Alan Price and the Colossus of Rhodes (The Nephilim Chronicles)

by Jonathan Yanez

  Even as he reached for the large black duffle bag beside him, even as his digital clock hit 5:59 PM, Alan’s internal voice begged him to stop. It told him he was doing the wrong thing. It told him he was meant for so much more. Alan forced the voice from his mind as he lunged forward.

  The sounds of everyday life ceased to exist. When Alan ran it seemed as though everything stood still while he moved at a normal pace. His legs pumped beneath him as he exited the alley and crossed the street.

  Taxis paused in their afternoon routes, pedestrians looked like mannequins and flags hesitated in their waving. This was all familiar to Alan. He crossed the street and ran up the steps to the bank. With each step of his Nikes on the pavement, Alan rehearsed the plan in his head. Straight to the vault, only large bills, in and out under a second.

  Alan reached the glass door of the building that boasted the bank name in large golden lettering Shepherd and Montgomery. He ripped the door open and ran inside.

  The interior of the bank was large. Wooden paneling underfoot supported matching wooden counters and an interior floor plan, shaped in a half circle that allowed teller windows to open in a crescent shape. Alan took in his surroundings as he ran forward.

  A security guard, whom he could probably outrun even without his powers, was reading a newspaper to his right. There were no customers in line. Only two patrons were in the process of depositing or withdrawing funds. They both stood in the middle of conversations with the bank tellers assisting them.

  Alan ran towards the middle of the teller windows. He unlatched a small gate that led behind the counter. An army of bank workers stood before him. All dressed in dark pants with light blue shirts, they held expressions anywhere from ones that looked at though they had caught a whiff of someone’s old egg salad sandwich, to ones of relief the day was finally over. One lady in particular held her hands in the air as though she was raising the roof. Alan couldn’t help but wonder what she was saying. That thought soon disappeared as he made his way to the bank vault.

  The huge circular steel door was open. No one was inside as Alan entered the steel-like tomb that guarded the bank’s cash. Another set of steel bars almost sent Alan into a panic. Even as he placed his hand on the cold metal, he could see the door wasn’t closed all the way. An inch of space between the metal gate and the vault wall saved Alan’s master plan.

  He reached for the door and swung it open as he entered the first of two rooms. The bank’s vault was divided into two separate compartments—one for the bank deposit boxes and the other for cash.

  Alan stopped mid-step as he made his way into the vault and turned the corner. He wasn’t the only one in the room designated to housing the bank’s cash. An elderly, overweight gentleman with a nametag identifying him as the bank manager leaned over a mountain of money.

  Alan paused, forgetting for the moment that he was moving faster now than anyone could see. Fear once again made its presence known as he hesitated to take another step. Move, move, move. There’s no time for this!

  Alan wrenched his body forward; ignoring the fear that told him he would be caught at any moment and instead went to work. Piles of cash rose on steel-framed cabinets against the walls. Lucky, for Alan they were stacked in numerical value.

  The pile of one hundred dollar bills that Alan was after just happened to be the pile of cash the bank manager was leaning over. The balding man looked as though Alan had caught him mid count, his chubby left hand holding a thick stack of bills as his right hand reached out for another.

  Alan grinned through his mask as he imagined the bank manager’s expression. The man would go from one second counting money to the next having it disappear, literally from right under his nose.

  Loading the money into his black duffle bag felt great. Thick stack after thick stack of the one hundred dollar bills piled into his sack until it filled every inch. Alan fought against the urge to count his money there and then. There will be plenty time for that later, he told himself.

  Zipping the bag close took some effort but with a few more grins and smiles Alan managed to secure his loot. The table that once held the money was all but bare. Only a few lone bills scattered across the steel frame.

  Alan couldn’t help himself as he reached out and plucked the last stack of bills right from the bank manager’s hand.

  “Sorry, I need this more than you. The bank is insured; you’ll be fine when they look at the tapes and realize it’s not your fault.”

  With that, Alan turned and ran out of the building. The duffle bag bursting with money felt heavy. The fabric strap dug into his shoulder making an uncomfortable indentation as Alan burst out of the bank and across the street.

  Alan ripped off his mask and stuffed it into his back pocket. He crouched behind the alley dumpster one more time and stopped. Time unfroze as soon as he ceased moving. The cars on the street continued on their way, the pedestrians on the sidewalk moved along at normal speed and the flags flapped and slapped against themselves in the wind.

  The only thing that seemed out of place in the following seconds were the shouts from the bank followed by the vault’s alarm.

  Chapter 21

  Present Day

  “So,” Danielle said as she paused to take a sip from her straw. The ice cubes and lone cheery swirled in her Shirley Temple. “Are you going to try and let me explain, or are you going to dash out of here and leave me with the bill?”

  Alan scanned the inside of the bar one more time before he settled into the booth’s thick cushioned seat. “I’ll stay. Start from the beginning.”

  Danielle smiled, “Okay, hear me out. This is the truth. It’s going to sound crazy but I’ll be completely honest with you.”

  Alan could feel his temper flare, “Okay, yes, just get on with it.”

  Danielle took a long sip of her drink either enjoying the spotlight or trying to mask her nervousness, Alan couldn’t decide. “You’ve been given these powers, Alan. You aren’t a mutant; you didn’t evolve; you’re not part of an experiment; your parents aren’t members of an alien race.”

  Danielle paused to let the information sink in. Alan’s mind was racing. If his mystery visitor was telling the truth then all of his theories, all of his years of research of what he could be were evaporating by the second. Then something Danielle said made him stop mid-thought. “You said I’ve ‘been given these powers’. Powers? All I have is one, speed.”

  “All you have is one power that you know of,” Danielle corrected. “This is just the beginning.”

  Alan was quiet. Half of him wanted to believe her. Above all else, over the last few years, he wanted answers. Now that he had them, they seemed so hard to believe. “How?”

  “Excuse me?”

  “How did I get this—these—powers?”

  “The organization I work for gave them to you. You were chosen.”

  Images of the CIA, the Illuminati; and even aliens occupied Alan’s thoughts. Alan reached for the whiskey bottle on the table and filled the silence with a long pour of the expensive liquor. He brought the glass to his lips and drained the cup.

  “That’s not going to help.”

  Alan looked across with watering eyes, “How do you know?”

  “Because I tried the same thing. I tried to dull the truth, the sense of responsibility. Money, alcohol, drugs, it’s all only temporary relief. Fun, I’ll give you that, but still only temporary relief. You know what I mean; you’re going through that now.”

  Alan put his glass on the table and defiantly poured himself another serving. He knew she was right. He had been at the drinking game long enough now to know that the comfort alcohol brought was only a brief rest from the issues he carried. “So, Danielle Turner, if that is your real name at all. Who is this organization that has chosen me?”

  Danielle sighed and shook her head. “They thought you were ready to know the truth, but I’m not sure you are. Maybe you need more time.”

  Alan took another swig from his glass
, “Come on, don’t stop now. Who is this secret organization: NSA, Black Ops, Hydra?”

  Danielle looked him straight in the eyes and spoke clearly, “The term ‘Angels’ would best describe them. They are here to help and they need you just as much as you need them.”

  Alan choked on his next sip of whisky. Laughter erupted from his chest and he shook his head from side to side. His long hair whipped against his face as he thought of Angels from Heaven choosing him.

  Alan opened his eyes even as tears filled them. Danielle was siting across from him, her face once again red. This time there was no mistaking embarrassment for anger. “Wait,” Alan said raising both hands in the air. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry. You have to admit, though, this is crazy.”

  “Crazy?” Danielle asked. “This coming from the man who can move as fast as light?”

  Alan wiped away tears from his eyes and took a deep breath. “You have a point but come on. You expect me to believe that immortal beings from Heaven, came down and chose a weak kid who battles with depression, who was bullied his entire life, who has more issues than he can count and chose him for something special?”

  “Yes.”

  Alan’s temporary fit of laughter completely subsided as he was sobered by Danielle’s simple answer. He straightened out his hair and pushed it back out of his face. “I don’t know. That’s a lot to take on faith. Trust isn’t something that comes naturally for me.”

  “I know it doesn’t. If it were up to me, I would have given you more time to work through your… issues. Unfortunately, we don’t have the luxury of time anymore. And it doesn’t look like you’re making any headway in the personal development department either.” Danielle lowered her voice as she spoke but Alan could still hear her mutter the last part, “Between the stealing and the booze.”

  “Well, I’m sorry but this is just too much for me to handle at the moment.”

  “Here,” Danielle slid a slender white phone across the table. “Take some time. Just not too much time. Call us when you’re ready.”

  She rose from the booth as she reached inside her sweater pocket.

  Alan waived a hand, “It’s okay, I’ve got the bill.”

  Danielle smiled, “How generous of you, Mr. Price.”

  Danielle turned to go. Leaving Alan to sit and think about their conversation. He couldn’t help but ask one last question. “I’m not saying I believe you, but if I did—are you an…” Alan couldn’t believe he was asking this question. It sounded closer to a lame pick up line than any question he would seriously ask a woman. “Are you an Angel?”

  Danielle smiled and shook her head. “No, I’m not. I’m just like you, Alan. I was lost. I was even more lost than you when they reached out and gave me my abilities. I tried to fill the emptiness I felt with everything society told me I needed, just like you’re doing now.”

  With one last smile that communicated of a mixture of pity and hope, Danielle turned and left.

  Chapter 22

  Two Years Ago

  “You’d need to sign a lease for a year with the first and last month’s rent payments due as soon as you move in.”

  “That’s fine,” Alan said as he stared out the window, slender arms folded across his chest. Despite the incredible view that the penthouse provided, Alan couldn’t help but feel the weight of his depression across his shoulders. He didn’t want to tell the woman showing him the place that he had barely gotten out of bed that morning. He didn’t know how to tell her that this was just how he was. Good days came far and few between and bad days more often than he wanted.

  “I’m so sorry, sir, is there something wrong?”

  Alan jerked his eyes away from the view and did his best to act happy. Over the years, he had plenty of time to work on how to act happy. Yet, he was still a horrible actor. “No, no, sorry. It’s everything I’ve been looking for. It’s just been a rough day.”

  The real estate associate’s eyebrows rose as she looked at her watch. Alan knew what she was thinking. The clock’s hands had only just reached 10:00 AM. Instead of calling Alan out, she motioned him to follow her through the penthouse one more time. “Remember, we can change anything you don’t like.”

  Alan followed the woman’s clacking high heels and scent of designer perfume through the huge kitchen, four bedrooms, three bathrooms, family room, living room and dinning area one last time.

  “It’s great,” Alan said mustering a grin, “I’ll take it.”

  The woman gave Alan a Cheshire cat smile, practically taking out her notepad and doing the math on her portion of the commission right there. “Great, so glad to hear it. I’ll be right back I need to run down to my car and grab a few items for you to sign.”

  Alan nodded as the woman turned with a twist of her long straight hair and hurried out of the penthouse as if she were afraid he would change his mind.

  Alan walked in and out of the rooms, wondering why he wasn’t happier. This was something he always wanted. As far back as he could remember a place to call his own had always been out of reach. Every time he left a group home or foster parent, he would imagine a place that he wouldn’t have to leave. A place just like this, that belonged to him with him as the one to say when he was ready to leave or not.

  Until now the reality of owning a home, his home, was like a vapor that was grabbed at but vanished as soon as he opened his fist. He was here now: to an extent happiness did exist. Still this idea of joy was the kind of happiness Alan was telling himself he should experience rather than actually experiencing the feeling itself.

  He walked through the large penthouse as he waited for the real estate agent to return. His designer shoes echoed across the halls. Empty rooms caught his every noise and amplified them back as if to remind him how alone he still was and would always be. Alan made his way back to the large windows that overlooked the city.

  Past all the high-rise buildings, past the glare of the bright sun, Alan caught a reflection of himself, tall and slender. Money could only improve so much. Past the luxurious clothes and haircut, Alan shook his head at his reflection.

  Sure, you have money and a place now but something is still missing. Apparently, super speed doesn’t come with any muscle tone. You’re still that skinny kid that couldn’t stick up for himself. We need to fix that.

  Chapter 23

  Present Day

  Why are you even stressing over that? She was clearly crazy. Angels? Like flying Angels with wings, really?

  Alan shook his head and made an internal decision to stop thinking about the strange conversation that night. However, as he rode the smooth elevator to the top of the high-rise, his hand fell inside his jacket pocket. His fingers made contact with the phone Danielle left him. The lights to passing floors beeped by and with every second Alan could feel anxiety build. “One look won’t hurt,” Alan said to himself.

  The phone was slender and compact. It was one of the newest models available on the market. Alan remembered seeing an advertisement for it just the other day, the commercial with the girl and the family with the pet smiling and laughing as they opened apps for music and videos.

  The phone lit up under Alan’s touch. It had a plain white background with an icon marked “Messages” that jumped up and down on the screen. Alan swiped his thumb over the icon and a single message read, “Danielle” with a number that followed after.

  Alan’s thumb bent towards the number more out of instinct than will. The only thing that stopped his thumb’s progress was the soft halt of the elevator and a dinging sound as the elevator doors slid open.

  Alan stuffed the phone back into his pocket and shook the notion of calling the number out of his head. When he raised his eyes to look down the hall to his penthouse door, he stopped in his tracks.

  He always left his door closed. Always. Living on the run at an early age and having to look over his shoulder on a daily basis instilled the habit of locking up after himself.

  His door was cracked open. Alan made his
way down the hall. He could hear music coming from his penthouse.

  Carmina Burana: O Fortuna played in the background. Alan only recognized the song because he owned it. It was music that inspired him and one of the few things, along with reading and exercise, that helped when his depression was at its worst.

  The inkling to run or report the break in to the police crossed his mind but only for the briefest of moments. Any contact with the police would be bad. Too many questions could arise. Although the less than upstanding citizen whom he bought them from assured him that his purchased identities were solid, he didn’t want to test the theory.

  Alan wrapped his pea coat tighter around him and prepared himself to take off at a sprint in a moment’s notice.

  Alan’s hand made contact with his thick wooden door. It swung open without a sound. He wasn’t sure what to expect, nothing happened. His penthouse looked normal. Everything was in place. No signs of break in; no items strewn across the floor or broken.

  Aromas of cooked meat and the sounds of someone busy in the kitchen made Alan’s heart rate accelerate. Alan left the door wide open in case he needed to bolt down the hall. He quietly tiptoed through his family room, past his makeshift exercise and weight room and into the kitchen.

  Adrenaline pumped to every inch of his body. Alan’s mouth was dry as he turned a corner and was met with the sight of a slender man with his back towards him. Whoever he was, he was busy at work. A towel draped over one shoulder; he was hunched over the stove.

  “If I was going to hurt you, would I be cooking you dinner? Mmmmm… let’s think here. No, probably not.”

  Alan stopped and almost ran just hearing the sound of the man’s voice. It sounded like a snake slithering and dripped past the man’s lips in a way that would put anyone on edge. Alan hadn’t made a sound coming in, he was sure of that.

  “What do you think of my music selection?” He turned and winked at Alan. “It’s a personal favorite of mine, so inspiring and uplifting. I would listen to more but you know how it is, all work and no play.”