“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.
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. Play 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.
Instead, Ren decided to bolt for ba
se, trying to catch Patrick off-guard. Her plan worked, as Patrick was already going the other way. He had to quickly turn around and chase her. He stepped right into a puddle that had formed where coolant had leaked from the SUV. The sudden change of motion plus the slickness of the puddle caused him to loose his footing and fall-face first toward the ground.
He braced for impact, but it never came.
He opened his eyes and saw he was floating inches off the ground. He almost freaked out, stopping a yell in his throat just before it could come out. He floated for a few more seconds before falling to the garage floor, and hit it with a grunt. He immediately sat up and backed away from the spot he’d just been floating over. He looked around, panicking, making sure nobody else had seen what he’d just done. His breathing grew heavy and sporadic. He started shaking. His mind raced at a hundred miles an hour.
Finally, he stood and carefully walked out of the garage. Ren was walking over when he came out. “Did you get lost in there?” she said with a laugh.
He didn’t laugh. “No, I didn’t. I gotta go, Ren. You win.”
Patrick walked off, leaving Ren standing there. He needed to go and find out if he could really do what he thought he could.
Thin Air
Patrick stood at the top of a tree, looking down at the ground far below him. He breathed out, a knot twisting in his stomach.
“You got this,” he told himself. “You can do this. At worst, you hit the ground and your body heals itself. It’ll be okay.”
Still, there was still something inside of him, the non-Super part of him that told him that jumping from the top of a tree was a bad idea. He had to loosen his grip on the tree. It was beginning to crack, he was squeezing its trunk so hard.
Patrick knew what he’d seen earlier. What he’d done. He’d been floating above the ground, no doubt about it. But would he be able to do it again? Or would he find himself at the bottom of a hole made by his body crashing into the ground?
One way to find out, he thought.
He let go of the tree and fell forward.
Oh, shit, he thought as he tumbled toward the ground, with no sign of floating. But then something inside of him took over: instinct. He straightened out and shot upwards, breaking through the treetops.
He wanted to scream, to shout, to whoop and holler, but all the breath had been sucked from his body. He sped toward the sky at incredible speed. He flew upwards for a few seconds longer before slowing down.
He came to a stop and turned around to look. Just as he was regaining his breath, it was all taken from him again. He was hovering high in the air, taking in the sights. He could see his hometown, the woods he’d just come out of—where they began, where they ended—he could see everything.
“Whoo-hoooo!” he shouted as he fist-pumped the air. He couldn’t believe this was happening. “Screw you, Detective Winston,” he shouted, raising his middle fingers toward town. “Screw you, Detective Francis. Screw you, Lace Tomlinson!”
He laughed and did a couple of flips. The wind flowing through his hair felt exhilarating. The air beneath his feet, the sights before his eyes, all of it was absolutely amazing. He felt as if he could stay up there forever.
“Yeah, I was a loner. Yeah, people thought I was weird. Yeah, I got picked on. Yeah, I had no legacy,” he said to the town. “Well, fuck you!” he screamed down at everyone there and flipped the town off again. Then he spread his arms out around him. “This is me! Not you. This is who I am! I’m gonna find out who killed everybody at the party, and that will be my legacy. You all will be sorry for everything you said about me!”
He smiled, unable to contain his joy. He screamed as loud as he could. Screamed and shouted over and over. “NOBODY CAN HEAR ME RIGHT NOW!”
He fell.
Flying from person to person. Through person to person. In, out, around.
“What are you do—”
Gone.
“You shouldn’t have said no.”
“Please—”
Gone.
Popped.
Patrick opened his eyes moments before he hit the ground. He gasped for air, his eyes darting around, trying to figure out what was going on.
He floated toward the ground, collapsing once his feet touched the dirt, trying to figure out what had just happened. How did I fall asleep and have a nightmare on the way down?
He scoffed and shook his head. Don’t be a dumbass.
Shuddering, he climbed to his feet. “Thin air,” he said, looking up at the sky. He decided that he’d passed out from oxygen depravation and had had some sort of hallucination. Nothing more, nothing less.
Either way, he’d had enough flying for now.
He had a killer to find. A legacy to fulfill.
Legacy
Patrick sat on his bed, typing away on his laptop. He was looking on social media, trying to see where he could find Thomas, Carl, or Alyssa. He had no idea which one to go after first; they all had just as much chance of being the killer as anybody. He was ninety-five percent sure he knew where Thomas was, so he decided to go out and look for him.
That was before he heard the front door slam open.
“Westlake PD! Get down! Get down!” he heard someone shout.
He jumped up from his bed. His mom’s and Ren’s screams turned his blood to ice.
“What’s going on?” his dad shouted.
“Get down!”
More doors were kicked down.
Patrick reached the stairs, and he had to make a decision. Reveal himself or not?
“Freeze! Get down on your hands and knees!”
Patrick looked down the stairs, and the barrels of four assault rifles looked right back at him.
Stay cool. They’re not the bad guys.
Patrick lay face down on the floor. The cops were on him in a second.
He heard the familiar voice of Detective Winston in his ear. “Patrick Henry, you’re under arrest.”
LESS THAN AN HOUR LATER, Patrick was sitting under the harsh lights of the interrogation room. He was in handcuffs, which were chained to the table. He wondered how easily he could break out of them. He was going to play along, though, and see what information he could get out of Detective Winston.
The detective walked in alone. Patrick guessed that Francis was hiding behind the one-way glass.
“Detective,” Patrick said when Winston sat down across from him.
“Patrick,” Winston said with a smirk, his mustache dancing upwards. Patrick didn’t know if it was the lighting in the room, but Winston looked terrible. His eyes were bloodshot, his skin splotchy and pale.
“You miss me or something? It’s only been a few hours since we saw each other last.”
“Cut the shit, Patrick. We caught you in your web of lies.” Winston threw a case file down on the table.
“I haven’t lied, Detective,” Patrick said, which was another lie.
“You and your friend Victoria came in on the morning of the party. You reported your phone missing, did you not?” Winston asked.
Patrick sat back in his chair, eager to find out where this all was going. “I did do that, yes.”
Winston smiled. “Well, you’re telling the truth so far.”
“I always have been.”
“That night you attended what’s supposed to be an amazing, balls-to-the-wall, kickass party. People were going to be talking about it for years. One last hurrah before graduation. And yet you, Mr. Henry, left early,” Winston said, cocking his head sideways. “Kinda weird, don’t you think? Leave the party before it ever gets started, really?”
Patrick shrugged. “I told you, I wasn’t feeling well. It wasn’t that interesting, anyways.”
Detective Winston stood. “Yeah, of course it wasn’t. For you, at least. You have many friends, Patrick?” Winston asked as he leaned up against the wall to Patrick’s right, alongside the door.
“What’s your point?” Patrick asked, not wanting to answer the question he knew Winston alre
ady knew the answer to.
“I mean, the party isn’t going to be much fun for someone who doesn’t have a lot of friends. You don’t really fit into a circle, do you? Everybody we’ve talked to has talked about how you just...wandered. Leering. You drank and drank—even tried to get your longtime friend to hook up with you, right?”
Anger flared inside of Patrick. He barely remembered that, but he knew he’d felt ashamed by it.
“That’s quite an eventful beginning to a party. About what time did you say you left?”
Patrick gritted his teeth. “You know, I—”
“Didn’t have your phone?” Winston asked. “Right, right, sorry.”
Patrick knew the man was hiding something. He just wanted him to hurry up and get to it.
“Bring in the first evidence,” Winston said to somebody behind the glass.
The door opened and an exchange happened, but Patrick didn’t look. He wanted to seem as disinterested as possible.
Winston slammed down a piece of wood in an evidence bag. The piece was shaped like a spear, and most of it was covered in blood.
Patrick recognized it instantly. The piece of wood he had pulled from his torso after he’d run from the party.
Oh, shit.
Patrick didn’t know what to do, what to think. At the time, a piece of wood had been the least of his worries. He’d been more focused on the fact that his wound had healed itself.
Winston leaned against the table. “We found this while searching the woods, over five miles away from the crime scene. And thanks to your generous donation this morning, we were able to match the blood on this piece of wood,” Winston said, tapping the bag, then pointed at Patrick. “With yours.”
Patrick thought his heart was going to explode. His words caught in his throat.
“How does something like that happen, Patrick?”
Winston turned and sat back down in his chair across from Patrick. He opened up the dossier and pulled out a picture.
“You want to know what happened that night? How your friends died?” Winston placed the picture down on the table and pushed it over toward Patrick. “Well, so do I.”
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