Rise of Alpha (The Prodian Journey #1)

by Lorenz Font

  I’d rather experience sullen moods than pretend that everything was fine. I was sick of shaking, jerking, and cussing. To prove my point, I shuddered as another tic ravaged me.

  Dr. Singer studied me, and I returned the favor. After several seconds of tense silence, he spoke. “If that’s what you want, we can try it on a trial basis.” He glanced at my mother, who appeared ready to cry.

  It was understandable. My mother wanted the best for her only child, but there came a point when she had to let go. I hoped this was it.

  “Okay, but I want you to be honest with us. Let us know if you need to be back on an antidepressant,” she said, pulling me into an awkward hug.

  Once we walked out of Dr. Singer’s office, I felt like I’d won a small victory. I promised not to give mom a tough time if she hovered. It was a small price to pay for freedom from the medications I’d been on for so long. I was going to take whatever I could get.

  Once we got home, I ignored the calls from Mark and Darryl, and another call from a number I didn’t recognize. It was probably just a telemarketer again.

  The minute I switched off my lamp and darkness descended, I felt a sense of ease course through me.

  That night, I dreamed of Shannon.

  Dream

  In my dream, Shannon was being pursued by an enormous fanged creature that drooled massive amounts of greenish slime and sported claw-like hands. Shannon cried for me to help her. I tried, but when I reached for her hand to pull her to safety, another creature jumped in and wrenched her from my grasp. They said my name. We’re watching you, Brian.

  Distressed, I woke in the middle of the night and couldn’t go back to sleep right away. When I finally did, I was launched into yet another nightmare. This one was much clearer, but confusing. In this dream, a woman who worked for a landscape company was bitten by a rattlesnake and was airlifted to a hospital. There were no clues and no indication of the dream’s relevance, and the woman was a virtual stranger to me.

  I awoke an hour before my alarm clock was set to go off, confused by the vividness of the dream. Sweating and dazed, it took a few minutes to shake the feeling away. What did it have to do with me? Glancing at the clock one more time, I knew that sleep wasn’t possible anymore. Six o’clock. I had an hour before I had to get ready for school, so I decided to get up and go for an early run around the neighborhood.

  It wasn’t something I did every day, just when time or schedule permitted. I plucked a decent T-shirt and shorts from my drawer and laced up my running shoes. It was still dark outside when I locked the front door behind me. Since the temperature hadn’t dropped much overnight, I removed my shirt and threw it on the lawn.

  I walked down our driveway and onto the street, quickening my steps until I was moving at a steady jog. Street lamps lit my path, and I kept an even pace, planning to run for thirty minutes.

  Turning onto a darker patch of road, I noticed a woman with a limp walking in my direction. Her unsteady gait was alarming, so I hurried toward her in case she stumbled.

  To my surprise, the woman touched my outstretched hand and gave me a blinding smile. “With every curse is a blessing,” she said.

  A flash of panic hit me at the feel of her hand, and I jerked away. I hadn’t seen her before, not in our neighborhood. Upon a closer look, I noticed her robe was glittering and fluttering behind her. There was no indication of the unsteadiness I thought I’d seen earlier. I blinked and then blinked again, hoping my eyes weren’t playing tricks on me. The woman was not ugly or beautiful—just different, kind of out of this world. My gut feeling told me that nothing about this woman was ordinary.

  Taking a step back, I stared at her. I hadn’t expected another reminder of Madame Elizabeth’s prediction. Just like before, the hair on the back of my neck rose. Freaked out, I moved away from the woman. What the hell was going on?

  I sprinted back to my house. There was a faint scratching noise behind me, and I looked over my shoulder to see what it was. Nothing was behind me except the sun peeking over the horizon. I took one last look back before I hurried inside the house.

  Once I reached my room, I flicked on the television for a distraction, angry with myself for being such a pussy. My cell phone chimed with a missed call. I picked it up, and the unfamiliar number from the night before showed on my caller ID. Who was this persistent caller? I tossed the phone on the bed and headed to the shower.

  At school, I found Mark and Darryl in front of the building waiting for me a few minutes before the bell rang.

  “Hey, tic-boy. ‘Sup with you?” Mark said when I reached the top steps.

  “Had some errands with the parental unit and things got hectic before bedtime. Why, what’s up?” I asked and nodded at Darryl.

  “Nothing. Just wondering where you’ve been. You ditched class yesterday and ignored my text.” Mark gave me a knowing look.

  If there was anyone close to being able to read me like a book, it was Mark. I avoided his questioning eyes and turned to Darryl. He had grown still, so I followed his line of vision and saw Shannon, Brittney and Veronica, three of the most popular girls at Marshall, bounding up the steps. Mark might have no problem, but Darryl and I were on the shy side, so ogling was pretty much all we could do.

  My neck muscles tightened, and my shoulders jerked involuntarily for a brief moment. “Fuccckkkk,” I blurted. Here we go! The first of many today, I was sure.

  I groaned and turned my back while the girls walked by. They giggled, and that was my cue to flush, mutter a quick excuse about forgetting something in the car, and run away.

  Embarrassment made me sit out my first period class. I sat inside my car, upset with myself. Will this ever end?

  By the end of first period, I was feeling a bit better. Good enough to force myself to attend my next class. AP English would be a breeze since it didn’t require my full attention. For sure I wasn’t going to be able to concentrate if Shannon was in the same class.

  Fate must have been playing a cruel joke on me, because Shannon walked in the classroom. Pretending to be busy, I buried my face in my book while she settled in the seat across the room from me. Good. She was as far away as possible. I twisted and turned in my seat trying to control the vibration of my shoulders. One nasty problem with my tics was that they got worse if I got agitated or excited. Shannon was able to make me feel both.

  Controlling my twitches had never been an easy thing, let alone keeping the jerky movements at bay for an entire hour. I sat on my hands the whole time to keep my body from jerking while Mrs. Sweeney droned on about our first big project for the year. She’d be pairing students up to analyze The Glass Menagerie. With each passing minute, my shoulders were getting sorer from the pressure I was applying to them. Most times, I could pass off the twitches as small muscle spasms, but the more I tried this morning, the more out of control they were. It became unbearable while I counted down the remaining minutes before the end of the period. I was too stressed and terrified of what might come out of my mouth.

  Meanwhile, Mrs. Sweeney seemed to be having the time of her life going over the subject matter. Her enthusiasm had no power to rub off on me since my focus was on grinding my teeth together to keep from uttering any F-bombs. Then she started calling the names of students who would be partnered with each other. There were groans and celebratory shrieks as each student was given their assigned partner. I could feel the buildup of unwanted vocal tics that were threatening to spill out.

  “Brian Morrison, you’re partnered with Shannon McKesson.”

  What the … “Ff-fff-fuckkkk!” The word slipped out, despite my fervent effort to control it. Sure enough, the entire class burst out in laughter. Yep, this was a good time to die, disappear into thin air, or crawl to the nearest exit. Mrs. Sweeney cleared her throat and tried to keep a straight face, but the laughter in her eyes betrayed her. I should be used to the ridiculing by now, but I still felt the sting of being the butt of the joke when I had an unavoidable outburst.


  “Class, please, we need to focus on this project. I’m giving you two weeks to work on this. Remember, analyze each line separately, then get back with your partner, compare notes, and use the best combined analysis you have. Your grades will depend on your partner, so make the most out of your interpretations.”

  Then the bell rang. Thank God. I yanked up my backpack and ran out of the classroom without looking at anyone. The need to disappear was so strong that I almost knocked over several kids in my haste to get away. I ran straight to the restroom, wanting to scream when I found the place filled to capacity. My symptoms were threatening to unleash themselves, and I hurried off to find a quiet place before I exploded in a huge fireball of tics and curses.

  Mark was coming out of his class when we bumped into each other. He tapped me on the shoulder.

  “Hey, bro. What’s the matter?” A worried and all-too-familiar expression of pity crossed his face. This wasn’t the first time he’d seen me racing away to avoid people.

  My mouth started trembling, a silent warning that more phonic tics were about to break out. “Fuck!”

  I grunted and ran out of the building to the basketball court. Here, I could have a little privacy, away from all the watchful stares. To my great relief, there were just a handful of students loitering in the area. I went as far as I could from them before letting one out. I breathed deep and exhaled long enough to ease the pressure in my shoulders.

  My facial muscles tightened, followed by a tug at my neck and back as the twitching came hard. One hour was too long to keep the monster at bay. As much as I hated my tics, it was liberating to let them out.

  “Ah-ah-ah.” My motor-mouth started to unleash its unholy terror. I had ten minutes to get it all out before I was marked late by my third period teacher. My shoulders continued to jerk for several more minutes before my body began to relax.

  I sagged against the chain link fence and closed my eyes. There was only one word I wanted to avoid saying, and that was the very word that came out of my mouth during my tic attacks. I could live with the ah-ah-ah’s or the stammering, but fuck was offensive and plain rude. Wishing for my tics to stop was like reaching for the stars. It would come in time, Dr. Singer had reminded me on many occasions, but the million-dollar question remained. When? Shannon must hate me now. Twice today I’d cursed in her presence.

  By the time I made my way back to the building, the last bell for the period was chiming. I plastered on a brave mask and reminded myself that I couldn’t control the tics any more than I could control the weather. The more I tried, the harder it got. It was stupid to beat myself up about it.

  Then I saw Shannon at the far end of the hallway. For a brief moment, our eyes met. There was nothing to say. Apologizing would make me look more pathetic than I already was in her eyes. I looked away and entered my next round of hell.

  “Is that you, baby boy?” Mom called from the kitchen as soon as I made it home. I wanted to be left alone, but there was no avoiding her. She’d hound me all the way to my room if I ignored her.

  “Yes, Mom,” I answered, dropping my backpack on the sofa and heading for the kitchen. She was busy preparing the meatloaf, and the aroma made my mouth water.

  “How was your first day without the medication?” she asked, turning around to face me.

  I kissed her on the forehead and took a celery stick from the plate on the counter, munching on it before replying. “It was okay,” I lied.

  She threw me a dubious look. “Are you sure? You know, there’s no need to be off it if you’re going to be miserable.”

  Here we go. I knew she would start rambling about how scared she was for me. She meant well, but I wasn’t in the mood to hear it. Not today. I grabbed the remote and flicked on the television, not interested in another pep talk. The afternoon news was on, and my mother dropped our conversation in favor of listening to the newscaster. Content that the topic was off the table, I headed to the fridge, humming a tune. Mom shushed me, so I propped myself on the barstool and listened to the tail end of the news report. A few words caught my attention.

  When I heard the words “rattlesnake” and “Chino Hills,” I swung around to look at the television, but the segment had ended. Mom shook her head and switched her focus back to cooking.

  “What was that about?” I felt like I was going to be sick.

  “On the news?”

  I nodded.

  “A landscaping company employee was bitten by a rattlesnake while she was working on a project in Chino Hills.”

  “How can that be?” I muttered. My shoulders began to twitch. This couldn’t be happening.

  “Did you say something?” She looked over her shoulder. “Bri? What’s wrong? Are you all right?”

  “Um … yeah. I’m going to my room to do my homework,” I said, rising from the chair.

  “Okay, but can you toss the garbage first?” she asked, still watching me.

  “Sure.” I reached under the sink, pulled out the plastic liner, and hauled it to the trash bin at the side of our house.

  What were the odds of my nightmare coming true? I shuddered at the thought. It had to be a strange coincidence. What other explanation could there be?

  I powered up my laptop once I reached the confines of my bedroom, then toed off my shoes and sat on the bed. Hell, this was more than freaky. I searched the local news station’s website for breaking news. The woman’s name wasn’t mentioned, but everything I’d seen in my dream had happened. She’d been airlifted to a hospital, where she was listed in guarded condition.

  My phone rang, and it was the same unknown number again. Muttering angrily, I punched the answer button.

  “Piss off! I’m not interested in whatever the hell you’re selling.”

  After hanging up, I glanced back at my laptop and shook my head. What in the hell should I do now? I pressed speed dial to call Mark. Maybe he could help, or at least come up with some convincing explanation for the coincidence.

  My call to Mark was directed to voicemail. I had forgotten that he had football practice after school today, and Darryl would be working. The same telemarketing number flashed on my screen while I waited to leave a message, but I ignored it.

  I tried to hide the edge from my voice when I heard the beep. “Hey, call me when you get this.”

  My phone chimed just when I was hanging up. The telemarketer must have left a message. Grudgingly, I decided to listen instead of deleting the crap right away.

  “Curly, what’s the matter with you? You’re beginning to give me a complex. First, you run out on me Friday night. Then you cursed at me today, twice. Now, you’re accusing me of selling stuff.” The teasing tone was hard to miss, but I also detected a small amount of distress in her voice. “I’m calling because I have your handouts with me from Mr. Peter’s class, and I also wanted to find out when we can meet for Sweeney’s project. Call me?”

  Damn, I’d done it again. I kept piling one blunder on top of another freaking blunder. I listened to her voice message over and over for the next hour, wishing I hadn’t been so distracted by the news.

  The urge to call her was strong, but what would I talk about? My stammering might turn her off, and my caveman attitude would just make me look like a fool. Was it too late to drop the classes I had with her? I rested my head on the pillow and closed my eyes. This had to be some kind of punishment for all the fucks I’d uttered in my life.

  Dead Girl by the River

  Another freakish dream made me jump up, drenched in sweat, in the middle of the night. I turned to check the time. It was midnight, and I had fallen asleep still wearing my school clothes. I sat up, but a pounding headache made me slide back down against my pillows.

  In the darkness, I tried to recall the dream. It was almost identical to the one I’d had the night before, except it wasn’t Shannon who was running away this time. It was a girl my age fleeing a man wielding a baseball bat. There was a body of water in the background, but the rest of the details were hazy
. She screamed for help. Although I was there, my role was that of a spectator watching the whole thing unfold. She didn’t hear me calling out to her as the man caught up with her. She struggled, and when the first of the blows came, I was dragged away from the nightmare. This was getting downright creepy. What was with the dreams I’d been having? Maybe this was a side effect of the medicine withdrawal. What should I do? Did this mean I was already losing the battle to stay off the drugs?

  The growling of my stomach distracted me from my dilemma and made me realize how hungry I was after skipping dinner. I wondered why Mom or Dad hadn’t bothered to wake me up. I tapped the mouse pad, and the article I’d been reading the night before came up.

  Coincidence. It had to be. That was the one logical explanation I allowed myself to accept.

  I got out of bed and winced at the throbbing in my head. Marching to the bathroom, I didn’t bother to turn the light on before I rummaged inside the drawer until I found the bottle of ibuprofen. I took three caplets and stepped into the hallway. The hardwood floor creaked under my weight as I made my way toward the staircase to the tune of Dad’s loud and even snoring. Despite the closed door, I could hear him loud and clear, and I wondered once more how Mom slept through the racket every night.

  In the kitchen, I perused the contents of the refrigerator and settled on a carton of orange juice first. I swallowed the pills down with one long swig straight from the container. I smirked after replacing the cap, knowing mom wouldn’t appreciate my drinking straight from the carton. Oh, well. What she didn’t know wouldn’t hurt her.

  Then I began checking every container for something to eat until I found a covered dish filled with leftover meatloaf. I took two slices, spooned gobs of gravy and mashed potatoes on my plate, and stuck it in the microwave. While waiting for my food, I flipped on the television. At this unholy hour, there was nothing but infomercials, so I turned it off again.

  Eating in the dark, listening to my chewing and the steady hum of the fridge, my mind wandered back to the odd dream. What did it mean? Coincidence was an easy excuse. But why had I even dreamed of Shannon? Well, it wasn’t hard to guess since she’d been on my mind every minute of the day. It’d be interesting to know how she would feel knowing about my growing fascination with her, though I would never admit to it.