VIII
Disclaimer: Same old, same old. Indy is not mine. Neither is anyone you recognize. Ivan and Alicia are my main brainchildren.
Have fun with this one… things are starting to get interesting, and mysterious!
The archaeologist strode against the flow of pedestrians, seeming to be the only one fighting the current. Steering away from a defeatist mindset, Indy snuffed the idea that this was an attempt on a cosmic level to keep him from progressing toward his destination. Although, the rest of the day hadn't exactly been a cakewalk…
Indy knew that haste was an issue, if his hunches were even partially correct. And, as a man that owed his survival – several times over – to gut feelings, Indy wasn't one to deny them often. He certainly paid more attention to them after the fairly recent incident with his father; if Indy had trusted his impulses more, perhaps that terribly inconvenient detainment at the Grunewald castle could have been avoided…
But that was then, Indy decided, pushing all inklings of the turbulent past from his mind. The intersection of 116th and Central Park West lay several hundred feet ahead now, quite a welcome landmark, as the archaeologist's apartment was less than a block beyond. His hand was open in expectant anticipation for the handle of the outermost door even though Indy was still reasonably far away. Grasping it with vigor, he swung the door open, ignoring an elderly man who clearly expected the younger pedestrian to hold the door for him. The man scooted backward in a flustered manner as he was almost knocked over on the backswing, huffing incredulously, as if his pride had been wounded severely. He smoothed down the front of his tweed jacket with theatric finesse, promptly turned around, and decided he had not really wanted to enter the building after all. Not that any of this caught the slightest fraction of Indy's attention, however, as he was nearly at the stairs now, having overtaken the lobby in a minimal number of long strides.
Indy continued up the dual flights, taking stairs two and three at a time, simultaneously fishing for the key in his pocket. He entered the apartment with the same quickness that had propelled him through the city congestion, which could be suffocating on a good day. It relieved Indy to know that he had made remarkably good time, but the feeling was brief, and the underlying motivation resurfaced. It was inherent that he couldn't slacken his pace until he made sure that Alicia was safe. Not anticipating a particularly lengthy outing – this anticipation being on the markedly optimistic side – Indy went directly for the essentials: webley, fedora, whip and jacket. Halfway through dressing and equipping himself, the archaeologist locked the door and was off toward the stairs once more. His constant and desperate hope was that she hadn't relocated since returning to Manhattan.
Ivan wound his way through the same crowd that had engulfed Indy, pulling Alicia along, close behind. She noticed that his movements were furtive and mechanical; the man seemed to be on a mission – but for what purpose, Alicia hardly wanted to think. This wasn't him at all. Ivan was the over-analytical, cool-headed sort – diplomatic, reasonable. Seven months ago, he had started out as her advisor, a bodyguard of sorts, and their relationship had grown, fed by his kindness and her eagerness. His former self seemed to have drifted upwards on a wisp of circumstance, the new qualities slowly settling down to fill the void, still floating above her comprehension.
Alicia could feel her limbs moving, although she couldn't imagine that she was controlling them. The numbness and disbelief caused by the morning's events had now wholly consumed her. Alicia was little more than a marionette – deaf and dumb to the world, her stiff body being dragged by taut strings. The pain that she had felt when Ivan had harshly grabbed her wrist had by now faded to a tingling. Alicia only realized that he had not let go from the constant jerking that punctuated her forward motion. Looking down, the blonde saw the angry red skin beneath his fingers, tinged with the purple of a new bruise.
The constant movement of the pair was halted momentarily by commotion at a nearby intersection. A disgruntled pedestrian idled in the crosswalk, impeding a swarm of police cars. The frustrated and anxious expressions of the officers inside, blazing lights and cacophony of sirens said that they were headed to something big, and they wanted to be there thirty seconds ago. Alicia had a good idea where that would be.
The obstruction finally found his legs and stumbled out of the crosswalk, to the shoulder of the road. The last of the police cars in line pulled over, and out of it came a rather perturbed deputy. The pedestrian strode away moments later clutching a ticket for J-walking and a slight attitude problem.
Ivan pushed forward once again, calculating that there were two blocks left to go.
"Do you have your keys?" he asked Alicia, without turning his head. It was the first thing he had said since dragging her from the museum.
Now that the silence was broken, words flooded to Alicia's lips. "Yes – What's going on, I – "
"Questions can wait until we're behind closed doors," said Ivan hastily, cutting her off so quickly she nearly bit her tongue. Hurt, Alicia fell instantly quiet, left to wonder what she could not say aloud. What is going on? Why won't Ian tell me anything? Did any of the others escape? A pang of grief. What about Indy? She remembered the echoes of gunshots as they dashed through the hallways.
The apartment building loomed half a block ahead. Ivan broke into a light jog, and Alicia lengthened her strides to keep up. The building was less of a welcomed sight than she had expected it would be. Not one bit of this felt right.