Super Human: Super Human, #1

Part One

Discovery

Extraordinary Claims

THE CAVE YOU fear to enter holds the treasure you seek.

—Joseph Campbell

THE TAP, TAP, tap on the car roof announces the coming deluge. June’s darkening afternoon sky makes escape that much harder. The rain hitting the roof escalates into a roar. Headlights flash on, revealing a sea of tiny dancing ripples as the driving rain strikes standing water on the road.

Are you nuts? WJ’s mother says.

I’m not crazy, WJ’s father replies.

Screech!

Slow down! You crossed the line again! You’re going to get us all killed! Billy—Jesus!

Screech!

The high beams of a vehicle illuminate the back of WJ’s parents’ heads. His mother’s fingers reach to double-check his seatbelt and booster seat, feeling the buckle at his navel. The high beams from behind brighten. The harsh light forces her to squint.

TOO BRIGHT! WJ calls out.

WJ, cover your eyes for Mommy! Don’t uncover them until I let go of your shoe.

WJ slaps his hands over his eyes. He feels the pressure of his mother’s left hand on the toe of his right sneaker. The car swerves hard to the right, pressing WJ’s shoulder into the rear driver’s side door.

You’re going too fast, Billy! Mary says. You can’t see … turn off the high beams … the rain is making it worse!

Bang! WJ’s neck snaps back against the seat from the jolt of being rear-ended.

What the hell! Oh my God, Billy! Hold on WJ!

I’m sorry, I brought this upon us.…

Look out!

Something immense glides over the hood. A wing swipes the rain from the windshield. Billy jerks the wheel to the right. WJ’s head snaps to the left.

The high beams disappear. The interior goes dark.

What was that? WJ’s mother says.

A bird, his father says.

Birds don’t fly in storms!

That one does!

WJ’s mother’s eyes meet his. Hold on WJ, we’re almost home. She twists to check him and glances out the back window.

Billy … they’re gone.

No, they’re not. I know them.

His mother studies the road behind them. No, they’re not there. Where did they go? Oh my god, Billy, the bird is still here!

WJ looks out his window. Even through the pelting rain, the majestic flyer is keeping pace alongside the car. A yellow eye stares at WJ, bobbing with each flap of the bird’s wings.

I’d rather a bird than them, his father says as he steals a glance at WJ and then the bird.

Why won’t they leave us alone? You told them no, didn’t you?

It’s because I told them no.

Vvvrrowm. The sound penetrates WJ’s entire body; it feels like the time he stuck a screwdriver in the socket trying to fix things like Daddy. The car jostles to the right.

What was that! she says.

I told you. They’re still after us!

Vvvrrowmmmmmmmmm!

The car fishtails as it is shoved off the road. The rear passenger tire spits gravel, and a spray of rocks pelts the undercarriage.

WJ presses his hands hard against his ears and closes his eyes tight. It’s loud Mama! Make it go away!

WJ, hold on! His mother claws the air for his shoe.

VVVRROWMMMMMMMMM!

Bang!

A burst of white dust from the deployed airbags fills the car as its hood slams into a tree stump flanked by clusters of saplings at the bottom of a ditch.

The reflection of their car’s headlights on the brush reveals his mother’s hair draped across her airbag. Through the slackening rain, a witness stands silent outside.

Tall, head cocked, a great blue heron stares into WJ’s window. It begins to peck gently at the window with its long, thin, yellow beak but suddenly stops. The heron cranes its neck to locate the source of the crunching of footsteps on gravel.

Mary! Mary … WJ sees his father shaking his mother by the shoulder.

The dashboard and headlights flicker. WJ’s father presses the car horn and the bird takes off.

Mary! WJ’s father says. His mother stirs. God … help us!

Billy, she says. What’s happening?

Oh my God! Mary, you’re bleeding …

The car jostles again—then, a shattering of glass, sudden and loud, like a wave crashing against 10,000 tiny bells. WJ’s mother screams and shields her face as glass shards pepper the interior.

No! No! No! No! Mary run!

Billy … no!

WJ bursts into tears.

Tattooed hands reach through the shattered windshield and grab his father. His mother swats at the hands. With one hard yank, WJ watches as the bottoms of his father’s shoes disappear through the windshield opening.

Billy! Nooo … nooo! His mother struggles to open her car door but can’t. Billy … Billy …

The patter of rain on the car and his mother’s whimpers fill the eerie silence. She turns back to check on WJ. Her face is dazed and disheveled.

WJ, oh my God. WJ, I’m coming, she cries. Through his tears, he watches her struggle to open her door.

Let me out! She twists in her seat to kick at the door window with both feet several times but only succeeds in cracking it.

His mother scrambles in her seat as she turns to reach for him. Her face, dusted with white powder from the airbag, mingles with her blood and hair, making her appear more zombie than mother. WJ screams at her grotesque appearance.

WJ, it’s okay, I’m here. We’re okay, she says as she squeezes her way between the front seats to join him. WJ, it’s okay. I’m going to get us out of here. We have to get out of the car, she says frantically as her fingers fumble with the buckle on his booster seat. The straps of his seat belt slacken as she releases the buckle and pulls him into her arms. Hold Mommy tight, close your eyes and don’t let go, she orders.

WJ grabs his mother’s neck and clamps his eyes shut. His body jiggles in her lap as she fumbles with the rear door handle. A gush of cool, damp air fills the car. WJ clings to his mother as she steps out of the car and into the ditch. Rain clouds, having given up their load, calm to a drizzle. WJ lifts his head from her neck and opens his eyes only to be blinded by a flood of light.

WJ, don’t look, his mother warns. WJ …WJ … WJ …

Bloop.

WJ, time to wake up.

∙ ∙ ∙

Will … I said it’s time to get up! His mother’s voice slips under the door. She knocks, opens the door a crack, and flicks on his lights.

Will squints hard and shields his eyes, turning off his phone’s alarm. He closes his eyes.

Just one more minute ….

WJ, now!

Will forces himself to sit up.

One more month of school. At least I’ll see Russell.

He picks up a charcoal grey T-shirt from the floor and gives it a sniff.

Acceptable.

He squeezes into his favorite skinny jeans, a gift from Auntie Joy.

Phone, phone, he mumbles.

He lifts the shade for more light; his childhood curtains, of Spaceships and ringed planets, are gone, leaving his windows naked. Spaceships are cute for kids, but Will is past that. Underneath the window, his father’s old record player sits atop the makeshift shelves-turned-entertainment-center. Its clear plastic cover, marred with soft scratches, has yellowed with age. The vintage silver turntable crowns an old Pioneer receiver. On the shelf below are records scavenged from his parent’s collection.

Catching his phone peeking out from beneath the pillow, he grabs it and stuffs it in his front pocket. Will slips into his white-soled grey sneakers; they still fit well enough to make it through to summer. Belt, belt…

WJ, pick mine, his father’s voice calls out in his head.

Will never told his mother that this happens; she might bring him to the doctor. Imagined or real, it did not matter, it was comforting.

His favorite memories of his father were walks in the woods, sitting high on his father’s shoulders. Back then, he had his father to himself. His eyes catch the framed photo of him and his dad beside the turntable. It is the best photo he has of them together. He was two.

Let’s do Superman, his father would say, hands on his hips, chest out, and feet shoulder’s distance apart. His steely blue eyes pretended to look off in a distance but peeked downward to catch WJ’s gleeful response. Superman was done in the living room after his mother changed WJ into his footie pj’s. His father got down on the rug, rolled onto his back, pulled his legs close to his body, and reached for WJ’s hands. WJ held his hands out for his father to grab. He leaned his tiny torso into his father’s feet, feeling their warmth through his socks.

Ready?

WJ giggled, grinning ear to ear.

Here we go! Hands holding hands, his father would lift WJ into the air on his feet.

Okay, now let go.

WJ let go of one hand. His body wobbled, and his father’s feet restored his balance.

Now the other ….

WJ let go of his father’s other hand and wobbled.

I got you. You’re not going to fall. Hold your arms out and fly.

WJ stiffened his body.

WJ let go with both hands and stretched both arms out. He saw his father’s large hands beneath his outstretched arms, ready to catch him.

Look at you … you’re flying!

WJ remembered the freedom of that moment in flight and how his father supported him.

Let me get this! Let me get this! His mother held the camera close and … Click. I got it!

Will studies his father’s face. Even upside down, his smile showed his dimples. Will inherited just one dimple; it was a family joke that Will’s right side belonged to his father, his left to his mother.

Riding his bike and swimming were his favorites. Will has become quite a swimmer; when he was in middle school, he and Russell would swim around the islands at Pawtuckaway and jump off a boulder taller than a Mac truck.

Dad, can you hear me? Will says softly.

He waits a moment for a response. Nothing. Will sifts through the pile of clothing at the bottom of his closet. A glint of silver catches his eye.

There it is.

He pulls out a silver-studded black leather belt. He snatched it from the attic years ago. His mother said when his father was younger, he wore it whenever he needed to feel badass. It is the kind of belt Russell would wear. Despite Russell’s social challenges, he still conveyed a unique swagger.

As he tugs the belt through his pants’ loops, its large studs catch on every loop. He pulls it to the tightest hole, but it is still a bit loose, causing the buckle to droop forward. A quick adjustment of the belt between the loops and it becomes a perfect fit. It feels good to fit into something.

Today, I’m the badass.

∙ ∙ ∙

Willis! Russell flicks a black polished fingernail through his thick, wild black hair, pushing hair out of his eyes. His black denim jacket is bedecked with band pins, psychedelic buttons, sci-fi badges, and a UFO emblazoned across the back.

Hey, Russell.

Guess what I did last night? They drop their backpacks at adjacent lockers.

You watched UFO documentaries.

Wait, what? How did you know?

I would say I’m psychic, but you wear your The-Truth-is-Out-There T-shirt whenever you go on a UFO binge.

Yeah, I binge-watched Season Three of E.E., but that’s not what I wanted to tell you.

E.E.?

Extraordinary Extraterrestrials.

You gotta cut down on UFO documentaries, people will think you’re strange.

"I’m on the spectrum, people already think I’m strange. What I was gonna say is I started practicing leaving my body."

"Leaving your body?"

You ever heard of an OBE? Out of Body Experience? I’m gonna have one. I’m this close,—he pinches his fingers in front of his face— I can feel it.

How do you know if you didn’t just dream you left your body?

A fair point— I think I’d know. What about you? Car crash dream again?

Yeah, but I had one before that one.

Variety is nice. In this one, were you at least driving a car?

No, I’m in a field at night. I’m holding a knife and looking behind me because something’s chasing me. He grabs his Physics book from his locker.

Cool, a Bond dream. Then what happened?

That’s the whole dream.

Dude, that can’t be the whole dream.

That’s all I can remember.

Why, if it isn’t the Freak Force. I hate to break up this nerd-fest, E.T., but you’re standing in front of my locker. Rich Artman says and gives Russell a shoulder shove. What’s with all the hair gunk? It’s on my jacket now. Rich brushes the shoulder of his varsity jacket, a fierce blue and gold stallion emblazoned across the back.

Russell does rub off on you after a while. You could use a bit of his personality.

What’s that supposed to mean? Rich presses his chest against Will’s.

Russell’s my friend, Will says. Leave him alone.

Whatcha gonna do, Freak Two?

Hi Rich, Lily Powers pokes her head out from behind Will’s locker door.

Hey… Rich smiles, there.

It’s Lily, she says, sliding between them. We live on the same street? We moved here last summer.

Sure. So, what’s going on? Rich asks.

Nothing. I just wanted to say hey. She quickly turns her back on Rich to talk to Will. Still pale from winter, Lily’s fair skin and hay-colored hair suit her. She brushes a golden tendril from her eye. "Will, My Beautiful Corpse is opening this weekend; I was thinking of getting a couple of friends together. Would you like to come? It will be fun."

You guys don’t want to go to that yawn fest, Russell interjects. The trailer is stupid.

Why, Freak One, because it doesn’t have aliens? Rich slams his locker door. I’ll take you. I’ll pick you up in my beemer. It’s a little more comfortable than wee Willie’s handlebars. Saturday night? Rich flirtatiously taps her locker with his book.

"Actually, I have my own bike. Will, I live within biking distance from the theater,