“Thought you said there were alternatives to violence,” said Meri to Naz.
“That wasn’t violence. That was … well, he was in our way,” replied Naz.
“I was wondering why you let any of them off the hook,” said Meri.
“Meri,” Naz sighed heavily and shook his head.
Artie was too shaken up to participate in any discussion and walked along silently in a daze. Naz noticed a car drive away as they ran back down the street, and it struck him as familiar. Why is that car here, in this abandoned place? There were no other cars around. Could that be the car I saw the first day of school … the mysterious man with the hat at the chess tables earlier today? It could’ve been the same car … but those headlights were so blinding in the darkness. The darkness, he laughed, my faithful ally tonight. He shrugged off his paranoia and took account of himself on this day’s successes. He had done himself proud at the festival and protected Meri and his new friend, Artie. Friend, he thought, I have a new friend?
On the ride home, Naz made an anonymous call to the police and directed them to the vacant office building in Section 29 where they would find the gang.
Naz spent the rest of the weekend trying to explain to Meri something he didn’t fully understand himself: all the things he could do and how he had lost to the Chess Master at the festival. That Sunday night he lay awake thinking about the weekend behind him, and dawn came before sleep did. And what about the gang? Naz wondered. What will become of them? What did the police—who never catch anyone—do when they found them there? I hope that’s the end of it. He had a strong feeling that wouldn’t be his last encounter with them. But he swore that no matter what happened, he wouldn’t let it haunt him anymore. He hated to admit it, but he had fun, not just playing the Chess Master, but besting the gang as well, and all the while protecting Meri and gaining a new friend in the process. He would keep the fun part to himself when he spoke to Dr. Gwen again. Good luck with that, he thought. I might be taking this whole“embrace the darkness” thing a little too seriously.
Naz left Miss Tracey’s house with Meri on Monday morning free from paranoia. Their conversation on the way to her bus stop was a continuation of the two nights before. She wanted to know what he would do next, when and how would he try to find out more about his past, and what he could do? When would he return to the festival to challenge the Chess Master again? Of course, he kept asking himself these same questions. The problem was he could come up with no answers, so the conversation began to annoy him.
On the walk to Lincoln that same morning, Naz was much more relaxed and confident than he could ever remember being in the Exclave. He wasn’t sure if it was because he thought the trip would be gang-free or because he had discovered something new in himself that said,“I am a young lion to be feared.” He paid closer attention to the derelicts that occupied the streets of Section 31. He couldn’t quite put his finger on it, but there was a difference between the derelicts and the Chess Master. Maybe it was just the whipping he had taken, but he would never see them in quite the same way again. As he looked at them, he could hear the infamous voice and the words of the Chess Master blended in perfect unison, saying,“checkmate” over and over again.
When he arrived at Lincoln that morning, he found news of his exploits at the festival against the Chess Master had preceded him, even though Naz had sworn Artie and Meri to secrecy about what happened. This undermined his whole invisibility stratagem. But Naz thought that maybe it was time to step out of the shadows. In the hallways he received everything from nods and handshakes from boys he had never even noticed or cared to know, to winks and stares from girls that he looked forward to getting to know. Like as not, he was coming into view.
In first-hour math class, Artie and Mr. Ledbetter took turns giving a play-by-play description of what occurred at the festival Saturday. Mr. Ledbetter concluded by letting the class know that Lincoln had not only found its first-ever state chess champion, but finally the school would most likely win the chess championship he so coveted. He termed Naz a secret weapon
that, right under his own nose, had been indeed kept secret.
On the way to Fears’ class Naz received a text message from Dr. Gwen. Naz beamed as he read the text several times.
It’s official. Our girl passed with flying colors. Tell Miss Firecracker I said, Congratulations!!!
Ironically Fears’ class lecture was about gangs and gang violence on the streets of the Exclave. He asked his students who among them had ever been a victim or a perpetrator of gang violence, and most of the students raised their hands. Naz and Artie did not.
“On the first day of school we talked … well, I talked … about gangs. Does anybody remember anything I said?” Fears asked.
“That gangs are like families,” blurted out Ham.
“Wrong, Mr. Martinez! At Lincoln, we raise our hand for permission to speak, son, and if memory serves, you weren’t even here the first day of school.”
“Sorry, Coach,” said Ham, embarrassed.
“Anybody else?” asked Fears, as he paced through the filled rows of student desks.
As he got closer to Artie, Artie slouched further down in his seat in an effort not to be called on.
“Mr. Duplesiss,” Fears bellowed, making Artie jumpand then sit up.“Any ideas?”
Before Artie could respond Naz’s hand shot up. It was the first time he had ever raised his hand to answer a question in any class, and when Fears called on him, it would be the first time he spoke in Fears’ class since the first day of school.
“Mr. Andersen,” Fears said in a calm, but surprised voice.
“Exactly the opposite, sir … I mean, Mr. Fears, that gangs are not our family.”
Fears nodded.
This infuriated Ham. Then Harvis’ hand shot up, something that also hadn’t happened that year in Fears’ class.
“Mr. Young,” called Fears, amused.
“And that our family is at home, where we live … with our teachers …,” said Harvis solemnly.“And … with our classmates,” he said, turning to look at Naz.
Up to that point Naz had never heard Harvis say a word in any class. Fears watched the two look at each other, then gave a smug laugh.
“My guys, my guys,” said Fears, as he picked up the morning newspaper from his desk.“I want to read something to you.”
IA: Caged!
“An anonymous tip led to the capture of three notorious members of the gang simply known as IA. Police arrived on the scene to find the gang members trapped in a vacant office building in Marshal Park, Section 29. The anonymous caller gave no other information. It is unknown who trapped the gang members, and they are in no way cooperating with the police.”
Hearing this, Harvis immediately turned to look at Naz again. As on the first day of school, the two were locked in a stare, only this time it was less hostile, but no less familiar. Fears continued.
“The three boys, who pled the fifth, escaped from St. Cecilia Boys’ Home three months ago. They were remanded into the custody of the juvenile court system, where they will await further sentencing.”
Fears put the newspaper down and started clapping his huge hands in a slow rhythm.“Who are we?” he asked calmly.
Harvis stood alone and replied,“Railsplitters, Coach!” then joined in Fears’ rhythmic clapping.
“A good friend once told me that true heroes don’t stand in the sun with a symbol on their chest, cape flying in the breeze for all to see,” Fears proclaimed as he kept clapping.“No, they prefer to use the darkness … the shadows. They are unassuming, and they walk amongst us every day.Who are we?” he asked again, this time louder than before.
“Railsplitters!” yelled Artie as he stood with the rest of the class and joined Harvis and Fears. He looked at Naz appreciatively.
Naz shook his head slightly at Artie, and then he stood up when he realized he was the only student not standing.
“True heroes aren’t popular,” Fears c
ontinued.“They don’t hit the game-winning shot or … kick the winning field goal, and they aren’t afraid of being on the losing team if it means doing the right thing. They take a stand, against all odds, and the powers that be, to make a difference.”
Naz couldn’t help but feel that this message was meant for him. He felt embarrassed, but at the same time proud. With all that he had gone through, he would rank this, his very best day. He was starting to realize who he was and what he wanted to do: become a true hero.
“Who are we?” boomed Fears.
“RAILSPLITTERS!!!” All the students gave a resounding cheer.
EPILOGUE
In The Past …
MOMENTS later there is a squeaking sound of the bicycle. Less than a minute later the lights go on, and Darla is at the other end of the course with all of the obstacles still intact.
The audience applauds. One young lady near the front of the auditorium is clapping ecstatically and waving her hand to get Cory’s attention. Cory silences the crowd as he moves toward her. She stands up and shakes his hand, as he puts the microphone to her mouth. He notices that she is also with child, but is further along than Camille. The gentleman that sits beside her holds her other hand and looks up at her affectionately. Cory smiles, as he thinks of himself and Camille.
“This is simply amazing, Dr. Andersen. Are there any significant differences in the post-performances of the control group and experimental group?” asks the young lady.
“Yes ma’am… and thank you. Both groups show improved performance, as predicted, but the experimental group’s performance on all parameters far exceed the control group’s… and our highest expectations.”
“You’re welcome, Dr. Andersen.” She smiles.“How so? Please, enlighten us.”
Before Cory can respond, the president of the university motions for Cory to approach him.
Cory hurries over to the president and hands him the microphone.
“Yes, sir?” Cory asks.
“Tell me, Dr. Andersen, is this the type of research that our university has been funding for the past year?” asks the president.
Cory is somewhat taken aback and isn’t sure what to make of the president’s question. He isn’t sure, but it sounded a lot like he was being scolded in the form of a rhetorical question. He decides to answer the question straightforward as he takes the microphone from the president.
“Well, yes, sir. Our research is based on the study of the mind as it applies to the human condition. We’ve traveled beyond the planet and divided the atom into subatomic particles. What is left but to increase our own capacity to go further? We owe at least that to those who came before us and, more importantly, those who will come after us.”
Among the audience members are many scientists who are jealous of Cory’s accomplishments and take the president’s indictment of Cory as an opportunity to lash out and make accusations of their own. A scientist four rows in front of the president calls for the microphone. As Cory hands the scientist the microphone, a suspicious-looking gentlemen sitting next to the scientist hands Cory a card.
“Isn’t this just junk science, Dr. Andersen? Come on now, psychic powers and so on, what’s next telepathy, telekinesis, and clairvoyance? Really, Dr. Andersen,” says the scientist.
Cory is visibly rattled.“Maybe!” says Cory, brusquely.“But I’ll tell you what is junk science: creating useless models based on the work of geniuses like Einstein, Curie, Freud, Pavlov, Watson and Crick. It’s derivative drivel without an ounce of innovation.”
The president stands up and begins to make his way out of the auditorium, and this fires up Cory even more.
“We pat ourselves on the back and pass out awards every year, for what?” asks Cory angrily as he looks over to see Camille peeking out from the stage wing, biting her fingernails nervously.“People are starving because we’re not smart enough to feed the planet. People are dying by the millions from sickness and disease that we’re not intelligent enough to eradicate. The solution lies within us, but we have to make ourselves smarter. And that’s where it starts,” Cory finishes passionately as he points to the stage where Darla is still sitting on the bicycle.
A student yells from the back of the auditorium,“You tell ’em, Dr. Andersen.”
A few more students chime in,“Yeah… Yeah… Yeah!”
A fringe group of protesters calling themselves Apocalgreen sees this as an opportunity to forward their cause and starts chanting,“No more experiments! No more experiments! No more experiments!”
University security converges on the situation as a shoving match begins. Pandemonium ensues. People begin to throw things onto the stage. Darla screams and runs. Camille snatches her up and ducks back into the wing of the stage.
In the cab ride home, Cory and Camille are silent. Cory looks straight ahead, but in his peripheral vision he can see Camille staring out of the window and angrily shredding a tissue the master of ceremonies had given her. In his hand, he then notices the card the suspicious-looking gentleman had given him. He reads it now for the first time.
I’ll fund your research. Give me a call!
Cory turns the card over to read:
Wintersal Neurological Institute
Avander Pauling
312.838.1931
About The Author
John Darryl Winston is the author of IA: Initiate: the first book in the IA series. He is a graduate of the Motion Picture Institute of Michigan, the Recording Institute of Detroit, and Wayne State University. He currently attends Wilkes University where he is working on his Master of Fine Arts in Creative Writing. He is an educator, coach, musician, and songwriter, but considers himself an author first—mainly because he believes that miracles and dreams live in the written word. He lives in Michigan with his daughter Marquette and intends to acquire an African Grey parrot one day when he conquers his irrational fear of birds.
IA_Initiate Page 16
