Danse De Mort
Dance Of Death
Alex still remembered the time when, waking up in the morning, all he worried about was what to wear and what he'd say to his long-time crush. And worrying about whether or not he'd have time to finish breakfast- that one was a biggie.
Of course, that was then. This was now. And now, Alex would give anything to go back. Back to that innocent age. But it was hard for him to imagine himself becoming innocent again when he was scaling the side of a seven-story building. Well, seven stories above ground, three underground. But that didn't calm his spirits any. Is was approximately eleven fifteen on a Friday that had gone well so far- Bingo Night for the Duke. It settled Alex's soul to know that, back at the dormitories, he was covered, just in case any of the Camp supervisors happened to check on them, though Alex didn't know why they would now, considering they hadn't before.
He was, once again, on a mission. And, like all the others, this one was centered around a psycho path who was ready to do whatever it took to get to his goal. Which, coincidentally, wasn't actually that large of a goal. It was a simple mission, theft of a church fund group that was the Duke's own in the first place. Duke Herrington, to be precise. Rich, handsome, and popular with people. He reminded him eerily of Damian Craig. And while that set his nerves in a cold state, he pushed forward.
The air bit at his skin, and the light breeze helped none. To think only seconds ago Alex had been so confident in his movements, and now he was frozen against the stone wall of the main building of the church camp (the only buildings were the three cabins for the children who attended the camp, the main building for Duke Herrington, and a church, more like a run down chapel), not knowing where to go except back. The window was right above him, and inside held everything he'd need to be able to get home successfully. All he needed to do was grab the information and go. That was it. Information- and evidence. Blunt had been specific, and startlingly considerate, as he'd told Alex that this was actually a low-down mission, nothing much, and Alex had been so glad to find out that it was true.
Back to the situation at hand, Alex was already stretching himself out as it was. What chance did he have to reach the window? This chance came only once a week, and Alex wouldn't be able to hide his cover for another week, that he was sure of. They were already suspicious, and Alex simply wanted to finish it off. One of Alex's feet was back, pushing against a stone so luckily pushed out of its place on the wall, both hands were gripping in between a crack between two large stones, only feet under the windowsill, and his last one was supporting his balance with the toe of his shoe wedged in another small crack. He could let that foot out and risk losing balance, or he could let the other foot off, and risk either smacking into the wall and losing his footing, or losing both footing altogether.
His eyes began searching the wall, looking for anything he could possibly use as leverage. And after a few minutes of searching, an idea struck him. There was a winow, not too far away, and only a little bit higher up from where he was standing. It was further away from the window he was trying to get inside, but it'd be a start, at least. He froze once again, gaining all strength and courage, and flung himself across the wall, landing nimbly on the windowsill. His right foot nearly slipped off, but thankfully, there were more cracks and loose stones around this window than the other. He leveled himself out, and froze as he heard muffled voices, coming closer, from inside. And, at the perfect moment, Alex threw his legs apart, onto two stones on either side of the window, pushing him up, just above the windowsill. And, lo behold, the window pane opened like any old fashioned window. He heard a woman's voice whining in a high voice "my, my, it's gotten hot! Open up some windows, would you, Marian?" Marian. The cook? Yes, that was her name. So he was near the kitchen? Alright, so he knew the area his target was in. Good.
Thankfully, Alex managed to stay hidden, and glancing up, he realized he was only a slight distance away from his target. He reached his hand out, almost desperately, and stopped mid-reach, calming himself. Panic and desperation would help him none. Haste made waste. He took a shaky breath, and continued his reach, the satisfying feeling of stone beneath his hand making him exhale. He slowly made his way onto the ledge and easily clambered inside, due to the fact that the window opened inward. He closed it behind him, and took a moment to look around without moving from his spot.
There was a large, oak wood bookcase, pushed to the spot a few feet right of the door. A desk sat in front of him, all drawers closed, any papers neatly in files. There were many picture frames hung on the walls, empty, without a picture inside the frames. Alex's eyes traced over the desk, and he shifted through the files, trying hard not to move anything too much. After almost ten minutes of searching, Alex gave up, and flopped back onto the black office chair. As he sat, the chair lowered, and Alex's weight pushed it back slightly. A rug underneath it shifted, and something flashed. Alex jumped up and snatched the miniscule silver key that sat under the rug. He brought it close to his face, inspecting it, twisting it in his lithe fingers, and feeling around the desk. All of the ten drawers had keyholes. 'Damn it,' Alex thought. 'Which one?'
He didn't have time to be playing Professor Layton. But he supposed it was all he could to, and the sooner he did it, the sooner he'd be able to leave, if this was the information he was looking for. He stuck the key in the hole, and came up short, barely even being able to twist it. He moved quickly to the second one, and got the same result. He continued this process, all the way up to lock number seven, and was able to twist it about half way. That had to mean something, didn't it?
But as he twisted the key into the eighth lock, he came up shorter than the other times. "Shit." Alex muttered angrily, tempted to throw the key at the opposite wall. And he probably would've, if it hadn't been for the sound of a doorknob twisting. The desk wasn't some sort of movie desk, with a small area in the middle for him to cuddle up in to hide from whoever was coming in. And what was worse was that he had absolutely no time to launch out from behind the desk and find a place to curl up and try not to be seen. So, in panic, Alex threw himself at the window, pushing it, getting ready to launch himself out-
It opened inwards.
Haste Makes Waste.
It only took that one moment of fault, that one second of a stupid mistake, for the door to swing open, and for Alex to be there, hands against the panes of the window, pushing, even though the window only opened inwards. Alex had made one of the most idiotic mistakes of his whole spying fiasco, and there was no doubt he was going to pay for it. When he turned, he was met with a sight he had been afraid of seeing. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he'd been hoping it would just be one of the maids that worked here in the main building of the camp, or something of the sort, but instead, it was a large, burly man on the right who was bald and sporting a sneer on his crooked mouth, a young, middle aged woman in the middle with hair stolen from a torch and gray eyes that were so sharp Alex had to do an intake of breath, and a tall, built man on the left with a buzz cut and a scar from the corner of his mouth to his right temple. They looked like characters right from a horror, sci-fi mystery novel. Not people Alex was interested in meeting.
And the first thing that happened happened all too quickly for Alex's tastes. The two men shot forward, and before Alex could blink, or even press the finger-print detectable MI6 Emergency button he had on the inside of his chest pocket of his shirt, the two men came jumping at him. He felt himself slam back, against the window, and knew instantly at the pain that shot through the back of his head that he'd hit it on the knob-like handle on the window that was used to unlock and open it. And only seconds after his daze from that bump was gone, another problem arose as BuzzCut brought his elbow down, atop Alex's head. And without another second, he passed from the world of the living to a purgatory-like unconsciousness. No slow feinting. Just instant out.
FIRST OF ALL. THIS STORY WILL TALK ABOUT RELIGIOUS TOPICS. I'M SAYING THIS NOW, SO THAT IT WILL AVOID ANY RELIGIOUS BASHING AND/OR COMPLAINTS. SO DON'T COMPLAIN, 'CAUSE I'M BEING THE BIG BAD RESPONSIBLE WRITER HERE.
So, okay. :D That's up and over with. My first story on here, and my first Alex Rider fanfiction, so I hope I'm not doing too bad. I mean, sure, I probably have a few mistakes in this thing alone. BUT I'm only in seventh grade, so I dont think me writing like a pro will matter much. Plus, I'm the type of author who writes for herself, so comments like 'you should do this' and such dont really get to me. I'll write what it think. :)
And I just recently started taking French, so that explains the title. Danse de Mort; Dance Of Death. Thought it fit Alex Rider, somehow. SO ANYWAY. Here's my story. :D Review and I'll love you forever. 3
OH AND ALSO. Here's the order I went through this series: I watched Stormbreaker the movie, didn't want to read the book, then read all of the books. So if I make any Stormbreaker references from the MOVIE and not from the BOOK, then don't freak out.
So yeah. :D Hope you like it. 3 And have you guys heard that there's going to be two more books to the series? Might be just a rumor, but I've been told it's tru~ue~ ;D
GODSPEED
