The Paladin: A Teenage Superhero Story

Chapter 11

Friday

December 17th

Rachel sat perched on a nearby rooftop, peering at me in my classroom through a pair of binoculars while she nibbled on a cruller. She had been doing this the past three weeks now, ever since Thanksgiving. I'd start to notice after a while, but I figured that she wanted to be seen, otherwise she wouldn't have been. A couple minutes into my class she got a text from her employer. Status report, any news on the Paladin? She took a few bites of her cruller, then holding it in her mouth began to respond. Same as the last three weeks, no activity, want me to take him out and move on? The response was nearly instant. No! Can't have you kill a random kid, not until our plan is in motion, then even he can't stop us. If he puts on the armor again, take him out, but not until then. That didn't bother Rachel all too much. If it were up to her then she would have preferred not to get into it with me. Not because she was scared, but more out of her respect for the young man who stood toe-to-toe with her SEAL Team and walked away. Besides, the last couple fights they had with me were more ostentatious than they were used to, and they hadn't survived as long as they had by being conspicuous.

Meanwhile, in my math class, I twiddled my thumbs and tapped my feet, itching to get out. Ever since quitting being the Paladin I had an excess of energy that I found myself unable to work out. I tried working out, going for runs, biking to school, but I couldn't shake it. To try and take my mind off it I putzed about on my phone, checking out the latest video game announcements, reading a few online comics when suddenly I got a text. I'm sorry to group-text you all like this but Tres is missing, he wasn't in bed when I woke up this morning. Please, if you see him, or if he comes to you please tell me! It was from Nancy Knox, I had forgotten that I even had her number. When I read what had happened I hoped and prayed that she found him, Tar City was not the type of place for a young kid to be wandering around alone, especially not in December. The more I thought about it the more it reminded of me when I was in Freshman year. After my brother was confirmed K.I.A. I often would just walk off during school, walk around for a while, thinking. In the end, I always wound up in the same place which is how my parents knew how to find me. Sterling National Cemetery, a military cemetery on the Southside of town. It was a stone's throw away from my house, near the Moss nature preserve. Bingo. Just like that, I knew where he was going. As if on cue the bell rang, signaling the end of the period and by the time it stopped I was already out the door. He's on the move, cutting class, following him now, Rachel texted, climbing down from her perch.

I tossed the cabbie a twenty and told him to keep the change as I got out onto the hallowed cemetery grounds. The place looked serene, even in Fall when the leaves covered the gravestones, somehow it maintained its majesty. When I walked in I picked out a few lonely widowers, parents, siblings, and children who were mourning at their loved one's graves, all of them spread out amongst the rows. It took a couple minutes of looking but sure enough at the crest of the hill, there he sat cross-legged in front of a marble headstone, eating a sandwich and applesauce from his lunch box.

"Tres," I greeted in a friendly tone. He whipped around with a look of fear in his eyes.

"Who are you?" he demanded.

"My name is Booker, I'm a friend of your mom's. I came over a couple weeks ago to talk about your father," I reminded. He looked down at his feet, his eyes carving into the stone. "Can I sit down?" I inquired.

"I don't know you, and my mom told me not to trust strangers," he rationalized. Hard to argue with that logic, especially in Tar City.

"Hmm, okay, I'll call your mother and she can pick you up," I offered.

"No! I don't want mom to come, if you call her I'll run," he made clear. Despite the obvious fact that if he ran I could catch him, I didn't want to resort to carrying a nine-year-old back to his mom kicking and screaming through a military cemetery. I wanted to show a bit more decorum than that.