Superpowerless

by Chris Priestley

  The burst of light comes out of nowhere and hits him round the side of the head. David is dazed but he shakes it off and holds on and keeps pulling. The light creature begins to uproot a nearby tree.

  It is almost impossible to look at, but through the glare David can see the human form at its core. He turns back to the car, the image burned onto his eyes in negative. The driver stares out through the windscreen as David strains to pull the car free of the water.

  The tree smashes across David’s back, knocking him onto the bonnet of the car which crashes into the water and begins to sink again. Pain rips through his body.

  The light creature strikes again, the tree missing David by a fraction but smashing the side windows of the car, letting water flood in and the driver’s screaming voice out.

  David’s spiked costume is battered and scarred across the back, the supposedly indestructible fabric torn through and several deep cuts in his flesh. He knows that he will heal in no time – that’s part of his gift – but for now it hurts like hell.

  He turns just as the thing leaps at him, punching him twice before David can block the onslaught and hit back. It takes three of David’s strongest punches to knock the creature free and send it tumbling into the river, where it sinks, glowing eerily underwater.

  The car too is submerged now and David dives after it, grabbing at the door to pull it open, but no sooner has he done so than the light grabs him from behind and begins to choke him. David watches as the car begins to sink into the blackness below them.

  He tries to prise free of the light creature’s glowing fingers but the grip is too strong. David can feel himself getting weaker. He gathers all his remaining strength and leaps back, smashing the back of his head into whatever face the thing possessed.

  Now free, he lunges to the surface for breath. There is no sign of his enemy. David dives down again in search of the car, but with increasing panic he realises he cannot find it anywhere. The river seems impossibly bottomless and he can see nothing – nothing at all in the murk.

  David launches himself out of the water, erupting like a champagne cork, and throws himself onto the bank, sobbing and gasping for breath. He is aware of a glow to his right. The light thing hovers above the river, pulsing, but makes no further attempt to attack him.

  ‘Bastard!’ yells David. ‘I’ll kill you!!’

  But before he can even stand up, the thing has turned and flown away at such unfathomable speed that David knows he will never, ever, be able to catch it. He clenches his fists and howls at the wind and the rain and the rippling surface of the water.

  Chapter 16

  A Superhero Has to Have a Name

  It’s decidedly odd when Holly comes to clean again. She and David eye each other nervously as she enters the room, like cats meeting on a garden fence, not quite knowing how to adjust to the new boundaries of their relationship.

  Holly sets to cleaning after their brief hellos, just as before, and as before David sits on his bed, his eyes moving from comic to Holly and back again. Ellen or no Ellen, Holly’s presence – and the proximity of her much-fantasised-about body – is a magnetic distraction.

  But the difference is that whereas Holly usually finishes up and leaves with barely a word, this time she clearly feels that she needs to acknowledge David – to talk to him – to keep him sweet perhaps. She sits down at his desk.

  ‘So what’s the story with all the comics?’

  She leans down and picks one up from the end of the bed. It’s Fantastic Four #129. It has Ben Grimm aka The Thing being pulled between Medusa, who has her red hair wrapped round one arm, and Thundra, who has a chain wrapped around the other. Holly smiles and flicks through.

  ‘Lots of buxom women in skintight Lycra. Now I see what’s going on.’

  David shrugs.

  ‘They belonged to my dad,’ he says, running his fingers through his hair, taken by surprise by this new requirement to converse with Holly.

  ‘Right,’ she says, nodding.

  ‘He brought them back to ours from his mum and dad’s house. His dad – my granddad – had just died and he was clearing the house. I could tell they were really special to him.

  ‘I’d never been that into comics, to be honest, but I saw him looking through them a little bit after and he was crying.’

  ‘Crying?’

  ‘Yeah,’ says David, realising he has never told a single soul this story. ‘He pretended he wasn’t but I could see that he was. He was wiping the tears away when I came over and he put his hand on my shoulder and said – in this really quiet voice – that he wanted me to keep them – to look after them.’

  ‘That must have been weird for you,’ says Holly. ‘To see him upset like that.’

  ‘It was – a bit – at first,’ says David. ‘But then it was kind of cool because it just made this bond between us. He was never really that kind of a dad, to be honest. Not a big one for showing his feelings. So it felt like we were closer because of that – because of the comics. My mother doesn’t get it.’

  ‘Maybe she’s jealous,’ says Holly. ‘Maybe she’s jealous that you still have this bond.’

  ‘No – I don’t think it’s that. She’s not like that.’

  ‘Maybe you haven’t explained it properly,’ she says.

  ‘Yeah, well – maybe she hasn’t listened.’

  ‘I wish I hadn’t asked now,’ says Holly.

  ‘Sorry,’ says David after a moment. ‘It’s just …’

  But he isn’t really sure he can explain. To anyone. Holly doesn’t seem to care. And he likes that. He hates it when people make you finish a sentence – like you were short-changing them if you didn’t give them the whole thing. Like you owe it to them.

  ‘He suggested that we go to Forbidden Planet – the comic shop, you know – and get individual archive bags and boxes to file them all away in. They’re like antiques now, all those seventies comics. It was fun actually.’

  David pauses a bit at the memory and is aware how geeky this sounds. He feels the need to try to defend himself – and his father.

  ‘He wasn’t a collector – he just used to buy them at his local shop and would get whatever they had, so there are little runs where they follow one after another and there are loads of gaps and then series just come to a halt. I might try and fill the gaps, buying them second hand. You can find them online now.’

  Holly looks at the walls and the drawings stuck to them. She is already regretting asking about the comics. David can see that and blushes a little.

  ‘And you did all these?’ asks Holly, unable to think of anything else to say.

  David nods and follows her gaze as she looks from one to the other: Captain America, the Hulk, Wolverine, Sub-Mariner, Batman, Spider-Man, Thor, the Silver Surfer …

  ‘Yeah,’ says David. ‘I just copied them.’

  ‘They’re good though. You must get that from your mum.’

  ‘I suppose.’

  ‘What about these?’

  She points to two drawings with no names above them: one of a figure in a metallic grey costume covered in spikes, the other a figure that is human shaped but blank, with rays of light bursting out.

  ‘They don’t have names,’ she says. ‘What are they called?’

  ‘I made those up myself,’ he says. ‘I haven’t thought of names yet. Most have already been taken. Names, I mean.’

  ‘Yeah – but still – they’ve got to have names. A superhero has to have a name.’

  ‘I suppose.’

  Holly goes a little closer, peering at the drawings.

  ‘What superpowers do they have?’

  ‘Well, that one – the one with the spikes – he can fly and he has super-hearing and super-strength and a kind of super-sense a bit like Spider-Man’s spidey-sense.’

  ‘Spidey-sense?’

  David shrugs, smiling.

  ‘You’re not a Spider-Man fan then?’

  ‘I’ve seen the movie.’

  ‘Wh
ich one?’

  ‘The one with Kirsten Dunst.’

  He nods. This is nice. They’re chatting like normal people.

  ‘What’s the business with the spikes on his suit? Do they shoot out or are they tipped with poison?’

  ‘Tipped with poison? No! They’re just … I don’t know – he just has spikes.’

  ‘How about Spiky?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Spikyman?’ she says with a chuckle.

  ‘OK, OK – very funny.’

  ‘Sorry. And the other one – the one that is just a burst of light?’

  ‘He’s super, super-strong. He can fly too. I don’t really know all his powers.’

  She smiles and raises an eyebrow.

  ‘But you made him up, didn’t you?’

  ‘Yeah – but even so …’

  This talk of superpowers is almost unbearable. To have them spoken about with the images of his super-self and arch-enemy right there in front of them … The urge to say more is overwhelming. But he can’t. He can’t.

  She turns back to the pictures.

  ‘You’re really good,’ she says, and David can tell by her voice she isn’t just saying it to please him.

  ‘Thanks.’

  ‘Is that what you’d like to do? Be a comic-book artist?’

  He shrugs. He had wanted that once. More than anything.

  ‘I don’t know. I don’t know what I want to do.’

  She nods. He nods. There is a silence that edges towards awkward before Holly says what’s on her mind.

  ‘I’ve got to thank you again for not blabbing about you-know-what.’

  David nods again.

  ‘If I can ever do anything for you,’ she says, adding with a suggestive smirk, ‘within reason.’

  David blushes. Did she just say that? Did she just hint at some kind of …? She laughs at his visible discomfort and he laughs in a failed attempt to hide it.

  ‘Anyway – I better go,’ she says, getting up.

  ‘I’ll see if I can think of anything,’ blurts David as she is heading out the door.

  ‘Sorry?’

  ‘I’ll see if I can think of anything – you know, that you can do for me.’

  Holly nods and smiles and leaves and David lies back on his bed. A broad smile spreads across his face. He knows exactly what he’s going to ask her to do for him …

  Chapter 17

  Seeing Other People

  David slumps down next to Joe on the bench. Why had they chosen to play tennis on such a blistering hot day? David finishes off the last drop of water in his bottle and gasps, tongue lolling like a dog’s.

  ‘You worried about the exam results?’ asks Joe, head back, eyes closed.

  David shakes his head.

  ‘Nah – not really.’

  ‘Me neither,’ says Joe, opening his eyes and looking up at the one cloud in the sky. ‘Although my mum clearly wants me to be.’

  ‘Mine too. If you don’t look worried they think you don’t care. If you look too worried they think you’ve screwed up.’

  Joe nods.

  ‘You decided what subjects you’re going to do next year?’

  David shrugs.

  ‘You’re doing art though, right?’

  David grimaces.

  ‘I don’t know. Probably not.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘What’s the use of it?’ says David. ‘What’s the point?’

  ‘The point is, you’re good at it. That’s what the point is. I can’t understand why you wouldn’t do it.’

  David crushes his water bottle and throws it in the litter bin nearby. He doesn’t want to talk about it. Why does Joe even care what he does or doesn’t do?

  ‘It’s just because your mum did art, isn’t it?’ says Joe. ‘You don’t like the comparison. She is really good. But she’d be able to help you and stuff.’

  ‘So?’ says David. ‘I don’t see you becoming a doctor like your mum.’

  ‘I’m not clever enough.’

  ‘Yes, you are,’ says David.

  ‘All right – but I don’t want to be a doctor,’ says Joe.

  ‘I don’t want to be an illustrator,’ says David with a shrug.

  It’s not exactly true. Whenever he sees his mother at work he gets a twinge – a kind of regret, a sense of loss for something he never really even had. It’s like he is looking at a future he is denying himself.

  ‘You don’t have to be. You could be something else. They do loads of stuff at art college. You could be a sculptor.’

  David laughs.

  ‘A sculptor?’

  Joe laughs too.

  ‘I don’t know – something. A photographer.’

  ‘Then what would be the point in me being able to draw?’ says David.

  ‘All right, not a photographer. A painter then.’

  ‘I don’t want to be a painter.’

  Joe lets out an exasperated growl.

  ‘Well, OK – what do you want to be?’

  David has no idea. Not any more.

  ‘I don’t know,’ he replies. ‘I really don’t know. What about you? Do you still want to be prime minister?’

  They both grin at this reference to an incident from primary school when their teacher asked who knew what they wanted to be when they grew up and Joe had rammed his arm into the air like he was trying to touch the ceiling.

  ‘Miss! Miss!’

  ‘Joe?’ she had asked. ‘Tell us what you’d like to be when you grow up.’

  ‘Prime minister, miss,’ he’d said.

  There had been the briefest of pauses before the whole class broke out into laughter – including David, who then turned to see a look of tear-filled outrage on Joe’s face.

  ‘Yeah – I do,’ says Joe.

  He is deadly serious and his face still carries a trace of the little boy sitting on the floor buffeted by laughter that day all those years ago.

  ‘Do you know, I wouldn’t be surprised,’ says David.

  And he wasn’t just saying that.

  ‘Listen,’ says Joe. ‘I’d better shoot off. Me and my mum are taking Fuzz to the vet’s.’

  Fuzz is Joe’s cat.

  ‘Is she OK?’

  ‘Just old mostly,’ says Joe.

  He picks up his racket and bag.

  ‘Did Ellen get in touch?’

  ‘Ellen?’ says David.

  ‘How many Ellens do you know? Did she call you? She asked for your number.’

  ‘And did you give it to her?’

  ‘Yeah – why wouldn’t I?’ says Joe with a smirk.

  David shrugs.

  ‘Why is she after your number then?’

  ‘I don’t know. When did you see her?’

  David recognises the urge to lie on Joe’s face – the almost imperceptible flicker of the eyes as he tries to concoct something but gives up.

  ‘There was a picnic the other day,’ he says. ‘It was Tilly’s birthday. You know Tilly?’

  ‘Yeah, of course.’

  He likes Tilly. She is one of that crowd that actually seems OK. He is surprised to feel a pang of regret that he was not invited, but mostly he is surprised by a kind of jealousy – not for Joe’s invite, but for Joe having this other life outside of their relationship.

  ‘I shouldn’t have said,’ says Joe, seeing the look on David’s face.

  ‘What? Don’t be daft. I don’t give a monkey’s what you do.’

  Although he does.

  ‘OK then,’ says Joe. ‘It’s just you looked a bit hacked off.’

  ‘Rubbish. Don’t flatter yourself.’

  ‘OK.’

  ‘Why would I care?’

  Joe nods.

  ‘Look – Ben’s having a party,’ says Joe. ‘Everyone’s going. You should come too.’

  David screws his face up like he’s just bitten down on a piece of chilli.

  ‘I don’t know,’ he says. ‘I’m not really a party person.’

  Joe laughs.

  �
��No shit.’

  David smiles.

  ‘You know what I mean.’

  ‘Not really,’ he says. ‘You don’t have to be wild and crazy, you just have to come along, have a couple of beers and have a laugh. There’ll be people there you like. Ellen will be there for instance …’

  ‘What is this with Ellen?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ says Joe. ‘You tell me.’

  ‘All right, all right,’ says David. ‘We bumped into each other the other day and got talking. That’s all.’

  Joe nods approvingly.

  ‘Look at you – talking to a girl and stuff.’

  David blushes.

  ‘I know, I know.’

  ‘Good for you, mate. Anyway – like I said, I’d better get going. Got to get Fuzz to the vet. Think about the party.’

  ‘Yeah – sure – see you around.’

  ‘Text me if you want to come over.’

  David nods and waves his racket and Joe waves his back and walks off at speed after a glance at his watch.

  David tortures himself with images of the picnic – everyone lazing around in the perfect sunshine, a cloth laid out across the grass covered in paper plates and bowls filled with sandwiches and crisps and cupcakes.

  He’s not sure where he is getting these preposterously idyllic images from because he can’t remember ever being present at a picnic like it. Maybe it’s a movie he’s seen – or even a comic.

  Wherever it’s from, it hurts. The pointlessness of the pain doesn’t make it any less acute. He wouldn’t have gone even if Joe had invited him, but even so … It feels like Joe is becoming less his friend and more theirs.

  Which wouldn’t be so bad if David was better at friendship, but he is happy to concede he’s rubbish at it. That’s why he only has the one real friend.

  Chapter 18

  Like a Frog in a Box

  Time seems to slow down. It gets hotter and hotter. David feels becalmed in some kind of equatorial limbo, too hot to do anything but lie marinating in his own sweat, counting the days until Holly returns, phrasing and rephrasing the conversation he intends to have with her.

  This sultry, fevered air of expectation only intensifies when the actual day arrives, with David fidgeting, unable to settle in one position, totally incapable of following the Silver Surfer comic he has been trying to finish for the past two hours, when Holly bursts in like a guitar solo.