The First Superhero (Novella): Richter Page 7

  A cough caught Patrick’s attention. He turned his head toward the source of the noise and saw Harvey crawling out of the spot where the front door to the house had once been. Patrick walked over to him, as calm as could be. Apparently, Harvey had been in the process of running out to help Tovin when the house came down on him.

  When Patrick got right over him, he saw that a piece of metal was lodged in Harvey’s torso. He didn’t know whether that had come from throwing him or the house coming down on top of him, but either way, Patrick didn’t care. All he cared about was what was in Harvey’s pocket.

  “Please, call 911,” Harvey gasped as Patrick crouched down next to him.

  Patrick ignored him. He reached into the man’s pocket and pulled a phone out. Sure enough, it was his phone. He smiled in relief, and then looked down at Harvey. “Don’t take things that don’t belong to you, alright?” He gave Harvey a tap on the head with his phone, smirking.

  Then he stood and took everything in one last time. Satisfied with his work, he turned and ran away as fast as he could, the gravity of what he’d just done not yet setting in.

  16

  Superhero

  Patrick sat up in bed, his arms wrapped around his legs. Nearby, the fan creaked as it slowly circulated the air in the room. The light from the lamp cast long shadows across the floor as Patrick stared at the corner, lost in his thoughts. He shook slightly, his adrenaline still pumping. He couldn’t believe what he’d done.

  His eyes drifted to the end of his bed, where his ruined wallet was sitting. He still hadn’t washed the blood off it—his own blood. He looked at his phone, his eyes running along the crack that went diagonally across the screen. That hadn’t been there when the phone was stolen. Do you think it got there before or after you brought an entire house down on it? he asked himself.

  He closed his eyes and focused on his breathing. In and out. It was all he could do to keep himself from freaking out. A barrage of thoughts hammered at his mind, begging to be set free. Patrick wouldn’t let them in. He’d rather think about nothing at all than think about what he’d done.

  They deserved it.

  They were trash.

  You saw the squalor they live in.

  The look on Harvey’s face when you pulled him through the door was worth it. Patrick laughed at the thought.

  His mind flooded with thoughts and emotions, most of which he didn’t have the slightest idea how to process. He leapt out of bed and started pacing back and forth. He kicked clothes and books aside to make a path. I need to clean this room, he thought.

  Yes—maybe some action would help. He sped around the room, picking things up, putting them where they were supposed to go, separating his clothes into piles. He organized his desk, making sure every pencil and pen was right where it needed to go. In seconds his entire room was organized and clean, something it almost never was. It was all he could do to keep his mind off things. He looked around the room for something else to do, but nothing jumped out at him.

  The way that car crushed like that was really cool.

  He smirked. It wasn’t just cool; it had felt amazing. The way the steel had crushed in his grasp. The way the glass had exploded with a satisfying pop. The way he’d tossed the car through the house like it was nothing. The memory of it all got his blood pumping. Crushing the car had been as satisfying as scratching a hard-to-reach itch.

  You also threw it at somebody, he reminded himself, then huffed and began pacing again. “It’ll be fine,” he told himself. “Everything’s going to be okay.”

  I mean, they’re just a couple of no-good, thieving, hoarding, pieces of trash. They’re criminals, plain and simple.

  He felt a bit better. He looked at himself in the mirror on the wall next to his closet. “They were criminals, and I took care of them,” he told himself. “I’m kinda like a superhero.” He smiled at the thought of that. A superhero. That was something he could get behind. “I’m just a good guy who took care of some bad guys, that’s all.”

  He felt much better now. In his eyes, he’d done the entire world a giant favor. He climbed back into bed and turned out the light. He would have no trouble falling asleep now.

  *

  The satisfying crunch. The explosion of glass. The screaming.

  He threw the truck with a shout, and from it came a scream. Somebody had been hiding in the back.

  He flew through the air and landed on one. Another almost reached the ones. He ran to stop them.

  Into the fire, licked by the flames.

  Everything changed.

  *

  A knock on the door woke him. He sat straight up in bed, a sheet of sweat on his skin. He was out of breath, struggling to remember what that dream he’d just had was all about.

  “What is it?” Patrick asked whoever was on the other side of the door.

  “Hey, get dressed and get down here fast,” Patrick’s dad said. “Detectives Winston and Francis are here.”

  “Oh, shit,” Patrick said under his breath. “I’ll be right there,” he told his dad.

  He hopped out of bed, threw on a t-shirt and jeans, and slipped on a pair of socks. Then he left his room and did his best to not run downstairs. When he reached the bottom, he headed for the TV room, where people were talking.

  “There he is, the man of the hour,” Detective Winston said when Patrick entered the room.

  Winston and Francis were standing near the dining table at the far side of the room. In one of the chairs sat somebody Patrick didn’t recognize. It was an older-looking, pudgy woman who had black hair with gray roots. She was digging in her bag and brought some sort of kit out. Patrick’s parents were standing next to Winston, watching the woman.

  “What’s going on?” Patrick asked.

  “We have a court order to obtain a blood sample, Patrick. That’s what Dr. Jenna is here to do,” Detective Winston said.

  Patrick looked to his parents, who both nodded. “A blood sample? What for?”

  “We’re just collecting samples from everyone we know was at the party. We need it to run some tests, make sure nobody’s falsely IDed, that kind of stuff,” Francis said.

  Patrick didn’t believe him. There was something else going on, but he didn’t know what.

  “Come on, Patrick, take a seat. This will only take a minute. Then we have some questions for you,” Detective Winston said.

  “Shouldn’t you ask me questions before you take my blood? I can’t think as clearly if I’m lightheaded,” Patrick said, trying to stall.

  “We’re just taking a small sample. You’re not donating a whole pint or anything,” Detective Winston said with a smile, as if he’d just told some sort of joke. “Dr. Jenna needs to take the sample back to her lab as soon as possible, so we’re just going to get that out of the way, alright?” Winston said, gesturing toward the empty chair in front of him.

  Patrick didn’t see what other option he had. They had a court order. If he didn’t cooperate, he’d be in huge trouble. Maybe they won’t do anything with it, he thought as he walked over to the chair. Stop being so paranoid, he told himself as he sat down.

  “Arm,” Dr. Jenna said as she put on her gloves.

  Less than a minute later, she pulled the needle out of Patrick’s arm and put the small vial of his blood away.

  “This is all I need,” she said, then collected her things and stood up.

  “All right. We’ll see you later,” Detective Winston said.

  Dr. Jenna nodded and left the house.

  “Mr. and Mrs. Henry, if you’ll please give us the room, that’d be much appreciated. We just have a few questions we’d like to ask Patrick,” Detective Winston said.

  Patrick’s mom shook her head. “Absolutely not. You cannot question our son without us present.”

  “Actually, ma’am, Patrick is eighteen—a legal adult. We can question him without a parent present,” Detective Francis said.

  Patrick looked up at his mom and dad, giving them a r
eassuring look. “It’ll be fine, guys.”

  His dad gave him a nod. “I think he’s got this under control, Pam.”

  “Thank you, folks. This won’t take long, I promise,” Detective Winston said.

  Patrick’s mom gave him a smile, and he smiled back. Then his parents left the room.

  Detectives Winston and Francis sat in two chairs on the other side of the table. Patrick took a deep breath, ready for whatever it was they were going to throw his way.

  17

  Closing In

  “I’ll be recording this,” Detective Francis said as he put a recorder out on the table.

  “That’s fine,” Patrick said, not taking his eyes off the man.

  “Okay, Patrick—refresh my memory for me, if you will. About what time did you say you left the party?”

  “Well, as I mentioned last time, I don’t know exactly what time it was, because I didn’t have my phone. I think it was only an hour or two into the party. It hadn’t been going on for very long,” Patrick said coolly. He was ready for anything the detectives were going to ask him.

  “That’s funny,” Winston said as he leaned back in his chair “Because we have two different witnesses who put you at the party four, even five hours into it.”

  Patrick hadn’t been ready for that. He sat up in his chair, then leaned forward against the table. “Who said that? I could tell you how drunk they were. That probably messed with their judgment a bit.”

  Detective Winston let out a guttural laugh, as if he’d just heard a hilarious joke. “Yeah, it can definitely do that. The other people who survived are Lace Tomlinson, Thomas Peters, Carl Johnson, and Alyssa Richards. Now, some of them say you were at the party for a long time. A lot longer than you led us to believe.”

  Patrick barely paid attention to the last thing Winston had said. Thomas, Carl, Alyssa. And then there were three. Patrick had his list. One of them did this. One of them is going to pay.

  “Patrick?” Detective Winston asked.

  Patrick perked up. His mind raced. Did he ask me something? What’d I miss? “What was the question?”

  Winston shook his head. “No question. I was just wondering if you had anything to say about being placed at the scene later than you’d previously said.”

  Patrick shrugged. “Not really, no. I’ve already told you everything, I have nothing else to add. They were all drinking. Everybody was. They may think I was there later, but I know for a fact that I left that party early.”

  “Really? Is that a fact?” Detective Winston asked. He scratched his forehead. “You seem real sure of yourself, when earlier you were saying you didn’t really know what time you left. Because of your phone situation and all.”

  Patrick felt the walls closing in. He had to act fast if he wanted to get out of this one. “You know what I mean, Detective Winston. I can’t tell you the exact hour, the exact minute, the exact second that I left the party. But I can tell you that I left early. I can tell you that when I left, all of my friends were alive and well, and I was very much looking forward to walking across the stage with them and getting our diplomas in a couple of weeks. So, I’m sorry I can’t tell you the millisecond that I left the party, but I can tell you that by the time whatever happened happened, I was nowhere near the scene.”

  Detective Winston looked at Francis, and the two of them stood.

  Patrick stayed seated, looking back and forth between the two of them.

  “We don’t have any further questions,” Detective Francis said.

  “Thank you for answering our questions, Patrick. We’ll be in touch,” Winston added.

  Patrick walked them to the door and held it open for them. “You know, Detective Winston,” he said when they were on the front porch, and the two of them turned to look at him. “If you’d just tell me what happened, maybe I could be of more help. Then I’d know what to look for. I want to catch whoever did this as much as you do.”

  Detective Winston smiled at Patrick and gave him a slight nod. “We’ll be in touch, Patrick.”

  Winston and Francis walked toward their car. Patrick stood there watching them for a few moments before he shut the door.

  He remained just inside the door, though. He focused on the car, listening as closely as he could. The doors shut, and the engine started. The radio was turned to a low volume.

  “What do you think, Dean?” Winston asked. Patrick could hear him talking as clear as day. It was almost as if he was sitting in the backseat of the car.

  “I don’t know, George. He fits the bill, at least. I mean, he doesn’t have many friends, and there’s a history of him being bullied, teased, picked on or whatever. Everybody said he was acting real weird at the party. He’s the type of guy who’d want to go out with a bang, you know? He has no legacy. When people think about their high school years, nobody’s going to think about Patrick Henry. He’s our best bet,” Francis replied.

  “Yeah, some good points. But if he wanted this to be his legacy, why’s he trying to hide it? Wouldn’t he want everybody to know about it?” Winston asked.

  “That’s true, true. But who else could it be? Everybody else has had a normal high school life. There’s just something weird about this kid, you know?”

  “Yeah, I know, Dean. Trust me, I know,” Winston said with a huff.

  “Did they leave?” Patrick’s dad said from behind him, breaking Patrick’s concentration.

  “I, uh, yeah. They left,” Patrick said as he turned away from the door.

  “Patrick, are you okay?” his dad asked.

  Patrick looked at him, confused, but then he became aware of a tear coming from his right eye. He wiped it away and nodded. “Yeah, yeah, I’m alright. I’m good.”

  His dad walked over to him and put an arm around his shoulders. “I know this is a lot, son. But everything’s going to be alright. You know that, don’t you?”

  Patrick nodded.

  “They’re going to find whoever did…whatever it is they did. Your friends are going to get justice, alright?”

  “Yeah, I know that, Dad,” Patrick said. “Thanks.”

  “No problem,” his father said, and gave him a pat.

  Patrick walked past him and headed straight for his bedroom.

  Don’t worry, Dad. They’re going to pay.

  18

  Base

  Thomas. Carl. Alyssa.

  One of them was responsible for whatever had happened at the party. Patrick was sure of it.

  He shut his bedroom door behind him. He needed a game plan. Who was he going to go after first? Who was most likely to have abilities? That, Patrick had no idea about.

  Somebody knocked at his bedroom door. “Patrick, can I come in?” Ren asked.

  Patrick huffed. He didn’t really have time for her, but he felt like it’d been forever since they’d talked. “Sure, Ren,” he said.

  Ren burst through the door and jumped onto Patrick’s bed, smiling and laughing. “Your room is so clean!” she shouted.

  “Yeah, I know,” Patrick said, smiling. He couldn’t help but let his bad mood fade away when Ren was so happy. “I figured it was time to clean.”

  She jumped up on his bed and landed on her butt. “Why do the police keep coming to talk?”

  Patrick shrugged. “They just want to know what happened.”

  “You mean at the party?”

  “Yeah, at the party. They want to catch whoever did it,” he explained.

  “Did what?” Ren asked, confused.

  “Well, that’s the million-dollar question, isn’t it?” Patrick said, lifting his hands up.

  “I would make a bed out of a million dollars if I had it,” she said, her eyes wandering as she daydreamed.

  “That’d be a pretty lumpy bed,” Patrick said, turning toward the door.

  “Where are you going?” she asked, scrunching her eyebrows.

  “I got things I gotta do, Ren.”

  Ren crossed her arms and shook her head. “No, no, no. Pla
y with me! Play with me, Patrick!”

  Patrick sighed and shook his head. “I don’t have time for this, Ren. I have things I have to do that are important.”

  “More important than playing with your little sister?” Ren said with a frown. She puffed her bottom lip out, trying her hardest to make Patrick feel as guilty as possible.

  He needed to find out what he could about Thomas, Carl, and Alyssa, as soon as possible. But damn if he couldn’t resist those big beady eyes. “Alright, here’s the deal, Ren,” he said. She immediately perked up, knowing she’d won. “I will play one—one round of hide and seek with you. Not one and a half, not two, not four, not twenty, one. Uno. You got that?”

  She jumped off his bed. “Not it!” she screamed as she squeezed past him and ran down the hallway toward the stairs.

  Patrick smirked. He didn’t have to worry about this taking very long—she hadn’t said anything about not being able to use superpowers.

  Patrick went downstairs and slipped on his shoes that, as usual, were sitting by the door, then went outside, where Ren was already waiting by their usual base, the large tree in the front yard. “Alright, kid, what am I counting to?”

  “Twenty-five,” she said.

  “Twenty-five? Why not—”

  “TWENTY-FIVE!” Ren screamed.

  Patrick covered his ears. “Alright, alright! I get it. Twenty-five it is.” He leaned up against the tree, covering his eyes. He began counting, and listened for Ren as she ran off to hide. He followed the sound of her footsteps, listening for where she was going. She went from walking on grass to walking on sidewalk. She was over by the garage, and when her footsteps started echoing and changed to a higher pitch, Patrick knew she was hiding inside the garage.

  “Twenty-five!” he shouted when he was done counting. He turned and began making his way straight toward the garage. It was on the side of the house, and the door was open. Patrick entered and stopped. “Hmmm, I wonder if Ren is hiding somewhere in here,” he said, his tone loud and playful.

  Ren giggled from the back of the garage. Patrick knew she was hiding in front of their mom’s SUV. He walked over to the front of the car and saw her run around the corner of the vehicle, so he turned and began walking toward the back. He was expecting Ren to turn around and go back to the front, then he’d go to the front, she’d turn to the back, so would he, and they’d go back and forth until one of them gave up and sprinted for either the base or the tag.