Evolution

by Dave Nesbit

  “What are you going to do with your new found wealth?” Mom asked.

  “No clue. Invest some, spend the rest?” I shrugged. “Do you guys have any desire to keep your mortgage?”

  “Don't sweat it I'm paying that off out of my fee as your agent.” Dad said with a smile.

  “Seems fair.” I said with a chuckle. “Let me know when they want to shoot and stuff.”

  “Oh trust me, they'll let you know. I won't say they camped out the house, but I did notice there was no delay between when we'd call to meet and them showing up.” Mom said.

  “It's weird being a hot commodity.” I said.

  “Try not to let it go to your head.” Mom said as she looked me over.

  “After yesterday?” I responded. “Not likely.”

  “There's that,” came from Dad. Looking both concerned and resigned all at once. He had pointed out years before that I got his wit and moms stubbornness and temper, it was a dangerous combination. One that kept me on my toes and Dad occupied wondering what trouble I might have found myself in now.

  And for a while we just talked about stuff. Family news, stories from mom’s job at the Hospital, and dad talking about business stuff from his day job.

  In short for a brief wondrous moment all was normal. I wasn't Ryan, superhero and super cop. I was simply Ryan, the son of two people who were very concerned about his bat-shit insane life. It was exactly what I needed.

  All good things must end though and as the lights came down for the dinner rush we got up from the table and made our way out. Me carrying my helmet, Dad with his folder of paper and Mom walking out shouldering a purse that could have doubled as a backpack.

  “How are you getting home?” Mom asked.

  I held up my helmet. “Flying under my own steam.”

  “Somehow I think I'd feel happier if you used some of your money to buy something safer, like a Lamborghini or a Porsche.” Dad said and hugged me. Which fell into a family group hug again.

  With that I slipped my helmet on, zipped up my jacket, felt the world around me and pushed off the fields and waves of energy I felt around me.

  The green line guided me back safely and I landed in front of the house with little fanfare. At the school, a kid flying around was pretty much a traffic nuisance; nothing new or exciting.

  Walking into the house, I saw Rachel stretched out on a chair, headphones on, blasting a Pink Floyd song loudly as she read a book on psychology. Ramon was catching up on a soccer game on the TV. Shawn was drawing up a design on a CAD program he was using on his laptop.

  There was an empty chair. It took an effort of will to not look at it.

  We were such an oddity. Throw some personalities and powers together and see if they gel. Somehow we had, through blind luck or fate; depending on how you view such things. Maybe for the first time in my life I had some people I shared a place with and a desire to do things with. We were freaks, weirdos and ‘Touched’.

  I don't think I would have traded them for ten times the money the Adidas people were giving me.

  Walking off, I made my way to my room. There on the bed were the clothes I had thrown across the room in a fit of anger. I grinned and gathered them up, then walked out the back door. Rachel had gotten us a Weber grill at the start of the school year. Which she had put to great use with the steaks the Kyle Winslow crew had given us.

  The lighter fluid was right next to the steps into the house.

  I put the clothes in the grill, doused them in fluid, lit a wood match and tossed it in. The clothes lit up wonderfully in a flash of blue flame.

  “You're gonna owe me a new grill.” Rachel said from behind me.

  “I just signed a deal for a fuck load of shoe money.” I shot back, not turning around. “I'm good for it.”

  “Good. You can do an upgrade. Maybe one of those outdoor stainless steel gas ones.” She said. “Nike offered me a deal.”

  “Gonna take it?”

  “Might as well see something for all this bullshit.”

  “True.” It was quiet for a moment.

  “How do you think this will work out?” Rachel asked as I dropped a silk sock onto the blaze.

  “No clue.”

  “We could be fighting these battles till we die.” She said.

  “Got anything better to do?” I said in a resigned tone. Maybe I had for the moment accepted a sense of fate in all of this. Or perhaps I was just too tired to think of alternatives.

  She sighed. “Not really. Did you ever read comics?”

  “All the time.” I said.

  “Back then I always wanted to be a superhero. Now I am one.”

  “Not as simple as we thought it would be, is it?”

  “No.” I could hear her kick a clump of snow. “But now we don't have much of a choice. What do we do?”

  That took a little thinking, it was the question I'd been avoiding for months. “Our best, and in the process we take as much control of our destiny as we can.”

  “Yeah.” She walked back in and I added a sweater to the flaming pile of clothing.

  It seemed like a good answer, I just had no idea of how to accomplish that second part.

  Chapter 45

  Now here we are at the beginning of the story. Sitting in the back of a limo going to a cemetery at the start of winter to lay our friend to rest.

  “I kind of wish we had snuck some of that contraband into the car.” Shawn said as he sat back.

  “Me too, but then I'd likely be a stereotypical Irish guy at the funeral; weeping and wailing.” I replied with a weak smile.

  The ride to the cemetery took a short time. It's amazing how quickly things can move when the cops, the feds and elements of the national guard clear the streets ahead of you. Security was tight for obvious reasons. The Humans for Humanity clique had promised revenge for me crippling their regional leader. Not to mention the sheer mean spirited joy a few of those clowns would get from trashing the funeral of his accuser.

  “Ya gotta wonder if they even realize the sort of scum bag they were trying to break out.” Rachel said looking out the window.

  “Everyone finds the level they can sink to.” Ramon said.

  “Even us?” I responded.

  “Good point.” He said with a grin. “After all I'm hanging out with all you folks.”

  “Asshole.” Rachel said as she tossed a crumpled up napkin at him and we all cracked up. It was a good moment. Bent but not broken. Tough in the truest sense of the word.

  We drove through the cemetery gates and past a crowd of people, none of whom were carrying burn in hell signs and such. It was a welcome relief.

  Wanna know about the graveside service? Couldn't tell you, don't remember a thing aside from seeing who turned up. All our families were there. Along with students from the school, the crew of the Kyle Winslow all turned up, in uniform. Teachers and instructors were there; along with various government functionaries. It's a rare day indeed when you can get the Governors of Wisconsin and Illinois in the same place and they act with some measure of decorum.

  Decorum was also kept at the site not just by security, but along with a contingent of veterans on motorcycles outside of the cemetery. Apparently a fairly well known alleged church from the heartland wanted to come up and protest. I was told later that they had been informed off the record that if they turned up they might have a visit from the IRS regarding their tax status, and then things would get ugly.

  I’ll be honest, having friends in high places has its moments.

  After that, all I remember is the moment where I grabbed a handful of dirt and tossed it and a rose into her grave.

  That was it. Really all I can remember, too lost in my own thoughts.

  I didn't dwell on my own mortality, or the notion of how my own story would most likely would end like this. A nice spot in a pretty green yard of stones, people might come to visit but in the end I would be gone. I handled all that later.

  I just thought of the last few
months. Lives saved, lives endangered, lives lost. The world in flux. Me in the center of it all around here.

  Most of all, I thought about how much an epic schmuck I was for letting myself getting caught up in a game that Cathy had played on me. My friends were in the fight for their life and I was laid out being cut open because I gave myself a blind spot.

  When the funeral broke up and the reception began I wandered in, grabbed a glass of punch and wandered off to sit and relax on the back porch of the hall. Watching as a light snow began to fall.

  “Got a dose of the blues?” A voice behind me said.

  I turned and saw Mr. Thomas standing behind me. He had a plate of chicken in one hand and a glass of punch in the other.

  “Seems to be the thing to do.” I said.

  “Well, if you were inside dancing a jig I'd be worried as fuck for your soul.” He said and pulled up a chair.

  “Didn't you read the signs out by the gate at school? Apparently we don't have those.” I said and took a swallow.

  “I'd make the argument that the people holding the signs might want to check theirs.” He responded. “Now, how long are you gonna beat yourself up over this?”

  I gave it a little thought. “No clue. It's gonna take a while.”

  “Don't take too long, I know you pulled the leadership card a few months ago to cover your friends, but now you've got the gig, and they're gonna look to you.”

  “No pressure.” I said with a grin I barely felt.

  Thomas chuckled. “No shit.” He bit into his chicken. “This is really good, you might want to pad your stomach, rumor has it a large quantity of vodka found its way into the punch bowl.”

  “Or maybe I don't, that vodka doesn’t sound like bad idea, although I'd prefer Bushmills.”

  “Take what you can get kid.” He said and knocked back his glass of punch. “Let me give you the only advice I have that makes sense after three tours in Iraq. Sometimes winning isn't the objective, sometimes you just manage to survive. Maximize your effect, and minimize the risk to your people. It's often the best you can do.”

  I finished my punch. “And if your best isn't enough?”

  “Learn from it; if you survive the fight you have a lesson; learn enough lessons and pretty soon you're teaching your enemies things they won't forget.” He got up and collected his glass. “Damn, good thing my wife's driving.” He said. “I'm gonna get some more. Try not to stew in your thoughts too much.”

  “Thanks.” I said absently.

  Walking back inside I grabbed another glass of punch and took in the scene. Everyone hanging out, talking. A few people passed by and sat with Lynn's mom, a woman who looked so frail and worn that I was afraid the wind made by a door opening might blow her over in her current state.

  I knocked back the punch and went back for more. Shawn met me at the table.

  “How ya holding up?” I inquired

  “This sucks, far too much.” He answered. “Hamilton said he has an incoming student for the house, new meat. I'm gonna make damn sure they're wearing some kind of armor the second we step out the door.”

  “Already planning it?”

  “Fuck that, already made.” He said with a weak smile. “We don't lose anyone from here on out.”

  “Damn straight.” I said; in reply I held out my punch glass. We touched our glasses, and shook our heads. The damage was done, the lesson learned and now what?

  Rachel came up as I drained the next glass. “I have no idea how to handle this.” She said.

  “Me neither. Got no clue, just trying not to make an ass of myself. Or no more than usual.” Shawn said.

  “I wanna break some shit.” Rachel said.

  “Me too, maybe we'll find a nice junkyard and disassemble a few cars.” I said thinking that it actually may not be a bad idea.

  “Save me some of the parts, I might be able to put them to good use.” Shawn said, his eyes already lost in design ideas.

  “If we can find enough to put together we'll let ya know.” Rachel said and poured a drink.

  “Enough of what?” Ramon asked.

  “We're gonna blow off a little steam later, go somewhere and wreck a few junked cars.” Rachel said.

  “Well I'd prefer to take out my frustration on those clowns out by the gate but I'll take what I can get.” He said. Either he didn't notice or was ignoring the three ladies who seemed to be trapped in an adoring trance behind him.

  “Well I'm sure Ryan wouldn't disagree with dropping a Buick on them.” Rachel said.

  “Wow! Why do I always have to show up when you guys are planning mayhem I might have to stop?” Hamilton said with a chuckle, he had managed to sneak behind us. Must be the cop background in him. He had a knack for being around when we were implicating ourselves.

  “Maybe ya know us too well?” Shawn said.

  “Let me see, you're teenagers and you have powers beyond normal people. I just assume you're up to trouble then guess what it is.” Hamilton said with a grin.

  “I think he has us figured out.” Rachel said.

  “True, we'll have to cut down on the carnage. That way when it happens it'll mean more.” Ramon said.

  “Yeah, I'll believe that roughly about the same time I see monkeys fly.” Hamilton retorted “Do me a favor, no one fly home tonight; I'd hate to see you busted for FUI. The FAA might revoke your licenses.” He walked off and stood next to a tall blond woman in a pixie cut with a face that reminded me of a European fashion model.

  I was going to go find a seat, when I felt a tug on my sleeve. I turned to see Lynn's Mom there. “Hi, I just wanted to thank you.” She said.

  Ohh, this was gonna suck.

  “Umm, for what ma’am?”

  “I talked to Lynn every night, she told me you and your team were good to her.” She said.

  “She was an easy person to be good to. You don't meet a lot of people who bring out the best in you.”

  She smiled weakly. “That's good to hear. Thank you again.” She said and wandered off aimlessly.

  “Well that went better than I thought it would.” Shawn said.

  “Yeah.” I said absently. I'd remember the look on her face for a long time. Too many bad things, so few people willing to help her find her own strength. “Fuck this, I'm outta here.” I said and walked out. I needed air and space and people who were not desperately trying to hold their pain in.

  “Where ya going?” Rachel followed me out.

  “Out, I need to be not here.”

  “Need company?”

  “Don't get me wrong but no, maybe tomorrow. I'm afraid my inner asshole might surface at the wrong time.”

  Rachel smiled. “Seems fair. I'll call junkyards when I get home.”

  “Thanks.”

  I wandered off out to the driveway of the building where cars were waiting for us. I opened the door to the lead one and got in. “Going back to school?” The driver asked.

  “Any chance I can talk you into taking me into town?”

  “Why you want to do that?” The driver inquired.

  “I need a little air before I go back.”

  “If I take you, promise me you're not gonna start any trouble.” The driver said, and it dawned on me that if I did cause an issue this poor guy would likely be on the wrong end of an administrative enema for it.

  “Got ya covered. I just need to be out for a bit.”

  “Ya got the look for it.” He pulled out and a few minutes later we were taking Lake Shore Drive into town.

  Looking out the windows, I saw grey clouds coming in from Lake Michigan. It was too late into winter for a gale, but we'd likely get more snow. To my mind, at that moment, it seemed right.

  The guy had driven me before and he showed an amazing memory. He dropped me off on the corner over by Atomic Records. I shook my head and got out. Fuck it, I'd have to face memories of poor decisions sooner or later.

  “I'll hang out and wait for you.” The driver said.

  “I might be a
while.” I said gathering myself.

  “It's cool, I'm studying for my Masters.”

  Reaching into my pocket I pulled out a twenty. “Get a sandwich or something.”

  He took it and smiled. “Remember what I said.”

  “I get ya.”

  I walked out into the crisp winter air and wandered, feeling the stray flecks of snow hitting my cheek. Wonderful camouflage for the tears I was most certainly not holding back.

  So I went record shopping. Probably not a good sign when all I can think of to grab are Sisters of Mercy, Nick Cave and Joy Division records. I was done hiding my mood from everyone.

  Even the clerk noticed it. “Bad day?” She asked as I handed them over.

  “Buried a friend today.” I conceded.

  “Well shit.” She said. “Here I'll give you a freebie.” She tucked a disc I couldn't see into the bag and handed it over. “Hope the week sucks less from here.”

  “Thanks I appreciate it.” I said with a weak smile and walked out.

  There's something about having to brace yourself against the elements that forces you to take stock of yourself. You stand a little straighter and keep your balance better, more conscious of movement. I was a seasoned veteran of waiting for the bus in Wisconsin winters. To put it mildly, I had it down pat.

  On the other hand, I think I can be excused for nearly slipping when a voice behind me said. “Retail therapy, it can be good for the soul. What did you get?”

  When I recovered my balance I turned on my heel and there she was.

  “You know what I'd do, if there weren't a bunch of witnesses around?” I growled at Cathy as she stood in the nook of a building shielding herself from the wind.

  “Smack me in the face with a bus? Use my jacket to pitch me into Lake Michigan?” She said. “I wouldn't blame you.”

  “What do you want?”

  “To see you.”

  “Last time you and I saw each other it didn't work out well.” I turned to walk away.

  “It worked out the way it had to.” She said sheepishly; her head up, but her eyes down.