The Supernaturalist: The Graphic Novel by Colfer Eoin & Donkin Andrew

Author:Colfer, Eoin & Donkin, Andrew [Colfer, Eoin & Donkin, Andrew]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Young Adult, Science Fiction, Comics, Fantasy, Fiction - Young Adult
ISBN: 9780786848799
Amazon: 0786848790
Goodreads: 13307719
Publisher: Hyperion Book CH
Published: 2012-07-10T07:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER 7

HALO

Abracadabra Street

Ditto was torn by guilt. He was the closest thing to an adult the group had, and yet he had fled the old factory, leaving Stefan and Cosmo to make their own way out. Stefan would never have abandoned him if the situation were reversed, he was sure of it. Maybe there wasn’t much someone of his size could have done against Myishi tanks, but that didn’t make him feel any better. If anything, it made him feel worse, because Stefan had gone up against a tank to save him and Mona.

But there was another reason for Ditto’s guilt. There were things Stefan needed to know about him. Certain talents that he had. He should have confessed to his friend years ago, but the time had never been right. And he had become so accustomed to keeping his gifts a secret. In comic books, people with gifts became superheroes; in real life they became outcasts. And Ditto did not want to be an outcast from the only group of people who had ever cared for him.

Lucien Bonn had been christened Ditto by a sharp-tongued girl in the Bartoli institute. It wasn’t a very smart nickname. Obvious, really. Ditto had a habit of repeating whatever people said to him. This gave him a moment to think of a reply. Not that he was slow—quite the opposite in fact. He just wanted to be sure that whatever he said didn’t give anything away about his special talents. It was bad enough being a Bartoli baby without everyone thinking you were crazy too. Hey, did you hear? The midget thinks he can see ghosts. No, thank you.

Ditto’s suspicions that he was abnormal were confirmed on his ninth birthday. Until then he had hoped that he was merely short for his age. But by nine years of age it was getting pretty obvious that the arrested physical development mutation so common among Bartoli babies was beginning to affect him.

Doctor Bartoli himself had called Ditto into his office for his monthly measurements. Ditto stood inside the great man’s door, shivering in his paper jumpsuit. Doctor Bartoli liked to keep the air conditioning at forty-five degrees Farenheit. He said that cold was good for the intellect. “Well, now, Lucien,” said Bartoli, opening Ditto’s file on his computer. “Let’s see how you are progressing. Stand on the spot.”

Ditto positioned himself on a red circle in the center of the floor. Bartoli circled him with a measuring tape and cranium calipers. He hemmed and hawed as he measured each of Ditto’s limbs, his trunk, and his head size.

“Another failure,” he said eventually, slumping into his office chair. “Just like the rest. Where did I go wrong?”

Ditto didn’t answer. The doctor was talking to himself as he always did. Eventually Bartoli addressed the small shivering boy. “Well, Lucien. I am sorry to tell you that you will in all likelihood grow no taller. Your head is one quarter the length of your person; by nine years, it should be only one fifth.

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