Disclaimer: If I were really Anthony Horowitz, I wouldn't bother to make fanfiction of my own work. I'd write it like this in the first place...
Chapter 7: Glimpses
The first few days in the house had been awkward to say the least. Alex did his best to avoid Markus, while plotting his revenge at the same time. He wasn't quite sure what that would be, but… perhaps it would serve twofold and get a message across to Jones as well. He didn't need to be babysat.
Everything about the man unnerved him—though he suspected that it was more because their personalities clashed, rather than anything overly sinister. The house was too noisy, everything seemed out of place, and he felt like a complete outsider. Although his flat had been remarkably empty and impersonal, it had been his place. Here… the smallest thing seemed to distract his already distracted mind, conjuring up plots of grandeur and fear. Something he definitely didn't need more of in his life.
While the days had been miserable, with Alex wanting nothing to do with the man who was now supposedly his guardian, the nights were the worst. He only took a half dose of the painkillers he was supposed to be taking—not liking the hazy and deadened sensations he felt while on it—meaning that his arm always ached. At night, it just seemed to grow worse.
That, coupled with the increase in intensity of the nightmares… meant he was grouchy and miserable in the mornings. He couldn't risk sleeping during the day either—as the nightmares weren't confined to the night time. So instead, he attempted to catch up on all the missed coursework he had—most of which were in classes that he had already been struggling in.
He held no illusions that his grades were going to be abysmal for the term, something that he didn't need. After all, Jones was a stickler for grades, and he had been barely scraping by with the minimum before. The only classes he had been somewhat succeeding in were the languages and government classes. Certainly not the core classes that he needed if he had any hope of getting anywhere in life.
By the time Monday had rolled around, Alex was most definitely not looking forward to going back to the school. It had been weeks since he had last attended and he was sure that his classmates—no matter how uninteresting he had been before—were going to try to hound him with questions. Who knew when the rumors would start up again…?
He didn't even manage to start his morning out on the right foot. He had woken far too early, with a nightmare cutting into his much-needed sleep. The usual feelings of disorientation and confusion quickly passed, yet once more, he wasn't entirely sure what he had dreamt about. He congratulated himself on keeping Markus from noticing as he stumbled into the shower at only a mildly insane hour. His excuse was, since he had the cast, showering was more difficult.
Alex had proceeded through breakfast with the silent treatment that had grown almost comfortably familiar in the past two days. He took his medicine as ordered, palming the second painkiller, as well as the anxiety medication. So long as he kept up the pretense, no one needed to know that he wasn't taking everything he was supposed to. After all, Markus had said that he was responsible for himself.
After breakfast, Alex grabbed his school bag, complete with his few attempts at catchup work, and followed Markus out to the car. The drive was silent, and Alex entertained himself with memorizing the turns needed to get from the house to the school. It wasn't very far away; he could have easily walked it in twenty minutes—if they ever allowed him that luxury. Unfortunately, it was also in the opposite direction of where his apartment had been. He doubted that he would be able to sneak out of the house—which meant that if he wanted to go back there, he'd have to do it some other way.
"I'll be here when you get out of classes," Markus said, breaking the silence as they pulled up in front of the school. "If anything goes wrong, you have my number. Don't leave the school for any reason. And behave. I don't want to be called in because you did something stupid."
Alex scowled at the man. For a moment, he had almost seemed human. Then he tacked on the stupid comment, and Alex's estimation of him plummeted right back down to where it had been before. "Yeah, whatever." As if you'd be any help anyway. Before the man could say anything else, he climbed out of the car and gave the door a resounding slam. It only succeeded in drawing curious gazes his way and a glare from Markus.
His lips pressed into a thin line, suddenly feeling like a bug under a microscope as people looked in his direction. He could almost hear them start whispering. Rider's back. It's been so long… Look at his arm… He wanted to shudder, but he forced it down. Forced it away.
Can't show weakness.
He slipped into the crowd of students, feeling his barriers go up immediately. Some were staring, while others continued as if he weren't even there. After a while though, he had blended well enough into the background. His shoulders still twitched whenever someone came too near him, or swept inside his bubble of protection, but for a few seconds at least, he felt invisible.
He felt absurdly protective of his hand and arm, holding it as close to his body as he could manage with the sling. Just the mere thought of someone brushing up against it wrong had him tensing in advance, and he wondered how he was going to get through the day. How he was going to pretend to be normal. Any progress toward that normal he had made before had been reset.
It felt as if all eyes were on him. Watching him. Waiting for… something. But whenever he looked, all the other students seemed to be ignoring his existence.
He knew he had been paranoid before, but this was just…
He swallowed, weaving his way through the crowd, avoiding the glances in his direction, avoiding the looks—even from the younger students—that wondered why he was back. Even though there were still ten minutes before his class began, he slid into the last seat in the back corner. At least in this class, there wouldn't be anyone behind him. And if he were lucky, the seats closest to him would be empty as well. Such was the life of being the strange aloof enigma in the class. He knew it wasn't healthy—he had to listen to the psychologist, so he couldn't help but recognize the little truth in their words about his paranoia.
Taking what he hoped was a calming breath he settled into his chair and tried to work a little more on the back coursework. Classes hadn't even started and he already felt like he was walking on a tight rope. A rope that was bound to vanish as soon as it became inconvenient.
And as probability went, the day was only going to get worse.
The day just kept getting worse.
The moment his last class before lunch recess got out, Alex was the first out of the room and into the rapidly filling halls. Sometime in the middle of the last class, the all too familiar catch in his chest and allover panicked feeling had come over him. It had been all he could do to not leave the class in the middle of the period. Although being in the middle of the halls in the midst of the hoards was not any better, he knew it was the fastest route to a place his brain had tagged as safe.
Previous experience with the school told him that there were few safe locations during the lunch recess. However, only those that were cramming for exams tended to venture into the library during that hour. Most everyone took that hour to find human companionship. Alex wanted none of that. He wanted to be alone.
It was with a keen sense of desperation that he edged into the back of the library without the librarian noticing. If no one knew he was there, it would be best. By then, he felt the icy grip in his chest as he struggled to breathe—not because of any physical problems, but because that was just how his body reacted. Anyone who saw him might have thought that he had just gotten out of PE, or something of the sort, and he was out of breath. Or they might have caught on…
As it was, he was struggling to bring himself together, feeling as if someone were pulling him apart at the seams.
Not now!
This was not the time for this.
Only the small part of his brain screaming at him to stay in place, kept him from bolting from the school all together. Rationally, he knew that that would only succeed in bringing to light his current plight to them. He wasn't going to give them that. He had hidden it well enough.
His free hand gripped his hair, trying to calm down his frantic breathing.
Reason told him that panicking was only making things worse.
"…you hardly try to defend yourself…"
His brain told him there was no other way.
Reason told him that if he would just stop and breathe for a moment, it would get better.
The air was choking in his lungs… It had been so long…
His brain told him the air was gone.
"…you'll tell us, it'll just take some time."
He pressed himself into the furthest corner of the library, where there no windows, no doors, and most importantly, no watchful eyes. Only a worn and abandoned chair, pressed up against the wall.
His refuge.
Reason told him that someone nearby might be able to help.
"…the mighty have fallen…"
His brain told him that such a thing was impossible. No one could help.
He tried to gasp in more air—and this time it worked—before sinking back into the chair.
He shuddered, cold seeping into his bones, as reality reasserted itself around him. The panic and paranoia were still there, but lessened to the point where he could actually listen to the rational side. He was in control. He wasn't there anymore. He pulled his jacket out of his bag and slid it over his shoulders—not being able to slip his casted arm through without difficulty.
A glance at his watch told him that he had just over thirty minutes to regain his wits about him and pretend that everything was normal. This time, when he took in a deep breath, it served to relax him a little more.
For now, he just felt numb, and like he was missing pieces of the puzzle.
His paranoia in classes was at an all-time high—worse than when he had started at the school. Even sitting in the very back of his classes, he had still felt subjected to the stares of his peers—and really, they weren't his peers. They were essentially babies compared to what he had already been through. They would never survive in his world.
The last class of the morning though had apparently brought him to his tipping point. Very few people had had the guts to ask him about his hand—he had given them a terse story about some crushing accident at work, before ignoring them—but there were always one or two that tried to stare at him the entire class. The last class had messed with his preferred seating arrangement, forcing him into the middle of the room, and the staring classmates were that much closer.
He had twitched all throughout the class, trying desperately to portray a façade of normal. Until the teacher had gone off on a tangent talking about slogans and catch phrases of different groups—and latched onto one that had been far too close to a memory than he liked.
Even now, with nearly a full thirty minutes of distance, he shuddered. The phrase had been drilled into his mind over the past several months, made worse in the past several weeks, and was once again at the forefront of his mind.
SCORPIA never forgives. SCORPIA never forgets.
It was a cold day.
At the moment though, with his heart racing—as he was sure he would be found out—he didn't really notice the bite to the wind anymore.
It had been over a week since the new arrangement had started and he liked to think that he had played the part of annoyed yet bratty teen well enough to fool Markus into thinking that he was a normal teenager. It was a mask he was far too used to playing—and sometimes, he wasn't sure where the mask ended and his real thoughts and feelings started.
Although there had always been an annoyed snap to his words when they conversed—which was rare, because Alex hardly said anything nowadays—there had slowly come the acknowledgement that Alex hadn't strayed from his orders. Or so Markus thought.
After a week of playing nice though, Alex had plans. He had no desire to lie down and roll over for MI6. They might be his guardians on paper, but they had no control over him. He was quickly running out of options though, and he had to admit that Jones had at least been right with the fact that things couldn't continue as they had been.
He disagreed with her solution though.
It was long past time to take things into his own hands.
It was something he had toyed with long before he was kidnapped. Although for most of the time he had played by Jones' rules and let them know whenever he was going places, there were a handful of times he had dropped the mobile and struck out on his own—if only for a couple of hours. It was during those excursions that the plans had started forming, and he had started collecting… No one had been the wiser.
Now, he needed to get them back.
He knew MI6 still had possession of the flat, but most of his things had been returned to him. However, he knew how to pick a lock—thank you, Ian—and had hidden things around the flat. No one would have found the items, because they wouldn't have seen them. That was just how he liked it.
After a week of playing the perfect student, he had skipped out of his afternoon classes and taken to the streets—making sure to ditch his mobile in his customary spot in the library. If things went according to plan, he would be back at the school before anyone really started looking for him. Then, he would be free to implement the next step of his plan.
He pulled the hood up his jacket up and followed the stream of foot traffic though the familiar roads.
No one would notice him.
Only a couple blocks away from his flat, the entire plan spiraled wildly out of control.
In the alleyway he had taken dozens of times—Mistake! Stupid!—an arm reached out and grabbed him in a choke hold.
Panic immediately flooded his system, floundering for a solution and a quick way to talk himself out of the situation.
"And just what do you think you're doing here?" The voice spoke into his ear, casting a rush of warm air that sent shivers up his spine. "I think the little birdie is a little far away from his safe house. Don't you?"
Alex forced back a shudder, trying to will the utter panic away. This was not MI6—or MI5. They had not caught up with him. They were not getting after him for breaking his agreement. This was someone else.
"Thought it would be wise to tempt fate, huh?" The grip tightened ever so slightly, cutting off the air. "I guess you're stupider than we thought."
Alex clawed at the arm, but it was pointless. With one arm useless and immobilized in the sling, he wasn't much of a threat to anyone. He couldn't fight—and Mrs. Jones' words of warning came back to him. This was why they didn't want him on his own…
"Let's get straight to the point, shall we Rider? We know all about you. We know your history—after all; it wasn't much of a secret. We know all about the people you've been in contact with—so don't bother trying to play coy." The pressure released slightly. "And don't even think about trying to turn around. I'll let you go… eventually."
Alex swallowed, trying to calm the panic in his system. He needed to be able to think rationally. He had to take every opportunity given to him.
"So, how about we remind you about the little deal we made, huh?"
Alex blinked.
The deal…
The deal…
The deal…
"Tell us, Rider! Where can we find it?"
His stomach dropped as hazy memories of the… first week…? of the interrogation drifted through his mind. The last day was, for once, almost clear, but the other days were the usual vague feelings. Unfocused. Indistinct.
He couldn't remember any of it.
"We told you, you'd come to rue the day that you crossed us—and what do you think you did by denying us the information that is rightfully ours?"
"You want this to end? Just tell us."
"I don't know! I don't know! I don't know!"
Pain. Fiery. Disconnected.
"Then you got lucky, so we thought we should give you another chance to makes things right. You know where the information is. You know what it is and how to get it."
"You know what to do, Rider."
"So, I suggest, before you try to plan any kind of smart move that you hand it over. Or we might just have to take you back for some… reconditioning."
Alex gasped for air, as the grip was released, falling to his knees at the sudden rush of air.
"We'll be in contact Rider." A hand shoved a paper into his pocket. "Don't think we don't know where you're staying. You know what we're looking for, so we'll give you a chance to redeem yourself. You're living on borrowed time, Rider."
He didn't even try to turn around, still trying to gasp for air. He heard the crunch of gravel as whoever it was, slipped away. After a moment, there was the sound of a car speeding away in the opposite direction.
His limbs were shaking, his heart was racing, and the sense of impending doom was crushing the few thoughts that were still tumbling coherently in his mind. On automatic, he nearly ran the last couple of blocks to his old flat complex, stumbled up the stairs, and picked the lock with a disoriented and unfocused determination that would have impressed anyone.
He didn't care though.
The threat was ringing in his ears.
He was supposed to know the answers…
The uncontrollable panic washed over him as the door shut behind him, and he sank down onto the floor as he tried to forget just how messed up his life really was.
A/N: I'm sorry. So sorry! Life got crazy, my computer fizzled out (thank goodness for dropbox, or you'd all be really mad), and I've had limited access to a computer that was not education related. So... truth be told, I'm not sure when the next installment will be out, as I don't know when I'm going to have access again... I promise, this has not been abandoned! Now, onto the part that really matters...
Crazy Alex, I know… Get used to it. This is actually a pretty key part of the story. It will be really bad here for at least another chapter, but then it'll get just a tiny bit better. Promise. So please, leave a review and let me know what you thought. Theories as to what is actually going on. What you think is coming next.
Until next time,
S.B.L.
