Disclaimer: Never have, and never will, obtain the rights to Alex Rider. Just a mere author taking Horowitz's characters for a ride.
PART 1: The First Steps (On Different Paths)
"Still need to clear immigration, but after that I'll be through." The words gained him a few strange glances as he hurried through the airport, but really, no one cared. In such a bustling metro, most people knew at least one other language than English. Even if they didn't speak it fluently, there were very few that didn't at least know a few words. Perhaps if he had picked up a smattering of an Arabic based language, there would have been turned heads, but as it was, Italian was common. As were French, Spanish, and German. Italian fell into that normal category of languages. "It's strange to be back here."
The voice on the other end of the phone call snorted. "Of course it is. You've been hiding out in my backyard for the last five years." There was the lightest bit of chiding in the voice, but he knew that it was all in teasing. His brother had been more than happy to have the company—for a few years. As soon as he had gotten married though… well, he was more than happy to have the excuse that his little brother was leaving the country. "You'll to have to get used to speaking a real language again. I imagine it won't be long before you woo a young lady with your tales of Italy, but please—I'm too young to be an uncle. Wait a couple of years, okay?"
He laughed aloud, earning an admonishing glare from a grandmother trying to herd her grandchildren toward a gate. He attempted to look penitent, but suspected that it wasn't working. "Don't worry about that, Jerry. That's the last thing on my mind. I just want to get through these next couple of years—without wishing to drop out."
A feminine voice in the background of the phone call caught his attention, and he knew that Jerry would beg off soon. So instead of listening to his brother fumble with excuses, he decided to give him an escape. "Look, I'm getting close to the line. I'll give you a ring when I get to my flat."
"Okay." A long quiet sigh came across the line. "Be careful, kid. But have some fun. Nearly losing you once was more than enough for me though, so keep your head up."
He swallowed, fighting back the nervous itch that had been bothering him since he set foot in the airport. "Yeah…" He ran an agitated hand through his hair, knowing that for once his brother wouldn't be able to see the small sign that signaled when he was stressed. "Don't worry about me. I'll be fine here. Just worry about keeping that lady happy. She'd have your balls for supper if you catch my drift."
There was another laugh, and it seemed that the ruse had worked. Jerry fell for it. "That she would. I'll talk to you later, Tom."
Tom rolled his eyes, relaxing for a moment. "Will do." He let the call run dead, and let out a breath of frustration. Five years. It had taken five long years to come back to where it all started. To be honest, he wasn't even going near his hometown—or speaking to his parents, if he had a choice—there were too many memories. Terrible things had happened there. He was sure he wasn't ready to face the familiar sights again. Maybe he'd be ready sometime, but that would be far, far, into the future.
As the familiar anxiety of being within a crowd caught up with him, he pressed on. Calling Jerry—or any of his other friends back in Italy—with the purpose of ignoring the crowd was almost second nature nowadays. Jerry was more than used to these coping strategies. There was something about being caught in the midst of an ever pressing and moving crowd that brought out the worst. Very few people seemed to understand this…
It had been well over three years since the last panic attack—that time triggered by a real event, when a gang fight had gotten a little too close for comfort. The gunshots had set him off, into a flashback of terrifying proportions—all while he was in the midst of a crowd. He had already been uneasy in crowds, but that had been the tipping point. From there, it had been weeks before he went out anywhere, and even more weeks before he allowed himself to be manipulated into moving through the city.
He could manage crowds now, but it still sent a pang of unease through him. Especially in this airport.
Anything could happen here.
Gripping the handle of his suitcase with only a little more force than necessary, Tom wove his way through the people, heading toward his destination of freedom. Or perhaps it was merely another prison of school… With a smirk worthy of the most devious of history teachers-to-be, Tom Harris pressed onward, still not knowing what had urged him to return to the forsaken city of London.
"Subject #2293 has arrived. Team Alpha, proceed with implantation. You have the green light, I repeat, you have the green light."
She felt like a foreigner in her own homeland.
The sights were familiar and foreign, as well as comforting and strange. Things had obviously changed, but in some ways it seemed that she hadn't changed. Her hometown had changed and left her behind. It seemed that after spending more than five years in San Francisco, attempting to switch back to the way everything had been before seemed like a step in the wrong direction. An impossibility, with things so different.
The decision to change everything hadn't been sudden though.
More than two years earlier, her dad had suggested that going back for schooling would be wise. Since then, she had been determined to go back. To London, if at all possible. After all, she needed to face the past at one point—else there would forever be a city mocking her in the back of her mind. A place where she didn't dare go. It had been a lot of work, to pull her grades up to the expected bar, but she had been determined. Stubborn, was what her mum had called it…
After being rejected from five different institutions, she almost gave up on her dream. Until the letter had come in the mail. Wrapped in an unassuming envelope, she had thought it would be another rejection letter. Instead, it had been the University College London accepting her into their Psychology and Language Sciences program. That had thrown everyone into a flurry of arrangements, and now, months later, she was finally walking on what she could consider home turf.
Of course, in the flurry of activity, she had forgotten the reason she, personally, hadn't flown in over five years.
It wasn't until she was at the airport, going through security that she remembered. This was where he had disappeared. Before that fateful night. Perhaps she would have seen him again—if his demons hadn't caught up with him, when his luck finally ran out. Now though, after five years, it wasn't so much the loss of him that bothered her, but rather the knowledge that it could happen to anyone. There was the facsimile of safety, but no true safety. Once up in the air, anything could happen.
In all honesty, she hadn't relaxed at all during the flight. Thoughts were constantly flying through her head. Her flight could be the next one to make it on to the news. She would never see her parents again—separated by something so complicated as those that wished harm upon those that had wronged them.
She hadn't slept at all.
The last stretch, going between the airport in New York and that of London, had been the hardest.
It didn't help any that the flight attendant had guessed her reasons for anxiety—apparently, it was a rather common problem—and had tried to reassure her with the words 'the government has it under control.' Although she cringed away from the thought, those few words brought back all the insecurities of her teenage years.
It had been years since she had truly thought about him, but the mere reference to the security services brought it all back—and a righteous anger on her part. After all, it had been their fault—inadvertently, but really, who was counting?—that he had gone to the lengths to leave the country. If he hadn't been flying, everything would have been fine. Everything would have been normal.
Now that she was on the ground though, that anger had been replaced with sheer exhaustion. Jetlag would to hit hard, soon. She still had to clear customs and immigration, find her belongings—that tended to wander when one was on a prolonged trip—hail a cab that was willing to take her to the other side of the city for a reasonable price, and move into her awaiting flat—and hopefully not find that she had a roommate. There was too much to do, and her stomach was a churning pile of nerves after the not so subtle reminders that had been thrown at her over the past handful of hours.
It was only as she got further away from the newest terminal—and the ominous bronze placard that listed all the names of those who died during that terrible bombing—that she started to feel at least a little relaxed. So much had happened in the intervening years, and really, it was a one in a million chance that anything like that would happen again, and involve her.
As the distance increased, she almost felt like she could laugh at her own paranoia. It seemed like Alex had rubbed off on her after all. But… she was Sabina Pleasure, and nothing would to stop her, not even ghosts from the past. London was her hometown, and after so many years away, it felt good to be home.
"Team Beta, you are cleared for go. Careful though, we don't want them thinking they have two."
A/N: So after so many months… I've finally churned out something new. This is a short story. Six chapters, and none of them are extremely long. I'll be posting it slowly over the next couple of weeks, as I find time to polish it. There won't be much action here, so sorry if that's what you're looking for.
If you haven't read Starting Anew… I highly recommend you do that first, as this story would horribly ruin the ending. Technically though, you could read this as a standalone, but once again, why ruin the suspense for my other story?
Drop a comment, and let me know what you think! (And sorry if there are any weird turns of phrases, I'm in the midst of learning another language by immersion. Chances to read/write/speak/think English are few and far between.)
S.B.L.