The Broken Ones [Book 1]

by David Jobe

  “Where is he this week?” she asked.

  “Philadelphia,” he lied. Truth was, he had no idea where his father was, when he would be back or if he would even let Mac know he was there. His father no longer seemed interested in Mac or whatever his son might be doing. Every now and then, a butler or maid would leave something for him, letting Mac know that he was being monitored or reported on, and that the behavior would need changing. Each note would be paper clipped to some weight loss solution. Anything from bariatric to one time having the Atkins books being with the note.

  Allison nodded and didn't ask any more on the subject.

  Mac pondered if he should ask her if she wanted to spend the night. She was welcome to sleep on the couch. It was spacious enough to hold three sleeping people head to foot without any touching the edge. Neither of them had school tomorrow as there would be parent teacher conference going on.

  Allison continued to move along the wall, staring in awe at the various pictures that adorned the wall. "Is this?" she would ask, and Mac would explain how his father knew and had helped the person. Then, after asking after two singers, three politicians, and a host of movie stars, she stopped and looked at him with a strange look on her face.

  "You okay?" Mac asked.

  "I don't see any of you up here,” her tone was subdued and he suspected that her eyes were beginning to water.

  "That's because I am not in any of those pictures,” he worked hard to keep his own tone carefree, though he felt anything but.

  "Are they somewhere else?" She padded a bit closer to him.

  "There are no pictures of me in this house." There. He said it.

  Allison stared at him with what he suspected was pity. An emotion he did not want to see on her face. Not her face.

  "It's okay,” he told her.

  "No, it most definitely isn't."

  "He wanted an alpha male. He wanted a son that would be king of kings. Ruler of all. What he got was a fat kid who liked comics too much." Mac could feel his tears welling up. "Just the way of it."

  Allison crossed the distance between him and her with a speed and grace that startled him. All of a sudden, she sat on his lap, arms wrapped tight around his neck. She hugged him for all her worth, and all he could think about was how he should have showered and how thin the fabric of his clothes would be if his body started to react to her being this close. He could feel the color creeping into his cheeks and he struggled with what to say or do.

  "I'm okay,” he promised her, hugging her back.

  He could smell the sweet smell of her hair cascading around his face. Her cheek rested against his, and he tried to commit the feel to memory like a stone aged man chiseling his first thought into stone.

  "You're amazing,” she whispered in his ear. "You are a superhero now."

  "Yeah," he replied. "One day, my dad will value me. I gotcha."

  Allison was off his lap and standing before him, glaring down at him. One hand on each arm of the chair, she glared into his eyes. "Screw your dad's opinion of you."

  Mac was more relieved she was off his lap than he could express, but he was unsure how to respond to what she was doing now. "Okay?"

  "I’m serious, Mac. You don't need his approval or anything from him. You went out there tonight and risked your life for people. For good people. One police officer is going home for sure tonight because you stood between him and harm. Anyone who doesn't see your value is an idiot. One day, you will have a wall full of all the people who owe you their lives. You hear me?"

  Mac answered her with a kiss. He was up from the chair and planted as quick a kiss as he could. When he sat back, he worried that he would never catch his breath from the adrenaline surge that coursed through him. He stared up at her in fear. Fear that she would reject him. Fear that she would walk away from him.

  She smiled down at him, and leaned in to give him a kiss, softer and longer than his ham-fisted attempts.

  He embraced the kiss, feeling dizzy with excitement. One hand moved along her arm, heading for her torso and the beautiful body that waited there.

  He made it to just above the elbow before she pulled away and playfully slapped his hand. "Easy there, Flash. Slow your roll."

  Mac laughed and nodded. "Nice name drop."

  "Thank you,” she smiled at him and curtsied. She moved away and flopped down on the couch. "This doesn't make us boyfriend and girlfriend, bucko. One time deal, gotcha?"

  Mac nodded. "Gotcha." Though inside he screamed with joy and plotting his next attempt.

  "How do you turn the channel on this beast?" Allison asked, picking up the tablet sized remote, eyeballing it.

  "Click on the button marked cable, and then enter the channel you want."

  "What channel is news?" She propped up her feet on an ottoman and settled back into the folds of the leather. "And stop staring at me, creeper."

  Mac blinked and realized he was staring. Not just staring, but grinning like a moron. "Sorry," he murmured. "Uh, channel six should be doing their second broadcast of news about now."

  "But what channel is something like CNN?"

  "No way we made it to national news."

  "Channel, ye of little faith?" She smiled over at him.

  "Twenty -three."

  The channel changed to a live feed of news reporters hounding a group of police officers. The sprawl across the bottom announced that they were feeding a signal from their sister station, one that was the local station for Indianapolis.

  A blonde female reporter in a blue blazer and a yellow blouse top stood before the onslaught, detailing what news was gathered. "Reports are coming in that there was a shootout here tonight." The sprawl listed the name of the mall below her and gave her name as Stacy Wren. "We are still looking for confirmation, but early reports state that they saw a man with a jet pack fighting someone in some sort of mascot outfit."

  "Jetpack?" Mac growled.

  "Hush," Allison demanded.

  Stacy continued, "Several police officers have been pronounced dead at scene, with others being rushed to Community in critical condition. Whatever took place here, police are urging the public to stay inside tonight. Reports say that they have one subject in custody, but one is still at large. Police say to be on the lookout for someone dressed in a large foam suit that is brown and poorly formed."

  Allison and Mac giggled together at that.

  "I don't think they believe any of us had any super powers,” Mac shook his head.

  "Give it time. They will."

  Stacy cornered a police officer, shoving the mic in his face as he tried to walk away.

  “It’s that officer from earlier,” Allison echoed Mac's thoughts aloud.

  “I want to repeat myself,” the officer said. Under him, the ticker stated that his name: Officer John Denton. “This police department will not stand for any vigilantism in our city.” His intense gaze on the screen made Mac’s spine tingle. It made him feel as if the man was looking at him when he said it.

  “Not as thankful as we hoped,” Kitten pouted.

  “No. No, it isn’t,” Mac said.

  “I have nothing to say at this point. This is an ongoing investigation,” Officer Denton said, moving away from the camera. Stacy reappeared at the center of the screen, facing the camera. “There you have it, Steven. We will update this story as we have more."

  Allison muted the television and turned to face Mac. "Don't worry, Mac. If they don't release the dash cam footage or someone doesn't leak a camera phone video, they will see you for real next time."

  Mac nodded, but remained silent.

  Allison's eyes went to the metal suitcase that was leaning against Mac’s chair. “Mac. I have a question,” her voice was softer now.

  “Shoot,” Mac said, not understanding why that made Allison cringe.

  “During the battle, you told the rock monster thing that you were basically going to have me blow off the woman’s head,” she started, looking away as she talked.

/>   “Yeah?”

  “Would you have really asked me to do that?”

  Mac was quiet for a long time. He was asking himself that same question for most of the night. “I don’t think so,” he finally admitted. “I mean, at some point we are going to have to decide where we draw the line.”

  “Yeah,” was all Allison could say.

  “Would you have done it if I had asked you to?” he asked.

  Allison was quiet for a few minutes “I think I might have,” she finally, said. "When she blew you into the building, I almost did it then. I had just finished putting the gun together and was sighting up. If she had dropped behind the car a second later, I think I would have ended her right there. If she had poked her hand up, I would have removed it for her." She shuddered and hugged herself. "I was so angry, Mac. One second and I would have blown her away."

  Mac stared at her, caught in the revelation. He thought about it himself. If he thought that someone had so much as hurt Allison, he would have gone full nuclear on them. He doubted anything could have stopped him from seeking vengeance. "Let's just say that we won't go down that path unless it is to save a life, okay?"

  After a moment or two of silence, she said, "Mac. We have to be much more careful next time. I can't handle losing you."

  “We will. With you as my protector, we will be fine,” Mac promised.

  “I think we need to start testing my shield against things other than solid objects,” he admitted.

  Allison smiled. “Agreed. That fireball was pretty scary.”

  Mac smiled, and settled himself back into his chair. He wished for a moment he could share this with his father. Any of it. Something to bridge the gap. Anything.

  They watched the news on loop for hours, listening for any indication that they were starting to determine that Eclipse was a superhero. At the one A.M. newsreel, he looked over to see Allison curled up in a ball on the couch. He got up, brushed the hair out of her face and found a throw blanket to put over her. He then went and locked the main door leading to the room. He did not want any of the house staff to wake her up or to report this back to his father.

  Lowering the television volume, he settled back into his chair and continued to watch the news, glancing at Allison every now and again. Once he caught her looking at him, a soft smile playing across her beautiful lips. He smiled back at her, and she went back to sleep.

  The last loop he remembered before sleep took him was around four A.M. and they were still saying that the deadly fight was between a man with a jetpack and some madman mascot.

  Chapter Ten

  Bright flashing lights painted the interior parking lot with churning red and blue, reminding Lanton just how tired he was. He hadn't intended to work a double, but the cards had just played out that way. Two suicides and a homicide later, he had finally, signed off and headed home. Then he pulled into the parking lot to find two police cars already there, flashing their lights. Raindrops sprinkled the windshield, making the colors even more disconcerting and making his head hurt even more. He tried to tell himself that this wasn't his concern. He was off duty and someone could handle it.

  Problem was that wasn't how Lanton was wired. He joined the police force to help people, and here he was, facing someone that most likely needed his help. He slid the beat up gray Oldsmobile into his assigned parking spot and sat in his car for a few while the old motor idled. The radio played some old rock ballad he couldn't name, but made him feel like he had just entered a music video from the 80s where hair band singers stared forlornly out rain-spattered windows. Granted, they were never in a car as worn down as this, but it would have fit the video. Do they even make music videos even more? He was sure they did, not for MTV, but for the internet.

  The song ended, and Lanton switched off the car, finding himself wondering if he had actually stayed there waiting just to hear the song or if he postponed what he knew would not be pretty. Even now, his mind wandered back to the last suicide of the night, a series of images that would forever haunt him he was sure. "The devil may care," he told the empty interior of his car, then immediately felt bad. Puns were no way to treat the dead. Bad puns were even worse.

  He groaned as he removed himself from the car, feeling more like his old man as time progressed. He missed the crotchety old windbag, but that was the way of things. His father had served his twenty on the force in Narcotics. Then, unlike most retired police, had enjoyed retirement until his years of smoking caught up with him, and he passed away one day of a stroke, cigarette still in hand. His gaze followed the course of the first floor, sweeping over the multitude of doors that led to compact apartments for the thrifty types, himself included. He could see no officers there, so he turned to the second floor and began to scan again. His eyes drifted over the door that led to his own cramped quarters and as it slid two doors down, he noticed the police officer standing at the open door, eyeing him with a question on his brow.

  "Shit,” Lanton muttered. It was one of those times when no other words would do what felt justice. A time when words all fell away and emotion slammed into you like a semi doing above the speed limit when it hits the railing. That was Chris's apartment. Two doors down, and when was the last time he had paid his old mentor a visit? It wasn't like he lived across town. The man had taught Lanton most of what Lanton pretended to know, and they hadn't talked in a few years. Odd that they could live so close, but manage to exist in different worlds. "It was because of what happened,” he told himself as he made for the stairwell. He knew that was part of it, but Lanton suspected that it was a deeper root than that. Chris was a living symbol of how close police officers live to that one terrible mistake that sends everything down the shitter. No, one wants to hang around with an embodiment of the nightmare they all harbor.

  As he made the second floor, Lanton pulled out his detective badge and slipped it into his shirt pocket so it remained visible.

  The uniformed officer still stood where he had as if guarding the door, his gaze on the part of the pathway where Lanton appeared after climbing the stairs. As Lanton came into view and the badge caught the dancing lights, he could see the officer relax. Lanton wondered what it was that had gotten the officer on the defensive. "You're a little late,” the Officer intoned, hitching a finger through the belt.

  "I'm off duty,” Lanton explained, "I just live down the way." He pointed to the door that led to his hidey-hole of a home.

  The officer nodded, "I pegged you for Homicide. Was a little curious why they would call you. Especially after the Doc Box took him away."

  Lanton risked a sigh of relief, hoping he wasn't jinxing himself. The Doc Box was what the locals had gotten to calling the Paramedics. "So, Chris is still alive?" Lanton closed the difference and offered his hand to the officer. "Detective Monty Lanton."

  The officer nodded, taking Lanton's hand and saying, "If you can call it living. He's in bad shape, but they don't think his injuries are life threatening. His lifestyle, that's a different story. He is not going to be having a good time of it once he wakes up." Then as an afterthought, "Perry Middleton."

  Lanton was glad to hear that his old mentor was still in the land of the living, though he was curious as to the Perry's words. “What happened?"

  Perry's lip twitched as if he was about to smile, but then thought better of it. "See for yourself,” he motioned his head toward the open door.

  Lanton didn't have to go far. As soon as he stood at the door, he could see the story spelled out for him. The front room was a disaster area. Everything was scattered around the room as if the Hulk had busted in and decided the Feng Shui of the room was off and needed a violent makeover. The sofa was pushed back he could see dents in the wall. A chair lay in shattered pieces about the room. A noose scattered amongst the wooden bits. The most telling was the gaping hole in the ceiling and the electrical wires dangling like innards from it. "He tried to hand himself with the light fixture?"

  "Yeah,” Officer Perry chuckled, but then
caught himself. .

  "Surely he knew it wouldn't hold his weight,” Lanton pondered aloud.

  "Left of the TV."

  Lanton scanned the room, first finding the old box television and then searched left of it. Having been on enough scenes, he knew what he what he saw. The remains of a crack pipe. "Shit, Chris."

  Officer Perry stood next to him, surveying the scene with him. "My guess is that he was hopped up and not thinking too clearly. Took his last toke and did the deed,” a small pause. "Well, tried,” a slight chuckle.

  "Did you add that to the report?" Motioning to the drug remnants.

  Officer Perry turned to regard him in mute silence for a minute. Lanton may have just crossed a line. Finally, Officer Perry spoke. "I didn't have to. Paramedics saw and started calling for tests. My guess as the doc's are already running detox protocols and Chris is in for a long few weeks. But, no, I am not putting it in the report. I suspect that Chris is going to have a hard enough time without me jamming him up. My guess is that the man needs friends, not more people judging him."

  That last caught Lanton attention, both for the self-recrimination and the knowledge. "So you know about Chris's history?"

  Officer Perry nodded. "He's the boogeyman story of the beat cops. Be on your best or you will end up like Chris Taylor. Hell, the clipping of the story is posted on the bulletin board in the locker room. You can't help but see the headline as you exit for your shift. Two dead because of officer's negligence."

  Lanton nodded. It wasn't a surprise to him that the officer knew Chris's story. It did make headlines all over the country. After that, Chris fell off the public radar as best he could. From the looks of it, by creating his own drug den to smoke away the pain. "They take him to North?"

  "Yeah."

  "Alright,” Lanton sighed. Feeling exhausted, but he guessed the night wasn't going to end here. Chris would be on suicide watch. Before long, Chris would start to suffer withdrawal. Lanton figured it was time to own up for his own past mistakes of ignoring the man two rooms down from him. He knew that if he had reached bottom, he would want a friendly face there when he woke.