This work is not yet titled and is labeled by the Main Character. This is an example of me attempting to branch out into a possible sci-fi story.
Prologue
Comic books are a wonderful thing. They take relatable characters, place them in extraordinary situations and give them super powers. Except for Batman, he’s just a super-rich guy with the weirdest hobby. Because let’s be honest, fighting psychopaths and villains who can create freeze guns and control weeds with their minds with top of the line, totally original, super expensive tech toys is not a normal hobby; and as interesting as the Batman story is, it’s not my favorite. Every comic book nerd has their favorite, and mine is by and far the X-Men comics. Normal folks have a kid. Kid is completely normal for years, then one day…
BAM! Super powers. Mind reading, teleporting, laser eyes, steel skin, immovability, controlling metal, retractable claws, and my personal favorite, the ability to borrow or steal the powers of another person. You have political issues, a civil division between the folks with powers (or mutants, as they’re called), war, personal struggles, romance, heart-break; what’s not to like? Exactly! I’m sure kids everywhere are reading these comics and wishing that humanity would evolve so that we could have super powers. I used to be one of them. There’s something to that old adage of being careful what you wish for, because you just might get it; and oh boy did I.
I
“Ma, do I have to go through this crap again,” I complained as I shrugged on my leather biker jacket, “these damn white coats have been poking, prodding, and scanning me my entire life. They haven’t found anything wrong with me yet.”
My mom was an angel. One of those supermom types. Perfectly packed lunch waiting next to my hot breakfast every morning before school, all while working two jobs to raise me alone. My dad didn’t really ditch her, contrary to talk around town. He was one of those undercover types. Some idiot blew his cover at a mob wedding in Chicago when my mom was pregnant. Let’s say things didn’t work out so well for dear old dad. Guess it really was his last job.
“Francis Leonard Kelly, I expect better from you. You have a genetic anomaly and the doctors have to run their labs so we can continue to find nothing wrong with you.” Did I mention that my mother trusts anything with a PhD implicitly, “And don’t curse.” My mother, the angel. I did the only thing a sixteen year old could when their mother pulled the full name, or the triple threat as I call it. I mumbled a yes ma’am while bowing my head and rolling my eyes. She opened the front door of our tiny duplex apartment, and instead of walking out the door, she stepped back. There was a suit walking toward our door, “Good morning, Mrs. Kelly, might I have a moment of your time?” I looked past her, expecting to see the typical Black SUV in the driveway, but only saw an antique Camaro in the most god-awful shade of puce I had ever seen in my entire life and the suit standing at our door with greasy black hair, aviator shades, and his lime green tie complete with the jigsaw puzzle of an eldridge knot.
I had my weird hobby too. Unlike Batman with his crime fighting, I like knots; tie knots, rigging knots, trapping knots, shoelace knots. That’s when I noticed that my mom had frozen up like a Bethesda video game. Her hand was still on the knob; she had that deer caught in the headlights look, and was shaking so hard I swear the glass on the door was rattling. “Ma,” I whispered, hoping that she would reboot quicker than the old Mac computer we finally threw out a couple months before. Damn that thing was slow. “I’m sorry Mr. Santos,” my mom took a steadying breath, “but we have appointments to keep this morning,”
Mr. Santos took his shades off and hooked them to the inside pocket of his suit jacket. “You won’t need to worry about that. It’s been taken care of,” he said casually. Sweet! This guy just improved my day a bit. “Might we sit down, Mrs. Kelly?” My mom nodded and moved to let him enter. He stepped over the threshold and took a minute to look around before settling on my mom’s prized Victorian snow framed armchair. She had found this pitiful thing at a yard sale for ten bucks and went out to get black velvet and red mahogany stain to revive it. And I mean revive, not restore. That stupid chair was dead when she got it last summer. It was worth less than the price of firewood. But now, it gleamed like some 1880’s craftsmen had popped it in a time machine to land in our living room.
Mr. Santos must have appreciated antique furniture as he paid my mother a compliment on her chair. My mother was still shaking, but her southern upbringing kicked in as she bossed me, “Francis dear, why don’t you go to the kitchen and fetch our guest a glass of tea.” I knew better than to argue, so I turned tail to the kitchen. She was speaking very low, but I could still hear her as the words slipped from her mouth, “I didn’t think I’d see you again after Frankie died.”
“Things change Mrs. Kelley. As it so happens, this is a courtesy call of sorts. I trust you know what that means?” My mother, the angel. She didn’t cry, didn’t beg. As I peeked around the wall’s edge, she just sat there in resignation and held out her hand, “Of course.” The suit pulled a manila envelope from his jacket pocket and placed it in my mother’s hand. “Everything is in here. Regrettably, I’ll not be able to enjoy that glass of tea.” He let himself out. I walked back in with the glass of tea and sat down in my mother’s chair. We just sat there in silence for what felt like hours. Her hands shaking, never any tears, just staring at the envelope. She sat it on the coffee table, also an antique she restored from yard sale junk. This one came out of the sixties and she painted the damned thing like a giant friggin’ peace sign. My mother, the angel. I was worrying about her as she finally got up. She walked across the room, and I swear to god, pulled up a floor board. If I was a texter, I would have typed ‘WTF’ because my mother the angel pulled out a bottle of whiskey and two shot glasses. Guess there really is a devil on everyone’s shoulder. As she poured the whiskey from the bottle into the glasses, I heard a tinkling noise. It was as if something small and metallic was inside the bottle, but I couldn’t tell because it was impossible to see through the dark brown glass. Weirder still was when she slid a shot-glass filled to the brim with whiskey across the table to me. “What the hell, Ma,” I gasped.
“Just take the shot, baby; you’re gonna need it to hear this,” she said while pouring herself second shot, “I know I need a few to say it.” I picked up the glass of amber liquid and looked at my mother wondering when the aliens had replaced her. When Mulder and Scully didn’t burst through the door to confirm my wild imaginings, I did the only thing I could. I held my breath, drank the shot in one go, and slammed the glass down on the table as I coughed from the burning in my throat. When the fit subsided, I noticed that my mother had refilled the glass. “Seriously Ma,” I pleaded, “you’re starting to scare me. What the hell is going on?”
She had started to cry. Silent tears made shiny tracks down her face as she spoke, “Francis dear, I want you to know that love you very much. I never wanted to lie to you, but I had to for your own safety.”
“Ma. What are you talking about?” I asked as my head began to spin and my heart race with anxiety. My mother was an angel. The only lies she ever told were the usual Santa Claus and Tooth Fairy bits. I figure those things just came along with being a parent. But the words that come out of her mouth next, rocked me.
“Your father was never a mob hit. I don’t even know if he’s dead or alive,” she revealed. My jaw had to have unhinged for it to drop so solidly to the floor. “Francis,” she continued “The truth is, your father never worked for the cops or the government.”
“Who the hell did he work for then?” I shouted. “I don’t know, baby,” she answered, “I don’t even know who he is.” This revelation had me seeing red and wanting that second shot. Screw that, I grabbed the bottle. My mother was crying in earnest now, “you have to understand. We’ve been in hiding your whole life. I couldn’t tell you truth, else we’d be found.” A small smile found its way onto her saddened face, “you were very talkative as a small child. And so trusting; I swear you never met a stranger. I couldn’t risk telling you the truth until the time was right. It’s supposed to manifest when you enter adulthood.”
“What the… Ma, please tell me you’re joking. Manifest? What in the actual…” I never got to finish what would have been a tirade of epic proportions. My throat closed up and all the air left my body when the whiskey bottle shattered in my hand sending glass flying everywhere. Red was blossoming on my mother’s chest as she sank to the floor, “Ma!” I screamed and threw myself over the table to catch her. “There’s no time,” she panted, “Take the envelope and run. They’ve found us.”
“Who found us, Ma,” But she didn’t answer. Instead, she took a weak and labored breath, and as she exhaled she told me, “I love you, baby.”
II
I don’t exactly recall what caused me to move, but I had found a key in the glass littering the floor. I guess that was what was making the noise in the bottle. I stuffed it in my pocket, grabbed the envelope and my mom’s car keys then rushed out the door. Before I could fumble the key into the car door, the puce colored Camaro from earlier skidded to a halt on the street and Mr. Santos threw open a door yelling, “Get in kid!” I didn’t stop to think. Without hesitation, I ran the few steps to the curb and threw myself into the car, slamming the door closed behind me. A loud thump sounded on the rear window followed by a slow crackling as the glass spider-webbed. “Shit,” cursed Mr. Santos as he forced the car into gear and slammed his foot on the gas. “What in the hell is going on,” I demanded, “Why are people trying to kill me?”
“You haven’t read the envelope yet have you, kid?”
“I’ve been kinda busy watching my mother drink a bottle of whiskey telling me she never knew who my father was. Then her chest started blooming blood like a rose bush in spring. Now I’m being shot at. So no, I haven’t exactly had time to read the friggin envelope,” I barked. He didn’t say anything at first, just let me sit and stew as we quickly made our way out of town.
“Call me Danny,” he said as he looked at me through the rear-view mirror once there were more trees than buildings going past, “Your mom did once upon a time.” Fan-friggin-tastic. My mother had been on a first name basis with mobsters, and after that statement, apparently, I was too. “Look kid,” Danny started as he turned his eyes back to the road, “we gotta ditch this car, and soon. Bullet holes in the back and a busted window; we’re like a damned neon sign in this thing.” I rolled my eyes so far into the back of my skull, “and what the hell do you expect me do about it, Danny. I’m just a kid.”
“Follow orders,” he replied with finality, “Now tell me the quickest route to the nearest river.” The river was about fifteen miles ahead without changing direction or turning off, so I told him as much. Danny then pulled a cell phone out of his jacket pocket and dialed a number. “I have to drown the car and go dark,” he snipped, “things got complicated.” And angry murmur sounded from the earpiece. Danny set his jaw as if he was trying not to yell into the phone, “I was watching the house, until Debbie got sniped.” More murmuring from the earpiece. “Of course,” Then he threw the phone out of the window.
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