Richter
A First Superhero Story
Logan Rutherford
Contents
Copyright
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Richter
Part One: Awakening
1. Ignorant Strides
2. Broken Ornaments
3. Bodyguard
4. Everything Surreal
5. Blood & Dirt
6. Face Down
7. Game Plan
Part Two: Discovery
8. Familiar Faces
9. No Going Back
10. Planting the Seeds
11. Investigation
12. Nature
13. Confrontation
14. Interrogation
Part Three: Legacy
15. First Blood
16. Superhero
17. Closing In
18. Base
19. Thin Air
20. Legacy
21. The Second Super
The First Superhero
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Also by Logan Rutherford
About the Author
Richter © 2016 by Logan Rutherford
All rights reserved.
This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, businesses, events, or locales is purely coincidental.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
Cover Art by Damonza (www.damonza.com)
Copyedited and Proofread by Carol Davis (www.caroldavisauthor.com)
Fragments & Fictions
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Part One: Awakening
1
Ignorant Strides
The silver knife blade gleamed in the setting sun. The person who brandished it, a pale man whose skin looked like it’d been vacuum-sealed onto his bones, took a step toward Patrick Henry.
Patrick took a step back and bumped into another man. He whipped his head around and looked into the empty dark eyes of an even taller man. The only difference was that this man was big and bulky, muscles bulging from his dark t-shirt.
“Look, just empty your pockets, kid,” the small man with the knife said.
Patrick’s heart beat faster, and he looked around for somewhere to run. There was none, and either way, he wasn’t sure if he’d be able to run fast enough. He only had three options: fight, give up, or beg. He knew he didn’t stand a chance in a fight, and he wasn’t going to just give up easily. He’d worked hard all summer for the money in his wallet. The cell phone in his pocket he’d just bought himself, and after years of using his dad’s hand-me-downs, he’d made sure it was a nice one. It had cost almost five hundred bucks, and he was so proud of it. And now these two punks were just going to take it from him? He wasn’t going to give in that easily.
Patrick reached into his back pocket and pulled out his wallet. He took all the money from it, then handed it to the man. The man snatched it from his hand like it was bread and he’d hadn’t eaten for months.
“I like the wallet,” the man behind him said in a big, booming voice.
“Yeah, you do, Tovin?” the skinny man asked. He looked at Patrick. “You heard the man. Hand him the wallet.”
Patrick shook his head. “Look—I already gave you the money. You don’t need my wallet.”
The big man named Tovin snatched the wallet from Patrick’s hand. Patrick spun around and found himself face-to-face with Tovin’s hulking mass. Tovin flipped through the wallet, smiling. “Yeah, this is a nice wallet.”
“That wallet I made with my grandfather. You can’t take it!” Patrick said. He raised his voice, trying to sound confident and strong, but it came out as whiny and pleading. He cursed himself in his head. Why couldn’t he stand up for himself? He didn’t have Tovin’s mass, and he didn’t have a sharp knife. There was nothing intimidating about Patrick at all, especially not his words.
“Oh, yeah? Handmade, huh? I love that artisanal shit,” Tovin said with a grunt.
“You learn one new word and you’ve just gotta beat it like a dead horse, don’t you?” the skinny guy said from behind Patrick.
“Shut up, Harvey,” Tovin said as he put Patrick’s wallet into his back pocket.
“Alright, you have what you want, now let me go,” Patrick said, turning to look at Harvey.
Harvey shook his head. “I don’t think so, kid. You’re not getting away that easily.” Harvey reached out his hand and motioned with his fingers for Patrick to hand something over. “Phone.”
Patrick’s face flushed with fear. He swallowed hard. “I left it in my car,” he said.
“I’m not stupid,” Harvey said. He pointed toward Patrick’s right-hand pants pocket. “I can see its outline.”
Patrick gritted his teeth. He went over his options one last time in his head. Maybe I could take these assholes, he thought. As soon as he thought it, though, he knew he couldn’t do it. There were no other options. Nowhere to run, nothing to do.
Patrick reluctantly reached into his pocket and pulled out his phone. He handed it toward Harvey, who once again snatched it out of his hand as fast as he could.
“This’ll work nicely,” Harvey said. He looked up and nodded, signaling something behind Patrick.
Before Patrick could turn around on his own to see what he was motioning at, he felt Tovin’s large hand on his shoulder. Tovin spun Patrick around, and as soon as he stopped moving, he felt a hard fist smash into his face, sending him flying to the ground.
Pain shot through Patrick as he tried to get his bearings. Stars danced in his vision and his face throbbed. He looked up to see Tovin and Harvey running down the dark alleyway toward the city as night set in.
He stumbled to his feet, using the brick wall next to him to help himself stand. He took a few steps, feeling the solid ground beneath him. His steps turned to jogging, and his jogging to running. He sprinted after his two attackers, who were approaching the end of the alley. He had no idea what he was going to do when he reached them, of course. He hoped that maybe somebody would be around to help, but he couldn’t be sure. So he ran, ignorant stride after ignorant stride.
Tovin and Harvey exited the alley and ran to their right. Patrick picked up his pace. His blood, now a cocktail of fear and adrenaline, allowed him to push aside the pain that he felt from the beating he’d taken. His only mission was to take back his belongings, and maybe a bit of his pride along the way.
He reached the end of the alley, like a light at the end of the tunnel. He burst out of the alley and turned right, and slammed directly into a woman in her thirties who was looking down at her phone. The two of them tumbled to the ground, the woman shrieking, unaware of Patrick’s intentions.
Patrick found himself stumbling to his feet for the second time in the past minute, but this time the wall was too far away for him to stabilize himself against. He finally got up just in time to see an old rundown car zooming past. He couldn’t tell if it was red from the paint or the rust. Sitting in the front seat was Harvey, concentrating on the road ahead.
&
nbsp; Patrick ran after the car, but defeat had already set in. He knew there was no way he’d be able to catch them. The phone he’d worked so hard for, the wallet he’d made with his grandfather, both gone just like that.
He heard shoes clacking on the sidewalk and turned to see the woman he’d knocked over running away, afraid of what he might do to her. If only she knew what had really happened.
“I’m not the bad guy here!” he shouted after her, filled with frustration and anger. A million thoughts and emotions clouded his mind; he couldn’t think or process anything clearly. The only thing he knew to do was begin the drive home.
He walked down the sidewalk all alone, fuming with anger. He felt it well up inside his chest, threatening to burst it at the seams. Like the steam engine of a train, if he didn’t have a release he thought he’d explode. He was walking past a brick building, and without even thinking about it, he punched the wall as hard as he could.
No longer dwelling on the events that had just taken place, Patrick walked to his car with his thoughts only on the pain in his hand.
When he reached his car, he checked the parking meter. It still had forty-three minutes left before it expired. “Great,” he said under his breath as he walked to the driver’s side door and got in. “More money down the drain.”
He started the engine and maneuvered out of the space he’d parallel parked in. The minute he was out, someone drove up and began parking.
“You’d better enjoy those free forty minutes,” he said through gritted teeth. He gunned his car, sending it shooting off into the last normal night he’d ever have.
2
Broken Ornaments
The screeching cries reached Patrick’s ears and woke him from his deep sleep instantly. He threw his covers off and jumped out of bed, burst out his bedroom door and ran down the hall. When he reached the stairs, he ran down them so loudly he sounded like a herd of elephants. He rounded the bannister at the bottom of the stairs and saw his five-year-old sister Ren standing in the midst of shattered glass.
“Don’t move!” Patrick shouted to be heard above her cries.
She looked up at him, her cheeks puffy and red, tears streaking down them. “It broke,” she blubbered. “My ornament broke!”
“Okay, Ren, just hold on and don’t move. You’re going to step on glass.”
She nodded, and did her best to stop crying. She took a deep, shaking breath.
Patrick grabbed a pair of his dad’s flip-flops from the bottom of the stairs, in front of the back door. He slipped them on and then walked carefully over to Ren. She flung her arms up toward him and he picked her up, then carried her to safety.
He set her down in front of the brick fireplace. “You didn’t get cut, did you?”
Ren shook her head, her big brown eyes still filled with tears. Strands of her long brown hair stuck to her face, which was damp from her tears.
“Let me check, just to be safe,” Patrick said, and she lifted her left foot up to show him. He examined her feet, and found no cuts or blood. “This one’s good,” he said.
“See!” she said, her voice still shaky, but with a hint of I-told-you-so.
Patrick chuckled and leaned back, acting as if he was offended. “That was just one foot!”
Ren shoved her other foot in his face, almost kicking him square in the nose. “See! No cuts!” she insisted.
Patrick pinched his nose. “No cuts, but a lot of smell!”
That warranted a giggle from Ren, and she began brushing the hair from her face.
“Stay here while I clean this up,” Patrick said. “I’ll grab you a wet paper towel.”
Ren gave him an exaggerated nod and a thumbs-up. Patrick chuckled again as he stood.
He walked to the kitchen and tore a paper towel from the roll hanging next to the sink. He ran it under the water and squeezed out the excess liquid. “So, what happened?” he asked Ren over his shoulder. He walked over next to the trash can and grabbed the broom and dustpan.
“I was making a new Christmas ornament. It was made from this clay that took all night to make hard. But then I dropped it and it exploded everywhere!” Ren said, getting more and more animated as the story went on.
Patrick handed her the paper towel, and she wiped the tears and snot from her face.
“Where’s Mom and Dad?” Patrick asked as he began sweeping up the remnants of Ren’s ornament.
“Mom went to the store, and Dad was supposed to be watching me, but he went outside to mow.”
“Why did Dad leave you in here all alone?” Patrick said, more thinking out loud then asking. He brushed the ornament up into the dustpan.
“I’m a big girl! I can take care of myself!” Ren said.
Patrick smiled as he ruffled her hair. “Of course you are.” He threw the contents of the dustpan into the trash. “You can get up now,” he told her.
“’Bye, ornament,” she said, waving at the trash can.
“Why were you making an ornament, anyways? It’s May. We’ve got a while until it’s Christmas.”
Ren put her hands together and pressed them against her shoulder. “I just love Christmas,” she said in a soft voice.
Patrick smiled and nodded. “I love Christmas too.”
Ren looked at the spot where her ornament had taken its fall, her eyes sad.
“Hey, wanna go outside and play hide and seek?” Patrick asked before she had the chance to get sad again.
“Yes!” she shouted. “Let’s go!”
3
Bodyguard
Ren touched the large tree at the edge of their front yard. “Base!” she shouted.
Patrick ran up to her and leaned onto his knees, faking being out of breath. “Wow, you’re too good.”
Ren smiled and nodded. “I’m the best!”
“You’re right about that,” he said.
“You guys playing hide and seek?” a voice said from behind them.
Patrick turned and saw his dad walking up to them. His pants legs were covered in bits of the grass he’d just cut.
“Yeah, Daddy! Wanna play?” Ren asked.
“Sure, I’ll do a round,” he said.
“Alright, you can be it, then. I gotta warn you, she’s a fast one,” Patrick said, pointing at Ren.
“Oh, we’ll see about that,” their father said as he walked over to the tree. He leaned up against it, shut his eyes, and began counting.
Ren ran around to the side of the house to hide behind the air conditioning unit, the same place she hid every single time. Patrick was searching for a place to hide when he heard a horn honk. He turned and saw his neighbor from across the street, Victoria Kilmer, sitting in her idling SUV in front of Patrick’s house.
Patrick jogged over to her, feeling a bit flustered. Victoria was the same age he was, and he thought she was one of the prettiest girls he’d ever seen. Her eyes were like a hazel kaleidoscope, and her hair hung in messy waves. They were close friends, and had even gone as each other’s date to various school dances. But their relationship had never evolved into more than that, and Patrick wasn’t sure why. There was no rhyme or reason to it; it just hadn’t.
“Where’ve you been, Patrick? I didn’t think I’d see you again until graduation. I’ve been texting you all morning,” she said once Patrick got close.
Patrick put his hand up and leaned against her car. “Yeah, I kinda got mugged last night,” he said.
Victoria eyes went wide. “Shit, are you kidding? Are you okay?”
“No, I’m doing terrible. The doctors say I probably won’t make it,” he said with a wry smile.
“Come on. This isn’t something to joke about! Did you tell the police?” Victoria asked.
Patrick shrugged. “Haven’t really told anybody yet. I’ll go down to the station later, though, and report it.”
“Later? No, you gotta do this now. Hop in. I’ll go with you,” she said, the end of her sentence punctuated by the clunking sound of her doors unlocking.
“If we go to the station first, I’ll buy you lunch afterwards,” Victoria said, already smiling in victory.
Patrick turned. “Dad, I’m going to hang out with Victoria!” he shouted.
His dad turned and saw the two of them. He waved, and Victoria waved back.
Patrick walked around the front of the car and got into the passenger seat. “Alright, I’m starving,” he said as he buckled his seat belt.
Victoria shook her head as she began driving. “I don’t think so. Police station first. Are you sure we shouldn’t go to the hospital too? Did they hit you?”
Patrick laughed. “You sound like my mom.”
Victoria glared at him, waiting for him to answer her question.
“Alright, they hit me once before they ran away,” Patrick said, giving in.
“Patrick!” Victoria shouted, and she began examining his face for any damage.
“Eyes on the road, Victoria!” he insisted, pointing at the road. “It’s fine. There’s no damage. Not even a bruise. It’s pretty crazy.”
“Seriously? Not even a scratch?”
“I’m dead serious. I’m fine, Victoria. Promise. I’ve got a really tough face,” Patrick said, smiling.
Victoria sighed. “Fine. No hospital, just police station.”
“Sounds good to me.”
*
Patrick took a bite from his hamburger with Victoria watching him like a hawk, looking for any signs of pain or discomfort.
“I’m fine,” he said with a mouthful of food.
Victoria sighed and picked up her burger and took a bite.
“Are you going to Samson’s party tonight?” he asked. “I heard there’s going to be a huge bonfire.”
Victoria shook her head. “No. Mom’s going to be back in town from one of her business trips, so the two of us are going to have a movie night. I was on my way to get some stuff for it when you decided to drop the whole ‘mugged’ bombshell.”
Patrick stopped chewing and swallowed hard. “Do you need to leave and go get the stuff? I didn’t mean to derail your day.”
The First Superhero (Novella): Richter Page 1
