, although he knew he was still the only one who could actually do anything about it.

  Patrick bolted out of the alleyway and sped down the road, straight toward his home.

  9

  No Going Back

  Patrick walked down the street toward his house, nervous about what he was going to find when he opened the front door. What was he going to tell his parents? If there were police officers there, what would he tell them? He spent the whole walk up to the house trying to think of a good story.

  It felt strange, walking so slow. Even though he’d only had his abilities for a short time, he found that he wanted to be running around, getting from place to place in a split second. Walking was way too slow for him now, but he couldn’t risk just appearing in front of his house in case there were people out there. The government had surely already gotten wind of the situation, so it would be only a matter of time before agents who knew everything there was to know about people with these types of abilities would be focusing on Patrick’s town like hawks. He needed to lie as low as possible. There was no telling what kinds of gadgets and devices they had that could detect people with superpowers.

  Patrick stopped in his tracks. He was second-guessing revealing himself. He couldn’t afford to draw any attention to himself. He didn’t want government agents to be watching his every move, waiting for him to slip up and use his abilities. Because they had to be watching him, right? He couldn’t imagine he was the first person to ever manifest these types of abilities. He had no idea what to think, no idea what to do. He began to wonder whether or not anybody had actually been in his shoes before.

  Get it together, Patrick. Of course you’re not the first, he told himself as he began walking again. Lace was a potential superhuman. She was the only other person he knew who had survived. Of course, she could’ve just left the party early. He could remember seeing her there at some point, but it wasn’t like he’d kept an eye on her the entire time.

  Well, it has to be somebody, he told himself. Somebody there had to have powers, and they had to have used them. The crushed and flipped vehicles were definite evidence of that. The more survivors, the more area the government agents had to cover, which meant the more wiggle room Patrick had. Government agents that you don’t even know exist, he told himself. He was getting himself all worked up over a theory.

  His hands began to shake in fear. Come on, get it together, he told himself, clenching his hands into fists. He knew he needed to get himself out of his own head. He needed to focus on one thing at a time—and that meant revealing himself to his parents, no matter what.

  After a few more minutes, he reached his home. There was no unusual commotion going on on the street outside. No police cruisers, news vans, nothing. Patrick looked over his shoulder at Victoria’s house across the street. It looked the same as it would on any other Saturday afternoon. Her vehicle was sitting in the driveway along with her parents’.

  Patrick’s stomach sank and he turned away from the house, unable to look any longer. “Shit,” he said. “Ben.” Sadness and guilt rushed through him in an almost overwhelming fashion. Maybe he left early, he thought, trying to reassure himself. He had no way to be sure, so he did his best to not think about it.

  He walked up the sidewalk to his house with absolutely no idea what to expect when he walked inside. He walked to the far right side of the porch and pulled up a red brick that was a bit darker then the rest of the ones that made up the floor of the porch. Underneath it was a spare key. He unlocked the door, then put the key back and covered it with the brick.

  He walked inside, where the cool air from the air conditioning blasted him. He almost kicked his shoes off, but stopped himself. He didn’t want his mom asking any questions about where he’d gotten his new shoes. The shirt he was wearing with Can You Dig It? plastered across the front was going to be hard enough to explain.

  “What time is it?” he heard his mom ask somewhere off to his right.

  He turned, but all he could see was his own reflection staring back at him from the mirror hanging on the foyer wall.

  “A little past noon, I think,” he heard his dad say.

  Patrick furrowed his brows, unsure of what was going on. He could hear his parents talking in their room on the other side of the wall, as if the wall wasn’t even there. He looked at his reflection, his eyes widening. He pointed to his ears. Superhearing? he mouthed. He couldn’t believe it. What other power was going to manifest itself? Where was it going to end? That thought both excited and terrified him. What if it ended with him popping, just like what had happened in one of his earlier theories about the massacre? He moved that theory up in his mental list, right underneath Other superhuman.

  “—just wondering when Patrick’s going to get up,” he heard his mom say, and tuned back into their conversation.

  “He went to that party last night. Must’ve gotten in late,” his dad responded.

  Patrick’s eyes widened once again. They had no idea what had happened in the woods. As far as they or anybody else knew, Patrick had left the party and had come straight home. This definitely made things less complicated for him.

  He heard the television in the living room on his left, which the foyer led directly into. There was no door, just a small wall that he was currently standing behind. He figured Ren was in there watching television, too involved in the show to notice that someone had walked through the door. It was turned up pretty loud, but he had no idea if it was actually loud, or if it was just his newfound superhearing making it seem that way. Either way, Ren would definitely notice if he just walked by and into the large living area in front of him. He was going to have to use his superspeed to run by without being seen.

  He hoped that nothing bad would happen, that he wouldn’t accidentally bring the whole house down. He took a deep breath and bolted through the foyer into the living area. He stopped himself before he could slam through the wall into the backyard. He listened, and heard nothing unusual. Nobody had noticed, and the house wasn’t falling down on top of them.

  Satisfied and exhilarated, he crossed to the far right side of the room and climbed the stairs as quietly as he could.

  Once upstairs and inside his room, he changed into an outfit his family would recognize and not pay attention to. Once his red t-shirt and sweatpants were on, he exited his room and went downstairs as if he’d just woken up.

  “Well, you sure did get plenty of sleep last night,” his mom said as Patrick stepped off the final stair. She was standing in the kitchen, filling up a glass of water. She was wearing a pair of leggings and running shoes, and had her hair pulled back. Her phone was in a band on her upper arm.

  “Doesn’t feel that way,” Patrick said, trying his best to sound groggy. He crossed the living area and entered the kitchen, grabbed a glass from the cabinet and filled it with water. He hadn’t realized how thirsty he was until he saw his mom drinking from her glass. “You going out running?”

  “Jogging. I don’t think I could quite handle running just yet,” she said with a small laugh.

  “Well, you definitely look the part,” Patrick said, then took a gulp of water.

  His dad entered the kitchen from the door that led into the room where Ren was watching television. “Hey, you have a good time at the party last night?”

  Patrick nodded. “Not too good, of course,” he said with a smile. His parents had always been very cool and open with him, mostly because he never lied to them. They were okay with him going to parties, since they believed him when he said he’d be responsible—and he was. No harm, no foul. Plus he was eighteen, and there wasn’t much they could do to stop him even if they wanted to.

  Ren came running into the kitchen, right up to Patrick. “Come watch with me! It’s so funny!”

  “What a
re we watching?” Patrick asked as he walked across the kitchen and into the TV room, eager to leave his parents’ questions about his night behind.

  “It’s—why is there two men outside?”

  Patrick’s head whipped up. He looked out the window into his front yard and saw a car parked out there with two men in suits emerging from inside.

  “What’s going on?” Patrick’s dad asked as he and Patrick’s mom entered the room behind Patrick.

  “I don’t know,” Patrick said, his heart rate increasing. “They just pulled up.” His mind raced. They knew! He didn’t know how they knew; he just knew they did. They were coming to get him, to take him away. They had somehow found out about his powers, and now he was going to be a scapegoat—framed for heinous crimes he hadn’t committed.

  He exhaled, trying to get all the fear out of him. Just cool it. There’s no way they know, he told himself. He hadn’t done anything wrong. Yet. Once they got inside the house, though, and started asking questions, he knew that was when the lying would start.

  He quickly came up with a story in his head. He wasn’t sure if it was the most foolproof one, but it would have to do.

  “Patrick, you didn’t do anything, did you?” his mom asked.

  Patrick turned to face her and his dad. “No, of course not,” he answered, sounding as ignorant as he could. “I have no idea what’s going on.”

  “Well, I guess we’re about to find out,” his dad said, nodding toward the front door. A second later, the doorbell rang. “I’ll get it,” he said. He pushed past Patrick and walked to the front door.

  Patrick, Ren, and their mother all stood there, listening. Patrick thought his heart was going to explode, it was beating so fast. He could hear it pounding in his chest, which he found incredibly creepy. He hoped it was only because of his powers that he could hear it, and that it wasn’t actually beating hard and fast enough that everybody else could hear it as well.

  The door swung open, and Patrick’s dad greeted the two men. “Hello, sirs,” he said.

  “Is this the Henry residence?” they asked.

  “Yes, it is.”

  “We’re detectives with Westlake PD. How are you doing today, Mr. Henry?” one of them asked.

  “Good. What’s this about, detectives?” Patrick’s dad asked.

  “We were wondering if your son, Patrick Henry, was home?”

  “Yes, of course he is,” Patrick’s dad said, confusion in his voice. “Now, what’s this about again?”

  “We just have a couple of questions to ask him regarding a situation that happened at the party he attended last night. May we come in?”

  “Yes, of course,” Patrick’s dad said as he stepped aside, letting the two detectives in.

  This is it, Patrick thought right before the detectives appeared around the section of wall that he had used to hide behind earlier.

  The one in front was a taller, older man, a little pudgy. He was clearly the senior one of the two, as his stubble had patches of gray hair and he had crow’s feet around his eyes, while his partner looked very young. His partner had red hair and a clean-shaven face, and while he was a few inches shorter, he was clearly more muscular.

  The older detective smiled when he saw Patrick, his mother and sister standing there. “How are you doing, ma’am?” he asked with a slight nod to Patrick’s mom. Patrick recognized him as the one who had been doing all the talking earlier.

  “I’m doing fine. Can you tell us what’s going on?” she asked, clearly worried.

  “Are you Patrick Henry?” the detective asked, his eyes meeting Patrick’s.

  Patrick felt as if he was going to throw up, but he did his best to look innocent. He was sure this wasn’t the detective’s first rodeo. He had to do everything in his power to seem naive. “Yes, sir, that’s me.”

  “I’m Detective Winston. This is my partner, Detective Francis. Why don’t we have a seat? We have a few questions we want to ask you,” he said, gesturing toward the couch and chairs that sat around the room.

  “Is he in trouble, detectives?” Patrick’s mom asked, placing a hand on his shoulder.

  “Of course not, ma’am. We just have a few questions to ask.” Winston looked down at Ren. “And what’s your name, young lady?” he asked with a smile.

  Ren hid behind Patrick’s leg. “Ren,” she said, as quiet as a mouse.

  “It’s nice to meet you, Ren,” Winston said. He looked up at Patrick’s mom. “Mrs. Henry, do you mind taking Ren into the other room? She doesn’t need to be around for this.”

  Patrick turned to look at his mom. She looked at him with reassuring eyes, and grabbed Ren’s hand. “Of course. I’ll be in my room if you need anything.”

  “Thank you, ma’am. We appreciate it,” Detective Francis said, speaking for the first time.

  Patrick’s mom gave him one last glance before she left the room with Ren.

  “Let’s all sit,” Detective Winston said.

  Patrick’s dad sat in a chair on the other side of the room, the two detectives sat on a couch in the middle, and Patrick sat in the chair opposite his father, next to the couch.

  No going back now.

  10

  Planting the Seeds

  “We’re going to record this conversation, if that’s alright with you,” Detective Francis said as he set a digital audio recorder on the coffee table.

  “Yeah, that’s fine,” Patrick responded.

  “Were you at a party last night thrown by Joshua Underwood?” Detective Winston asked.

  “Yes, I was,” Patrick said, a lump forming in his throat. He didn’t know if he could do this.

  “Were you there the entire night, until the end?” Winston asked, his voice friendly and warm. Patrick could tell he was being very careful to ask questions that were as vague as possible in an attempt to get Patrick to incriminate himself.

  “No, I wasn’t. I left the party early,” Patrick lied.

  He couldn’t believe he was doing this. He began to think about the clearing where the party had taken place, and all the blood and death that was there. All of his friends, acquaintances, enemies, all dead. He thought about the clothes he’d worn that were now sitting in a dumpster, how they were covered in blood. His stomach turned, and he fought to stay strong. He couldn’t show any signs of weakness or knowledge to the detectives. He had to display complete ignorance.

  “You left early?” Winston said, curious. He smiled and turned to Francis. “A high school senior leaving a party full of booze, drugs, girls, way out in the woods where nobody could find them? That doesn’t seem typical, now, does it?”

  Francis shook his head. “None of the teenagers I know would do something like that.”

  “You hang out around teenagers often?” Patrick asked as if he was accusing the detective of something. The words had just slipped out of his mouth, and he regretted them as soon as he’d said them.

  Detective Francis’ face turned cold. “We’ll stick to asking the questions, Patrick.”

  “Why’d you leave the party early?” Winston asked, his eyes zeroing in on Patrick. He was ready for him to slip up somehow.

  Patrick’s eyes met his father’s. His dad was leaning forward in his chair. He nodded for Patrick to answer the question.

  Patrick turned his gaze back to Winston. “I wasn’t feeling very well. The smoke from the fire was getting all up in my lungs. I was coughing all night. Just wasn’t having a very good time.”

  Detective Winston stared at Patrick in silence for a moment, but Patrick wouldn’t break. Now he had spite to fuel him. He didn’t like the tones the detectives were taking, and he wasn’t going to give them anything to work with if he could help it.

  “Do you know about what time you left?” Winston asked, relaxing back into his seat a bit.

  “No. I didn’t have my phone on me.”

  “Why not?”

  “It got stolen.”

  “Stolen?” Patrick’s dad asked.

  “Y
eah, stolen,” Patrick said. “I filed a police report yesterday, in case you don’t believe me,” he said, happy to tell them something that he could prove. “Anyways, it wasn’t that far into the party. I got there at the beginning and only stuck around for an hour or two.”

  Detective Winston nodded, reluctantly satisfied with Patrick’s answer. “And have you seen anybody from the party since then?”

  Patrick opened his mouth, but stopped the words from coming out just in time. He almost told them about seeing Lace at the store earlier, but as far as his family knew, he’d been in bed all morning. “No. I just woke up right before you got here.”

  Winston chuckled softly, as if Patrick had just told a joke. “You sure are a late sleeper, aren’t you?”

  “Well, I was up late last night, so—”

  “I thought you left the party early?” Detective Francis asked, eagerly interrupting Patrick, visibly excited that Patrick had possibly incriminated himself.

  Shit shit shit. “Yeah, I did leave the party early, but it started a little late. Besides, I didn’t go right to bed when I got home. I watched some TV in my room first,” Patrick said, thinking fast.

  Francis sank back in his chair, disappointed that Patrick had a satisfactory answer.

  Winston turned to Francis. “Any other questions?”

  Francis pulled a notepad out of his pocket and flipped to a page. “Nope, that’s all I’ve got here.”

  Detective Winston stood, and with him, so did everybody else in the room. “That’s all the questions we have for you right now, Patrick.”

  “Could you tell us what this is all about?” Patrick’s dad asked.

  The detectives turned to him, and Winston shook his head. “I’m sorry, sir, but we can’t share any information right now, other than the fact that there was an incident at Joshua Underwood’s party last night that’s currently under investigation. When we learn more, we’ll be sure to let you know. However,” he said, turning to Patrick, “if you can think of anything else that may be of any use, give me a call.” He pulled a card from his jacket pocket and gave it to Patrick.