Mockery of Humanity
1
Tyson Lewis stood next to the wall separating a parking lot from the yard of the school he attended. His books were in a bag at his feet. Brown eyes stared out at the playing fields quietly. Tyson liked being alone while the place emptied. He lived too close to ride a bus home, so he liked to wait until the place was deserted before walking home.
It gave him time to think about what he wanted to do.
Tyson picked up his bag, and started walking home. His parents had talked about going out to dinner with the Jamiesons. That left him to his own devices for the night.
Tyson knew the dinner would take a while and his parents would be semi-blitzed when they got home.
He could hardly wait.
Tyson headed across the field, lost in thought. He didn't notice that members of the Street Sharks street gang kept pace with him as he walked.
Tyson made it to his block before the Sharks attacked. They dragged him, fighting, into an alley running between two houses and threw him on the ground. Three of them held them down as the fourth stabbed him in the leg with a loaded needle.
"That'll fix your ratting us out," said the spokesman. "Hope it hurts a lot."
The Sharks walked away, laughing at the top of their voices. They left Tyson convulsing on the dirty ground of the alley. The stuff in the needle was synthetic cocaine, which was almost always deadly.
Tyson lay in place until a man walking his dog found him. At first he thought the boy was dead, but called 911 with his cell phone. The police and an ambulance arrived minutes later. The EMTs took him away on a stretcher.
The police combed the neighborhood but were stymied by the lack of witnesses. No one came forth with anything of use.
2
Tyson dreamed as he lay in a coma in the hospital. He relived the attack over and over as he lay in the cold bed. Sometimes he heard his mother, sometimes his father, talking to him as he slept.
Six months passed with Tyson being cared for by the hospital. One day, the lids of his eyes rolled back. Dark agates looked out from his pale face. He smiled, laughing to himself. Then he got out of bed, pulling out the tubes and wires hooked to him. Small alarms started sounding as he stepped out in the hall.
First he needed clothes, then some money, maybe another place to live until he felt like talking to his folks again.
Tyson walked down the emergency stairs, evading the staff by hiding in the shadows. He was partially amazed that it was so easy. The awakened part laughed inside as Tyson staggered along. It knew that Tyson had a gift now and it was ready to use it.
Tyson reached the lobby, pausing to look for an exit where he wouldn't be seen. One long shadow linked to the front door. He slid along the shadow and out through the revolving door.
Free to really move, Tyson used the shadows of the day to vanish into the cityscape.
3
Tyson examined his face in a mirror in a public restroom. He was not happy with the changes he saw glaring back at him. His eyes were darker, flatter and the wrong color. A yellow tinge had crept to the surface of his skin. His hair had been cut while he was in the hospital, but was a dark red instead of the brown he was used to.
Tyson heard the door begin to creak open. He slid into the air duct, riding a small shadow.
That was the thing that freaked him out the most.
Any time he wanted, he could become one with a shadow, any shadow, no matter how faint. When he did, he could ride that shadow from one point to another. It seemed limited in scope, but he knew he was practically invisible and able to get in anywhere a shadow could.
He was the perfect thief.
But that wasn't what he wanted.
He wanted to pay back the people responsible for his transformation.
Tyson decided he needed clothing other than the hospital gown he wore and a place to live. He didn't want to go home and put his parents in danger while he was looking to get even with the Sharks.
They would connect him and them quick when he started doing things to them.
Tyson used the vent system to sneak out of the building, and along the subway system to his neighborhood. The darkness allowed him to move faster than a train. He was slinking down his street minutes later. A quick slip under a door allowed him into his empty house.
His parents must be at the hospital raising the roof by now.
He went to his room and grabbed some clothes, a light jacket, and the money he had earned working for Quick Stop at night. He slipped out just as easily as he had slipped in.
Now he needed a place to sleep in where no one could surprise him.
He decided to check some of the vacant houses being advertised in the paper. He could stay there until a real estate agent showed up to show the place to a potential customer.
Tyson chose a ramshackle place shrouded by a host of trees. That allowed him number of hiding spots in case the Sharks tracked him down. Neighboring houses faced away from his spot. A bent fence might have been a dog lot, but was empty except for some debris from a torn mat.
Tyson liked its location and outward appearance. He slipped inside to look around. It was empty with a layer of dirt and debris on the walls and floor.
He decided it had probably been on the market a long time as he got used to the lay out.
It would do for what he wanted, after he cleaned it out.
4
Tyson found that he could move things faster than he could walk by riding them along shadows. He was pleasantly surprised by that discovery. It made moving the furniture a breeze. Picking up the trash and cleaning the cobwebs and dirt was even easier.
He paused, glad of the changes he had wrought in the basement area.
The rest of the house could remain the way it was. He wanted it to look abandoned while he was conducting his business.
Tyson went to a gas station and cleaned up. He decided it was time to get money to cut on the power and water to his hideout.
It would also be an experiment on what he could do in a real fight with what he had.
Moving through shadows should be a big advantage over normal thugs.
Hopefully.
Tyson went back to his place, waiting for the night to fall and cloak him. Soon he would be on the prowl to look for the guys who ruined his life.
Tyson used the time waiting to construct a makeshift costume. When he was done, perhaps he could return to a normal life.
As much of normal as he could manage the way he looked at the moment.
No use letting the Sharks know who he was so they could go after his folks while he was looking into their business.
He examined himself in a mirror he found upstairs. He smiled at the clownish ensemble he had made from boots, stitched together pants from two different pair, a patchwork shirt with a target drawn on the left side of his chest, a face mask carved into a jack o' lantern cheerfulness, and a short cape from a cut blanket.
He laughed at himself.
Tyson slid along the shadows after sundown, hiding in darkness, looking for one of his attackers. He started at the basketball court at Gentry Park. Most of the Street Sharks hung out there, playing basketball, smoking whatever they had in their pockets, legal or not, drinking forties down as fast as the beer would flow.
Tyson waited at the base of a basket, spotting one of his attackers as soon as he slid on the court. Bright lights illuminated the park, but there were more than enough shadows for the mutant.
Now all he had to do was wait for his target to get tired of his buddies and leave. Then the real game could really start.
Tyson could hardly wait.
5
Tyson's quarry, Richie Mavelin, hung out to the wee hours of the morning. Finally he said he was too tired, and headed for his family's apartment near Gentry Park. Tyson rode along in his shadow until Richie got to his front door. Wary of lights, Tyson gave him time to turn in before making his move.
The shadow rider slid under the door, finding the right room in total silence.
He wondered if he could be scary enough to get Ritchie to talk to him.
Tyson emerged from the shadows in Richie's room. He grabbed a lamp off a end table and flung it hard on top of the sleeping Street Shark. Mavelin fell to the floor, wondering what had happened.
"Hiya," Tyson said, merged with the darkness of the room. "Sorry to wake you up, but I have to know why you stuck a needle in Tyson Lewis's arm."
"I don't know what you're talking about," said Richie, trying to figure out where the intruder was in his room.
"Really," said Tyson. "What a fibber."
Part of Richie's foot sank in the shadows. Something holding his ankle dragged him across the room towards his window incredibly quickly. The next thing he knew he had smashed through his window and was falling to the ground below in a shower of glass.
Richie hit the ground hard. The apartment was on the first floor, but he had been thrown with enough force to knock the air from his lungs. He dug his fingers in the ground, trying to pick himself up.
"Let's try again," said Tyson, wrapped in darkness. "A needle in a kid's arm outside of your school. Why?"
"I don't know what you're talking about," said Richie.
Suddenly the darkness carried Richie into the wall.
"I saw you," said Tyson. "Last chance before I get really nasty."
"Get as nasty as you want," said Richie. "I got nothing to say."
Richie heard maniacal laughter as he was dragged through the streets. He smashed into obstacles as the unseen force pulled him along by his ankles. Suddenly he was hanging above an alley a few blocks from the high school.
It was a three-story fall, but he couldn't see the bottom.
"Last chance, loser," said the voice, materializing a grinning face as it appeared out of the shadow. One hand held Richie by his neck.
"You got the wrong guy," Richie shouted. "I didn't do anything."
"Too bad for you," Tyson said, letting go.
Tyson watched as Richie crawled out of the alley after impacting against the concrete. The gangbanger had to pull his broken body to a pay phone to call for help. The mutant felt a twinge, but suppressed it.
This guy had helped put him in a coma for months. Sympathy was for those who deserved it.
An ambulance arrived. The paramedics worked Mavelin over before loading him in a gurney and taking him to a hospital. Tyson rode along, laughing as it rolled into Church Hill General, the same hospital where he had awakened.
He followed the potential judas goat around, riding the shadow of the rolling bed. The doctors placed Richie in a room, after they strapped his leg back together enough to put a cast on it.
Tyson waited in the air duct. He knew this was how detectives worked to solve crimes. It was a wonder anyone went to jail at all.
Tyson waited, obsessed with finding the answer to his attack, willing to wait for days if he had too. His stomach growling convinced him that maybe he should visit the cafeteria downstairs and grab something if he could.
Tyson slid through the duct system easily, waiting until no one was looking at the shelves of prepackaged food. He dropped into a small shadow, snaring a couple of pies and pints of milk. The shadow he was in was cast by the rail in front of the counter. He slid along to a vent, and back into the air ducting system. It was a rapid climb back to his post.
Tyson devoured his small meal as he waited in his shadowy cloak. Someone had to visit Mavelin after the ruckus that went on. Maybe one of his friends would be one of those who helped hold Tyson down and put that stuff in his veins.
That would be perfect.
A new lead to the brains of this group, if there were any.
Finally as the sun climbed to glare through the drawn blinds, Mavelin's mother appeared at the door. She had a boy on her arm.
"What happened, Richie?," Mrs. Mavelin asked. "The police said you were thrown from a building."
"There's a nut running loose," Richie said. "He thinks I had something to do with Tyson Lewis. I told him I didn't but he threw me off anyway."
"Lewis?," said Mrs. Mavelin. "You mean the boy from your school who was put in the hospital."
"That's him," said Richie.
"Why did he pick on you, Richie?," said Mrs. Mavelin. "He didn't pick you out of a hat."
"I don't know what you're talking about," said Richie. "I didn't have anything to do with it."
"You know who did," said Mrs. Mavelin. "I can see it in your eyes."
"Look, Colin thought he had finked on us, and wanted to teach him a lesson," said Richie. "I didn't have anything to do with it."
"You didn't have anything to do with it then," said Mrs. Mavelin. "I want you to tell the police what happened."
"I can't do that," said Richie. "Colin will kill me if I do that."
"You tell them, or I will," said Mrs. Mavelin. "I have to get to work. When I get off, I'll stop by. You better have really thought about this before that thing comes back and gets you."
Tyson flickered down the duct system and out of the building. His shadow power allowed him to grab a ride on a bus and make his way to his lair. He was careful about moving from shadow to shadow so that no one would spot him.
He entered his house, resting on the couch. Being a shadow was nice and all, but he preferred being normal for the time he could.
He watched the light die outside. When the night fell, it would be his time again. He was uncomfortably aware of the fact that any light shone directly on him would cancel the effect. Traveling in the day didn't give him the leverage he needed.
Only the night did.
6
Tyson was one with the night, flying along the dark shadows towards his school. He didn't know where Colin lived, but he knew someone who did. That someone was in the principal's office.
And Tyson didn't need any key to get in the building.
The shadow boy paused momentarily in front of the front door of the building. He slipped under the steel barrier and along to the office on the front floor. He slipped inside, heading for the file cabinet holding student records.
A yearbook from the year before sat on top of the records. Tyson flipped through the pages, running his finger over every Colin he saw. He smiled under his hockey mask when he found the right one.
A simple twist of the inside of the cabinet's lock let him get Colin's file, which let him get a street address. He closed the drawer after putting the file back. He slipped out of the building.
Tyson flew across the neighborhood. He materialized on the roof of Colin's apartment building. He had no illusions the gangster was at home. It was too early for that.
A simple search of his room might turn up something useable.
Something he could show the world before he finished making Colin's life miserable.
Tyson smiled at the prospect.
Tyson slipped through the crack between a window and its frame. He stood still listening to the apartment. Someone was having a lot of fun in the next room. Tyson loosened the overhead light bulb as he silently searched the bedroom.
He didn't want Colin to take him by surprise and dispel his cover before he could hide, and he didn't need the light anyway.
Tyson's search turned up a number of items that seemed odd to him. One was an empty needle with a small amount of a refracting crystal, handcuffs that snapped themselves in half in his shadowy hands, an album of photos depicting girls being used by the Street Sharks. The activities in the book looked unwanted to Tyson.
He knew some of the girls.
A nasty piece of crap, he decided as he put the rest of the things back. He put the bulb back in the socket before he slipped out the way he had entered.
Time to get an answer to an unpleasant question.
Tyson slipped across the neighborhoods until he found the house of the girl he wanted to talk to. He pulled out one of the more acceptable photos with just the girl's face in it. He slipped inside the second story window.
The girl sat on her bed, clutching her knees to her chest. She seemed to be on a crying jag. This was unlike what he knew this girl used to be like before he went to the hospital. The only light was a desk lamp burning softly.
Another victim.
"Can you hear me, Tina?," Tyson asked, hidden in the shadow. "I want to show you something."
Tyson flipped the picture out of the shadow so that it landed on the bed. The girl gasped when she saw it. She shifted away from the photo, fear plain on her face.
"Do you want to tell me about it?," Tyson asked. "Or do you want me to guess?"
"I don't want to," whispered Tina. "It's bad enough they try to get me alone again so they can do things. They try and try, but I have gotten good at leaving and avoiding them. They call me a slut to my face when they can. Brag about it."
"Have you thought about telling the police?," Tyson asked.
"They would kill me," said Tina. "I'm afraid."
"I want you to call Colin Carne and arrange a meeting," said Tyson, coldly. "Then I will give you the rest of the photographs he took of you. Will you do it?"
Tina sobbed as she nodded.
7
Colin Carne arrived at the meeting with a grin on his lips, and wildness in his eyes. It looked like he was about to do some repeat business. He would add the pictures to his album. They would look good with the others.
As soon as he got to the house, he started having doubts about what he just thought was a long quickie. Everything was dark except for one light in the living room. It looked like the place was empty.
Colin went to the front door, thumbing the door bell impatiently. Where was the whore? She wanted him. The least she could do was meet him at the door.
A shadow came to life in front of Colin, wrapping its hands around his neck. His face slammed against the panel hard before he could draw away. Then he was thrown off the short stoop to the sidewalk.
"What the hell?," Colin said, scrambling to his feet, surprised and fearful.
A dark hand grabbed his ankle as it slid along the shadows on the sidewalk. Colin fell as he was drawn along the ground by the hand. He collided with a Nissan painfully as the grip pulled him off the sidewalk into the street.
Colin fought desperately to break the grip on his leg as he headed into a busy intersection. The hand released him, letting him slide forward. The gang member used that to roll out of the way of a Mack truck.
He got up and started running.
Tyson laughed as he chased Colin along the street. He avoided the beams of the headlights as he delivered a tripping arm again and again to the back of the gangster's legs, sweeping him off his feet. Colin wound up hiding beside a dumpster in an alley, panting from the exertion he had been forced to undergo.
"What do you want?," Colin called out. "Why are you doing this?"
Suddenly a weight slammed into his back. He flew across the alley, smashing against the wall on the other side. The weight vanished into the shadow on impact.
"Because its easy," said a voice from everywhere, and nowhere. "Isn't this what you like to do in your off time? Torture and mutilate people? Today is just your day to get paid."
"Get paid?," Colin shouted as he got to his feet, started running for the mouth of the alley. "Pay this!"
He got to the sidewalk before he looked back to see if anything was behind him like he would see anything. A slim guy in a hockey mask emerged from the shadows flying at him faster than he could move. The masked man hit his upper body, bounced into a shadow, fading to nonexistence like a pool of spilled ink. The gangster flew out in the street, trying to roll with the blow so that he could get to his feet that much quicker.
Lights shined in Colin's face as he started to run again. He spotted the thunderbird as he tried to get out of the way. The heavy car sent him over the roof, and into a heap behind it with a squeal of tortured tires.
Tyson waited in the shadows as the driver of the thunderbird called for help.
Tyson waited as an ambulance roared on the scene. The paramedics checked Colin, one shaking his head. The driver of the thunderbird stood to one side talking to the police. He was describing what he had seen with his hands.
Tyson followed his victim to the hospital to see what his real condition was before turning his eyes on his next quarry.
As soon as word got out, maybe someone would get smart and they would start looking for him. He had no doubts his parents were trying to find him. They would have to wait until he was done with his revenge.
He knew in the movies, a guy out for revenge always did himself in. He was determined to leave no trace back to himself.
Colin was pronounced dead on arrival at the hospital. The doctors noted that some of the injuries were not from the car hit, but they didn't have any idea what had did the deed. Tyson fled back into the night, heading back to the school. That handy yearbook would furnish him with the others.
Tyson's laugh reverberated through the shadows as he flew across the city.
8
It was just as easy for Tyson to break into good, old Farstone High as the last time. This time he looked all of his prey up before leaving. He knew at least one had dropped out as soon as he was old enough. Tyson took his list and decided to head back to his lair. The sun would be rising, and it was time for him to rest, and wait for the coming of the night.
He idly wondered what his parents thought of him disappearing from the hospital. Maybe he should call them. He decided that it wouldn't be a good idea.
His parents would want him to come home and be a normal boy again.
Tyson couldn't do that. His revenge would have to come first, and his parents would have to wait. It wouldn't take long before he was connected with the weird attacks on the Street Sharks. Sooner or later, someone would look at that. Safer to leave them out of the picture.
Tyson slid across the city to his place. He got a drink and a sandwich before turning in to get some sleep. He would wash the blood off his clothes while waiting for the day to end.
9
Tyson woke up, listening to the strange noises surrounding his new home. Kids laughed and played football in the neighbor's yard. Dogs barked. Someone was sawing something.
An idyllic moment, but it didn't interest Tyson.
He washed his clothes in the sink, and hung them up on a line across his makeshift living room. He raided his small refrigerator before turning the TV on. He could have spent the time surfing the net, but his lap top was at home and it wasn't worth the risk to get it.
The police would probably be checking any email he was getting anyway.
Tyson waited for sunset, aware that he had made some headlines with the mysterious death of Colin Carne. The police had no clue, or were holding back any they did have. Tina would probably call and tell them about his visit in the night.
Nothing he could do about that.
He could have used some other means to get at Colin, but had chosen the most expedient in his mind. Still, he felt good about giving her the pictures. Maybe it would let her feel better about herself and move on with her life.
Tyson couldn't do anything more for her. Staying hidden and going about his revenge was all he could handle for himself.
Tyson checked his clothes. They were almost dry. He got a quick snack before dressing in the mildly damp costume. The sun was a giant red eye slowly closing to sleep the night away.
Church Hill looked almost peaceful.
Tyson flowed out of the house, moving to the address on his list. All he needed to do was find the person who belonged to the name that went with that address.
Tyson smiled under the hockey mask as he flowed along.
10
Tyson was disappointed when he reached the first address on his list. His intended victim was not home. He went by all of his intended stops. No one was home. They would come home he was sure. He just didn't want to have to wait on them.
Sooner or later, Richie Mavelin might tell the police, his fellow Sharks, anyone about what had happened and the connection between him and Colin Carne and Tyson Lewis.
That would make things more difficult for the Mocker, maybe impossible even with his shadow power.
Tyson flickered from the last house in a fit of irritation. He wandered across the city, before deciding to see Richie Mavelin again. Maybe something would slip out that could be used.
One tiny lead would be all that it would take.
Tyson easily slipped through the hospital's walls, riding the shadows up to Richie's room again. Police were in the room with the Street Shark. Tyson paused to listen to the confrontation.
"Someone grabbed Colin Carne and beat him to a pulp before he was hit by a car," said one. "Who's got it bad for you guys right now?"
"I don't know what you're talking about," said Richie. "Colin was just a guy I hung out with. No one would be after us."
"Tell them the truth, Richie," Mrs. Mavelin said. "Tell them about the shadow man."
Richie Mavelin glared at his mother. Obviously he didn't want to be looked at as an informant, ratting his buddies out, even if it saved their lives.
"What's going on?," asked one of the detectives. "What shadow man?"
"The guy who dropped me wanted to know what had happened about Tyson Lewis," Richie said. His voice sounded strained from having to admit that.
"He asked specifically about Tyson Lewis?," said the detective.
"He asked about the guy who was put in the coma," said Richie. "He wanted to know about that."
"What did you tell him?," said the detective.
"I didn't say anything," said Richie. "I don't know anything."
"Who else was involved, Richie?," asked the detective. "You, Colin Carne, and who else?"
"I wasn't there," said Richie. "I don't know anything about it."
"This guy is going to come back, Richie," said the other cop. "We're sure of it, especially since you and the dead guy were known associates. Do you think he won't drop you off another building where we can't protect you."
"Look," said Richie. "I didn't do anything, didn't see anything. Colin had some kind of contact with some major connections. The guy would phone Colin for things he wanted done. Colin would get some guys together and do it. Money would arrive in the mail. That's all I know."
"Did he get any money after this thing with Tyson Lewis?," asked the detective.
"Yes," said Richie.
"If you think of something else," said the cop, pulling a card from his jacket. "Let us know. You are our only witness."
"Yeah, I'll do that," said Richie, taking the card.
Tyson shifted through the air ducts, to follow the cops. Knowing someone had targeted him added a wrinkle to this he hadn't foreseen. He had thought it had been something done at random, something done just to pass the time of day.
Knowing it was a deliberate act was enough to make him want to strike back at the rest of the group he was hunting. Strike them as hard as he could. Richie Mavelin was his source. If he could keep applying pressure, maybe Mavelin would crack and give up something else.
First he was going to tail those cops and see if they came up with something he could use in his own search. After all experience was on their side. Maybe they already knew about Colin's mysterious connection. They could have just wanted corroboration from someone in the know.
Tyson lurked in the friendly shadows, waiting for them to leave the hospital. He was not pleased as they went to where he had been stuck for so long and began to ask questions about him. At least the nurses had not seen him sneaking out of the ward. They did learn that his parents had thrown a massive coronary when they found he had vanished without a trace.
The cops wrote everything down before leaving. The shadow man followed them wrathfully.
Tyson rode under the unmarked police car as it headed to a garage under the main police building downtown. It was easy enough for him to slide into one of their shadows, and glide along with them to their office.
He noticed the cork board that was set up with his name on the top of the board. A lot of information was pegged to the cork with thumb tacks. Colin Carne's name and his connection to the attack was added.
One of the cops wrote MOTIVE? on the card beside the thug's name.
"An attempted murder for hire against a high school boy," said the burlier one. "Why? That's the sixty four dollar question."
"Object lesson for someone, Joe?," said the thinner cop. "His parents, maybe?"
"Mr. Lewis works as a chemist for Alchemo, Inc. Mother is a housewife and substitute teacher for the school system," said Joe.
"Do you want to dig into their backgrounds?," said the thinner man. "Maybe they know something we don't."
"Right, Harry. We'll get everything we can on them, and see if something is flushed out in the open," said Joe. "Phone records, credit records, everything. We need to know what the connection is between them and Colin Carne's and Richie Mavelin's supposed connection. We might as well see if we can get copies of Carne's phone records to see if we get lucky."
"Right, Joe."
Tyson waited for the detectives to leave before he went through the papers they had gathered on his case. He didn't find anything he thought was useful.
Maybe he wasn't good enough as a detective to make sense of what he saw.
He stared at the card with Carne's name on it.
Maybe he should have a look around Alchemo. His dad did a lot of research for them. Could that be a motive for murder?
Tyson went to the window, and fled into the night. His shadow powers allowed him to race through the city streets almost as fast as he could decide which direction he wanted to go. It was nothing for him to slip through the fence at the chemical company in a pool of blackness. A moment later, he was on the roof heading for the one entrance that could not be denied him.
He slid into the ventilating system as fast as a snake. He searched for the office that belonged to his father until he found it. He emerged, going to his father's computer station. He turned the machine on, staring at the screen as it lit up.
The computer asked for a password before it let him in the system.
Tyson searched for the password quickly and surely. It was taped under the main drawer on a yellow piece of paper.
"Just like home," Tyson said as he typed the six letter pass into the window. The system unlocked for him with a quick click and a hum. "Let's see what you have."
Tyson spent most of the night looking through the files. He copied some of the memos he had found. Some of it looked interesting, as it checked through his mind.
The shadow man heard a noise. He shut everything down, stuffing his find into his shirt as he became darkness. He slid next to the door to wait.
The door opened quietly, a light shining in the office. Tyson slid away from the light, hiding in the shadows as a security guard stepped in the room. The Mocker slid out the open door, finding a patch of darkness to carry him down the hall. He had to emerge to get into the emergency stairwell. A simple slide took him to the roof.
Tyson used the shadows to return to his lair as he thought about the data he had gone through on the disk. A bunch of chemical formula meant nothing to him. He barely had a grasp of the algebra he had taken.
Maybe it was time for him to go home again.
His dad would know what this was about.
He would certainly know the reason of the attack since it was so obviously tied to whatever experiment he was doing for Alchemo.
It was almost time for Tyson to let his parents meet his new personality.
Tyson rolled into his makeshift bed after washing his costume. He had hung it up so the helmet would watch over him while he slept. It made him feel comfortable somehow.
Tyson woke up to the sun shining through his clouded window. He groaned as he got to his feet.
Time to get ready and talk to his father.
11
Tyson entered his former home as the sun went down. He was used to riding along in the shadows of cars and buses, but his favorite tended to be the subway trains. They were fast, and best of all cloaked in darkness from the tunnels.
It was perfect for a guy like him.
Tyson used a window to get into his room. He was tempted to pack some of his stuff up and move it to his lair. Maybe later. First he had to straighten out the mess he was in.
He slid out of the room and along the darkened hall to the stairs. He flowed down the carpeted steps and paused. His parents were sitting in the living room, talking. His mother was in tears.
He slid closer to hear better.
"Why don't the police call?," Dad said, pacing across the room. "How can you lose a comatose boy?"
"Someone took him," said Mom. "Someone took him right out of the hospital. Was it Alchemo, Frank?"
"I already told you no," said Dad. "If I knew where he was, I wouldn't be worried about him."
Tyson had some of his own questions to add to the mix. The argument sounded like something that had been going on for days. Time for new questions.
Tyson went to the breaker box and threw the main switch. The house plunged into darkness. Tyson flowed through the house, lifting his father into his chair.
"I have some questions for you, Mr. Lewis," said The Mocker. "First, what is the formula you are working on?"
"It's super soldier serum," Mr. Lewis said, struggling against the invisible hands holding him down. "Who are you? What is going on?"
"I'll ask the questions," said Tyson, enjoying his invisibility immensely. "You have been working on a super soldier formula? How did anyone else get some of this?"
"No one should have any of it," said Mr. Lewis. "It's all theoretical. Nothing is physical."
"Are you sure?," asked Tyson. "If anything was produced, who would have the say in it?"
"I guess the chief of my division," said Mr. Lewis. "But there was nothing produced except for the computer manipulations."
"What is your chief's name?," asked Tyson.
"He can't have done anything like this," said Mr. Lewis.
"The name!," said Tyson, shoving a lamp over. "What is his name?"
"Arnie Cruise," said Lewis. "He doesn't have the brains to pick out the relevant formulas and make the chemical."
"He is connected to someone who does," said Tyson. "That's why your son was in the hospital. That's why I took him."
"You took Tyson?," said Mrs. Lewis, jumping to her feet. "Where did you take him? What have you done with my son?"
There was no answer because Tyson had already left the house in a wave of darkness. He had a date with a middle manager who could tell him who had ordered the drug pumped into his system.
And Arnie would talk.
His shadow ability would enable that to happen as soon as he tracked the man down.
The Mocker fled across Church Hill as fast as the shadows could carry him in their darkness. He paused to consult a phone book to get the right address before he stopped to listen to the people inside. It only took him a few minutes to weed out all those that didn't match the profile.
When he had the right one, he took form in the man's home office to look around for something that would point him to the next man in line.
Tyson quietly searched the place, the darkness his friend and cloak. He found pieces of the formula in the man's personal documents. One push of the button and the police would have to get a forensics expert to retrieve the file.
Tyson loaded the whole thing on a disk, before shutting everything down. He tucked the cd in his shirt as the light from the monitor went out. He slid out of the place, knowing that the day was just an hour away.
Time to go home and plan his next move.
He had maybe the day before his parents told the cops what was going on if they hadn't done that already. At least he had covered part of his tracks by putting the blame on his new identity. That would make the Mocker a wanted man if the police believed them about a shadow man.
That was a risk he was willing to take for the time being. They would have to find him before they could arrest him, and a kidnaping charge would fall through when his real face was revealed. That would leave whatever charges he would rack up in the next few days if anyone could prove how many laws he had broken, not the least the murder of Colin Carne in a rigged street accident after a vicious beating.
Maybe he was taking things too far.
He needed to cool down and experiment with finesse and stealth. Putting people in the hospital fed his ego, but didn't accomplish a lot more than that. Beatings were fine in their place, but shouldn't be a means to an end.
Was he really ready to continue to kill people for no more reason than it made him feel good?
Tyson slid into his lair, still pondering what he should do. He took his costume off, falling into bed. The last thing on his mind was the issue of heroics and vigilantism.
12
Tyson awoke to the last rays of the sun falling below the horizon. He washed up, dressed and headed out. He hadn't quite made up his mind whether or not he was going to kill anyone else. He did know he was going to scare the crap out of his suspect if he could.
Tyson slid into the deepening evening, lost in the long shadows. It was a simple matter to retrace his steps to the small apartment. Then he slid under the door like he had the night before. Tyson paused to examine the well lighted room. Pools of shadow allowed him to hide as a man made a tray of sandwiches in the small kitchenette. A television had Charles Chin relaying the latest exploit of Johnny Shield before breaking for commercials before the weather was put on.
Time to ask Mr. Cruise some hard questions.
Tyson flicked the overhead lights off to darken the living part of the place. Then he slid by the TV, punching in the screen with a single flick of his arm.
Cruise stood with the light from the kitchenette casting his shadow across the rest of the place.
"What's going on?," Cruise said, looking around, sweat rolling from his brow. "Who's there?"
"Let's talk about why you poisoned Tyson Lewis," said Tyson. "What do you think about that?"
"I don't know any Tyson Lewis," Cruise said, backing into the light in the kitchen.
"That's funny," said Tyson, knocking a floor lamp over with a small crash. "You work with his father, and a formula similar to what he was working on is in your computer. I guess I wasn't clear enough."
A DVD player ripped out the wall and flew ungainly across the room into the kitchenette. It bounced off the refrigerator before hitting the floor and smashing apart.
"Give me what I want," said the Mocker. "I'll go away. Test me and I'll wreck this place. Why Lewis?"
"I don't know," said Cruise. "I took the formula and produced a sample. I gave it over to my boss. I don't know what he did with it."
"Tell me another one," said the Mocker.
"I am telling you the truth," said Arnie Cruise. "I just refine the stuff and hand it over. I don't have any idea what happens after that."
"Lewis?," said Tyson, wanting to know why more than ever.
"I don't know," said Cruise. "I don't know why he was picked. I am not involved in the testing end."
"How many of these tests have you done?," Tyson asked.
"I don't know," said Cruise. "I do know one of them is Joe Hartly, that guy that got hit by the subway train fighting Johnny Shield. They got him locked down, but we think he'll be able to escape when he gets back on his feet."
"You idiots created the Jack of Hearts?," said Tyson. "Not a smooth move."
"I am not in on that end of things," said Cruise, looking uncomfortable in the light. "The drug is given at random. So far Hartly is the only one I know who has survived. There may be others, but no one tells me anything."
"Who's in charge?," said Tyson. His hand hefted a certificate off the wall, coating it in blackness.
"I can't tell you that," said Cruise. "I don't know who the top guy is."
Tyson threw the wooden frame as hard as he could against the wall over the kitchen sink. The thing came apart with a breaking of glass and wood.
"I am telling you the truth," said Cruise, his fists ground in the sides of his legs. "I refine the stuff in a lab where I work and leave it in a special container. Arrangements are made by calls to my office. They won't need another dose for two weeks. I just dropped some off today."
"Where is the drop point?," asked Tyson, trying to decide what would be the next thing he wanted to throw.
"I am not telling you that," said Cruise.
Tyson picked up the television, yanking the plug out of the wall. He threw it into the kitchenette space with his new shadowy strength. It smashed apart against the wall and floor as Cruise ducked down into a ball to avoid the blow.
"What do you think I will throw next?," Tyson asked. His new voice was a hollow echo of what it should be.
"I am the only one who knows," said Cruise. "It won't be that hard to see I turned into a rat. Are you going to protect me, give me a new identity, for the rest of my life?"
"I'll give you a head start out of town," said Tyson. "You can get a train, or plane, ticket and be gone by the time I have my talk with your boss. On your feet, or on your back. It's up to you."
"You're kidding me," said Cruise, going to a drawer and pulling out a knife. "You'll have to kill me before I tell you anything else."
"That can be arranged," said Tyson, picking up a small lamp. "Last chance to tell me what I want to know."
"You won't get anything else, so go ahead and do it," said Cruise. "I have a chance against you."
Tyson threw the lamp from the edge of the darkness. It smashed against Cruise's head, driving him to a knee in the debris on the floor. The helmeted Mocker stepped into the light, knocking the knife away with a gloved hand. The other hand wrapped around the chemist's throat.
Tyson carried the man to a window in the living space. He swept the rectangular panel to one side. Cruise went out the open frame easily. He was still stunned from the blow to his head.
"Goodbye," Tyson said, giving his victim a shake to wake him from his stupor. "It would have been simpler if you had just talked."
"Wait!," said Cruise, looking at the ground below. "I'll tell you. I'll tell you. Don't drop me."
"Where is the drop off point?," Tyson asked. "Otherwise down you go."
"435 East Lansing Street," said Cruise. "It's a big yellow house on the corner."
"How do I know you aren't lying?," said Tyson. "Better to drop you just in case."
"Believe me!," said Cruise. "Believe me!"
Tyson pulled the chemist back into the room. He dropped him in the closest chair. He laughed slightly as he opened the door to the apartment. He closed the door, but hid in the closet next to it.
Cruise was bound to call his boss and report what had happened. It would give him a chance to soften his betrayal, if the address was real at all.
Tyson waited in the pool of ink at the bottom of the closet, nestled under a shoe rack.
The lights came back on. Cruise picked up the phone and dialed. He spoke on it for a minute or two before hanging up. He settled in his chair, wondering what the news would be.
Tyson smiled, glad to be right. He slid out of the closet, and then out of the apartment. He had an appointment to keep with the mastermind responsible for his condition.
13
Tyson rode the shadows across Church Hill. Lansing Street was just inside the Beltway surrounding the city and leading to I-95. He eased into the shadow of a tree, watching the house described by Cruise. There was no doubt in his mind that the place was a death trap, and Cruise had told the man on the phone of Tyson's shadowy persona.
Tyson needed a closer look at things.
He slid across the street, using a tree's shadow as a bridge. He rushed across the open lawn, faintly transparent against the night sky. He dropped into the shadow cast by the wide front porch and listened.
Maybe he had been wrong about Cruise's phone call.
A man parted a curtain to look out the front window. Light from inside spilled out on the porch, making Tyson draw back from the glow. The curtain fell back after a moment. The man's silhouette retreated from the frilly thing.
Tyson slipped to the front door, sliding under the wooden barrier. He immediately slipped into the shadow of an umbrella stand.
So far it looked as if he had been unnoticed by any watchers.
Tyson carefully searched the place until he found the watcher in the window pacing an office on the second floor of the house. The watcher seemed unconcerned, merely pacing as if waiting for the next bus to roll to a stop.
Tyson went down to the basement, and found the breaker box. He tripped the main switch to cut the power. He slid back up to the office to confront his nameless foe.
The man had stopped pacing. He stood in the center of the room, arms crossed over his chest. His eyes gleamed in the darkness like a cat's.
"You're finally here," the man said. "What can I do for you?"
"I just want to know why you took an experimental substance and gave it to a gang to pump inside someone who has no idea you exist," Tyson said.
"Curiosity your motivation, eh?," said the watcher. "It was just dross, a worthless mix. I didn't see any harm in giving it away since I didn't need it."
"And the Street Sharks just happened to pick the son of Alchemo's researcher to dump it in," asked Tyson.
The man was too calm in the dark like that. What was going on inside his mind?
"I did suggest that," admitted the slender man. "I wanted Lewis distracted from his pet super soldier project enough that he wouldn't notice the test subjects I was using."
"So that's what this is about," said Tyson. "A search for a wonder drug to hook people on?"
"It was about self improvement through better chemistry," said the watcher, gesturing dismissively with a wave of his hand. "Now it seems to be a unique means to torture drug users."
"Create monsters," said Tyson, balling his fists.
"Yes," agreed the watcher. "What should I do with you? You're obviously one of our test subjects."
"You can always turn yourself in," said Tyson. "Drug dealing will at least allow for parole and such."
"I think I will get rid of you and continue with business as usual," said the man. He seemed to be smiling in the dark.
"Really?," asked Tyson.
"Really."
Light exploded from the man's body. It washed away the darkness in a bubble that crashed against the walls, revealing Tyson in stark relief. He couldn't find a shadow to cloak him, as solid energy smashed him moments later. He hit the wall in a daze.
The light man smiled as he took aim with his finger. A bubble coalesced around the tip. It turned into a flare streaking at the Mocker where he lay. Tyson sank into his shadow, trying to escape the blow. The beam smashed a hole in the wall. Tyson became solid again as his shadow was wiped out by the aura of light.
"Darkness versus light," said the mastermind. "How appropriate."
Tyson looked around for a hiding place. He had gotten too comfortable using his powers. Now he was virtually powerless against someone else with the formula in his system.
Another beam lanced at him as he threw himself to one side. He rolled into the corner of the desk, vanishing into the small pool under the wooden furniture. He slipped to the other side of the shadow as the ray man glowed the shadow out of existence.
Tyson surged to his feet. He flung the desk at his opponent as hard as he could. The Ray caught the wood on his aura, spinning it around his body to bounce across the floor.
The Ray pointed and fired at the Mocker, who laughed as he sank out of sight. The beams smashed out the window and part of the frame. The light controller floated forward, intent on destroying Tyson's cover again.
He frowned when the caped vigilante failed to appear. He looked around the room, suddenly aware of all the shadows that still existed even in his energy glow. The experiment could be in any one of them.
The book shelf rushed at the Ray from the wall. He powered up his protective field as the wooden stand smashed into him. The weight pushed him into the wall, as the field tried to shift the individual books around his sphere of influence. It wasn't enough to stop the shelf from slamming him into the wall with a shattering of dry wall.
The Ray pushed with his power, blasting the shelf away. He looked around, trying to figure out where the next attack would come from. The shadows danced in his aura as he moved around.
Where was the laughing boy?
A hand wrapped around the Ray's neck, slamming him into the floor at full speed. He bounced, sliding across the tan carpet. The remainder of the book shelf slammed into him before he could get his feet under him. The wooden ram slammed him through the window.
Tyson slid out of the office, aware he had an advantage in the openness of the street. He would have a wide expanse of darkness to hide in, and more things to use as weapons.
Hopefully he wouldn't need to use a train to take this guy out.
Tyson paused at the door, wondering where the light had gone. He waited in the shadow, searching for his enemy. The guy couldn't have been hurt by the fall, could he?
The Mocker slid forward cautiously, wondering where the man had gone. An ambush was exactly in order for the glow worm.
A ball of light lit up the night sky, casting Tyson in solid relief. Flares fell down on top of him in a solid rain. He was thrown across the street by the impacts.
Tyson balled himself up, hurt by the impact from the light beams. He felt like he had broken a rib, maybe two. He felt the light play against his skin as the Ray walked closer.
"Time to grind you up before you come back to strip the gears from my machine," the glowing man said, raising one hand to deliver the killing blow.
The Ray's field dampened as he concentrated all of his energy into a bubble in the palm of his hand. The concentrated light grew to the size of a softball. He flicked his wrist, turning it into a beam of energy. It ripped up the street when it hit.
Tyson had flung himself under the blast, sliding in the shifting shadows. He came to his feet swinging his good arm with the velocity he had gathered together. His fist landed south of the Ray's belt. The man staggered back, unable to draw his protection around him.
Tyson grabbed the man's neck in both hands. He slammed the man's head against the ground, then again, and again. Blood flowed from the wound where the Ray's skull came apart against the asphalt.
Tyson faded into the shadows as police sirens were heard.
epilogue
Tyson Lewis sat on his couch, watching his television. A soda can squatted at his elbow on one of the couch's arms. A legal pad from an Eckerd's was in his lap. He chewed on a pencil from the same place.
Tyson was torn between his new independence and trying to explain things to his parents. The legal pad was full of partial thoughts as he tried to decide. Living beneath the radar meant never graduating, having to support himself, being on guard against someone discovering who he was, why he was living on his own in an abandoned house that someone else was trying to sell.
If he went home, he would have to answer questions about everything he had done since coming out of his coma, about his powers, about killing his father's boss in the street outside his house.
Tyson wasn't ready for the type of exposure going home would bring him, nor his secret.
He wrote his last message down on the legal pad. It felt strange saying goodbye to his parents like this. When he was sure the words he wanted was on the paper, he folded the paper into an envelope and addressed and stamped it.
When the sun had vanished again, he would mail it to them from somewhere out of town.