Chapter 32

"Big shocker—I'm not prom queen," Michelle joked. Alex grinned and gave her thigh a squeeze under the table. Her dress for the end of the year dance was almost scandalous, but she was easily the sexiest girl there. It kind of amazed Alex that a girl like her was there with a guy like him, but he'd learned that Michelle was much deeper and less superficial than she had been labeled. She was funny. Smart. Alex loved how easy it was to talk to her, and how she never took crap from anyone. She was a fighter, with a soft-spot for the ocean like him, and dreams of getting back to the tropics some day.

Next to them sat Francis and Matthew, the new "it" couple of World Academy. The fame of the Hallway Project had propelled both of them into the limelight. At times, Matthew seemed a bit alarmed and overwhelmed by all the attention, but his growth over the year had allowed him to find his own voice and strengths. He stood beside Francis now, instead of in his shadow.

As always, Ivan was banned from the dance, but Yao had come with Kiku and Heracles, who rounded out their table. Patti was supposed to have been the eighth person at their table, but at the last minute, she'd been asked to the dance by a rather shy older boy. Matthew wished Alfred could have been there to see her dancing and smiling and blushing, looking quite transformed in the dress she'd picked out with Michelle. In her place, (surprising everyone) Tony had decided to come. He was dressed in a purple tux and he was taking notes on everyone as if they were research subjects, but he'd actually come. Eventually, he'd explained his behavior. He knew that Alfred would be sorry he missed the event, so he was meticulously documenting everything that happened. It was oddly sweet of him, in Matthew's opinion. They all missed Alfred, though. Alfred, however, had been home for weeks now and the school year was almost over. It was sad, but nobody suspected he'd return.

That was why almost total silence descended in the elegant venue when the doors opened and the butlers politely waved in Alfred Jones and Arthur Kirkland. Arthur was pushing Alfred in a wheel chair, but still.

Alfred's grin was ear to ear, Arthur smiled his shy, crooked little smile, and the student body erupted in cheers and noise. Arthur's hand dropped onto Alfred's shoulder and gently squeezed. Arthur was so incredibly proud and happy for Alfred, because he'd moved mountains to make so much progress. He worked tirelessly to recover one hundred percent, against all odds—it was just Alfred's way to never give up.

Matthew was stumbling to his feet and all but running towards the pair. He launched himself to the side of the chair and gave Alfred as delicate a hug as he could manage, not sure how fragile he still was, or if any tubes and monitors were hidden under his slightly baggy tuxedo.

"You're here!" Matthew shouted happily, which really wasn't all that loud considering he was so soft-spoken by nature.

"Isn't it great? I'm good as new!" Alfred replied. His speech was even quick again, and there was none of the shakiness in his hands that Matthew had seen when he'd visited Alfred's house the weekend before.

"Can you stand?" Matthew asked, suddenly worried. He'd never seen Alfred out of bed. What if he'd been paralyzed and he just hadn't wanted to say anything?

"For a little bit at a time. Walking is still a little rough. My muscles are jelly," Alfred replied. That was the only conversation they managed to share before well-wishers swarmed the duo. Everyone wanted to say something to them—even kids they didn't even know. Ashley was particularly fake and obnoxious when she greeted him, but Alfred took the higher road and merely smiled and thanked her for wishing him a fast recovery. As she left, in a rather eyesore of a prom dress, Alfred muttered so only Arthur could hear, "What a two-faced little—"

"Alfred!" Arthur interjected, surprised to hear Alfred speak ill of anyone. Not even a few months ago, he would have happily accepted Ashley's false friendliness and misinterpreted it as sincerity. It seemed even Alfred had learned not to trust so blindly. Arthur thought it was a good thing, but it still surprised him a little.

"You're right. I shouldn't bad talk her. Then I'd be no different than she is," Alfred said wisely. Arthur, however, disagreed. Alfred had no reason to ever worry that he was similar to Ashley Winters.

After the rush died down and the party resumed, they finally got to sit at the overcrowded table with their friends and catch up. Alfred wanted to know everything that had been happening at school, as well as what had become of the Hallway Project. In total, and this had amazed even Francis, they had raised over two million dollars through charitable donations to the cause, most of them anonymous. Arthur smiled, truly glad that something so fantastic had come out of such horrible circumstances.

"That's amazing. Francis, Michelle, Matthew...you all did the Hero Club proud, I'd say," Arthur praised. Alfred reached for his hand and Arthur laced their fingers together, smiling at his boyfriend. "And you, too, of course. Ever my hero," Arthur said. It was sappy, and he usually didn't say such things in public, but he was just so proud of Alfred, and of all his friends really. They were amazing, each and every one of them.

"Well, Artie, will you give your hero a dance?" Alfred asked.

"Alfred, I don't know if you're quite ready for dancing," Arthur said nervously. Alfred just smiled at him, easy and bright. He had such an amazing smile. It made Arthur melt a little just to look at it.

"Aww, come on. Just one, little dance won't hurt. 'Sides, we can just stand and sway. Mattie'll go ask for a slow song." Happy to oblige, Matthew raced to the DJ booth with his mind whirling with possibilities.

After some maneuvering, Alfred managed to stand on his own. He extended his hand to Arthur, and as a show of encouragement from Mr. Allowick (who was running the lights) suddenly the venue was dark and twinkly, with little white lights swirling all about. Arthur took Alfred's hand, and subtly helped him until they were standing on the edge of the dance floor, surrounded by other lovestruck couples. Arthur thought it was impossible that any of them loved their dates as much as he loved Alfred Jones. The music started slow, and sweet, and it was one of those absolutely perfect moments. Arthur and Alfred both knew that it was a moment of a lifetime. It was a dance to celebrate all they'd survived, and all they'd learned. They stood together, invincible and immortal, golden and shining.

Heart beats fast, colors and promises

How to be brave

How can I love when I'm afraid to fall?

But watching you stand alone,

All of my doubt suddenly goes away somehow.

One step closer.

I have died everyday, waiting for you

Darling, don't be afraid.

I have loved you for a thousand years.

I'll love you for a thousand more.

"I will, Alfred. I'll love you forever. You will always be my first and only love," Arthur said in a soft whisper. He rested his cheek against Alfred's chest, and his wild fringe fitted just perfectly under Alfred's chin. The taller boy's arms encircled his hips loosely, and they swayed to the music, barely even moving but stealing the show.

"I love you too, Arthur. You're...you're...aw, I don't know how to say it. You know I'm not good with words. You just have to know that I'll always protect your heart. You'll always be safe here," Alfred promised, gently squeezing his arms around Arthur's form.

Arthur felt himself growing a little misty eyed, and he chuckled against Alfred's crisp tux. "I think you have just the right words. You always do with me, love," Arthur reassured. After a few more shuffling steps and sweetly crooned lyrics, the song ended with a surprise—silvery glitter dropped over the students, the grand finale to the final, magical dance of the evening. Arthur and Alfred laughed, their faces slanting in perfect rhythm towards each other. They shared a perfect kiss, and the moment seemed like it would be theirs forever.

As they rode back to the White House together in the back of the limousine, Arthur helped himself to a glass of chilled sparkling cider that had been waiting on them. Champagne glass in one hand, Arthur sleepily went about loosening his tie and settling comfortably against Alfred's side.

"I'm glad you talked me into going. It was horribly cheesy," Arthur grumbled with a fond smile. Alfred shared his grin and carded his fingers through Arthur's hair. He was obviously and completely worn out.

"Still sad we missed going to the restaurant with everyone before the dance..." Alfred murmured. Alfred was sagging in exhaustion. His eyes were already fluttering shut.

"Ah, well, there's always next year for huge pasta dishes and cheesecake," Arthur joked. Alfred spoke through an impossibly huge yawn.

"Yaww...but I wanted ta' treat you—the works for my guy," Alfred mumbled sleepily. Arthur smiled against his jaw.

"I'll hold you to that. We haven't been on a proper date in ages," Arthur said, sipping on his sparkling cider. He glanced out the window, watching the lights of the city blur past. Suddenly, Arthur's eyebrows forked downwards in concern. "Alfred, wake up. This isn't the way back to the White House," Arthur said in alarm.

"Huh?" Alfred replied, still mostly out of it. Arthur's hand flew to his trouser pocket, but his phone was not there—he remembered in a flash—it was in his coat pocket, and his coat was—

"Yeah, it's up here with me, Arthur. Not sharp enough, Artie...didn't you think it odd that the security team rode with you on the way here, but weren't here for the ride back?"

The voice echoed in the limousine from an intercom, but their view of the driver was blocked by the dark, impenetrable glass.

It didn't matter. They both recognized the voice.

"Mike!" Arthur shouted, spilling the drink and scrambling for the door handle. They were going fast, but they had to attract attention! It was no good, the handle did nothing and the locks were missing. Arthur began to breathe hard, panicking, because he had nothing to defend them and no way to let other drivers know there was a problem.

"Arthur, up there!" Alfred said, nodding his head up to the skyroof. Arthur jumped for it, pried it open against the automatic system, and had his torso half out before Mike caught on and began to harshly force the window shut. The glass and metal cut painfully against Arthur's abdomen, and much to Arthur's dismay, they were down an isolated road now—there weren't any cars tailing them. He began to scream anyway, but it did no good. The merciless wind whipped his words away and soon he was banging on the top of the vehicle and screaming in pain rather than in alarm. He could hear Alfred's muffled shouts below, but still the glass and metal cover kept ramming him. Finally, when he knew his whole stomach would be one giant bruise, the window slid open again and he collapsed in a weakened heap back into the limousine. The door slid shut finally, and a locking button was heard.

"Ah ah ah—good try, but I've waited too long for us to be alone. I can't let you get away that easily, baby," Mike's voice practically purred over the intercom.

"LET US GO YOU SICKO!" Alfred roared, trying weakly to help Arthur back into the seat. Arthur was coughing harshly, rubbing his bruising stomach where there was a thin line of blood where the skin had sliced open.

"You? Oh, I'll be letting you go all too soon, and all too happily—you've been the only person standing between me and my Arthur, after all. It's a shame I didn't finish you off with that bat."

"I'm going to kill you! I'm going to strangle you with my bare hands, Mike!" Arthur screamed, but tears were clouding his cheeks. They were trapped, and completely at Mike's mercy.

"DON'T CALL ME THAT!" Arthur's former guard screamed. Alfred and Arthur exchanged desperate, frightened looks.

"It's your name, isn't it?" Alfred said shakily. Their driver's disgust was apparent when he replied.

"A cover, obviously, you dumb piece of shit! My name is Alfred, isn't that right, Arthur baby? I'm the one you really love. I'm the one you've been calling for."

Arthur's eyes widened in alarm and completely confusion. "What the bloody hell are you on about? You're mental!"

"NO. I know you've been waiting for me! Last year, I saw you going off to school and I wanted you, because you were so fucking hot, and I thought it was crazy at first, but then I started hearing you, Artie. I heard you talking to me. When I saw you on television, you'd look straight at me and tell me you were waiting for me. You got your nipple pierced to tease me, didn't you? I just had to come find you, because we're supposed to be together. You know that—you're just lying because he's here! He's been trying to kill me! He's trying to ruin our happiness!" Mike ranted, and the vehicle swerved a bit dangerously as he screamed.

Neither of the boys had any clue what was going on, but they were both acutely aware that their lives were in extreme danger. As Mike ranted, Alfred tried to break the cider bottle against the window, attempting to make some sort of weapon. He was successful, but Mike heard the crash and stopped his mad tirade by slamming on the brakes. He must have thought they'd broken a window instead of just the bottle.

The ploy didn't work for long. Once he got out and realized they were still trapped inside, the car started moving once more.

"SHUT UP BACK THERE! Don't you hurt Arthur, because he's MINE. I'll come back there and KILL you if I have to!" Mike screamed. The voice seemed to come from everywhere, on max volume. Alfred's hand bled a little where he'd broken the glass but his blue eyes slanted in determination.

"You're right! I've had it out for you all along. If you want him unharmed, you'll face me now or else I'll hurt him," Alfred spat. Arthur's eyes widened in alarm, but then he realized what Alfred was trying to do. They had to shake Mike up. Who knew what was waiting for them when they reached their final destination.

"I KNEW IT! Don't you fucking TOUCH him, Jones! He's MINE. He's ALWAYS BEEN MINE! Mine to hurt! I've waited too long to feel him again!"

Playing along Arthur screamed. Even as he did so, he armed himself with a thick shard of the glass from the bottle. Alfred held the mouth with it's jagged edges. The vehicle slammed to a stop once more, and it happened almost before they were ready. The door flung open and suddenly Mike was there, just as Arthur remembered during the attack—same clothes, same smell, same voice—how had he not recognized?

Arthur swung at him weakly, but he was frozen up with fright and panic and his swing missed. Alfred, however, connected with surprising force considering his frailty. He jabbed the bottle into Mike's side, and the glass sunk in deeply because Mike screamed and twisted in an animal-like reaction to the pain.

His fist connected solidly with Alfred's jaw and Arthur's love sagged instantly to the floor of the car, like a rag doll.

That did it for Arthur. Something simply snapped inside him. He flung himself at Mike with all his strength, pushing him out of the vehicle and tumbling onto the grass and rocks beside the road. The glass was still in his hand and he stabbed, over and over, ignoring the pain in his own hand and the screaming of Mike. Mike wrestled him onto his back and got his big hands around Arthur's throat. Arthur bucked, clawed at the hands, but he'd lost his make-shift weapon in the struggle. He was done. Mike was stronger, even bleeding out like a stuck pig.

Just when Arthur's vision began to go blurry, something heavy struck Mike over the back of the head and he fell on top of Arthur, with the finality of a dead man.

Somewhere in his frenzied, exhausted mind, Arthur sagged completely in relief. It was over. It was finally over. Alfred had come through for him one more time.

"Based on the boys' testimony, we can only assume your attacker suffered from paranoid schizophrenia. His real name was, in fact, Alfred Carlson. We found his fake documentation at his apartment, hidden in his air duct. As Mr. Carlson, he had a history of mental illness. He originally lived in Ohio, where he ceased his treatment against doctor advisement. Then he just...disappeared."

"Not for long enough," Arthur replied gravely. The detective nodded solemnly.

"He popped back up in London, a year before you left for your first year of school, where he made the name change. It's likely that's when his condition worsened and he began to fixate on you. People with this mental disorder tend to have delusions of grandeur. They can sincerely believe that they have a connection with a famous person—even a relationship," the detective explained. Helen Jones shook her head, her complexion white with stress and worry. The four of them, Arthur and Alfred, and Alfred's parents sat in the police station, a confusing, frightening week after the final attack. It was only now that they were finally getting the whole story. Their wounds had been treated, but the questions still remained.

"So he was a pedophile, on top of everything else?" Richard asked, his voice graveled and furious. The detective nodded.

"We found alarming content on his computer—pornography that was as violent as it was illegal. It was home video type footage. It's the type of stuff we investigate, because it's obvious that the participant in the video is not there willingly. His fixation with Mr. Kirkland grew, and he likely believed that when Mr. Kirkland mentioned Alfred in the news, he was talking to him."

"Oh god," Helen said with a hand covering her perfect lips. Alfred gave Arthur's non-bandaged hand a gentle squeeze.

"And when we came to D.C., he followed us," Arthur concluded with a shudder. The detective nodded again, this time sadly.

"He applied for work at the school the summer before you arrived. Faked his resume, of course. His talent for forgery and deception was impressive. He even escaped suspicion during our initial investigation. For a crazy guy, he was meticulous. He had a plan, always."

"So the video he released...that was his way of claiming me, wasn't it? Because Alfred never appeared on screen but I talked to him off camera. He was trying to show the world that I belonged to him," Arthur said.

"I'd bet a lot of money you're right, but I'm no psychologist," the detective said with a resigned sigh.

"To think he was outside Artie's door the whole time...why didn't he just attack again? He could have done it whenever he wanted?" Alfred wondered confusedly. The detective shrugged.

"Paranoid schizophrenics hear voices, and usually they listen to them. We'll never really know what was going on in his head...but it's over. He was cremated four days ago. I'm afraid that's the only peace of mind I can give you," the detective said. Richard was the first to break the silence of the small room by standing and shaking the detective's hand.

"Our family appreciates the work you've done," it sounded less than sincere. It was obvious to anyone with eyes that Richard Jones was furious at the failings of the police and the security teams in charge of his son. At least six men had already been fired, despite Alfred pleading that they be allowed to keep their jobs. Clearly the detective knew his own livelihood was at risk. He seemed all too happy that the briefing was over and his guests would be leaving soon.

As they exited the station, all of them grave-faced and solemn, Alfred comfortingly slung his arm over Arthur's shoulders. There was nothing left to be said. It truly was over now.

A/N: Not the last chapter just yet! The epilogue will follow, and then yes, my lovely readers...this series will be done for good. It had a good run, and I'm incredibly proud that I finished it and got to share a story that seemed to make other people as happy reading it as I was writing it. But all save all my sappy goodbyes for the last chapter. For now, the boys have found some closure and you can finally say it: I KNEW IT WAS MIKE!

Side note: You know that gag line "Be careful or you'll end up in my novel?" Mike was the name of a guy I worked with at my first job. He was tall, attractive, fit...but he always struck me as such a little neurotic and wound too tightly. He's probably perfectly normal...but I always wondered about Mike. Now he has his own creepy alter ego in a story he will never know exists. Sorry Mike, but thanks for inspiring your creeper!version.