Thanks, ED, Tikatu, Zeilfanaat, Boleyn, Cathrl and Sam1. Partly edited, and again once back from the hockey game...
11: Addition
Okay, so he was on this plane, right? Leaving SoCal about a million miles behind to spend Thanksgiving break with the other side of his family… Dad's side. Mom was totally embarrassing at the airport. She, like, kissed him and junk, called him 'baby' in front of the whole freakin' world! Dude, she could've just dressed him in giant footie pajamas and stuck a bow in his hair to finish up. After that, even the take-off butterflies in his stomach were too humiliated to show!
If he ever managed to grow up, it'd be, like, no thanks to her. Okay, so she had only one kid. Did she have to wring him like a dish towel because of it? Dang, she drove him nuts!
Not that five days on ' Fantasy Island' were likely to ring his chimes, either; not with Huey, Dewey and Louie around to ignore/ can't stand him. Anyways…
He had 10,000 pounds of luggage. Maybe more. In fact, about the only thing his mom hadn't packed was herself. Geez… there was a full-body-shiver thought… opening up a suitcase and having Mom bounce out going,
"Surprise, Baby!"
Oh, man; someone just pull…the…dang…trigger.
It was a long flight, kind of a big luxury jet, and Alan Tracy was the only passenger. He had a book and a pencil, with which he amused himself for a time by flipping blindly to new pages and finger-pointed words, looking for secret messages. Seven random stops, every time.
Attacks… help… picnic… catalog… fiercely… readers… lurking.
Huh? What the heck was that supposed to mean? Maybe backward?
"Lurking readers fiercely catalog picnic-help attacks," Alan mumbled aloud, puzzled by the book's oracular nonsense. So… he was supposed to watch out for sneaky smart guys at an outdoor barbecue?
His brother, 'Prince John, the emo wonder-boy', came to mind… but, no; John was more armored than dangerous… usually. He neither liked nor disliked Alan. Just kind of ignored him, like Scooter and Virgie.
Okay, so, again with the book, then.
"What's gonna happen at Dad's?"
Horrible… destroyed… question…my brothers… something… about… that.
Whoa. And that's what he got for questioning Lemony Snicket: horrible, destructive brothers.
Alan gave up, tossed the stupid book aside and went back to his other time-waster; video games. He had a real nice PlayStation Nano that his mom had got him with Dad's-new secretary's-almost late birthday check. Top of the line. Played, like, everything and even let you design and program your own RPGs and stuff. Neat, huh? Except that he'd already played for four hours, straight, and was getting pretty bored with his latest fantasy quest. Only so many ways you could rescue the princess, y'know? Maybe if there'd been some other players… but Alan did not excel at making friends.
He shut off the PS Nano and shoved it back in his shorts pocket. Just then the plane hit some turbulence, which livened things up a little. He could hear muted cursing from the cockpit, and someone had to come back and clean up his spilled food, giving Alan an excuse to talk. The stewardess was friendly, in that 'just doing my job with the boss's son' kind of way, but she wiped up the tacos too quick, and disappeared like water.
Alan was pretty much almost eleven; kind of scruffy on the outside with cool-looking spiked hair and skater-dude clothes, but inside a mess of worry, nerves and (just a little) hope. Like a Twinkie, if there were bugs in it that bit you right back.
Hey… plenty of guys would've killed to be him; to have a rich dad, live in California or an island, ride out of school early on a private jet. Plenty of guys.
See, half the time he was an only child; the micro-focus of his mother, who spoiled him frickin' rotten. (And he got cool stuff because of it, too. Everything he said he wanted.)
But, okay… the other half he'd until now spent on a series of really boring 'vacations' to Podunk, Wyoming. The other half of his life, he just didn't matter to anyone but Grandma and Granddad. Not even a fifth wheel, he got his older brothers' attention by acting like a total butt: attaching powerful magnets to John's computer, shutting off all the cold water, filling the sugar bowl with salt, soaking all their clean underwear and then tossing it out in the snow… stuff like that.
He learned to hide and to run fast, because Scott was, like, unforgiving; zero sense of humor, just 24/7 lectures and poundings. Virgil tried to get even, but he wasn't quite sneaky or quick enough, and got most of his half-butt schemes turned right back on him. (Heh!) John usually just cleaned up the mess in frozen silence, like a blond zombie. Except for that one time (a total accident, for real; Alan hadn't even meant to spook the stupid pregnant horse). Dude. He hadn't known John could get mad, much less magnesium-flare scary.
So, what was going to happen this time? Did being in a new place mean starting over? If he, like, chilled… just sorta let them relax around him… would they start talking, and stuff? Forgive him for not being stupid, dumb, long-dead Gordon?
Yeah, right; and his butt was made of solid gold and diamond dust. Smarter to start planning, and to hit the ground running.
Alan had the sudden urge to throw up all those chicken-ranch tacos and cherry sodas, which another bout of severe turbulence didn't help any. He strapped himself into the soft leather seat, watching cloud droplets commit suicide on the window. Dang… usually, he liked flying.
The pilot called back to apologize for all the bouncing, and Alan was like,
"Yeah, whatever, Dude."
…Played it off like he hadn't even noticed.
They arrived at the island three hours later, just before the storm broke.
Earlier, another time-
It was Jeff Tracy's firm belief that everything would have been different… better… if Lucinda hadn't died. If the boys hadn't whined their way onto that tense 'second honeymoon'… if he'd just been able to grab for Lucy instead of stabilizing Scott… he'd have saved her life and had a chance to mend things between them.
But regrets and 'what ifs' were the purview of drunks and dreamers. Jeff Tracy didn't mourn history, he changed it. Scientists could be bought, machines built. With money and willpower enough, he could reach into the past and save his wife… or so he assured himself.
Accordingly, some years before bringing his family to the island, Jeff engaged 'Doctor Hackenbacker', offering the man a permanent blank check and utter anonymity. He'd followed these gifts with a single, all important demand: Build me a bridge to the past. A way to save Lucinda.
But as a wise man once said, be careful what you wish for.
