Chapter 4 is here! I know you've been waiting for this, so here it is.

Disclaimer: blah, blah, blah, don't own Alex Rider, blah, blah, blah.

Chapter 4- Recovery

I hear the monitor beeping quietly. The room is cool, but I'm use to it. There is a window with light blue curtains that are half closed. The smell of cleaning supplies hangs heavily in the air. Alex is lying on the hospital bed; I can see his chest rising and falling slowly. He's been in a coma for three days. The doctors said he would survive. He lost a lot of blood; too much. It turns out that we have the same blood type, so I donated blood to him. They took the bullet out of his leg. He won't be able to be up and about for a while because of the muscle damage to his leg.

After Alex stopped breathing, I thought he was lost, but the helicopter came and they were able to make him start breathing normally again. He's stable, but he's in a coma. I've been at the hospital for 72 hours straight, only leaving Alex's room to eat and go to the bathroom.

Suddenly, I feel something; movement. I look at his face, watching him intently. Slowly, his eyes blind open. I watch as he glances around. He gives a groan and shifts on the bed. The door behind me swings open and the doctor comes in.

"He's awake," I state, feeling numb. The doctor's weren't sure he would wake up, but he has.

"I can see that. Hello Alex, how are you feeling?" the doctor asks him kindly.

"Groggy. How long?" he croaks.

"Three days." I say. "Here," I add, handing him some water. The doctor leaves us.

He takes the water and drinks thirstily. "I'm starving!" he exclaims after drinking the whole glass of water. I smile; I can feel tears welling in my eyes.

He glances at me and smiles. I smile back. "What happened?" he asks, the smile dropping off his face.

"Well…you lost a lot of blood from the bullet in your leg. You stopped breathing at one point. The doctors were able to revive you. You went into a coma, and you've been in that state till now," I explain briefly.

"How did they know we were there?" Alex asks.

"I've been in this room, by your side for 72 hours straight. I haven't had contact with the outside world at all, so I don't know." I reply.

"Why?" Alex asks, looking confused.

"I don't know. Maybe because I was worried about you? Maybe it's because I love you?" I say sarcastically. He smiles and leans over the side of the bed. I lean forward and we hug each other.

"Thanks for being here for me," he says quietly. He stays silent for a moment, still holding on to me. "The last thing I remember before I passed out is you crying. Was that real?" he asks, pulling away from me.

"Yes, Alex, I cried. I thought you were dead. You stopped breathing. I was scared I had lost you," I admit. I'm not afraid to admit it; he knows me well enough now to know I have emotions.

He looks at me, and I see a small glimmer of fear in his eyes.

"Am I going to be able to use my leg?" he asks.

"Yes, you will. You'll have to stay in the hospital for a few months, but eventually you'll be able to use your leg again. The doctor says that if you go through therapy, you will probably not walk with a limp. There was a lot of muscle damage, but the nerves in your leg were not hurt,"

"What about our training? I won't be able to do that, will I?" he asks.

"No. I will still go through the training, but you won't be able to," I say.

"Will you come and visit me?" he asks.

"Of course," why would he think I wouldn't visit him?

He starts to try and sit up; I help him by easing him backwards and propping him against his pillows. His movements are slow and careful. He throws the covers off him and swings his legs over the side of the bed.

"Alex, what are you doing?" I question.

He looks at himself, and then looks around the room. He sees a body-length mirror, and he tries to stand. The moment his feet touch the ground, he collapses. I grab his arm and help him stand. He puts his arm around my shoulder.

"Help me to the mirror," he grunts. He starts to limp over to the mirror. His injured leg touches the floor and he slowly puts his weight back onto it. He gives a small yelp, and he lifts his leg off the ground. I take almost all his weight as he leans against me. He keeps moving forward, hopping on one leg. When we finally reach the mirror, Alex looked exhausted. He stares at himself. His hair is a mess, his face is pale, and he's wearing a long nightgown the hospital put on him after he had surgery. His leg is wrapped in a white bandage. He looks…weak. Not like the strong, confident Alex I know.

"I look like hell," he comments. I smile; he does, but he still sounds like normal old Alex.

"You'll get better," I tell him.

"Are we still in Australia?" he asks suddenly.

"Yes, we are. This hospital is owned by SAS," I tell him. He nods slowly, understanding. Then he turns around and starts to limp back to his bed, with me helping him. He gets back into bed, and he falls asleep almost immediately. Just walking to the mirror and back, which is only about 10 feet from his bed, has totally whipped him out.

I go out into the hallway, where the doctor is waiting.

"He's doing all right. It's good that he woke up; we'll start to have him exercise a bit in a few weeks. He'll be able to do normal activities again in roughly two months, if everything goes smoothly." The doctor tells me.

"That's good. I suppose I should go back to the SAS training camp now," I sigh. I don't want to leave Alex here all alone, but I don't really have a choice.

"Actually, Mrs. Jones wants to talk to you before you go back," the doctor says.

"Is she here?" I'm surprised Mrs. Jones would fly out here just for Alex and me.

"Yes, she is." Just then, Mrs. Jones comes around the corner. She spots me and the doctor, and she quickens her pace.

"How is he? Has he woken up yet?" she asks, sounded distressed. She looks much older than last time I saw her.

"He just woke up," I reply.

"Thank God!" she exclaims, sounding relieved. "Yassen, you should go back to SAS and tell them everything that happened. We still don't know how the men knew you were there; we're still working on that," she explains.

"All right. I'll go report back to Captain Hersey," I say.

A few hours later, I'm back in the training camp, in my cabin. I told Captain Hersey everything that happened at the compound. Now I'm resting and waiting until dinner. I'll start training again tomorrow, but for now Captain Hersey wants me to rest. I think about Alex; I wonder how he is. I wish I were still there with him, but I know I need to continue with the training. I realize that I'm somewhat lonely without him; we've been living with each other for about two years now; I miss him. I pull out the note John put in my wallet. How did he get it in there? When did he get it in there? I stare at his handwriting; what if it's not his? What if it's fake? I know better, though. I recognize his handwriting; I would recognize it anywhere. I remember the moment I found out he was dead; or I thought he was dead. I had been so devastated. That was the last time I cried; 16 years ago, when John died.

The next few weeks are uneventful; I go and visit Alex and do training. Nothing really happens. SAS found out that there were lasers outside the compound; we must have tripped them on our way in. There was also a mole working on the inside; our men went in to get him, but they found him dead. Apparently, the man we were after was smarter than we thought. After he chased us off, he killed the mole with cyanide and set fire to his own building. Now SAS has lost them; they dropped off the radar. They'll find them again, though.

I head to the hospital to visit Alex; he's going to start his therapy. Technically, he's already started; the doctors and nurses have been making him do small leg exercises to help strengthen his leg. Today he's supposed to start walking around a little. When I reach his room, he's sitting on the edge of the bed. The doctor suggested that we go slowly; all we'll be doing is walking around the hospital until he starts to feel tired or his leg starts to hurt, and then we'll come back to his room.

He starts to stand up and I move forward to help him.

"I'm all right," he says, grimacing. I can tell he hates this; he feels vulnerable and weak. He is vulnerable and weak, but he'll start to get stronger soon. He straightens up, and I realize that this is the first time he's been able to stand on his own two feet in months. He glances at me, and then slowly takes a step shaky step forward. He reaches out toward me, and I grab his arm gently. He takes another step, and soon he's walking with my help. I slowly let go of him, and he starts walking on his own. It's very slow and methodical, but he's doing it. He gets to the door, and he opens it and step out into the hallway. We start to walk around in silence.

"This reminds me of the last time I was at the hospital. Paul Drevin was right next to me," he says.

"Drevin? Wasn't that the Russian man who created Ark Angel?" I ask. I know I recognize that name from somewhere.

"It was his son. He was Nikolei Drevin," Alex responds.

"Didn't he die in a plane accident or something?" I ask.

"…Yeah, kindov. He was one of the unfortunate people who happened to run into me. His ending was more complicated than just a plane accident," Alex says hesitantly.

"What happened?" I ask. Now I'm really interested.

"Well, I tied some canoes to his airplane, and they got caught in the trees. The plane stopped in midair and it exploded and fell out of the sky. He wasn't that high up." Alex explains; his face expressionless.

"I thought you didn't kill people. That's what I heard from MI6." I say. I know that's not really true; he did kill Damian Cray, but that was different.

"I'm not like you were. I'm not a killer. I didn't kill him intentionally; I didn't kill Cray intentionally either. There's only one person I've ever killed, and it was for a good reason," Alex says.

"Who was that?" I ask.

"Julius Greif. Have you heard of that mission?" he asks. I realize he doesn't want to talk about it for some reason.

"I've heard about how Grief's school was destroyed and he was creating clones of all the famous children, yes. We don't have to discuss this if you don't want to," I tell him.

"I'm all right. Julius was one of the 16 clones Grief made. He was made to look exactly like me. Scorpia helped him escape from the prison he was in. We met each other again on my last mission…the one where…" he trails off for a few seconds. I wait patiently. "Anyway, he was the one who did that. I went after him and I killed him. He wanted to kill me, too. He would have if I hadn't killed him first." Alex finishes.

"Alex, you truly are amazing," I comment.

"Me? Why?" he asks, sounding shocked.

"Julius was you're clone; when you shot him, didn't it feel like you were killing a part of yourself?" I ask. I realize that what I'm talking about is probably bringing back horrible memories for him, but it's too late now.

"I suppose I just do what you do. What they trained us to do in Malagosto. I didn't think of him as a person, I never had before, so it wasn't that hard. He did look like me, but at the same time, he didn't. He changed his look so he wouldn't look like me. He didn't want to. All that mattered was my finger pulling the trigger back. That was where all my focus was. I wasn't really thinking about anything when I killed him. It was actually quite easy. Is that how you feel when you're killing someone?"

"Yes, that seems quite accurate. I don't feel anything; I don't think about the fact that they're flesh and blood. I don't think about the fact that they might have families and friends who care about them. I never use to, anyway. Ever since Eagle Strike though…"

"What?"

"Well, I'm not sure quite what it was, but something made me just…not want to kill people anymore. Something just made me realize that after the business with Cray, I would probably be done. I don't know what I was thinking of doing after that, exactly, but I knew I wouldn't be going back to work for Scorpia. Maybe it was seeing you again that made me start to change. I don't know." I tell him. I've never told anyone that before. I haven't really thought of it since then, either.

"I'm starting to get a little tired," Alex says.

"All right. We'll go back then," I say.

"I feel so weak. I don't like it. It's like I'm…vulnerable, like I can't do hardly anything." he says as we start to head back to the room.

"You'll get better. Each day, you'll walk around a little more and more. You're leg will get stronger." I assure him.

"I know, it's just that…I wish I could do training. I'm lonely without you. I miss you," Alex confesses.

"You know, I'm lonely without you, too. We weren't training for that long, but we had a routine, you know? We always did training together, separately from the other men. We're supposed to be a team, but we aren't. I don't think we ever will be."

We walk back to the room, and when we get there, Mrs. Jones is waiting for us.

"Alex, good to see you. How are you feeling?" she asks.

"I'm all right." He replies.

"I've brought some stuff for you, to keep you entertained while you're not doing therapy." She hands him a bag with books and magazines in it. There were a few letters and flowers by Alex's bed.

"I should go; I have to talk to the director of SAS. I'll be here if you need anything. I hope you get better soon, and not just because I want you to get going on the mission," she adds as she leaves.

"Read some letters to me," Alex says, lying back down on the bed. I put the covers over him and sit on the edge of the bed.

I pick up a few letters from his friends. One is from Tom, and another is from Sabina and her family. I read them to him, and then I pick up some more. I open one, and I start reading. It's typed, unlike most of the others.

"Dear Alex, I'm very sorry to hear you've been hurt. Here's a riddle to make you feel better. I am jumping, I am not obnoxious, I am near you, I am happy, and I am running. What am I? Here's a hint: I am the first; I am invisible." I finish in confusion. What the heck? Who would write such a stupid letter?

"Who's it from?" Alex asks, just as confused.

"It isn't sighed. Whoever it is, it says it's a riddle. Maybe we should try and solve it," I say.

Alex takes the letter and examines it. "The last part says here's a hint: I am the first. The first what? What does that mean?" Alex questions.

"Maybe it means the first word of each sentence…but the first word of each sentence is I." This is very confusing. Alex keeps staring at the letter.

"Maybe it's the first letter of each of these words. Jumping, obnoxious, near, happy, running. If you put them together…" Alex trials off, his eyes widening.

"John R. Oh my God!" I exclaim. "What does it mean when it says I am invisible?" I add.

"Well, we haven't seen him for 16 years. Maybe that's what it means," Alex says.

"You haven't seen him at all, except in a picture," I tell him.

"You know what I mean!" I tell him.

"I don't think that's what John meant. That doesn't seem like him; there's a deeper meaning. Something he wants us to interpret,"

"Well, what things can be invisible? Invisible ink…maybe he wrote something in invisible ink." Alex says thoughtfully.

"That means we need a black light. I might actually have one," I say after a moment of thought. I pull out a pen with some buttons on it. I push one, and purple light comes out of one of the pointers. I point it towards the paper, searching for hidden writing. Below what is typed, there is something handwritten. I read it out loud. "Dear Alex, if you are reading this, then you have solved my riddle. As you have probably guessed, I am alive. If you haven't already, check Yassen's wallet for the letter and the picture of your mom. it's behind his driver's license. I know about your mission with Pythia; I know you are busy. I can't visit you, unfortunately, because none of the intelligence agencies know I'm alive. No one knows I'm alive except you two. I need it to stay that way. I can't explain why right now; I'd rather explain it in person. When you have time, after this mission, come find me. I will leave more clues for you after you finish your mission. I'm sorry I was never able to reunite myself with you, but it was too dangerous for me, especially with Scorpia. I have always loved you, though. I can't wait to see you and Yassen again. From, Hunter," I finish reading, and I look at Alex. Our eyes meet.

"Is there a date anywhere?" he asks. I look at the top of the letter; there is a date. It's July 5, 2003. That's yesterday. I silently show Alex.

"So it's confirmed. He is alive," Alex says. I feel a rush of emotion so strong, I can't help but smile. After all these years of believing he was dead…and now to find that he's alive…it's amazing. How did he survive the explosion?

"How do you think he survived?" Alex asks, voicing what I was just thinking.

"I don't know. The bomb could have been placed somewhere where it hurt him horribly, but he managed to survive," I don't think there's any point speculating; we will be meeting him soon, I hope. We sit in Alex's room for a while, enjoying each other's company. I read a few more letters. Then he turns on the TV, and we watch some cartoons.

"Is this what you do every time you come to the hospital?" I ask after a while.

"Pretty much. There's not really anything to do except read letters, books, magazines, and watch cartoons on TV. I try and avoid all the news stations; I'd rather not see what the human race thinks of the aftermath of what I've done. Usually that's what they talk about on the news, for a few days or weeks at least. How some famous person died a mysterious death and everyone is speculating how it happened. Usually I know the answer because I was there." This makes me laugh.

"Maybe we should check the news today, since you haven't really messed everything up yet." I suggest.

He turns on one of the news stations. The first thing we see is a burning building of some kind. On the bottom of the screen, it says there was an explosion at the school. The school was in Australia.

"Pythia?" I question, glancing at Alex.

"Yep. What do you think they're doing? And why? What's the point?" he asks. I shrug my shoulders. How should I know? Just then, the door opens and Mrs. Jones comes in.

"Turn on the…good you have it on. We just received a message from them. At least we believe it's from them." She walks over to the TV, and points in the corner of the picture. "There's something written there, but it's not in English. We blew it up to a larger size, and this is what we found." She hands me a blown up piece of paper with the same smudges on them. Except they aren't smudges anymore. They're words. Russian words.

"It says 'Operation Middle Ground is almost ready. There is nothing you can do to stop it.'"

"Operation Middle Ground? Is that what they're calling what they're planning?" Alex asks.

"We assume so." Mrs. Jones replies.

"We are going to try and stop them, right?" Alex asks. I look at him curiously.

"I thought you didn't want to do this?" I comment.

"I don't have a choice anymore; I've been dragged into this, so I might as well deal with it and try and help," he says defensively. I raise my hands up in surrender, suppressing a smile. This is in his blood. His whole life was spent training for this, and then he started applying that training three years ago. He's a pro at what he does.

"Alex, we will do everything we can to try and stop them, but it appears that they are going to do this—whatever it is—faster than we thought they would. If we can figure out what Middle Ground is, we might be able to figure out what they're planning," she adds.

"Well, middle ground could mean a compromise; that's how it's usually used. I don't think that's how it applies in this situation, though. Middle ground…well, it could be taken literally. In the middle of the ground. What does that mean though? What ground?" I start to speculate out loud.

"Well, they've been blowing schools up…could that mean that they're going to blow up a bunch of schools? They could put each bomb in the center of the school…" Alex says. "Maybe we're over thinking this. Maybe we should be thinking about the whole world. What's the middle of the whole world? It's a sphere…there isn't really a 'middle' on the surface. Unless they've found a way to dig all the way to the core of the Earth, they can't really get to the middle of the Earth," Alex states after a moment.

"There's only one thing all the schools have in common. They're all pretty big. And all the countries that have had explosions are allies to each other. That could be a factor. They're all pretty big, well known countries. Russia, Britain, France, Australia, and of course, America." Mrs. Jones tells us.

"This is kindov crazy, but I have an idea. What kind of cities are they targeting?" Alex asks.

"Well, the cities they're targeting are all fairly well known: Moscow, Manchester, Versailles, Sydney, and Los Angles."

"Have there been any bombings in the capital cities?" Alex asks.

"Now that you mention it, no." Mrs. Jones says, looking confused.

"I think that's what they're targeting." Alex says. "The capital cities. Where the president is, where the leaders are." Alex says.

"Why do you think that?" I ask.

"Well, schools are run by the government, right? What's the most famous government building in the whole world? Probably the White House. Maybe that's what they're targeting…the capital buildings of all the biggest nations," Alex explains. I feel a shiver pass through my whole body. If Pythia is in fact targeting the capital buildings of the biggest countries in the world…that would show the world that we're weak…we don't know how to defend ourselves…I realize that this has gone way beyond what we thought it was before. This is bigger than anything we could ever imagine, if we're right about what's going on.

"That could be devastating to the whole world…since we don't really know all that much about Pythia, we don't know what they're goal is." Mrs. Jones says.

"What kind of terrorist organization are they? Mr. Crawley said they were a terrorist group," Alex asks.

"They are like Scorpia; they come from all over the place, but from what we know about them, some of their members come from Iraq, Iran, Afghanistan, North Korea, and Mexico," Mrs. Jones explains.

"So, basically all the allies enemies. Great…that means that if I'm right, they'll definitely be doing something big. Like 9/11, only on a much larger scale. And with bombs…somehow. Suicide bombers?" Alex questions.

"I don't think so. Suicide bombers would target small groups of people in enclosed spaces." I say. I look at the picture again, and something catches my eye.

"What's this?" I ask, pointing to a shape right below the writing.

"I'm not sure. We were questioning that, too. I have my laptop here, which has a picture of the place. I can see if we can clarify the image to a better quality," Mrs. Jones says, pulling out her laptop and placing it on Alex's bed. She hits a few buttons and then turns it so it's facing us. What I see sends a cold shiver down my spine. It's a scorpion, just like the one Scorpia use to use to sign their official documents.

"Scorpia." Alex says.

"It appears so. Do you think Scorpia is back?" Mrs. Jones asks.

"I think maybe Pythia is Scorpia. Maybe they just changed their name," I say after a moment. I'm looking at the symbol, and I see something else in the center. "Blow it up so it's closer to the scorpion." I say. She does so, and then she clarifies the image again. They're a small letter in the center of the scorpion. It's the letter P, but it looks like a snake; the curve of the "P" is the snake's body and tail, and the rest of it is its head.

"It's Pythia, but they are also Scorpia. They have a new symbol, too." Alex says. I glance at him; he looks at me with worry in his eyes. I'm pretty sure we're both thinking the same thing.

"Mrs. Jones, what's happened to Malagosto?" I ask politely.

"Well, ever since Scorpia was destroyed, it's been abandon. No one wants it because of its past," she says.

"Do you have live satellite imaging?" I ask.

"On this computer? Yes, I do." She searches for Malagosto, and when she finds it she zooms in. There are definitely people there, and it looks like they're training. The image is so clear, I can see the guns they're holding and I can see the targets their firing at.

"So…Pythia is occupying Malagosto." Mrs. Jones comments. "Just like Scorpia…I suppose I should say that Scorpia is back, because they are. The only difference is they changed their name," she adds.

"I think they wanted us to figure this out, but why?" Alex asks.

"Probably to show us that they're still around; they're still our enemies. I thought all the Scorpia people were killed or put in jail?" I say.

"They are. There must be some people out there…terrorists, who know about Scorpia and what they did. They decided to create a new Scorpia, I suppose." Mrs. Jones says.

"Mrs. Jones? I don't really want to get involved with Scorpia again." Alex says quietly.

"I know. I don't want you to get involved either. Both your father and your uncle died because of Scorpia. I don't want that happening to you or Yassen." She says.

"Are you going to send us in still? Do we have any other choice?" I ask.

"I don't know. I don't want to send you in, but I don't think they're really any other choice," Mrs. Jones sighs.

"We could do it from the outside. We've gotten this far," I comment.

"Well…I suppose we could try that for a little while. We have to hurry, though. Yassen, I think we should pull you out of training. You can stay here with Alex, if that's all right with you. He'll have to stay here until he's fully recovered, and then you'll come back to Britain. From there, we can decide what exactly to do," Mrs. Jones explains after thinking for a few moments.

"That sounds much better than having to go back to that place…" Alex shudders.

"Yes, it does." I agree. Honestly, I would rather not go back to that place. I do wonder, however, if it's changed since I was there last.

"Well, I should get back to Liverpool Street. If you figure out anything else, or if we figure out anything we'll contact you," Mrs. Jones says before leaving.

"Goodbye, Mrs. Jones," Alex says.

"Goodbye Alex, Yassen," Mrs. Jones replies. I give her a quick nod. After she closes the door behind her, Alex and I look at each other.

"We don't have to go to Malagosto," Alex says, smiling.

"And I can stay here with you instead of training," I add, also smiling.

"You'll have to get your stuff from the training camp," Alex reminds me.

"I know." I reply. I'll be glad to leave the training camp. Hawk, Cobra, and Tiger still aren't being very social with me." I'm grateful that I'm getting out of the training camp; I don't really enjoy it anymore.

I head back to the training camp, where I collect my belongings. Then I head back to the hospital. By the time I get back, it's getting dark out.

"Where am I going to sleep?" I ask suddenly.

"I...I'm not sure." Alex says. He glances over to a corner in the room; there's a chair there that could serve as a bed. The doctor walks into the room just then.

"We're moving you two to a bigger room with two beds. We hope you don't mind," he explains.

"That's fine," Alex says. Problem solved, I suppose.

Alex's bed is wheeled down the hallway and into a larger room that has another normal bed; one that isn't a hospital bed.

"Thank you," Alex says to the doctor. The doctor gives us a quick nod and then leaves the room.

"I'm glad you're staying here. I was getting lonely." Alex says. I find that a bit strange, though I'm not sure why. Alex has told me he gets bored and lonely when he's in the hospital, but I suddenly wonder if there's another reason for him to want company.

We sit and talk for a while, and then he goes to sleep. I lay down on my own bed, but as usual I doubt I'll be able to get to sleep until early in the morning. My old habit of staying up late is still with me. A few hours later, I do finally start to drift off, but I'm woken up by a sound. It takes me only a second to realize it's Alex. He's shifting around in his bed, moaning. Is his wound hurting him? Maybe I should call the doctor. I check the time; it's about 2 o'clock. I'm just about to call the doctor, when Alex gives a little scream and sits upright in his bed. He's panting and sweating, as if he's just been running. So that's why he wants company. He has nightmares. About what, though? He never has nightmares when he's at home...so why is it different here?

"Alex? Are you all right?" I ask, concerned.

He glances over to me, and he seems a little dazed at first. Then he realizes what I've just said. "Yeah, it was only a dream," he huffs.

"You wanna talk about it?" I ask gently.

"No...well...it was just a dream about...about Jack. About her dying," he explains after a moment.

"Does this happen often? Why have you never told me about it?" I say.

"No, it doesn't really happen that often. Not anymore at least. It used to happen all the time, but recently, since I started living with you, it's gone away. In the past month, though, it's slowly come back. I think it might be because whenever I feel alone, I think of her." He tells me.

"You're still morning her death," I state.

"It's more like I miss her. I'm lonely without her. Or I was, even at the Pleasures house. Then you adopted me, and I didn't feel so lonely anymore." Alex says.

"I'll always be here for you, Alex. I promise you that. And so will John, soon at least," I say, walking over to his bed. I sit down next to him, and he wraps his arms around me, hugging me. I hug him back. We stay that way for a long time; until he falls asleep. Then I return to my bed and go to sleep as well. The last thing I think about before drifting off into darkness is that John is alive, and Alex will be able to meet him soon.

That's the end of the chapter! I'm really sorry guys, but I might not get to update for quite a while (like until June 15 to be exact) because I've been getting bad grades and my parents have connected it back to this. Sorry! That's why I'm ending it here, so that it's at a place I feel safe stopping at for a while. I'll be back soon! Maybe if I get my grade up better, they'll let me keep doing this, but for now I won't be able to. Remember to R&R! Suggestions for what might happen next are very welcome, cuz I've got a little case of writers block here.