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

by J. M. Richards

  “You dated Chad Chang?” Laurel squealed when she heard. “He is sooo cute. What happened?”

  “Well….” I glanced at Jill, who was casting me a significant look. “First of all, I don’t think we were right for each other. We just move in different circles, you know?” Laurel nodded.

  “And then of course, there’s The Davin Thing,” Jill murmured. I glared at her.

  “The What Thing?” Laurel asked.

  Jill said nothing but looked at me pointedly. I rolled my eyes. “All right. The other thing was that I sort of still had feelings for this…other guy. A friend of mine. Whose name, it just so happens, is Davin.”

  “Well, that’s never good,” Laurel said. “The Still-Having-Feelings-Thing, not the name Davin.”

  “What’s going on with him, anyway?” Jill asked.

  I shrugged. “I haven’t seen him much this semester. He’s probably busy, as usual.”

  “Yes, he certainly is a busy lad,” Jill commented dryly.

  “But it’s fine,” I said resolutely, “because we’re just friends anyway. Maybe nothing is supposed to happen right now, or ever, and that’s fine.”

  “So...does that mean you’re free to date other guys?” Laurel asked casually.

  “Well, yeah,” I replied. “If I wanted to. But I don’t really. Why?”

  “Nothing.” She shrugged a little too innocently. “I just know some decent guys, that’s all. But only if you’re interested, which you’re not. So forget it.” She took a few bites of her dinner, and then blurted, “But if you were up for it, I do need someone to double with me this Saturday. No pressure. But wouldn’t it be fun?”

  “Don’t look at me,” Jill said firmly. “I’m going home this weekend. Family wedding.”

  I groaned. “Are you serious? A blind date?”

  “Yeah, but I know him. He’s totally cute.”

  “Laurel…blind dates are really not my style.”

  “It’s not a blind date! It’s just a few of us hanging out. At the Spirit Shop, here on campus. So you’ll be somewhere safe and familiar, and besides, you’ll be with me.”

  “You’ll be with your date,” I pointed out.

  She arched an eyebrow. “Lance may be totally hot, but I do not—I repeat, do not—ever—leave a sistah stranded in her time of need. Got it?”

  I blinked at her in surprise. “Okay,” I said. Meaning, of course, that I understood her statement, not that I was agreeing to her crazy suggestion. Which was how she took it.

  “Great! So I’ll come by your room around seven, okay? Or maybe a little earlier, just to work out what we’re wearing. And then—”

  “First of all,” I interrupted, “I never said I was coming.”

  “You said okay!”

  “And second of all, I don’t need any help picking out clothes.”

  Laurel folded her arms across her chest and surveyed me critically. “Anna, you do have decent fashion sense. But I’ve seen your outfits, and you don’t have anything to wear on a date. Jeans, capris, geeky tee shirts, and more jeans. Which is fine for class, but not for making a splash.” She grinned. “I’ll just bring some stuff over.” I gave her a dubious look, and she explained, “My roommate’s about your size, and I work at the thrift store, so I’m always finding her stuff. She owes me. Just the other day, I picked her up an adorable denim skirt that would look perfect on you.”

  “This is ridiculous,” I said. “Why are we discussing what I will be wearing when I’m not going?”

  Jill turned to me with an amused look on her face. “Oh, I don’t know, Anna. It sounds to me like you are.”

  She was right. Somehow, despite all my protests, I found myself fidgeting with my skirt in the corner of the Spirit Shop—an after caf-hours snack shop that served coffee and lots of the fatty, sugary snacks that college students survive on.

  “Will you stop tugging at that?” Laurel scolded distractedly. “You look fine. Just relax. They’ll be here any minute.”

  But that was what I was nervous about. Laurel had talked me into a skirt that was too short and a halter top that was cut too low for my liking. I felt extremely selfconscious, and I did not stop trying to pull my skirt further down or my top higher up all night. All I wanted was to be back in my room reading, preferably in my Spider-Man shirt and most comfy jeans.

  “Ooo! Here they come. Act cool.” Laurel turned to me and with great animation pretended to be completely engrossed in conversation. I tried not to laugh; but when she caught my grin, she laughed too. “Never mind,” she murmured as they wandered nearer. “We’ll just be ourselves.”

  “Hey, Laurel,” said a broad-shouldered, smokey-eyed guy.

  “Oh, hey Lance,” Laurel replied calmly.

  “Hey,” he repeated, smiling widely. There was a beat’s worth of a pause and then he added, “Oh! This is Brad. You remember Brad, right?”

  “Of course,” Laurel smiled. “And this is Anna. She’s from Brazil,” she added.

  “Brazil?” Brad echoed, looking me over. “That’s hot.”

  I immediately glanced at Laurel for help.

  She smiled lazily and playfully gave Brad a shove. “Don’t overwhelm her; she’s shy. You gotta move slow.”

  “That’s all right,” Brad said, looking me up and down again. “I don’t mind.”

  I just stood there, not quite sure what he meant by that. I tugged on my skirt again.

  Lance cleared his throat. “How about we get a booth and order something?” He turned to Laurel. “You hungry, Babe?”

  She tossed her long, straight hair. “Not really. But I’d love some coffee.” She looked at me as we sat. “How about you, Anna?”

  “Um, coffee would be great,” I murmured.

  Somehow Lance must have arranged it with Brad to separate us into opposite sides of the booth. Laurel didn’t object to being cornered in the booth on Lance’s side, but she did keep shooting me glances of concern across the table.

  Brad brought our order back to the table and hunkered down next to me. “So, Anna,” he said, smiling, “tell me about yourself.”

  “Um…” I categorically hate questions that open-ended. What did he want to know? Favorite color? Astrological sign? Social security number? “Like what?”

  “What’s your major?”

  I pursed my lips. “I’m still undecided. Leaning toward Sociology at the moment.”

  “Mm. Study of society. Gonna try to save the world?”

  I smiled wryly. “Maybe.”

  “Save the world?” Lance echoed. “Dude, what is she, Supergirl?”

  I raised an eyebrow, wishing (not for the first time) more people were aware of the many amazing women of comics besides Supergirl.

  “Don’t knock superheroes,” Laurel said very seriously. “Anna totally loves them.”

  “Well, sure. Who doesn’t?” Brad said. “I mean, have you seen that Dark Lightning guy in action? He is awesome!”

  Suddenly Brad became a whole lot more interesting. “Yeah, he is,” I said emphatically. He grinned at me. And somehow the whole evening started to seem better. Brad was less intimidating, the coffee wasn’t too hot anymore, and Laurel didn’t seem like such a wretched friend for dragging me along.

  In the course of the evening, I discovered that along with his passion for football (in particular the Steelers), beer, and anything patriotic, he had a deep-seated love of heroes. He wasn’t necessarily inclined toward the “super” type, though he’d done a bit of comic book reading in his day. His favorite was Superman.

  Being a mostly Marvel girl, I ribbed him about it. He took it in stride and told me he just loved the idea of someone who went flying around, fighting for “truth, justice, and the American way”—and who could see through almost anything he wanted. I rolled my eyes at that, but it did not escape my notice that Brad was rather cute.

  Brad was the typical all-American guy—clean cut, blue-eyed, with a wide smile. He was also funny and hardworking; he’d already been Quart
erback, Homecoming King, and assistant manager of American Eagle Outfitters at Ross Park Mall. In the course of a few conversations, I seemed to have gotten to know him pretty well.

  The four of us hung out a few more times after that night; we met once or twice at the cafeteria and even went to see a movie. Lance kidded him blatantly about me, but Brad would only smile in response. And Laurel interrogated me for details, though I had little to tell her.

  What was to tell? Brad seemed like a nice guy, but I had only just met him. Sure, he was cute and funny, and we got along fairly well, but I still felt the need to be on my guard around him. I tried to shrug it off, telling myself that surely anyone who was a Dark Lightning fan couldn’t be so bad. And that was just it—I didn’t have any real excuse to not hang out with him when I was invited along. There was nothing in particular that I could object to. I’d been stared at by guys before (not in high school, but it had happened once or twice in my first couple years of college), and at least one other guy had put his arm around my chair like a territorial marker, claiming me. I couldn’t think why those things would be bothering me.

  And most importantly, it wasn’t as though Davin was pursuing me. Once again, I hardly saw him. He was out running himself ragged, at least from what I could tell when I did occasionally bump into him. He smiled at me apologetically whenever our paths crossed, but he never called me or sat with me in the caf. It was almost as if our moment in the chapel had never happened—which hurt more than I let on. I was beginning to wonder if my ever-growing crush would ever be requited. Because despite his absence and Brad’s presence, I still had feelings for him.

  I also still had unresolved suspicions about his weird behavior...but since I barely saw him, there was no way for me to confirm my vague notions.

  Chapter Eighteen

  “Without confidence there is no friendship.”

  —Epicurus

  “So did we pick a movie yet?” My roommate Kim came back into our room with the pizza we’d ordered.

  “Jill wants a Jane Austen movie, but Anna, as usual, is lobbying for a superhero movie.” Laurel began handing out napkins and paper plates.

  “Come on, Anna, it’s Girl’s Night. We need a girl movie,” Kim said.

  “Hey,” I protested. “Girls can like superheroes. And superhero movies. Some of them are just as romantic as anything Austen wrote. Plus, a lot of the actors are hot.”

  “You’re losing the battle, Anna,” Laurel shook her head. “Save it for your next date with Brad.”

  Just as I began my objection that I was not dating Brad, our phone rang. “That’s probably him now,” Jill teased.

  Kim answered. “Hello? Oh, hi Mom. Yes, I’m fine. Yes, I’m being careful. …Mom, I am not going to call you every night just so you know I’m okay. You’re overacting.” She rolled her eyes and covered the mouth piece. “Can you guys do me a favor and tell her we walk basically everywhere together?”

  I took the phone from her. “Hi, Mrs. Wheat. Yes, Kim is very cautious, and the four of us walk almost everywhere together. Also, they’ve tripled security since the latest attack. Uh-huh. Bye.” I handed the phone back and Kim said goodbye to her mom.

  She hung up with a sigh. “You know, aside from being a disgusting, horrible pervert who hurt all those girls, the Hallway Stalker has also managed to make my life miserable by freaking out my mom.”

  “It freaks me out a little, too,” Laurel admitted. “One of the girls from Carnegie-Mellon went to my high school. It’s just so creepy and random.”

  “We’ve been talking about it in my criminology classes,” Kim said. “The consensus is that whoever is doing this is deeply disturbed, probably due to a past trauma.”

  Jill scowled. “Everyone has to deal with some kind of trauma. That doesn’t give anyone an excuse to go out and begin preying on college girls.”

  “That’s just it,” Kim went on, getting into her Criminal Justice mode. “Whoever is doing this is probably a highly rational person, except for one vital flaw in his reasoning. He thinks it’s excusable to use people however he wants. It’s common in sociopaths.”

  “But, why?” Laurel folded her arms around her. “Why would someone just attack random girls? I mean, he can’t know all of them personally.”

  “Right,” Kim went on. “Dr. Spenser is part of a team of several criminology professors in the area, and also the Pittsburgh Police force, and he confirmed that there has been no pattern detected in the victims. They all went to different high schools, were from different neighborhoods, states, social classes, and religious backgrounds. They all looked different. In fact, the only thing they can see that these girls had in common is that they followed a consistent routine.”

  “Making them a target for whoever stalked them,” I said grimly. “Then all he had to do was observe, and wait for the right opportunity.”

  Laurel shivered. “I don’t want to talk about this anymore,” she said. “I’m getting creeped out. Can we just watch the movie?”

  “Yeah, the pizza’s getting cold,” Kim agreed.

  I was outvoted three to one for the Jane Austen movie, but for once I didn’t protest. Suddenly the world of crime, villains, and superheroes had become all too real.

  Apparently, though, Kim’s mom was not the only adult on edge; the staff of Dubsy seemed to be perpetually stressed by the possibility of another attack…and the influx of calls from concerned parents. Clear and strict rules were posted all over campus, reminding students about appropriate conduct. At the bottom, there were also several phone numbers listed for reporting any suspicious activities.

  The odd thing was, the students seemed as concerned as the administration. Normally when the Deans and Hall Directors warned them about certain dangers, my classmates generally shrugged it off. It’s easy to feel invincible when you’re young, like things might happen to other people, but never to you. But perhaps because Dubsy was a smaller campus, the threat didn’t seem so far away. Already three girls had been attacked on our campus—all of us knew at least one of the girls by name.

  The victims were not hysterical attention-seeking girls; they couldn’t even be written off by the douchiest of jerks as ‘asking for it,’ as none of the victims were known for being regularly drunk or slutty. (The very fact that some of the girls at other schools had been ignored at first by their peers made Laurel furious and she ranted to anyone who would listen about the evils of misogyny, slut-shaming, and ending rape culture.) The Dubsy girls, however, were just “normal” college students, going about their business, when someone had brutally attacked and raped them. Seeing one of them around campus—or even not seeing them—was a constant reminder that anyone could be next, regardless of how she dressed or what her social life was like. It changed the whole mood of the school, and brought about some surprising results.

  

  “Hey, Anna.” Sputnik and Alan approached me at lunch one afternoon.

  “Hey, guys. What’s up?” I smiled up at my friends, whom I hadn’t seen much of that semester.

  They sat across from me and Laurel. “We just wanted you to know that the CBC and several other clubs on campus are pooling their resources to offer Dubsy a free self-defense course.”

  “Really?” I was kind of impressed by the idea. “Wow. That’s cool.”

  “What’s the CBC?” Laurel asked, eyeing my geeky friends curiously.

  “Comic Book Club,” Alan told her.

  “Though we’ve been debating changing the title,” Sputnik put in. “We have a few literalists who insist that we don’t read comics, we read illustrated fiction and graphic novels.”

  “I don’t know,” Laurel said. “The Illustrated Fiction and Graphic Novel Club just doesn’t have quite the same ring to it.”

  “That’s what I said!” he agreed, smacking the table.

  “What are the other groups?” I asked, getting back to their initial announcement.

  “Some of the campus religious groups, student gover
nment, even a lot of the athletic teams are pitching in.” Alan nodded through his list. “I think the Fencing Club actually came up with the idea.”

  “I should talk to the Drama and Art Clubs about it,” Laurel put in. “They should get in on that, too. I love the idea of offering self-defense, but I hope the class isn’t just targeted toward women.”

  “No,” Alan said. “Not that I know of—”

  “Because really,” Laurel went on aggressively, “it’s everyone’s job to make this campus a safer place. Teaching girls to defend themselves is only one part of the solution. Decent guys like you need to make a stand, too, you know. To show that you think rape is a heinous crime, not something funny or some kind of way for men to get what they think they deserve.”

  Sputnik and Alan looked appalled. “Of course we don’t think that!” Sputnik sputtered.

  “Really?” Laurel leaned forward even further. “So you guys are taking the self-defense class, too?”

  “I was planning to,” Alan said. “I can’t speak for the rest of the guys on campus, but I’ve been encouraging them to.” He looked back at me. “Sputnik and I just wanted to let you know about it, because as far as I know, all the CBC guys and their girlfriends are signing up. Also,” he finally broke a grin, “we hadn’t seen you in a while, and we were wondering how you’ve been.”

  “Oh, thanks,” I said. “I’ve been okay. Busy. How about you guys?”

  They nodded. “Pretty good,” Sputnik said. “We recently voted on club president for next year, and Alan and I tied! It was pretty funny, so we just decided to co-captain it.”

  “Good for you guys! Congratulations.” I smiled at them.

  Alan shrugged. “I love the CBC, really, but being voted its president—”

  “Co-president,” Sputnik corrected.

  “—is kind of like being declared King of Nerds.”

  “Co-king,” Sputnik asserted.

  I laughed. “I’m sure your majesties will do just fine. And thanks again for the heads up about the self-defense class.”