Alan Price and the Colossus of Rhodes (The Nephilim Chronicles)
Page 4
The wind that pushed him over the top of the building reminded him of how alone and helpless he really was. Even now, it buffeted him from side to side. Alan wrapped his slender arms around himself forcing his body not to shiver against the cold.
He was in the heart of the city. The business district was only a few short blocks from downtown. Alan made his way down the street. So wrapped up in how he managed to escape death only minutes before, his current destination seemed the least of his worries.
This is crazy. You’re going crazy. There is no way you should have survived that, no way. How… But…
Alan felt as though his mind was tearing. Synapsis were firing at a frenzied speed and theories ranging anywhere from some kind of cable or net he couldn’t see hindering his fall to an alien being catching him out of some kind of intergalactic pact with humanity filled his head.
Alan shivered despite his best efforts as cars drove by and lights passed him. The downtown district of the city played to its rough reputation with harsh brick buildings and cement walls. Hotel and motel lights blinked off and on, welcoming any visitor with signs of vacancy. Hot dog stands and all-night diners reminded Alan of the last time he ate and, at the same time, his current lack of money.
“Hey, hey, kid. Where ya going?”
Alan looked to his left. In a dark alley between two closed buildings stood two men. The one that had addressed him was easily twice as wide as he was. A hooked nose and deep scar on his left cheek told Alan all he needed to know. Alan was familiar with what a bully sounded and looked like even if he wasn’t at school.
Instead of trying to reason with the man or engage him in conversation, Alan put his head down and quickened his pace. His eyes searched up and down the block for anyone that could help, but much like his fall from the building, there was no one around.
“Hey, did you hear me!? I’m talking to you, clown.”
Alan refused to look back yet he could hear the footsteps of the two men as they started to follow.
“Stop walking!”
The footsteps behind him quickened turning into a run. Alan felt panic seize his heart yet again. Before giving any thought behind his action, he too began to run. As if fueled by some primitive instinct, his legs shot into action underneath him. An image of lions chasing an antelope flittered through his thoughts.
Even as he ran he knew he couldn’t outpace his pursuers. Not only was he wearing rented tuxedo shoes, Alan was anything but athletic. His body was attuned for events more resembling spelling bees and chess tournaments, not sprints.
Alan gritted his teeth. The cold wind blew across his face. The sound of pursuit was growing and he only had seconds before they were on top of him.
Just get to the next block. You can duck inside that motel. Don’t stop, run!
Alan didn’t make it: the motel was within shouting distance now but even as he filled his lungs to yell for help, he felt a firm hand grab his left shoulder.
Then it happened again. Fear, panic, adrenaline and the will to live surged from some hidden well, buried deep within—somewhere only recently discovered. Alan felt warm as he ran forward trying his best to shrug off his pursuer and make it to the next block.
Alan ran as though the very dogs of hell were behind him. In what seemed a second, the grip on his shoulder released, the pounding sounds of pursuit faded and the scenery around him blurred for the briefest second. He stopped, forgetting about his pursuers and wondering why his vision had been distorted. Alan found himself well past the motel that just before had only been a single block ahead of him.
Alan shook, his chest heaving as he sucked in cold air that stung on the way down to quivering lungs. He turned in a circle. The motel he was desperately trying to reach was now a block behind him. He had to squint to see the men chasing him. They stood barely visible in the dark, two blocks down the street.
Alan couldn’t see their facial expressions but the men weren’t moving. Their heads were moving from side to side as if they were talking to each other, just as confused as he was. Alan was shaking, not from the cold, but from what had just occurred.
He looked down at his hands that vibrated with the fear of what was happening. His heart was still racing, the answers he so desperately needed still not coming.
Breathe, relax, you’re safe. You’ll figure this out. Can you really move that fast?
Alan took a deep breath. There was another motel on this block. Apparently, he passed it while he ran. Alan took a step towards it now, a step towards the two men who had chased him.
They watched him approach. From two blocks away, Alan could hear them scream as they turned and ran.
Chapter 17
The bell attached to the shabby motel clanked as Alan entered. The entire waiting room stank of stale food and sweat. A bulletproof glass booth to his left half obscured a pale elderly woman who looked him up and down without hesitation.
Alan swallowed hard as he made his best attempt at a smile. “Hi, I uh—I need a room for the night.”
The woman, judging Alan, put down her gossip tabloid. The magazine she placed on the counter showed a blurry picture of a fight scene, taking place on a foggy street in upstate New York. The woman squinted through her thick glasses. “Only one night? Need a deposit homeboy.”
“Oh well, you see I’m kinda short on money right now bu—“
“No money, no stay at momma’s palace, homeboy.”
“Wait, what? Did you just call this place a palace?”
The woman raised an eyebrow.
“I mean, of course it is. It’s an amazing palace. Listen, I don’t want a handout, I’ll work or…” Alan groped through his jacket and pant pockets searching for anything that would allow him to convince the woman to let him stay. His right hand felt the form of his empty wallet, his left hand closed on the hard steel keys of the stolen car and his cell phone. “Look! Look, I have this cell phone; it has to be worth one night. Please I just need one night.”
The elderly woman motioned Alan to slide the phone under the dense glass window. She pursed her lips as she rummaged though apps on his phone. “This have internet access, homeboy? Wi-Fi? Bluetooth compatible?
“Yes, yes, it has everything. Top of the line.”
“Humph, okay, one night.”
Alan nodded vigorously.
Even as the woman reached behind her for a worn set of keys with a red tag that read #7, she hesitated. “You in some kind of trouble, homeboy? Momma don’t like having trouble at the palace.”
“No,” Alan lied through his teeth; “I just need a place for the night. I won’t bring momma or the palace any problems.”
“Okay,” the woman released her grasp on the room key and let it slide under the window.
Alan grabbed the key before the woman could rethink her offer and left the office. The woman seemed anything but interested in Alan as he caught her looking down at her new phone.
The walk from the motel office to his room was short. The entire complex was made up of only a dozen or so rooms. The furthest motel was only a few yards away from the lobby.
The motel formed a horseshoe shape around a poorly maintained pool. There were weeds growing up the side of the fence that surrounded the water and its uninviting green tint.
Alan wasted no time in finding his accommodations for the night and letting himself inside. The room was what he expected, small with a scent in the air that reminded him of must and mold.
He flicked on the lights and closed the door. Alan took in his new surroundings; lumpy bed to his right, a small dresser and TV that looked like they came from a different century and a door further back that Alan guessed led to the bathroom.
What are you doing? What are you going to do? What’s happening to you?
No answer came as he reluctantly sunk into the worn mattress. He knew he couldn’t go home. After not only “borrowing” Tony’s car and being humiliated at school but especially now after experiencing whatever it was that was h
appening to him.
Alan settled on the bed staring up into the ceiling. Still fully clothed, still with the light turned on and still with no answers. He forced his mind away from thinking about sleeping on a bed that had probably been part of a murder scene at one point or another. Staring at the white cottage cheese ceiling that practically screamed of asbestos, he drifted off into a fitful sleep.
Chapter 18
“You can do this. You did this before,” Alan paced back and forth at a park just a few blocks away from the motel where he spent the previous night. His stomach rumbled not for the first time as Alan pushed himself to be as fast as he had been the night before.
“Come on!” he yelled in frustration. Pedestrians that bothered to glance at him frowned or shook their head. Alan could only imagine what he looked like: a teenager in a rented tuxedo, yelling to himself in a public park.
Think, in both cases you were afraid. You feared for your life. That has to be it. Whatever is happening is triggered by your will to live.
Alan tried to remember that feeling now; he tried to remember the exact feeling as he fell. He imagined that same grip on his shoulder. The fear being chased had brought gradually spread to every fiber of his body.
He felt himself quiver at the memory of being bullied for so many years. He thought back to his countless nights and days of depression, the feeling of loneliness and the panic that social events usually triggered. Alan felt perspiration start to bead across his brow as angst built up inside. Then Alan forced his eyes open and ran.
Alan ran as fast as his legs would carry him. His feet yelled as they were forced to a dangerous pace, rubbing against his cheaply made, nonetheless-expensive-to-rent tuxedo shoes. Grass blades crunched under foot as Alan streaked across the park.
Eager to see how fast he was moving he turned his head from side to side. Alan felt his jaw drop as he witnessed life all around him taking place at a speed much slower than his own.
People stood still as he moved forward. Birds hung in the air, their wings stuck in place. There was no noise. Everything around Alan looked like a picture, lifelike but unmoving. Alan pulled to a halt, his mind trying to make sense of the impossible. As he stopped, everything around him began to move at a normal pace once again. People continued about their way both on the sidewalk and in the park; horns blew and birds ascended and descended in flight.
No way. There’s no way you’re that fast.
Alan crouched in a kneeling position as he tried to make sense of the puzzle whose pieces lay scattered all around him. Thoughts of superheroes, mutants or evolved humans passed across his mind. In all honesty, there was no telling what he was now. All he knew was that he could move, and he could move fast.
From that moment on Alan promised himself things would be different. Plans started to form in his mind on how he could put this gift of speed to use. His stomach rumbled again.
Priorities, man; food first, money later. Now, what sounds good?
Tingling and laughing aloud, Alan stood from his crouching position. Feet firmly underneath, he ran.
Chapter 19
Present Day
“Hi. Sorry, I don’t want to disturb your reading time—Oh, Spartans, very cool. Hope you don’t mind me looking at your book. I’m not trying to be nosey or anything, just trying to make conversation and not let this get awkward.”
Alan raised his eyes to see a dark haired woman about his own age. Large black-rimmed glasses framed her eyes. Jeans and boots marked her as someone who either had not anticipated or didn’t care she was going to a bar where they valeted Austin Martins and Ferraris on a regular basis. “I’m sorry. Do I know you?”
“Nope, not yet. Do you mind if I sit down?”
“Listen, I don’t want to be rude. I’m sure you’re a great person but tonight—“
“Oh, oh, no. Do you think I’m hitting on you?”
Alan raised an eyebrow.
“I mean, not that I don’t think you’re attractive. My gosh, have you seen your arms?” The young woman shut her pink lips tight. Her fair skin turned as red as the outside of an apple. “I am so not good at these types of things.”
She took a seat at Alan’s booth across from him disregarding his attempt to politely decline her company. “Listen, let’s start over.” The young woman extended a fingernail polished hand that matched her red face, “My name is Danielle Turner.”
Alan pursed his lips and set his book on the table. He reluctantly shook the woman’s hand. Four years of running from his past and denying the underprivileged path his adolescent life had taken, Alan was used to using aliases, “Connor Moore.”
Danielle released his hand and laughed, “Alan, please if you are going to use a fake name at least choose one that’s not already taken by someone so unique.”
Alan felt his posture straighten. If she wanted to get his attention, she had it now. Alan was a name he had left a long time ago. “How do you know my name? No one has called me that in a very long time.”
Danielle took a deep breath. “Listen, this is not going at all how I planned. I told him I wasn’t good at this kind of stuff.”
“Told who?”
Before she could answer, the server appeared at the side of their table. “Hello, can I get you something to drink, Miss?” She motioned towards Alan’s bottle of whiskey. “Perhaps a glass?”
“What? No.” Danielle said with the slightest hint of disapproval. “I’ll have a Shirley Temple please.”
The server nodded, her mouth beginning to drop open before she turned to fulfill the order.
“Shirley Temple, huh?” Alan asked.
“Yeah, I’m a lightweight. Give me a drink or two and—“ panic washed over Danielle’s face again as she found herself in the middle of a sentence she didn’t want to finish.
Alan felt his lips twist into a grin despite himself. “Okay, you have me interested. How do you know my name and what is it that you want?”
“My organization has been watching you since the night you jumped—fell—off the roof and even before that. What we want is your help. What I mean to say is that we think a partnership would be mutually beneficial.”
Alan searched the dimly lit interior of the bar, for what, he wasn’t sure; cameras revealing that he was being set up, dark-suited government agents set to take him away for experimentation or the FBI for all the money and merchandise he stole over the past four years.
He scooted a bit closer to the edge of his booth, ready to run at a moment’s notice. As a general rule, he didn’t use his speed in public. Tonight could be an exception.
“Please, don’t do your super speed thing,” Danielle said. “You’re not alone in this. I know you must have so many questions. I can give you the answers you’ve been searching for. The world needs you, Alan.”
Alan could feel his chest constrict. Fear of the real possibility of having his questions answered spread through him for the very first time. For years Alan searched for answers to what he was, every lead ended the same, with only more questions.
The server appeared out of the corner of Alan’s eye, balancing a glass on a tray. Danielle turned her attention away from him and visibly brightened, “Oh, my Shirley Temple. There’s a cherry in it, too. Yesssss.”
Chapter 20
Three years ago
Alan readied himself in the shadows. He was tired of stealing food one or two meals at a time. He was exhausted from taking everything he wanted in secret. Sure, it had been great the first year but there was just something about having money to buy things in public instead of taking them right from under people’s noses. He wanted to feel normal: he wanted to go shopping with and in front of everyone else. A weird part of him actually wanted to pay for things, like normal people.
The last year provided Alan with a ton of experience when it came to working on his speed. He was quicker than any camera, faster than any eye. Now he was done with trivial things; now was his time to step up into the big leagues.
Deep inside Alan knew what he was doing was wrong. Whether it was his conscience, subconscious or something else, a voice inside told him he was given this gift for something more than just stealing and personal advancement.
Day after day Alan silenced this tiny cry of morality until it stopped pleading with him altogether. He justified his actions by convincing himself that he had suffered enough throughout his early years. He told himself worldly possessions would make him happy and keep the tide of depression and anxiety at bay. Now Alan found himself with a black ski mask in his right hand and crouched in an alley behind a large trash container with the city’s largest bank and trust across the street.
Sweat glistened off Alan’s brow as he looked down at his watch; it read 5:58 PM. Alan spent the last few weeks scoping out the building. In that time, he learned that this day was the least busy of the week. He knew that the bank closed its doors at exactly 6:00 PM every business day.
This is going to work. Nobody can see you, let alone touch you.
Alan could feel his heart beating out of his chest. By far this was the craziest thing he had ever attempted in his life. He felt his grip tighten on the mask’s thick fabric and chuckled to himself. He knew that the mask wasn’t going to keep people from seeing his face; his supernatural speed would do that. The mask was in his hand more as moral support than anything else was. The mask comforted him in a way that a safety blanket would a small child.
Alan took in another deep breath and let it out slowly. He pulled the black mask’s thick wool over his face. The fabric scratched his skin as he slid it into place. There were three holes, two for his eyes and one for his mouth.