Super Powers: The New Super Humans, Book Two

by T. M. Franklin

  Copyright © T.M. Franklin, 2019

  Published by Calava Press

  Portions previously published as part of The Talisman Chronicles (2016)

  The right of T.M. Franklin to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted by her under the Copyright Amendment (Moral Rights) Act 2000

  This work is copyrighted. All rights are reserved. Apart from any use as permitted under the Copyright Act 1968, no part may be reproduced, copied, scanned, stored in a retrieval system, recorded or transmitted, in any form or by any means, without the prior written permission of the publisher.

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either a product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual people living or dead, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Cover images by: ©NeoStock - www.neo-stock.com

  ©zacariasdamata – www.depositphotos.com

  ©CURAphotography – stock.adobe.com

  ©Kharchenkoirina – stock.adobe.com

  ©selenit – stock.adobe.com

  Cover design by: T.M. Franklin

  ISBN-13: 978-0-9985468-9-6

  ISBN-10: 0-9985468-9-5

  Visit the Author’s Web Site at

  www.TMFranklin.com

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Special Thanks To…

  About the Author

  Also by T.M. Franklin

  The shriek of the whistle echoed against the concrete walls as Beck Leighton dove into the pool. He kicked underwater for a beat before slicing across the surface, his stroke strong and sure. He sucked in only two quick breaths on his way across, and he was sure he cut at least a few points off his time on the flip turn. Pouring it on for the final strokes, Beck touched the wall and finally inhaled deeply as he broke the surface and looked to his coach.

  “Not bad, Leighton,” he said, eyeing the stopwatch. “Still need to work on your rotation, though.”

  Beck tried to ignore the voice in his head. You're not good enough. You're worthless. Waste of space. He gritted his teeth and nodded. “I'll work on it.”

  Coach nodded. “You'll get it. Drill a little slower until you get it down.”

  “Slower?”

  “Focus on the technique,” Coach Wilson said, eyeing Beck's teammate in the next lane. “You know what I always say. Technique first . . .”

  “. . . and the speed will come,” Beck said, sliding his goggles off before he hoisted himself out of the pool.

  “Nice to know someone's listening,” Coach said with a grin. He smacked Beck on the shoulder. “That's enough for today. Hit the showers.”

  Beck frowned. “But I can—”

  “I said, hit the showers.” Coach gave him a heavy look. “There's such a thing as over-training, you know?”

  Beck sighed. “But—”

  “No buts. We've had this conversation before, Leighton. I appreciate the commitment, but you need to get home. Study. Have a good meal.”

  Beck smiled and shook his head slowly. “Yeah . . . yeah. Okay, Coach.”

  “See you in the morning.” Coach turned away and blew his whistle again.

  Beck would be there. 5:00 a.m. like always. Half an hour before the rest of the team showed up. A perfect time to work on his rotation.

  He showered and dressed quickly, rubbing a towel over his shaved head before he dropped it into his bag. Coach was right about one thing. He definitely needed to study. Beck slung his duffle over his head and across his body and hefted his backpack on a shoulder. Pre-med would have been tough enough, but adding a minor in Psychology? Well, it was probably a good thing Beck had no aspirations for a social life, because between school and swim team there wasn't time for much of one.

  His mind flashed to Wren Galloway for a moment, and he shook his head to clear it. Wren was a . . . possibility at this point, nothing more. He wasn't sure what it was about her that intrigued him so. Sure, she was smart, but he knew a lot of smart girls. She was different somehow. Ever since whatever happened with the police and that guy that died, she'd been subdued. Introspective. Sad.

  And he didn't like it on her.

  He shook off thoughts of Wren and things he couldn't have—didn't have time for, really—on the walk across campus. Beck made his way to the brick, three-story house he called home, unable to keep from glancing at the alley next door where Wren had been attacked, and he'd fought with Ethan Reynolds. Ethan, who he'd shared a couple of classes with freshman year. Ethan, who he'd never had a problem with before he came at him in that alley.

  Now, that was weird. But there had been a whole lot of weird going on around town lately.

  Beck climbed the porch steps and shouldered his way through the door. Some of the guys were gathered around the table studying in the dining room, which was a frequent occurrence. The unofficially dubbed Archie Hall (short for Archimedes) was traditionally home to science majors who were serious about their GPAs. No freshmen. No parties. No slackers. Acceptance was as strict as any fraternity and any new residents were carefully reviewed by the acting board, comprised of the longest-standing tenants in the house. It was worth it, though. In addition to the benefits of living in such an academically-focused house, the rent was subsidized by a grant through the university.

  Beck bypassed the study group and headed up to his room on the third floor. It was small, with an angled roof on one side over his desk and a bookshelf that would have fit against the wall if it was only a few inches shorter. He threw his bags on top of the rumpled bed in the opposite corner, remembering to take out his swim gear and drape it over a rod he'd put up on the wall to let it dry. With a sigh he sat at the desk and opened his book.

  Deeply engrossed in his Organic Chemistry text, he had no idea how much time had passed when the phone rang. Distracted, he almost let it go to voicemail before he glanced over and saw who was calling. He reached for the phone and fumbled it a little in his haste to answer the call.

  “Hello?”

  “Hey, son.” His dad sounded tired, and Beck could imagine him in his bedroom across town, a cup of tea cradled in his hand. “How's everything going?”

  “Good. Fine.” Beck stretched and fiddled with his laptop. “Just studying, you know. The usual.”

  “Classes okay?”

  “Fine.”

  “How's swim team?”

  Beck stifled a yawn. “Good. Getting ready for the meet next weekend. You going to make it?”

  “Wouldn't miss it.”

  The silence hung heavily and Beck knew why his father had called. Why he was reluctant to talk about it.

  “Any news?” Beck finally asked.

  Jacob Leighton sighed heavily and Beck could picture him shaking his head wearily, the creases around his mouth deepening as he frowned. “Nothing yet. The lawyer's working on it.”

  “He's been working on it for months.” Beck scrubbed a hand over his shaved scalp. “In the meantime, she's still in that house—”

  “I know.”

  “—with her. Doing who knows what to her—”

  “I know, Beckett! You think I don't know? That I don't care? That every fiber of my being doesn't ache to go take Trulee and to hell with the consequences?” Jacob's voice cut through the connection with a crack, fatigue and frustration evident in every syllable. />
  “Maybe you should,” Beck grumbled.

  “You know I can't,” his dad said, his voice breaking a little. “You know we have to do this right. We have the evidence that your mom is unfit—”

  “That's putting it mildly.”

  “But I'm not Trulee's blood relative, so it's a difficult case to win.”

  Beck's eyes watered, and he swiped at them quickly. “She's her blood relative. Mine, too. She's our mother. And she's done nothing but hurt either one of us.”

  “I know, son. I know. But Child Protective Services has found no evidence of abuse—”

  “So she has to be covered in bruises before they do anything? A broken arm or a busted nose?” he snapped. “Not all abuse leaves visible scars. And Tru will never tell them what's really going on.”

  “She loves your mom, in spite of everything,” his dad said softly.

  Beck grunted. “Tru thinks if she's good enough, she'll make it better.” He cleared his throat and shook his head. “I used to think that, too.”

  “There's nothing either of you could do,” his father said. “This is your mother's problem, not yours.”

  “Yeah, well, it doesn’t feel like that. She's not the one suffering.”

  Jacob let out a heavy sigh. “We'll get your sister. It's just going to take some time.”

  Beck nodded, squeezing his eyes shut. “I worry about her.”

  “I know. So do I. I'm sorry.”

  Beck's shoulders fell, weighed down with guilt and frustration. “It's not your fault. I know you're doing everything you can.”

  “Sometimes it feels like that's never going to be enough,” Jacob admitted with a sigh.

  “Maybe . . . Maybe I should come home—”

  “Beck, we've talked about this—”

  “The money could hel—”

  “Beckett, no,” his father said firmly. “You are where you need to be.”

  It was an argument they'd had many times before. Beck's tuition was paid for by a swim scholarship, but they still had to pay the part of his rent not covered by the university grant, then there were books and lab fees and food, of course. Beck worked during the summer to help, but it wasn't enough to cover the whole year.

  “Beck, we're fine.” His dad's voice was gentler, like he was talking to a spooked horse. “We're doing everything we can right now. You need to focus on school and swimming. That's your job.”

  Beck sighed and rubbed his eyes. “Okay,” he said quietly.

  “I better go. Don't stay up too late. You need your rest.”

  “Yeah, I know.” Beck yawned and got to his feet. “Early practice tomorrow.”

  “Be careful,” his dad said. “I don't know what's been going on lately, but the paper's been full of muggings and assaults around town. The police are stepping up patrols, but watch your back.”

  Beck fought the urge to roll his eyes. He could take care of himself, but he knew his father worried. “I will,” he said.

  “And stay out of dark alleys.”

  “That was one time!” he grumbled, irritated that his dad was bringing up that thwarted mugging. Again. “What was I supposed to do? Ignore a girl screaming?”

  His dad snorted, and Beck could picture his lips curling in a wry smirk, dark eyes twinkling. “I don't know. Call 911, maybe?”

  Beck fell back on his bed and threw an arm over his eyes dramatically. “Okay.”

  “I know it's crazy to think the police might be a better option—”

  “I said, okay, Dad.”

  Jacob sighed again. “I'm serious, son. Let the professionals handle this kind of thing.”

  You're worthless. You're weak. You're nothing.

  Beck took a deep breath and tried to ignore the echo of voices—one voice—in his head. “I will. I promise.”

  “Night, son.”

  “Night.”

  Beck wasn't sure how long he lay there after he hung up, staring up at the light on the ceiling. He felt strange . . . off. No, that wasn't quite the right word. More like nervous. Expectant.

  That was it. Expectant. Like something was coming, but he had no idea what it was. Maybe it was just all the talk about his mom and Tru. The fact that it all had to come to a head sometime soon.

  Or maybe it was something else. Something he couldn't quite put his finger on.

  With a heavy sigh, he stood and turned off the light before crawling back into bed, but it was a long time before he was finally able to fall asleep.

  “Beck, wait up!”

  He turned and hitched his backpack higher on his shoulder, surprised to see Wren Galloway approaching him with a tentative smile. Beck stepped out of the main flow of traffic on the sidewalk and waited for her to catch up with him.

  “Hi,” she said, a little breathless. “How's it going?”

  “Good. How are you?”

  “Oh, good. I'm good. Yeah. Couldn't be better.” She pushed back a lock of pale hair, spots of color appearing on her cheekbones. “Heading to class?”

  “Umm . . . yeah. Calc.”

  She made a face. “Gross.”

  He shrugged. “It's not so bad. What are you doing here? I thought you were only auditing psych this quarter.”

  “Yeah, I . . .” she jabbed a thumb over her shoulder. “Library, you know. Studying.”

  What in the world was going on? She seemed nervous or something. Shy. Wren Galloway didn't do shy. “Did you need something?” he asked.

  “Me? No. No, I don't need anything.” She waved a hand, fiddled with the strap of her backpack, then tugged at her hair again. “I just thought we could walk together maybe?”

  Beck shrugged, trying to hide the smile pulling at his lips. He'd almost given up on Wren—she'd made it clear she wasn't interested in being friends, let alone anything more when they first met—but after the attack, she'd relaxed a bit. Maybe saw him less as the dumb jock she'd originally judged him to be and decided to give him a chance. She'd agreed to hang out sometime, but this was the first time she'd actually approached Beck, instead of the other way around. He had to admit, he liked it. A lot.

  She looked at him, wide blue eyes dropping to the ground when he met her gaze, and he realized he hadn't answered her question in all his internalized high-fiving.

  “Sure,” he said, a little loud, a little rushed—mentally kicking himself for losing his cool yet again—around Wren. He fought the urge to punch himself in the face.

  “So, what's your major?” he asked, wincing at the triteness of the question. He might as well have asked her about the weather.

  Wren didn't seem to mind, though. “Psych. You?”

  “Pre-Med.”

  She let out a small laugh. “Have I mentioned how sorry I am that I basically accused you of trying to cheat off me?”

  He grinned. “Yeah, you might have mentioned that.”

  She smiled back, then looked away, her cheeks pink. “What kind of doctor do you want to be?”

  “Not sure yet.”

  “One step at a time, I guess,” she said, chewing on her lip as she focused on the distance.

  “Something on your mind?” he asked, turning sideways to avoid hitting a bike rider going too fast.

  “On my mind? No. Not really.” She obviously didn't want to talk about it, so he changed the subject.

  “Speaking of Psych. How's your paper coming?”

  She wrinkled her nose. “It's coming, I guess. Yours?”

  “Same. I've got it outlined, but need to research a little more before I start writing.”

  “Yeah, me too,” she said. “You want to maybe study together later? Throw around some ideas?”

  Beck eyed her sideways. “Oh sure, now that you know I have a brain . . .”

  She laughed. “I need all the help I can get.”

  “I feel so used.”

  “Get over it.” She bumped him with her shoulder as they neared the math building. “You want to meet up later? When are you done with classes?”

  �
�Swim practice until four,” he replied. “How about after that? Maybe grab a bite or something first?”

  Wren smiled, and Beck's stomach gave a little flip.

  “Sounds good,” she said. “I work at the coffee shop until five. Want to meet me there?”

  “Yeah, okay,” Beck replied. “See you then.”

  Wren headed off campus, and Beck jogged up the steps and yanked open the door to the math building, glancing back briefly. He smirked when he saw Chloe Blake and her friend Miranda descend on Wren, chattering excitedly. Girls did that kind of thing, he supposed. At least his sister and her friends always did.

  He frowned, thoughts of Tru dragging him out of the contented euphoria of having a semi-date with Wren. He never felt more powerless than when he thought about his sister and the seemingly unending fight to get her away from their mother. He wished he could simply go get Tru and take her home. He wished the judge would see what was obvious to anyone with two eyes and a functioning brain.

  He wished his mother would drink too much one night and just keep on drinking until—

  Well, his thoughts could get kind of dark sometimes.

  Beck stiffened, his hand still on the open door, as an uneasy feeling suddenly hit him. He turned around again, almost certain he was being watched. Wren and her friends were gone, the crowd of students streaming through campus reduced to a slight trickle as the hour's classes began. Still, he scanned the area, eyes narrowed.

  A shadow beneath the trees across Barton Lawn caught his attention, and he could have sworn a man stood there. But the wind changed, overhead leaves let the sunlight through, and the shadow vanished.

  Nothing.

  Beck shook his head and let out a self-deprecating huff. He was glad nobody saw him freaking out. Obviously, thinking about his mother made him edgy. He needed to get a grip before he overreacted and did something stupid, no matter how much he wanted to, deep down inside.