The Pantheon Saga Books 1-3: A Superhero Boxset

by C. C. Ekeke

  “…I went to the bathroom. Must’ve passed out because, suddenly, I was on my back and ambulances were flashing outside. It was terrible.”

  Hugo groaned. Briseis El-Saden. Of course it was her.

  “Understood, sweetie.” Principal Walker asked in deep tones, “Did you see Hugo Malalou that night?”

  “Yes,” Brie replied with clear disdain. “Everyone did.”

  “Did Hugo seem angry?” a male teacher asked. His aggressive questioning irked Hugo.

  “My whole night didn’t revolve around Hugo,” Brie answered sharply.

  “Watch your tone, young lady,” the male teacher demanded.

  “Sorry,” Brie apologized, softening. “It looked like he was enjoying himself.” Her tone soured again. “Hugo only got angry after seeing me.”

  “Really?” Principal Walker intoned.

  “We spoke briefly,” Brie explained. “I tried being nice. He called me the worst person ever.”

  “Did Baz or his friends come up?” asked Mrs. DeWitt, Hugo’s counselor.

  “No.”

  “Did you see Hugo speak with Baz, DeDamien, or TJ?” the other teacher asked, again too eager.

  “Never,” Brie replied, voice trembling. Hugo knew why. She still cared for Baz, despite their breakup.

  “Thank you, Ms. El-Saden,” Principal Walker concluded. “You may return to class.” There was shuffling movement as Brie and the teachers stood. Hugo rose from his seat, heart racing.

  The door to the principal’s office opened, and out she came. Brie had seen better days—zero makeup, baggy blue varsity tennis sweats, long auburn hair in a loose ponytail. But Brie, cursed with amazing genes, didn’t need to glam up that stunning face. Her posture was hunched, arms folded, head down. She looked deflated, ambling forward like the world had beaten her down repeatedly. Hugo felt a pang of remorse.

  Brie, about to pass by, glanced up at him. She paled, terror dominating her features…replaced by pure contempt. Hugo heard Brie’s heartbeat accelerate from 40 to 120 mph. Shock crackled through him, hidden behind an emotionless mask.

  Brie lowered her head and practically sprinted for the exit.

  Hugo watched her go, awash with shame. Brie’s reaction was understandable, after their conversation at Fall Fling.

  The rift between them had become irreparable.

  Probably for the best, Hugo realized, as far removed from the boy Brie once knew as she was from the dream girl he’d thought her to be. The mean girl and the superpowered monster.

  “Hugo.” Hearing his name jarred Hugo’s thoughts away from Brie.

  Principal Walker poked his head out of his office and motioned the Samoan inside. The office space was larger than any other in Paso High’s main building. Hugo wasn’t sure why that concerned him when facing three intimidating school officials. Principal Walker, bald and pot-bellied, sat down behind his desk. He looked like a pear in a suit, flanked by Counselor DeWitt on his right and a male teacher on his left. Hugo recognized the wiry black man with his too-tight Bearcats basketball polo. Mr. Combs was a Chemistry teacher and assistant coach for the varsity basketball team. And by his angry face, he’d already declared Hugo guilty. Shitshitshit…

  “Hello, Hugo,” Walker greeted, fingers steepled in front of him. “I'm sure you know why you’re here.”

  “About Fall Fling,” Hugo said with mock innocence. His heart drummed so loud, he could barely think.

  Mrs. DeWitt nodded. “Three students brutalized on school property. The culprit’s still at large.”

  Mr. Combs jumped in, pushing off the wall. “TJ Kim has a concussion and a jaw broken in three places. Sebastian Martinez's ribs were all shattered…with a dislocated shoulder on his shooting arm. And DeDamien…” Combs covered his mouth, too emotional to continue.

  “He might never play again,” Walker added somberly. “His leg injuries are that severe.”

  Each injury description drilled into Hugo's chest, piling on more shame. “That’s…awful,” he murmured contritely, flinching away.

  “There are lots of rumors over who did it.” Combs increased the pressure, edging closer. “Maybe a group. Maybe one person.” He glared down at Hugo. Walker and DeWitt also watched closely.

  Hugo gulped, forcing himself to stay relaxed. Too much tension would expose his guilt. “You honestly think one regular person did all that to those guys?” he asked in mock surprise. If they only knew…

  Combs folded his arms, eyes narrowed. “You tell us,” he snarled. “You got detention for clashing with Baz and two of his friends. And we heard about your off-campus confrontation a few weeks back.”

  Mr. Walker gave the coach an angry look. “Reggie, simmer down.”

  Hugo didn’t waver under Combs’s glower, with significant effort. If I falter even a little, I’m done… “Is there something you’re accusing me of, sir?” Hugo demanded.

  “This isn’t a witch hunt, Hugo,” Walker replied, glaring at Combs. When the coach backed off, Walker observed Hugo more amicably. “I’m speaking as your pal.” He spread his hands, visibly tickled. “Can’t spell Princi-PAL without it.”

  Hugo stared at him. Combs snorted.

  Mrs. DeWitt rolled her eyes. “Jesus, Harold…”

  “Then why am I here,” Hugo asked sharply, “being interrogated by three school officials?” Indignation could put them on the defensive and possibly get him out of this.

  Mrs. DeWitt leaned on Princi-palWalker’s desk. “Did you have any contact with Sebastian, DeDamien, or Terren at Fall Fling?” she questioned.

  So that’s what the T in TJ stand for. Then Hugo wondered why the hell TJ’s name mattered right now. He inhaled deeply before answering. “I didn’t talk to Baz or his crew during the dance. Nor did I seek him out.” Not inside the auditorium. “I danced with my friends and my girlfriend.”

  “We definitely saw that,” Mrs. DeWitt remarked prudishly.

  Hugo’s heart could’ve qualified for the Olympics sprint team with how fast it raced. “Then my girlfriend and I left early," he concluded. "She didn’t feel well.” After Baz and his friends attacked her…

  Walker and DeWitt exchanged unreadable glances. “What’s your girlfriend’s name?” the principal asked.

  “Priscilla. She doesn’t attend Paso.”

  “Where does she go?” Walker asked.

  “Already has her GED.”

  “Smart girl,” Combs stated with a sneer.

  Very, Hugo mused darkly.

  Combs took over the interrogation again. “Do you know anyone, besides yourself, with a grudge against Baz and his friends?”

  Hugo laughed despite himself. “How much time you got?”

  Combs nearly erupted.

  Principal Walker frowned. “This isn’t funny, Hugo.”

  Hugo stopped smiling. “I’m not joking. Baz and his friends made tons of enemies inside and outside school.”

  Combs seethed. “Victim blaming—?”

  Principal Walker stood and interjected, “If you hear anything, please share.” Then Hugo was dismissed.

  Once the principal’s door closed behind him, Hugo sagged in relief against the adjacent wall. His body relaxed, illustrating how tensed up he'd been. To be safe, Hugo eavesdropped on the conversation inside the room.

  “Thoughts?” Walker asked his personnel.

  “Did you see the guilt in his eyes when I mentioned those kids’ injuries?” Combs complained. “His smirk when I asked about Baz having enemies?” He rattled out an indignant breath. “And Malalou’s size? That freak definitely knows something.”

  “He seems innocent,” Mrs. DeWitt countered.

  “I agree,” Principal Walker decided. “We keep searching. Might’ve been those Atascadero High punks. Or San Miguel High. You know how hot-blooded these school sports rivalries can get. The police can help us narrow down the suspect list.”

  “Which Hugo Malalou isn't on, Reggie,” Mrs. DeWitt announced.

  “Fine,” Combs grumbled. “I�
�ll keep my eye on him.”

  Combs’s doubts aside, Hugo was exhilarated. And guilt-ridden. He’d never lied so thoroughly…and gotten away with it.

  Do superheroes with secret identities do this daily? he wondered, wandering across campus. Hugo wasn’t sure how if he could stomach all this deception. His cellphone revealed ten minutes left until fifth period ended. He so wanted to ditch. But that might throw suspicion back in his direction. Grudgingly, Hugo headed to sixth period P.E.

  An hour after school got out, he stood surrounded by bystanders staring up at San Miguel’s newest landmark.

  The Titan Memorial statue in Liberty Park.

  Lofty black plaques covered in stories of people Titan had saved ringed the new memorial. A fifty-foot-tall statue of him was the main attraction, perfectly capturing Titan's physique, face, and bearing. A confident smile, broad chest puffed out, hands on hips in that classic Titan superhero pose. Despite recent news about his failings and philandering, no superhero could touch Titan. Not fucking Tomorrow Man. Certainly not Hugo himself.

  The crowd marveled loudly, snapping photos and selfies. Hugo just stared at the monument to the superhero who’d given him so much. His brain deliberated over the superpowers he’d squandered on vengeance and impressing girls. Titan had been a few years older than Hugo when he’d gotten his powers. His first act had been dismantling the military of a rogue government who’d fired the nuke on Alaska. What have I done?

  He felt so unworthy of Titan’s gifts, so small in the face of footsteps he couldn’t possibly fill.

  “I’m sorry,” Hugo whispered, “for being such a disappointment.”

  A buzzing cell shook Hugo from his self-pity party. He pulled it out and grimaced. Presley. Hugo sent her call to voicemail. They needed to talk. And it would get ugly.

  But not today. But when? No answer came to mind as Hugo observed the Titan statue in remorseful silence.

  Chapter 32

  Thirty minutes later, Greyson parked on the street of a familiar Chesterfield neighborhood. He’d driven here on auto-pilot thoroughly numb.

  In the rearview, Connie looked concerned. “What happened in your apartment?” she asked for the fourth time.

  If Greyson answered, he’d unravel at the seams. There was no more will in him to run. Greyson stepped out and opened the backseat door. He kept his face blank, hiding the churning inner turmoil. “Get in the driver’s seat,” he ordered.

  Connie stepped out and faced him. Whatever she saw made her tremble. “Why?”

  Greyson pointed to the driver’s seat. “Driver’s seat,” he repeated in the same monotone voice. "Now." He pulled out his wallet, withdrawing several hundreds. “Money for gas and food.” Greyson slapped the stack of bills in Connie’s hand.

  She didn’t move. “Not until you tell me why.”

  Greyson remembered how he’d last seen Lauren, dead-eyed and convulsing. The memory knifed through his spine. “I’m turning myself in.”

  The declaration staggered Connie. “Greyson, no!”

  Greyson shook his head. “I’ve made my decision. Now go.”

  Connie reached for his face, about to cry. Greyson didn't deserve her affection. If Connie knew his crimes, she would despise him.

  Greyson grabbed her arm, dragging her into the driver’s seat. “Don’t stop until you’re past Nebraska.”

  Connie watched him while buckling her seat belt and closed the door. Again, she hesitated.

  “Go!” Greyson barked. Connie started the car and drove off.

  Greyson stood alone in the street, his childhood home just yards away. By the second floor's glowing windows, he knew his parents were home. Weight from his burdens left him unbalanced, swaying. Better they hear Greyson’s crimes from him instead of the news.

  After they heard his story, he would surrender to the authorities.

  Saying a silent prayer for courage, he approached his parents' house one last time.

  He heard shuffling footfalls inside after ringing the doorbell.

  Dad. Greyson’s stomach lurched. Mom’s presence might check his reaction. Or will she despise me too after what I’ve done? Greyson felt dizzy as the door opened.

  Aaron Hirsch stood at the entrance, gaunt and wizened in his favorite maroon robe. His scant grey hair was damp from showering. “Greyson?” Surprise filled his face.

  “Hey, Dad.” Greyson forced himself to smile. He couldn’t even guess how his father must see him, exhausted and with a five o’clock shadow.

  Dad drew Greyson into an embrace. “Thank God. Your mom and Sara are out looking for you.”

  Greyson went rigid. Mom’s not home. “Why?”

  “Lauren called hours ago all hysterical,” Dad explained, “saying she couldn’t find you.”

  The mention of Lauren gutted Greyson. “Sorry,” he apologized in a pained whisper.

  Dad waved off the topic, genuinely happy. “Don’t worry. Come in.” He guided his son inside and closed the door. Greyson soaked in the familiar photos and furniture, knowing this visit was his last. He sat in the living room, feeling Dad’s intense stare.

  “Is everything alright?” the elder Hirsch asked.

  Greyson wanted to keep a steady façade until Mom returned. But lying hurt too much. “No, Dad.” He was rocking back and forth. “Nothing is okay.”

  Dad looked surprised. “Let me call your mother and tell her you’re safe.” He shuffled into the kitchen. Dad was moving well without the cane. Greyson squeezed his eyes shut to hold back tears.

  A minute later, Dad’s footsteps drew Greyson out of his misery. He sat down next to his son. “Now, what caused this disappearing act?”

  As desperate as he felt to confess his litany of sins, Greyson still had sense to keep quiet with just Dad around. “Let’s wait for Mom and Sara.”

  His father would hear none of that. “Nonsense. You tell them whatever this is when they return.”

  Greyson studied his father, heart feeling so heavy. “Are you sure?”

  “Yes, son.” Dad reclined in his seat. “Now talk.”

  Greyson stared at the floor. The courage to tell his story seemed so far away. Sucking in a heavy sigh to fortify himself, Greyson looked up and forced himself to meet Dad’s worry. “The next few days, you'll hear a lot on the news about me,” he said, fighting the terror prickling through his extremities. “That’s why I wanted to tell you and Mom first.”

  Dad was lost. “Tell us what?”

  Here we go… “I’m a superhuman,” Greyson blurted out. “And…the leader of Heroes Anonymous.”

  Dad’s eyes popped. But he said nothing as Greyson discussed his powers first manifesting, how he and Mom hid this, the power outbursts after his and Dad’s arguments. Greyson then spoke of his former therapy group becoming Heroes Anonymous to defeat Excessive Menace. Speaking of his former team and their quirks nearly ended him. But Greyson pushed through, telling how one mistake had ruined everyone’s lives. He didn’t mention Lauren—couldn’t. That tale was still too raw, too agonizing.

  When Greyson finished, Dad gaped at him. The elder Hirsch then stood up and paced. Greyson noted the wide berth Dad put between them. Given his hatred of supers, that didn't bode well.

  “You’re one of them?” he asked, not looking at his son.

  Greyson nodded. “Yes.”

  His father’s change in tone caused a chill to blanket the room. “God.” Dad slapped a hand on his balding skull. “This all makes sense. Why you were perfectly healthy after the nuclear fallout. Why you worshipped Titan like the second coming…” He kept pacing, debating more with himself. “I just couldn’t put my finger on what was off.” Dad stopped and glared at Greyson. “Your mom knew the whole time?”

  He nodded. “Everything, except the superhero part.” Telling Dad without Mom present hadn't been smart. Greyson saw the old bitterness creeping into his father’s wizened features.

  The comprehension in Dad’s eyes drilled through Greyson's brain. “No wonder she was so p
rotective of you. What does Lauren know?”

  Grief tremored through Greyson. “Everything,” he murmured.

  Dad watched him as if unravelling some hidden clue. “Where is she?”

  The kneejerk reaction was to tell Dad that Lauren was safe at the apartment. But Greyson couldn’t get the lie out. And his family would learn the truth anyway. “There was an accident before I got here,” Greyson began, feeling sick. His mouth grew salty from the memories of Lauren gasping for air when her bones had broken. “I…I…” Greyson watched Dad’s reaction, voice trailing off.

  Aaron Hirsch’s face drained of color. “You hurt her.” It wasn’t a question.

  Tears filled Greyson’s eyes again. He hated every cell of himself for his weakness. “I lost control.”

  Dad’s face darkened. “Just like the day after Titan died.”

  Greyson’s stomach twisted. This had been a mistake. He stood, hands raised in surrender. “I’m turning myself in before anyone else gets hurt.”

  “Damn right you are,” Dad said, marching to grab something next to the couch.

  Greyson frowned. “What are you—?” He didn’t see the swipe coming, only a sharp lash across the face followed by an exploding sunburst of pain. Suddenly, he was on his back seeing stars, face throbbing. He recoiled from Dad looming over him imperiously, wielding his cane like a club.

  “I won’t let you anywhere near Sara or my wife, freak!” Dad swung the cane with all his strength onto Greyson’s chest. The pain was blinding.

  “Dad!” Greyson curled up to protect himself, more cane strikes raining down with stinging force. “I’d never harm them!” he pleaded to the man he called Father beating him with a walking cane.

  Dad paused to suck in breath. “Like you’d never harm Lauren?” he wheezed hatefully.

  Those words struck harder than any of Dad’s blows. Greyson struggled to rise, head spinning, body ablaze from several welts. Dad punted him in the ribs, cracking a few. “Stay down!”

  Greyson wailed, slumping to the ground. “Dad…aaaah!”

  Another cane strike to the face drew blood and white-hot anguish. Dad’s cane kept rising and falling, and Greyson stopped fighting. Why fight punishment he wholeheartedly deserved? Greyson was fading fast by the time the explosive flurry wore Dad out. He leaned on the cane, wheezing.