Night Flyer

  Night Flyer

  Temple Madison

  Published: 2016

  ISBN: 978-1-62210-333-1

  Published by Liquid Silver Books. Copyright © 2016, Temple Madison.

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, recording, or otherwise, without the prior written permission of the author.

  This is a work of fiction. The characters, incidents and dialogues in this book are of the author’s imagination and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is completely coincidental.

  Manufactured in the USA

  Email support@liquidsilverpublishing.com with questions, or inquiries about Liquid Silver Books.

  Blurb

  Gabe Wesley's heart was hammering in his chest. He was hemmed in. He couldn't run, and to make things worse, a storm was coming. After being pummeled by rocks until he was too weak to fight, he desperately turned and tried to climb the tall fence behind him, but when he got to the top, even God seemed to be against him because all at once a big bolt of lightning came out of the sky and hit him. Instead of killing him, this experience gave him super human strength and powers. That’s when he knew that his childhood dream had come true. No longer was he the horn-rimmed nerd that the gay bashers picked on, now he could protect himself and others by ripping his shirt open and setting free the powers that lay dormant within his body. Because he wore shirts that advertised the name of his plane, he became known as the Night Flyer.

  Chapter 1

  The Birth of the Night Flyer…

  THE dark and stormy night was full of unrest. Three-pronged lightning bolts flashed across the skies and sudden crashes of thunder echoed right behind. Violent gusts of wind swept through the streets, rattling trash cans and toppling stop signs while the occasional pedestrian struggled against the darkness in this big city of bright lights, tall skyscrapers, and haters of all kinds. The persistent rumble in the distance, and the pungent smell of rain in the air, made the atmosphere humid and close.

  It was during this ominous heavenly unrest that Gabe Wesley, a tall but slim and almost delicate-looking nerd backed away in fear from the three gay bashers that came toward him with blood in their eyes.

  “Leave me alone,” he said while pushing his horn-rimmed glasses up on his nose. He felt nervous and frightened as he stumbled on rocks and debris in the shadowy alleyway. As they advanced on him his gaze shifted downward, seeing them holding rocks the size of baseballs in their hands. He looked around for someone to help him, but with a storm coming, there was no one on the streets. In the club next door he could hear the jukebox playing some heavy metal tune with drums, electric guitars, and loud voices that would drown out any cries for help.

  “Hey, dude, how long you been suckin’ cock?” asked one of the bullies with an over-confident, evil sneer on his face.

  “How long you been ugly?” Gabe dared to answer back.

  The mocking look quickly disappeared from the hooligan’s face. “That’s gonna cost you, homo.”

  “Careful you d-don’t ruin your own life by t-trying to ruin mine.”

  “Ever give yourself a hand job? Your partner, maybe?” another one called out. “I hear you fruits know how to do that real fine.”

  “Do you want me to show you how, f-fish face?”

  The burly dude stood looking at Gabe, his face etched in hate. “I’ll get you for that, you lily-livered sister!”

  “You know,” Gabe began, feeling braver now, “you got a face that no woman would want, much less a man.”

  “You bitch!” he yelled, and then looked around at the others. “What the hell are we doin’ just standin’ here? Let’s get him!”

  Gabe stumbled backward when the guys began to squeeze the rocks and rub them around in their palms in anticipation of knocking the sin of homosexuality out of him. And then, before he knew what was happening, they began heaving them at him. He ducked one way, and then another, but he felt every one. A pounding pain on his head, a thudding pain on his shoulders, and then one caught him along the face. The big, jagged rock scraped along his skin, tearing and cutting. When he tasted blood, he reached up and felt his cheek, and saw the dripping blood on his fingers. The pain in his shoulder was excruciating, causing every move he made to feel like the stab of a knife. Just then a big rock, bigger than the others, hit him in the stomach, hard, doubling him over. The rocks kept coming, whipping him, lashing him, cutting him, his blood dripping, mixing with the dirt and debris on the ground as he wilted toward it. He could feel himself getting weaker and weaker as the pounding rocks made bruises, whelps, and scars. In between throws, they continued to taunt him.

  “How does that feel, you ass-fuckin’ shithead?”

  “Hey, queenie, give any head lately?”

  “If you need a ride, I know a horse you can fuck cheap.”

  The ugly words that pounded into his ears were almost as painful as the rocks they were hurling at him. He could feel the strength slowly leaving his body, and knew if he didn’t get away soon they would kill him. His only alternative was to climb the wooden fence behind him, so in the midst of flying rocks, slurs, and insults, he turned and moved slowly toward it. His body ached with each rock that made contact, but with more determination than pain, he jumped up, and managed to grab the top and heave himself upward. His arms ached, his back ached, and he could feel himself slowly becoming weaker, but he finally managed to climb to the top and straddle the fence.

  And then, fate stepped in.

  From out of a dark sky, a bright light streaked downward, and his body gave a mad jerk.

  A bolt of lightning had hit him in the back.

  As the electricity sizzled through him, for an insane moment his whole body glowed, and then suddenly everything went dark. Losing his hold, he fell, his body lying limp and bloody among the rocks.

  “Hey!” one of the gay bashers said. “Looks like the storm did it for us.” Laughing, they turned to leave, giving each other a high five as they left.

  As Gabe lay there half awake, he could still hear the storm around him, and was ushered into a mind-whirling memory of his childhood home. He could see himself sitting on the windowsill of his room on a stormy night, listening to the sound of the thunder crash, and watching the lightning streak across the sky. He would close his eyes and feel the wind rush along his arms and face, almost like a caress. He remembered the smell of the moisture, so fresh and cool. If he spread his arms, and really imagined it, he could feel himself lifting into the dark sky like a superhero, thunder trembling his body and lightning missing him by mere inches.

  That was a long time ago, and today it seemed that the drama in the sky was no longer his friend. Maybe it was because his innocence had gone. He wasn’t a child sitting on his windowsill anymore, but a twenty-three-year-old man lying on the hard ground. He tried to get up, but because the pain was sharp and aching, he fell back, getting only as far as the crude, splintery fence that he leaned against. While he sat there, he looked up at the sky overhead, still hearing the loud thunder crashes, and remembering the words his mother used to tell him on nights such as this.

  It’s God throwing a bowling ball across the skies and making a strike.

  He didn’t really believe it, of course, but the thought always soothed him.

  It was sad to know that as he grew into manhood, all the fairytales, and pie-in-the-sky things he’d heard all his childhood years were nothing but lies, told to all children to make them feel safe and secure in this imperfect world. When the ugly truth finally dawned upon him, he learned he was gay, and was growing up in a world where someone like
him wasn’t tolerated. In a world where even his mother’s loving words no longer had the power to soothe him.

  Now, instead of his mother’s soft smile, he saw an angry sky, and big rocks lying all around him meant to hurt, even kill with the message they imparted. So, with tears glittering on his cheeks, and the loud thunder crashes still overhead, he knew that somewhere deep inside him there was still enough of that little boy left to make just one more wish.

  If only I had wings—to escape this hell.

  * * * *

  Gabe did eventually get his wings, but it was in the form of a Beechcraft Musketeer single engine plane. Today, Gabe was a struggling, small-time pilot who owned his own airline, and although it was no more than a rinky-dink operation, he did well with it. Over time he had gained the reputation of a flying daredevil by some, and a stupid idiot by others, who took way too many chances in the air, and would someday crash and burn.

  Hell, maybe it was true.

  But it was hard for Gabe to keep his flying down to a normal level since he loved it so much. He had come a long way from the kid on the windowsill. It seemed as if his dream of flying had come true, but with one exception. His windowsill had turned into a plane he lovingly called the Night Flyer.

  Now, as he sat in the cockpit of his plane and looked down through the wide windshield of the Musketeer to the patchwork world below, he saw the twinkling lights of the Big Apple. He was about to come in for a landing, so he switched his radio on, spoke into a small microphone, and said, “Beechcraft Musketeer approaching. November, one, two, one, Papa, Papa, requesting coordinates for landing.”

  While listening to the instructions spoken in his ear, he looked down at the instrument panel of his Musketeer, and let his fingers fly across it, preparing for its eventual descent by positioning each dial, knob, handle, or control to its proper setting. That done, he gradually turned the nose of the plane downward, and let it soar on the four winds, giving his passengers a thrill until he had at last set it down along a glittering runway. Just then he smiled when he heard a newly acquired flight attendant speak into her microphone.

  "We'd like to thank you folks for flying with us today. And, the next time you get the insane urge to go blasting through the skies in a pressurized metal tube, we hope you'll think of us here at Tango West."

  Well, what else could you expect when all you could afford to pay was minimum wage? He couldn’t complain, though. When the passengers got off the plane they always had a big grin on their faces. He knew it must be the words of the flight attendant—it certainly couldn’t be his flying.

  But that wasn’t all there was to Gabe—not since the night of the lightning strike.

  He found out the truth one night when he came out of a gay bar and met the bullies head-on once again. Recognizing him, they immediately blocked his path. “Where you goin’, queer?”

  Gabe didn’t say anything at first, only looked at them, his gaze cautious and guarded. As usual, they were ganging up on him, three to one. “What do you want?” he said with a defensive tone.

  The leader sneered at him. “We want to see a little blood, hotshot.”

  “Why don’t you cut your damned wrists?”

  The leader’s smile disappeared. “Always with the wise cracks, ain’t you?” He looked around at the others. “Grab him, boys.”

  The next thing Gabe knew, there were hands all over him, and he was being forced into the same alleyway he’d been in the last time they attacked him.

  It was dark—like last time.

  The music blasted—like last time.

  They threw slurs at him—like last time.

  But unlike the last time, instead of slinking backward, frightened, Gabe pulled his shirt open, popping his buttons, and revealing the skintight shirt with the words, Night Flyer written across his muscled chest. At that very moment a big wind came tunneling down the alley, its twisting power surrounding Gabe, knocking his glasses off, wildly ruffling his hair and ripping his clothes. Gabe knew something had changed. He felt a strength in him that wasn’t there before, and looked down at himself. His body seemed to take on new proportions, becoming bigger, stronger, and hairier, and he burned not only with the lust of a beast, but with fire in his soul. He looked up at them, sure there must be fire leaping from his eyes.

  The bashers, while stumbling around in the wind said, “What the hell was that?”

  “Just the wind, that’s all. Come on, let’s get started.”

  “Wait. Something’s happened. What the hell…” the leader began as he peered through the darkness at Gabe. “He looks different. Bigger somehow. My God, look at his friggin’ clothes.”

  “Hey, we’re wastin’ time,” the punk said, and threw the rock.

  The moment it struck Gabe, it immediately broke up into dust.

  The guy looked down at the rock in his hand. “What the hell kind of rocks are these?” He squeezed it, but the rock wouldn’t give. “The other one must have just been hard sand. This one’ll do the job.” He heaved the rock a little harder this time. When it hit Gabe’s body, it also crumbled and fell to the ground.

  “Somethin’s wrong. Throw yours.”

  When the others threw their rocks, pelting his body over and over, Gabe stood there in a wide stance of confidence with his hands on his hips. “Hey, boys, you’re going to have to do better than that.”

  The bashers looked at each other, puzzled. And then with renewed vigor, they began gathering the rocks up, and throwing them again and again with the same results.

  “Ha, ha, ha!” Gabe said, laughing since he was feeling a series of hits that felt like nothing more than a lot of little pebbles hitting against his body.

  “What the hell gives?” the leader asked, looking at the others. When he looked back at Gabe he noticed for the first time what was written on his shirt. “Look at that,” he said, pointing. “What the hell is a Night Flyer?”

  “You’re about to find out, creep.” Gabe began walking toward them.

  “You stay away from me,” the leader of the gang said.

  “C’mon,” Gabe answered. “You wanted a little action. I’m here to give it to you.” He continued to walk forward, his arms extended out, his hands open and ready to bash a few heads in.

  One of the bullies looked over at his partners. “Does anyone know what the hell a Night Flyer is?”

  “I don’t know. It sounds like a friggin’ superhero.”

  “Superhero?” Gabe remarked, and then chuckled. “Yeah, I’m a superhero. The superhero that’s going to bash a few heads in if you don’t turn around right now and leave. And if I ever see you harassing anyone else, I’ll put you in the hospital. Remember that.”

  “I ain’t stayin’ around for this,” one of the members said as he threw down the rocks, turned and ran. The others were right behind him.

  As they ran, Gabe continued laughing, not caring who heard him. For the first time he was proud of himself. It might have started out shaky, but he didn’t back away, and because he was a new man now he knew he would never have to take their abuse again.

  As he stood there watching the cowards haul ass down the street, he began wondering, and looked down at the rocks, intrigued by what he’d seen. He then leaned over and picked one up. When he held it in his hand, he squeezed it so hard he crushed it to dust right there in his hand. Curious, he leaned over and picked up another one, squeezed again. As he continued to squeeze them, one by one, with nothing but his bare hands, again they broke into clumps, the dust pouring out between his fingers. Gabe opened his hands and looked at his palms, seeing the dust of the stones on them. When he leaned down and picked up another one, he looked it over, assuring himself that it was a normal rock. Hard and rough to the touch. He glanced over at the wall of the building beside him, and threw the rock toward it, hearing it make loud contact, and fall to the ground. He knew if that hit someone’s body it would hurt like the devil. He went to pick it up and handled it
like he did the others, but with a hard squeeze of his hands, it began to crack, crumble, and then fall through his fingers.

  My God, what was happening? That was pure rock. He looked around, and saw a steel rod. Hurrying over to it, he picked it up, held it at each end, and slowly began to bend it with nothing but his hands and the muscles in his arms. It was like bending a child’s toy. Once he had it bent double, he looked down at his hands, and then at his arms. They looked like they always did, except for being bigger and more muscled now that he was working out, and then he looked at the printing on his shirt. Night Flyer. It was the name of his plane. When he had bought the plane, and named it, he went out and had some shirts made with the name on them for advertisement.

  They’re right. It does sound like a superhero.

  It made him wonder if he, on some subconscious level, had named his plane to sound like a superhero. Of course, he had forgotten that dream a long time ago, but after his last encounter with the idiot gay bashers he knew he couldn’t live that way. He didn’t want to be the ninety-nine pound weakling, so he joined a gym and began working out. Each day that rolled around he became even more dedicated than the day before, especially when he began to see results. He worked sometimes until his muscles ached. He drank energy drinks, popped vitamin pills, and watched closely as his muscles grew, and his body fat melted. As his physique changed dimensions, he noticed that his personality even changed along with it. But the most unusual change that took place was when he had to take his glasses off because he could no longer see through them. His vision hadn’t only righted itself, it had become so precise he could see even the tiniest things sharp and clear.

  This left a big question mark in his mind.

  Clearly Gabe was no longer the man he used to be, and he didn’t know why. Curious, he began to do some research and came up with something called Cellular Regeneration. He read everything he could get his hands on about it, and he learned from all the big words, the explanations of experts, and medical know-how that he had practically been made over. His skin had become tougher, and he’d had undeniable proof that he actually did seem to possess a superhuman strength and stamina. His skin had become extremely dense, which rendered him highly resistant to physical injury. He also learned that outside of a mad scientist’s lab, the only thing that could have given him these attributes was electricity. He immediately got a mental picture of himself sitting upon that high fence and being turned on like a neon light by a tremendous stab of electricity. Aside from being knocked on his ass by a lightning strike he knew then that his body—like Frankenstein—had apparently absorbed the energy that gave him his new body.