It was the second incident at JFK High. Of course, being in the middle of their high school tenure most of the students had different recollections of what happened. The empathetic ones were convinced it was karma finally catching up with Nathan Stone for bullying Clyde Sampson since Freshman year. Others said it was a freak accident and nothing more.
The majority of students who caught a glimpse of what happened were convinced it was something out of science fiction. Even though those accounts were considered outlandish, one thing was clear: Nathan Stone had a broken left arm and leg and every finger pointed to Clyde Sampson.
Two days later, the Sampson residence received a knock on their door late into the afternoon. Their four door sedan wasn’t in the driveway, so it was unlikely anyone was home.
After a minute, the doorbell rang through the two story house. Beyond the door, loud stomps were heard coming down the staircase.
“We don’t want any!” A meek voice called out.
“Good, because I don’t have anything to sell. Are you going to open the door?”
The door creaked open, suspicious eyes glaring through the crack. After a brief moment of hesitation, Clyde peeked his head out.
“How come you’re not in uniform, Mr. Irvine?”
“My partner is taking care of the beat tonight.” His eyes drifted up to look past Clyde. “Where are your parents?”
“They went out to get dinner.” Clyde retreated a bit. “Why are you here?”
“Terry wanted me to check up on you.”
“And he couldn’t do it himself?”
“Do you want me to treat you like some punk kid or like my son’s best friend?” The sternness in Mr. Irvine’s voice compelled Clyde to open the door.
“I’m sorry,” Clyde stared at his feet, hunched over and leaned against the threshold. “You’re not going to give me a lecture like my parents did, are you?”
“I’m horrible at giving lectures, so don’t worry.” Mr. Irvine stepped past Clyde and went into the living room. He sat down on the couch. “I just want to talk.”
“Sometimes Mrs. Irvine and I think Terry reads too many comic books.” He rubbed the bottom half of his goatee with his palm. “He seems to think you can move things with your mind.”
Clyde sat down in the arm chair across from the couch. “Do you believe him?”
“Have you talked to Terry since last weekend?”
“He hasn’t texted me or anything. He didn’t even talk to me at school.”
“Why do you think that is?” Mr. Irvine relaxed against the couch. He never blinked while studying Clyde.
“How am I supposed to know? He’s your kid, so why don’t you ask him?” He shot back.
“He’s scared of you, Clyde.”
“That’s a load of crap! He wasn’t scared last weekend!”
“Last weekend? What happened last weekend?” The couch squeaked when Mr. Irvine leaned forward.
“Nothing. Nothing happened.”
“Are you even allowed to question me when you’re off duty? I can report you, can’t I?”
“The Stones aren’t pressing charges, so you--“
“Clyde! What did I tell you about leaving the front door unlocked?" Came a voice from the other side of the house.
Upon entering the living room en route to the kitchen, Mrs. Sampson nearly dropped the two plastic bags of Chinese take-out she carried.
“James? What are you doing here?”