He had no tongue.
Drake's anger drained out of him in a flash, and he slumped against the trash bin. Could he really beat a helpless man because he'd stolen five dollars?
The man pulled out the money and gestured for Drake to take it back, but Drake ignored him and ran down the street and around a corner.
He pushed his body to run as fast and as hard as he could. Lack of food and too much alcohol had made him slow—weak—but he didn't stop. His lungs burned, his muscles weakened to the point of collapse, but still he ran.
He turned down an alley and stopped. Three men beat a scrawny blond-haired boy to the ground.
The biggest man, inked up like a gangsta and wearing pants too big for him, punched the kid in the face and screamed, "You better give me those vials, you piss-ant little shit, or I'll beat you until you can't walk. That drug is worth more than your life, so hand it over."
His two lackeys circled the boy, kicking him and egging on their leader.
The boy cried and curled into a ball. He couldn’t have been older than twelve. "I don't know what you're talking about. I don't have anything."
Another punch. "Yo, my homey here saw you. So don't be lying to us. We got to account for all those vials, and you don't even know what you got messed up in. Those drugs, they seriously mess people up—like, superpowers and shit. I'm not letting some piece of shit like you stop me from doing my job. Hand 'em over."
The boy couldn't take it much longer, but Drake wasn't a superhero anymore. Still, this drug had him curious. Could there be a drug that brought out para-powers?
He charged in, pushing back the three gangsters and pulling the kid out of the way. "Run!"
The fight was a blur. Drake had neither super strength nor mind control. His basic skill and strength bought him a few minutes, but in the end the street thugs overwhelmed him.
After too many blows to count, they left him lying in the alley, bleeding and aching with broken ribs. Drake coughed, and blood spewed out of his mouth. Maybe worse than just broken ribs.
He pulled himself to the wall and tried to sit up, but the pain stopped him. Every move seemed to cause a new break or tear in his now-fragile body. Before he could make it to the wall, a new kind of darkness wrapped around him, and he faded into nothing.
Chapter 70 – Sam
I'd expected labor to be different. I knew it would hurt, but the length and boredom surprised me.
The contractions came like clockwork—each more painful than the last—but I didn't know what to do with myself in between. Sketchpad in hand, I'd already drawn everyone who walked into the room. I drew every day to prepare for the art program at the University of Washington, if they accepted me—and if they gave me a scholarship, since I'd lost all the money Rent-A-Kid had promised me.
Robyn arrived as promised and read to me from some book, though I couldn't concentrate at all. She gave up after a while and turned on the television.
Is this what women did during labor? Watch Friends reruns? Click. Click. Click. Something decent had to be....
My hand froze. An image of Drake filled the screen.
What is Drake doing on television? Here I was, trying not to think of him, and the Universe shoved him in my face.
A man and woman sat in overstuffed chairs and argued about a video playing in the background. Brad's video blog. The woman scoffed. "Clearly this has been doctored. Our government would not allow people with powers like this to run around making home movies."
The man frowned. "You really think a government that can't even rein in normal criminals has any control over this? You're more naive than you look."
They continued to argue, and all I could do was stare at Drake's bulging muscles as he lifted a car over his head. Did Brad know his vlog had made the news and talk show circuit?
The man held up newspaper clippings and shoved them at the woman. The camera zoomed in on the headlines. "Angry ten-year-old sets fire to entire class.... Overactive toddler freezes teacher to death.... Three-year-old throws temper tantrum and destroys apartment complex."
The pretty woman sneered. "Those are sensationalized headlines from tabloids. There's absolutely nothing newsworthy there. That stuff isn't even possible. You've been watching too much X-Men."
Drake's body stood suspended in time while they argued, his smile secretive and intimate. He'd been smiling at me when Brad had shot this moment. I remembered what I'd been thinking, the way Drake had kissed me....
I clicked off the television and slumped into bed, fighting tears. I tried not to think of Drake, but couldn't push him out of my mind. He should have been here. I hated the thought of our daughter being born without him.
My thoughts wandered, and for a moment, I could have sworn that he really sat there beside me. My throat clogged with tears. "Drake?"
His form solidified, and confusion passed over his features. I reached for him, my tears finally forcing themselves free. "Drake."