Rise of the Dark Heroes (BOOK #1)

Chapter Sixteen

DERRICK

I STRAIGHTENED the collar to my olive green work shirt and smoothed it down carefully before the mirror. Work was the last place I wanted to be after the night I had just endured. To be stuck behind a counter, stocking chips, selling cigarettes to vagrants when I should be investigating the Fire Wielders.

That night I was to be closing with Curtis, and I chewed on the inside of my cheek as I guessed what he would say upon seeing the burns down my arms. Or maybe I was still anxious after the nightmare I had just woken up from recently.

Every time I closed my eyes, I could still see myself, my back against the shutters of my closet, frozen in terror. My bedroom door was rocking violently before me. Every pound inflicted on the other side caused my whole body to recoil just a bit more.

Moonlight streaked through the blinds, falling on the many baseball posters plastered on the walls of my bedroom, trophies, toys, and pictures of my family. Any regular person could tell by looking at my colorful bedroom that I was a happy child who was into sports and went to school like any other kid. But if they had seen the scars—healed and new—beneath my clothes or the forced smile I had taught myself to show so well, they would realize the truth buried beneath the pile of filthy lies.

From the other side of the door came a voice that shook my being.

"Open this door!"

My mouth wouldn't respond to my brain. I stood there in the awful stillness, knowing in my head that tonight is the night he's going to break down the door. For years I had been fearfully anticipating this moment, yet I wasn't ready. I could never prepare for what was about to happen.

"Damn it, Derrick. OPEN THE DOOR!"

With one final budge, the lock gave in. My door swung wide open, nearly knocking it off its hinges. There my father stood with a liquor bottle in hand and rage in his eyes.

"Please, no!" I cried.

Dad marched to me furiously, clutching my nightshirt with the intent of never letting go. He forced my body against my closet door, striking me across the face. A couple of years ago, I would have been balling my eyes out, begging him to stop, but I was eight now. I had to show my father that his blows no longer fazed me.

"You keeping secrets from me?" Dad slurred.

"N-no, sir." I shuttered, scrunching up my nose as I smelled the alcohol permeating from his breath.

"Then why you locking your door for?" he shouted, triggering me to flinch. Dad punched me again. I tried to push him off me, but it was futile. Even though I had grown over the years, I couldn't overpower my father. I was always going to be weak compared to him.

That was when I felt an unfamiliar sensation rushing through my body. Like instinct, I placed my hands on my father's stomach just as he raised his fist for another blow.

A rush of wind knocked my father backward. His ragdoll-like body hurtled straight into my six-story window.

In an eruption of glass, my father vanished.

"No!" I shrieked.

That's when I shifted my attention to the small figure standing at my doorway, clutching a hippopotamus stuffed animal.

"Daddy?"

A knock on my door caused my body to jolt, sending me back into reality. The beat was softer than my father's but still loud enough to activate the subconscious fear I struggled to bury years ago. I met my pale reflection, trying to recollect what I was standing around for. Shaking my head, I walked over to open the door to greet Jerry. My friend stood there, bouncing up and down anxiously on his heels.