After school, Peyton sat on her bed scrolling through endless photos that she'd snapped while at Westbrook, looking for pictures of Derrick that could be used for the memorial. She smiled a little. Most of them she had he was doing something crude or flipping off the camera, anything to ruin the shot. A few caught her attention. There was the one she'd snapped in the hallway the day of the homecoming game.
"Heya Derrick. Gonna win today?"
"Probably not - the team sucks, the coach sucks, the field sucks. Only shot we have is if the other team sucks more."
"Cheer squad doesn't suck." She chided.
"Too bad." He replied with a shrug. "You change your mind on that, I'll meet you in the back of the bus." His hands had been full carrying his football gear, so all he could do was waggle his eyebrows.
It was a decent enough shot, they could use that, no one had to know the story behind it. She scrolled through a few more, skipping the ones where he was grabbing his crotch, and found a few usable ones she'd taken during football practice. There were a couple from game day, and a few from that night she and Mike Jackson met up with Cork at the club in the mall. She had a few with him dancing, a couple where he was goofing around with Mike, and one or two she snapped when Derrick wasn't looking. She didn't recognize the people he was with at the bar, they weren't Westbrook kids, but it was a nice photo of him in his 'going out' clothes.
All in all, she'd found 11 decent pictures, and saved them to her flashdrive. Half way to Herrera's office, she turned and jetted back, choking up after adding a few of the 'offensive' photos as well. They made her smile through the few tears that dripped their way onto her keyboard.
The school could decide if they wanted to use them or not, but she felt better. Those are the ones Cork would want people to see. That was Derrick.
A Dirge for Derrick Cork: The Morning After
If cheerleading was easy, they'd call it football.
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Twitchcraft
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Re: A Dirge for Derrick Cork: The Morning After
((From the Paragon Sentinel obits section))
Cork, Derrick Nathan - age 17, of Kings Row, Paragon City. Passed away January 24th, 2011. Beloved son of Stephen Cork (of Talos Island, Paragon City) and Caroline Gilman (of Boston). Derrick had chosen a path of service for his life, dedicating himself to helping others. His sacrifices will not go unforgotten.
Family and friends will gather at 2pm on Monday, January 30th at the Talos Hill cemetery for graveside services. Rev. Edward Click will officiate. In lieu of flowers, the family requests that you "please do something nice for someone you love, as Derrick would have done."
Cork, Derrick Nathan - age 17, of Kings Row, Paragon City. Passed away January 24th, 2011. Beloved son of Stephen Cork (of Talos Island, Paragon City) and Caroline Gilman (of Boston). Derrick had chosen a path of service for his life, dedicating himself to helping others. His sacrifices will not go unforgotten.
Family and friends will gather at 2pm on Monday, January 30th at the Talos Hill cemetery for graveside services. Rev. Edward Click will officiate. In lieu of flowers, the family requests that you "please do something nice for someone you love, as Derrick would have done."
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Diya Behari
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Re: A Dirge for Derrick Cork: The Morning After
Diya didn’t sleep Tuesday night.
Every time she began to drift to sleep she felt it again.
Blood. Hot and slick. Against her wrists. Covering her hands.
So she’d bolt upright, holding her hands inches from her face, trying to see if it was real.
It never was, but that didn’t stop the panic that coursed through her system every time she shut her eyes.
“Tell ‘em I did it.”
He hadn’t been breathing well. It had sounded...wet. And raspy.
What did he do? Who did he do it for?
Diya was pretty sure those questions were going to haunt her to her own grave.
Every time she began to drift to sleep she felt it again.
Blood. Hot and slick. Against her wrists. Covering her hands.
So she’d bolt upright, holding her hands inches from her face, trying to see if it was real.
It never was, but that didn’t stop the panic that coursed through her system every time she shut her eyes.
“Tell ‘em I did it.”
He hadn’t been breathing well. It had sounded...wet. And raspy.
What did he do? Who did he do it for?
Diya was pretty sure those questions were going to haunt her to her own grave.
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Twitchcraft
- Former Member
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Re: A Dirge for Derrick Cork: The Morning After
Teen Super's Death Ruled Accidental
by Darcy Danton
Sentinel Staff Writer
With the completion of an autopsy and incident investigation, the death of Derrick Nathan Cork, a minor who held hero status, has been ruled an accident, say police.
Cork, 17, of Kings Row, was pronounced dead on arrival late Tuesday at the Steel Canyon Medical Center from injuries sustained in the restricted Baumton area of the city.
"Mr. Cork's injuries were consistent with those of someone finding himself trapped in one of the Baumton zone's numerous burning buildings and forced to make a fast, risky egress," said PPD Spokesperson Terri Sloane. "His glider gear, already damaged by fire, was unable to support his weight for a safe landing."
Sloane dismissed rumors of Outcast involvement.
"The Outcasts, like most of the city's criminal organizations, have a specific M.O., a specific way of engaging with a target," she said. "There's nothing to suggest Mr. Cork ran afoul of them."
Cork's motives for visiting the Baumton zone remain unclear. His status files indicate no outstanding casework, and no sources have come forward to vouch for his actions.
"The fact is, young heroes often feel they have to prove themselves," said Sloane. "They feel they have to take greater and greater risks and accomplish more and more to earn the title of hero. And sometimes this leads to tragic recklessness."
Sources inside City Hall say that, given Cork's age and the circumstances surrounding his death, the city's Licensing Review Board may be called into special session. The six-member panel, comprised of citizens and civil servants, operates under the auspices of the Citizen Crime Fighting Act and helps determine licensing updates and restrictions. Licenses for underage supers have long been an issue of some contention and --
continued A16
by Darcy Danton
Sentinel Staff Writer
With the completion of an autopsy and incident investigation, the death of Derrick Nathan Cork, a minor who held hero status, has been ruled an accident, say police.
Cork, 17, of Kings Row, was pronounced dead on arrival late Tuesday at the Steel Canyon Medical Center from injuries sustained in the restricted Baumton area of the city.
"Mr. Cork's injuries were consistent with those of someone finding himself trapped in one of the Baumton zone's numerous burning buildings and forced to make a fast, risky egress," said PPD Spokesperson Terri Sloane. "His glider gear, already damaged by fire, was unable to support his weight for a safe landing."
Sloane dismissed rumors of Outcast involvement.
"The Outcasts, like most of the city's criminal organizations, have a specific M.O., a specific way of engaging with a target," she said. "There's nothing to suggest Mr. Cork ran afoul of them."
Cork's motives for visiting the Baumton zone remain unclear. His status files indicate no outstanding casework, and no sources have come forward to vouch for his actions.
"The fact is, young heroes often feel they have to prove themselves," said Sloane. "They feel they have to take greater and greater risks and accomplish more and more to earn the title of hero. And sometimes this leads to tragic recklessness."
Sources inside City Hall say that, given Cork's age and the circumstances surrounding his death, the city's Licensing Review Board may be called into special session. The six-member panel, comprised of citizens and civil servants, operates under the auspices of the Citizen Crime Fighting Act and helps determine licensing updates and restrictions. Licenses for underage supers have long been an issue of some contention and --
continued A16
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Wyatt Wyborn
- Member
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- Joined:Fri Apr 08, 2011 5:49 pm
Re: A Dirge for Derrick Cork: The Morning After
Dawn Hundley read the latest on the Boomtown Teen story and set the paper down on the counter. It was a slow day for a Saturday and her husband had gone out to get them all a breakfast croisant for an early lunch. Wyatt was in the back sweeping. Mrs. Hundley turned and stepped into the doorway to the back.
"You haven't talked about it at all," she said.
"What'?" Wyatt said. He paused his work and leaned on the broom handle.
Dawn regarded him with a mother's eye. She knew she was serving as his surrogate mom and she was fine with that. She would have been proud to be his real mother, and as it was, she was proud to have him as a friend and employee. But Wyatt always wore his heart on his sleeve. When he was sad, he was very sad. When he was in love he was head-over-heels. Even if it seemed that he couldn't make up his mind who he was in love with.
All of which was why she was worried about him now. A young man Wyatt went to school with was tragically dead and Wyatt hadn't said a thing about it.
"Derrick Cork. You knew him, right?"
"Yeah."
"If you want to talk about it --"
"Not much to talk about. He's dead." Wyatt went back to pushing his broom.
Dawn wanted to press it. She wanted to drag his feelings out of him until tears rolled down his cheeks, but she thought better of it. Either Wyatt would open up or he wouldn't. But right now maybe he just needed some time to think about it. When he was ready to talk, she would listen. She stepped back to the counter and picked up the paper to read the op-ed page.
"Um, Mrs. H.?"
Wyatt was standing at her shoulder now with an indecipherable expression on his face.
"Yes, Wyatt?"
"I... didn't like Derrick. I -- I hated him. I don't know how to feel about..."
And like any good mother would do, Dawn listened.
"You haven't talked about it at all," she said.
"What'?" Wyatt said. He paused his work and leaned on the broom handle.
Dawn regarded him with a mother's eye. She knew she was serving as his surrogate mom and she was fine with that. She would have been proud to be his real mother, and as it was, she was proud to have him as a friend and employee. But Wyatt always wore his heart on his sleeve. When he was sad, he was very sad. When he was in love he was head-over-heels. Even if it seemed that he couldn't make up his mind who he was in love with.
All of which was why she was worried about him now. A young man Wyatt went to school with was tragically dead and Wyatt hadn't said a thing about it.
"Derrick Cork. You knew him, right?"
"Yeah."
"If you want to talk about it --"
"Not much to talk about. He's dead." Wyatt went back to pushing his broom.
Dawn wanted to press it. She wanted to drag his feelings out of him until tears rolled down his cheeks, but she thought better of it. Either Wyatt would open up or he wouldn't. But right now maybe he just needed some time to think about it. When he was ready to talk, she would listen. She stepped back to the counter and picked up the paper to read the op-ed page.
"Um, Mrs. H.?"
Wyatt was standing at her shoulder now with an indecipherable expression on his face.
"Yes, Wyatt?"
"I... didn't like Derrick. I -- I hated him. I don't know how to feel about..."
And like any good mother would do, Dawn listened.
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Wyatt Wyborn
- Member
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- Joined:Fri Apr 08, 2011 5:49 pm
Re: A Dirge for Derrick Cork: The Morning After
People were talking about Cork’s funeral. It seemed like a lot of the people Wyatt heard discussing it weren’t planning to go. Wyatt wasn’t planning to go.
At work on Saturday, Mrs. Hundley had told him it was all right to still not like Derrick (Mrs. H insisted on calling him “Derrick” instead of “Cork”), that nothing had changed in their relationship except that one of them was now dead.
“Had he lived,” she had said in her soft, even voice, “Derrick might have changed. Someday maybe, you and he might even have become close friends. But now that can never happen. Derrick doesn’t get a chance to change; to make things right with the people he hurt. He’ll always and forever be remembered as the difficult boy whom no one liked.”
She hadn’t said it to make Wyatt feel guilty. She had said it just to make him feel.
Still, Wyatt wasn’t planning to go to the funeral. Cork’s death had put the whole school in a funk and he didn’t see any need to be there when the priest said untrue niceties about him before they lowered him into the ground. Mia was sad over it, guilt-ridden because maybe if she’d been there, he wouldn’t have died. The whole group who’d found him seemed to be in various stages of guilt and grief over this guy who didn’t give a shit for anybody else when he was alive. Wyatt didn’t see any point in anyone caring about Cork now.
Except…
“You know why they’re calling it an ‘accident’, right?” Mrs. H had said later that same day. “That’s just a way of saying, ‘We don’t want to bother with this.’ Maybe he was a trouble-maker and no one liked him, but he still deserves justice.”
And that had eaten at Wyatt all day Sunday. It had distracted him from the time he spent with Mia. It had made his fingers miss the right frets when he was trying to learn a new song with Brodi. It had made the Algebra II homework that Wyatt had put off all weekend impossible to figure out.
Still, no way was he going to Cork’s funeral, whenever it was. No way. He wouldn’t even make up an excuse. He just wouldn’t go.
Sunday evening, Mia being busy with another project for her magic class, Wyatt went to the gym to shoot some basketball to kill some time. He always did it by himself because, frankly, he was terrible at shooting basketball and didn’t like to be embarrassed. But in the gym he ran into Peyton, and instead of playing basketball, he wound up sitting with her in the bleachers talking about – what else? – Derrick Cork.
“He was an asshole,” Wyatt said.
“Yeah,” Peyton replied, “but I don't like to speak ill of the dead.”
Wyatt shrugged and said, “A dead asshole is still an asshole.” That sounded harsh, even to him, so he added, “But that don't mean he deserved to die.”
“No. And I mean, yeah, he ... wasn't liked by a lotta people neither.” Peyton looked uncharacteristically melancholy. “Tried talking to him a few times, you know? Got him to come hang out with me and Mike Jackson now and again.” She paused for a moment, the melancholy fading into quiet grief as she continued, “But talking one on one, finding out what made him all bitter... never happened. He figured I invited him out on the pier for sex and when he found out it wasn't, he got pissed and left.”
They talked more about how unlikable Cork had been, which didn’t make either of them feel better. It was easier for Wyatt to hate Cork privately than it was to hear other people talk about how hard it had been for them to try to like him at all.
“I'm.... I'm going to his service,” Peyton said, “Pay respects and all that.”
Wyatt shook his head. “Not me.”
“You don't gotta.”
“I know.”
“I feel sorta bad. Like I gave him that one shot, and I coulda tried again, maybe.”
“ Peyton -- Cork was Cork. You didn't make 'im that way.”
“No, I didn't, and if he didn't wanna change, there was nothing I could do, I know that.” Peyton’s eyes glistened as she spoke. “But mostly... I don't want his mom thinking he didn't have any friends. What if no one shows up?”
She might as well have delivered a hundred-mile-an-hour kick to Wyatt’s stomach. All he could say was, “Goddamn...”
“It's not about Cork,” Peyton finished.
It was one of those moments when he had to make a choice and that choice would tell him exactly what kind of person he was – what kind of man he was going to be.
“Reckon I 'n wear jeans and a sweater?” he asked.
“Dark sweater. Sunglasses'd be a nice touch.”
“A'ight. I'll be there.”
At work on Saturday, Mrs. Hundley had told him it was all right to still not like Derrick (Mrs. H insisted on calling him “Derrick” instead of “Cork”), that nothing had changed in their relationship except that one of them was now dead.
“Had he lived,” she had said in her soft, even voice, “Derrick might have changed. Someday maybe, you and he might even have become close friends. But now that can never happen. Derrick doesn’t get a chance to change; to make things right with the people he hurt. He’ll always and forever be remembered as the difficult boy whom no one liked.”
She hadn’t said it to make Wyatt feel guilty. She had said it just to make him feel.
Still, Wyatt wasn’t planning to go to the funeral. Cork’s death had put the whole school in a funk and he didn’t see any need to be there when the priest said untrue niceties about him before they lowered him into the ground. Mia was sad over it, guilt-ridden because maybe if she’d been there, he wouldn’t have died. The whole group who’d found him seemed to be in various stages of guilt and grief over this guy who didn’t give a shit for anybody else when he was alive. Wyatt didn’t see any point in anyone caring about Cork now.
Except…
“You know why they’re calling it an ‘accident’, right?” Mrs. H had said later that same day. “That’s just a way of saying, ‘We don’t want to bother with this.’ Maybe he was a trouble-maker and no one liked him, but he still deserves justice.”
And that had eaten at Wyatt all day Sunday. It had distracted him from the time he spent with Mia. It had made his fingers miss the right frets when he was trying to learn a new song with Brodi. It had made the Algebra II homework that Wyatt had put off all weekend impossible to figure out.
Still, no way was he going to Cork’s funeral, whenever it was. No way. He wouldn’t even make up an excuse. He just wouldn’t go.
Sunday evening, Mia being busy with another project for her magic class, Wyatt went to the gym to shoot some basketball to kill some time. He always did it by himself because, frankly, he was terrible at shooting basketball and didn’t like to be embarrassed. But in the gym he ran into Peyton, and instead of playing basketball, he wound up sitting with her in the bleachers talking about – what else? – Derrick Cork.
“He was an asshole,” Wyatt said.
“Yeah,” Peyton replied, “but I don't like to speak ill of the dead.”
Wyatt shrugged and said, “A dead asshole is still an asshole.” That sounded harsh, even to him, so he added, “But that don't mean he deserved to die.”
“No. And I mean, yeah, he ... wasn't liked by a lotta people neither.” Peyton looked uncharacteristically melancholy. “Tried talking to him a few times, you know? Got him to come hang out with me and Mike Jackson now and again.” She paused for a moment, the melancholy fading into quiet grief as she continued, “But talking one on one, finding out what made him all bitter... never happened. He figured I invited him out on the pier for sex and when he found out it wasn't, he got pissed and left.”
They talked more about how unlikable Cork had been, which didn’t make either of them feel better. It was easier for Wyatt to hate Cork privately than it was to hear other people talk about how hard it had been for them to try to like him at all.
“I'm.... I'm going to his service,” Peyton said, “Pay respects and all that.”
Wyatt shook his head. “Not me.”
“You don't gotta.”
“I know.”
“I feel sorta bad. Like I gave him that one shot, and I coulda tried again, maybe.”
“ Peyton -- Cork was Cork. You didn't make 'im that way.”
“No, I didn't, and if he didn't wanna change, there was nothing I could do, I know that.” Peyton’s eyes glistened as she spoke. “But mostly... I don't want his mom thinking he didn't have any friends. What if no one shows up?”
She might as well have delivered a hundred-mile-an-hour kick to Wyatt’s stomach. All he could say was, “Goddamn...”
“It's not about Cork,” Peyton finished.
It was one of those moments when he had to make a choice and that choice would tell him exactly what kind of person he was – what kind of man he was going to be.
“Reckon I 'n wear jeans and a sweater?” he asked.
“Dark sweater. Sunglasses'd be a nice touch.”
“A'ight. I'll be there.”
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David Hurt
- Member
- Posts:370
- Joined:Wed Aug 24, 2011 9:36 pm
Re: A Dirge for Derrick Cork: The Morning After
Not the day after, but a day after...
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