The Dark Avenger

By Drew Banton

What does it really mean to be a Super Hero? Two friends seek an answer to that question.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Drew Banton
• Release date: May 17, 2019
• ISBN: 9780463350676

Drew Banton

Drew Banton has published novels, novellas and stories. He has had pieces appear in Event Horizon online magazine and Bicycling Magazine. He has worked as a printer, welder, auto mechanic, bicycle frame builder, industrial mechanic and manufacturing engineer. He lives in Brookline, Massachusetts. When not writing he can usually be found walking his dog or trying to keep up with his grandson.

Book preview

The Dark Avenger

by

Drew Banton

The Industrial Strength Press

©Copyright 2019 Drew Banton

All Rights reserved

Smashwords edition

Also by Drew Banton:

A Dangerous Job

The Jack

The Gurry Room

The Mascot

The Printer's Apprentice

I Walk My Dog Every Morning

The Future Detective

e-mail: [e-mail]

web: The Industrial Strength Press

Authors Note: This is a work of fiction. The characters and events are products of my imagination and are in no way intended to reflect negatively on any real person, living or dead.

Table of Contents

Start

Midpoint

End

Author

It was one of the most epic sporting events of all time. The lithe, athletic, if somewhat under-sized right hander against the slim, crafty left hander, the former seemingly poised to break through at any moment, the latter precariously teetering on the edge but always managing to regain his balance. They battled through the late afternoon light into early evening, still deadlocked, the thwonk of the bat, the crack of the ball punctuating the running commentary describing and adding to the drama. A focused bright light shining from above allowed them to continue the struggle into the darkness.

And then, with the right hander threatening to finally break the will of his opponent and surge ahead, the light failed.

What the hell do you think you're doing down there? a shrill voice came from above through the darkened window where the light had been.

Ma! yelled the right hander, whose name was Lou. We're trying to finish our game! Don't ruin it!

Get in here this instant! the voice screamed in reply, the shrill note rising still higher.

But Lou was already running into the house to confront his mother.

Davis, the left hander, held his bat and watched the scene unfold. Should he just go home now or wait a while longer on the very slim chance that some sort of resolution could be achieved and the game be allowed to reach its natural conclusion? He knew he was probably going to lose, but losing was preferable to having this sort of abrupt ending. He was used to dramatic scenes between Lou and his mother. Usually they would escalate out of control and he would slip out the door or the yard unnoticed back to his own relatively serene home. But every once in awhile tempers would cool, the drama would subside and he could resume whatever it was he had been doing with his friend.

That didn't seem likely tonight, though. There seemed to be a struggle going on for possession of the spotlight that Lou had rigged in his bedroom window to allow them to continue playing. Davis couldn't make out the words but the tones of the voices were growing ever more hysterical. He took the bat and ball and began the walk home along the suburban streets, moving from the pool of light of one widely-spaced streetlight to the next. It had been one hell of a game.

***

If you excepted Myer-Myer, a man of indeterminate age who hurried around the village center talking to himself and sweeping out stores in return for food and lodging, Lou's mother, Vera, was the only genuinely crazy person Davis knew. She hadn't always been crazy. High-strung, neurotic, prone to operatic outbursts, yes, all of those, but at one end of what a reasonable person would call the normal range. Then had come her car crash. Davis never learned the exact details but knew it involved in some way her huge yellow Cadillac convertible, high speed and a light pole. After she had finally returned home from the hospital the obvious permanent damage was her disfigured face. Prior to the accident, she had a lean, somewhat hawkish look with a liveliness of expression that made it appealing, even to adolescent boys who were loathe to evaluate their own mothers in such terms but didn't hesitate when it came to the mothers of their friends. But despite the best efforts of highly skilled surgeons through numerous surgeries, there hadn't been much they could do to reconstruct her lower jaw. It was now a sort of half a jaw. With the half that was left she could eat some soft food and talk more or less intelligibly in a curious talking out of the side of her mouth adaptation. Lou and his friends had moved through initial horror to morbid curiosity to bland acceptance. They gradually forgot how she had looked before her accident. Any pictures around the house that showed her before the crash were discreetly removed.

Her new behavior, however, was not so easily ignored. It was normal, even for a sub-species typically lacking in a surplus of empathy like adolescent boys, to make allowances for someone who had been through such a traumatic event. But the statute of limitations had long since run out.

This day Davis had encountered the scenario he dreaded the most. He had ridden his bike over to get Lou so they could both ride to a pick-up baseball game at the Harding School ball field. But Lou wasn't ready yet. While he was upstairs doing whatever he needed to do, Davis was trapped alone with Lou's mother.

Davis, my darling, how are you? she gushed when he entered through the side door that opened from the garage.

She swept him up in an embrace that would embarrass pretty much any non-spouse, much less a hormones-on-the-march early teen boy. As he endured the unwanted physical contact, he had to admit to himself that although it couldn't end soon enough, she did smell pretty good for a grown woman. He gazed vaguely across the room, trying to ignore the sight her open robe had revealed. Although her faced was wrecked, there was nothing wrong with her body. She had no business displaying what could be seen through a flimsy nightgown, but it was part of her craziness to be oblivious to the effect it might have on a young boy.

I'm OK, Mrs. Bernstein, he mumbled when she finally released him.

Of course, you are, my dear boy, of course you are. Here, sit down. Let me pour you some orange juice. She guided him to a stool at a right-angled projection from the kitchen counter and moved to the refrigerator to get him the juice.

That's OK, Mrs. Bernstein, I already had some at home. Is Lou ready?

Without interrupting her movements, she screamed in a voice Davis thought might shatter the glass she was holding, LOU! DAVIS IS HERE! GET YOUR ASS IN GEAR!

Davis thought he heard Lou replying from somewhere in the house, but he couldn't make out the words.

She set down the glass of bright orange liquid in front of him, returned the carton to the refrigerator and leaned back against the counter across from him. Oh, that boy takes forever to do anything. I don't know what I'm going to do with him. But I'm glad I have this chance to talk to you. I have a favor to ask.

Davis