The Super 4 : Dark Death

by Harrison Wallace

  Darryl

  XII

  I raced up the stairs to my apartment on the second floor. I silently turned the lock in my door and slipped inside. I went to my room through the tiny kitchen, tacitly avoiding my mother.

  She dealt with bank robbery. And if you’re wondering how come we don’t live in some mansion, it’s because she’s scared the police will come and get her.

  I actually think the whole thing is really dumb. I mean come on! What’s the point of robbing banks if you don’t use the money? For the hundredth time I wondered if she was secretly a hoarder. But I shook of the thought, imagining her expensive hairdo and clothing. Not to mention her extensively largely bedroom, which included the living room.

  The buzzing of the intercom interrupted my thoughts. I pressed the button.

  “Hello?”

  “Darryl, please come down. We have something to show you.”

  I took the tiny, stuffed elevator down to the ground floor. Two women stood outside.

  “Are you Darryl?” The tall red head asked. When I nodded, she continued. “I’m Detective Caroline Opps and I was looking into a bank robbery. It appears that your mother has been stealing amounts of up to a million dollars at every bank she goes to. So far she’s robbed thirteen banks across the state.”

  I pretended to look shocked. Then the shorter lady, with purple spikes for hair spoke, “I’m Ms. Kidd. I’m a social worker and deal with cases like yours.” She gave me a reassuring smile that did not do its job at all. “You can confide in me.” Then, as if I was a dumb-witted first grader she added, “Confide means trust in. You can tell me anything.”

  I nodded again, still not speaking. “Darryl, we’re here to take you to the Family for Troubled Kids social group. Is that okay?” Opps told me.

  I spoke for the first time. “Can I go get my book?”

  “...What do you mean you’re new?” The dumb pink-haired lady asked.

  I noticed that social workers must love hair dye. “I’m sure I’ve seen you around somewhere!”

  “No, you haven’t!” I said, willing myself not to explode with the frustration welling up inside because of this pink-haired receptionist. “I don’t even have ‘one of those face’! Hello! Amber eyes! Dark skin! Short hair! Open your eyes lady!” I yelled, causing everyone in the room to look at us.

  “Ah! You’re right! I haven’t seen you before!” She said grinning. “Well then what’s your name? Full one please.”

  “Darryl, with a y, Russell Klein.” I said slowly, for her benefit.

  “Okay. Thanks. Here’s a form to fill out.”

  I glanced over the questions. There were basic ones like, your age and your birthday, and there were some that were completely off topic. Like, 'do you prefer tacos to tortillas?' And whether or not you like Captain America.

  Sighing, I reluctantly scribbled and circled answers onto the paper.

  I entered my new room.

  One peek destroyed all my visions of a neat room, filled with books.

  It made pigsties look neat. There was dirty underwear everywhere. On the bunks, on the eighties radio, even on the air conditioner.

  Also, the room was packed. And loud! It was like entering a dance party. Half the lights were off and the latest pop music was pumping out of the stereo. This mixed in with the stench of sweaty teenage boys dancing and dirties underwear, resulted in me wishing I could live in the trash.

  “Why would you want to live in the trash?” Asked a teenager, about a year older than me. He had signs of a beard. I guessed he was south Asian.

  Realizing that I had spoken aloud, I fretted to correct myself. “I said...um...This is a lot better than trash place I used to live in!”

  The boys accepted my answer and carried on. Except for the Asian kid. I saw intelligence beneath his dark brown eyes.

  Waving a strand of black hair out of his face, he came over.

  “Hi!” He said, “I’m Sanjit!”

  “Darryl.” I said, shaking his hand.

  “What grade are you in Darryl?”

  “Eighth.”

  “Really? Me too!”

  I was taken aback by his answer. I was sure he was fifteen. “Really! How old are you?”

  “Twelve.” He said, in a that-is-the-most-obvious-thing-in-the-world type of voice.

  I was smart, but even I wasn’t twelve in eighth grade. Sure I was in eleventh grade math and English. And in all the other academics. Except for French. In my school we don’t skip grades without one hundred percent in every subject.

  “You look older.”

  “I know!” Sanjit said sadly.

  “Why are you sad?” I asked, astonished that this was bad. I knew how angry Harrison got because he was shorter than everyone else.

  “I have no friends in my school. Everyone in my grade is older than me and they think I’m weird.” He said, crestfallen.

  “Well you do now!” I said, in a fake tone of cheerfulness. I find it hard to make friends, let alone be one. But Sanjit looked so happy I left my thoughts. After all at three forty-five p.m. on June nineteenth I would be officially two years older than him.

  “When’s your birthday?” I asked

  “June eighteenth, at one twenty-two a.m.” He said, proudly.

  “Really!” I asked. Perhaps he was a psychic.

  He nodded. “Why?”

  “Because that means that I’ll never be more than two years older than me.”

  His face lit up. I wondered why he welcomed the fact so greatly. “On Friday’s we have wrestling. No one’s in my age group, so I’m not apart of it.” He said, “I get latrine duty.”

  “Well not anymore!”

  I desperately wanted to go back. I’m not a fighter! And I especially didn’t want to fight my new best friend. But he looked so excited that I reluctantly climbed into my tight fitting wrestler uniform.

  I looked like a tomato. I had on a goofy red helmet, those blue teeth protector things and I was wearing a skintight bright red uniform. It was humiliating.

  I watched the fights, wishing I had Harrison’s melting ability. Or even better, invisibility!

  I stepped on to the makeshift ring. Sanjit had a goofy look on his face. I sighed. Let’s get this over with. I thought. Thomas blew the whistle. His grey eyes looking on in excitement. Sanjit and I circled each other. Then, without any warning he charged.

  I moved to the side. Sanjit ran straight off the mat. I was pleased that I might win without hurting him.

  Thomas blew the whistle once more. This time as soon as the whistle was blown he ran straight at me. I panicked and uselessly held my hands out in front of me.

  I was down on the ground before I knew it.

  I was ashamed.

  In the final round, after the whistle was blown, I circled Sanjit quickly. I randomly went in opposite directions, hoping to confuse him. Instead, my head felt dizzy and just before I stumbled, Sanjit ran over and pinned me to the ground. I distantly heard the sound of Thomas saying, “One…. Two…Three! You’re out!” But my head was too far away to pay attention. I remember Sanjit getting off me. After that there was blank nothingness.

  I woke up on a stinky bed that smelled of urine. I pinched the bridge of my nose in an attempt to rid myself of the spell of nausea and dizziness. The nurse noticed that I was awake and came over.

  Her nametag read: KATE

  My first thought of her was that she was the first person without dyed hair since I got here. My second thought was wow! Her black, shiny hair was done in a bob form, and her silver eyes were like two full moons. When she spoke it was like listening to a hundred mice squeak at the same time.

  “Good to see you’re awake!” She squeaked. “Those wrestling matches must end!!” She rubbed her temples, as if she had a headache. “Every day! Concussions, broken legs, bruised butts! Do I need to go on?”

  I shook my head. My mind was trying to process what she said. Conc
ussions? Broken legs? This couldn’t be the Family for Troubled Kids.

  “OH this isn’t the FTK by the way,” She said, as if reading my mind, “We’re at Hope Hospital.”

  “Wait the hospital?” I asked, astonished.

  She laughed in a sort of hyena way, “Of course silly! Tabitha couldn’t handle an unconscious boy!”

  “Wait!” I said, “I was unconscious?”

  “Well of course!” She squeaked. “What do you think happened?”

  To be honest, I had no idea. I couldn’t remember a thing. “I don’t know.” I said.

  “I would expect so.”

  “I’m hungry!” I said, suddenly recognizing my hurting stomach, for pangs of hunger.

  “Well I would think so!” She admonished. “What being knocked out for two days!”

  “What!” I had sudden fumes of anger towards Sanjit.

  But my anger was quickly replaced by my desperation for food, as she placed a giant plate of food in front of me. It was loaded with roast potatoes, two giant chicken drumsticks, a handful of vegetables and a lake of gravy slathered on top.

  Usually I would of turned my nose at the vegetables, but this time I was so hungry I didn’t care.

  I piled food into my mouth. I was soon done and asking for a second helping.

  In the end, I had eaten three helpings of food and six cups of chocolate milk.

  Sighing contently, I laid back into a sleeping position.

  But a boy interrupted my visions of sleep.

  He poked his head inside the door and I caught a flash of black hair and a glimpse of dark brown eyes.

  It was Sanjit.