Age of Heroes: A Superhero Adventure (The Pantheon Saga Book 1)

by C. C. Ekeke

  “Wait,” Lionel Wagner commented between laughs, his handsome face oozing douchbaggery. “If Hugo’s such a loser, tell him to fuck off.”

  Brie rolled her eyes as if the answer was obvious. “Hugo’s in love with me. Meaning, he’s totally my bitch and will do whatever I say.” Laughter erupted from everyone except Jordana and J-Tom, both exchanging uncomfortable looks.

  For Hugo, each insult was a white-hot knife to the chest.

  “Make him streak across campus,” someone challenged, drawing disgusted ewwwws.

  Brie glared at whoever spoke. “God, no. Everyone would go blind.” More mocking laughs. Baz clapped with fiendish delight. Another searing knife to Hugo’s chest. Yet he kept listening.

  “When he gets all weepy about life being so unbearable,” Brie continued for her captive audience, “I’m like do everyone a solid and end yourself already.” Except Jordana and J-Tom, the gathering exploded. Brie, taken aback by the reaction, wore an uneasy grin.

  Hugo stumbled back. His chest was on fire, eyes burning. He didn’t know what to say or think. It felt like this summer never happened. Hugo was still short, skinny-fat and unbearably insecure. A quick check confirmed his new physical appearance. Didn’t matter. I thought she cared. Part of him wanted to believe she was lying to protect their friendship. But the Brie he’d seen with her popular friends wasn’t performing.

  “I disgust her,” he murmured, voice quivering. The epiphany punched through Hugo’s spine. His eyes blurred with tears. He couldn’t be here. Not after that. Hugo spun in the other direction, staggering like a drunk for Paso Robles High’s exit. Surprised cries from students he almost collided with forced him to focus on his trajectory and slow down. And Brie’s cruel words replayed in Hugo’s head, over and over.

  Once safely behind the shopping center across from campus, he zoomed away at top speed from Paso High and Briseis El-Saden.

  Chapter 23

  Greyson remained glued to his seat and the unfolding carnage. His co-worker Jinn gripped their table like a life raft. The Korean man’s eyes looked ready to pop.

  They weren’t alone. Every patron and server at Ally’s Bakery had similar reactions while watching the massive TV above the bar.

  Not surprising. Since superheroes and supervillains went public, people watched their fights at bars & bistros like sports or MMA.

  A four on one fight raged during the lunch hour; The Hurricane versus Excessive Menace.

  And the Hurricane was getting his ass kicked.

  The fight had started ten minutes ago, right as Greyson and Jinn finished lunch.

  Breaking news reported Excessive Menace attacking Soulard Farmer's Market in downtown St. Louis. The carnage stunned Greyson. ShocKing ripped vendor booths to flaming shreds with forks of electricity. Brickhouse pitched customers into the air like javelins. Mr. Silk dashed about like a bouncy ball beating up anyone in reach with rapid-fire blows. And the Illusionist conjured glowing green holograms of seven-foot wolves to chase customers. Whenever the wolf illusions caught a victim, they bit chunks out of their flesh.

  “Good lord!” a server cried, dropping her food tray with a noisy clang. No one flinched, glued to the TV. The whole time, Excessive Menace laughed hysterically at the chaos they’d unleashed. The quartet battered civilians for sport, because they could.

  Greyson felt sickened, helpless. That familiar pressure of anger and powerlessness started building in his chest, begging for release.

  This time, Greyson calmed himself. The tools Dr. St. Pierre had provided were like breathing now. He focused on the churn, choosing to relax. And the pressure disappeared.

  Thankfully, The Hurricane flew onto the scene, a vortex covering his body from the waist down.

  The local superhero struck first with a patented whirlwind punch, barreling his foes aside. Brickhouse took the brunt, knocked through a parked Escalade, shredding it in half. Hurricane’s strategy was smart, incapacitating her first.

  Mr. Silk shouted profanities and lunged, eating a cyclone blast to the chest, flattening him against another parked car. ShocKing tried fighting back.

  Hurricane swept him away with a contemptuous backhanded gale of wind.

  The Illusionist remained kneeling, punch-drunk from the initial assault.

  Greyson, Jinn and the rest of Ally’s Bakery cheered.

  It appeared Hurricane would win. Yet he hadn’t seen Brickhouse rise, slowly advancing.

  But the newscaster and everybody in Ally’s Bakery saw.

  “Nonono!” Greyson shouted even though the superhero couldn’t hear. “Turn around!” Several restaurant patrons echoed him.

  The superhero turned a second too late. And Brickhouse’s brawny shoulder struck Hurricane’s chestplate like a thunderclap. Ally’s Bakery collectively cringed.

  And Hurricane went airborne, limp and loose. He somersaulted for several feet in unsettling positions before landing hard.

  Hurricane stirred very slowly, body armor aside; clearly Brickhouse’s tackle hurt him.

  “Get up,” Greyson hissed as the Amazonian super stalked her downed foe. “Get the hell up.”

  Finally, Hurricane rose to all fours.

  Brickhouse broke into a sprint. Before Hurricane could dodge, she kicked his stomach with a savage growl.

  Another collective “OHHHH!” and some aggrieved screams filled Ally’s Bakery. Hurricane tumbled down the street like a ragdoll, smacking into a wall. This time he didn’t rise.

  Greyson glanced away. But hope forced him to look again and root for Hurricane.

  “Hurricane’s getting wrecked,” a young African-American patron complained.

  No kidding, Greyson seethed.

  Unfortunately, ShocKing had recovered. And he looked furious. “I’m barbequing this ass clown.” Cracking his neck, he raised both hands. Arcs of blue lighting exploded from his fingertips, drilling Hurricane full-on. He convulsed violently, lightning engulfing his body.

  Ally’s Bakery went silent. No one was enjoying this fight anymore.

  After what seemed like an eternity, ShocKing stopped. Surprisingly, Hurricane lay gasping— and alive. His left ankle looked bent in an ugly attitude.

  Greyson felt momentary relief…until ShocKing declared his reasons for mercy. “Not until everyone get their licks in.” He gestured to Mr. Silk and The Illusionist. “Pummel him, fam!”

  Mr. Silk cracked his knuckles, a sadistic gleam in his eyes. “Gladly,” he cooed like a kid on Christmas.

  Greyson recoiled, blood draining from his face. “Hurricane’s dead!” he gasped.

  Excessive Menace were picking The Hurricane up when he lurched to one knee. The battered superhero swung both arms out, walloping his foes with a wall of gale-force winds. The blustery shockwave knocked the quartet aside like bowling pins. With them down, Hurricane struggled to stand. But he looked in no shape to take on the quartet.

  The Hurricane rocketed into the heavens and vanished as Excessive Menace were getting back up. His retreat drew mixed reactions from Ally’s Bakery customers.

  “Thank god.” Greyson sagged in his seat, exhausted by the fight.

  “He’s running away?” one patron asked, disappointed.

  “A strategic retreat,” Jinn corrected. “To better plan next time.”

  “It’s all good,” the African American boy from earlier shrugged off everyone’s worries with the unshakeable confidence of youth. “Hurricane will kick their asses next time.”

  Greyson didn’t share that confidence. Hurricane looked in rough shape. Especially that ankle. Then Greyson watched the TV as ShocKing spoke.

  “Hurricane thwarted our ambush this time,” he declared. “Not again.” Excessive Menace fled before St. Louis police arrived at a farmer’s market resembling a tornado disaster area.

  Greyson gaped. Excessive Menace meant to draw Hurricane out and kill him. Those fuckers are evil.

  Greyson and Jinn were still unpacking the fight as they walked back to their investment firm. �
�I hope Hurricane’s okay,” Greyson fretted, shouldering his messenger bag. “His ankle definitely looked broken. Someone needs to stop Excessive Menace before they do more damage.” He agreed with Father on one thing. Supers like Excessive Menace should be put down like rabid dogs.

  Jinn looked upset. “That fight wasn’t far from the community center.”

  Greyson shuddered hearing that. “Yeah, I caught that.”

  “By the way.” Jinn placed a hand on his shoulder and looked him over. “You doing yoga?”

  Greyson frowned and shook his head. “Just playing basketball a few times a week with you and the community center kids. Why?”

  “I don’t know.” Jinn’s suspicious look lingered. “You seem different. More centered.” He smiled approvingly. “Whatever you’re doing, keep doing it.”

  Greyson barked out a laugh. “Thanks.” Jinn wasn’t the only one to notice. Mom and Sara had commented before he’d mentioned doing therapy. And Lauren couldn’t get enough of his new outlook. Having folks recognize the work he’d been putting in was flattering.

  As they entered the office lobby, cute and perky receptionist Paloma waved Greyson over. “You have a visitor in your office.”

  “Hmm.” He bumped fists with Jinn, who headed back to his desk. “Is my 2 PM meeting early?”

  “No,” Paloma replied, hand on her collar bone. “Some old guy. Says he’s your father.”

  Surprise and anger churned within Greyson. And by Paloma’s reaction, it showed on his face. Dad, at his job, after never bothering to visit? Trying to provoke me in public? This had to be handled quickly. Greyson forced a smile. “Thanks, Paloma.” His mind was awash with dread as he hiked through rows of cubicles to his office. Drawing closer, Greyson saw Aaron Hirsch sitting in his office, stiff and uncomfortable in his seat across from the desk.

  With considerable effort, Greyson forced his unwilling legs forward and opened his office door.

  Dad jumped in his seat at the abrupt entrance, then relaxed. No hostility lived in Dad’s eyes. He watched his son with strange supplication. Weird.

  “Afternoon, Greyson,” the elder Hirsch greeted with actual kindness. It sounded unnatural.

  Greyson glared at his father while getting settled. He recalled fearing this man’s wrath, striving to win his approval. Now, Greyson saw a withered asshole across from his office desk, a stranger despite their genetics. “Why are you here?” he snapped, flat and venomous.

  Dad recoiled, as if expecting a warm reception. “I…I wanted to talk.” He offered an ingratiating smile. “It’s been two months since I saw you.”

  Since I kicked your ass. Greyson stayed upright, fists clenched. “You’re not throwing a block party?”

  Dad glanced away, stung. “I deserved that.” Surprisingly, he hadn’t insulted him…yet.

  Greyson turned to his monitor, entering his password to open the locked screen. “Say whatever you came to say,” he stated curtly. “I'm busy.” The sooner this ended, the better.

  “Our argument.” Dad sounded frailer than usual. “Things went too far…Greyson, look at me.”

  Greyson regretted only his last words, not slamming Dad on a coffee table. Or punching him. He afforded his father a scornful look. “I’m not sorry for what I did.” Greyson turned back to his computer screen and skimmed through unopened emails.

  “I am.” Dad was beginning to sound frustrated. “I’m sorry. Not just for that day. For the past several years. For disrespecting Lauren. For whatever I’ve done to make you feel unloved.”

  That caught Greyson’s ear. He turned to his father, who had rarely apologized for any bitter word hurled at his son. Greyson watched his father’s pleading look, instantly suspicious. This wasn't unprompted. “Did Mom made you apologize? Sara? Or did they both force you?”

  Dad’s sickly pale skin reddened. “Your mother mentioned kicking me out,” he admitted.

  Greyson laughed harshly. “I knew it.” He pointed to the door, done with this discussion. “Out.”

  “Greyson. Give me a chance.”

  “Why—” Greyson stopped himself from yelling. Drawing in slow breaths, he spoke in quieter tones. “Why should I?”

  Dad raised a pacifying hand. “Yes, there were conversations with Sara and your mother.” His beseeching eyes felt so unnatural. “But I came here on my own.”

  Greyson remained unmoved. “You want a fucking medal of valor?”

  Dad’s face darkened. “Watch your mouth boy—”

  Greyson raised his brow. “Excuse you?” His fists clenched painfully tight. Give me a reason—

  Dad deflated, rubbing his forehead. “Sorry.” This sounded genuine. “Sara and I had a long conversation days ago. She raked me over the coals.” He met Greyson’s gaze. “I was so consumed by what I’d lost, I never realized what a horrible father I'd been. Your mother’s been trying to tell me this for years. I want to fix things.”

  That knifed through Greyson’s heart. For the first time in over twenty-five years, he saw a sliver of the father who once loved him. Maintaining his steely veneer became challenging. “To quote Yoda,” he said, “’There is no try, only do or do not.’”

  Dad rubbed at his eyes. Was he crying? “I know this won’t erase how you were treated. How I treated you. But let’s start a clean slate.” Dad sounded croaky with sorrow. His eyes were red-rimmed. “Dinner at the house. Friday.”

  Outside, Greyson remained unyielding. Inside, his mind was aflame. “I’ll consider it.” He barely kept his voice steady. “I have work to do.”

  Dad’s disappointment was palpable. He clearly expected obedience but nodded in understanding. “Okay.” He stood slowly. Greyson noticed how old he looked despite only being in his late fifties. “Thanks for your time.”

  After Dad departed, Greyson sat down heavily and stared into space for several minutes. Whatever he decided, Greyson refused to let Dad back into his life for Mom or Sara’s sake. Most importantly, Greyson realized during Dad’s ambush he felt no pressure crushing his chest.

  “Because I no longer feel guilty,” he murmured, clenching and unclenching his fists. Thanks to therapy. Still, the encounter had unmoored Greyson. He texted Dr. St. Pierre.

  Me: Doc, can I use the warehouse tonight?

  St. Pierre had offered this to his patients even on session-free days. He just needed a heads up.

  Greyson felt in control, despite his emotional turmoil. But blowing off steam for safety felt wise. As his work day continued, he heard nothing from St. Pierre. Greyson was getting antsy by this unusual silence. And fear of a possible outburst gnawed at his focus during meetings and the usual paperwork tedium.

  The therapist finally replied half an hour before work ended.

  St. Pierre: Come on over.

  Greyson’s relief was boundless. He called Lauren on the drive to East St Louis.

  “Ugh,” she grumbled sympathetically. “What are you going to do?”

  “Not sure,” Greyson stated after parking and locking his car. He’d arrived at the warehouse just after six PM, the skies cloudy and dark purple. He stalked across the gloomy empty lot. “I figure a warehouse workout should clear my head.”

  “Am I eating solo tonight?”

  “I’ll be home by seven-thirty,” Greyson pulled out his ID card, swiping the warehouse entrance. Pushing open the door, he strode inside. “Then we'll get some Hunan House takouAAAAH!”

  The slippery flooring made Greyson’s feet fly out from under him. He landed hard on wet concrete, pain knifing into his back and shoulders.

  “Grey? What’s wrong?” Lauren’s concern sprang from the cellphone knocked out of Greyson’s grasp. He sat up, wincing, and reached for his phone to calm his girlfriend. Then Greyson glanced in surprise, surrounded by many small pools.

  Pools of dark blood.

  “The hell?” he mumbled.

  “Hey.”

  Greyson twisted toward the strained voice. His jaw dropped.

  The Hurricane sat draped in
shadows, slumped besides the warehouse entrance. The superhero was cradling his midsection, armored costume leaking blood from several wounds.

  The Hurricane in person, gasping and bleeding to death.

  Greyson froze and stared at the injured superhero. Lauren’s panicked squawks on the cellphone became background noise. He couldn’t stop staring at the Hurricane’s unmasked face. And his brain liquefied.

  “Greyson,” Richard St. Pierre wheezed. His smile revealed wet red teeth. “What’s up?”

  Greyson watched his therapist slump over and faint.

  Chapter 24

  Astonishment dominated Simon’s moon-shaped face. “Seriously?”

  Hugo nodded. "Yep." He sat cross-legged across from his friend in Simon’s bedroom, fist pressed on his temples to prop his head up.

  They should've been picking a codename and finalizing Hugo’s costume tonight. Instead, he’d told Simon about this morning. Hours later, Hugo remained shell-shocked. Yet some part of him tried excusing Brie’s awfulness. Maybe those jocks were teasing her because of Hugo’s past clinginess, so she had to renounce him. Then he remembered Briseis’s insults, that smug sneer as her friends laughed. Misery and anger roiled inside him. “I wanna vomit thinking about it.”

  Simon leaned back on his hands, eyes narrowed. “No wonder you ditched 2nd period. She was looking for you.”

  Hugo flinched. To play the friend for her audience? He let his head loll, feeling more nauseous. Faint wafts of worn shoes, sweat and body odor permeated Simon’s room. His parents watched the reality show Hero House downstairs. “I ditched today,” Hugo said. “Had Mom call in saying I felt sick.” That was true. “Didn’t have the heart to tell her what happened. She loves Brie.”

  Hugo recalled Brie and Baz together, and cold dread entered his brain. Did Brie send Baz to Liberty Park to kick my ass last summer? Hugo tried brushing off the crazy notion. But how else did Baz and his crew find him? When it came to Brie, Hugo didn’t know what to believe anymore.

  Cellphone vibrations disrupted his morbid thoughts. The Samoan reached for his cell, glimpsing a new text. Hugo's anger deepened, drowning out the misery. “Can you believe this? She’s texting me like nothing happened.” He shoved his phone in Simon’s face.