WARNING: Contains spoilers for Light, mostly the Aftermath. Please read at your own discretion. Author's Note is at the bottom.
He'd been staring out the window for a good hour, just staring at the skyline. Staring at his life as it was now. All buildings that touched the clouds and business suits and meetings talking about 'profits' and 'shares' and 'revenues'. Confident men and women in sharp clothing, walking down hallways and nodding at him, Albert Hillsborough, Manager of the FAYZ.
And he loved it. Escaping the dull monotony of his high school to come to this dream world, this was what it was all about.
Albert wasn't deluded. He knew he had to get the grades, had to work through school so he could get to work at this place full time, and he really couldn't afford to let that scholarship from McDonald's go to waste. But school was just so boring, and sometimes when he was sat in class staring at a board with dull calculations or meaningless words on he found his mind drifting away, back to memories of not too long ago.
Oh yes, the FAYZ, as Howard Bassem had so expertly named it. He didn't want to remember the fun times he had; like when he got shot, or when that freakish monster Gaia had gone on her killing spree, or even when that crazed cat had jumped through a solid book and scraped its muddy claws down his face. He didn't even want to think about McClub, or the fishing business, back when he had been the real King of the FAYZ, not Caine. Albert just wanted to forget, forget any of that messy business had ever happened, so he could focus entirely on his new life, and most importantly, his upcoming apprenticeship at the head of one of the biggest companies in the world.
So life was good, once he'd forgotten.
Back at school, though, he couldn't avoid the stares. Or the questions. Every day a new idiot would come up to him and ask him how he survived, if he really ran the FAYZ all by himself, if that blonde chick on the TV with the famous movie stars was single. And every day he'd had to tell another one of them to shut up, no he didn't know her number, yes he ran the fishing trade, yes he really got shot, no Sam was not a raving lunatic, and no he didn't have any cool powers he could show them. God, why did he have to be surrounded by such imbeciles all day every day?
His mother wasn't much help either. Or his sisters. Dinnertime in the Hillsborough household was awkward and downright painful, and many times Albert had excused himself early just to escape the quiet. Rowena never made him do the cooking anymore, and his mother never let him help her into her wheelchair, and his other family members certainly didn't treat him like a baby anymore. They all acted as though he was untouchable, they were beneath them, and he was a brave soldier in the face of battle.
They were wrong. He was a coward. He was a slimy rat that only cared for himself. He didn't deserve any of their praise, their respect, none of it. He'd run away when the world went dark, taken only those who could be of use to him, and left those people who depended on him behind. He was a coward.
Albert still couldn't forget that monumental slip of judgement that almost cost him everything. What would he be doing, where would he be if he hadn't come back to Perdido Beach? He'd be sat in a stuffy counselling session, trying to keep his sanity as various other 'survivors' told their stories of how they'd had to eat their pet cat Dimples, or how he'd sold them a rat because they were just that hungry.
No. That life was never meant for him. He was meant to be here, in a skyscraper, clutching his papers and ruling the world.
Albert didn't need friends. He had his briefcase, and his money, and that's all that mattered.
Or so he thought.
"Albert?" his peppy PA Vicky laid a cool hand on his shoulder. He turned his head away from the window, and to her. "They're ready to see you now. Do you want me to come in with you?"
Somehow despite his many worries, Vicky had been useful to Albert in the five months since the famous McDonalds documentary, where he'd broken down sobbing at the gravestones. He reckoned she'd probably learnt that no, she couldn't understand how he felt about what had happened in the FAYZ, and that she'd probably better back off instead of trying to console him or offer him another candy bar. When he thought about it, Albert didn't think he'd have got through half the meetings with big corporations he had without her. He nodded, and she led the way down the stairs.
The people indoors were all sat in a U-shape in cushioned swivel chairs. When Vicky opened the door and the two of them entered, they all immediately stopped their very important conversations and turned to look at him. He felt slightly uncomfortable, all these smart people in their perfectly-fitting suits, nodding approvingly at him behind their expensive glasses.
How he wanted to be just like them.
"Ah, Mr. Hillsborough," the head of the office, a Mr. Terrence Williams, addressed him. Albert noted how he was referred to as "Mr", rather than just plain Albert. He liked it. "Come, do take a seat," he gestured to the only empty chair, which he immediately took.
Williams regarded him carefully, a smile forming either side of his face. Eventually he spoke: "Well, Albert - may I call you that? I've no doubt it's been a, well, different few months for you."
Albert smiled, but he didn't speak. 'Different' was an understatement. Not only had he got out of the FAYZ, but he'd been granted a very prestigious college scholarship, nabbed a top job for when he came of age, and now he was sitting in the head office with these fine people. When he tried to think about it, his head spun. It was incomprehensible.
"And we can all imagine that since the Anomaly ended, you've been nothing but busy." Another understatement. Williams leaned forward, resting his elbows on the lengthy glass table. "But we were wondering, perhaps, if you could do us a favour. It would really benefit us and yourself if you could."
Albert stared politely. He spoke: "What is it I can do for you? I could hardly begrudge you anything, especially after you've been so kind to me."
Williams and some of the other people in suits smiled smugly. "Well, I am glad we meet your approval, Albert. Now, onto our plans." He rose from the desk, and turned to face the wall. A projector in the corner of the spacious room shot a straight, white beam of light to it, and Albert was reminded suddenly of Sam. What had happened to him?
He shook himself, and continued to listen. Williams continued, his voice level, "We need to take a new direction with our latest campaign, people. Our sales -" he waved his hand and the image on the wall changed to a graph with a rickety red line cutting through it, "have been dropping consistently over a period of 6 months now, in particular in the last quarter, where we received a drop of 3.4%."
In the corner of his eye Albert saw a couple of the businessmen and women shaking their heads, straightening their ties; one of them even gulped. He himself had started to feel shaky just being surrounded by so many nervous faces. But these figures, they were a big deal. He was sure of it.
The slide changed again. This time it was labelled 'projected revenue'. The same horrid red line appeared on the screen, this time plummeting down an even deeper slope. "This is our projected sales for the next 12 months. As you can see we are expecting nothing less than a deep drop, averaging out to be around 5%."
It sounded small, but Albert knew this was serious business.
Williams looked at him, regarding him for the first time since he stood up. "This, Albert, is where you come in. We have no doubt that you've been through a traumatic experience in this, this FAYZ," he spoke the last word with some distaste, "and we wish to do nothing that would cause you any trauma or unhappiness. But I - I mean to say, we - thought that perhaps you would be willing to ask for some of your fellow 'FAYZ' survivors to appear in a few... promotional advertisements of our products. After all, what other recent anomaly has caused such a stir in the media than the harrowing stories of you and your companions? The tales some of you survivors have told have certainly stirred a great level of sympathy for you all from the public."
Albert stiffened. He could feel a cold shiver creeping up his back, and it slithered across his shoulders. So they wanted to use those kids - kids he'd almost died trying to feed and keep alive - to sell a bunch of cheap products? He couldn't help but dislike it.
But he mentioned none of this. All for the good of business, he hastily tried to remind himself, and he murmured after a long pause, "I believe it could work."
"Excellent." Williams clapped his hands together, and the air in the room relaxed. People began smiling and muttering amongst themselves in cheerful voices. "I shall trust you to get going immediately then, Albert. Get as many of your friends to participate as you can." He sat back in his throne at the head of the glass table. His posture and benevolent smile seemed to scream or else.
Albert and Vicky both rose, and she led him out of the room.
Perhaps he should have mentioned that he'd barely stayed in touch with any of his fellow 'friends'. Walking back down the corridor to the stairs, he thought it would be a miracle if any of them actually agreed to help him out at all.
But there's no glory without pain, I guess. I have to try.
He tried Dekka first. She'd moved back in with her parents, or so he heard, and it didn't sound like it was going well.
"Hello, is this Mrs. Talent?"
"Yes, who is this?"
"My name is Albert Hillsborough. I knew your daughter Dekka, we were both in the -"
"Hillsborough, you say? I know you. You were the kid on the McDonalds documentary, weren't you? Well, what do you want? My daughter has never mentioned that you were friends."
"Forgive me, I was wondering if I could speak to her privately for a moment."
He could hear her hesitation down the phone. After a pause she spluttered, "Well, alright, but make it quick." And out of the receiver: "Dekka! Some kid called Albert wants to speak to you!"
In his ear Albert heard the phone drop onto a surface, footsteps thundering down stairs and a hasty hand grappling at the phone. A familiar voice muttered, "Albert? What are you doing calling me?"
He gulped. "Hi, Dekka." He fought to keep his voice casual. "How are things for you, out... there?"
She snapped back, "Look, just cut the crap and get to the point. What do you want?"
"How-would-you-feel-about-appearing-in-a-TV-commercial-to-help-me-out?"
Silence. Then the unmistakable click of a phone being slammed down into the receiver, and then nothing but an irritating hum.
Well, this started off well.
He dialled the second number, muttering to himself that surely she would be willing to help him. She was the Healer, for goodness' sakes! He tried to forget that Lana was actually glad to be rid of the lot of them, and her power. He tried to forget that she hated the responsibility she had.
He tried. He failed.
A few seconds of ringing, and then a bored voice picked up the phone: "Lazar residence. Who is this?"
Albert gulped. "Lana, it's Albert." Silence down the other end of the phone. "How are -"
"Just be quiet for a sec. Albert? As in Albert Hillsborough? McClub Albert?" He nodded, then realising he couldn't see her, he whispered back a quiet "yes". Lana stopped talking for a moment, then muttered in a voice dripping with sarcasm, "Well, how great to hear from you Albert. How's life up in the big skyscrapers? Plenty of money, huh?"
He hesitated. "Yeah, but that's not why I, er... well, what I mean to say is..."
She cut him off again. "Let me guess. You want me to help out in some 'promo' or whatever in whatever big office you're working for now." She seemed to take his awkward silence as an affirmation. "And you asked me, why?"
He gulped, and mumbled, "Dekka hung up on me."
Another pause. Then a loud laugh echoed down the phone. Lana seemed to be struggling to breathe as she sputtered, "You - you thought - that it'd be a good idea to ask - Dekka? Of all people, you chose Dek-Dek-Dekka!" Then she succumbed to the fits of laughter overtaking her.
Albert was highly affronted. "What's so bad about that? I mean I thought Dekka would want to help me."
"Ohhh, Albert, you have no idea, do you?" Lana was still trying to suppress her laughter, and was finally gaining control. "Why would Dekka want to have anything - anything to do with business or TV again? Why would any of us? After the mess they gave us all when we first got out?"
Albert stiffened. "This campaign has nothing to do with that, Lana. Besides, everyone knows now that the FAYZ kids were heroes now, don't they?"
"Exactly, Albert. The Breeze was a hero too, wasn't she? And you wonder why Dekka might not want to help you out, when they said all those things about Brianna on TV. They made that girl, a thirteen year old girl, look like a monster. I wouldn't be surprised if Dekka never forgot that."
Oh. Albert hadn't thought of that. No wonder she hung up so quickly.
"And, Albert? I wouldn't be surprised if nobody agreed to help you to be honest. You did a lot for the FAYZ, I can't deny that, but I bet you Sam won't forget your penultimate act in any hurry."
"Penultimate act - what are you talking about?"
Lana's voice was steady but highly patronising when she replied. "Oh, come on Albert! You know, when you ran off to De Sales? You weren't exactly doing anybody a favour, were you?"
Albert was silent. Here it was, coming to bite him again. He'd hoped people would forget that little panic of his, and remember how he came back. But Lana was right; everyone, especially Sam, who needed him there, would hold it against him. And just when he thought things were going well.
He didn't say anything for a moment, but then finally asked, "Well, what should I do then?"
"Oh, I still think you should try to get people on your campaign. I don't know, maybe Sanjit and his brother will be able to help you. His parents are A-Listers after all."
He rubbed his temple with his free hand. "And what about you?"
She laughed again. "Oh no, I couldn't possibly, Albert. I have an important grooming session for Patrick to deal with. But good luck!" She said the last part with her usual cynical tone, before hanging up.
By the looks of things, luck was exactly what he needed.
Sanjit's response was a little more concise.
"Oh, Albert, do you know what, I'd really love to help, you know I would, but me and Choo, we're stuck in Malibu with Mom and Dad and the little ones."
Albert rubbed his temples again; a very severe headache was forming. "And there's nothing you can do to help?"
"Listen, truth be told, Mom and Dad wouldn't exactly be thrilled if we did anyway. They don't like the idea of us in the spotlight - ironic, huh? Plus, they're working on the movie and everything - apparently they've found the perfect person to play Wisdom now, eh?"
"Wisdom? Who's that?"
"Uh... me. That's what they named me." A high female voice rang through the phone, calling for Sanjit. "Listen, Albert, I gotta go. Peace and Bowie have gone missing about the house again, probably hiding in the drawers or something, they're always in there now. Can't seem to tell that the FAYZ is over, I guess. Talk to me soon, yeah?"
And he hung up.
He knew he was getting desperate the minute he even considered dialling the number. There was no way - no way - she'd ever agree to it. He half expected her to come after him if he ever asked. If there was one thing Albert knew for certain, Diana Ladris wanted to be left alone.
But he called anyway, holding the receiver far away from his face, dangling by his fingers, so he could wait for the damming response. She picked up.
"Diana Ladris speaking. Is that you, mother? Because I'm not coming to stay with you."
"Erm no, actually, it's, ah, Albert."
A very long silence punctuated the air. He clutched at his collar nervously, undoing his tie with one hand and feeling the sweat prickling down his back. He couldn't bear waiting much longer for a response, so he stuttered, "I was just wondering - "
She cut him off. "What, Albert? Wondering what? How I was doing? How I was coping now that my daughter and my boyfriend are both dead? Well, I'm just peachy, thank you for asking. And yourself?"
He wasn't sure how to reply. "I'm, I guess, well, I'm good I suppose."
"Sam said you had a job working in some bank or something. That you were real busy all the time. So you decided to call me up, to what? Catch up? Host a mother's meeting? Well, I'm not feeling too charitable at the moment."
"What, no! That's not it at all, I really just need-"
"Dekka dropped us a phone call earlier. Said you were trying to recruit her to appear in some TV ad or something like that, I forget the details. Funny, something tells me you're calling here for exactly the same reason. Well, you know what Albert? If you want my help, you best be prepared to beg for it."
He paused. Never in one day had he been rendered speechless so many times, and he knew it was hopeless. He hung up the phone before Diana had the chance.
The sun was beginning to set over the horizon outside his large window, and the tops of the buildings in the distance were glinting a dull orange light directly into his eye.
He held his head in his hands and willed himself not to cry. He couldn't fail, he couldn't. This job, this advert, it could make him. It was all he'd thought he'd ever wanted; success, security, money. But suddenly he felt a pang in his heart, a deep pang of loneliness because nobody seemed to want to help him.
Was he really on his own? He wasn't sure.
There was nothing for it. He had to sort this out.
"Vicky!" he called. "When's the earliest flight to California?"
He'd practically run to the beach house, his tie trailing behind him in the wind, his pressed shirt coming loose from where he had tucked it into his pressed trousers, his polished briefcase swinging wildly behind him so that he looked like a strange parody of a bird in flight. But this was no flight for freedom; he was going to have to beg for help.
Vicky couldn't keep up in her four-inch heels; trotting along the seafront she'd stumbled and had to pick herself back up. But Albert didn't stay to help her up. He could see the sun already beginning to sink into the ocean, and he couldn't afford to waste any time at all.
He rapped his knuckles sharply against the pale blue door, and almost immediately it swung open to reveal Astrid. She looked good: her blonde hair was pinned so it fell loosely around either side of her oval face, her blouse and skirt were neatly pressed and clean, but her eyes were sharp and - for some reason - angry.
"Albert." She eyed him testily, looking as sharp as an owl. "What brings you here at this late hour?"
He gulped, "You probably already know why I'm here. Diana said that Dekka called."
She stared at him hard, as if she wanted him to dissolve right there and then under her scrutinizing glare. She'd always had an amazing glare. "Yes. She did. And might I add that I completely agree with both of them; what you are suggesting we do to help out this 'big business' of yours is completely insensitive. Why would either of them agree to do anything that put them in the public eye? Can't you imagine that they'd both want, I don't know, some peace and quiet?"
He looked at his sand-dusted shoes. "Yes, well, Lana already told me I was being stupid."
Astrid gasped. "Oh, god, you asked Lana? Albert, you must be desperate." He didn't answer. Of course I'm desperate, why else would I be standing here now, huh? Why?
A deeper voice called, "Astrid? Who is it?" Sam strode into view, wearing a wet suit and clutching a surf board. "Oh, Albert. Uh, hi?" He turned to Astrid. "Is he here about the, uh-"
She nodded, and glancing angrily back at Albert, asked, "Do you want to come in?"
He entered the house, immediately inhaling the pungent odour of fresh paint and salt. He could see both floors of the house, and whilst most of the doors were wide open, one was slammed shut. "Is that- "
"After you called, Diana locked herself in there. I don't think she's in any hurry to come out." Astrid snapped. Sam led the way to a room with a large window overlooking the beach, and two cheap ocean-blue Ikea sofas set in the middle of the room next to a large TV. He motioned for Albert to sit, and he did so graciously, attempting to take up as little space as was humanly possible. He could feel Astrid's cold glare on him, and feeling embarrassed, hunched himself over.
Sam began. "Listen, Albert, it's not that we don't want you to succeed, we do. It's just, well, asking us, Diana, Lana, Dekka and whoever else you tried to get involved in your ad or whatever, none of us are too willing to be back on TV. I still get weird looks from people just going down to Wal-Mart, even if I was acquitted from all our - our crimes." He used his fingers to quote the 'crimes'. "I just don't think any of us are ready to be back in the spotlight again."
Albert stared at his hands. "I know that," he mumbled, "but this - this is my only chance to get into business, I can tell. No doubt you know about my scholarship to college and everything, but no number of classes are going to get me into work. If I want to become CEO of a big company one day, then getting you guys to help will be my only chance. Otherwise Mr. Williams, my boss, he'll write me off. Say I'm no good. And I'll never have a chance at anything."
Astrid blanched, and Sam sighed loudly, running a hand through his hair. Albert couldn't bear to look at them; he was already planning in his head just how to break it to Mr. Williams that the campaign was off. He had a sudden urge to run out of the room, but doing so would mean he had lost all dignity. He didn't want to stoop quite that low.
Suddenly, very quietly, Astrid coughed. "Albert?" she whispered, rising to his sofa and placing a hand on his shoulder. Her hair brushed lightly against his cheek. He looked up.
"Look, maybe - maybe this is for the best, that this doesn't work out. I mean," she raised her arms in exasperation, "do you really want to be working for a company that tries to exploit us, us 'survivors of the Anomaly', just to make a few extra bucks? Whichever way you look at it, it's a Catch 22 scenario. On one side, you could tarnish any reputation you have by agreeing to work with these - people, or you could go against them and try and make it out on your own."
Albert hadn't properly considered that side of the argument before. Sure, it had crossed his mind as Williams made his big speech, but he'd suppressed it; the money was more important, surely? Now he could see it differently. Suppose he had convinced one of his old acquaintances to take part in this campaign - would everybody think that? That they were just being exploited to benefit a mass corporation, which either way, was doing fine without them? What would happen to him, to his friends, after that?
He looked up. "I think you're right. Maybe this whole business thing was a bad idea."
Astrid shook her head. "No, no, I'm not saying give up on the corporate world - you have all those skills, Albert, it'd be such a waste to give up on them. I just think, maybe there's another way you could go about it, and cause some good in the world, while you're at it."
He frowned and stood up. "And how do you propose I do that?"
Astrid bit her lip slightly, and glanced at Sam, who was looking just as confused as Albert felt. Then she opened her mouth to speak. "Have you ever thought about going into charity work?"
Vicky handed him the phone. He dialled the number very quickly, and shook a little as he held it to his ear.
"Terrence Williams speaking. Who is this?"
"It's me, Albert."
"Ah, Albert! And how is our youngest executive doing today? Got plenty of your friends involved in our latest campaign?"
He didn't pause for a second. "I'm not doing it."
Williams sounded shocked. "What - I mean - why?"
"I don't agree with you exploiting my friends to make a cheap buck. It's immoral, and you shouldn't get to do it. So I'm not helping you."
His boss' voice was sharp and cold when he replied, "Albert Hillsborough, if you don't do this, I personally will make sure you never get into business with me or any of my affiliates ever again."
Albert smiled. "Well, that's just something I'll have to deal with." And he hung up, hearing Williams' anguished cries down the phone before it cut off.
Vicky looked over as he shoved it in his trouser pocket.. "So, what now Albert?"
He stared out across the beach front; the sun had almost completely disappeared. A single slim band of dusty pink light stretched out across the horizon, glittering on the sea below. The sight was so similar to the sunset back in the FAYZ that he had to blink furiously. He remembered the emaciated children he used to feed day in, day out. He remembered the satisfaction he gained at every fed kid - not just because of the 'Bertos, but because he was doing something to benefit them too.
"I don't know, Vicky. Astrid - my friend - she said to me that I should go into charity."
Vicky nodded. "Well, maybe a small venture would be more rewarding than working for a big company like that anyway."
He nodded again. "Exactly. I can do a lot more working for others than I ever could working for him."
And something clicked in his mind. So long he'd thought that it was all about the money, the suits, the briefcases. The corporate world he'd had a taste of when he was the real 'King of the FAYZ', that was all he'd ever thought mattered to him. But that wasn't it. It couldn't be, not if he was willing to throw all that away for the good of his friends, people who had suffered just like him. Maybe he'd just wanted to help them all along.
He turned to Vicky, squinting slightly to see her face clearly. "Listen, if you're still willing to be my PA now, even after I've just thrown basically everything in Williams' face, I'd really appreciate your help in setting something up."
She smiled, and laid her hand back on her shoulder. "Albert, of course I'm willing to help you! A boy like you with such talent needs somebody to help him out along the way. Just... what did you have in mind that you wanted to do?"
He smiled graciously. At least somebody was on his side. "Well, first off, I need to apologise to some old friends. But after that, I have an idea of something I might want to do for society. Maybe something working with people who can't feed themselves. I have experience with that, after all."
Vicky smiled at that. "Well, Mr Hillsborough, if that's your plan, then we'd better get started!" She beamed widely and clapped her palms with their perfect nails together. She began trotting back to the road, hopefully to call a taxi and get them to an airport to return home.
He didn't move immediately. He just stood, staring at the skyline, this time not sad that it wasn't the skyscrapers he'd thought he belonged in, but instead was the beach horizon, so familiar to him. A part of him worried that this new venture wouldn't work, but he needed to try, after all.
He fished out the phone once more from his pocket, and the crumpled note with several of his old companions' phone numbers scribbled down. He took a deep breath in, and dialled Lana's number again.
"You again, Albert?" her sardonic voice called mockingly. "So, got anybody to help out with your little campaign, have you?"
He smiled. "I gave up on that. Didn't seem right somehow. I was wondering if you'd be interested in a new proposal, something working for people who really need it."
She paused. Perhaps she was reminded of her old role as the Healer. Finally she replied, "I'm listening."
He smiled, and told her his idea. Lana was quiet as he explained, and the rest of the light had drained out of the sky by the time he'd finished.
"So, thoughts?"
She replied, sounding happier, "I think it could work. Question is, are you sure you wouldn't rather be working in the business world, instead of some downbeat charity?"
He knew the answer before he said it. "No, because I realised something, after I last phoned you. You see, I thought that was all I cared about. The money, the suits, the big seats in the big boardrooms. But I don't think that's it anymore, not really. Maybe I'm not meant for that after all. Maybe I'm meant to do good for people, work for them, just like in the FAYZ." She laughed at that.
"Well, I approve Albert. And... if you need it, I'm happy to help you set up this 'FAYZ Community' or whatever you're going to call it."
He thanked her graciously, genuinely glad that finally his plans were going right.
For the last time he looked out at the sea - he could barely see it now - and felt the air wash over him, as if it were cleansing him somehow. Then, seeing the silhouette of his PA in the distance, he turned and walked to the road and whatever was facing him. It wasn't the skyscrapers he'd always imagined he belonged in; it was a dark and quiet road. But that didn't matter.
Because Albert didn't need his money, or his briefcase. That wasn't all that mattered after all. And for once, he felt right.
A/N: Somewhat dedicated to a very good friend of mine; I decided that I finally had to get this finished, so happy birthday!
This idea just wormed its way into my mind, as did Albert himself. Throughout reading the Gone series he, above all other characters, perplexed me the most. What did he really want? Why did he act as he did? I was never sure if he became his own version of the 'King' of the FAYZ and ran basically everything because he was motivated by his own greed or by his passion and desire to help others. Naturally, I felt like I had to explore this. I hope it worked out okay.
Hope you enjoyed reading this, and if you did, or even if you feel the need to give some constructive criticism, I'd be delighted to hear from you! Just hit that little review button down at the bottom there. Thank you. :)