Alive
Alex opened his eyes.
Where am I?
He was in a four-poster bed and was wearing pinstriped pajamas underneath the thick blankets. The room looked sickeningly ornate with heavy velvet curtains hanging from the windows and thick blood red carpet.
"What happened?" he asked aloud. There was no answer.
Alex quickly got up. He saw a wardrobe and looked for anything familiar. There was a gray suit that would fit him, a brown and white Quicksilver sweatshirt, a few t-shirts, and two pairs of jeans hanging in the closet, but there was nothing of his own. He changed into a t-shirt and jeans and pulled the sweatshirt over his head. As he did, he noticed that his chest was bandaged up.
The door opened behind him. A woman entered – a nurse.
"Good morning, Mr. Rider," she said.
"Where am I?" he asked.
"You've been through quite an ordeal, Alex," the woman said. "It wouldn't surprise me if you're in shock."
"Just tell me what happened!" Alex's voice rose.
"You were shot."
Alex rolled his eyes. "I know that. What I want to know is how I ended up here and where here is."
"Attitude, young man. You were retrieved from the hospital and sent here," the nurse said. "And you are in Scotland."
Alex waited for a further explanation. When none came, he said, "But why send me here? Where in Scotland? When am I going home? Did you catch the person who shot me? What is MI6 planning to do about my absence? How much time have I a spent here?"
"So many questions," the nurse said sadly. "Questions are dangerous, Alex. As a spy, I would have guessed you knew that already."
"What?"
"Come. I'm not the right person to explain this to you," and with that she led him out of the room.
They entered what seemed to be an office at the end of the hall. There was a frail old man sitting behind the desk wearing a navy blue tie and light blue shirt underneath his lab coat and a man in his late thirties/early forties wearing a dark gray suit sitting in front of him. He had tussled dark brown hair that had shots of gray in it and he had wrinkles around his eyes. Without the gray and the wrinkles, he would look relatively young. But this man looked as if he had aged before his time came and his eyes held secrets in them to turn them dark. His face was serious, but at least his smile, which was very reserved to say the least, was friendly. He stood up as the nurse and Alex entered the room.
"Mr. Rider," he said, extending his hand. "It's an honor to meet the boy who saved the world."
Alex shook his hand slowly.
"My name is Jack Porter – I've replaced Alan Blunt as the head of MI6," the man said. "Oh, and this is Dr. Stevens," he said, pointing to the old man.
"How do you do?" the old man wheezed.
"I'm a little confused," Alex replied honestly.
"Ah," Jack Porter said. "Well, I'm here to rectify that, Mr. Rider. May I call you Alex?"
"Sure, why not?" Alex said shrugging.
"Have a seat, then Alex," Mr. Porter said, but he remained standing himself. He put his hands in his pockets and addressed him. "Oh, and in case you are wondering what happened to Alan Blunt, he was simply demoted to a lesser rank in our organization. He's simply a paper pusher for the time being. Well my boy, I'm sure you are wondering why you are here," Mr. Porter said.
"Wouldn't you?"
"Yes I would," Mr. Porter said nodding. "Well the fact is, Alex . . . I suppose that you're a big boy, you can handle this, so I'll just skip to the point – which is that Scorpia does indeed want you dead – which is why they hired a man to shoot you down as you exited the . . . bank, as it were." Mr. Porter looked at him expecting him to say something.
Alex remained silent.
"Right then. You were actually quite lucky that someone was there to help you out," Mr. Porter said. "Your guardian angel was quite capable, really, and was able to gun down your shooter, stop you from bleeding to death, and then disappear by the time people gathered around. The MI6 took it from there – transporting you to a hospital, then to here. They transported you here because it would look very odd if you were sleeping on a hospital bed at the same time that you were being buried next to your uncle."
"What? So you mean - ?"
"Scorpia thinks you're dead. Well placed connections fed them a story that for a while, it looked as if you could have come out of critical condition but in the end you gave up the fight for your life and now friends all mourned your death. Which was half true. Except that you did come out of critical condition, but of course we couldn't let them know that, now could we?"
"I suppose," Alex said. "So, what about everybody else? Did you tell Jack I'm here? What about the people from school?"
"We told all of them that you are still fighting for your life in a coma," Mr. Porter said. "Miss Starbright knows that this supposed coma comes from you being shot, but your teachers think it was because you had an accident on your bike. It wasn't so hard to believe for them because people are aware of some of those . . . thrills you had on your school trip to Venice. Interesting way to take down thieves, by the way. Bird seed and pigeons. Unlikely weapons of a hero, don't you think?"
Alex ignored the last few comments. "Whatever. When am I going home?"
"Oh . . . " Mr. Porter looked down at his watch and scratched his head. "In about three months."
"What?" Alex was incredulous.
"The people who run Scorpia aren't complete morons, Alex," Mr. Porter said. "They've already doubted that there's a body inside your grave. Luckily for us, we managed to get somebody from on our side to lie to them and tell them that there is. They had to fake some x-ray prints to do so. Fact is, Alex, that your school and your home are being watched. If their people saw you walking around, I'd bet good money that they'd figure stuff out. Consider yourself lucky that we didn't have to tell all your friends that you were dead. At least this way, you'll be able to resume your life after this all blows over."
Alex was speechless. He still didn't like the situation, but he didn't know how it could be better either.
"What am I to do in the meantime then?" Alex asked.
Dr. Stevens spoke this time. "We need to keep you hidden here, apparently. You will have a tutor, because you still need to keep you educated. Hopefully, you can go back to school with a head start instead of being behind. Keeping you here will have other benefits as well. We'll be able to monitor your recovery better and the MI6 will safe contact with you. You may be back at home even sooner than three months."
Mr. Porter nodded. "We'll keep in touch, Alex. We'll make sure that you get home A.S.A.P."
Alex looked at the two of them and nodded.
"That's all settled then," Mr. Porter said. "Any more questions?"
"Yeah," Alex said. "What is this place?"
Mr. Porter looked at him. His face was unreadable. Then something that looked like sympathy appeared behind his eyes before it disappeared again. He smiled sadly at Alex. "Oh, this is just a place made especially for people like you. It's a safe haven . . . life put on pause for those who have seen their lives flash much too quickly before their eyes. I was here once, too, you know Alex. But I was not so lucky as you are now. You will have a life to return to. I had to begin all over again."
His face still held no emotion, but Alex could almost feel the sadness coming off of Mr. Porter. "Well," he said, taking his had and his coat off from the rack by the door of Dr. Stevens' office , "I'd best be off. Good luck, Alex, I'll keep in touch."
Dr. Stevens cleared his throat once Mr. Porter left. "Well, Mr. Rider, lunch should be served in about half an hour. It will be sent to your room. Your lessons will be taught in the library which is down the hall to your right from my office." He stopped.
"Anything else?" Alex asked.
"I suppose you hear this a lot," Dr. Stevens said, "But you do look terribly like Ian Rider. Your personality, however, is more like that of John Rider."
"You know my uncle? You know my dad?"
"You aren't the first Rider I've had visit me here," Dr. Stevens said. "Your uncle was the last to be here. He only stayed a few days. I suppose that makes you the fourth, and hopefully the final Rider."
"Fourth?" Alex asked as they exited the office.
"Excuse me?"
"You said fourth, but there are only three of us," Alex said.
"Only three?"
"My dad, my uncle, and me."
"Oh. Oh, yes, of course," Dr. Stevens said. "My mistake. Well, run along now. You might want to acquaint yourself with the place."
"Is there anyone here but me?" Alex asked.
"Yes – but I think that it would be wise that you keep to yourself. Our other guests, few of them as there are, have their own worries. They needn't be bothered."
Alex walked down the hall to his room and sighed at the thought of the next few weeks in this place. But in any case, he was grateful that he was alive.