par après avs yeux

- a jalex story-

a/n: Everyone still enjoying the story? I know the last chapter was a lot to wade through, my I needed to give some background. This is where the real idea for the story begins and hopefully no one will be too confused. I'm not sure if this idea has been used before, but if I've accidentally stolen it I apologize. Reviews are welcome and much appreciated (:


chapter three - alex


Et la terreur lui-même est un exemple du caractère incontrôlable du monde.

And the terror itself is an example of the world's uncontrollability. - Ulrich Beck


This has to be a joke.

My first thought involves a werewolf creeping up the side of the building and leaving the note to frighten us, but a quick glance at the window reveals that the lock is firmly in place. And we locked the door before we -

A flush colors my face and neck at the thought of the past few hours and I make a mental note not to bring it up again. Ignoring the guilt that soon follows - slept with your own brother, allowed him to commit adultary, lied to your parents, Max, the world - I roll off the bed slowly enough not to wake Justin. Usually, he sleeps like a rock, but there have been times where he's an insomniac and I don't want to risk it. Something is going on and if anyone can figure it out, it's the queen of scheming. Justin would only get in the way.

The smell of vanilla, jasmine and Justin's scent swirl and bind together in the air and I don't know quite how to feel about. Juliet's scent for her fiance, my scent and Justin's scent mixed together = the scent of us, of adultary. I shiver at the thought. I shouldn't have done this becuase now it's going to hurt worse when I lose him.

If I don't lose him now.

My jeans are wrapped around one of the bedposts - Justin must have flung them there during the "I'm going to try and be sexy while wearing my Captain Jim Bob Sherwood boxers" phase a few hours back - and I pull them towards me, sliding them on over my legs. My bra comes next, the cute one with the hearts that I wore for no reason at all, not like I predicted this, and just as I throw on the blouse I was wearing my gaze lands on the note again. I grab it, try to flatten out the wrinkles.

Get dressed and go downstairs or Justin dies.

The smile I wasn't aware I had on like an idiot slowly drifts off my face when I re-read the note and wonder what it could mean. It's recent, was probably written in the past few days. While the post-it-note is slightly crumpled, there aren't any smudge marks it might obtain from being fisted in someone's hand or being exposed to the light for too long. The words would have faded away if it was old, but they sit there, shiny, black, mocking.

Did Juliet figure out what was going on? I wonder. But she had known Justin was coming over here, so why would she bother following him and leaving this note after we -

I blush again, dismiss the thought. I probably have to rule out the blood-sucking blonde; while I don't like the fact that she is going to marry Justin, she is pretty nice and I can't begrudge her for loving my brother. She's perfectly allowed to. It just hurts that to know that he reciprocates those feelings. But if it wasn't her, then who could it have been?

The thought of all those phone messages occurs to me and my face darkens. If Mason is the person behind this, I am going to -

A whimper echoes from the bed and I turn to look at Justin - something I've been trying to avoid in case I lose him, or should I say, when I lose him. He has his hands clenched around the pillow I was using earlier, his face pinched and his nose crinkled. Adorable, I think, wondering why he looks so youthful this morning. Then he whimpers again and I see the most terrifying thing I ever have in my entire life.

A red line is tracing itself from the left side of his neck towards the right and his face screws up even more as blood begins to drip down his neck. Something is severing his head. I want to scream, to panic, to fling myself at him but I'm frozen. I remember the note.

Get dressed and go downstairs or Justin dies.

"Okay," I hiss desperately, wondering who or what I am talking to, "I'll go downstairs. Please don't hurt him."

The red line slows down increasingly as I back towards the door and finally it stops. The blood dries and I see the red line for a second before it shimmers away into nothingness. Justin's face relaxes and my heart aches as I realize that he's not even aware of what almost just happened. Crap, magic is involved. My hand curls around the door-knob and something else occurs to me.

Magic means it could be anyone.

Oh God.


As I wander down the stairs, I wonder why Mom decided to put back up all the old paintings that Justin, Max and I (mainly them, not me) did when we were younger. My fingers trace over the edge of the painting Justin completed in fifth grade: a suggestive model of what life could be on the planets closer to the sun if we figured out how to deflect the sun's heat. There are buildings with tiny people standing in them - smiling, of course; what detail - and a river runs along the bottom, expressing the human need for clean water to survive. On the back, hidden by the wall, Justin had outlined the process towards the Mars renovation and human relocation in very precise steps labeled with subcatagories. He had been so excited about it, had wanted to go right to the Wizard Council and show them, but Mom stopped him and told him to give it a few years.

Justin never went to the Council with his idea. He got preoccupied with more important things, I suppose. The thought brings a wave of nostalgia to my chest and I swallow, remembering that I'm not supposed to care so much.

When did I start caring? When did the little smiles between us start meaning so much? When did I start letting him teach me study habits not only because I started caring about school - a miracle indeed - but because I enjoyed his presence? When did I realize how clammy his hand felt wrapped around mine, not like Max's in the least? When did I know that he was so much more than my brother?

I suddenly break from my distracting thoughts and see that I'm still staring stupidly at the painting Justin did. The memory of a blood-soaked line drawing across Justin's neck brings me back to focus and I continue down the stairs. The living room and kitchen look totally turned around. The curtains are back to those old, red holey ones Dad had found at a garage sale and smuggled in when I was eleven and plates are stacked on the table as though we're all home and about to come down for breakfast before school. The mirror is back on the dark wall above the lamp I was constantly breaking as a teenager and I wonder when Mom got the time to remodel. She probably wants to surprise us, I think, taking large strides towards the kitchen. Remind us of the old days and all.

I respect Mom for her dedication. I would never have the patience to stay up and do something like this. I'd probably just wave my wand and -

wait, where is my wand?

Reaching down towards my feet, I pat the gray boots down and sigh when I figure out that I must have left it upstairs. I would go get it, but the thought of Justin's head being severed is enough to keep me looping around the island in the kitchen and towards the fridge.

"Trying to smuggle breakfast to your room?"

I turn to meet my mom's annoyed expression and wonder why she's irritated. Is it that important for her to pretend that we're all a big happy family again?

"Sorry?" It comes out as a half question. "Is everyone still sleeping?" I ask, crossing my arms over my chest.

Mom rolls her eyes, "I'd hope not. Don't want you guys being late to school...again." She opens the fridge and reaches for something in back, then fixes her eyes on me with something like frustration. "I got another call from Professor Laritate."

"Oh." I shrug, wondering why Professor Laritate would bother to call the school, unless he wants to coordinate a twelve year reunion for my old senior class. That must be it. I knew he always liked me. "How is he doing? Still obsessed with Western culture and yipee-kai-eh-ing?"

"Of course," Mom says, looking confused now. "You act like you haven't seen him in years. Have you been playing hooky again?"

"Hooky?" I ask, getting really confused. As I reach back to ruffle my hair - an old habit - I frown and feel how my hair is suddenly down half my back. When did this happen? Was I in a coma or something?

Mom lays a roll of bagels on the counter and sets a jar of cream cheese beside it like she used to do when I was young. She'd always prepare breakfast for us, at least until I begged her to give me a shot and promised that I wouldn't burn the kitchen down.

"Professor Laritate said that you'd been passing notes about Mr. Summers during his speech on Liberal Humanism," Mom tells me, slicing open one of the bagels and giving me a look that means I'd better get start talking. Problem is, I have no idea what the hell she's referring to. I can barely even remember high school now, though I re-use some of the old pranks from time to time.

"That was senior year, Mom," I respond uncertainly, leaning on the counter and ignoring the way she winces when I wipe my fingers on the recently cleaned surface. "I mean, I know Mr. Summers brings me up every parent teacher conference as 'the student you do not want to be under any circumstances lest you get your head cut off by him personally' but why would he -"

"Alex, please," Mom cuts me off, spooning some cream cheese out and slathering it on half the bagel. Ew, cold. "I know you want to be grown up and all, but I've told you a thousand times. I don't think you're ready for the adult world. If this is your way of asking me to buy you a car, the answer is still no."

I think of my old silver Saturn Aura I'd saved up for all those years ago and wonder what on earth is going on. The magic, Justin's throat, everything on the walls, Mom telling me that she's not going to get me my first car...what the hell is happening? Are we role-playing or something? I remember quite vividly the day my parents bought me a used station wagon and told me that I had to pay for gas like the cheap parents they were. It was so long ago, but she's making it sound like it never happened in the first place.

"Can I use the restroom please?" I ask slowly, my head spinning a little.

Mom freeze in the middle of muttering to herself and looks at me really funny like. "When have you ever asked?" she wonders, waving me off. "Fine, we'll put off the inevitable conversation about losing privileges. Just no texting Dean and setting up your next expensive reunion. Consider your texting plan banned."

I stumble off to the bathroom.

Dean? Mr. Summers? First car? Mom taking things away from me?

My eyes connect with my reflection in the bathroom mirror and I cover my mouth in shock. Oh God, what did we do?

I am looking at the perfect replication of my seventeen year old self. There is a blue post-it note on the edge of the mirror with the same scrawled writing.

Play along. Do not react unusually, or there will be severe consequences.


I find myself in Justin's room a minute later - after sneaking past Mom in the kitchen and up the stairs trying to be quiet - with my phone in one hand and a calendar in another. Finally, Justin's obsession with the world clock and time differences pays off, I think as I flip through the calendar filled with little green x marks. He'd always found red marks offensive as a kid and so chose to mark everything in green; the memory returns to me easily and I soon understand that time is slipping away from me.

I can vaguely remember what happened back when I was twenty-eight. Justin and I had been kissing, I'd locked the door, we'd had sex on the bed - don't blush, damn it - and after that all I remember is passing out. There had to have been some practical joke spell set so that we'd be teleported back before the wizard competition. But it's sure a freakin' intense one, what with the slitting of Justin's neck and all. The question is, who's behind it?

A friend? A practical joke from Dad to teach us responsibility, maybe? Or someone willing to hurt us?

The last one makes me shiver; then I groan as I see the mark on the calendar. May 1st, a few days before my senior graduation, and about a month before the wizard competition in which Justin and I got our full powers. My heart sinks when I realize that my full wizard powers have yet again been stolen from me. Something always gets in the way of me keeping them and it usually has to do with a selfish decision on my part, but not always. I feel kind of empty without them, remember for a second all the times I've used my powers since graduation and hope that I'll get them back. It's impossible to describe how much I love my powers and how lost I'd be without them.

My other hand busies itself clicking buttons on my phone - I became a boss driving and texting years ago; well, in the future now - and sifting through my messages. There are several flirty messages Dean and I exchanged, something from Mason, one from Mom reminding me to pick up her dress from the dry-cleaners and one from Justin several weeks ago. As I read the messages, I realize how juvenile I was and wish that I didn't have to have the mind of a twenty-eight year old.

With a little whine, I snap my phone shut and shove it in my pocket. The calendar finds its way mercilessly to the floor, lying there in a crumpled pile where I dropped it. There isn't anything out of the ordinary in my phone and all I know is that we're stuck in the past, which means I have to wake up the naked older brother in my bed and explain to him just what happened. That will be interesting, considering I don't even know what's going on myself.

The door to Justin's room clicks shut softly behind me - thanks to Justin's Helping Hand in his room who opens things, etc., and hates me - and I turn to my door across the hall with a hint of trepidation. Knowing my brother, he'll probably scream, cover himself up and tell me that I'm being irrational. He'll want to hit the books.

My door is still slightly ajar and I ease my way into the silence of my room, holding my back and rolling my eyes at myself when I realize that I'm just building the tension. Justin is still clutching my pillow as though it's a life-raft and there's a little smile on his face that I hate to disrupt. For just a second, I think I can see the hint of a bloody line on his neck but it disappears and I figure my mind is playing tricks on me. Nothing new, especially when Justin is concerned.

"Hey, dork," I murmer, my hand prodding his shoulder. "Dude, wake up."

Justin makes a little sleepy noise, smacks his lips and rolls over to the other side of the bed, still sleeping.

Huffing, I hurry to the other side of the bed and slap him across the face with just enough force to leave a mark. No matter what age we are, Justin and I still have to keep up pretenses. Besides, a little bruise will help Justin convince the jocks he's been wrestling in his free time. That, and reading "How To Be a Jock For Dummies."

As predicted, Justin shoots up half-way in my bed, his arms flailing and nearly hitting me. "Who - what - the hell," he sputters, looking absolutely stunned. What a suck-up.

"Now, now," I say, putting on my most mature voice. "Is that anyway to use the extensive vocabulary you've acquired through your nerd classes?" The look on his face is priceless, then it fades to be replaced by shock. He's seeing the seventeen year old me.

His mouth opens and he looks like he's going to scream, so I shove one of his textbooks in between his lips and watch him gag.

"Obviously we've got a problem," I tell him, holding up the two notes for him to see.

Justin's eyes bulge, his hands start shaking and I wait for him to explode. One - two -

He screeches in a very Justin-like manner.


..::.:.:::être continué:::.:.::..

..:.:..::...to be continued..::..:.:::.:..