Legend Of Marauder: The Dawn Of Supremes

5. The Line Between Reality and Fantasy

‘No,’ he plainly refused. He saw a note hanging by a shoelace from the hole in his locker. He snatched it and unfolded it. The paper was dirty and pathetic, which was typical, Brendan thought to himself, of the new boy’s appearance.

His expression showing no concern whatsoever, he slowly unfolded the note. The note read:

You will get to know me well Erikson. I am Thomas Bradley the werst nightmere you will ever hav. If you thot that life is unfair then you havent met me. Your life is about to be come more than unfair. Its about to be come suisidal for YOU!

‘If I were you, I would believe him,’ Simon advised him. He had been reading the note from behind Brendan’s shoulder.

Brendan crumpled the note and threw it on the floor. He said, ‘If he wants to play dirty then we shall play,’ he said almost to himself. His mind was almost unconscious, still trying to digest what was before him.

‘I can bet that that is the worst idea you have ever had. I heard him boasting earlier to some teachers that he’s got a black belt in karate. He probably beat your locker in using his fists! In simple terms; he could kill you!’ Simon warned him.

‘Not unless I kill him first.’ He gave his friend a sinister smile in conclusion to their conversation.

When Brendan got home, he found Howard in the living room sitting in his rocking chair. Their house was not decorated in any fancy way. There was not even a single photo hanging on the walls, only a clock. There was the living room, which was the first room downstairs on the left. To the right was the kitchen. Upstairs there were three bedrooms: Howard’s, Brendan’s and the storeroom. Inside the storeroom were the doors that opened into the attic. Between Howard’s and Brendan’s room was the bathroom. The living room was decorated with a little furniture. There was a small aging couch in the center of the room and there were only two windows. One was to the right of the door at the far end and the other was a few paces ahead of where Howard’s rocking chair stood.

In the living room was a small wooden coffee table which Howard had made himself. There was a black carpet in this room and if it had been white, Brendan had once said jokingly to Howard, It would have been colored brown with filth. There was no television set or radio for entertainment.

‘Evening, Howard,’ he greeted him as he put his books on the coffee table, throwing himself onto the couch at the same time. Brendan was not accustomed to calling him “father” or “dad”.

‘Son, move closer,’ Howard told him. He was wearing an oversized, fading blue colored jersey and black trousers which also looked too big for him. He always wore his leather sandals, even in the house.

Brendan got up from the couch and removed his books from the coffee table and threw them on the couch. He carried the coffee table from its position and placed it in front of Howard, a respectable distance from him.

‘There are some things that I have not told you that you ought to know.’ His voice was hoarse with age and stern as the expression on his face.

‘Like what?’ He asked in confusion. They had never kept secrets from each other. Howard had even told him of his mother’s death just four years after she gave birth to him and he did not take a picture of her when she died because he knew it would only fill Brendan’s heart with sorrow; to carry the photo with the face of his dead mother. Howard would only describe her face as angelic and courageous and use other words of praise. This, though, made Brendan miss her even more and hate his real father twice as much.

‘Do you know why I have no friends or relatives?’ he asked him.

‘No. Why?’

‘It’s because…’ he paused. He was starting to sweat. He pulled a white handkerchief from one of the pockets of his trousers and wiped his forehead then he returned it. ‘My father was a magician scientist,’ he finished, as though these words were thorns in his tongue.

‘A magician scientist?’ Brendan was starting to laugh.

‘Yes he was, Brendan, and it’s not a joke. My father mixed science with magic and he always experimented both. And when magic is mixed with science everyone knows something evil is bound to happen.’

‘Why are you even telling me this?’ He was becoming curious.

‘Because you’re my son and you ought to know the truth, now be quiet and listen to the rest of the story.’

‘Fine,’ he shrugged and turned his smile into a serious yet quivering frown. His smile looked ready to burst into laughter because of this story. Howard had always told him great jokes and he was ready for whatever joke he was about to throw at him so that he would be prepared.

‘My father experimented with science to the extent that he decided to make potions…all sorts of potions. He would sometimes even bring some of them home from work and I saw them.’

‘Where did he work?’ Brendan asked.

‘As a result, he turned wicked and the citizens of Bradwield found out, seized him and burned him alive. I was only fifteen at the time so I could take care of myself and I was trained to box by someone who had discovered my fighting skills. But that’s not the point. Before he died, he did not just leave me this house but he left me this…’

‘What’s that?’

Howard had pulled out a thin cylindrical glass container about three inches long from the pocket of his trousers. It was similar to the test tubes they used in their Biology lessons. The container was sealed with a wooden plug. Inside the container was a purple liquid which filled up to three-quarters of the container.

‘Was that one of his potions?’ Brendan was starting to return his smile.

‘Yes it is, but do you know what it does?’