Mr. Thompson (part 1)

            Mr. Thompson drank the last of the whiskey and reached into the cabinet to grab another bottle. He returned to the couch just as Nancy’s old cuckoo clock reminded him it was only 7 o’clock. He tossed the cap at the bird and knocked it to the floor. I used to tell her everyday how much I hated that damn clock and still I’ve yet to throw it out.

            “Real nice, dad,” said Kyle as he picked up the bird and put it back on the clock. He also tossed the cap into the trash can. “Looks like you’re starting earlier than usual today.”

            Mr. Thompson took a swig from the bottle. “Actually, that first bottle was only half full so it shouldn’t really count.” And he was right since his blood could still fight off poisons almost as fast as he could drink them in. The one ability The League left me, or just forgot to take, when they retired me, he thought. He started reaching around the couch for the TV remote. “By the way, what are you doing tonight? I thought we could spend some time together since it’s your birthday and all.”

            Kyle crossed his arms and started at his father. If his mouth hadn’t been slightly open, Mr. Thompson might’ve thought he was angry instead of just shocked at what is father was asking. Even he knew just how little time he’d been spending with his family recently.

            “I did forget to buy you a present, but I did remember that today was your birthday.” Mr. Thompson said, putting the bottle on the coffee table. With the bottle finally out of his grasp, he found the remote and immediately fumbled it onto the floor. He strained forward, never leaving the seat as he stretched his arm for the remote. He heard a sigh and the sound of footsteps. Another hand grasped the remote and lifted it into the air. He started to lean back. But since I’m here, he thought, and grabbed the whiskey he’d just put on the coffee table. Kyle was already sitting on the couch next to him, the remote in his hand.

            “Dad.” Kyle paused, staring at the remote in his hand. Mr. Thompson smiled a bit. You were never really good with words or tact.  He took another swig from the bottle before Kyle started talking again. “Dad,” he said, “I know you’re trying and maybe you’re actually ready to be a part of our family again, but you need to give Katy and me some time to get used to having you around. Katy still doesn’t want you to have anything to do with your own grandkids, but I think eventually she’ll come around.” Kyle extended the remote. “Dad, are you ever going to tell me what happened?”

            Mr. Thompson opened his mouth to speak, staring his son in the eyes. He wanted to know about how his mom died. And if he found out that he’d want to know what happened while Mr. Thompson was locked up by The League in the same prison he helped to put supervillains in. He’d want to know how they took his powers from him and why Mr. Thompson never trained him when his similar powers began to manifest themselves.

            “You’re planning to apply at The League today?” Mr. Thompson said instead. And he was right, seeing the shock in his son’s eyes. He turned 18 today and like other super-powered kids of age, he wanted to make a name for himself with The League. “I don’t want you to. When you get home from school, listen to what I have to say and decide tomorrow morning if it’s really something you want to do.”

Mr. Thompson took the remote and turned on the TV to one of the many twenty-four hour news stations, looking for any story about recent supervillain activity. He could feel Kyle’s stare bearing down on him, but he continued to look at the screen as he did everyday for nearly a decade. Looking and searching for anyone with any ability which might match the power used to murder Nancy. He could hear Kyle start to protest, but instead he stood up and walked out the door, his only parting words that he would be home for dinner.

            The clock struck two and Mr. Thompson’s bottle hit the floor. He grabbed a t-shirt off the couch and attempted to soak up the spilled whiskey, wondering if it would be possible to squeeze the drink back into the bottle. Or at least into my mouth.

            He paused. Something was in the air, not a smell or sound, but a presence. He dropped the shirt and stood to face the door. The feeling was so overwhelming now he almost forgot to grab the half-empty bottle off the ground. Almost. He took a quick swig to steady his hands.

            Footsteps. Though he didn’t hear the front gate open, those were definitely footsteps he heard coming up his front steps and onto the porch. Someone, or possibly something, was at his front door. He felt into his pocket for the small, silver flask. It was still there, its contents untouched and still potent enough to revive his powers for hopefully a good five minutes. Three quick raps on the door followed by a loud thud let Mr. Thompson know he wouldn’t need the flask. Yet. He took another swig. After all, it wasn’t a someone or even a something at the door. It was more akin to a god.

            With the chain still on the door, he opened it just enough to get a decent view of the man outside. He wore glasses, as is traditional, with the lenses removed. His suit was ill-fitting and he wore it uncomfortably, as if he was unaccustomed to wearing anything that didn’t cling to his muscles along with its matching cape. The colors would change every so often but his need for justice and order never would.

            “What do you want, Captain?”

            The man at the door smiled. “Still the same aren’t you, Count.” He leaned to get a better view through the partially open door. “Why can’t I just come by to catch up with an old comrade?”

            “It’s been ten years since anyone from The League came to see me and we didn’t exactly part on good terms.” He slammed the door. “And don’t call me that. I’m not The Count anymore.”

            “Okay, you caught me. I’m here to talk to Kyle. I hear he turns 18 today.”

            Mr. Thompson almost dropped his bottle again. He had demanded that Kyle stay away from the recruiting center but he didn’t think that The League would send someone to his house, much less Captain Shield, to persuade his son.