Chapter 8: Anger Management and Rainbows of Gray

Tricia sat in the small waiting room, her legs crossed at the knee with one dangling foot bouncing nervously. Ripples of agitation shook up through her legs, thighs, torso, and into her chest. She flipped through a magazine, pretending to read it, pretending to ignore the glances of the others as her shaking breasts attracted their attentions, and pretending to not care about where she currently was.

The others were giving her dirty looks, mixed in with a couple lustful glances from every male in the small room. She honestly didn't care about the dirty looks and the subdued hostility that permeated the waiting area, but her normal enjoyment of commanding the eyes of every male in the vicinity was blanketed by the sheer audacity that for the first time in after seven years, long after she had promised herself she would never have to do this again for the rest for her life, here she was, once again, sitting outside the Vice-Principal's office.

She gave Joey a critical glance, and returned her eyes to the magazine, flipping pages and not even really looking at them. She tried to console herself. At least this time I'm not the one in trouble. But when she looked up and glanced into the furious eyes of Mr. Gangjeon, she knew she was just kidding herself. She was just as much in trouble as Joey and the boys. She was responsible for him, and his troubles were hers.

Let's get this over with. I'm sick of waiting! The waiting was a power-play, one she knew all too well from high-school. She sighed impatiently and flipped the pages, glancing up at the others in the room. Clyde Gangjeon and his father sat to her left. The boy tried to master simultaneously looking bored, tough, and pitiful in his sling. Scratches and bruises covered his face and arms. His father, a stern looking Korean man in a crisp business suit sat rock steady with an expression of suppressed rage.

Across the room from her sat Brandon Wyatt-Parsons and his father. Brandon looked the worst off of all of the boys. Large bandages covered much of his face and nose, and another was wrapped around his right wrist, which he scratched at constantly. His father, the one with the greasy hair, trucker cap, stained T-shirt, sleeveless vest-jacket, and ripped jeans looked like a filthy truck driver who had skipped last week's shower. He stared openly at Tricia's breasts from across the room, and grinned at her with nicotine-stained teeth through an unshaven face. A shiver of repulsion started in her stomach and traveled through her spine. Neal Marks sat next to him, his head and jaw strapped in a metal harness. He stared at Joey with a silent fury, and occasionally cupped his hands in odd positions that worried Tricia. His mother sat next to him, a prim, proper, conservative woman wearing an unflattering dress, two crucifixes, and rosary beads. She sat reading her Bible, her lips moving silently to herself as she read, and her eyes darting back and forth. Her eyes snapped up to lock onto Tricia's and they held each other's gaze for a moment.

"Harlot!" Tricia read from Mrs. Marks' silent lips, and the woman returned to her reading. Tricia glared at her in astonishment, sighed, and glanced at Joey.

Joey sat uncomfortably next to her. She could see him keeping an eye on Neal, and Joey's hand twitched as it rested on his lap. He breathed uncomfortably, as if scared. Tricia looked back and forth between Neal and Joey, and put it together. Neal is angry, she understood. And he can kill us both from where he sits, and he's thinking about it right now. A dread sense of vulnerability crept over her, and she wanted to take Joey's hand, protect him, or have him protect her. But as the desire flared in her, it was overtaken by her anger. Don't touch him, she reminded herself. She could see Joey's hand twitching for what it was. He was thinking the same things as she was.

The office door finally opened, and the simple presence of something new brought a welcome relief to the tension in the room. Vice-Principal Grimes, a bald, heavyset black man in his sixties stood in the doorway, peered at the eight visitors, and nodded in approval.

"Please come inside," he instructed in a rich, steady voice. The four boys and their parents all stood up and made their way into the office. Mr. Wyatt-Parsons seemed to jostle for position to get in line directly behind Tricia. She could feel his eyes on her ass and smell the beer on his breath as they walked into the room. Eight chairs were arranged in two rows of four in front of the desk. "Will the four boys please sit up front?" Mr. Grimes commanded.

As the boys slumped in, taking their positions, Joey took the far right chair and turned it to keep and eye on the others. As Tricia took the seat behind him, Mr. Wyatt-Parsons eagerly took the chair next to her. Tricia groaned and crossed her arms over her breasts, hiding them from his view.

Mr. Grimes stood behind his desk and waited for everyone to get settled. He watched them, gauging them with strong and wise eyes, and Tricia glanced at a framed photo on the wall beside him. A much younger version of him stood next to Stargold himself in an old color photograph. From the graininess and the color-bleed she guessed the photo was from the seventies. But in the picture she could see a young man, energetic, eager to please, and enthusiastic, standing proudly next to his idol. Now he was a toughened, wizened older man with experience and patience, but still standing proudly, almost regally.

Once everyone was seated, he began to speak.

"I would like to start by thanking you all for coming today, and for all of the progress we have made so far." His voice was calm and commanding. "The boys are patched up, stable, and recovering, and the legal issues have been settled. I understand that there is a great deal of animosity amongst your families, and I understand that many of you have lawyers who are advising you to press charges and sue for damages. But by keeping this within the community, by dealing with this peacefully, and by concentrating on common goals, we will be able to deal with this more effectively, without bringing harm onto others."

Mr. Wyatt-Parsons sucked through his teeth noisily. "Yeah, well, it still don't seem right to me," he drawled. Now that he was talking, Tricia could more clearly smell his breath, and she shuddered in nausea. "I mean that little bastard nearly killed my boy! I don't see why I should just let that go."

"That was self-defence!" Tricia snapped. "And don't you call my son a bastard."

"He ain't your son," he fired back. "We all know what he is to you." Tricia balked, and he casually picked his teeth, letting the implication settle in. "He's your meal-ticket."

"Mr. Wyatt-Parsons," Mr. Grimes delivered with just enough force to command silence without asking for it. "In this school we do not tolerate epithets from the students, or their parents. We teach respect. You will give Mr. Harper and Ms. Sanchez more respect than you expect from them."

"Yeah, whatever," he said, scratching his ear. "It still don't seem fair to me, what with me having to pay more in hospital bills than her." He glared at Tricia. "I still think we all should sue your ass."

Tricia glared back. "Oh. And is that what you think is fair? The three of you all ganging up against me? Is that what you teach your kid is fair?"

"That is enough," Mr. Grimes decided with no uncertainty in his tone. "Fairness is not the issue, nor the goal. Mr. and Mrs. Riley were generous enough to drop the charges against these three boys for the assault on their son on the condition that you all dropped the counter charges against Mr. Harper. So you have little to gain from lawsuits. And by keeping this within the community, within the school, we will be able to handle the situation quickly, quietly, and with as little negative publicity as possible."

Mrs. Marks scoffed. "I still think this could have all been prevented if you taught these children to RESPECT their own bodies!"

Tricia squinted, unable to follow Mrs. Marks' line of reasoning. Mr. Grimes nodded sagely, and spoke.

"I understand your difficulties with the school's curriculum and policies regarding the sexual education, Mrs. Marks, but we can discuss this in private at a later time. For right now, the issue at hand is the incidence of disrespect and violence."

Mr. Wyatt-Parsons sniffed. "You know, my lawyer says we should..."

"We TAKE the deal." Mr. Gangjeon said sternly, and not looking at anyone. "Is best."

Tricia leaned forward to give him an approving look, or a visual 'thank you', but Mr. Gangjeon did not return her glance. He continued to stare straight forward at no one in particular.

The matter settled, Mr. Grimes continued. He towered over the four boys, staring them down, causing them all to shift uncontrollably in their chairs. "Now the issue is punishment. And I would like the four of you to understand something very clearly. My options are limited." He let the words sink in. "When I say that my options are limited, it means that there are few punishments that I have at my disposal for dealing with you. I have few to choose from. I can assign community service, issue extra homework, reduce privileges, require counseling, or enact suspensions. And I can see in your eyes that you all believe you can handle these punishments. That you believe these to be simple to endure. That I am impotent in my ability to handle you. This is the WRONG line of reasoning. This does not mean that you cannot be punished severely. For when I say my options are limited, they are limited by ethics. They are limited by my belief that all four of you have the great potential to become exemplary members of society.

"When I look upon you, I see great promise and potential. I see strength, power, speed, and creativity. Mr. Gangjeon," he said, centering his attention on Clyde. "When I look upon you, I see a rescuer. A great man, capable of pulling people from dangerous situations. Of opening crumpled cars, lifting sections of collapsed roads or buildings, saving hundreds of lives in a career dedicated to public safety."

He then turned his attention to Neal. "Mr. Marks. When I look upon you, I see someone gifted not just with the ability to generate tremendous energy, but to survive it as well. This alone will grant you enormous opportunity within the power industries. Your efforts can be used to help maintain power supply and distribution to entire cities, ensuring prosperity and peace, supplying electricity during emergencies. It is well known that without power, a city will dissolve into chaos within days. Your efforts in the simple acts of repair in dangerous areas, or production, can save the lives of thousands."

He then turned to Brandon. "Mr. Wyatt-Parsons. When I look upon you, I see a courier. Someone whom at the peak of his abilities can transport life-saving materials across vast distances in a fraction of the time it would take through mundane means. Whether delivering medicines, donated organs, or technical equipment, your efforts can save lives on a daily basis."

He then turned his attention to Joey. "And you, Mr. Harper. I have already seen you perform the unimaginable. As a wildcard of powers, your efforts have saved the lives of hundreds to come, and I believe you have the potential to save the lives of millions in situations yet unpredictable.

"This is what I see when I look upon you four. And my goal is to nurture this vision, to educate you, to transform you into men of honor, respect, and admiration. I see this promise in you. I see bright futures.

"And then I see this."

Mr. Grimes then turned the computer monitor around on his desk so it faced the boys. He touched the keyboard, and a video started playing. It was a political talk show with four panelists yelling at each other.

"WHEN ARE WE GOING TO WAKE UP?" "THIS IS A CRISIS!" "HOW ARE DECENT PEOPLE SUPPOSED TO PROTECT OURSELVES FROM THESE ABNORMALS?" "I KEEP SAYING IT! MANDATORY MUTANT TESTING AT BIRTH! CHEMICAL CASTRATION ON DETECTION!" "I HAVE NO PROBLEM LOBOTOMIZING THEM AT BIRTH! PUT THEM IN INSTITUTIONS WHERE THEY CAN'T HURT THE GOOD PEOPLE!" "WHY KEEP THEM ALIVE? IT'S SURVIVAL OF THE FITTEST! GET RID OF THEM!" "GOOD MORAL PEOPLE ARE IN DANGER!"

Mr. Grimes stopped the playback, and a heavy silence filled the room. "I watched this yesterday. And according to the Neilsen ratings, hundreds of thousands of others watched it as well. And according to the website I pulled this from, tens of thousands of others have downloaded this and watched it. And I discovered something very interesting when watching this." He turned to the boys and stared at them. "At no point in their discussion did they mention your names. And the reason for this is simple. They do not care who you are. They did not ask 'Who started the fight?' They did not wonder 'Who hit first?', or 'Who hit the hardest?', or "Who was the most savage?' or 'Who went through the most pain?'. They did not care to know why you started the fight. They do not care about fairness to you. The only thing they care about is that they are afraid. They are afraid of us. They are so afraid that they are willing to openly discuss LEGALIZING INFANTICIDE on television.

"The chance that some deranged person would listen to their insane reasons and become inspired through fear and ignorance to act on this accord, to find a child who is different in some way and kill that child, is remote at best. But the FACT that many thousands have seen this brings this remote chance towards certainty. And I pray to God every day that this chance remains remote, that no one will look upon these men and think they are sensible, and that no child will be harmed." He paused for a moment. "But it is my belief that at some point soon, some poor child will be taken from his mother and smashed upon the rocks by a man inspired by these men." He pointed to the screen frozen on the image of the shouting men. "And these men were inspired by you."

He glared at them. "For this reason, I am not interested in being fair to you. Your actions have endangered us ALL. Never forget that you are all members of a minority group, the empowered. And we, the empowered, are simultaneously the most envied, and the most distrusted minority group on this planet. It is not fair that anyone is chosen for inclusion in this minority group. It is not fair that we are burdened with the extra responsibility. But what is fair is the fact that we must all share one burden EQUALLY. For from the day that you were born, until the day that you die, you REPRESENT us."

The boys squirmed in their chairs, but shivers ran through Tricia's spine as those words hit her. And it wasn't because it was coming from an ex-superhero. It was because she realized that his words were for her as well.

He pointed to the screen, to the four men frozen in the video. "These men who are not burdened with our responsibilities can do one of two things. They can fear us, or they can admire us. When they fear us, they dream up discrimination, punishments, tortures, and executions ... things they call 'solutions.' So it is our job to do what we can so they will admire us, and think in terms of what we can do for them, and not in terms of what they can do to us."

Clyde noticeably rolled his eyes and scoffed. Neal chuckled, and Brandon snorted. Mrs. Marks leaned forward and slapped her son, causing him to flinch. Mr. Wyatt-Parsons, still slumped in his chair, simply reached out with one leg and kicked his son. Tricia stared in shock, and checked on Joey. He too was staring at the boys in just as much shock.

Mr. Grimes watched the performance for a moment, and noted it. He sighed and lifted an eyebrow. "I can tell that some of you feel less than threatened by the disapproval of the mundane population. That your abilities will protect you, and that you have nothing to fear from them." He picked up a very large box from the floor and placed it on his desk. The box rattled with heavy metal items at it hit the desk. "Stand up, all four of you," he commanded. As the boys stood up, Mr. Grimes opened the box and extracted a huge metal chain, its links were massive weights of iron. It was ancient and corroded, but strong, and Tricia's eyes widened as she saw the several manacles hanging from it.

"Extend your arms," he commanded.

Everyone in the room startled at his command. The boys didn't move.

"I said, extend your arms," he repeated.

There was no argument, and the four boys held their hands forward. One by one, Mr. Grimes shackled the boys to the chain, locking a massive manacle over each wrist. As he released the chain, each boy strained to keep the chain lifted.

"In nineteen eighty-two, when I was in AmeriForce," Mr. Grimes said as he locked the manacles on each boy's wrist, "I was summoned to the mountains of Kentucky to investigate the disappearances of several coal miners and their rescuers. Men were disappearing into the mines, their cries for help echoing from the deep tunnels. Rescuers went in after them, and they too disappeared in the mines. So I went in after them, but I did not find a single man alive. Instead, I found pieces of them. And then I found the creature that ripped those men to pieces. That creature wore these very chains that you now wear."

The boys looked down at the chains that draped from their arms. Joey shuddered. Shivers ran up Tricia's spine.

"I did battle with the creature, but could do nothing to it. Its hide was thick and impenetrable. Its bones unbreakable. Its strength, practically unstoppable. We fought in the darkness, and I soon realized that I was outmatched. So I did the only thing I could think of. I dragged it out, into the light. And as I dragged this roaring, bellowing thing into the light of day, I finally saw that I was wrong. For I HAD found a single man alive. The thing I was fighting was once a man. A man like us. An empowered."

Mr. Grimes held up the end of the long chain, showing a set of manacles at the end that were ripped open. "Once he was out in the light, he was subdued. We removed these from him, took him into custody, and placed him in a high security prison for safekeeping. But we soon discovered that as long as he was warm, and fed, he was no problem. There was not a shred of humanity left in him, but what was left of him was easy to manage." He studied the ripped manacles. "We moved him to a hospital, studied him, researched, and in a few years, we found the truth." He stared back at the boys. "He had been down there since the American Civil War."

There were several gasps in the room. Mr. Grimes continued. "He was born a slave, and became empowered. And when he was ordered to fight for the Confederacy, ordered to fight to preserve slavery, he refused. And his mundane masters decided to make an example of him. They placed him in these chains, and chained five other prisoners along with him, and then they threw them all down into the depths of the mines, possibly as an example to others."

Mr. Grimes paused, and examined the broken manacles in his hands. "We are not certain if the others died from the fall, died of starvation, died of thirst, or died at this one man's hands. All that we know is that ... he ate them, and then he went mad. Mad from hunger, mad from guilt, mad from sensory deprivation, mad from loneliness ... We don't know what for sure. It doesn't matter. What matters is that the mundanes found a way to deal with him."

He lifted the broken manacles and showed them to the boys. "I broke these off him. He couldn't remove these himself, but he tried. Notice the teeth marks. The ones you wear were worn by the other prisoners; the ones he devoured."

Joey shuddered.

"The simplest lesson to learn from being in the minority is that you are outnumbered. We live at their mercy. For all of your abilities, no matter how strong, powerful, fast, or versatile you are, there will always be at least one person out there who will figure out your weakness, and your limitations. This man's masters found his weakness, and although we have no idea what it was, I believe it did not have to be anything more complex than threatening the ones he loved."

Tricia startled at that, and she glanced over at the other parents. But to her eye, she couldn't see any indication that they noticed that Mr. Grimes was now talking about them. Mr. Grimes saw the same lack of reaction, and sighed. He continued. "Your lives are linked. What you do affects your family, and every one of us in the community of the empowered. You have a responsibility to treat each other with respect and decency, and to control your reactions."

He let the boys feel the weight of the chains on their arms for a minute, and then started down the line again, removing the manacles. "So as I said," he continued. "My options are limited by ethics to the standard punishments of community service, homework, privilege reductions, counseling, and suspensions. But always keep in mind that I have one final punishment available at my disposal, and that is expulsion. And if you are expelled from this school, I have no choice but to hand you off to others whose punishments are NOT limited by ethics, and by those who have no belief in your bright futures. Sit."

The boys sat back in their chairs, and Mr. Grimes put the chains back in the box. He placed the box on the floor with a heavy thump and rattle, and sat in chair behind the desk. He picked up some papers and looked at them. "Your suspensions continue until the end of this week, and you are still responsible for completing any homework assignments that you miss. On top of this, I am providing for you each a copy of the television show. Your assignment is to watch that show and write a report on it. You will document every statement made in it that infers injustice towards us. Every threat of discrimination, every threat of punishment, and every threat of violence. You will attend counseling sessions. I am also assigning one hundred hours of community service. Mr. Harper."

Joey startled. "Y-Yes sir?"

He didn't look up from his papers. "I understand you have been proactive in this. You have already started community service, is this correct?"

Joey faltered for a moment, "Yeah, but..." He stopped, and Tricia realized he was going to blame it on her. But then she saw that he made the connection, that this was a good thing. "Yes sir." he completed.

"I commend you, and I am deducting twenty hours from your responsibilities."

There were several gasps and scoffs from the others in the room. "That's hardly fair!" Mrs. Marks screeched. "My son was still in the hospital yesterday. He didn't have the chance to..."

"NOT ... interested in fairness." Mr. Grimes said, not looking up from his papers.

As Mrs. Marks' jaw dropped in her shock of the injustice, Tricia squinted and shook her head. You don't get it do you? she said mentally to the woman. He's punishing bad behavior, and rewarding good behavior. But he's not going to just come out and SAY that. You have to figure it out yourself. She glanced at Joey, and saw that he at least had the wisdom to not look smug.

"The rest of you," Mr. Grimes continued, "see Miss Daschofsky outside on your way out for your community service assignments, and all of you schedule appointments to see Counselor Vanderburg. And one final note." He looked up from his papers and studied the boys. "It is obvious to me that you four boys still have issues in dealing with each other. But one more incident like this will convince me that you have no bright futures to protect, and next time, I will not hesitate to expel you. So it would be in your best interest to learn to deal with each other, and apologize to each other."