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

by J. M. Richards

  “Yeah,” I said flatly, starting to get annoyed. “On occasion. Is that a problem?”

  “No. I mean, I knew you liked superheroes. But you actually read the comics. That’s…awesome.” He shook his head, still looking at the stack in his arms. “Let’s see here…you have Fantastic Four, Spider-Man, the Avengers, and X-men.” He shot me a look there on the library steps in the chilly evening air. It was starting to get dark, but the outside lights were on and I could see his expression clearly. It was a look I was beginning to know well: the Probing Look. It felt like he was trying to read my mind. I don’t know, maybe he was. I could never decide if it would be painful to have someone intrude on your thoughts or if it would be just like eavesdropping and you’d be oblivious.

  “Have you always liked comic books?” he asked, in a strange tone that matched the look he was still giving me.

  What a question. “Yeah,” I told him. “My big brother used to buy stacks of them when we were in the States. Then he’d weed through them and tell me which ones were worth reading. And when we went to visit my Grandparents, we’d go through my dad’s old collection. He’s really the reason we got into superheroes in the first place.”

  “Are these your favorites, then?” We began walking in the sharp, chilly air towards my dorm.

  “Yes.” My teeth were beginning to chatter.

  “A Marvel girl.”

  I smiled. “Yep. Though of course you know I do like Batman sometimes, especially when Batgirl is involved. And later I began to like Superman a little. Wonder Woman was okay, too, depending on the run.”

  “So who is your ultimate favorite superhero? Wait, let me guess.” He held up one of the Fantastic Four issues. “Human Torch?”

  I scoffed. “No way. He’s too much of a show-off.” “Wolverine?”

  “He’s cool. But...he’s got too much emotional baggage.”

  He frowned. “What baggage?”

  “Oh, you know, a hundred plus years of angst and identity crises, for starters. And, of course, that humongous crush on Jean Grey when she’s sooo taken.”

  He nodded in acquiescence. “Then who?”

  “Spider-Man,” I said decisively, my breath showing. I shoved my gloved hands deep into my pockets. “There are a lot I like, but Spidey’s my fave.”

  “Really.” I couldn’t tell exactly what that tone was. Impressed? Surprised? Unbelieving?

  “Yeah.”

  “Huh. So let me ask you: do you really like Spider-Man, or Peter Parker?”

  “Oh, um. Well, that’s tough.” I frowned at him. “I’m not sure that’s even a real question. How can you even separate the two? I love them both.”

  He shot me the look and used the tone again. “Really.”

  “Yeah. Really.” I liked Davin, but I didn’t like people giving me a hard time about liking comic books. I tossed my dark curls in annoyance.

  “Why?”

  “Why is Spider-Man my favorite?”

  “Yes, but also, why do you think they can’t be separated?”

  “Because they can’t be,” I said, like it was obvious. “They are, after all, the same person—”

  “No, they’re not,” he said shortly.

  “Yes they are,” I contradicted.

  He shook his head emphatically. “Just because that’s his superhero identity doesn’t mean that’s who he really is.”

  “Well, I disagree,” I insisted. “If you think about it, Spider-Man is who he is because of Peter Parker. There couldn’t be Spider-Man without Peter Parker. You couldn’t have just anyone put on the red-and-blue costume, shoot webs from his wrists and be Spider-Man. They’re like two sides of the same coin, as the saying goes. One is George Washington’s head, and the other is, um…”

  “The eagle,” he filled in. He wasn’t looking at me, but his brow was deeply rutted.

  “Right,” I continued. “And really, even Peter wouldn’t be the man he becomes if it weren’t for his powers and how he decides to use them. How can you even say they are two different people?” I looked at him, but he was concentrating on his shoes. I waited for a response, and when none came, I went on with my dissertation on Spider-Man.

  “Peter went through a lot with his uncle’s death and deciding to become Spider-Man, and then Gwen dying…and even though his story’s kind of sad, he doesn’t let that stop him from doing the right thing, and even cracking jokes while he’s at it. Practically every other hero is all business, serious and angsty. Spidey’s got his problems and his doubts, but he’s still full of snarky comments. And he’s still a geek at heart. He’s just a really great character. He’s not perfect, he’s not too handsome or popular, and he’s got flaws and struggles. That’s how I like my heroes.”

  “Hm.” Davin paused for a moment under one of the street lights. There was a pinkish glow all around reflecting off the snow, and more flakes began to fall from the sky. He just looked at me under that halo of light. He was wearing his bemused look again, like he still didn’t quite know what to make of me. It was as if he was sending me a quiet question; though what he was asking I couldn’t tell. I shivered.

  Somehow that seemed to be the cue for him to start moving again. He still wasn’t saying anything, so I kept rambling on to fill the silence and keep my face from going numb. “So, yeah, the Wall-Crawler is my favorite, and some of the others I love are a lot like him. Like Rogue from the X-Men, or Ben Grimm from the Fantastic Four. They also have a lot of personal struggles because of their powers, yet they can be really funny, too. In a way, they’re all both blessed and cursed. Yet they still find a way to go on. And sometimes, every now and then, things work out for them. I’m pretty sure they all got together with the loves of their lives at some point, even if they didn’t exactly live happily ever after.” Again, silence. I waited, the only sound the crunching of our feet in the snow. “So…do you have a favorite? Or do you even read comics?”

  He drew a deep breath. “Um...no, not really. I never got into that kind of thing.”

  “No?” I looked at him in surprise. “You seem to know a lot of characters.”

  “My grandfather read them,” he mumbled. “So I’m familiar with a few of them, I guess.” He said this slowly, almost as if it pained him to say it. “Okay, fine. I guess I did kind of get into them for a while.” He gave a half shrug, glancing down at the stack in his arms. “The one thing I really remember is that all these heroes have hard lives, y’know? You’d think having special powers would make their lives easy, but….”

  I nodded in agreement. “‘With great power comes great responsibility,’” I quoted.

  He threw another swift glance my way, and there was something between a smile and a resigned frown on his face. Or both. “Yeah.” We were in front of my dorm then. I glanced in through the glass door. The normally busy main lounge was deserted because of the holidays.

  “You wanna come in and warm up?”

  He didn’t answer right away and I regretted even asking. I was this close to just turning around and walking in by myself when he answered, “Yeah, sure. For a few minutes.”

  We sat on one of the couches and Davin set my comics in between us. He shed his dark trench coat and leaned back. It was quiet. He asked me why I wasn’t with my family and I told him it came down to finances. “What about you?” I asked.

  He shrugged. I waited, wondering if he would give me a real answer, or if he’d tell me anything at all. “My sister…died earlier this year,” he said finally, and my whole attitude changed. Suddenly a lot of things made sense. “Things haven’t been the same in my family since then. My parents told me that they weren’t going to celebrate Christmas this year. Said they just didn’t have a reason. I don’t know if they wanted me home or not. They didn’t ask. And I really didn’t have a reason to go.” He said all of this in a low voice, without a lot of emotion, as though merely stating the facts. “So here I am. But don’t pity me. I’d rather be here.”

  “I believe you,” I surprised mysel
f by saying.

  He turned his head slightly, slowly, to look at me. “That’s a first, isn’t it,” he said dryly, and looked away.

  “Yeah, well…it’s easier to believe you when it’s clear you’re finally being honest and real.”

  “Sorry.” He frowned. “I just don’t like talking about it, okay? It’s…” He swallowed. “It’s still too fresh.”

  “I get it,” I said. “Some things stay raw no matter how long ago they happened.” I don’t know why I told him; it sort of tumbled out awkwardly. I guess I just wanted him to know I had a tiny idea of how he felt. “When I was about thirteen, my brother almost died,” I explained slowly. I didn’t look at him but focused on the far wall. “We were coming home from school one day, and our Jeep broke down. We had to walk to get gas, and before we knew it, we were in a bad part of town.”

  “This was in Brazil?” he asked.

  “São Paulo,” I nodded, staring vacantly at the wall again and thinking back. “I started to get scared and wanted to turn around. Finally he agreed to let me stay in the car with the doors locked while he went for the gas. But when we started to go back...we found ourselves in the middle of a gang fight. I mean, we literally came around the corner and walked into it.” I swallowed hard at the memory. “It was like they converged around us…they were just bent on destruction, not caring who got in the way. We tried to make it through but it was chaos. And then…Andy got shot by a stray bullet. He lost so much blood. We had to wait until the fighting died down, and no one would help us. I really didn’t think he was going to live. It was awful.”

  Davin looked at me thoughtfully for a minute. “And you helped him, of course,” he said, in a strange tone. It wasn’t a question, and there was something heavy and unhappy in his voice.

  “Well…yeah,” I replied reluctantly. “Sort of. Not really. There…there really wasn’t a whole lot I could do, but yeah, I tried to help. It was my fault.”

  There was a long pause, and then Davin sighed. “I wish I could have done something to help my sister. I would give anything to be able to go back in time and save her. When I think about it, sometimes it makes me so angry, I just want to smash something.”

  “Like the Hulk,” I commented sympathetically. He threw me a bewildered look. “I’m sorry,” I said immediately. “That didn’t help. I told you, I use a lot of comic book references. And then I told you the thing about Andy, and that didn’t help either...you’ve probably heard everyone’s sob story. I just…I’m sorry about your sister. Not that I just pity you or anything, ‘cause that’s not helpful, either. I just know that if I lost Andy, I’d be a total wreck.” I frowned. “Not that I’m saying you’re a wreck….” I covered my face with my hands. “I can’t say anything right tonight.”

  He turned toward me again and seemed to shake himself slightly. “No, don’t feel bad. At least you didn’t tell me that you know exactly how I feel and that I will be all right in a little while.”

  I shook my head. “I wouldn’t say that. I may carry around a first aid kit, but I don’t believe in putting band-aids on broken hearts.”

  A small, sad smile curved his lips. “I know. You care about people. I can tell that about you. You try to help, to do what you can. At least, that’s the impression I got the day we met. And the time you offered to listen.”

  Did I really try to help? I thought about that, stifling an inconvenient yawn.

  He sat forward abruptly. “I should get going. But thanks for the chat. You’re a really great person to talk with.”

  “I am?” The question was out of my mouth before I could stop it.

  “Yeah,” he smiled. “You have interesting ideas, for one thing. And you’re a good listener. I feel like I could tell you just about anything.” His eyes flickered away. “Just about.”

  I narrowed my eyes at him seriously. “And yet you won’t.”

  He returned my gaze. “Maybe someday I will.”

  I didn’t reply right away. As he stood, I decided to ask him. “Hey, Davin. Are you doing anything tomorrow?”

  He considered. “Um, nothing much. Why?”

  “Are you sure? There isn’t someplace you’ll have to be rushing off to?”

  He gave a dry chuckle. “Probably. Why? You want to hang out or something?”

  I shrugged nonchalantly. “If you’re free. I know I’m not going to be doing much. I’ll just be in my room,” I held up my comics, “reading.”

  He nodded slowly. “Okay. How about I give you a call when I’m free?”

  “That’d be great,” I said, smiling. I walked him to the door.

  He stopped and looked at me, smiling shyly and somewhat sadly. It was almost as if he didn’t trust himself to be happy. “Okay, well, I guess I’ll see you tomorrow, then.” But even as he walked away, I knew he wouldn’t. And I was right.

  I consoled myself with lots of costumed superheroes on the glossy pages of my borrowed comic books. I put quite a dent in my stack, although I did take a break for dinner. I made ramen noodles in my roommate’s microwave and turned on her TV to see a news bulletin in full swing. My heart skipped a beat; Dark Lightning was at it again! It occurred to me that I could perhaps learn to enjoy watching the news after all, if they kept showing footage of my new favorite hero. Of course, I also had to wade through a lot of negative commentary about him in the process—a lot of it eerily echoing Davin’s concerns the day we argued about Shadowman.

  Musings and daydreams about Pittsburgh’s hero kept me occupied until I crawled into bed; then it occurred to me that Davin had never called. I tried not to be too disappointed. It wasn’t like he had promised me anything. He was probably just busy, or keeping up his solitary ways. But still. Comic books and TV shows could only keep me entertained for so long. Eventually I’d need someone real, someone I could actually spend time with. It was starting to look unlikely that Davin could be that person.

  Chapter Six

  “To the soul,

  there is hardly anything more healing

  than friendship.”

  —Thomas Moore

  It was Christmas Eve before I talked to him again. It was just starting to get dark, and I had barely made it to the post office before it closed. I had a small but much appreciated package in my arms as I entered my dorm lounge again.

  “Hey, Anna.” His voice was so soft; had there been any other noise in the room I would not have heard him.

  I froze first, then turned slightly. He was sitting on one of the couches in the lounge—the same one, in fact, where we’d been sitting a few nights previous. He looked downright exhausted, and I couldn’t help but wonder why. With classes out, what did he have to push himself to do? “Hey,” I finally returned, a little stiffly. I admit, my pride was a little wounded.

  “Listen, I’m really sorry I didn’t call you the other day.”

  I shrugged, still standing at the door.

  He stood, moving as though it took all his strength to do so. “Can we hang out now?”

  I sighed. “I don’t know. Can we?”

  He hung his head, his expression clouded.

  “Davin, look,” I said. “It’s not that I’m mad at you or anything. I just don’t know what to think. You seem like you don’t really want to hang out with me. I mean, it seems like your isolation and your other responsibilities are more important to you. And that’s okay; it just makes it hard to have friends if you’re always hanging out in the Fortress of Solitude.”

  He simply stood there a moment, and I could see another internal struggle going on. Finally, just when I thought he was about to say something, instead he nodded and began heading to the door.

  “Wait,” I sighed, grabbing for his arm. “Davin—”

  He winced and sucked in his breath when my fingers closed around his wrist. I let go abruptly. “What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing, I just—it’s just a little sprained, that’s all.”

  “Sprained?” I echoed. Then I held out my hand and commanded,
“Let me see.”

  “It’s nothing,” he protested, but he still obediently pushed up his sleeve.

  I grimaced, noting the mottled purpling of the skin not only on his wrist, but his hand as well. “Yikes. Davin, this isn’t nothing. You should get the campus doctor to look at it.”

  “It’s um, it’s closed for Christmas Eve,” he said.

  The fact that he had actually tried to get it taken care of made me realize just how bad it had to be. “There’s always the emergency room,” I suggested. “Passavant is not that far.”

  He shook his head. “I—I can’t, Anna. I’m sure it will be fine in a few days.” He tried to smile at me. “I’ll just be very careful.”

  “No, you won’t,” I sighed. “All right. Look at me. Promise me you will stay right here and wait for me while I go get my first aid kit.”

  “Anna—”

  “Promise!”

  “I think this is beyond even your skill, Dr. Fisher,” he said.

  “Yes, it is,” I agreed. “But at least let me wrap it in an ace bandage and ice it or something. Have you been icing it?” At his sheepish expression, I knew the answer was no. “Right. So. You’re staying right here, correct?”

  He hesitated, but I held his gaze until his dark, sad eyes looked away. “Promise,” he mumbled.

  I dashed upstairs and grabbed my kit and the ice pack I kept in Nicki’s mini fridge. I also scooped up a couple blankets and hurried back downstairs. As I reached the bottom of the stairs, I faltered; he wasn’t where I’d left him. But as I stepped into the lounge, I saw him sitting on the couch. With a sigh of relief, I plopped beside him.

  “Roll up your sleeve,” I ordered. He complied without grumbling, and I began wrapping the ace bandage around his wrist. “Too tight? Too loose?” I asked, glancing up at him.

  He shook his head. “Just right, actually.” The expression on his face was different; for once he wasn’t feigning irritation or impatience. Instead, he actually looked grateful.