Third Power/Part One
Updated: Feb 11, 2020
A Three-Part Story, By Someone Who Loves Telling Tales
Malik “King” Johnson was a bad man, a very bad man. But his badness wasn’t what you may be thinking of, well, at least not now it wasn’t. Now, instead of being amongst the countless predators that preyed on the people in his hometown of Detroit, he fought against then. The transformation from villain to hero came about from a promise he made to his mother, who was on her death bed at the time.
Thirty-nine-year-old Malik once had a promising football career ahead of him, thanks to his hard work and dedication to the game he loved like no other. The African American man excelled at the running back position and at six foot three, two hundred and seventy pounds of pure muscle, he was a force to be reckoned with. But during his senior year of college, one incident would bring his football career to a screeching halt.
His last college game would be at his beloved University of Michigan, and against his and his team’s arch-rival…Ohio State. Malik was having arguably the greatest game of his college career. At half time, he had five touchdowns and over two hundred yards rushing, all of which had his team winning 35–17. But it was the first play, in the third quarter, that would bring about an end to the star running back so many in the country had grown to know and love.
Malik took a handoff from the quarterback and moved smoothly through a huge hole created by his defensive line. It looked as if he was about to get his sixth rushing touchdown, but then, unknowing to him, a would-be tackler was coming up on his blindside. He was hit on the side of his knee and went down hard. The end result was a shattered kneecap and an end of an NFL dream, he’d dreamed so much about.
At age twenty-seven Malik was working as an auto mechanic, it was a skill he acquired from his favorite uncle, who owned his own shop because of his talent. Life wasn’t as he wanted it to be, but he always thought to himself that it could be worse. He married his high school sweetheart and they were expecting their first child, in five months.
Then tragedy struck when his father died of a massive heart attack, this blow was worse for Malik than losing the opportunity to play in the NLF, because his father, was also his best friend. It was his father who taught him the fundamentals of the game, which he himself was once quite good at in days gone by. Malik excelled at the game because he wanted to make his father proud, he too was denied his opportunity to shine in the NFL due to injuries suffered in college. So, he was determined to have his father live his dream through him, this is what drove him to be the star he once was.
Malik was never the same after his father’s passing, he became extremely angry and even more violent. The only people who keep him from just totally losing it were his mother, his wife, and his beautiful newborn baby daughter. But not even the love from the three people he cherished most of all could stop him from traveling down a dark path, a path where he would hurt others, just to help ease his own pain.
Malik became muscle for hire in the world of crime. Whoever had a problem and didn’t know how to solve it, he offered the solution. He was paid handsomely for his efforts but the money was always secondary, compared to the satisfaction he received from hearing the breaking of bones thanks to his efforts.
On his thirtieth birthday, Malik’s mother became extremely ill. After a thorough examination, doctors couldn't explain what was ending Ms. Johnson’s life at such a rapid pace. Quite naturally Malik never let her bedside, he was heartbroken that there was nothing he could do to help save his beloved mother. Then, one day, as fate would have it, his mother passed away in her sleep. The day before his mother died she made him promise that he would change his ways. She told him that she wanted him to make his daughter proud to be able to call him daddy.
Right after his mother’s funeral, Malik began fulfilling the promise he made to her. He took some of the money he earned from his violent ways and opened up an auto mechanic shop but regardless of him changing his ways, the results of said ways before he changed…remained the same. A great number of people wanted him dead, people, who all lived in fear because of the man he once was.
One night, as he was closing up shop and about to go home to his wife and daughter, an unknown assailant walked up behind him and shot him in the back of the head. This was March 3, 2010, at 3 o’clock pm. Nine years after the fact, Malik still lied in a coma.
“Has there been any change, Ann?” Camille Johnson said as she entered her husband’s hospital room, her question was directed towards his private nurse. Forty-year-old Camille was a tall dark-skinned beauty with a short, well-groomed Afro. She was dressed as if she came from money because she had, her father left her and her mother a small fortune when he passed away, seven years ago.
“None, Camille.” Ann Stevenson said somberly. The forty-five-year-old African American woman was cute, short and sturdy.
“I greatly appreciate you, Ann. You have taken great care of my King, and I shall never forget it.”
“It’s been my pleasure, Camille. The way you love Malik…it’s so amazing. I’ve seen people give up on those they claimed to have loved in way less time than you have given your beloved.”
“Ann, where I come from. We don’t ever give up on those we love…ever,” Camille said proudly.
“Well, I have the utmost respect for you, Camille. I pray every day that it will be the day Malik finally wakes up and comes back to you and Success. How is she by the way?”
“Our little princess is well, Ann. Thanks for asking.”
“Of course. Well, let me let you have your time with your King.” Ann proceeded to walk out of the hospital room.
Camille walked up on the side of Malik’s bed and stared down at him, lovingly. Ann made sure he was always well-groomed, so he was looking just as handsome as he did before he was shot. His head and face were both clean shaved, he didn’t look a day over thirty.
“So, when are you coming back to us…my King?” Camille said softly. “I need you. Our daughter needs you.” she began to cry.
“Now, you know, I don’t like it, when you cry…my Queen,” Malik said weakly.
“Oh my god! Malik! You’ve come back to us!”
Twelve hours after Malik Johnson retuned from being in a coma for just over nine years, he was now enjoying the company of his beloved wife. Their daughter, Success, was sleeping soundly in a cushy leather recliner chair. She talked so much about herself to her father, that she literally tired herself out. His doctor paid him a visit earlier and after running a series of tests; said that he saw no reason why he couldn’t go home tomorrow. The doctor was amazed at how strong he was, seeing that he’d been immobile for such a long time period.
“So, my Queen. Did they ever discover the identity of the person who shot me?” Malik said sternly, he was sitting up in his bed and his wife was sitting on the comfortable mattress, right beside him.
“They never did, my King.”
Malik grabbed the thick metal protective side rallying of his bed and squeezed it hard. To his surprise, it crumbled as if it were a piece of paper. He and Camille look at the twisted piece of mental in astonishment.
“What the hell, my King?” Camille whispered.
“I haven’t a clue, my Queen. I didn’t even feel myself doing it either.”
Camille grabbed the crumbled area of metal and squeezed it, it was solid as a rock. “I think we should keep this between us for right now, my King.”
“Agreed, my Queen.”
Malik and Camille were now in the backyard of their home, which just so happened to be a four-story, fifteen-room mansion, which was located on Boston Street, on the west side of Detroit. Camille purchased the dwelling in question five-years ago and with some of the money, her father left her in his will. Their daughter went down the street to a friend’s house, she wanted to give her parents some time alone.
“So, my King. How much strength do you think you actually have?”
“I don’t know, my Queen. But I do know that I’m feeling really good. I mean, really, really good. Let me see what I can do with this vehicle.” The vehicle Malik was referring to was a triple black 2019 Cadillac Escalade, which sat in the driveway and before a four-car garage.
Malik placed his right-hand underneath the front end of the luxury SUV and lifted it up off the ground with ease. He then began to slide his arm further beneath the SUV, raised it off the ground, and had it resting comfortably on his forearm. Camille looked on in utter amazement as the SUV was as still as it was where it once sat. He gently placed the SUV back on the ground.
“Well, we kinda have an idea how strong I am,” Malik said cheerfully.
“It wasn’t heavy at all, my King?”
“It was as if I wasn’t even holding it.”
“Wow. It has to have something to do with you being shot. Can you recall any dream-like activity while you were unconscious?”
“Nothing, my Queen. What are you getting at? Don’t tell me you’re thinking the numerology thang?”
“What else could it be? You were shot March third and was in a coma, for nine years. Three goes into nine three times, March is the third month of the year, you were shot on the third day of the month, at three o’clock and here’s the kicker, you were shot with a three fifty-seven handgun. Three, plus five, plus seven equals fifteen, three goes into fifteen five times evenly. It’s the power of three, baby.”
“So, if what you believe is true. I have at least two more special abilities, right?”
“I believe it to be true, my King. And yes, I also believe that you have at least two more special abilities. My late grandmother was rarely wrong when it came to numerology, as you know I was rarely wrong about it, thanks to what I learned from her.”
“So, what do you think my other two special abilities are? I sure hope one of them is the ability to fly,” Malik chuckled.
Camille chuckled, “That’ll be a sight to see. Give it a try. Just start running as fast as you can and then when you have enough momentum…jump up in the air.”
“Really, my Queen?” Malik chuckled.
“Well, doesn’t it make some kind of sense?” Camille chuckled.
“Alright, here we go.” Malik began running across the well-manicured grass of the spacious backyard, then, just like that, he was gone.