StarFall Comics
A Division of Pullemouttayerhat Productions
A Wholly-Owned Subsidiary of StarFall Innovations
Proudly Presents:
Going Solo
#1: Terminal Velocity
cover: A hand, offering a pill bottle. Clearly labeled on the bottle is the word "Velocity".
My name is Chrissy Rowlan. I am an addict. And this is my story.
Six months ago, Coach Arillo started handing out these little pills to the track squad. Said they'd make us faster. A few people didn't take them, at first. I can't remember anymore if that's when I started taking them, or if I hesitated. All I know is, they did make me faster.
Four months ago, Coach gave me another type of pill, to "supplement" the other one, he said. It worked; I was the fastest on the team. However, I felt sluggish a day after taking the pill. When I asked Coach about it, he gave me a bottle of them. Not a day went by that I didn't take the pills, sometimes two or three a day. I didn't know then, but I was addicted.
Thanks to these pills, our team ended up going for the district finals. The first time in fifteen years our school's even had a chance to go there, in any sport. As part of the finals, we had to be "tested", which included us pissing in little plastic cups. Drug tests. I noticed Coach was a little nervous when he found out.
Two days after the testing, during practice, a cop showed up. He just stood there, watching us as we practiced. It just so happens, earlier that day I'd taken the last of the "speed pills" he'd given me. That's what I'd been calling them, "speed pills".
"Coach," I asked him, "you have any more of those pills? I'm out."
"Are these the steroids you've been slipping your athletes, Coach Arillo," the cop asked, walking over to us, "or the other kind?"
"Steroids?" I asked, my eyes going wide. "He told us they were vitamin supplements."
"Miss, everyone on this team has been tested positive for steroid use," the cop explained. "A few others have also had a second drug detected in their samples. An amphetamine, street name Velocity."
"Coach?" I asked.
"Its a lie," Coach replied. "They're just vitamin supplements. Nothing illegal about them."
"Tell it to the court," the cop stated. "I've got a warrant here for your arrest."
The entire team stopped what they were doing to watch as the cop handcuffed Coach, and led him away from the school. I think I was more annoyed that I didn't get my refill than I was that Coach got arrested. I found out later that our team was banned from the finals in disgrace.
A day later, the convulsions set in. Withdrawal symptoms. I craved the Velocity. It occurred to me that Coach could help me. He gave me the pills in the first place!
I crawled out of bed, made myself as presentable as possible, and called Sharon, my best friend, up on her cell.
"Sharon," I moaned, "I need your help."
"What's wrong? You sound like hell."
"I need to see the Coach."
"Chrissy, I can't take you to the Coach. He's in jail, remember?"
"Then take me to his place."
"Chrissy!"
"Sharon, please... I ... I can't help myself... I need the pills. He's gotta have some in his place."
"Do you know what you're saying? That's..."
"Sharon, please! It... it hurts..."
Sharon showed up a few minutes later. She saw the fear in my face, I'm sure. She relented to driving me over to Coach's home. I was already to the point of plotting a break-in of his place, looking for the stuff.
It was the cop car sitting on the corner that stopped me. I curled up in a ball in Sharon's car, crying my eyes out.
I called in sick to school the next few days; I don't know if the teachers accepted "drug withdrawal" as a valid excuse or not. Sharon stayed with me the whole time, bless her heart. Not a day went by when her mom called up, asking how I was doing, if we needed anything, stuff like that.
When I finally returned to school, I felt as if everyone was talking about me. I could hear snippets of conversations that quieted as I walked by. More than once, I heard someone say "druggie" or "pill-popper" after I walked by. It was worse than the withdrawals. I was no longer a star athlete, I was... I am an addict.
The next two months are a haze. Every few days, I had a session with the school counselor. Every night, the cravings hit me. For weeks, I found myself wandering around across the street from Coach's place. My brain hoped he stayed in jail for a long, long time. Part of me, however, hoped he was home!
Something changed in me. As the withdrawal symptoms decreased in severity, I found my speed returning. More than just returning; the withdrawals had actually increased my speed.
I was on a morning run when I heard a siren whine behind me. SHIT! Cops! I knew I couldn't outrun them, but I tried anyway. Something inside me clicked. The surroundings became a blur, and I found myself hitting ... water? My surroundings came back into focus, and I spotted a sign as I swam to shore.
"Beltsville Reservoir?" I thought. "What'm I doing here?" My brain barely registered the fact that I'd traveled almost twenty miles in mere seconds.
Looking down, I saw my clothes had been torn to shreds. I crawled over to a park bench, and fainted, more from disbelief than exhaustion.
I called Sharon later, once I'd recovered. She didn't believe me when I told her where I was, but she agreed to come out to pick me up. She arrived with a fresh change of clothes. I changed in her back seat, while she tried to figure out how I got there. All she could think of was a similar situation on that old early-90s show, The Flash. You know, the guy in the red suit. I laughed at her. But something in the back of my mind wondered.
I found out in the papers the next day that the cops had been chasing an unknown blip on radar that was moving at over a hundred miles an hour; a blip that had left a sonic boom when it accelerated. A local "unidentified racing object". Looking at the wet rags that had been the clothes I'd worn, it dawned on me... I was that radar blip. Chrissy Rowlan: star track athlete, drug addict... freak of nature. I started giggling... I think I lost it for more than a few minutes.
After I settled down, I started thinking. With my history of drug addiction, no one would believe that my new speed wasn't artificially enhanced. Hell, I still don't believe it. My chances of getting a track scholarship for college were shot to hell.
I dropped out of the athletic clubs immediately. I would have stayed in them, they were the only thing that had been my escape since my parents' divorce, but with my new speed... No, it was the right thing to do.
Time blurs together at this point. I kept up with the events of Coach's trial; I was even called in to testify against him. I just can't remember how far back that was. But I remember the trial itself clearly.
The prosecutor waited until I was sworn in and seated before he started asking me questions.
"Would you tell the court how you know the defendant?"
"He was my track coach."
"Did the defendant give you any pills to take while he was coaching?"
"Yes. Everyone on the team was taking them."
"Do you know what the pills were?"
"I was informed later that we were being given steroids."
Coach's lawyer stood up at this point. I hated him on the spot; he reeked of slime. "Objection. Witness is giving hearsay information."
"Allow me to rephrase," the prosecutor stated. "Did you know what the pills were when you were taking them?"
"No."
"Were they the only pills you were given?"
I hesitated before answering. "No, there was another type that he gave me."
"Did the defendant tell you what that pill was?"
"No."
He turned to the table and picked up a folder. "Your honor, I present to you exhibits C and D. Right before the defendant was arrested, the witness, and the entire track team, participated in a state required drug test for high school sports. You will note in the folder marked Exhibit C that she has tested positive for two distinct drugs: a steroid, and a controlled amphetamine, named Hypopheme, street name Velocity. Hypopheme is highly addictive, especially taken in larger doses. By comparing the witness's file with the others in Exhibits A and B, you will notice that she had the largest concentration of Hypopheme in her system than any of the others. Exhibit D is another drug test taken a few days ago, which indicates only trace levels of Hypopheme still in her system." He turned back to me. "I want to ask you one more question.
"Were you addicted to the drugs he gave you?"
"Yes," I replied softly. "I am addicted to them." I think my phrasing threw off the court. I clearly remember the look of betrayal on the Coach's face as I said this. One thing I've learned; once an addict, always an addict. Even when sober.
I don't remember much after that. The judge's gavel was pounded for some reason, and the two lawyers seemed to be arguing. All I clearly remember is the look of betrayal on both Coach's and my dad's faces.
Coach got thirty years. The judge later recommended a rehab center for me, after the trial, but I've lost the card.
Dad stopped speaking to me after that. I found myself spending more time at Sharon's place. Sharon knew my secret, my speed power, and was my sanity during the following months.
I remember it being a summer night the first time I decided to go for a nightly run through the city. It was hot and humid that night, so I was only wearing a T-shirt and shorts, with sneakers. I kept my speed low, only moving at an effortless forty mph. I hadn't intended to go into the mean streets, but somehow I ended up there. Pimps, hos, druggies, pushers, winos, the works. I half wondered if I belonged there.
I noticed a few people from school there. I'd known I wasn't the only one Coach had on Velocity, but somehow I naïvely believed that I wasn't the only one to kick the habit. I was wrong.
I slowed to a walk, and headed over to them. My track teammates waved at me, I waved back. I looked at the pills in their hand. Velocity.
"Hey, Chrissy. John here has been helping us out. You need some?"
The cravings hit. I wanted the drug. Part of me needed the drug. I shook my head no, weakly, as my hand started reaching for the offered drug. I stopped myself in time; barely.
"Don't fight it, chickie," the pusher sneered. "I know all about you. Addicted by the Coach, needing a daily dose of sweet, terminal Velocity."
Maybe it was the "chickie" part of it, or maybe my brain finally kicked me in the ass over what I was about to do. Or maybe it was the way he said the drug's name. Whatever it was, my hand swatted his away. I noted with a grin that the drugs landed in the gutter. I fled, at top speed.
This time, the surroundings were not a blur, but clear as day. I fled home. I realize now that I need help. Help controlling the cravings. And with this strange new power I've developed. For I found that when running at top speed, it was like a Velocity high. I want to run, and keep running, staying high all the time. Moving at normal speed is like the crash after the high. It may just be that I've traded one addiction for another. And that thought scares me.
I am an addict. That is something I will always have to live with. It won't be easy, for the cravings will always be there.
Help me.