Disclaimer: I do not presently own Wizards of Waverly Place, nor will I ever own Wizards of Waverly Place. All rights are reserved for their respective owners. Disney © 2009-2010
Please Read: This chapter has been rewritten. There are some small changes, feel free to reread if you have already, and to those who just happened to see this fic please enjoy!
-Altered 01-01-10-
I was too late.
After everything, we were still too late.
The unique thing about truth was what it did (especially to people like me). It snapped things, things I'd ignored, into perspective, and drove a stake into what was left of my heart. It showed me what a stupid, narcissistic person I was, and how much I needed Justin to fix my mistakes. A cold chill swept over me, creeping over my bones like a virus, a weed growing and growing until it found its place in the pit of my stomach. Watching him get ripped away from me—no physical pain would compare. I couldn't help wishing that that were an alternative, so that for one moment I could have him back and he could right my wrongs (again).
The cold morphed in my stomach twisting and turning into an unquenchable emptiness that festered where it rooted itself as blood rushed to my face to meet the tears that boiled over. The vacancy echoed in the dead beating of my heart.
The realization that my selfishness was what brought me to this place made every heartbeat feel like fire as it ran through my body. Red-eyed, vicious teenage ignorance left me staring blankly at an empty battlefield; taking in the burns and earths blood splatter that we created. It was this battleground, though broken still beautiful, that mocked me; forcing me to acknowledge what I'd just lost. Justin's words echoed in my head – stupid, irresponsible, sloppy —and I knew that I couldn't deny that it was true.
Justin should have won the competition. That knowledge ran under my skin with such conviction that it cut to think about it, and I wondered how I could've been excited at all about winning what I clearly didn't deserve. I wasn't the better wizard, and I wasn't Justin. I could never be.
Everything was moving in slow motion, tears blurring what were left of my vision. I screamed. It was childish, pathetic, and it was far from the solution. Hysterics were usually something I avoided, but what was the point now? I yelled the spells, the incantations and attempt after attempt it led to more of nothing; just meaningless words. I blamed Justin in my head, but only to cover up the guilt and the facts that showed me I was at fault. I wanted so badly for this to be someone else's fault; someone else's problem.
My knees buckled under the weight of the pain, and as I sunk to the grass beneath me I saw my dad approach. He took careful steps towards me, clearly uncomfortable with my emotional breakdown. Hell, I wasn't all that comfortable with it myself. My dad had always been tactless when it came to women, so his hesitancy was no surprise.
"I'm too late, dad," I choked through a sob. Maybe I was still just a little shocked that we'd actually failed, after being so close to returning our lives to normal. Justin had been so sure…
My dad wore an empathetic expression as he knelt down beside me.
"It's gonna be okay, Alex," he hesitated before placing a hand on my shoulder, and I saw in his eyes that some part of him believed me, some part of him knew that I was his daughter. I wanted that to make the difference, I wanted that knowledge to be able to change the fact that I was still too late, and soon I, like my brothers, would be taken by that invisible force called magic and so forcing reality to right itself.
He helped me up as he stood and repeated himself with such assurance. "You can do this; just concentrate,"
His words were so sure that I almost believed him like I'd believed Justin, but I finally knew what Justin had been trying to teach me all along. Truth cannot be hidden; all things done in the shadows will eventually come to light. There was no turning back, not without the Stone of Dreams. I wondered if my parents knew that I appreciated them, loved them, and needed them. That despite how adult I pretended to be that I would never stop needing them. Did I show them enough appreciation for putting up with me (not an easy feat, I know)?
I studied his face dedicating seemingly mundane features to my memory so that I could never forget. He had brown eyes like mine, dark like mud after rain, and they held such a sad aura that it felt like my ribs were collapsing. It was a face I'd grown up with, so familiar and now so distant. I knew that he tried, honestly tried, to remember us but it could never be enough. So I smiled for him, in spite of it all, to show him it would be okay. To prove to myself for once that I, Alex Russo, could be selfless.
I wished my mom were there too, so I could put pieces of her into my memory. I would've given anything to see her there, even if she were livid, angry at my juvenile behavior.
Maybe tomorrow they would forget we ever existed because as of now we never did. Maybe my parents would find each other anyway, they always said that love found a way—that fate always wins in the end. That would be enough for me; knowing they were happy.
Every decision I'd made had led to this point, this final goodbye. I was beyond saving now—no mom or dad to rectify this wrong. No Justin to catch me before I hit the bottom. I was really, for once in my life, alone. But I'd asked for this.
The once pure sky turned dark, marred by ominous clouds that foreboded the coming event. Thunder erupted in the distance, echoing like a gunshot around me; the sky flashed bright yellow as invisible bolts streaked across the haze from behind the clouds. I took in a solid breath, casting one final glance in my dad's direction. "I love you, dad," I said through a watery smile. It was the least I could do for the sixteen years of ignoring what he did for me.
As if on cue, the black clouds twisted and swirled until it became the giant cyclone that I knew would swallow me whole. It snaked out, reaching eagerly for the earth before it raced towards me with blinding speed. Everything seemed slower than it was. It moved from left to right like a viper ready to strike. It was the predator, I was the prey; vulnerable and weak.
"Alex!" My father called a familiar brokenness in his voice as he tried to grab for me, but it swept me up easily.
The viper ate without contempt, swallowing me whole just as I'd expected. A cry was building in the back of my throat, that even while alone, I tried to fight. I needed to fight it. I failed. I felt like a broken record for wallowing in my self-pity. I had to let go. I let the whimper fall from my lips, unable to contain it.
Minutes passed slowly. Were they minutes? The concept of time seemed to fade in this place. It could've been hours, but I heard it. It was my name. There was no mistaking that voice.
It was hard to move dangling in the air, surprisingly enough, because everything felt like it was being sucked into a vacuum. There was no debris in the tornado and so once I mastered maneuvering my neck, I saw him instantaneously. I could never miss that jet black faux-hawk. Justin. My Justin. He was okay and suddenly the weight in my chest didn't seem so unbearable anymore.
Justin, still wearing the ugly purple jumpsuit from the competition, hung suspended in the air several feet below me. His blue eyes were wide half-relieved, half-panicked. I was starting to feel sick.
The cold air burned my lungs when I sucked in a breath large enough to speak to him.
"What's going on?" I called over the loud whistle of the twister.
Silence.
"I don't know something's counteracting the spell!"
The thing about spells; magic in general, was that it was sporadic. Controlling it was hard enough to do as a wizard, even an experienced wizard, and counteracting spells of this… magnitude? ...was even more difficult. Especially one so emotionally attached to its caster. The thought of something counteracting it was mind blowing. Only the most powerful wizards, usually of the Ealdormen (i.e. wizard council) could do something like that.
"What're you talking about?" Breath. "I thought this spell was irreversible with anything but the Stone of Dreams!"
"There are a lot of loopholes, Alex," he muttered exasperatedly. "Merlin's Hat, remember?"
Well, that would've been useful information beforehand. I glared at him, mostly out of habit. A sarcastic comment bubbled up on the tip of my tongue, but I ignored it (for once). Before I knew it, I found myself drifting towards Justin where he was as we turned and turned and I didn't stop until I was brushing up against his arm.
Something became apparent. "Where's Max?" Justin shrugged keeping his face carefully expressionless. "Wait, how can you remember me? You forgot about me…" the last words hurt more than I wanted them to (more than I wanted to let on). I forced the cry back down my throat.
"I told you, something big is interfering with the spell."
"What could even do that? I thought you had to be a powerful wizard to do that – Ealdormen powerful," Yeah, I did pay attention.
"Yeah, you do have to be powerful," he answered making a small gesture with his hands, "but it's highly unlikely in this case. It would have to be an extremely powerful artifact or… Alex?"
I was trying desperately to focus on his words, but they weren't sticking. I looked up at him trying to remember when he'd had three faces. He assessed immediately that something was wrong. My eyes felt heavy—my body was numb.
"Alex?" He said again grasping my arm.
"Something's wrong, Justin, I don't think I can stay awake much longer." The words ran together as I said it, sounding more than a little in need of a sobriety test. I was frustrated and angry with Justin and myself because we couldn't fix it this time. I was dizzy because God, how long did we have to keep spinning around like this?
I peered over at him sideways; his silvery-blue eyes intense. "You can't fall asleep, Alex, you have no clue what that could do." I could hear his words becoming less and less articulated, which was rare for Justin and his abnormally high standards. "The Butterfly Effect—that's the other possibility—something in the atmosphere must've changed the spell."
The words danced around my comprehension, and I was surprised that he could still sound so composed when he sounded so drunk. He continued.
"It's only ever been recorded twice, and even then most of the Wizard Council and Ealdormen are skeptical." Technically speaking, the Wizard Council and Ealdormen were one in the same; the only difference being that Ealdormen were hundreds of years old and were rumored to be the most powerful of all wizards; somehow the mastery of their spells kept them alive all this time. Then again, it was also rumored that they had the Philosopher's Stone (never could trust the wizarding world gossip). Not that any of that mattered now. "The whole idea behind it is centered on the ludicrous mortal theory that a butterfly could alter the path of a tornado just by flapping its wings. The difference is that our version talks about outside forces—solar flares, meteors entering the atmosphere—causing atmospheric changes to occur and alter the spell. This could change our world as we know it…"
This could change our world as we know it… Something deep within me registered these words. I felt them with such credence; felt the change coming as I stared at my brother. All the features of Justin's face were blurred, and my heavy eyes were beginning to close. "I love you, Justin," I murmured before allowing myself to fall into the darkness.
--
I thought I was blind when I awoke to the thick darkness. How did I get here? Where was here? I tried to reach for my face but felt nothing. I forced myself not to panic, though my mind was spinning with uncertainty. There was a high pitched ringing that resounded in my ears—the kind that (I heard) accompanied shell shock, though I doubted I was suffering that. Then again, I'd been wrong before.
Was I dead?
Oh, God, I didn't make it to heaven did I? The anxiety at bay was wavering against the invisible militia I attempted to create.
I tried again to move, feel, see—something, anything to prove to myself that I was still alive. Fruitless attempts pierced holes through my army and allowed the distress to pour in.
"Is she alive?" A voice queried. The voice was outside of my head, so there was a good chance that I wasn't a schizophrenic (which was good). The question echoed my very thoughts. The voice was gravelly and strained as if the person had taken their vocal cords out and dragged them through a desert of some kind.
I couldn't hear the person that he or she was obviously talking to. There were two possibilities: one, the person took a long time to respond; or two, I had the misfortune of being kidnapped by a mental case bent on violating me. I shuddered at the thought. I was really hoping for the former. Someone answered their question but it was too soft for me to hear with clarity, which they were obviously satisfied. A few moments of silence passed and I wondered if whoever it was had left me. There was no indication anyone had come or went, but it didn't stop the unease. What kind of douche bag leaves someone they think my be dead or dying?
Oh God, it was a psychopath wasn't it? (Okay, so jumping to the first bad conclusion wasn't exactly the smartest thing I'd ever done, but in my defense, the 21st century was littered with mothers killing their children so nothing could be left to the imagination.)
In my alarm, I almost didn't notice the flash of light that passed through my eyes (a very slim almost). The light filtered in one by one, followed by colors—blue, green, yellow. Relief was instantaneous. The fullness of the glow against my eyes was intense but appreciated because I couldn't deny that I was alive. My body still felt like lead but the knowledge that I was alive was enough to subdue any further panic. My vision was still fuzzy and the shapes around me seemed odd and indistinct.
I wondered subtly if I was missing glasses or contacts or something.
"She's definitely alive," the other voice said. Well, I definitely wasn't alone.
Who these people were or why they surrounded me, I wasn't sure. I was only acutely aware of how my eyes were swimming in and out of focus.
"Someone get her a blanket quickly!" I shook my head (or I thought I did). I didn't want a blanket. I felt hot and sticky without one, but I couldn't find my voice. Slowly, the feeling returned to my limbs and I could feel grass beneath me, and the itchy wool blanket they draped over me. With the feeling was my sight, the formerly vague shapes were now clear.
"Can you speak?" I turned towards the voice to find a silvery-blue eyed man, probably in his late forties, looking sympathetically down at me. The man, whoever he was, had a receding hairline and crow's feet like you wouldn't not believe. His bushy brown eyebrows accented the color of his eyes—his familiar blue eyes that reminded me of someone that I couldn't remember. I opened my mouth to speak but no words came out. My frustration twisted knots in my stomach.
I shook my head. He knelt down beside me and helped me up. Mr. No-Name was looking pointedly away and I wasn't sure why until I was sitting. When I sat up I was surprised to find that I was completely naked; I quickly grabbed the woolen blanket that they draped over me. That was uncomfortable. When it was safely around my body, he looked at me again.
"I'm Jeffery McCormack; I'm here to help," he said politely sticking out his hand for me to shake. His words sounded like the start of an under-budgeted commercial. I stared at it without moving, still unnerved with my situation. A few breaths passed and he let his hand drop awkwardly to his side. "Can you write?"
Oh, c'mon, can I write? What kind of question is that supposed to be anyway? I glared at him in a way that felt instantly familiar. I was lost and maybe even confused, but I wasn't stupid. The rational part of my brain (the part I often quelled with emotion) told me that it was a legitimate question, but I ignored it.
He didn't seem to notice. He turned to look at someone that I couldn't see from the position I had on the ground. A young brunette girl, maybe twenty-four or five, handed him a clipboard with several sheets of blank notebook paper.
"Who are you?"
I froze.
Who am I? The question rang with such conviction in my mind. That was definitely an important question that needed answering like now. The problem was that I was wracking my brain for memories, a name; an age—anything. I could only remember indistinguishable colors: purple, gray, and black. I scribbled quickly: I don't know.
That panic from earlier was definitely back and here to stay. Amnesia wasn't exactly something I needed. The thought of who I was didn't even cross my mind because I was focusing on determining whether I was alive, but now… blank. Naked, lost, confused; it seemed fate wanted to throw me for a loop with the Jane Doe thing.
Just call me #2539, I wanted to say. The stingy comment would've felt so good on my lips; I could feel it budding there begging to be said.
"You have no recollection of who you are? What you were doing before this?" Didn't I just answer that? I could only shrug and point again to the paper.
"Are you hurt?" I shook my head. Physically? No, not from what I could tell. Emotionally, I was kind of a wreck—not that I'd admit that to an utter stranger.
There was one thing I was certain of, and that was that I was already tired of the twenty questions. I didn't even know the answers, but I knew that I needed them. They were kinda vital to having a normal existence.
How old was I? Where was I from? What would happen to me now?
He was about to ask another question when he got interrupted by the girl whose voice I heard prior to this. "There's a boy who looks like her, he's in the same state of... confusion, and he's only a few yards away through the brushes. We're going to bring him in with her."
Jeffery nodded once and retrained his eyes on me. His expression was unreadable, but there was someone out there who looked like me and that had to mean something…
