Author's Note: PLEASE READ:
Reader discretion is advised. This chapter contains material that might not be suitable to all ages. Serious theme and implications are contained, as well as story lines and plots that you, the reader, may not wish to read.
The story is complete on the line you've just read, but for those adventurous souls who want to pierce the veil, peer past the curtain, and see reality, read on. Just know that you've been warned. Not all story's have a happy ending, for we are all not heroes or villains; some of us merely tell their stories.
Disclaimer: I (the author) do not now, nor have I ever owned The Gifted or its affiliated works. All plot, theme, character and sets belong solely to Fox and its parent companies. Any work produced by this author is produced solely for the purpose of entertainment.
Furthermore, it is not intended to be taken for scientific, religious, or social correctness. The views expressed by characters in this work do NOT represent the opinions or views of Fox, or this author. They are purely for the purpose of entertainment.
(I.E.: "Thunderbird is an idiot." Neither I, nor Fox, thinks of Thunderbird as an idiot. But one of my CHARACTERS may.)
The police officers in the parking lot of the school listened as the radio crackled again, calling them to yet another call for help. Two officers jumped into their squad car, the ruined high-school fading from their rear view mirrors as they headed for Lonely Road, in between the Georgia pines.
Lonely Road was on the edge of the worst part of town; the houses were all run down, ready to fall apart with a stiff breeze. Racing the squad cars was an ambulance, lights flashing and sirens blaring in the rain.
The emergency responders tore into the Idunn's yard, crunching to a stop in the gravel. The one story shack sat nearby, all of the lights on in the tiny house.
Officers poured inside, dragging a drunken man to the ground and slamming cuffs onto his wrists. A neighbor had called when she heard the screams, and then the silence.
The medics rushed in with their gurney clattering over the broken beer bottles in the drive, right past the rose bushes near the window.
In the boy's bedroom, a broken body lay on the stained mattress. An ancient laptop sat on the battered desk, a Facebook page still loaded. Carl Sturner, trying to add Lauren Strucker as a friend.
A blue matchbox car was broken under foot by the medics rushing to save his life; the little blue Audi was reduced to a mass of twisted metal under the boots of the men.
The Batmobile, redone in Lego, sat on the desk beside the laptop, the twin Gatling guns attached to the black, plastic armor. Orange bricks made up the headlights, as it raced towards a stuffed cat sitting nearby. Matted black and white fur clung to the old toy, which was missing an ear. The name 'Xavier' was scrawled in a child's writing on the collar.
"Clear!" The man shouted, pressing the paddles to the fifteen year old boy's chest. No pulse came.
"Clear!" He shouted again, desperate for a sign of life. With tears in her eyes, the woman shook her head.
Outside, two officers tried to keep it together as the body was brought out and loaded into the ambulance. No sirens roared as it pulled slowly away, its heavy load in the back.
"I can't believe this..." The first man sighed, running his fingers through his graying hair.
"First a Mutant tears down a school, now this? What's Georgia coming to?" His partner asked rhetorically.
"Did we get the story on this guy?" The first officer asked, turning to see the 'father' dragged out of the house in cuffs.
"According to records, the mom left the family years ago. Report the kid gave said she cooked up a pork chop, some mashed potatoes, and some green beans, and then just left. Never came back."
"The father was a drunk, constantly beating his son within an inch of his life. We got calls every weekend. Apparently, his only escape was getting online, following some girl from his school."
"Did he even know her?"
"Not as far we know. He watched her every move, probably wanting to be out with her. We found a few stories written on the laptop; he wanted to be a mutant, too."
"Oh my gosh." The man shook his head, the horror of it starting to affect him.
"Before he died, the boy lapsed into a coma. Probably had one heck of a dream; the last thing he saw was a picture of her face."
In the ambulance, the broken body of Erik Idunn lay silently. His long, dirty blonde hair was matted and bloodied, his too-thin frame a result of undernourishment. A torn green shirt hung to his bony shoulders, while torn blue jeans and raggedy tennis shoes completed his look.
The medic cried over his body, letting her tears fall onto the broken body, wishing for his life to come back. For his dream to continue.
For his wish, his Mavolo, to come true.