Alex sat in his bedroom and reread his journal. It was a better option than doing any crummy schoolwork. His four months in America had not been completely wasted. Well, he'd forgone his head shrinking sessions, but dutifully had kept a note of his nightmares, and started to keep a retrospective diary, always adding to each section as he remembered things better forgotten. He, however, had stopped even trying to be an even mediocre student. There was no point. Alex had no hope of ever being a productive member of society. His future, like his past had been destroyed by Alan Blunt and the training planned by his bastard uncle.
He ran his hands through his hair, he now no longer bit his nails, and concentrated on the shorthand notes on his life to date, detailing holidays with Ian and the descent into hell after Ian's death. He paused to look out of his bedroom window at the darkening sky and street lights illuminating the suburban cul-de-sac of identical houses, cars and lawns. He was wracking his brains to figure out if he had any options left. His life with the Pleasure's was now so strained he spent most of his time wandering around San Francisco or holed up in his room. He should have known better than jumping at the chance of normal family life, as if he would ever fit in with nice, normal people. His few interactions with the Pleasures during the previous year had not prepared either party for the reality of dealing with a traumatized, psychologically disturbed and damaged young man. Sabina had been the most cutting and unsympathetic as Alex was still mostly silent, blank and emotionless. The mask protecting him but also hiding the fact he was not sleeping, had no real appetite and frankly could not stand anyone at school. Two months at school and he hated every moment. His American High School experience sucked and blowed. He even thought back fondly of Brookland Comprehensive, not that his last year there had been great especially after his disappearing act in Venice. American teachers just weren't as bitter and as sarcastic as their London counterparts. Alex Rider had been written off as a bad lot by all except Jack. His bad school record had followed him here. His file stated he was a loner, a suspected trouble maker, a lost cause.
Even Tom was no longer a friend, all Alex's attempts at contacting his best friend had been intercepted by Tom's parent's or his brother, who had in no uncertain terms told Alex to back off. He had lost his confidante, his sounding board, his last link to humanity. It was grief compounding on grief. Alex was backed into a corner with no way out.
Alex did not trust either the CIA or MI6 at all. Both had contributed to his problems. He would rather run and not look back than ask any of the bastards who had used him for help. He had enemies aplenty and no friends. He sat and for the longest time just frozen with the fact he was being pushed to grovel at Mrs. Jones' feet, if he wanted anything to change. Going back to England was like an admission of defeat. At the moment even some crypto-fascist boarding school or military academy was a more welcoming future than here and now. He had no communication or common ground with his current foster placement. With that Alex went to face the music of another joyous family meal, where Liz, Edward and Sabina carried on like normal with the silent ghost watching, no longer even wanting or expecting to be part of their family.
It was another school day. Alex was looking forward to another day of being ignored. No one caring as he spent hours daydreaming. His attempts at humour on his assignments ignored. All he would note would be another D if he was lucky, but more likely an F. Alex read through Edward's discarded copy of the Washington Post, as all prepared for a new day at school and work. An article on a new appointee at the Russian embassy caught Alex's eye. The Press Attaché was Antonin Konovalov. A man Alex recognised as the same spook had met in Moscow eighteen months previously. The man was no journalist but had been high up enough in internal security to debrief and befriend a fourteen year old English school boy, who survived being kidnapped, averted an attempted coup d'etat in Murmansk and had been traumatized witnessing the suicide of General Alexei Sarov. They had parted company with the promise of favour from the Russians as a thank you, as Alex was viewed as a hero and saviour of the Russian people and state.
Alex's expression did not change, despite the fact he was in the process of weighing up his option. He knew he was probably being completely stupid but any change was better than stagnation. He did not know precisely what he was going to request of the Russian spy, but asking for help was his only hope, even if they laughed at his for being a stupid kid, he had no future with Sabina. He was possibly being as irrationally impulsive as he had been following Yassen's suggestion of a future with Scorpia. He had no expectations anymore. He was the controller of his destiny, if only for a few days. He snuck back upstairs. The blond haired teenager who caught the bus downtown, had left for school the absolute picture of normal. His school bag contained no books, or notes, just a couple of changes of clothes, all his savings and his passport. He was going to find out just what that promise from the Russian's meant. It was a fools hope, but he'd had enough of life here.
Alex found hitching across America less of a problem than he first thought. On the the highway east, the first car that stopped was a retired cop who was on the look out for another driver for his journey to St. Louis. Alex was picked him up with a simple"Can you drive kid?", with his nodded non-verbal reply Alex began his journey. The journey would take half the time if both of them took turns in driving and resting. The man hated flying or any public transport and had picked Alex up as he looked clean cut, healthy and not the usual bum, punk or hippy. Hank spent any time they were both awake in a long monologue of all that was wrong with society today. Alex had a fake driving license, which stated he was 18, and he made up some crap about visiting family in Baltimore. He knew enough from Jack to make his hastily created legend credible. In the end it took four days to get from San Francisco to Washington DC. Alex now stood in a queue of visa applicants and other visitors. At the window, Alex asked for an appointment to see the Press Attache.
"Please state the reason for your meeting with Mr. Konovalov, Mr. Rider?"
"I just want to remind Mr. Konovalov of the favour he owes me. If I can't have an appointment, for the next two nights I'm staying at the Georgetown University YMCA." Alex knew he was taking a chance booking his stay in dorms under his own name, as the Pleasure's would have listed him as missing by now. Knowing his luck, the CIA would have an APB out for him as a terrorist.
Alex did not hold much hope of being contacted. He had very little of his cash left. Tomorrow he would ring Edward and face the music. He noted a dark SPV pull up and the window wound down and a nondescript man in a dark suit and sunglasses in a heavy russian accent stated "Mr. Rider, Mr. Konovalov will see you this afternoon. Please get in."
Alex shrugged and got in a car with two strangers. He no longer cared about the apparent danger, uncertainty or his own recklessness.