“Honestly, I think he’s just teasing me now,” the adolescent groaned into the cordless landline telephone, “Left a ton of crap in my pockets… clues maybe? I don’t know. Anyhow, it disturbs me.”
He held the phone up to his ear using his right shoulder while his left hand was occupied with combing his curly, dark brown hair. “Well either way, Mark, we need to figure it out. Remember what almost happened last time?” a young girl replied through the handset.
Mark shuddered as he exited the washroom adjacent to his bedroom, the phone still tight against his ear. “We definitely don’t want a repeat of that.”
“I’ll meet you behind the school in ten minutes then, okay? Okay, bye.”
Mark hung up the phone and placed it on his bedside table. The young man opened up the blinds on his window and tidied up his sheets a bit. After pocketing a knife, Mark opened up his bedroom window as wide as it could go. Various insects spilled in from curiosity, but he didn’t really seem to care at the moment. He slipped through the window and somehow survived the two-storey leap by perfectly executing a roll on the grassy path below. The local high school was a mile away, but such trivial concerns didn’t matter to Mark anymore.
He sprinted in the general direction of the school, abiding by the law and staying on sidewalks where possible. The commonly accepted term for sprint is to run at one’s full speed. Mark’s full speed was rather… extreme. Ten miles an hour extreme, to be moderately exact. This incredible speed also allowed manoeuvres such as flips in midair, free-running, etc. He found time to check his watch and found that it was one in the afternoon. There was a puzzle to be solved and the hourglass was eleven hours to empty.
A syringe/gum/a barrel/a white dress/a grey sedan/fire/a basement-
Mark was suddenly flung to the right, smashing headfirst into a shed window. The glass broke instantly and the boy’s head made a fitting replacement. Blood bled and wounds opened, but the teenager gripped his consciousness tightly. He pulled his own head out of the window, suffering minor cuts upon making contact with the sharp glass frame which remained. He slouched weakly and finally sat down against the shed wall, underneath the shattered window. His vision was blurry, but Mark could make out a woman in a red blouse approaching him. She was coming out of a yellow sports car, which appeared to be severely dented. “Oh,God, are you alright?!” she gasped, her hands shaking.
The greying brunette was utterly shocked, but Mark kept what remained of his eyesight fixated on her. “I’m sure God is fine… ma’am”, he muttered slowly, his head tilted a bit to the left.
He was lifted into her car and taken into the hospital. The yellow sports car smelled pleasant, but Mark didn’t really care about that, either. He was too busy bleeding to death to care. “Hey… lady…” he groaned from the rear-left passenger seat, “I need to be at the school… I need… I need to meet someone there.”
She ignored him out of guilt and kept her course for the infirmary. Her hands were still shaking, making it a wonder how they hadn’t crashed yet. “Laaaaady!” he howled once more, “You’ve got to chill. This… this is nothing. It’ll go away. I need to see someone. It’s important…”
By now, the backseats were effectively soaked in teenage blood. It would be difficult to remove the stains, or even explain them without an awkward conversation. Mark felt his wounds healing. They were closing up fast and wouldn’t be much of a bother. Testing his joints, he was glad that none appeared to be broken at the moment. “At least let me borrow your cellphone?”
She tossed it (shakily) into the back and he caught it with finesse. “234-436… what was her number again? 4237? 9274? No, no… that’s Aaron’s… damn”, he muttered under his breath in the backseat.
Several seconds later, he growled in frustration. “I can’t remember! You messed my head up, lady!”
However, this aggressive high died down fairly quickly and Mark soon found himself apologizing to the woman and returning her phone. “Grey sedan”, he suddenly found himself involuntarily muttering, “Grey sedan…”
Outside the window to his left, a grey sedan was parked in front of the local grocery store. A large wooden barrel stood beside it. Its contents were currently unknown. Realizing that the car wasn’t childproof, Mark unlocked the door and rolled out onto the pavement, narrowly dodging two other cars which sped by. He leapt into a bush and planned his next move. How would a blood-drenched teenager make his way to the school without getting thrown into the back of someone’s car again? Interestingly, the lady wouldn’t discover that Mark had gotten away until she arrived at the hospital three minutes afterwards. What an awkward conversationthatwas…
A LITTLE WHILE LATER…
“You’re a mess!” she gasped, shocked by his horrendous appearance.
“Long story, Lacy,” he sighed, “I really have to learn to look both ways before crossing. Worst luck ever.”
“So,” Lacy began, “Have you figured anything out yet?”
Mark put his arm around her. The park bench wasn’t generally a romantic piece of furniture, but they made it work… somehow. “I saw a grey car and a barrel in front of the supermarket after having visions about them,” he confessed, “Maybe he planned to blow up the place?”
“Let’s have a look at the things he left in your pocket”, she suggested.
Mark emptied the contents of each pocket into Lacy’s hands. The end result was a paperclip, a pen, a phone number on a tiny scrap of paper and a five-dollar bill. There was an address on the pen: the location of the local supermarket. As for the phone number, Lacy recognized it as her best friend Britney’s.
“Why does he insist on leaving clues for us, anyway?” Lacy sighed, “If he’s some sort of supervillain like you say, wouldn’t it be smarter to just do the evil deed instead of giving us a chance to stop his plan?”
Mark kissed her on the forehead with passionate affection. “He’s just screwing with me. I think… I think it’s all a game to him. While we see four empty cars going down Main Street at sixty miles per hour as a dangerous crime, he sees it as a game. Like a child banging toy cars together. I wouldn’t be surprised if he has the mentality of a child.”
She kissed him back lovingly and stroked his hair. “Destructive child,” she giggled, “With all the stuff I have to put up with, I should get paid to be your girlfriend.”
“Hey, technically… you’rehisgirlfriend too.”
A slap to the face followed, as expected. They laughed it off though and continued to scour through their clues some more. What would be the catastrophic villainous plot today?