Indiana Jones and the Key of Pandora
Chapter 4 - Losing Grip
Are you aware of what you make me feel, baby/right now I feel invisible to you, like I'm not real/Didn't you feel me lock my arms around you/Why'd you turn away, here's what I have to say
xXxXx
Henry (Mutt) Jones III's POV
I couldn't get to sleep. That black-haired letterman, James, really ticked me off. I don't know what it was about him, but I almost couldn't stand to be in the same room as the guy.
After a couple hours of lying in bed wide awake, I got up and paced the room aimlessly. I found myself combing my hair incessantly, so I took out my stiletto knife and started playing with that instead.
I thought about the adventure. Dad hadn't explained why we were in London; for all I knew we could be here just because Indy wanted to go see Big Ben. The only thing I could figure out was that the ancient key Madie had given Indiana was important. I hadn't been able to get a good look at the key, but it looked older than time itself. And what was up with the Greek letters on the sides? Dad had mentioned that we wouldn't be staying in England. Maybe that meant we would end up going to Greece.
There was a television in the guest room. James's family must have been very rich in order to afford one of these things.
I turned it on, but didn't pay any attention to the news. I was too busy thinking about Madie.
I couldn't figure her out. She was a preppy, but she seemed to be into all the things I liked. When we were on the airplane, she had acted like my best friend. But as soon as James was within ten feet of her, she acted like a complete cube. Not the cool girl I thought she might be.
There was something wrong with James. I got a bad vibe from him. But no one would believe me if I told them that. They would think it was just more of that greaser-preppy hate.
Suddenly, a news story on the television caught my attention. The British reporter was talking about seven people racing through London's biggest airport today, wrecking havoc. I almost laughed out loud at some of the photographs they had of us. There was one in which I was jumping over someone's luggage, and another of my mother pushing a little boy out of her way. The shots were blurry enough that you couldn't make out our facial features clearly.
A photo of Madie came up. One of the Soviets was holding her by the shirt collar, and she was bashing his eye in with her heel. Maybe she wasn't a complete cube. All the preppies I knew wouldn't dream about doing something like that.
My head whipped around when I heard a scratching at my window. I shut off the television and creeped over, lifting the curtain aside. And then I found myself staring right into the eyes of one of the Soviets that had chased us.
I dropped the curtain edge and scrambled backwards. How had they found us? The house was supposed to be safe. Madie and Mom had even said that no one had followed them here. So how had we been discovered?
"Let's go, people! Everyone wake up!" I shouted loudly, running out of the room and into the hallway. I banged on every door, but I was greeted by silence from all the rooms. Running back into the living room, I spotted the nosebleed James passed out on the couch.
"Hey! Bastard! Wake up!" I said, grabbing his shoulders and shaking him, but he didn't move. All I got was a snore.
I shook him a couple more times, but he wouldn't wake up. I then stopped and listened to the sounds of the house around me.
Nothing.
Either no one had heard my cries, or I was in Deadsville. The latter seemed more likely at the moment.
I turned back to the black-haired boy in front of me. "Hey, nosebleed. Playing dead isn't cool," I said. "Seriously. Wake up. Those Soviets are outside."
James said nothing, just kept on waltzing through dreamland.
"Hey!" I yelled in his ear, but he still didn't do anything. I curled my hand into a fist and punched him right in the centre of his face.
It felt good to do that. But he didn't even wake up, even when his nose started to bleed. That's when I knew something must be seriously wrong.
Rushing into my parent's room, I saw my mom passed out on the floor. Strange. But Indiana, who wakes up at even the slightest noise, didn't stir as I tried shouting in his ear and then dragging him off the bed. I spotted another Soviet trying to break in the window. When he spotted me the man ducked out of sight, but I still knew he was still there.
I checked Dad's pulse, because for a horrifying second I wondered if everyone was dead. Nope. My father was still breathing. I scrambled into the room Madie was staying in. She wouldn't wake up either, even when I picked her up off the bed and then dropped her on the floor. Suddenly, I remembered something from earlier that night.
When we had been eating dinner, I had taken a sip of the milk poured for me, but it had tasted strange, so I hadn't drunken any more. But everyone else had drained their glasses.
Running to the kitchen, I tore open the fridge and smelt the milk. It smelled even worse than Indiana's feet.
Someone must have poisoned it. It may have been a far-fetched theory, but it was the best one I had, and the most likely. That's why no one would wake up, even though they were all still breathing. There had been a knock-out drug in the milk.
I ran into the bedroom of James's father. He was nowhere to be seen. I searched the entire house, but he was missing. A light bulb seemed to go off in my head.
James's father must have drugged the milk and told the Soviets we were here.
Could we trust no one?
I was angry. If I couldn't wake anyone up, the Soviets would capture us. I didn't even know what they wanted! In a rage, I kicked the television in my guest room, and it shattered on the floor. It made me feel a litter bit better; destroying the traitor's things. He deserved it.
I rubbed the horizontal scar on my right cheek that Irina Spalko had given me when we were sword-fighting on top of two cars in the middle of the jungles of Peru. It had become a bad habit of mine; rubbing my scar when I was upset, worried or nervous. I remembered just a couple hours ago when Madie had rubbed my scar. She had been half-asleep, and had had no idea what she was doing, but still… just the thought sent shivers up my spine.
Madie. Crap, I needed to do something to get her, my parents and the idiot James to safety while they were all passed out. I can't believe James's father even poisoned his own son.
I had two options: risk getting caught by dragging everybody outside to hopeful safety, or risk getting caught by hiding everybody somewhere in the house.
I chose the latter. Hopefully, someone would wake up before the Soviets broke into the house.
When I had been looking for James's father, I had noticed a small closet behind some old boxes in the upstairs attic. With some luck, I could hide the others in there.
I grabbed Madie first, as I was standing right outside her room. Carefully, I picked her up from where I dropped her on the floor. She was limp as a ragdoll, and I linked an arm around her thin waist. I walked out of her room and slung the poor girl over my back like a sack of potatoes. Her brunette curls got in the way of my vision for a moment; I couldn't see and I stumbled into a table, bumping my shinbone. Cursing rather colourfully, I picked up James on my way out of the living room.
I was careful about how I carried Madie - I made sure I didn't bump her into anything. James, on the other hand? I dragged him up the staircase by his shirt collar, and I succeeded in making sure he bumped into every pointy object in the house.
When I got to the attic, I kicked a couple boxes aside and opened the closet door slowly. Inside the closet was a single light bulb hanging from the ceiling; I pulled on the cord that turned it on. Dusty light filtered through the closet to reveal three boxes and nothing else. After dumping James unceremoniously on the floor and setting Madie gently down on one of the boxes, I ran downstairs and brought my mother up. She was harder to carry, as she wasn't quite as thin or light as Madison, and I didn't abuse her like James.
Finally, I headed downstairs to grab my father. It just so happened that at this very moment, the Soviets broke into the house.
"You!" one of them shouted in terrible English. "You are the boy with the ugly hair, correct?"
"Hey! My hair is not ugly!" I exclaimed, getting angry. No one talks about my hair that way.
"I am your worst nightmare, hair-boy," he says.
"Are you really? Because my worst nightmare is Elvis trying to seduce my mom."
The Soviet snarled. "My name is Thoratlov. Give me key."
"I don't have the key," I spat, still angry about the hair thing. "Wait," I said as two other Soviets appeared behind Thoratlov. "On second thought, I do have the key. But you're going to have to catch me," I smiled, and then turned on my heel and ran down the hallway. The three men (who seemed to be more brawn then brain) clomped after me, and I sprinted into the living room. Hanging on the wall were two swords crossed in iron plating; a decoration that I was hoping might save my life right now.
I grabbed the handle of one of the thin swords, and it slid out easily. I remembered that the only class I had ever enjoyed at school had been fencing. I was amazing at it, but during school I had slacked off because I never thought I would need to know how to fence.
Back then, I hadn't known Indiana was my father. If I had, I might have payed a bit more attention. Being a Jones means there's lots of fighting in my life.
During my trip to Akator, crossing swords with Irina Spalko had been one of the things that had saved my life. If I hadn't been good at fencing, the scar on my cheek would have been a much, much worse injury.
When I went to Peru, I learned that the world doesn't revolve around rock and roll, motorcycles and hair pomade. It had been a different experience for me; no one out there had cared whether I lived or died.
It seemed like no one here cared, either.
Sometimes, I really love being Indiana Jones's son, I thought as I pointed the end of the sword at my attackers.
"Ha ha! Watcha gonna do now, fellas?" I smirked.
Thoratlov reached out and grabbed the tip of the sword, ripped it out of my hands, and bent it in half, a terrifying grin on his face the entire time.
Looks like those swords really were only meant for decoration.
I leaped over the couch and ran back through the hallway, yelling the entire time. Didn't the neighbours hear me?
No. It was daytime; everyone was at work. I was alone in this thing.
Thoratlov grabbed a fistful of my prized leather jacket in his hand.
"Hey! Hands off the jacket, you dummy! You can punch my face; just take your hands off my leather!" I wasn't a greaser without my jacket and my hair grease. Those were the two things he was not allowed to touch.
Maybe I shouldn't have told him to punch my face, though, I thought as the man's heavy fist collided with the side of my jaw. I spat out blood as he delivered another blow to my stomach.
"Where is key?" the big nosebleed asked, his two buddies now tearing apart the house looking for it. Thoratlov dropped me on the ground and started kicking me, repeating his catchphrase 'where is key' over and over again.
Blood was starting to trickle out of my nose, and I looked up just in time to see Madison stumble into the room, still half-asleep.
"Mutt? Izzat you?" she slurred, falling over and walking into a table.
I would rather she still be passed out in the closet then half-asleep and delirious, and walking right in danger's path.
"You!" Thoratlov shouted. "You are girl who threw vase at me! You have key!" he stomped over to where she was now barely standing upright, clutching onto the wall. At least the Soviet had stopped kicking me.
"Madie, duck!" I yelled, spitting through blood, but it was too late. Thoratlov punched her in the face before she could even blink.
The petit girl stumbled backwards, gasping. She clutched her forehead, where there was now a huge cut gushing blood.
At least Madison was wide awake now.
She grabbed the lamp from the table she had walked into. "Do not touch me again," she exclaimed, panting and waving the vase as if it was some sort of weapon. At that moment, Thoratlov's two friends came into the room. The first Soviet was dragging my mom and James behind him, and the second had my dad. Looked like the closet wasn't such a good hiding place after all.
I got up off the floor as Thoratlov glanced at Indy and started searching through his jacket. "Ah ha!" he exclaimed, pulling a wad of brown cloth out of Indiana's pocket. "Dr. Jones has the key!" He glanced at the others. Everyone was still passed out, and James's nose was still bleeding from where I hit him. That must have been one strong drug in the milk. I couldn't believe it had been Madie of all people who had woken up.
"Put them all in the car. Boss will want to meet Dr. Jones, his wife and his son," Thoratlov said, and the other Soviets started to leave. I tried to run to the door, but Thoratlov stepped in the way. "Who are you?" he asked, tilting his head to the side.
I sputtered, and I was about to say that I was Indy's son, when it occurred to me he thought James was Indiana's son. I opened my mouth to start yelling, when I heard a shattering noise. The man's eyes glazed over, and he fell over, unconscious. Standing behind him was Madie, holding a now shattered lamp in her hands.
The brunette dropped it in shock as if she couldn't believe what she's just done, but all she said was "that guy likes getting hit over the head with pottery."
Then she collapsed in my arms, as the drug in the milk was too strong for her to stay awake for any longer.
xXxXx
A/N: Okay, so this chapter had a little bit more action, even if it wasn't very good. Well. Things are just starting, so hopefully this story will get better!
When I first started reading Indiana Jones fanfictions, I was always wondering why Mutt had such a big part in all of them. I mean, come on. It's called and Indiana Jones fanfic, not a Mutt Jones fanfic! That's when I realized that Indy is almost sixty years old. No wonder Mutt has a pretty big role. Indiana is getting old.
But, do not worry, my pretties! I think I'm going to put a lot of Indy in, in the chapters to come. It's Indiana who I idolize after, not Mutt, after all! You've just got to keep reading in order to see more of Indy!
Please, please review! Somebody! I'm starting to wonder if anyone is even reading this story at all... reviews will let me know what you all think, and if you have any questions or suggestions! Also, if anyone has any ideas about what they think should happen, I'm all ears, even though I can't guarantee anything.
I'll buy you a box of cake if you review!
Lots of love
Lexi
P.S. I own nothing but my own ideas and the characters you don't recognize. And, the song at the beginning is 'Losing Grip' by Avril Lavigne. Not me.
