Disclaimer: None of this belongs to me except this sorry excuse for a plot. If you see anything recognizable from the books, it's not mine!

This is my first Alex Rider story so constructive criticism is welcome. I got the inspiration to write this based from the darker Alex Rider fanfics hitting the uh, Internet waves? ( I can't say air waves.) I wanted to explore the darker side of Alex as well. This is rated T for (cough) language (Alex doesn't curse enough for me) and something else that I've been thinking about. So read it if you like or don't read it if you like.

Without further ado, I present to you the first chapter of Secret Window.

Chapter One

In the distance, Alex could hear the cacophony of sound around him. There were clinks and clanks and the inaudible hum of conversation. Everything was distorted and nothing made complete sense to him. Slowly, sound began to filter properly through his ears and foggy mind and he could make out a little of the conversation going on in what he thought was somewhere above him.

"-Stop the bleeding-"

"-Stable?... Good-"

"What is this?" a shocked voice exclaimed. "Needles?"

"Maybe he's diabetic?" replied the other person not believing their own words.

"Right. Let's put him on the stretcher. On three; one, two, three."

Alex slowly opened his eyes. Everything was hazy: the lights had halos around them and the people looked like they were lit from within. He smiled.

"Why is he smiling?" someone asked.

"Delirious or high. Pick one."

"I would be too if I had all of that in me," someone mumbled.

Alex blacked out and when he opened his eyes sometime later, he saw the blurry halos of halogen lights flash overhead in a steady sequence. Sound was still being heard, but everything was at a distance. Looking around as faces flashed by, everything started to look dark as if the color was draining out of everything. He knew that feeling; he had experienced it once before right after he was shot. Knowing what that meant, he waited patiently for the end. Maybe he would get what he asked for.

In the distance and very faint, he heard someone giving orders and asking questions.

"Mr. Rider, can you hear me? Start the transfusion! The patient is going into shock!"

"Right away, Doctor!"

Out of the corner of his eye, he thought he saw his mother and he softly whispered "Finally" before giving over to the darkness encroaching on his vision.

Someone- Jack?- screamed "Stay with me!" but it was so far away that it could have been his imagination.

888

Alex awoke a few hours later sore all over but he kept his eyes closed. When he finally opened his eyes, everything was blurry. Blinking them rapidly, the room he was in slowly came into focus. Panic overtook him for a second because he did not recognize his surroundings. Three years of listening to his instincts and relying on panic and adrenaline rushes were hard habits to let go of, especially when they had saved his ass more times than he could count. Taking a deep breath, he decided to assess the damage. 'Wow,' he thought sardonically, 'It sounds like I've just been in a fight or something.'

He tried to move his arms only to realize that he couldn't. Looking down in the direction of where his arms were, he could see that they were tied to the rails of the bed. 'They aren't taking any chances this time.' From what he could see, his left wrist was heavily bandaged and in the crook of his elbow, the IV needle was there. He looked at his other arm and saw, from elbow to wrist, little red pin pricks following his veins. 'No surprise there,' he mused.

Closing his eyes, he sighed and realized that his attempted suicide was just that, an attempt and that Jack must have found him on the bathroom floor not long after.

Lying in the hospital bed glaring at the ceiling, Alex thought of all the events that led up to that moment when he decided he couldn't take it anymore. He decided that there wasn't a single event that he could blame; they were all cause for his present state of depression. Each event had depressed the hell out of him, as well as scared him shitless, and eventually spiraled into a vortex leading him straight to hell.

Tracing the path of his veins with his eyes, he remembered thinking that turning to drugs would help him to stop thinking and create a numb place for him to hide. At one point, he got exactly what he wished for but by that time, he wanted to be numb all the time. 'All I wanted was an escape from my demons and then I turn into a drug addict.' Of course he knew better with all the talks at school saying how bad drugs were, but he thought it would a one time thing. 'How could I have forgotten that drugs are addictive?' he asked himself with a wry smile.

At that moment, the door opened and Jack Starbright walked cautiously into the room. Her bubbly personality was gone. Her vibrantly red hair was lank, dull, and all over her head from the nervous fingers she had ran constantly through it. Her clothes were rumpled and her face was tear-stained. If the situation wasn't so serious and if Alex was in the mood to talk, he would have commented on her appearance since she went to such lengths to always look good in case someone was watching. But as it were, Alex said nothing and turned his gaze back to the ceiling.

Walking over to him she asked, "Why?"

Alex had been expecting that question but instead of answering, he looked at the wall.

"Look at me, dammit!" she demanded.

Reluctantly, he looked back in her direction. He had never been able to completely not do as she asked. For some reason, he couldn't bear to hurt her but recently, he hadn't been able to care.

Jack started to pace.

"I can understand the depression. It's teenaged angst on top of all that bullshit MI6 put you through. Hell, I can even understand the experimentation with drugs, although why you of all people would do that is beyond me. But suicide, Alex?" she asked as she stopped pacing and stared at him, hard. "What the fuck where you thinking?"

Alex knew Jack. After all those years of her looking after him, he learned her mannerisms. Jack never cursed if she could help it. A random "hell" or "damn" if she burned something in the kitchen during her ten minute meals, but never just swearing like a sailor. She only did that when she was extremely pissed like she was now.

Not giving him the chance to answer, she plowed on.

"You've always been quiet, secretive even, but you've always talked to me. I might've had to beat it out of you, but you would tell me what was bothering you. I must admit, you didn't talk much after Ian died. I mean, what kid would after their uncle died? Eventually, you came around. Ever since MI6 came into the picture, you've become a stranger to me! You stay out late, sleep 'til three in the afternoon... Alex, where did I go wrong?"

She looked so helpless that Alex felt a slight pang in his heart. Whenever something didn't go right, she would always try to fix it, but this was something she couldn't fix.

"Nothing," he rasped.

"Then why do I fell as if you're pushing me away?" she asked running her hands through her hair once more.

'Because you wouldn't know me. If you thought I was a stranger this past year, you have no idea who I am now. I hate myself and you'll hate me, too.'

"That's right. Close up like a clam; just leave me out of the fucking loop. You know Alex, you're more like Ian than I thought."

She picked up her stuff and stalked to the door, leaving Alex with a feeling of absolute self-hatred.

'I try to not be like the one person that turned my life upside down and I end up being just like him: a coldhearted, secretive bastard, hurting the ones I love most. Fuck.'

Before she left for good she called over her shoulder, "Let me know when you feel like talking; otherwise, just don't bother."

She slammed the door softly behind her.

Alex stared out of the window next to his bed for a while before falling into a restless sleep.

Like it, don't like it? Just tell me and I promise I won't get mad.