Chapter 4: Montage of Heck

Dylan rushed towards the staircase, his left foot pushing off the pavement for more momentum as he came closer. He grew approached the edge before taking his left foot and slamming it down on the tail of his skateboard before jumping into the air. He used this right foot to flick the nose, performing a kickflip.

He landed on the sidewalk, crouched on his deck and with his fingertips grazing concrete before standing up and regaining some of his lost balance. The skater twisted his hips and the board followed his movement, losing its momentum and coming to a complete halt. Dylan picked up his board, the grip tape rough against his skin.

It was thirty one inches in length from nose to tail and eight inches across, the standard measurements for street skating. On the underside was scuffed wheels, trucks, and axels along with the graphic that ran the full length of the underside. The graphic itself used to be a logo for Baker Skateboards, but over years of use it had torn away to reveal the wood underneath. Anything that remained was mostly covered in stickers, some of other skateboard brands or just plain vulgarity.

Dlyan was followed by his friend, Jason, who grinded down the metal railing using his deck. He landed smoothly, riding past Dylan with a smug smirk. In response, he just gave him the finger. Jason was the better of the two, he had to admit, but Dylan was determined to outperform him this time around.

The skater turned to his other friend, Tyler, who was at the top of the staircase with a camcorder in his hand. "Hey, Ty, did you get all that?" He inquired.

His friend gave him a thumbs up in response. "Hell yeah, that was sick."

"Lemme see." He replied.

Tyler complied, coming down and showing him the footage. Jason stood behind them, peeking over their shoulders to watch. "That's fuckin' solid." Dylan commented.

"Yeah, not enough to get the prize money though." Tyler responded.

The trio had entered a contest hosted by Thrasher under the name The Stooges. When Jason has proposed it, Dylan found himself enthusiastically on board with it, considering it a slap in the face to the teachers who called them that.

As for the contest, its aim was to highlight the skating scene in Seattle, Washington. With its temperate climate and not-so-friendly architecture for skating, it wasn't as large or as active as the one in California. However, Seattle was more hungry than its counterpart. Dylan and his friends had made a few videos and montages for Tyler's website in the past, so why not try to make some money out of it this time?

Fortunately for them, today was a beautiful summer day. The sky was clear of any clouds, the sun was beating down on them. Dylan always welcomed the rare chance to wear shorts and a t-shirt.

"Are we using a song for this?" Asked Jason.

Tyler answered. "Yeah dude. Lounge Act by Nirvana."

Dylan furrowed his brow. "Nirvana? Can't we use something a little more, y'know, skater? Like A Tribe Call Quest or somethin'."

"Yeah, but what's more Seattle than Nirvana?"

"Nirvana were from Aberdeen you dumb bitch!"

"They recorded their shit in Seattle!"

He paused for a second, hearing Jason giggling over his shoulder. Dylan threw his arms up in defeat. "Whatever. Nirvana sucks anyways - they're overrated as fuck." He huffed.

In response, his friend gave him a death stare.

Dylan couldn't help but smirk in mischievous triumph. He had achieved his desired result.

"Oooh, he's gonna kick your ass." Jason teased him.

The skater gave him a knowing, smug glance as he picked up his board and held it by its nose. "Yeah?" He started. Dylan looked over at the fuming Tyler, once again giving a devilish smirk. "He's gonna have to catch me first!"

Without skipping a beat, he whipped around and threw his skateboard in front of him. Dylan placed his right foot on the board, using his left to push off of the ground, and fled from his friend while giving a hearty laugh. The sound of two sets of wheels fell on his ears, letting him know his friends were following close behind him.

They skated down the Main Street, weaving between pedestrians while using any and all available architecture to perform tricks. There were plenty of benches, small art instillations, and other things to make use of. All Dylan had to do to navigate the busy street was lean backwards or forwards and his board would follow. The reason being that the trucks on the skater's deck were loose, perhaps more loose than most people had them. There was something so enthralling about the feeling that his board could suddenly turn against him at any moment if he wasn't paying attention. It was like it was a wild animal that Dylan had just barely tamed.

Suddenly, he noticed someone else skating. The two locked eyes and, in a moment of recognition, Dylan gave him a high five and a friendly smirk. The interaction started as quickly as it ended and the two skaters continued on their separate ways. Dylan didn't know who the guy was, but it didn't matter. Just by virtue of being another skater, he thought the guy was alright. Maybe one day they'd meet again.

The Stooges continued onwards with Tyler recording. Dylan glanced over to Jason for a brief moment, watching as he pulled off a frontside shove-it and grinded on a bench, his arms outstretched to give himself some balance. He felt a pang of envy, considering he always made extremely sloppy landings with shove-its. Jason made everything look so easy.

They were soon coming towards a cross roads. They could either continue on, crossing the street, or turn the corner. Dylan also noticed a car, parked besides a coffee shop. After a moment, he realised who the car belonged to and made a decision right then and there. The skater pushed forward, gaining speed before doing a simple ollie. He landed on the hood of the car, riding on it before landing on the road. From the sudden weight of Dylan's body on the car, its alarm began blaring. It was followed by the enraged swearing of the owner as the trio fled the scene.

"Godammit, Dylan. Did you have to do that?!" Tyler scorned.

"Because that was Mr. Costa's car," he replied simply. "He's an asshole."

"Wait, that was Mr. Costa's car?" Jason inquired. For a second, he looked behind to confirm for himself. "It is!"

Dylan nodded in response, "I swear to god, if you don't get biology he acts like you're a moron." He spat bitterly.

"Man, fuck that guy."

Even the thought of Mr. Costa's class caused anger to flare up in Dylan. The man had no patience for him, always kicking him out of his class at the slightest provocation. Sometimes, it just seemed like the teacher couldn't be bothered with him and would just send him out. Unsurprisingly, Dylan just stopped coming to class. Instead, he would hang out underneath the stairs to the second floor.

The skater didn't feel like he was missing out on anything. Dylan had one last year of highschool left after summer vacation, there was plenty of time to pick up the necessary credits to graduate. Plus, he had no interest in biology and it wasn't like it was going to be his major at college. If he even did go to college, that is.

Tyler grimaced, "Thank god I never had him, then. But still, you're an asshole for doing that."

"So?" Retorted Dylan, raising an eyebrow.

"So?" He echoed. "So be a bigger man, Dylan!"

The skater shrugged his shoulders nonchalantly in response. He didn't see it as a big deal considering how petty the teacher had been. It was well deserved.

The three continued their endeavours, recording stunts and tricks as well as recording anything they said or did the others found funny. They moved away from the hustle and bustle of the Main Street, opting for some more quiet areas.

In all honesty, Dylan preferred this. He didn't have to focus on not accidentally crashing into someone, either because he wasn't paying attention or wiped out after attempting a trick, all he had to be concerned about was himself and his board. So that's what he did, casually riding down the street and popping ollies and kick flips casually.

The street they were currently on was unlike the busy Main Street. There was barely anything to use as leverage for tricks, save for a couple of benches and whatnot. Despite the wide open sidewalk, there was nothing interesting about it. So, Dylan continued on with a bored expression. Jason had stop trying to show off, too, and Tyler held his camcorder idly by his side.

But just then, Dylan caught a glimpse of a staircase off to his side and his interest was newly invigorated. "Hey, Tyler!" he called out. "Start recording!" He made a mad dash for the stair case. It was a chance to one up Jason and he would be damned if he missed out on it. Already, he was picking out what exactly he was going to do immediately after landing. If there was rails, he would grind on them. Otherwise, he'd use the air time to perform tricks.

"Shit! Dylan, wait!" Jason cried.

But it was too late. The skater was already in the air, having jumped without even looking at the stairs. When he did look, realising how far the stairs went down dozens of flights, there was a tight feeling in his gut and his blood ran cold. He was far beyond the point of no return. Dylan simply had to accept he was in for a world of hurt.

When Dylan did land, the back wheels of his board caught the edge of a step and lost all of its momentum. He, however, wasn't so lucky. The skater was catapulted, tumbling down step after step at an astonishing rate. The world span around him in a mix of orange bricks, graffiti, and grey concrete. He landed in a crumpled heap with his face in the ground and his body thumping with dull pain. All Dylan could do was lay there, stunned.

The sound of hurried steps and terrified voices fell on his ears.

"Ohshitohshitohshit! Do you think he's okay?"

"Okay?! Dude, he just wiped the fuck out!"

Suddenly, someone began gently shaking his shoulder.

"Dylan, you good?" Came Tyler's wavering voice.

He answered with a slight strain in his voice, "yeah." He replied, slowly sitting up. The skater felt something wet and warm drip down from his eyebrow. Dylan raised his hand to his brow, pulling it back and inspecting it. The tip of his fingers were covered in blood. Turning to the two of his friends, he asked, "do you guys have a handkerchief or something?"

They both shook their heads in response. Sighing, Dylan removed his shirt and used it to wipe his forehead, staining the blue fabric a deep crimson. After he was done, he stood up to his full height and wrapped the bloody shirt around his waist. Skateboarding was a fully body workout, and unsurprisingly Dylan had reaped the benefits of a toned and defined body. Both his friends stared at him in disbelief.

"Are we gonna stand here all day or what? Let's keep going!" He exclaimed with impatience.

Jason gave a relieved laugh. "Dude."

"What?"

"You just ate mad shit and you're still good enough to skate?"

Dylan's features twisted in confusion and exasperation. "Duh?" he responded. "It wasn't that bad."

"Dylan, fucking look!" Tyler exclaimed, pointing towards the top of the stairs. "Look how far away that is and you fell from there!"

He protested with an exasperated tone. "I'm fine."

The truth was just that. Dylan felt fine. The aches and pains in his body had all but subsided, despite the lengthy fall. A part of him felt that he should be worse for wear - much worse. It was like the incident with the half pipe.

Jason look at him in both amusement and disbelief. "Dylan Falkirk, just what the fuck are you?" He gave his friend a half smile.

He shrugged in response with a smirk on his face. "Just fuckin' tough, I guess."

"I dunno how the hell you just bounce back from stuff like this. Remember the half pipe? That was gnarly." Tyler commented, wincing at the memory.

Jason also grimaced. "Yeah, you should've split your head wide open, man. Like that was easily a ten foot drop and you landed on your head - without a helmet, too."

Again, Dylan shrugged. He agreed that he was extremely lucky to be alive, let alone walk away with only a mild concussion. But he couldn't answer the question concerning why he always seemed to be fine, even after cringe-worthy tumbles like the one that just took place. The skater just chalked it up to luck.

Suddenly, there was a voice from behind him. "Hey, are you alright? That was a nasty fall."

Dylan turned around, finding a man staring at them. He had short, black hair and concerned, green eyes along with stubble. He was pretty tall too with a fit build, he noticed, standing at a height of 6'2. Three inches taller than the skater was. "Yeah, man. Never been better." The skater answered.

The man gave him a sincere smile and, without another word, walked off. What Dylan found perplexing was that he seemed sad somehow. Perhaps there was something going on in his personal life.

Tyler commented. "The was weird."

Both Dylan and Jason nodded in agreement. Then, Jason turned to him. "Please tell me you got him wiping out on camera."

The Stooges quickly put the interaction behind them, continuing to skate like nothing had happened. After a while, they concluded that they had gathered enough footage worthy of being in the montage. Now, they were just skating leisurely. Eventually the sun began to set and they decided to call it a day. The Stooges split apart, going their own ways home.

Lazily, Dylan pushed his foot off of the concrete as he rolled along with his hands in his pocket and his shadow stretching out in front of him. Whenever he came upon a crack in the sidewalk, he would pop a Chinese nollie. Possibly the most easy and least demanding trick he could do. The scent of sea salt was fresh in the air as he passed the bay, the ocean breeze sweeping through his brown hair.

He looked over to the water, watching as the orange rays of the setting sun danced and bounced off its surface. The skater contemplated about just sitting for a minute and enjoying the view, which he eventually caved into doing. As dreary and as rainy as Seattle could be, it was worth it when you got sights like this. After he had his fill, he was about to get back on his board until his foot it something.

The object rolled around on the concrete, clinking and clanking with each movement before eventually coming to a stop. At first, Dylan though it was some kind of rock and was about to ignore it. He soon realised, however, it wasn't any kind of stone - it was metal.

The lump of metal was around the size of his hand with a dull, black surface like it had been caught in a fire. He picked it up, noticing that it was warm to the touch. Had someone been holding it? Nonchalantly, Dylan threw it up in the air and caught it as it landed. He found it cool though, maybe he would keep it.

Immediately, he hissed in surprise and dropped it as an electric shock coursed through his palm. The skater had experienced static shocks in the past, just as anyone had, but this was different. It had hurt. It was like a current of electricity lept up from the metal and into his hand.

His gut began to tighten and his heart beat faster and faster as he felt something building in him. Something inside was about to break free. His whole boy was suddenly covered in strange, glowing blue lines like some bioluminescent parasite that had burrowed inside him. Just as quickly as they appeared, the majority disappeared save for those in his arms.

But Dylan soon realised that the glow wasn't from lines on his body, but rather from inside him. It was his nerves. Suddenly, sparks of electricity jumped from his hands and arms, forming brief arcs as they jumped from one limb to the next. The smell of sea salt had been overridden by the smell of burning ozone choking his nostrils.

Dylan cried out in panic, the primal aspect of his mind screaming to get away from the sparks. He stumbled backwards, calling out for help, as the arcs of electricity became more prominent and more vicious. The electricity from one of his arms lurched away from him, drawn to a nearby car. It surged through the vehicle, travelling through all its conductive parts and finding its way into the fuel tank.

The car exploded, the thunderous roar deafened Dlyan as the heat slammed into him like a tidal wave. The shockwave knocked him back. His skin was blistered and red, and his ears were ringing, but he was still alive. The skater struggled to his feet, the sparks of electricity dancing in his vision. His breathing was ragged, shallow, and fast.

His mind was racing, confused and hysterical, but he knew he had to hide. He had to get away from the carnage and lay low. But suddenly, something black and sticky slammed into him and sent him tumbling backwards, almost falling to the ground. He could feel the unbearable heat of the burning wreckage against his back.

Once again, something vicious slammed into his body. He could no longer move his arms as they were stuck against his chest, which was covered in some kind of black ooze. Dylan desperately thrashed, hoping to break free but to no avail.

Then, the world went black.

...

Ian watched as the boy's head jerked backwards as his shadow bullet passed through his skull, his body crumpling into a heap just as it had earlier when he had fallen down that flight of stairs. His body was shaking, his breathing heavy and uneven.

The man's heart thumped against his chest as anxiety bubbled inside of him. The explosion of the car had brought back some vivid, unwanted memories. Ian has to suppress them the best he could for now before the guilt and shame began to creep in. Not just from years prior, but from his most recent actions.

Ian swept a hand through his dark hair, his green eyes darting back and forth. People would soon come to investigate, fearing the worst as they called the emergency services. He had to leave - now.

"C'mon, Cat. We gotta go." he said, turning to his partner.

Catrame Inchiostro, his partner and best friend, was a short, slim man. His chin-length, platinum blond hair billowed in the wind. He looked only mildly startled by the events that had just unfolded. Catrame's blue eyes locked with his and he nodded silently.

The duo made their escape. While he managed to keep it under control, Ian felt panic twist and turn in his gut as he heard police sirens in the distance. But soon enough, they were far enough away from the scene to where law enforcement wasn't a concern.

Neither was the fact that people would have definitely seen them run away from the murder. Ian felt a pang of disgust at the word. Murder. No matter how he or Catrame tried to rationalise it, that they had never truly killed those four guys or that there was no other way, he couldn't see it for anything else but murder.

Their run had slowed down to a walk. The pair acted inconspicuously, blending in with the hustle and bustle of Seattle's Main Street before they turned down an alley. Ian's nose wrinkled at the harsh, sour smell. Once they were confident nobody would see them, they began to scale the wall.

Catrame's hands excreted a thick, vicious tar which allowed him to stick to the slimy brick wall and climb. As for Ian, he used black and shadowy tendrils to effortlessly scale the side of the building. They both made it onto the rooftop.

Ian leaned against a chimney, sitting down. Catrame sat across from him, holding his knees close to his body. "Now what?" he asked.

Ian sighed, looking off into the distance. Seattle's skyline was definitely interesting, with its mostly medium-sized building and the occasional tall one. Along with the space needle, of course. Everything seemed so tranquil in the sunset. The fear and panic he was once fighting was now quelled.

"We sit here," Ian responded. "See what happens."

Again, he looked off to the skyline and shifted in anticipation. "We're so close, Cat," he said lowly, an edge of excitement in his voice. "I can't believe it!"

Catrame offered a small, heartfelt smile of his own. However, it suddenly transformed to a scowl. It didn't take long for Ian to understand why, feeling a presence amoung them. Something ghastly began to materialise and form close to them. As it began to take shape, it was distinctly feline-shaped.

It looks like it was time.