by Drew Hayes
“Guilty,” Roy replied, swaying slightly. “Lot of good it’s done me.” He hadn’t landed a blow on Chad yet, and Chad was hammering away at him every time they came together. Roy was resistant to damage, of course; however, Chad dished out enough to cover that gap and more. In truth, Roy knew the only reason he was still conscious was simply because Chad didn’t want to knock him out, and that knowledge made him want to crush that blond bastard even harder.
“It’s a process. You should keep that in mind. Steady groundwork is what bears results,” Chad told him.
“I’ll make sure to remember,” Roy replied, stumbling forward. He was too slow, he knew it as soon as he was moving. Chad would capitalize. Sure enough, rather than use a quick series of blows to knock Roy down, Chad instead took a step forward and smashed him in the forehead with a powerful kick. Roy saw static all around him, and when his vision finally cleared, he was on the ground again. It was beginning to have a familiar, almost homey feel.
“Just stay down already,” Chad told him. “I’ll go fetch a healer and we can tell Coach George that this won’t work because you can’t keep up with me. By this time tomorrow we’ll both have people more appropriate to our skill level.”
“Fuck you,” Roy spat out, along with a bit of blood.
“I beg your pardon? I was trying to show you mercy.”
“You were trying to show me condescension,” Roy sneered, getting up for what felt like the billionth agonizing time. “Yeah, you’re faster than I am, and more skilled than I am, and a hell of a lot better practiced than I am, but who cares?”
“Off handedly, I’d say your battered body. Don’t get the wrong idea here, Roy. I’ve been going easy on you. This can get much worse.”
“Blondie, there’s a few things you should know about me,” Roy said as he found his shaky footing. “I love whiskey, dumb blondes, and my momma. I don’t welch on bets and I don’t cheat at pool. And I never, repeat, never give up.” Roy locked eyes with Chad and gave him the legendary Daniels’ family grin. “Now bring it the fuck on.”
To his credit, Roy stayed conscious for the rest of the fight, even if a part of him truly wished he hadn’t.
86.
“Yeesh, this guy took one hell of a pounding,” said the healer, a female junior. Roy could make out the words dimly over the ringing in his ears.
“That’s what she said,” snickered a male voice next to her.
“Damn it, Ed, that doesn’t even make sense. Try to show a little respect,” the girl snapped at him. “Just because he’s passed out doesn’t mean you can act like a jackass.”
She was wrong; Roy was still awake. He could hear them after all. It wasn’t worth the effort to correct her, though. Not right now.
“Sorry, sorry,” Ed apologized. “I just get kind of weirded out being too somber around people this messed up. I don’t want to treat them like they’re already dead or something.”
“No worries on that for this one. He’s already healing up on his own. To be this hearty and still be so pummeled... it must have been one hell of a beating,” the girl commented.
“Maybe he wasn’t fighting back,” Ed suggested.
“No way,” the girl told him. “Didn’t you notice all the impact wounds? This guy kept getting up over and over and getting put right back down. He was obviously outclassed, but I’ll give him one thing. He did not want to lose.”
Roy’s head swam and he finally lost the tenuous grip to consciousness he had been clutching so adamantly.
* * *
“Thank you for coming, Mrs. Daniels,” the principal said, raising from his desk and shaking her hand. “Will Mr. Daniels be joining us?”
“I’m afraid he’s out of town at the moment,” Mrs. Daniels said. “His construction company got a job down in Florida that he’s overseeing.”
“Ah, I understand,” the principal said. “In that case I suppose we can begin. Please, have a seat.”
“Not that I’m not eager to find out why you called me down here so urgently, but shouldn’t you excuse the student already here before we talk?” Mrs. Daniels asked. She glanced at the small plastic chair he was sitting in, reclined back and feet swinging freely.
“I’m afraid that boy is actually part of the reason you were called down,” the principal said hesitantly.
“Was he in a fight with my son? I know Hershel has been getting bullied since we moved here.”
“Not exactly. You see, that boy sitting in that chair is your son. Sort of. I’m afraid it’s somewhat complicated, Mrs. Daniels. Are you sure you wouldn’t rather have a seat?”
Mrs. Daniels didn’t take the open chair. Instead she walked over to the small boy and got on her knees. She looked him in the eye for a long time, long enough that the boy began to squirm uncomfortably.
“What’s your name?”
“Dunno,” the boy replied.
“Do you know I am?”
“Mommy,” the boy replied.
“Are you Hershel?” she asked.
The boy shook his head. “Hershel was crying cause they kept making fun of him. He couldn’t make them stop, so I did.”
“For the record, ‘stopping them’ consisted of several children with extensive bruising and an overturned jungle gym,” the principal interjected.
“Is that true? Did you hurt the other children?”
The boy looked down at the floor. “It was an accident. They wouldn’t stop making Hershel cry. I just wanted to stop them.”
“I understand. Well, we’ll have to get you some help in learning to stop people without hurting them,” Mrs. Daniels said, giving the boy a reassuring squeeze of his hand, then standing up to her full height.
“I must say, Mrs. Daniels, you’re taking this all very well,” the principal commented.
“My aunt was a Super, so I’ve always known it might run in our blood,” Mrs. Daniels lied.
“I’m afraid you must know that until Hershel can control his powers more effectively, he won’t be able to attend our facility anymore,” the principal said hesitantly.
“Of course,” Mrs. Daniels agreed. “I fully intend to get my son, or perhaps I should say sons, the education they need to become happy, integrated Supers.”
“Sons? Mrs. Daniels, that boy is still Hershel. It’s just him utilizing his abilities,” the principal told her.
This time it was Mrs. Daniels who shook her head. “That boy isn’t Hershel,” she said matter-of-factly. “But he is definitely my son.” She looked back at the boy and smiled at him. “On that note, I suppose we should find a good name for you.”
“Mrs. Daniels, I don’t think you-”
* * *
Roy was jerked awake by a coughing fit. He hacked and thundered for several minutes before lying back down on the table.
“Sorry about that, big guy,” said the girl in a soft, comforting voice. “It’s a side effect of when we heal around the lungs.”
Roy heard her and understood. He didn’t care, though; now that he’d tasted sleep he wasn’t ready to stop gorging on it just yet.
* * *
He could hear her crying again through the walls. She would only do it when she thought he was outside, and even then only into a pillow to muffle the sound. It wasn’t muffled quite enough. She was crying so often these days. Because she missed him.
Roy’s fists clenched involuntarily. He got so mad whenever he thought about his dad. Mad at him for leaving and mad at himself for missing him. Last week Roy had finally managed to lift a pickup truck in the junkyard where he and his dad used to work out. His first instinct had been to run and proudly tell his father of the accomplishment. Then Roy had remembered.
“He has some things to work out,” his mother had told him, choking back her own sadness. “Things he needs space for.”
Roy forced himself to let his hands loosen. It didn’t make any sense. His dad had always said a man lived up to responsibilities, he took care of those in need, he helped the weak. But h
e could walk out on his own family like it was nothing?
Roy steadied himself. She needed him to be strong right now. Besides, Roy already had a plan. He’d find that son-of-a-bitch one day and ask him in person why he’d walked out. And if he didn’t have the world’s best answer, Roy was going to beat him mercilessly. That was later, though; his dad was still the better fighter between them. For now.
He knocked gently on the door. “Mom,” he called. “Are you okay?”
* * *
“-looks like he’ll be fine,” the girl said.
“Glad to hear it,” Coach George’s gruff voice said, echoing through the room.
“Good thing he’s hearty,” Ed said. “I can’t imagine what he did to deserve a beating like he got.”
“He’s tenacious,” Coach George said. “More so than I was expecting, to be honest. When I paired him with Taylor I figured it would be his last day in program.”
“Looks like he surprised you,” the girl said.
“That he did,” Coach George admitted. “But there’s always tomorrow.”
* * *
Roy wasn’t sure what to feel. Rage? Betrayal? Mostly it was just confusion, but the other two were percolating there as well. He sat silently in his bus seat, staring out the window and trying hard not to think. He could feel the stares of some of the other passengers. A thirteen-year-old boy traveling alone tended to attract attention, after all. On the way out here he’d felt self-conscious about that fact. Now he didn’t give two shits what people were thinking about him.
All these years he’d dreamed of the day he confronted his father. All these years he’d trained and worked and sweat for the sake of being better than him. He’d spent days tracking him down, and then when he finally found him...
Roy shook his head. He couldn’t deal with it, couldn’t see his dad that way. But the image was there, festering in the back of his mind, unwilling to purge itself despite all his efforts.
Roy felt Hershel stirring within him. They’d been switching even more erratically than normal lately. It was possible stress was a factor in their condition. Roy didn’t care at the moment. Right now he just wanted to be alone. Truly alone, not just one half of a whole. He was barely holding it together as it was, and now he realized he had his little brother to worry about, too. It was just too much.
“Simmer down, Fatso,” Roy whispered hotly under his breath. “Nobody fucking wants you here right now.”
87.
Roy was surprised to open his eyes. He’d thought Hershel would have taken over by now. He was still in the resting room where the healers worked. He slowly pulled himself to a sitting position and looked around.
“Careful,” Mary cautioned. “You’re all patched up but you might be woozy for a while.”
She was sitting in a chair a few feet away. There were several books with her, one cracked open in her lap.
“What are you doing here?” Roy asked, a twinge of harshness in his voice.
“I was keeping watch. I wanted to make sure you were okay,” Mary said.
“So kind of you,” Roy snapped. “I’ll tell Hershel you cared. You can run along now.”
“I don’t think you understand. I was here checking on you, on Roy. I heard what happened,” Mary explained.
“That I got my ass kicked? Come on, I’m not really a delicate flower and we have healers on call at all times. There was literally nothing to worry about,” Roy scoffed, swinging his feet over the edge of the bed and standing up.
Mary shook her head. “Not the fight. I heard what happened after.”
“What do you mean?”
“The memories.”
Roy felt himself become very still. “You listened to those?”
“Not intentionally, no. They were the psychic equivalent of throat-tearing screams, though. They overwhelmed everything around me. They seemed... intense,” Mary said.
Roy tried to calm himself, a task made more difficult by the same memory dreams they were discussing.
“Shit happens,” Roy said. “No sense dwelling on it. I’m fine.”
“No, you’re not,” Mary disagreed. “You’re harboring a lot of anger inside. I think that’s why you lashed out at so much of the world and distanced yourself. It’s all anger you feel toward your fath-”
She was cut off by the crashing sound of Roy’s bed being slammed to the ground courtesy of Roy’s fist.
“You and I are not friends,” Roy said coldly. “You won a bet against me and I’m honoring the deal. That’s it. I do not need, or want, or care about your advice. And if you ever mention my father again, then all bets are off between us. Understood?”
Mary nodded slowly. “That’s fair, I suppose. To me, and maybe to you, but certainly not to Hershel. I guess that’s between brothers, though.” She reached down and began scooping up her books. “One thing I should point out: I don’t know what you went through.”
“No argument here,” Roy said.
“But that doesn’t mean nobody here does. If you were to talk to people a little more you might find others you could share the burden with.”
“Please, I talk to more people than any of you social rejects.”
“No, you don’t. You slap hands, you exchange drinks, you have a few laughs. You don’t talk to anyone, you don’t bond with anyone, you don’t connect with anyone,” Mary told him.
“I’m connecting all over the place,” Roy shot back.
Mary finished gathering her books and stood up from the chair.
“Of course you are. That’s why this room is so stuffed with people who wanted to make sure you were okay,” Mary said, turning on her heel and heading out the door.
Roy looked around at the empty room and the broken bed. He tried to think of a joke he could make about breaking the bed, preferably one that implied he had tremendous genitalia. Nothing really came to mind. Instead he found his shoes and walked out a different door.
* * *
“Roy!”
Roy was only a few feet down the hallway, headed back to the lifts, when a familiar voice called to him. He looked over his shoulder to see none other than the man who had just beaten him senseless jogging up to him.
“Hello, Chad,” Roy greeted hesitantly.
“Hello,” Chad replied. “I see you’re moving around again.”
“I’m a quick heal,” Roy replied.
“I’m sure,” Chad said. “I wanted to talk to you about today.”
“Was there something left unsaid by our fists?”
“Actually, yes, at least on my end,” Chad said. “I was thinking about our fight while you were getting healed. Specifically about how hopelessly out of your league you are when you fight me, yet how you continued to try.”
“Gee, thanks, but I kind of already got the memo that I suck compared to you,” Roy said.
“You do; but that isn’t the point. The point is that you kept coming at me; you kept trying no matter how hard I put you down. I realized that the kind of man who can withstand the punishment I’m capable of dishing out and then ask for more is a man with a lot of determination.”
“Well... yeah, actually,” Roy agreed.
“I can relate with that sort of mindset,” Chad said. “So I came to a conclusion. I won’t improve at all by fighting you. You, on the other hand, will improve tremendously if you can continue to fight like you did today. And in the grand scheme of things, one hour per day helping a similar individual reach their goal is something I can tolerate.”
“I guess you’re saying you want to stay sparring partners,” Roy surmised.
“Yes. I’ll keep entering the ring with you for as long as Coach George deems necessary. That is, of course, on the condition that your dedication and intensity do not drop,” Chad explained.
“That part you don’t need to worry about,” Roy said. “And... um... thanks, I guess.”
“Glad to help,” Chad replied. He turned and began to walk away.
“Hey, Chad,�
� Roy called out.
“Yes?”
“You said you got the same power as your dad. Is he a Hero?”
Chad nodded without looking back. “He was one of the greatest Heroes ever to live. Why?”
“Just curious, I guess,” Roy lied. “You’re a strong guy. I thought someone else with your power would have been a pretty famous Hero if he was in the business.”
“He is still very famous. Just not for the reasons he deserves,” Chad said. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Roy.”
“See you then,” Roy told Chad’s exiting form. See, he could connect with people. What the hell did Mary know, anyway?
88.
As the days slipped by, even as something as strange as a daily bare-knuckle brawl became little more than a piece of routine for the combat students. The alternative training course posed different challenges. It was a mishmash of light sparring, discussion, and “mind exercises.” These challenges presented by Coach Persephone could be as simple as a riddle or as complex as an intricate battle scenario where one was expected to provide a step by step plan for victory. The riddles were, on the whole, considered the more popular task.
They, too, settled into a rhythm, and soon spring was beginning to slip subtle touches onto the landscape. It was a flower here, a green patch of grass there, things that showed winter was losing its stronghold on the terrain. Of course, some signs were less subtle than others.
“Freshman River Trip. March 18 – March 22. Final sign up date February 2,” Vince read from the flyer posted on the door to Dean Blaine’s classroom. He turned and looked at some of the other students who had pooled behind him. “Anyone know what this is?”
“My sister told me about it,” Shane volunteered. “It’s a big event during spring break for the freshman class. They provide transportation, tents, and tubes for us to float the river on.”
Vince shuddered involuntarily. Ever since the mountain he’d gotten a spike of cold every time he thought about camping.
“Apparently it’s also tradition for the sophomores chaperoning to bring tons of beer and liquor so that the whole weekend is quite the celebratory event,” Shane continued.