The First Superhero (Novella): Richter

by Rutherford, Logan

  “Yeah,” he said, not turning to face her.

  He heard footsteps, then felt his mom’s hand on his shoulder. “You know it’s not your fault, right?”

  Patrick nodded. “Yeah, I know.”

  His mom stood there a few moments longer, then got the message that he wanted to be left alone. She turned and left, and Patrick got his wish.

  He closed his eyes and clenched his fists. It’s not my fault, but it’s my responsibility.

  He turned and ran upstairs to his bedroom. After he’d closed the door, he grabbed his notebook and opened it up to the page of notes he’d made about the whole situation. He marked a line through theory two—the “pop” one—and circled the first one.

  “I’m going to find you,” he said, speaking to whoever the other person with abilities was. “And I’m going to make you pay.”

  Patrick slammed the notebook shut. It was time to get to work.

  14

  Interrogation

  Patrick stood in the alley across from the clothing store that Lace worked in. She was standing behind the counter looking at her phone like she’d been last time, except now she had dark bags under her eyes. They were bloodshot, too, and her hair was disheveled.

  He took a step out of the alley and began crossing the street. He’d been standing in the alley for a good ten minutes working up the courage. He did his best not to think about what he was doing, because that would just lead to frustration. He had no idea why he was so nervous. It wasn’t like Lace was going to super-out and try to kill him just for asking a couple of questions.

  He entered the store, a bell jingling as he did so. It felt strange being inside the store at “normal” speed.

  “Hey, Patrick,” Lace said quietly, almost as if halfway through her greeting she had changed her mind about addressing him.

  Patrick did a fake double-take and let out a big smile. “Hey, Lace! I had no idea you worked here,” he lied, then walked over to the counter. He put his hand on it, leaning forward slightly. “How’re you doing?”

  Lace shrugged. “It’s all so crazy, isn’t it? Nobody knows what happened.”

  Patrick nodded. “I know. The police came and talked to me, but I couldn’t get anything out of them. They’re keeping this all locked down pretty tight.”

  “Yeah. But you know, it’s started to get some national news attention.” s

  Patrick’s heart skipped a beat and he cleared his throat. He’d hoped he would have more time before reporters got involved and started making things even more messy. “Really? Wow. Have they tried getting hold of you?”

  Lace shook her head. “They don’t know any names yet. Hopefully it’ll stay that way. I don’t want to be dogged by reporters, you know?”

  “Yeah, I know exactly what you mean.”

  Lace looked past Patrick and waved forward somebody behind him. She set down her phone. “Let me get them real quick,” she said.

  Patrick turned and saw an elderly couple waiting in line with a basket of clothes. “Yeah, of course. I’m gonna run to the bathroom.”

  “In the back to your left,” Lace told him as she started taking the elderly couple’s clothes off hangers so she could scan them.

  Patrick turned and walked toward the back. He entered the bathroom where he knew there’d be no security cameras, then turned and ran back out. This time, he was going at superspeed.

  He ran to the front of the store where Lace was frozen as she placed a pair of slacks into a bag. The elderly woman was starting to fill out her check, while the man Patrick assumed was her husband checked out Lace’s ass.

  Patrick ran around to the other side of the counter and grabbed Lace’s phone, then turned and ran back into the bathroom, where he came to a stop. He tapped on her Messages app and scrolled up to the search bar on the top. He tapped in “powers” and a conversation she’d had with somebody named Genevieve showed up. He pressed it.

  He always wants to watch these movies about people with powers.

  Patrick rolled his eyes. Just complaining about her boyfriend. Well, ex-boyfriend I guess now.

  He tapped in “abilities”.

  No results.

  “Dead”.

  27 results.

  Patrick quickly read through them, but they had nothing to do with the killings. Feeling frustrated, he poked his head out the bathroom door and saw Lace was nearing the end of her transaction, but two more people were lined up. He entered a couple more keywords, but nothing showed up that incriminated Lace. If she had powers, she wasn’t telling any of her friends over text, which was a disappointment. He’d been counting on her not being so careful.

  He had one more place to check. He opened up her Photos app and scrolled through the images. “Oh, shit, whoa, okay,” he said as he thumbed through them, trying not to get distracted by all the naked photos. Not just of her, but of other people he recognized from school. “Did my invitation to the orgy get lost in the mail?” he joked, trying to keep himself from freaking out.

  He didn’t see anything that looked like it could’ve been photos or videos of her using her powers. It was worth a shot, he thought.

  He ran out of the bathroom to the counter. Lace was just finishing up with her last customer when Patrick set her phone back down. He ran back to the bathroom, counted to ten, and then exited, this time at normal speed.

  “That was good timing,” she said when he walked back up.

  “Yeah, I guess it was,” he said. There was an awkward beat as the two of them just stood there. “What are you doing here at work? Your boss didn’t give you any days off?”

  “Work’s helping me keep my mind off things,” Lace said as she reached for her phone.

  “So, did you leave the party early or something?” he asked.

  “Yeah, I had to open here the next morning, so I left.”

  “Who do you think did it?” he blurted out. He immediately regretted not being more subtle.

  Lace flicked her gaze up at Patrick before returning it to the screen of her phone. “I don’t know, Patrick.”

  She was getting frustrated, and Patrick knew that. He was losing her fast. “I’m just, you know, trying to figure it all out in my head. I can’t think of anybody who was acting really weird.”

  “That’s because you were the one acting weird,” Lace said. slamming her phone down. She stood tall, with both her hands on the counter. “You were acting weird as hell, Patrick.”

  Patrick looked at her, taken aback. “Are you serious? How was I the one acting weird? I was just hanging out.”

  “You were sitting back drinking, being a weirdo like you always are,” Lace said. She was speaking like everything she said was matter-of-fact. “You were drinking, wandering around watching everybody. You’d go from group to group with this weird…blank look on your face. It was weird and creepy, okay? You wanna talk about the other night? Let’s talk about that.”

  Patrick didn’t know what to say. He thought back to that night. Had he been weird and creepy? He didn’t think so; he was just drinking and hanging out. “You’re over-thinking it, Lace. I was just waiting for Sam to get there. Once he did, I hung out with him all night.”

  “No, you didn’t. You talked to him for maybe fifteen minutes before you went back to whatever you were doing. I left after that, but if I had to take a guess on who it is that’s responsible for what happened, I’d put my money on you. You’re a weirdo. Always have been, but especially at the party. And now almost everybody I care about is dead.” Lace’s voice rose with every sentence she spoke.

  “You’re full of shit!” Patrick yelled back, anger swelling within him. He felt his legs begin to shake and his stomach turned. “I had friends there, too! I didn’t do anything. I left that party early, before anything happened. How else would I still be here?”

  “You’d be here if you were the one who killed them, dipshit,” Lace said. “Get the hell out of my store.”

  Patrick took a step back. “This isn’t y
our store, Lace,” he said, using her name as if it was a curse word. “And if you don’t think I won’t tell your manager, you thought wrong.”

  “Get. Out!” she yelled, pointing toward the door.

  Patrick turned and stormed out. He wanted to punch a hole in the wall, and didn’t care whether or not it brought the whole building down. He didn’t care if government agents found out about him and took him away. He didn’t care if whoever had killed everybody and had the same abilities as he did found out about him. He didn’t care about any of it.

  He was breathing heavily as he crossed the street. She’s just mourning. Keep it cool. She doesn’t know what she’s talking about. His hands shook, and he began to feel afraid. Emotions that he’d kept bottled up came leaking out.

  “Come on, come on,” he said to himself as he entered the alley. The sun had gone down and the alley was completely dark. He gritted his teeth and clenched his fists. “Just cool it, man,” he told himself. Anger and frustration vibrated within him. He’d made no progress. In fact, his only suspect clearly had no super abilities.

  He paced up and down until his anger subsided. After a couple of minutes, he grew exhausted as the adrenaline left his body. He sighed and leaned his back up against the wall, then slid down until he was sitting on the ground. He sat there, his mind clearing from the fog of anger that had grown over.

  Then he looked over at the store. From where he was sitting, he could barely see Lace through the window. She had sounded convinced that Patrick was the one who had killed everybody. What if she went to the police with that information? Or worse, the press? He knew this all was going to get out of hand fast if he didn’t hurry up.

  A car drove by, breaking his line of sight with the store—a car that Patrick recognized. Old, run down, red from rust or from a bad paint job. Harvey and Tovin’s car.

  Patrick stood, a new fire lit within him. It was time for him to get his phone back.

  Part Three: Legacy

  15

  First Blood

  Patrick ran from car to car, alley to alley, tree to tree. He was determined not to be seen by Harvey or Tovin, just in case they didn’t have his belongings on them. He was going to follow them to wherever they lived and confront them there.

  He couldn’t tell whether he was more angry or satisfied. On one hand he was angry just thinking about the whole situation. They’d mugged him, humiliated him, taking everything that he’d worked so hard for. On the other hand, he was satisfied that he was going to get his things back, and he wasn’t going to ask nicely. They were going to know they’d messed with the wrong person.

  They pulled into a neighborhood that was more trailer homes than houses. They drove down the winding road until it turned from asphalt to gravel. Patrick ran from tree to tree, doing his best to stay hidden. He considered running close behind them since they were now out of town, but he didn’t want to risk them seeing his eyes glowing blue. He made a mental note to see if there was any way to get control of that, and then ran to the next tree.

  They turned right at the end of the road. A sign there read No Outlet.

  Perfect, Patrick thought.

  On the other side of a cattle gate at the end of the road sat an old, rundown house. A light at the top of a post illuminated the driveway, which was overflowing with trash.

  Deciding that the house was the only place they could be going, Patrick ran ahead of them—making sure to get a good look at their unsuspecting faces as he went by.

  The yard was like a sea of trash. Old rusted ovens, grills, and lawnmowers littered the lawn. There were two rusted-out trucks sitting at the back of the gravel driveway next to the house.

  Patrick wasn’t even sure if you could call the house a house, though. It looked more like a large shed that stood on the verge of implosion at any moment. Its blue paint was peeling, revealing the wood beneath. Most of the windows were cracked, and two were completely broken, with cardboard and duct tape taking the place of glass.

  Patrick ran around to the back of the house. The light from the post in the front barely bled into the back, which made him grateful for his glowing eyes. The two beams lit up the backyard, illuminating a back door that sat behind a dry-rotted screen door.

  Patrick snuck into the house, reeling from the stench. Judging from the smell, he guessed they didn’t have working plumbing. He looked around for someplace to hide. There were plenty of places—behind a stack of boxes, behind a couch with holes and springs sticking out—but none of them seemed right.

  The beams from the car’s headlights flooded the house, and Patrick knew he had to act fast. A plan began to form in his head, and a smile grew across his face. He decided to go with a more in-your-face method of confronting them.

  The engine of the car died and the headlights went out. Patrick got into position as the car doors opened and slammed shut. The crunching of Harvey’s and Tovin’s shoes on the gravel filled the otherwise quiet night. The two of them weren’t saying a word to each other. They grew closer and closer.

  Patrick couldn’t remember the last time he’d been so excited. Not only was he finally about to reveal his powers to someone, but he was going to get his things back and get revenge. He couldn’t wait to see the looks on Harvey’s and Tovin’s faces when he revealed himself to them.

  The doorknob twisted, but Harvey didn’t get the chance to open the door. Patrick punched his hand through the weak, rotted wood, grabbed Harvey around the neck and pulled him through, sending pieces of the door flying everywhere. Harvey screamed as Patrick threw him into the kitchen at the back of the house. Harvey slammed into the cabinets, bounced off, then sat there moaning in pain.

  Something slammed into the back of Patrick’s head. He flinched and turned to see that Tovin was standing there holding a piece of wood that he’d just broken across Patrick’s head.

  “WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU?” the hulking man screamed, pointing frantically at Patrick and his glowing blue eyes. He backed away from the house and tripped over a birdbath.

  Patrick walked toward him, grimacing. Tovin continued to back up, although now he was on the ground. He turned and scrambled to his feet, but Patrick was way ahead of him. He ran around in front of the man as fast as he could, so that when Tovin was on his feet, Patrick was standing in front of him.

  Patrick had to fight the urge to laugh when he saw the look of pure shock and terror on Tovin’s face.

  “W-w-what do you want? P-please, take whatever you want!” Tovin said.

  Patrick stepped forward and wrapped his fingers around Tovin’s neck. Tobin’s giant hands grabbed Patrick’s wrists. His huge sausage fingers tried to pry Patrick’s fingers off his throat, but Patrick wasn’t letting go. He was having too much fun.

  Patrick lifted Tovin into the air like it was nothing. “A few days ago you mugged me. You took a couple of things from me that didn’t belong to you,” he said calmly. He loved being the one in charge of the situation.

  “We take things all the time,” Tovin said, his voice strained. “But tell me what it is and you can have it. You can have anything you want.”

  “You took my phone, my wallet. You found the wallet to be particularly, as you said, artisanal,” Patrick said, squeezing a little tighter.

  Tovin made a strangled, guttural sound. “Yes, yes! I remember! Set me down I’ll get them for you!”

  Patrick lifted him a bit tighter. “Tell me where you put my belongings.”

  “Wallet is in the car, Harvey has the phone!” Tovin wheezed.

  “Thank you. I’m going to put you down now,” Patrick said with a smile. He threw Tovin like a rag doll onto a pile of rusted metal. Tovin screamed when he landed, and Patrick could only hope it was from pain. The hate and disgust he felt for two men surprised him. They were trash to him, just like the place they lived.

  Patrick ran to the car and ripped the passenger door off in one smooth motion. He smirked, thinking, Car’s so shitty, I probably didn’t need super strength to tear tha
t door off. He dug through the trash in the front seat but couldn’t find anything. then he pulled open the glove box, and more trash almost exploded out of it. Paper, fast food garbage, you name it, it was shoved into the box.

  Patrick grunted in frustration and slammed his fist into the passenger seat, sending the seat right through the bottom of the car. He lifted up the center console, and that was when he saw it. Sitting atop a pile of garbage was the dark brown wallet he’d made with his grandfather. He grabbed it and opened it up. His driver’s license, debit card, and school ID were still in there. He opened the cash compartment, but it was all gone. “Son of a bitch,” he said through gritted teeth.

  A loud explosion sounded behind him. Hot lead ripped through Patrick’s torso, sending a cloud of blood splattering throughout the inside of the car. Patrick looked down at the holes in his shirt,, feeling odd sensations rippling through his body. Another shot rang out, and another volley of lead ripped through Patrick. More blood splattered everywhere. Patrick looked down, and his heart sank. The pellets from the shotgun had ripped through him and had torn through his wallet. Two holes had been ripped clean through the leather, ruining the wallet.

  Patrick vibrated with anger. Fury and rage boiled within him. Patrick gripped the outside of the vehicle, his right hand on the frame right next to the windshield, the other as far left as he could reach. He backed out of the car, and in a smooth motion, pulled his hands together. Metal screeched as it bent, and glass exploded. Two more shots rocked Patrick’s body, but he paid them no mind. He screamed with power and anger as he crumpled the car like it was a piece of paper that had a bad idea scribbled on it.

  Patrick turned swiftly and, using his momentum, threw the car toward Tovin, who was standing there reloading his shotgun. The car slammed into him and carried him through the side wall of the house, and out the back. The entire house collapsed on itself, sending bits of dusty wood flying everywhere. It sounded like a bomb had gone off, and the place looked as if it’d been destroyed by an earthquake.