The grave on Angel Grove Cemetery was rarely visited nowadays. One or two people who knew him over the years sometimes came back, usually to have some perspective on what went wrong and the fact that nobody is perfect, no matter how good their intentions were.
So, nobody jumped when a flash of dark blue light appeared from nowhere, leaving in its trail a tall and imposing hooded figure. Said figure crouched down on the grave, fingers trailing the letters on the tombstone.
"Not anymore, buddy. Not anymore," he said, and disappeared in another flash of blue.
Dr. Thomas Oliver was doing one of the most dreadful things of any teacher's life, scoring tests. Did teenagers have some sort of mental block that halted any attempt of access to information not related to girls or guys, clothes and the usual trends? He surely didn't remember being like that when he was of their age. Of course, when he was their age, he was more worried about the monster-of-the-week than anything else. Matter of fact, nowadays he was still more worried about the monster-of-the-week than anything else. Getting old was so overrated sometimes.
A strong knock at his front door took him away from his musings, and he stood up, stretching up, vertebrae aligning with a pop. Yep, getting old, overrated.
It wasn't anybody from his team, since Hayley had the key and the kids didn't bother with a trivial thing like knocking, generally barging in without being invited. So, he opened the door and the person on the other side surprised him. He was as tall as Tommy, if not a bit taller, with a deep tan that spoke of countless hours under the sun, muscular, dressed in a strange fashion, blue shirt made of some material that resembled rough cotton, gray pants and some strange boots. A cape with a hood finalized the ensemble, making him look like a refugee from some B-movie. But what struck Dr. Oliver as completely odd where the tattoos, which covered much of his bare arms and the left part of the man's face, making him look like a Maori. A scar above his right eyebrow was also plain visible.
But, aside from the strangeness, Tommy found something odd about him, like some sort of . . . vibe, that came from him. And the feeling that he /knew/ the man from somewhere.
"Hello, Tommy. Won't you invite an old . . . friend in?" the man spoke, and suddenly recognition set in.
"Bulk?"
