Tall, Dark Streak of Lightning (The Dark Lightning Trilogy)

by J. M. Richards

  “Fine,” Misty sighed. “But I’m not stopping anywhere else for him. If he tries anything funny, we’re leaving him on the side of the road. And put on your friggin’ seatbelt.” She pulled over to the curb where he had stopped, watching our car with a slightly puzzled expression.

  Tiffany reluctantly rolled the window down. “Hey, David.”

  “Davin,” I corrected impatiently.

  “Whatever. Hey, we’re going to Wal-Mart and just wondered if you wanted a ride there.”

  He looked down at her warily. “Um, thanks. That’s... nice of you.”

  I watched in her side mirror as she forced a smile. “Oh, don’t thank me. It was all Anna’s idea.” She motioned with her head back to where I sat. He leaned over even further.

  “Oh! Hey, Anna.” He smiled a little, and I felt my stomach do a funny little flip. He hesitated. “Well, there are a few things I need to get….” he glanced back at me, looking thoughtful. “I was just going to walk, but I could use the ride. If you really don’t mind, that is,” he added suddenly.

  “No,” I said. “Of course not.” The other girls shook their heads unenthusiastically. Tiffany climbed out, prepared to crawl into the back with me. He put out a hand to stop her. “You can stay up front,” he said. “I don’t mind.”

  I scooted over to make room for Davin and as he settled beside me, I felt my stomach flutter. When had I crossed over from being merely compassionately concerned for him to being emotionally nervous around him? What was going on? Surely I wasn’t starting to like him. That would be ridiculous. I barely knew him, for one thing, and for another, he clearly had some issues. I tried to remind myself that I was just trying to be a friend to him.

  “So what do you need to get?” I asked him as we each got a cart at the front of the store.

  “Um, just some school supplies—pencils, pens, paper—stuff like that. What about you?”

  “I’m getting some munchies and some makeup.”

  “Oh.” He gave me a funny look. “A whole cart full?”

  “No.” I giggled. “Why? You want to share?”

  “Okay.” He fell into step beside me.

  “You can set your bag in the cart if you want,” I told him, referring to his backpack, which he had worn in.

  He shrugged. “I don’t mind wearing it.”

  I didn’t think much of it; I was trying to remember if I was forgetting anything else I needed. In the snack department, I gave a sigh. “Ah, Junk Food. How would I survive college without it?”

  He laughed at me—a short, soft laugh, but a laugh nonetheless. “I know. Imagine if we had to actually subsist solely on the cafeteria food.”

  “I suppose it could be done,” I mused, “but I would hate to try it. Thank goodness we’re not too far from Giant Eagle and here.”

  “Speaking of junk food…” He grinned and suddenly launched into a story about a time when he and his brother had played tag in a store and nearly gotten kicked out. “We were just kids...I was eight, and he was thirteen. Our aunt brought us here, and we were so bored, and so hopped up on pop and candy, and we just ran all over the store. Trevor was ‘it,’ and chased me through the hardware and sporting goods departments before he got me. And I chased him all through women’s clothing. He nearly ran down some old lady. That was bad enough, but then these other boys joined in....” The way he told the story had me laughing so hard I was sure people could hear me several aisles over. But the best part was, he was laughing too, looking more cheerful than I could ever recall seeing him. Then suddenly, as we rounded the corner, he stopped abruptly; It happened again.

  “Um, I tell you what,” he said suddenly, his smile fading. “Why don’t I run and get my stuff and then I’ll just meet you over in the pharmacy-cosmetic area. Okay?” He didn’t really give me a chance to object; he began walking off without even waiting for an answer.

  “Fine,” I called after him. He wasn’t even going the right way. I rolled my eyes and wheeled off to find the rest of what I needed. I knew it wouldn’t take long, though. It wasn’t like I was a glam girl—I’d never even worn make-up until high school—but a girl wants to look her best, even just for herself.

  When he didn’t show up a few minutes later, I kept looking around in that area. I tried out some perfumes (wondering fleetingly what he’d think of them before I caught myself), looked at bold-colored nail polishes, and searched for the perfect clear, vanilla-flavored lip gloss. I sighed and glanced at my watch. Tiffany and Misty turned down my aisle.

  “Hey, we’re ready to go. Where’s what’s-his-name?”

  I glared at them, irritated that they made no attempt to hide their disdain. “Davin?” I reminded them sarcastically. “I don’t know. I guess in the school supplies section.”

  “Let’s go, then.” Misty wheeled her cart around. “I don’t want to stay here all night.”

  But he wasn’t there. We walked around for a good ten minutes, hoping to run into him. “Let’s page him,” Tiffany said, giggling. “Is it DAY-vin or is it DAH-vin? I keep forgetting.”

  “DAH-vin,” Misty asserted, “like Gavin, right?”

  “No, it’s DAY-vin,” I corrected, “like David but with an ‘n’ on the end. But guys, we don’t need to page him,” I protested. “He’ll show up.” They ignored me. First we checked out, and then we waited at the front after the announcement was made. And waited. “He’s got another ten minutes,” Misty said. “Then he can find another ride back.”

  “Maybe he already did,” Tiffany said. “There are a few other Dubsy kids around.”

  “Look,” I said, “he wouldn’t just leave.” But even I was feeling doubtful as the minutes of Misty’s ultimatum ticked away. She gave me a look and began gathering up her bags. Just then Davin appeared, running past the registers.

  He was sweaty and red-faced as he skidded to a halt next to me and my friends. “Sorry, girls,” he panted.

  “Where’s your stuff?” Tiffany stared at his empty hands.

  “My stuff?” He looked startled, and reached subconsciously toward the straps of his backpack, as if checking to be sure it was there.

  “Yeah, your school supplies. Did you set them down somewhere?” I was puzzled.

  He opened his mouth, looking sheepish. “I-I guess I forgot to get them.

  Misty stared at him. “You forgot? What the hell have you been doing?”

  “I got busy…I ran into some people I knew, and I guess we just kept talking…I don’t know what happened. Sorry,” he apologized.

  We all exchanged skeptical looks. In the first place, I had hardly seen him have a conversation with anyone— anyone besides me—about anything that wasn’t school-related. It was a little hard to imagine him yakking away the night. To further complicate things, I had been watching his face as he spoke; I got the distinct impression that he was lying. There was something else, too—something about his disheveled appearance that struck me as odd.

  Misty sighed: a long, drawn out, end-of-her-patience sigh. “You got five minutes,” she said. “We’ll be in the car.” She turned without another word.

  He dashed off as though running for the hundred meter race. It surprised me how fast he was, even though he’d seemed winded just a few seconds ago. He returned just in time with a small plastic sack and climbed in beside me again.

  The ride home was much quieter than the ride there; Davin seemed tired and even more withdrawn than usual. I couldn’t figure it out. Something had transpired while the four of us were at Wal-Mart, something that had changed his mood; something he didn’t want to be honest about.

  We dropped him off at his dorm and drove back to our own. It was getting late. I tried working on a Soc paper I had due, but I couldn’t concentrate. And even when I lay down to sleep, I still couldn’t get my mind off the mystery that was Davin Kowalski.

  Chapter Three

  “My friend is one who takes me for who I am.”

  —Henry David Thoreau

  I awoke the next
morning not to my alarm but to Nicki’s television blaring the news. Reluctantly I rolled out of bed, already grouchy and extremely annoyed with my day; I had no way of knowing that in a few short minutes my whole life was about to change.

  “Sorry, current events report,” Nicki muttered as the perky weatherman predicted more rain and turned things over to the traffic reporter. “I’ll be leaving in a sec.” I shrugged, and rolled my eyes when she wasn’t looking.

  When I came back into the room from the bathroom, Nicki had indeed left for class, but she hadn’t bothered to turn off her TV. The morning news was still on, and loudly. I shook my head and went over to turn it off.

  “And now for our special report,” a very tan anchorman was saying.

  “You might not believe it, but wait until you hear from our reporter,” the perfectly composed anchorwoman added. “Jennifer?”

  Jennifer Wright came on the screen just as my hand reached for the power button. “Well, it looks like there might be some truth to the rumors that Pittsburgh has its very own Superman, after all,” she said, and my hand froze in place. “Last night, at the Gibsonia Sheetz, a young woman was rescued by a mysterious man dressed all in black. We have her here to today to give her account.”

  I sank onto Nicki’s bed, stunned.

  Sheetz was a gas station, a regional chain. They didn’t have Sheetz in California or Virginia, for example, but it was well known in Pennsylvania and Ohio. The Gibsonia Sheetz was just down Route Eight from where Misty, Tiffany, Davin and I had been shopping at Wal-Mart. And it was there that a few guys wearing ski masks apparently tried to rob the register. A young woman had been the cashier, and when she tried to tell the would-be robbers that she didn’t have much money in her drawer, they began threatening her. One of the guys struck her a couple of times; she was on the verge of being attacked by all of them, when out of nowhere, another guy showed up. He, too, was wearing a ski mask, but all of his clothing was black.

  The security camera had caught most of the action, and before the woman spoke, they played the clip. I watched in awe as the figure in black stepped between the woman and her attackers. When they turned on him, he disarmed them unbelievably fast, and within seconds, he had them duct taped and unmasked. There was no sound, but he clearly talked to the woman and made sure she was alright before dashing off into the night.

  “Can you tell us how you feel?” Jennifer asked the young woman, as they sat in the studio’s fake living room set.

  The woman cleared her throat nervously. “Well, grateful, really. If that man hadn’t stopped them…” she broke off in a shaky sigh.

  “You’re a very brave woman,” Jennifer said reassuringly.

  The woman—I didn’t catch her name—shook her head. “I’m no hero,” she said. “That man…he was amazing. I’ve never seen anyone so fast and strong and agile—not in real life. He was like…he was just…almost inhuman. And then when he had finished with the guys, he came over to me and asked if I was all right.” She looked reflective. “He really cared,” she said. “Then he told me to call the police. He stayed with me until we saw the police approaching, then he ran off. He was so fast.” She looked up at Jennifer again. “He really was like…Superman.”

  I felt an odd tingle at the back of my neck, and I shivered. It was such a bizarre thing to hear about; yet I believed it. It was almost as though I’d crossed into an alternate reality, like Comic Book World, where Superheroes did indeed come to the rescue of those who needed it. I sat cross-legged on the bed in front of my roommate’s TV and realized she’d been telling me the truth. There had been rumors of a hero in town, and now they were confirmed.

  “If this account is indeed true and accurate,” the anchorman said later, in a tone which implied it probably wasn’t, “then we may have some serious issues to grapple with. Should citizens be able to take the law into their own hands? Will a day come when this so-called hero will have to face possible punishment for the things done in the name of his alleged justice? We’ll have more details on the man in black, tonight at eleven.”

  I turned off the TV and angrily tossed the remote on to Nicki’s bed, unsure what bothered me more—the anchorman’s insinuation, or the lame handle he’d given the hero. The Man in Black. That was a cheesy name for a superhero. But as I would soon find out, no one knew what to call him. Nicknames were stuck to him from all different forms of media as the story rapidly received more and more attention. Some other names had been Ninjaman, the Silent Shadow, and even Superman. Boring, lame, and simply uncreative. Superheroes were supposed to have names that meant something—didn’t everyone know that?

  Before I left for class I caught part of a popular local talk show on the radio. They did an informal poll on what the city should call their new hero. I was tempted to call in and rant, but the idea of being on the air was terrifying. Instead I listened as they read off the results. Of the choices, one name began to take the lead: Shadowman. I assumed it was because of his dark outfit and the way he quickly disappeared back into the shadows. Shadowman. It was still corny, but I decided it would do for the moment. I was already fascinated by the whole idea. Could it be there was a real hero—in my town?

  I thought about the strange story all the way to class. It was unsettling on several levels: obviously, the hero thing was a big deal to me. I was still trying to sort that out—had someone really dressed up and gone to save another person? Just like the comics? Really? But I was also struck by the violent act of a woman being attacked. It seemed so uncharacteristic, especially out in the suburbs. Pittsburgh isn’t perfect, but it doesn’t have the crime rate of other large cities. Equally troubling was the realization that it had happened so close to where we’d been.

  I kept thinking about it during class, not really paying attention to the lecture. The past wasn’t as interesting to me as the recent events. I kept thinking about how close I’d been to seeing a hero in action. Of course, I’d been shopping. And waiting for my friends, and then waiting for Davin.

  I frowned suddenly, remembering Davin’s weird behavior. Though I’d tried to shrug off his mysteriousness, it had plagued me. I glanced at him, across the room, looking like he could barely stay awake. What was it he’d said? I just got to talking with some people. But he wouldn’t have been sweaty and tired from chatting. At least, I never got that way from a conversation. The only thing that made me sweaty and tired was running. But where would he have been running from?

  With a swift sharpness that startled me, my thoughts swung back around to the news report. Wal-Mart and Sheetz were maybe a mile away from each other, give or take. Davin had been gone for about thirty or forty minutes; was that enough time to have run to the crime scene and back? The fastest runners in the world could do the mile in less than six minutes, and Davin was pretty fast himself, so it seemed.

  But why would he have been there?

  Before I could answer myself, Dr. Howard dismissed us. I’d barely heard a word of his whole lecture, and felt slightly guilty. I pushed aside my remorse as I watched Davin gather his things: I had an idea.

  “Anna?” Tiffany stood in front of me, blocking my way. Crap. I’d forgotten about Tiffany. She looked at me expectantly. “Um, so I told Neil I’d meet him for lunch,” she said. “Is that okay?”

  “Yeah,” I said instantly. “Yeah, that’s fine. No problem.”

  “You sure?”

  “Yeah,” I insisted, inching toward the door. Davin was already descending the steps. “I’ll be fine. But hey, I’m starving. So I’ll see you around?”

  “Okay. See you.” Tiffany headed for the bathrooms, most likely to check her make up before seeing her boyfriend.

  I hurried down the steps, out of the building, and into the crisp fall air, attempting to catch up with Davin. This would have been impossible had he not stopped to put on his long, black trench coat; his legs were far longer than mine and he seemed to be in a hurry.

  “Hey, Davin,” I huffed as I approached him.

&
nbsp; He snapped his head around in surprise. “Oh. Hey, Anna.”

  “Going to lunch?”

  “Um, yeah.”

  “Yeah, me too.” I tried to act like this was the most natural conversation in the world—which, from the outside at least, it was. To me, however, it was much more: I was on a mission to figure some things out about Davin. “So. Did you hear about that woman that got attacked last night?” I asked this, too, casually, as we reached the cafeteria.

  “Um...” he frowned and looked away, fiddling with the tear on the sleeve of his trench coat. It had gotten ripped the day we met; I wondered how the scrape on his arm had healed. “I don’t think so. What happened?”

  “I guess some guys were trying to hold up the Sheetz, and they almost attacked the cashier, but this guy saved her.”

  “Oh, yeah?” He glanced at me, but concentrated on grabbing his tray and silverware.

  “Yeah.” I couldn’t tell what effect my words had on him. I didn’t say anything else about it as we went through the line.

  As we walked to a table, he said, “Sounds like an idiot.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “This guy, who tried to save the day. That was a stupid thing to do.”

  My temper flared. “Um, this guy didn’t try to save the day. He did. That girl would probably be dead if not for him. He’s a hero.”

  He took a sip of his soda. “I’m just saying that’s a dangerous situation to walk into. Things could easily have gone differently. She could be dead because of him.”

  “This from the guy who nearly got himself run over in the parking lot, trying to push someone else out of the way?”

  He frowned, then shrugged. “I know my limits. Cars are one thing, bullets are another.” He glanced at me again, over his sandwich. “That was no big deal. But this attempted robbery...all I’m saying is, if this guy had any brains, he wouldn’t have gotten involved.”

  I left my food uneaten and folded my arms. “So, he should have just stood by and let it happen? Let that poor girl get attacked?”