The Strike Trilogy Box Set

By Charlie Wood

All three books of The Strike Trilogy, in one collected edition.

Tobin Lloyd's life is perfect: he's a senior at Bridgton High, he's one of the funniest kids in school, and his only worry is whether or not his latest prank is going to result in yet another detention.

But when he wakes up in the world of Capricious, a place where superheroes are real and attacks by super-villains are just another hassle of living in the city, all of that changes. Suddenly, Tobin's last year of high school is not going as he expected.

Far from home and pretty sure he's gone insane, Tobin must join a strange group of companions (including a beer-drinking dog and a genius, three-foot-tall robot) as he begins his harrowing quest to get back to the world of Earth.

However, there is a disaster looming on the horizon: the most powerful super-villains of Capricious see the weak, chaotic planet of Earth as a grand opportunity, and they have a plan for conquest. Together, they are searching for a mysterious creature known as the Daybreaker--a super-villain so powerful that no one on Earth--or Capricious--will be able to stop it.

Who is this Daybreaker? Where did he come from? And what is his connection to Tobin's new friends?

The answers to these questions will lead Tobin down a road he may never recover from, newfound superpowers or not.

Full of action, humor, and superhero adventure, THE STRIKE TRILOGY is the collected edition of STRIKE: THE HERO FROM THE SKY, STRIKE: DAWN OF THE DAYBREAKER, and the epic third book in the series, STRIKE: THE RETURNING SUNRISE.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Charlie Wood
• Release date: Jul 23, 2017

Charlie Wood

Charlie Wood lives with his wife, Kate, in Massachusetts. He enjoys movies, baseball, and comic books. This is his first novel.

Book preview

BOOK ONE:

THE HERO FROM THE SKY

CHAPTER ONE

Tobin? Are you ready?

Tobin Lloyd sat up with a start, knocking over the bowl of cereal that was resting on his chest and spilling it onto the couch.

Aw, c’mon, he groaned, maneuvering away from the milk and soggy corn puffs. He had woken up early to study for his upcoming history test, but had apparently fallen back asleep during breakfast. Whoops.

Tobin? his mother called again. Are you up? It’s almost time, you know.

Yeah, I know, he replied, grabbing the spoon from the floor and using it to scoop the rest of the corn puffs from the couch into his mouth. I’m just, uh, eating breakfast.

His mother started up the stairs. Well, don’t be late. And don’t forget what Mrs. O’Neil told you: it’s a great idea to look over in the morning what you studied last night. Did you read from your history book again this morning?

Tobin turned down the volume on his TV, so his mom wouldn’t hear he was actually watching YouTube clips of The Three Stooges. Yeah, I’m actually looking at it right now, and you know what, I think it’s really helping.

Good, his mother said from the hall, because I don’t want to see another—

She stopped. Tobin turned around. She was now standing in the doorway of his room.

Oh, hello, he said with a smile.

Looking across the room, Tobin’s mother spotted his history book, lying underneath a pile of clothes.

Looking at it right now, huh?

Oh, the book! Tobin said. The book! I thought you meant, was I looking at a guy in a bowl cut poking a bald guy in the eyes. He pointed at the TV screen. ’Cuz that’s what I was looking at.

She smirked. Right. Up, let’s go. It’s time for school.

Following his mother out of the room, Tobin walked with her downstairs and into the kitchen.

I know I’ve told you this a million times, she said, tidying up the table, but since I also know that means nothing, I’ll tell you again: Bill and I are going out on a date tonight, so when you get home from work, we might not be here. Okay?

Tobin stuffed his hand into a cookie jar on the counter. Yup. And can you please stop calling them ‘dates,’ by the way? It’s creepy. Plus the guy practically lives here.

She walked to Tobin and took the cookies from his hand. Okay, first of all, this isn’t breakfast. She put the cookies back into the jar. And second of all, it is a date, a nice dinner and a movie, so I’m asking you, right now, to behave yourself today. Please don’t ruin my night with something ridiculous you do at school. Got it?

Tobin stood at the door and slung his backpack over his shoulder, offering his mother a salute.

Mom, you have my word: I will absolutely, positively not do anything ridiculous today.

TobinLloyd

Seven hours later, Tobin opened his locker and began putting his books away while his best friend, Jennifer Robins, waited for him. She was a short, pretty brunette who was well on her way to becoming class valedictorian. At the moment, she wasn’t very happy.

I can’t believe you got another detention, she said, reading the yellow slip in her hand with Tobin’s name on it.

I know, he replied.

Your mom is gonna kill you.

I know, he said again.

She stared at him. And you don’t even care, do you?

I know. Wait, what’re we talking about again?

He smirked and closed his locker. The two friends walked down the noisy hallway.

You are unbelievable, Tobin. I swear, you drive me absolutely crazy.

Why? he laughed. Because I got kicked out of the cafeteria? Big deal, Jen, who cares? What are you so worried about?

She shoved the detention back to him. This, Tobin. This is what I’m so worried about.

This? Okay, watch, watch this.

He crumpled the slip into a ball, held it out in front of him, and kicked it across the hallway like a football. It bounced off another student’s backpack before dropping to the floor.

See? he said, holding up his empty hands. No more worry.

Jennifer watched the detention get lost in a sea of teenagers’ feet. Yeah, that’s great, Tobin, that’s great. And what about the test Mr. Hastings gave you back today? You know, the one with the big ‘thirty-two’ circled in red at the top? Are you gonna kick that across the hallway, too?

He thought a moment. I can, if you want me to, he said, looking through his backpack. I have it right here.

She turned and walked towards the school’s lobby.

You know what, Tobin? Fine. If you don’t care, then I don’t care.

Following his friend outside, Tobin walked with her down the school’s front steps and onto the sidewalk of Middle Street, which ran through the center of their small, seaside hometown of Bridgton, Massachusetts. The street, only a few miles from the beach, was made up of an ice cream parlor, a general store, and a barbershop, among other things, including three antique dealers. It was a Norman Rockwell painting come to life.

Aw, c’mon, Jen, Tobin said, catching up with her. Don’t be mad at me. I hate it when you’re mad at me. And so does Julie Meyers. Right, Julie Meyers?

Tobin turned to a group of girls on the sidewalk, but they only glanced at him before returning to their conversation.

Okay, Julie Meyers didn’t answer me, but I know that she also hates it.

I’m not mad at you, Tobin, Jennifer said. It’s just that you don’t care—about anything. We’re already a month into our senior year, and you still haven’t even started thinking about colleges or the SAT’s or anything. That makes me…nauseous.

I know it does. You’re weird.

No, I’m not, she laughed, I’m normal. She stopped and turned to him. "Look, I’m as excited as anybody for the rest of senior year, Tobin, but this is all gonna be over in a few months, whether you like it or not. And what’re you gonna do then? Last time I checked, skipping class every day and watching Family Feud doesn’t lead to a career."

Sure it does.

What?

He grinned. "Host of Family Feud."

Turning the corner of Middle Street, the two friends walked toward a soccer field behind the high school, where the Bridgton Panthers were getting ready for their afternoon match against the Hillside Warriors. Chad Fernandes, the third member of their trio of best friends, was waiting for them there, so Tobin hopped up onto a set of bleachers while Jennifer stood nearby.

I still don’t get why you’re so worked up about all this, Jen, Tobin said. "It’s freaking October. I still have plenty of time to think about all this."

No, you don’t, she said, not really. Even Chad has started thinking about colleges already. That’s how far behind you are.

Tobin snickered. No, he hasn’t. He turned to Chad. Have you?

Yeah. Chad was tall, lanky, and one of Bridgton High’s best athletes. He and Tobin had been friends ever since the second grade, when they were both teammates on the Bridgton Little League Blue Jays. Some dude from UMass is coming to watch my first game next month.

Yeah, well, that’s not fair, Tobin said, rolling his eyes. You’re only going to college because you can put an orange ball into a hole with a net on it. Congratulations.

Chad laughed. Hey, it’s not my fault I have a skill at something, Tobin. Maybe if you had any kind of skill, you’d be going to college, too.

Tobin has skills, Jennifer said. He just…doesn’t know what they are yet.

Yeah, that’s right, Tobin agreed. I’m good at plenty of stuff. Like… He scanned the soccer field. I’m really good at watching other people do things, he said proudly, holding up a finger. I could sit here and watch other people do things all day.

Tobin watched the field, then sighed as if exhausted.

Whew. I am really good at this. Really, really good.

Jennifer groaned and rubbed her temples. God help me.

Nearby, in the school parking lot, a car honked its horn.

Oh, that’s my mom, Jennifer said. I better go. But you guys are going to Stacey Redmond’s party tonight, right?

Yeah, Chad said, I am, but Detention-Boy over here is working.

You are?

Yeah, only till 9:30, though, Tobin said, so I’ll probably stop by after.

Oh, good, Jennifer replied, you definitely should. Everyone’s gonna be there, and who knows how many more times we’ll all have to hang out like this, you know? Plus, I really wanted to talk to you guys about something, too. You promise you’ll be there?

Yeah, Tobin said. I’m going.

You promise? Jennifer held out her pinkie. I really want you to be there, Tobin.

He looked at her with a confused smile, then completed the sacred pinky swear.

Okay, he laughed. I’ll be there. I promise.

Okay.

She walked toward the parking lot.

Bye, guys. See you tonight.

Later, Jen.

Bye.

Tobin watched as she got into the car and it drove off.

What was that all about? Chad asked.

Tobin turned back to the soccer field. I don’t know. She’s probably just having a nervous breakdown. Again.

The two friends shared a laugh. Then, as the referee blew his whistle, they turned their attention to the game and cheered on their school’s team.

What they didn’t know, however, was that they were being watched.

Jonathan Ashmore—a thin, pale man in his late twenties dressed in a perfectly tailored purple suit—was standing behind the bleachers, leaning against the high school and studying the boys with a smirk. As the soccer match got underway, he popped a piece of gum into his mouth, kicked himself off the building, and strolled down Middle Street, walking among the people of Bridgton.

CHAPTER TWO

A dozen miles from Bridgton High, on the outskirts of town in an area nearly devoid of people, Jonathan Ashmore hopped over a rusted fence and walked across the crumbling parking lot of the old Bridgton Amusement Park. The park had been abandoned for over two decades, yet its structures still stood: the merry-go-round, with its wooden horses, elephants, and swans swollen into deformed monsters; the popcorn booths, with their doors boarded up and their windows coated in thick grime; the rollercoaster, with its barely-there track covered in peeling white paint and its loops ending abruptly in mid-air. The place was like a forgotten memory, left to rot in the sun and sit alone in the night.

Ignoring these macabre remnants, Jonathan made his way through the park until he reached the creepiest structure of them all: the Haunted Forest Fun House, with its scary-looking trees and their scary-looking faces looking down on him. Inside, he walked along the track, weaving around its motionless carriages and broken-down ghosts, goblins, and reapers, and eventually reached an elevator door. The door was surrounded by plastic trees and cobwebbed shrubs, and a sign above it read:

ELEVATOR OUT OF ORDER! DO NOT USE!

Paying no mind to the warning, Jonathan pressed a small button near a speaker on the wall.

Harold, it’s me. I’m here to see Vincent. He’s expecting me.

With a ding, the elevator door opened and revealed Harold—a scrawny, wispy-haired, elderly man dressed in a long, black coat with green trim on the sleeves. As he stepped aside, he greeted Jonathan with a smile that made him appear younger than his eighty-eight years.

Hey, Jon, how are ya? Good to see you. Come in, come in.

Jonathan stepped into the elevator and the doors closed.

***

A few moments later, the doors opened again and Jonathan stepped out. He was now in an elegant, serene entryway, with walls lined with gleaming emerald stones and a ceiling that was over forty feet high. The focal point of the entryway, facing the elevator, was a giant pair of golden doors, resting in an arch. Not only were the doors so tall that they almost reached the ceiling, but they also had eight doorknobs at their very top, where no one could reach them.

Stepping aside, Jonathan watched as Harold walked out of the elevator and removed his coat. The elderly man actually had a second pair of arms, located directly underneath his normal pair, and also a second set of legs, which folded down from behind his back. Skittering like a spider, he climbed up the golden doors and grabbed each of the eight doorknobs with each of his hands and feet.

You know, Jonathan asked, I’ve been wondering: what would happen if you didn’t turn all eight at the same time?

Harold leaned back with a smile. Well…you don’t want to know, let’s put it that way.

Jonathan raised his eyebrows, leaving the conversation at that. Above him, the eight-limbed man turned all the doorknobs at once and leapt back to the floor. Slowly, as Harold stepped aside, the doors opened with a smooth, elongated WHOOOOOOOSH!, revealing a swirling, humming portal of black energy behind them. The massive portal filled the entire arch, had a reflective surface like a mirror, and snapped and cracked with occasional bursts of purple electricity.

There you go, Harold said, walking back to the elevator. It’s all yours, Jon.

Thanks, the pale man replied. Then, just as he had so many times the last few months, he stepped into the portal and disappeared into its mirrored surface.

***

A half-second later, as easily as if he was walking through a door, Jonathan emerged from the other side of the portal and stepped into a strange city. It was a bustling place, with large, gleaming apartment buildings; streets filled with sleek, retro-cool cars that appeared to be from the 1940’s and 50’s; and perfectly paved sidewalks lined with smiling vendors selling fruits and vegetables. The people of the city—many of whom had skin that was a light shade of green—wore suits and hats and sundresses, and up-tempo jazz music from a street corner band filled the air. The city, known as New Rytonia, was safe, clean, and wonderful.

Making his way through the city, Jonathan walked toward its tallest building: a glass-walled skyscraper topped with three large points, which was known as the Trident and sat directly in the middle of the city’s main avenue. The structure’s front doors were being watched over by two heavy-set, green-skinned guards, but these guards were not concerned when Jonathan approached. Instead, they simply nodded, reached across their bodies, and opened the doors for him, no questions asked.

***

110 stories above Jonathan, on the very top floor of the skyscraper, Vincent Harris sat in his office, looking out a massive window at the city below. He was a handsome, older man in his early sixties, with thick grey hair he wore somewhat long, a few inches above his shoulders, and a neatly trimmed grey goatee. He was also very fit for his age, with a well-built body standing over six feet tall, and he was almost always wearing the same thing: a black-and-green uniform with a green insignia of a tiger-like beast above his heart. This insignia could be seen on posters and banners all over New Rytonia, along with portraits of Vincent.

VincentHarris

At the moment, the grey-haired man in black-and-green was absent-mindedly listening to a report from his assistant, Chris. Chris was a young man in his early thirties with closely cropped dark hair and—unlike Vincent—light green skin.

Tom Paulson let me know his district received an over-shipment of their medical supplies, Chris explained, so I had him send the extra cases to the hospital, like you advised. Also, here are the most recent reports from General Thrace about the D. N. project, and also the photographs from your home.

He handed Vincent a file and a leather-covered photo album.

Thank you, Chris, Vincent said. I’ll have Rigel look over the report before I take a look at it myself.

Reaching across his body, Vincent handed the file to the third man in the room, his bodyguard and closest confidante, Rigel. Rigel was a towering, barely human beast, with dimpled, red skin that was rough like a rhinoceros; yellow, piercing eyes; and a body as thick and as strong as an oak tree. He wore a uniform similar to Vincent, and was nearly seven-and-a-half feet tall.

Rigel

I think that’ll be all for now, Chris, Vincent said. Thank you.

No problem, sir. Just let me know if you need anything else.

After Chris left the room, Vincent placed the photo album on his desk and opened it. One of the pictures caught his eye.

It was a photo of three teenage boys: a blonde boy with a movie star smile; a dark-haired boy in the middle of a loud, booming laugh; and a black boy with glasses, shy and smaller than the others. The dark-haired boy was standing in the center with his arms around the others’ shoulders, and they were about fifteen years old.

Vincent turned the page. He stopped on another photo.

This one showed a tall, handsome young man dressed in a black t-shirt and black jeans. He was smiling a crooked smile and sitting next to a pretty young woman dressed in black and red. They were holding hands and very happy. They were about twenty-five years old.

Vincent turned the page, but he did not look at the next series of photos. Instead, he stared down at the desk in front of him.

Vincent, Rigel said, breaking the silence with his guttural, graveled voice. Jonathan is here to see you.

Vincent looked up and saw Jonathan in the doorway.

Oh, thank you, Rigel. Hi, Jon. Come in. Take a seat. Vincent and Jonathan shared a handshake. How is everything, Jon? How’d everything go today?

Fine, sir. Jonathan sat in front of the desk. I did just as you said. Didn’t have any problems.

Good. Vincent leaned back, resting his hands on his stomach. I’m glad to hear it. We’ll get started on what we agreed upon right away. How’s that sound?

Very good, sir. Thank you.

A silence passed. Vincent tapped a pencil on his desk, studying Jonathan’s face. When he spoke again, each word was given time to breathe.

Jon, what we’re doing tonight is significant. To both our history and our future. It’s not often one can say something like that and truly mean it, but tonight, we can, and I think we should always be aware of that.

He walked to a liquor cabinet and poured himself a drink. Swirling the dark liquid in the glass, he watched it spin around with the ice cubes.

We are responsible for this, Jon, he continued. It begins tonight and sets in motion everything we have planned so far. Without it, we’ll be starting over, and we can’t have that; it would be devastating to us, and—most importantly—to everyone outside. But you already know all that. At least I hope you do.

He looked to Jonathan and smiled. The pale man nodded and smiled back, but he clearly didn’t like to be talked to this way.

I want you to know, Vincent said, walking back to his desk. I want you to understand that—even though I picked you myself for this team—that does not excuse you from discipline. There’s a set of rules for us here, Jon. A set of rules set up by them outside—for us—to make sure we do our job. It’s them we’re doing this for. If someone were to let them down, well…I don’t know what I’d do.

He stared across the desk. Jonathan looked back, uneasy.

This is the future, Jon, Vincent said. Do not fail it.

Jonathan stood up. You have nothing to worry about, sir. Everything is ready. The storm will come tonight.

Yes, it will. Vincent motioned toward the door. Thank you, Jon.

When he was once again alone, Vincent sat behind his desk and looked through his photo album.

***

Meanwhile, outside of Vincent’s office, one of the skyscraper’s many green-skinned guards was standing in the hallway, listening to all that had transpired. After he watched Jonathan leave the office and walk down a flight of stairs, the eavesdropping guard quickly walked in the opposite direction, entering one of the skyscraper’s empty dining rooms. Spotting a balcony near the ceiling, he ran to it, leapt, flipped, and landed on its floor with a soft clack of his boots. Finding a door there, he opened it and stepped inside, quietly shutting it behind him.

After moving down a long corridor, the guard soon found himself in the skyscraper’s main kitchen. A chef was walking toward him, so he quickly ducked behind a corner and retrieved a silver, ballpoint-pen-like device from his pocket. After he clicked a button on its top, his appearance changed from that of a green-skinned guard to that of a green-skinned chef, complete with white chef jacket and white chef hat.

With his new disguise in place, the mysterious guard-turned-chef nodded to the other chef, walked through the kitchen, and soon found himself in front of a large storage room, filled with shelves of cooking utensils, cardboard boxes, and crates of food. After watching the other chef leave the kitchen, the guard-turned-chef stepped into the storage room, closed its door, and clicked the button on his device one more time.

This time, the man’s true identity was revealed: he was Orion, a tall, thin black man, with grey hair and glasses. As always, he wore black boots; a long, red coat that reached his knees; and a quiver of arrows and a bow on his back. Leaning against the storage room door, he sighed, tired and worn.

But then, there was a knocking at the door. Hey! somebody shouted from the other side. Who’s in there? Open this door immediately!

Jumping up, Orion used a long, wooden table to barricade the door, then quickly stepped behind one of the metal shelving units. Hiding there, he grabbed an arrow from his quiver, pulled it back in his bow, and aimed it at the door. The arrowhead began to glow bright red.

After three loud BOOM! BOOM! BOOM!’s, the door was smashed open, and three green-skinned guards entered. However, the first was immediately blasted by an arrow that exploded in a red flash, sending him flying back into the kitchen.

Stunned, the second guard stepped forward and fired his laser rifle—but Orion dodged the green laser beams, jumped onto a stack of crates, pulled his bow back, and shot another exploding arrow, all in one fluid motion.

The third guard, amazed at how an old man could move so fast, focused on his target and was able to shoot the bow out of Orion’s hand. However, the old man was unfazed; avoiding the next series of lasers, he ran down a metal shelf, leapt toward a hanging pipe on the ceiling, swung around it, and threw another arrow, with his bare hand.

In a red streak, the arrow pierced the air, struck the guard in his chest, and slammed him against the wall with a BANG! Sliding onto the floor, he joined his other two mates in a heap, unconscious.

With his combatants out of commission, Orion let go of the pipe and dropped down. Suddenly, he was exhausted; with his body hunched over and his lungs wheezing, he reached into his pocket and pulled out a small pistol, made from shining, red chrome. Pointing the barrel in front of him, he pulled the pistol’s trigger and waited.

Within seconds, the faint hum of electricity was heard, and then a red-and-white, swirling portal of energy burst into existence, forming directly in front of Orion. It had a mirror-like surface, floated above the ground, and was nearly as tall as a man, snapping and flashing like a livewire.

Stepping toward the portal, Orion was ready to escape, but then stopped—a CRACK! sounded from his back. Reaching to his spine, he straightened his body in pain.

My chiropractor is gonna love this one, he groaned.

With gritted teeth, the old man limped into the portal and disappeared. When he was gone, it closed behind him with a SNAP!

OrionHobbes

CHAPTER THREE

As Tobin arrived home from the soccer match, he found his mother’s boyfriend, Bill, washing dishes at the sink.

Hey, Bill. What’re you doing here so early?

Oh, hey, Tobin. I left work at two to surprise your mom. Bill was an exceptionally kind man in his early fifties who owned a construction business and looked like he just stepped off of a paper towel package. How was school?

Not bad. The boy headed to a cupboard above the fridge and grabbed a bag of potato chips. Same as always, I guess.

Well, that’s good.

Tobin’s mother walked downstairs and gave her son a kiss on his cheek.

Hey, honey. Did you get that test back from Mr. Hastings today? I’m dying to see how you did.

No, not yet, Tobin replied. I guess he’s gonna give them back Monday or something.

Oh. Tobin’s mother helped Bill with the dishes. Don’t eat too many of those chips, honey; I packed you some of Grandma’s noodle soup for you to take to work. And don’t forget we might not be here when you get home.

Yeah, I know. Actually, it might not matter, anyway, ‘cuz I’m probably gonna go to a friend’s house after work, and then spend the night at Chad’s. If that’s okay with you.

Tobin’s mother thought it over. I guess so. Is that really where you’re going? And how many other people are going to be at this friend’s house?

Oh, I don’t know, just the usuals: Jennifer, Chad, whoever. Plus a couple hundred other people maybe, who knows.

What?

I’m kidding, I’m kidding.

Tobin’s mother looked to Bill. He smiled and shrugged.

All right, she sighed. Be careful. I’ll see you in the morning.

Tobin walked to his mom and wrapped her in a hug. Thanks, Mom. Anyone ever tell you you’re the greatest?

Yeah, that’s great, Tobin, but I’m serious about that: be careful. Now go get dressed for work before you’re late, remember what they said last time.

With a grin, Tobin headed upstairs, excited and eager for the night to begin. In the kitchen, he heard the phone ring and his mother answer it.

Hello? Oh, hi, Mr. Hastings.

Tobin stopped, halfway up the stairs, his eyes wide.

Yes, he just got home a couple of minutes ago. No, he didn’t tell me what he got on his Algebra test.

Tobin grimaced. He didn’t have to turn around to know that his mom was glaring at him. It felt like an eternity before she spoke again.

You’re kidding me, she sighed. And this all happened today?

Another sigh. Two sighs in less than a minute. Not good.

All right, well, thank you for letting me know, Mr. Hastings. No, I’m just sorry to waste your time like this. I will. Bye.

She hung up the phone. Tobin walked downstairs and looked to her, but she didn’t turn around. She simply stood at the sink, washing dishes.

If you still think you’re going out tonight, she said, you’re crazy.

Tobin stepped toward her. What? Why?

You know why, Tobin. Don’t play stupid.

I’m not, Mom! Seriously! I didn’t even do anything, it was just a stupid joke.

Oh, it was just a joke. You got kicked out of the cafeteria for two weeks and got another detention, but it was just a joke. Okay.

Mom, I was just being funny. It’s not like I hurt anybody or anything. Even the ladies in the office were laughing about it and everything.

Oh, and I guess since they were laughing about it, then I should probably just laugh it off, too, right? Well, that’s not gonna happen, Tobin. Not anymore.

What’s that supposed to mean?

It means you’re grounded.

Tobin laughed. Shut up.

I’m serious, Tobin; I can’t allow you to keep doing this stuff. You’re seventeen years old, you shouldn’t be getting thrown out of the cafeteria and getting detentions! It’s ridiculous. She put a dish in the drying rack. So, until I know you’re behaving yourself, you’ll be in your room every night, unless you’re at work or eating dinner.

Tobin rolled his eyes. Yeah, okay. This is so stupid. I didn’t even do anything.

No, you never do, Tobin. I know.

Stomping up the stairs, Tobin grabbed his work uniform from his room, and then stomped back down again.

This is so friggin’ ridiculous. I seriously cannot wait to get out of this place next year.

His mother laughed. I doubt that, Tobin. Who’s gonna clean your clothes? Who will cook you dinner?

Tobin reached for the doorknob. I don’t know. Dad left you and he obviously did okay. I’ll figure something out.

A silence. Bill turned to Tobin’s mother, but she only looked to the dishes in the sink.

Tobin, she said, her voice quiet, her hands in the soapy water. Go to work.

Spinning around, Tobin walked outside and slammed the door. But, before he got into his car, he looked back to the kitchen window. Inside, he could see his mom standing at the sink, with Bill’s arm around her. She was still looking down at the water.

***

At 9:25 that night, Tobin knelt on the floor of an empty aisle in Thomas Grocery Store, half-heartedly straightening a series of canned string beans on a shelf. After much internal debate, he had decided it would be best for him to just go home after work, skip the party, and apologize to his mom, especially after what he said to her before he left. It seemed to be his specialty: saying incredibly stupid things in an argument, usually the most hurtful things he could think of, and then immediately regretting it afterwards.

Tobin! he heard someone call. He looked up and saw his manager, Jeff, standing at the top of the aisle. Go get your last carriage pick-up, then you can leave.

Tobin stood and wiped the dust from his khakis.

Thank god, he muttered.

***

Outside, Tobin saw three lonely carriages at the end of the parking lot, so he walked to them and brought them back to the entrance. As he pushed them along, the sparse sounds and sights of the night seemed to envelop him: the rusty carriage wheels squeaking; the wisps of fog floating ghost-like above the pavement; the broken streetlight buzzing and flickering above him. The boy suddenly felt very unsettled. That feeling only grew when he realized he was not alone.

What the hell? he wondered. He looked ahead and saw somebody standing in the entrance of the grocery store: it was a tall, thin black man, with grey hair and glasses. The old man was standing with his arms behind his back, and wearing a red coat that reached his knees.

With an uneasy feeling in his gut, Tobin pushed the carriages into the store and lined them up with the others. As he watched the old man, the old man stared right back, with a slight smile across his face.

Hello, Tobin offered, as he turned around.

But the old man said nothing.

Can I help you? Tobin asked.

But, again, nothing.

Look, Tobin said, pointing to the door with his thumb, we’re about to close, so if you want something you should probably just—

Hello, Tobin, the old man said.

Tobin squinted. Uh, hi. Do I know you?

The old man smiled. No. But I was a very close friend of your father’s.

Tobin’s brow furrowed. He looked the man over. Well, my dad took off when I was three, so I have no idea who you are.

The old man waited a moment. I know that, Tobin, but my name is Orion, and what I have to tell you is very, very important. I know that you don’t know who I am, and that you must be very suspicious, but you must try and listen to me. Okay? It’s very important.

Tobin thought it over.

Sure, he said with a laugh. What have you got?

A silence.

You are in great danger, Tobin.

Tobin snickered. He stepped toward the door.

Yeah, okay, thanks, pal. Thanks for that. I’ll make sure to write that one down. Look, you should probably just get out of here, okay?

The boy pushed a button above the door and it opened. But Orion stayed put.

I know what I’m saying sounds strange, Tobin, but a group of people are looking for you tonight. You must be very careful, please, whatever you do. This is incredibly serious.

Tobin’s heart jumped. He looked into the store, but saw nobody nearby.

Uh, look, the boy said, if you don’t leave, I’m gonna havta tell my manager, and then he’s probably gonna call the cops, and that won’t be good, so why don’t you just go home or something, okay? C’mon, let’s go.

Tobin motioned toward the open door.

Dammit, the old man snapped. He began to search for something in his coat pockets, his fingers trembling, his breath coming in quick gasps. I don’t have much time—dammit, where is…? Here, look, look. He handed Tobin a photograph. This is a picture of your father and me.

Tobin looked down at the photograph. It showed two men in their early thirties: one of them was a young Orion, wearing the same red coat, and the other was a dark-haired man. The dark-haired man was wearing a midnight blue outfit with a black cape on his back, and also black gloves. On his chest there was a white S in the shape of a lightning bolt.

Tobin was stunned. The man looked like his father.

Okay, the boy asked, what the hell is this? Who are you?

Orion suddenly screamed. Tobin jumped back, startled, as the old man doubled over, clutching his stomach.

I’m sorry, Tobin, I wish I could stay, but I can’t, I—arrrgghh! He groaned and gritted his teeth, his voice a hoarse, pained whisper. Listen…if you get into any trouble tonight, if anyone comes looking for you—run. It doesn’t matter what your body tells you, or what you think you should do: run. Run until you are far away, and even then do not stop.

Tobin’s thoughts flew a mile a minute.

What are you talking about? What is this?

The old man screamed again, falling against the wall. As he staggered toward the exit, he held his side.

I’m sorry, he said. I’ll do my best to speak to you again soon. I’m sorry.

Tobin watched as Orion ran out of the store and down the building. Then, the boy looked around, half-expecting to see a hidden camera.

Okay, he said. What the hell was that?

The boy ran out of the store and after Orion.

Hey! he shouted. Hey, get back here! The old man was running away and almost at the end of the building. You can’t just leave! What are you talking about? Hey! Hey!

But, suddenly, Orion turned the corner of the store, and a blinding red flash and a snap of lightning erupted in the night.

Whoa! Tobin exclaimed. He staggered back, raising an arm to shield his eyes. When he regained his bearings, he found that the world was covered in a red haze, and his ears were ringing like mad. Cautiously stepping forward, he placed his hand on the corner of the building and peered around it, looking to the back of the grocery store.

But nothing was there.

The old man was gone.

CHAPTER FOUR

Still trying to make sense of his strange encounter, Tobin walked into his house and hung his car keys on the wall. Hearing the TV on in the living room, he looked in and found Bill on the couch, watching the Red Sox game.

Oh, hey, Bill. How was dinner, did you guys have fun?

Uh, yeah. Yeah, we did. It was good.

Cool. Where’s my mom?

She’s, uh, upstairs. She went to bed when we got back, called it an early night. I told her I’d stay here until you got home.

Oh.

Slightly confused, Tobin headed upstairs. He walked down the hallway to his room, but then stopped at his mother’s room. Inside, he could see that she was asleep, and next to her on the nightstand, there were several bunches of balled-up tissues.

Tobin stepped back into the hallway. Reaching into his pocket, he took out the photograph that the old man had given him and studied it.

***

After a quick change of clothes, Tobin climbed up the ladder to his attic and turned on the light. Maneuvering past the exercise equipment and Christmas decorations, he made his way to a series of boxes against the far wall. Sorting through them, he found the one he was looking for; it was labeled: MOM’S STUFF.

Tobin opened the box. It was filled with photographs, picture albums, and other mementos. One of the photos caught Tobin’s eye: it was of him and his mother, taken at a recent family barbeque. He was laughing and pulling away from her as she wrapped her arms around him and tried to give him a goofy kiss on the cheek.

Tobin chuckled, putting the photo down. Then, at the bottom of the box, he found a picture album. As he opened its cover, he felt a slight wave of nerves in his stomach. He rarely looked at these pictures, and his mother looked at them even less.

They were pictures of his mother and father’s life together: their wedding day, their honeymoon, bringing home a new baby.

Tobin flipped through the pages. He stopped on a picture of himself at a baseball game with his father. They were eating popcorn and wearing matching caps, bought only moments earlier. Tobin guessed at his age in the picture. Probably around three. It must have been right before he left.

Tobin turned the page. He stopped on another photo.

This photo showed his father, in his mid-twenties, standing next to another man, also in his mid-twenties. The other man was tall, thin, and wearing glasses. Tobin compared the photo with the one from his pocket, and the two men did look similar.

A buzzing came from Tobin’s phone—it was a text message, from Jennifer:

EVERYONE’S HERE. ARE YOU COMING OR WHAT?

Tobin closed the box, watched his head on the low ceiling, and walked toward a window.

I really shouldn’t, and it is absolutely the wrong decision, but yes, I am. He opened the window and crawled onto a short roof above the porch of his house. Because I am an idiot.

After closing the window, Tobin hopped off the roof, walked down the street, and turned the corner toward Stacey Redmond’s house.

CHAPTER FIVE

The party had been a great one. It was at a house only a mile-and-a-half from Tobin’s—right along the beach—and the early autumn air had been just warm enough for the teens to grill some burgers, chat outside, and pretend it was still summer for one more night.

Now, though, the party was almost over, and Tobin was walking along the shore with one of his best friends. She was someone he had known ever since the seventh grade, when they had both helped each other sneak out of an insufferably boring health class.

You are so lame, Jennifer told him.

What? Why?

Disappearing old men at the supermarket? Red flashes of lightning or whatever the heck you said? Tobin, you’ve been trying to scare me with stories like this since we were in middle school. This is—my god, it’s like we are still twelve.

I know, but this time it actually happened, Jen, I swear! I don’t know what else to tell you, but this is absolutely, completely true.

Yeah, okay. Just like the time in ninth grade when you were sick in bed and you saw your neighbor murdering his wife. Just like that.

Tobin smiled. That…was also true. Both of these stories are true.

Yeah, either that or plots from Hitchcock movies. Either one.

Okay, look, the other one was a lie, but this one is true, I’m telling you. I can even show you the picture and everything.

Jennifer laughed it off. Whatever.

A silence passed.

This was fun, though, wasn’t it? she asked. Tonight?

Yeah, it was. I just wish I could’ve gotten here earlier.

I know, me too. I’m thinking about having everyone over my house in a couple of weeks, though. My parents might be going away.

Tobin looked at her with a grin. Everyone that was here? Don’t you think your dad might be a little mad if you have a party with, like, fifty people?

She shrugged. I guess. I just want everyone to hang out again soon.

What is it with you and all this hanging out with everybody stuff lately, anyway? You’re going crazy with this.

I know. But that’s actually what I wanted to talk to you about tonight. Why I wanted you and Chad to come.

It is?

Yeah. You and Chad…you guys are my best friends. I’ve been hanging out with you two longer than anyone else in my life. And when we go away to college next year, I don’t want that to change.

It won’t.

It might. My sister is friends with nobody that she went to high school with. Nobody. And she goes to college like twenty minutes away.

Well, that won’t happen with us.

It might. It probably will.

No, it won’t. Because I won’t let it.

Well, then, we have to make sure. Let’s promise, tonight, seriously, the three of us, that no matter what happens next year, we will always stay friends. Just like this.

Okay.

I’m serious, Tobin.

He laughed. "I am, too! It had never even crossed my mind that we wouldn’t be friends."

Really?

Yes.

Okay.

A silence.

Because, hanging out with you guys…that’s like my favorite thing in the world.

Really?

Yeah. And don’t make fun of me for saying that.

Tobin laughed. As they walked along the beach, he put his arm around her and kissed her on the side of her head.

Okay.

***

As Tobin and Jennifer returned to the party, Tobin’s phone rang.

Uh-oh.

What?

It’s my mom.

He let it ring.

Aren’t you gonna answer it? She probably just wants to know where you are.

Yeah, I know, but she probably also just found out that I left, and will now somehow find a way to actually kill me through the phone. I’ll just wait till I get home.

You sure?

Yeah. I said something pretty crappy to her today, anyway, so I should really go back and apologize. He headed for the street. Tell Chad we should get lunch tomorrow, okay?

Okay. And remember what I told you, Tobin: if you see any more disappearing old men in red coats, I want you to call me. I can get you some help.

He laughed. Ha, ha. Very funny, Jen. Talk to you later.

Bye, Tobin.

***

Walking along a quiet road, Tobin was about halfway home when his phone rang again.

Geez, Mom, I’m on my way. Take it easy.

But, when he looked at the phone, Tobin saw that it read: UNKNOWN CALLER. He answered it.

Hello?

A woman replied. Please, whoever this is, don’t call the police. She sounded as if she had been crying.

Tobin was startled. What? Who is this?

Please! the woman cried. He said if you don’t come right now, or—or if you call the police, he’ll—he’ll—

She sobbed. Tobin could no longer understand her. He grew frightened.

Who is this? Why are you—Hello…? Hello?

The woman didn’t answer. Instead, a man’s voice came from the phone. It was hushed, calm, and quiet.

You better get over here, Tobin. As fast as you can. Don’t stop and don’t ask for help. You are the only one who can help her.

The boy was nauseous. His hands shook.

What? What are you talking about?

Jackson’s Bookstore, the man said. At the end of the Chapman Bridge. Now. Before it’s too late.

And then the man hung up.

Hello? Tobin asked. Hello…?!

The boy looked at his phone, then put it back in his pocket. With his stomach rolling, he looked down the street toward his house, then back in the direction of where he came. Suddenly, he felt a warmth behind his eyes, and saw a quick flash of blue light.

Tobin walked in the opposite direction of his house. All of his thoughts faded away and he had a fierce, unwavering focus. He walked toward the Chapman Bridge.

It began to rain.

***

Usually by this time, Susan Wilheim was home for the night. Her bookstore was closed, she had enjoyed a nice glass of wine with her husband, and they were ready to watch their favorite late night TV program. But on this night, on this suddenly stormy, October night, she had been faced with a nightmare.

Susan was tied by glowing purple ropes to a chair in the middle of her bookstore. She was gagged, sobbing, and terrified. With tears streaming down her face, she looked to the man on the other side of the room.

Jonathan Ashmore, the pale man in the purple suit, stood at a large picture window, watching the pounding rain that had just started to fall. He was waiting for someone to appear at the other end of the Chapman Bridge, directly outside the bookstore, but that person wasn’t here yet. With an impatient grunt, he wiped away the condensation on the window and looked toward Susan.

Can you please stop all that crying and struggling? he asked. I know you’re playing the ‘damsel-in-distress’ role and everything, but really, that’s just annoying.

Jonathan walked to her and turned on a lamp. She looked up at him.

Take it easy, he said, frustrated, chomping away on his gum. No one’s gonna hurt you. I told you: I’m just gonna wait here, do my thing, and then…I’ll be on my way.

Thunder rumbled. The wind picked up. Jonathan walked to the window and looked to the other end of the bridge. A boy was there, about seventeen years old. Tobin.

Ah, Jonathan said, walking back to Susan. "Places everyone.

It’s show time.

***

At the other end of the Chapman Bridge, Tobin stood in the rain and listened to it pattering the dirt and pebbles around him.

What am I doing? he asked himself. Looking down, he saw that his clothes were drenched to his skin, and his hair was in wet pieces across his forehead. He wasn’t sure how he had gotten there, or even how long it took. This is insane, I have to call the police.

The boy took his phone from his pocket, but then looked up at the bookstore on the other side of the bridge. A woman appeared in a large picture window, pushed there by somebody. She was tied to a chair. She was crying.

Tobin’s thoughts faded away. He stepped onto the bridge.

Another person appeared in the window. It was a pale man in a purple suit. He reached over and put his hand on the woman’s shoulder. He was chewing gum.

A flash of white. A burst of heat. With quick, heavy footsteps, Tobin walked across the bridge. He felt his fists clench, his abdomen tighten, and his back straighten. He was ready. He did not know what was about to happen, yet he knew he had been waiting for this moment his entire life.

Lightning streaked across the sky. Thunder boomed.

***

In the quiet bookstore, Jonathan pushed Susan away from the window and against a far wall.

There you go, he said. Now just sit here and watch. Should be interesting.

Jonathan looked down and saw that she was crying.

Look, he said, you’re gonna be fine. He turned off the lights around the room. If everything goes the way it should, I’ll leave here, and it’ll be like none of this ever happened. You won’t even remember seeing my handsome face.

The pale man smiled at Susan, then popped a piece of gum into his mouth and crouched in front of the window, with his back to her. As he stared at the floor, he thought.

You know, he said, this isn’t really my style, to be honest. I usually don’t like to get involved in things that are this big—and believe me, this is big—but this one was just too good to pass up. So, I just gotta be the bad guy for a bit, you gotta be the victim, and then that’s that. Okay?

Behind her back, Susan rubbed her wrists together. She found that she could move her arms, just a bit. When she looked down, she saw that the purple glow around her ankles had begun to fade.

Jonathan snapped his gum, picking at a spot on the floor.

I don’t know why I’m telling you all this, he said. It’s not like you have much of a choice, do you?

Jonathan realized that the room was silent. He turned around.

Susan was free from the chair and standing over him.

The pale man frowned. Aw, dammit.

Susan reared back and kicked Jonathan in the groin, causing him to fall over with a grunt. In a panic, she ran to a phone and dialed 9-1-1.

9-1-1, what is your emergency?

Please! she cried. Somebody’s here and he’s going to—

But the phone was ripped away from Susan and thrown across the store. She turned around.

That, Jonathan said, was not smart.

The pale man pushed Susan into a corner, trapping her there. As he talked, he flexed his fingers, open and closed, open and closed.

I was having a good day. There hasn’t been one of those in a while, and I was starting to enjoy it. But now…now it’s happening again, and it’s all your fault. You ruined everything.

With wide eyes, Susan watched Jonathan’s fingers. They grew into twisted claws—long, bony, skinny claws with translucent talons on their ends.

I have my good days, Susie Q, and I have my bad days. But you just turned this into a very, very bad day.

Jonathan pulled her close and opened his mouth. Suddenly, it was filled with snake-like fangs—disgustingly yellow and dripping with saliva.

Susan screamed. Somebody please help me!

Glass shattered. Thunder boomed. Lightning lit up the night. Jonathan spun around. Susan stopped crying.

There, in the dark shadows, was Tobin. He stood in the broken picture window frame, with his clothes soaked and pressed against him. As he stared at the floor, with his fists at his sides, his chest rose and fell with deep breaths. Another lightning bolt lit up the darkness around him.

Jonathan was transfixed by the boy in the window. He pulled Susan nearer as she tried to get away.

Wait, he said. Wait.

A thunderclap rumbled. Tobin looked up. His white, swirling eyes looked like they were dead.

Let her go, he said.

No, Jonathan replied, amused. No, I don’t think so.

Tobin jumped down and walked toward Jonathan. The pale man grew nervous.

You—you really think I’d do this alone, Tobin? No, I always save this kind of stuff for my friends. They enjoy it much more than I do.

With a snap of his fingers, Jonathan summoned Nelson and Miller from the shadows. The towering duo was made up of two huge men in their early thirties, with the bodies of weightlifters, purple suits like Jonathan’s, and white, zombie-like faces. As they stood on either side of Jonathan, the pale man looked to Tobin with a smile.

Plus, he said, I’d just hate to ruin another suit.

Tobin was calm. His fists were raised, and his eyes were now glowing with a blue, electric light. Lightning streaked across the sky.

Jonathan pointed at the boy. Take him down.

Nelson and Miller started toward Tobin. Miller took the first swing, but Tobin grabbed the goon’s fist, swung him around, and used his momentum to toss his huge body into a bookcase. The shelves came tumbling down on top of the goon, sending books and shards of wood scattering across the floor.

Lightning struck and thunder boomed.

Crouched in the corner, Jonathan watched the fight with Susan. She shouted and tried to get away, but he held her wrists tightly, and then took a small bag from his pocket.

When you awake, he said, pouring sand from the bag into his palm, you’ll have no memory of me, the kid, or anything that happened tonight. Now sleep.

Jonathan blew the sand into Susan’s face and she dropped to the floor, her eyes fluttering.

Near the bookcases, Tobin heard the woman fall and was distracted, turning around. In an instant, Nelson tackled him and they tumbled to the floor. Struggling, they awkwardly—but violently—exchanged several brutal punches, until Tobin felt Nelson push off of him and stand. When the boy looked up, he saw the goon looming over him.

Nelson smiled. Reaching to his waist, he removed two shining knives from his belt and held them in between his fingers. Then, snapping his wrists, he flung them down at Tobin.

The boy’s first instinct was to turn away, but then he stopped: he saw that the blades were tumbling toward him through the air ever so slowly, like they were traveling through gelatin. Reaching across his body, Tobin grabbed a book from the floor and held it in front of his face. He heard two THUNKS! in the book, one right after the other, and then everything returned to normal speed.

Tobin turned the book over and looked at its front. The two knives were sticking in its cover.

Nelson was stunned. What the…? How did you…?

Tobin stood up. His thoughts suddenly returned to him; they were fast, confused images, like somebody was replaying everything that had happened over the past ten minutes in fast-forward. The boy was shaken, his knees weak and his arms trembling. His eyes were no longer glowing blue.

Neat trick, a voice said from behind him.

Tobin turned around. Jonathan was there.

But I bet you can’t beat this one.

The pale man smiled. As his mouth stretched into a grotesque crescent moon across his face, his teeth elongated into yellow, snake-like fangs. White, patchy fur sprouted from his hands and arms, and as he moved his head around agitatedly, bat-like wings ripped through his suit and stretched out across the room, measuring six feet long on each side of his body. Finally, when he looked to the ceiling, his nose flattened into a disgusting snout.

Tobin stared at the bat-creature in front of him. It gazed at the ceiling, panting and growling, until suddenly it snapped its head down and looked at him. Its eyes turned yellow.

Boo, it said.

Tobin backed away, panicking and swinging his fists. But Jonathan dodged every swipe. Taking a coiled whip from his belt, the bat-creature snapped it at Tobin, wrapping it around the boy’s legs. When Jonathan pulled the whip, Tobin fell, crashing awkwardly against a chair and hitting the ground.

Jonathan pounced, landing on top of Tobin and pinning him to the floor with his hind legs. Laughing and growling, he slashed at Tobin’s chest over and over, tearing at his shirt with his long, clawed fingers. The boy screamed, the pain unbearable, like his skin was being lanced with a fiery knife.

Finally, Jonathan jumped off, and Tobin looked down. The boy’s chest was now sliced open and bleeding, and there was a white acid sizzling on the wounds. He tried to stand but fell down, his limbs suddenly feeling as if they were not there. All he could feel was the burning. The burning, the burning.

As Nelson and Miller stood over the boy, Jonathan crouched down and spoke to him.

I’m sorry, Tobin, but the bit of pain is necessary. We knew you wouldn’t come quietly, and we couldn’t take our chances with you…acting up. But, in just a few more seconds now, it’ll all be over. Don’t try and fight it.

The pale man reached down and grabbed Tobin’s face, forcing him to look out a window, pressing his cheek against the glass.

"Your world out there is on a timetable, Tobin, and one that is not in its favor. Earth has been on this course for decades, centuries, maybe even eons, and now we are finally coming to its end. It’s my job to help that end happen, and—unfortunately for you—that means erasing you, your name, and any trace that you ever existed.

You should know that it has to be this way, Tobin. We have no choice. We have to break you.

Looking out the window, Tobin suddenly thought of his mother. Somehow, in his mind, he could see her: she was standing on the front porch of their house, waiting for him to come home.

The boy’s eyes flashed open. They burned bright blue. He had one more moment of clarity.

Tobin stood and pushed Jonathan away. Amazingly, stunningly, lightning bolts screamed from the boy’s hands. The streams of raging, blue-and-white electricity threw Jonathan across the store and he smashed into the cash register, his body contorting around the wooden counter before falling to the floor. As he lay there, unmoving, smoke rose from his body, and little dashes of white electricity jumped across his chest.

Lightning struck and thunder boomed.

Nelson and Miller ran to Jonathan, the both of them very afraid.

Oh my god, Jon, are you okay? Miller shouted. C’mon, man, we gotta get out of here! C’mon! C’mon!

Helping Jonathan to his feet, the two goons ran out of the store. Jonathan followed, with his arms across his ribs, his body still smoking.

Tobin fell to the ground. His mind and body were completely drained—he felt nothing except a dense, numbing tingling in his hands. Hearing a police siren, he crawled to a window and pulled himself up. Through the glass, he could see that three police cars were speeding across the Chapman Bridge, and the rain was falling harder than ever. A faint ringing entered Tobin’s ears, and his eyesight began to go blurry.

Pushing off the ground with his hands, Tobin stood on his shaking legs and stumbled across the room. He was weak and unbalanced; the store around him was nothing but a swirling mess of red-and-blue lights from the police cars outside. When the boy finally reached Susan, he lifted her and placed her on a couch against the wall, away from the window.

There was a mirror above the couch. Tobin looked at his reflection in it, but the face he saw was not his own: it was drawn and pale, and its milky white eyes were staring back at him lifelessly. Red-and-blue lights were dancing around the face like fireflies.

This was the last thing Tobin saw before everything went black.

CHAPTER SIX

The morning after the thunderstorm in Bridgton, Vincent Harris stood