Learning to Fly
Charles DeMaris
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Also by Charles DeMaris
About the Author
1
Walter Hicks gave up trying to sleep, put his slippers on, and meandered out to the living room. It was the constant flow of traffic outside that kept him awake. ‘Why the hell doesn’t it keep me awake when I’m in my recliner?’ he thought to himself. He looked at the clock on the wall. “Almost midnight and these damn kids are still running up and down the street. Don’t they ever sleep?”
The English Mastiff that had followed him from the bedroom lifted his head to listen, then put his head down again with a sigh. Whatever his master was mumbling about didn’t concern him one bit, as long as he was fed and got the requisite number of head scratches. As if on cue, Walter reached down and absentmindedly scratched the dog’s head.
“Kids don’t bother you, do they, Otis?”
Otis just swished his tail and let out a low contented growl before shutting his eyes and drifting off.
“How you do that, with these kids making all that noise…How they manage to make it through school, I’ll never know.”
Walter thought about that as he turned on the TV and surfed through the channels. He didn’t have many good things to say about college kids, but he lived blocks from the University of Cincinnati campus. Why he hadn’t moved in the last decade was beyond him. Laziness, mostly. Since Marcy died, he had lost all incentive to do much of anything, let alone try to find an apartment in a better part of town.
They had lived in a nicer neighborhood once, before the cancer treatments took all their savings and the proceeds from the sale of the house. Walter took more and more time off work to be with her toward the end, and the apartment on Ohio was the best they could afford. Now, going on ten years later, he was simply too lazy to pack his things and move, so he put up with the college kids driving up and down the street at all weird hours, and he put up with the incessant parties every weekend. At sixty-five, he figured he was entitled to a bit of laziness.
Not that he begrudged the kids their drinking. Lord knows he did enough of that himself. ‘Speaking of drinking…’ he thought as he scrolled through the channels for the third time.
“Otis old boy, don’t think you could learn how to fetch me a beer, do you?”
He didn’t wait for the dog’s answer, but got up and walked to the kitchen, checking the fridge only to find half a gallon of milk, a few eggs, half of a hamburger, and half a block of Colby jack that looked like it had been there since the Clinton administration.
“Hell, not bad if you cut the mold off,” he said as he removed the cheese and the burger, before filling a glass from the tap.
Halfway through the burger he was in the mood for something besides water to wash it down and reached for his keys. He got in his car, realized that he was still wearing house slippers, but put the key in anyway. Nothing. No lights on the dash, nothing at all. Then he looked to the left and noticed that his headlight switch was on.
“Damn it Walter, that was careless. Well, Shell ain’t too far to walk,” he said, locking the car and walking up Ohio toward the Shell station at McMillan. A few minutes later, he was walking back down Ohio with a twelve pack in hand, wondering again when the college kids were going to turn in for the night. He didn’t admire their professors. He was also wondering why he had walked several blocks to buy beer when he should be sleeping. ‘Maybe I’m not so different than those kids,’ he thought.
He was only three blocks from his apartment when the stiffness in his back caused him to stop walking for a moment and lean back to try to stretch it out. When he looked up, he saw a flash of light brighter than anything he had ever seen.
The next thing he could remember, it was thirty minutes later and he was lying there on the sidewalk, and his beer was nowhere to be seen. He sat there for a second, assessing himself to see if he was injured. Other than a splitting headache and a sore back, no doubt from when he had fallen, he was fine. Well, there was the matter of the missing beer, but there was nothing he could do about that. Stupid kids probably took it and just left him lying there. He managed to get up and stumble the last few blocks to his apartment, where he almost tripped over Otis on the way to the bathroom. His head was absolutely throbbing. He grabbed a glass of water and a couple pain pills, and went back to bed.
Walter woke up at the crack of noon, expecting to be stiff, but feeling quite well, all things considered. He took a shower, went to the fridge for the rest of the hamburger, realized the burger was still on the table next to his recliner, so he settled for scrambling a couple eggs. He poured a glass of tap water when he tried to pour a glass of milk, only to have it come out in chunks.
“Thought the date was still good on that one,” he said as he threw it away. He ate his eggs, downed three glasses of water, and went outside to see if he could find someone to jump start his car. He finally managed to flag down an Uber driver dropping someone off next door. A few minutes later, his car was running, and he handed the driver a couple dollars. He let his car run for a few minutes, knowing there were errands he needed to run, but then the headache came back with a vengeance, and his muscles felt weird all over, tingling like they had fallen asleep and the feeling was just now coming back.
He shut the car off and walked back into his apartment, only to see Otis standing expectantly at the door.
“Gotta go out and do your business?”
Ten minutes later, the dog had done what he had to do, and he walked back inside, hardly able to stand up by the time he shut the door and removed the leash from Otis. He plopped down hard in his recliner and was out before he even got his feet up.
He woke at 11:00 pm, Otis standing patiently by his recliner, the burger and moldy cheese gone. He took the dog out to relieve himself, brought him back in, and decided he would venture out again for beer. It was a decent evening, so he opted to walk to the Shell station again.
“Hi, Walter,” the girl behind the counter said when he walked in the door, “What brings you in tonight?”
“Same thing that brought me in last night. Some punk stole that one.”
“Bummer.”
“Yeah…hey, you wanna give me the bathroom key? I gotta pee like a racehorse.”
“Sure thing, here you go.”
Walter unlocked the restroom and upon entering, realized he had an urge to do more than pee, and sat down. While he was sitting there, he heard some commotion in the store, but didn’t think much of it. This station sometimes attracted some unsavory characters. Things could get somewhat entertaining at times.
At the counter, a man was holding a pistol on the clerk.
“Come
on girl, just put the cash in the bag. I ain’t got all night.”
Walter was using the hand dryer and didn’t hear that part, so he exited the restroom, not knowing what was going on, and walked right up to the end of the counter to hang the restroom key on the hook that was kept there for that reason. The key was attached to a twelve inch long dark piece of PVC tubing and Walter was holding it pointed away from his body as he reached to hang it on the hook. The gunman, seeing someone approaching the counter, whirled around and pointed his pistol in Walter’s direction. Mistaking the nature of the PVC tube he saw aimed in his direction, he pulled the trigger twice, and then in a panic, dropped the cash and darted out the door.
The sound of the gunshots had the predictable effect. The clerk screamed, the manager came from the back room, and the two college students who were in the store screamed and then stood there frozen, not sure what to do. Walter stood surprised for a couple seconds, looking down at himself and seeing no wounds. ‘How did he miss me from that close?’ he thought.
“Walter, you okay?” the clerk asked.
“Yeah, think so. Must have been a pretty bad shot.”
“Bullets didn’t hit anything else,” she said, “Maybe he was shootin’ blanks.”
A young man who had been by the soft drink cooler approached Walter and asked, “Hey Mister, can I have that key? I gotta pee.”
“Sure thing, kid. Here ya go.”
The kid dropped the key, bent down to pick it up, and picked up two smashed bullets from the ground, slipping them into his pocket. He let himself into the restroom, took the bullets out of his pocket and took a look at them, washed his hands and dried them, then exited the restroom in time to see Walter walking out. He followed Walter at a discreet distance, not sure if he saw what he thought he saw. Maybe those bullets could have hit a shelf or something, but the only thing around there was the man and a display of vaping pods. The bullets would have gone right through that display.
The man was walking down Ohio, and the young man’s curiosity got the better of him. He darted across McMillan and followed the man until he got closer. He caught up to him past Lyon when he heard a woman scream, and a moment later saw someone running up Lyon.
“He’s got my purse,” the woman screamed as the thief got closer to Walter. The kid recognized him as the gunman from the Shell station. He must have fled this way, looking for an easier mark. The gunman hit the sidewalk on Ohio and ran right into Walter.
Walter heard the female scream, saw the purse in the man’s hands, and then recognized him.
“Out of my way, old man,” the thief yelled, shoving Walter in the chest.
Walter reacted from pure instinct more than anything else, with speed he didn’t know he had, and grabbed the purse with his left hand while following up with a right uppercut that sent the thief flying. The thief bounced off the roof of a car traveling down McMillan and landed in the parking lot of the Shell station, right next to the cop who was there to take a report on the attempted robbery.
The store clerk was outside talking to the officer when the thief landed there, took one look at him, and said, “That’s him officer.”
“Did anyone see what happened?”
“Dude just came flyin’ from across the street and bounced off my car,” a man said.
“Come again?”
“Yeah, I was slowing down for the red light. Then I see this dude flying through the air. He hit my roof and bounced over here. See my car?”
The officer took one look across the lot at the car and took another look at the thief on the ground.
“How in the hell?”
“Yeah, that’s him, officer. I’m sure of it,” the clerk said again, “You need anything else from me? Can I go back in?”
“You’re free to go, ma’am. You won’t be needing to press any charges. Only place this guy’s going is the morgue.”
2
Walter looked down at his fist and shook his head. A young woman approached, afraid to come any closer.
“This your purse?”
“Yeah, Mister.”
“Well, here you go.”
“Thanks…I think. How hard did you hit that guy?”
“Not sure. Anyway, I gotta get to bed.”
He walked on down to his apartment and put the key in his door, then whirled around, sure he heard footsteps following him.
“Who’s there?”
“Don’t punch me, Mister,” a voice said from the shadows.
“I won’t if you come closer and show yourself.”
A young black man in ragged jeans, a dirty T-shirt, and a faded Cincinnati Reds ball cap approached warily.
“Hey, you the kid from the gas station?”
“Yes…yes…sir. Who are you?”
“Name’s Walter…Walter Hicks, and you?”
“Franklin, sir. Franklin Jones, at your service.”
“How old are you, Franklin? Shouldn’t you be home?”
“Just turned eighteen last week.”
“You know what time it is, Franklin? Time kids your age should be home. Where you live?”
“Well…uh…right here in Clifton…sometimes down in OTR…”
“You have got to be kidding me. You homeless?”
“Well…”
“Come on, kid. You got a place or not?”
“Guess you could say I don’t. I do okay, though.”
“I don’t know why I’m doing this…hell…you can have my couch tonight. You okay with dogs?”
“Ain’t never had one.”
“Otis won’t bite anyone. You’d barely make a meal for him. Well, don’t just stand there. You coming in or not?”
Walter disappeared into the bedroom, coming out a moment later with a T-shirt and a pair of sweats.
“Here. Put these on and dump what you’re wearing in the washing machine. It’s next to the bathroom.”
Franklin came back a moment later and sat down on the couch.
“I don’t hear the washer running. You do know how to use a washing machine?” Walter said.
“Never did.”
“Oh hell…give me a sec. I might have stuff to add to it. Might as well watch what I’m doing.”
They arrived back in the living room and Otis walked over, sniffed Franklin up and down, then laid his head on his leg. Franklin reached down tentatively toward the dog’s head.
“Go ahead and pet him. He’s not gonna bite.”
“Is he a dog, or a horse?”
“He’s an English Mastiff, which I think is English for bloody big dog.”
“He is big,” Franklin said as he scratched Otis behind the ears.
“What’s that growling sound?”
“He likes that. Keep it up. So, what’s in your other hand?”
“Oh, here,” Franklin said, opening his left hand, “I think you dropped these at the gas station.”
Walter looked at his hand and saw the two flattened bullets.
“Where did you get those?”
“Saw them on the floor when I got the restroom key from you. That dude shot you from two feet away. No way he would miss from that close. Then I find these on the floor. Then you punch him and he flies a block and a half. What’s up with you? You’re not some normal old guy.”
“I though he missed me, or there was something wrong with the gun.”
“You mean you don’t what’s up? I looked around in there. Nothing else was hit by the bullets, but they’re flat, like they hit something they couldn’t go through. Look at your shirt.”
Walter looked down and there were two holes in his shirt, just above the belly.
“Well…I’ll be…”
“Yeah, bullets bounced off you like Superman…and the way you hit that guy…”
“Well kid, I don’t much know what’s going on either. I’ve been feeling funny lately…since last night.”
“What happened last night?”
“Not sure. Stupid kids were keeping me awake—”
“You hear all those cars going up and down, all hours. Damn kids don’t know when to turn in for the night. Couldn’t sleep, wanted a beer, none in the fridge, walked up to Shell for beer.”
“You’re no different from the college students then.”
“Maybe not, except I mind my own business and don’t keep other folks awake when I drink. I’m walking back, battery dead on my car…seem some crazy bright light, wake up half hour later with a headache from hell and my beer gone. Came back and slept like a log for twelve hours, took Otis out to do his business, and went back to sleep until I walked back up there tonight.”
“You mean you slept twelve hours, and then another eleven. Dude…that’s almost a whole day.”
“I know…weird. Just felt funny, muscles all tingling, like they do when they’ve gone asleep, and then the feeling starts coming back. Then the headache. I’ve never had such a headache. Then I thought I’d walk back up there and get some beer…and…you know the rest.”
“Aliens.”
“Huh?”
“You saw a light in the sky, and now you have powers. Gotta be aliens.”
“You’re jumping to conclusions.”
“Really? How else does that happen? What was the light?”
“Kid, I have no idea.”
“But now you’re bulletproof, and you have some kind of super strength. You’re a freakin’ superhero.”
“I don’t know about that.”
“You knocked a guy from Lyon Street all the way over McMillan. Ain’t nobody that strong. Do you know what kind of force that would take?”
Learning To Fly Page 1