Young Writers Society

Full Novel Synopsis: Sequel to 'The Spiralling', itself a sequel to the Kick-Ass (2010) movie. However, this novel can be read on its own. After Big Daddy died, Mindy was driven mad, subdued by Dave, and locked away in an Institute after killing all who she deemed responsible but Dave. Will she recover? What will happen next to a New York without her nor the Motherfucker? Elements of the Kick-Ass 2 (2013) movie and comic series will be taken in.

The Descent

Chapter 5: A Week On Part 1

7 June 2011, Tuesday

Deer Diary,

Dad bought you for me so that I could write down my feelings. When Dave left for skool today, dad brought me shopping in the supermarket, and he found you there. He said you would help me. Thanks dad! And thank you too, diary.

I found out from Dave that I’m 11 years old, and my birthday was just four months ago. He said since I dont remember my last birthday party, we will celebrate it again. I’m so happy!

Goodnight, diary!

8 June 2011, Wendsday

Deer Diary,

Dave brought me to his skool. He said that I will need to go to skool. I can’t remember how skool was like. But why do I feel sad when I think about skool? Was it so bad there?

…

I knocked on the door to the principal’s office. I didn’t know what to think, but at least it had little to do with behavioural problems – I was never really a part of that, other than those few times when I got into fights and lost, and I didn’t even start it. I didn’t know what to think or what would happen, bringing Mindy in like that. Would anyone recognise her? I know she looked very different from how she was back then, but would it be enough? The only good thing I had going for me was that I was on good terms with the principal. Depression had its uses, and it gave me an obsession with school. That obsession with school gave me my good grades, and my sudden improvement in school grades’d put me in the principal’s good books, “Come in.”

“Morning, Dave. Interesting to see you! I wasn’t expecting you here!” The principal was a woman in her forties, still quite hot, even in her business wear. She was different from the other educators I’ve met. She was livelier, more colourful. The others were either dying of boredom or overexposure to hyperactive children or angsty teenagers.

“Good morning, Mrs. Dixon.” I greeted her formally. I didn’t feel like being accused of reverse-paedophilia. For some reason, my mind’s alarm for anything to do with that kind of stuff became dad’s me-as-a-paedophilia joke.

“And who is this fine young lady you brought in?” She beamed and gazed at Mindy with an enthusiasm that even I found off-putting. Her piercing silvery-blue eyes didn’t help – they looked like they could peer right into your soul. I could never tell if it was just part of her professional behaviour or if she was for real. Predictably, Mindy could never meet her eyes, choosing to look at a wall instead, and of course, she was hiding behind me, afraid or shy, or a combination of both, if I’m lucky.

“Oh, it’s Mandy Lizewski.” I introduced my adopted sister to the principal, gestured for her to stand on her own, to greet her.

“G-good morning, Mrs. Dixon.” Mindy repeated what I said. For a moment, she met the principal’s gaze, but then she turned away again. She couldn’t find anything for her right hand to do, so she placed it over her left arm, an unconscious gesture of insecurity and nervousness. It wasn’t the first time.

“Good morning, Miss Mandy Lizewski.” The principal returned the greeting, trying to be as nice as possible, smiling wide, but Mandy wasn’t looking at her face anymore. “Is she a relative? Cousin?”

“No, she’s my sister.” I said, trying to be as flat as possible, make it sound like old news. I was never sure how successful I was. The principal hardly changed her demeanor, “My dad wants her to study here.” I was hoping that she’d pick up the home-school or other-school subtext I was trying to fabricate between the lines.

“Where’s your father?” The principal asked, slightly toned down a bit. That was when I knew she’s going down to business, or if she sensed something was up. I was desperately praying that she didn’t recognise Mindy. Mindy didn’t exactly have a very good reputation either in my school. In the final months before she went totally batshit insane, she became cold, unstable. She’d started bullying her schoolmates. I knew I should’ve seen one form of mental problem lining up or the other, but then again, who’d have realised she’d go full-blown insane months after? I’d bet anything that even Mindy didn’t know she herself was going nuts. Her father’d trained her to be strong, I saw that in her when she didn’t stop after he was gone, but continued on until Frank was killed – It was only a while after that that she broke down.

“Oh, that. He’s on double-shift today.” I explained the moment she asked, as I didn’t even want a hint of doubt over Mindy. I didn’t want to give the Principal time to remember her face, “Here’s his letter and application form.” Putting down my bag, I took out an envelope and a few papers stapled together and put them on her desk, “Could she sit in for today? To get comfortable?” It took her a few minutes to read through everything, to get them in order.

Mindy’s situation was all explained in my dad’s letter, everything except that she was once a student here called ‘Mindy Macready’. When the principal was done reading, she was leaning back – never a good sign – and taking a good, hard look at Mindy. Mindy made eye contact again, only to regret it and go back to the wall or floor again. I couldn’t help but to hold my breath and scramble for the best line to use. For a moment, I thought she’d call Mindy Macready out.

“Have I seen her around before?” The principal finally said, but it sounded rhetorical. Looking at Mindy and comparing her to her past, healthier self, I thought she looked very different myself. For a dreadful moment I thought I was mistaken, somehow too biased to judge, “Huh. Nevermind, sorry about that. I’ve been on the job for over two decades. I’ve gone through thousands of kids. I guess it’s starting to show.” Slowly and silently, I let out my breath and figured that if the principal can’t tell if it was Mindy, everyone else won’t.

Then the principal stood up. It caught me a little off-guard. And came towards Mindy, bent low so that she was at about her eye level, taking her hand, “I’m sorry about what happened to you, Mandy. We’ll try to make sure you’re comfortable here while you recover.”

“Is it okay if Mandy sits in on her classes today?” I continued my negotiations, “My dad’s on double-duty.” I’d discussed this with my father – Mindy would need to work hard to catch up, and she’d need all the time she could get. I had an utterly dreadful feeling that she’d need to catch up quick, or she’d remain dumbed down forever – call me irrational, but it felt like the risk was there.

When we were out of the principal’s office, I could sense that Mindy was afraid of being in class. As a first, a hint of annoyance entered me, but then again, was this how everyone started out? Being afraid? Doctor Paul had stripped away not just Mindy’s years of training and experience, but also the confidence that came with it, plus 1 or 2 years of ‘basic development’, leaving behind a child even younger than 11. It was sure as hell how I started out, and it’d affected me since. Just look at my circle of friends. It was never really that big. Mindy had finally begun to take a step in that direction, as a normal child would, although I was beginning to wish that she didn’t have to, not especially when…

“Dave, I’m scared, I- I don’t want to go to class!” She’d said, pulling at my hand, refusing to move on. Class was almost starting, and there were a lot of elementary students around, some of who were bound to be Mindy’s future classmates. Upon hearing what Mindy’d said, a few girls were already giggling past us. It didn’t bode well for her. I shot a murderous look at them to get them to stop, and sure enough, they did. After all, I was in highschool.

I stopped, and bent low to regard her on equal grounds. At first, I didn’t know what to say. What could I say? Don’t be afraid, it’d all be fine? I wasn’t my father, and I knew very well that it’d be a tough journey ahead, especially for Mindy – she had her independence to lose when no other elementary school kids did. What the other students had was a past, a past that could give them a measure of strength, however short at a few years it was. Mindy was down to 2 or 3 days after Dr Paul was done with her. What could I say?

“Mandy.” I said firmly, trying to catch her attention. At the very least, she could look me in the eyes; others were too tough for her to look at, “Before you lost your memories, before the… bus accident, you were strong.” I remembered Hit-Girl taking punches and kicks that no girls could take. “You were smart.” I remembered her outmanoeuvring a whole gang of criminals, “You knew how to laugh.” I remembered her lines, full of vulgarities as they were. It was the best I could come up with. I remembered Dr. Paul’s instructions, but I figured these were general enough.

“You knew how to make friends,” Which was a lie of course, but that’s up for interpretation. The old Mindy could have theoretically made friends – anyone could, just that she chose not to, or couldn’t find the right crowd (though it wasn’t so surprising that there weren’t a lot of children like Mindy around). Eventually, it wasn’t even her choice anymore, “It’s all in you even if you can’t remember. Okay, Mandy?”

Mindy smiled. That was a start, though somehow, it felt like I botched up somehow. It was a realisation for me that it wasn’t exactly easy doing things that dad had to do with me.

…

Skool School was horrible. Now I no why I feel so sad, being in school. I stuttered when I introduced my name, and they luffed at me.

In English class, some of my classmates threw paperballs at me! They were so mean!

When I told Dave about it at lunchtime, he told me to ‘just make friends’ and ignore the paperball throwers. Lunchtime was the WORST. No one wants to sit with me. I feel sad and lonely.

I’m scared of tomorrow.