by Charlie Wood
STRIKE: THE HERO FROM THE SKY
BY CHARLIE WOOD
STRIKE: THE HERO FROM THE SKY
Copyright © 2011 by Charlie Wood.
Second Edition with Bonus Material Copyright © 2013 by Charlie Wood. All rights reserved.
Second Smashwords Edition: April 2013
Cover: Keith Draws Cover Art
Formatting: Streetlight Graphics
Contact Info:
Email: [email protected]
Blog: charliewood24.blogspot.com
Facebook: www.facebook.com/StrikeTrilogy
Twitter: www.twitter.com/charliewood24
This eBook is licensed for the personal enjoyment of the original purchaser only. This eBook may not be resold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you are reading this eBook and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to locales, events, business establishments, or actual persons—living or dead—is entirely coincidental.
CHAPTER ONE
CATHERINE WAS LYING IN BED when a thunderclap rumbled in the night.
“Scott?” she whispered. “Are you awake? Should we check on Tobin?”
But there was no answer, and Catherine realized that the other side of the bed was empty. She sighed, swung her feet onto the floor, and tied her bathrobe around her waist. It was happening again.
As she walked downstairs, Catherine could see Scott in the kitchen. He was standing at the table, nearly hidden in the darkness, and packing clothes into a blue duffle bag. Rain was battering the window behind him.
“I know,” he said. “I’m sorry. I don’t know what else to say.”
Catherine stepped toward him. “Scott, just tell me what is going on. Please. I’m not—I’m not going to allow something like this to happen to us. Let me help you. That’s why I’m here.”
He shook his head. “I know, Cathy, but it’s not that easy. I don’t have enough time, I just…I just need you to be patient.”
A boom of thunder shook the house. Catherine arched her head toward the ceiling, feeling her breath leaving her.
“Scott, just tell me where you are going. Please. Tell me.”
He moved to her. “Look,” he said, pulling her close and pushing her blonde hair away from her face. “It’s still me. I’m here, just like always. I know…I know this is completely unfair, but I promise you there is nothing to worry about. I just need you to trust me on this. Okay?”
She pulled away from him. The both of them were silent as the rain fell down outside.
“When—when I get home,” he began, “I’ll explain it. Everything. I’ll—it’s only going to make you think I’m even more insane, but when I get back, I’ll tell you every last detail. As long as you promise not to be mad at me.”
She looked up.
“Please,” he said, “I only need you to put up with my stupidity for one more night.”
She couldn’t help it and she laughed, shaking her head. “It’s gonna take a hell of a lot more than that, but as long as you explain it, sure, I’ll try.”
“Okay.”
He let go of her and grabbed his duffle bag from the table. As he slung it over his shoulder, he opened the front door and quickly looked back.
“I’ll be back before you know it,” he said. “I promise. I love you.”
“I love you, too.”
He stepped outside and disappeared into the rain. Catherine watched through a window as the headlights of his car turned on and then sped out onto the road. When they were completely out of sight, she broke down and cried.
“Mommy?” a voice said behind her.
She turned around. Her and Scott’s three-year-old son, Tobin, was standing at the bottom of the stairs in the living room. His dark hair was wild from sleeping and he was wearing a frightened pout, rubbing one of his eyes with the bottom of his fist.
“Hey, honey,” Catherine said, scooping him up and wiping away her tears. “Did the storm wake you up? Were you afraid?”
He nodded and pressed his face against her.
“Well, there’s no reason to be afraid, honey. It’s only rain, that’s all—just some big loud noises and some rain. Do you wanna watch a movie with me before we go back to bed?”
“Yeah!” he chirped, suddenly forgetting the scary noises outside. “Yeah!”
Catherine brought him to a sofa in the living room, then turned on the TV and VCR with a remote control.
“We’ll start right where we left off yesterday, how’s that sound?”
“Good!”
She pushed play and the movie began. It was an animated classic from the 1940’s, and one that Tobin had already memorized word-for-word.
“Is Daddy gonna watch the movie with us, too?” he asked.
She sat down next to him. “No, honey. Daddy’s working right now.”
With her mind elsewhere, and as the storm continued, Catherine pulled Tobin closer and watched the movie with him until he fell back asleep.
CHAPTER TWO
ON A WARM OCTOBER MORNING, Tobin Lloyd was lying on a couch in his bedroom, fully dressed for school but asleep. His room was the typical magazine-and-clothes strewn warzone of a seventeen-year-old, its walls covered with movie posters and pictures of sports heroes, and a TV across from him was blaring his favorite show: reruns of The Three Stooges.
“Tobin?” the boy’s mother, Catherine, called from the bottom of the stairs. “Are you ready?”
He sat up with a start, knocking over the bowl of cereal that was resting on his chest and spilling it onto the couch.
“Aw, c’mon,” he grumbled, maneuvering away from the milk and soggy corn puffs. He had woken up early that morning to study for his history test, but had apparently fallen back asleep during breakfast. Whoops.
“Tobin?” his mother called again. “Are you up? It’s almost time, you know.”
“Yeah, I know,” he replied, grabbing the spoon from the floor and using it to scoop the rest of the cereal from the couch into his mouth. “I’m just, uh, eating breakfast.”
She started up the stairs. “Well, don’t be late. And don’t forget what Mrs. O’Neil told you: it’s a great idea to look over in the morning what you studied last night. Did you read from your history book again this morning?”
Tobin turned down the volume on his TV. “You know what, I’m actually looking at it right now. I think it’s really helping.”
“Good,” his mother said from the hall, “because I don’t want to see another—”
She stopped. Tobin turned around. She was standing in the doorway of his room.
“Oh, hello,” he said with a smile.
She spotted Tobin’s history book across the room, lying underneath a pile of clothes. She picked it up and showed it to him.
“Looking at it right now, huh?”
“Oh, the book!” Tobin said. “The book! I thought you meant, was I looking at a guy in a bowl cut poking a bald guy in the eyes.” He pointed at the TV screen. “’Cuz that’s what I was looking at.”
She smirked and handed the book to him.
“Right. Up, let’s go—it’s time for school.”
Following his mother out of the room, Tobin walked with her downstairs and into the kitchen.
“I know I�
�ve told you this a million times,” she said, tidying up the table, “but since that means nothing, I’ll tell you again: Bill and I are going out on a date tonight, so when you get home from work, we might not be here. Okay?”
Tobin stuffed his hand into a cookie jar on the counter. “Yup. And can you please stop calling them ‘dates,’ by the way? It’s creepy. Plus the guy practically lives here.”
She walked to Tobin and took the cookies from his hand. “Okay, first of all, this isn’t breakfast.” She put the cookies back into the jar. “Second of all, it is a date, a nice dinner and a movie, so I’m asking you right now to behave yourself today. Please don’t ruin my night with something ridiculous you do at school. Got it?”
Tobin stood at the door and slung his backpack over his shoulder, offering his mother a salute.
“Mom, you have my word. I will absolutely, positively not do anything ridiculous today.”
Seven hours later, Tobin was putting his books away in his locker while his friend, Jennifer Robins, waited for him. She was a short, pretty brunette who was well on her way to becoming class valedictorian.
“I can’t believe you got another detention,” she said, reading the yellow slip in her hand with Tobin’s name on it.
“I know,” he replied.
“Your mom is gonna kill you.”
“I know,” he said again.
She stared at him. “And you don’t even care, do you?”
“Care? Of course I care. I think that—wait, what’re we talking about again?”
He smirked and closed his locker. The two friends walked down the noisy hallway.
“You are unbelievable, Tobin. I swear, you drive me absolutely crazy.”
“Why?” he laughed. “So I got kicked out of the cafeteria—big deal. Who cares. What are you so worried about?”
She shoved the detention back to him. “This, Tobin. This is what I’m so worried about.”
“This? Okay, watch, watch this.”
He crumpled the slip into a ball and kicked it across the hallway.
“See?” he said, holding up his empty hands. “No more worry.”
She watched the detention get lost in a sea of teenagers’ feet. “Yeah, that’s great, Tobin. And what about the test Mr. Hastings gave you back today? You know, the one with the big ‘thirty-two’ circled in red at the top? Are you gonna kick that across the hallway, too?”
He thought it over.
“I can, if you want me to,” he said, looking through his backpack. “I have it right here.”
She turned and walked towards the school’s lobby.
“You know what, Tobin? Fine. If you don’t care, then I don’t care.”
Outside, Tobin followed his friend down the school’s front steps and onto the sidewalk of Middle Street, which ran through the center of the small, seaside town of Bridgton, Massachusetts. The street, only a few miles from the beach, was made up of an ice cream parlor, a general store, and a barbershop, among other things, including three antique dealers.
“Aw, c’mon, Jen,” Tobin said, catching up with her. “Don’t be mad at me. I hate it when you’re mad at me. And so does Julie Meyers. Right, Julie Meyers?”
He turned to a group of girls on the sidewalk, but they only glanced at him before returning to their conversation.
“Okay, Julie Meyers didn’t answer me, but I know that she also hates it.”
“I’m not mad at you, Tobin,” Jennifer said. “It’s just that you don’t care. About anything. We’re already a month into our senior year, and you still haven’t even started thinking about colleges or the SAT’s or anything. That makes me...nauseous.”
“I know it does. You’re weird.”
She stopped and turned to him. “No, I’m not,” she laughed. “I’m normal. Look, I’m as excited for the rest of senior year as much as anybody, but this is all gonna be over in a few months, Tobin, whether you like it or not. And what’re you gonna do then?”
“Honestly? I’m thinking game show host.”
Turning the corner of Middle Street, the two friends walked toward a soccer field behind the high school, where the Bridgton Panthers were getting ready for their afternoon match against the Hillside Warriors. Chad Fernandes, the third member of their trio of best friends, was waiting for them there, so Tobin hopped up onto a set of bleachers while Jennifer stood nearby.
“You can joke about it all you want, Tobin,” she said, “but you’re gonna havta face it sooner or later. Even Chad has started thinking about colleges already. That’s how far behind you are.”
Tobin snickered. “No, he hasn’t.” He turned to Chad. “Have you?”
“Yeah.” Chad was tall, lanky, and one of Bridgton High’s best athletes. “Some dude from UMass is coming to watch my first game next month.”
“Yeah, well, that’s not fair,” Tobin said. “You’re only going to college because you can put an orange ball into a hole with a net on it. Congratulations.”
Chad laughed. “Hey, it’s not my fault I have a skill at something, Tobin. Maybe if you had any kind of skill, you’d be going to college, too.”
“Tobin has skills,” Jennifer said. “He just…doesn’t know what they are yet.”
“Yeah, that’s right,” Tobin agreed. “I’m good at plenty of stuff. Like…”
He scanned the soccer field.
“I’m really good at watching other people do things,” he said proudly, holding up a finger. “I could sit here and watch other people do things all day.”
He watched the field, then sighed as if exhausted.
“Whew. I am really good at this. Really, really good.”
Jennifer groaned and rubbed her temples. “God help me.”
Nearby, in the school parking lot, a car honked its horn.
“Oh, that’s my mom,” Jennifer said. “I better go. But are you guys going to Stacey Redmond’s party tonight?”
“Yeah,” Chad said, “I am, but Detention-Boy over here is working.”
“Only till 9:30, though,” Tobin explained, “so I’ll probably stop by after.”
“Good, you definitely should,” Jennifer told him. “Everyone’s gonna be there, and who knows how many more times we’ll all have to hang out like this, you know? Plus I wanted to talk to you guys about something, too. You promise you’ll go?”
“Yeah, I’ll be there.”
“You promise?” she asked again, holding out her pinkie. “I really want you to go, Tobin.”
He looked at her with a confused smile, then completed the sacred pinky swear.
“Okay,” he laughed. “I promise. I’ll be there.”
“Okay.”
She walked toward the parking lot.
“Bye, guys. I’ll see you tonight.”
“Later, Jen.”
“Bye.”
Tobin watched as Jennifer got into the car and it drove off.
“What was that all about?” Chad asked.
Tobin turned back to the field. “I don’t know. She’s probably just having a nervous breakdown. Again.”
The two friends shared a laugh. Then, as the referee blew his whistle, they turned their attention to the game and cheered on their school’s team.
What they didn’t know, however, was that they were being watched.
Jonathan Ashmore, a pale man in his late twenties dressed in a perfectly tailored purple suit, was leaning against the high school and studying the boys with a smirk. As the soccer match got underway, he popped a piece of gum into his mouth, kicked himself off of the building, and walked down Middle Street, strolling among the people of Bridgton.
CHAPTER THREE
A DOZEN MILES FROM BRIDGTON HIGH, on the outskirts of town in an area nearly devoid of people, Jonathan Ashmore hopped over a rusted fence and walked across the parking lot of the old Bridgton Amusement Park. The park had been abandoned for over two decades, yet its structures still stood: the merry-go-round, with its horses, elephants, and swans deformed into swollen monsters; t
he popcorn booths, with their doors boarded up and their windows coated in thick grime; the rollercoaster, with its track covered in peeling white paint and its loops now ending abruptly in mid-air. The place was like a forgotten memory, left to rot in the sun and sit alone in the night.
Ignoring these macabre remnants, Jonathan made his way through the park until he reached the creepiest structure of them all: the Haunted Forest Fun House, with its scary-looking trees and their scary-looking faces looking down on him. Inside, he walked along the track, weaving around its motionless carriages and its broken-down ghosts, goblins, and reapers, and eventually reached an elevator door. It was surrounded by plastic trees and cobwebbed shrubs and a sign above it read:
ELEVATOR OUT OF ORDER! DO NOT USE!
Jonathan paid no mind to the warning and pushed a button near a speaker on the wall.
“Harold,” he said into the speaker. “It’s me. I’m here to see Vincent. He’s expecting me.”
With a ding, the elevator door opened and revealed Harold. He was a scrawny, wispy-haired elderly man dressed in a long black coat with green trim on the sleeves. As he stepped aside, he greeted Jonathan with a smile that made him appear younger than his eighty-eight years.
“Hey, Jon, how are ya? Good to see you. Come in, come in.”
Jonathan stepped into the elevator and the doors closed.
At the bottom of the elevator shaft, the doors opened again and Jonathan stepped out. He was now in an elegant, serene entryway, with walls lined with gleaming emerald stones and a ceiling over forty feet high. The focal point of the room, facing the elevator, was a pair of giant golden doors resting in an arch. Not only were the doors so tall that they almost reached the ceiling, but they also had eight doorknobs at their very top, where no one could reach them.
Jonathan watched as Harold walked out of the elevator and removed his coat. The elderly man actually had a second pair of arms, located directly underneath his normal pair, and also a second set of legs, which folded down from behind his back. Skittering like a spider, he climbed up the golden doors and grabbed each of the doorknobs with each of his hands and feet.
