The dance’s chaperones must have seen or heard the commotion. In a few seconds, which seemed more like minutes to Alan, Brent and his friends were backing away as Dr. Larson and a few other adults made their way to Alan’s side.
“Enough! Get off of him—now!” Dr. Larson’s voice rang out, strong and firm, causing even the band to stop in the middle of a song.
Alan was coughing, his face pressed against the gymnasium’s cold, wooden floor. His insides felt like a Spartan army had trampled them. He struggled to sit up, and as he gained a seated position, he looked up into Dr. Larson’s face and into the faces of what felt like the entire school.
If it was possible, Alan’s heart dropped even further. Dr. Larson was by his side, accompanied by two other members of the dance’s chaperone party, all wearing the same expression Tony had earlier that morning, an expression that said, “Yes, I am sorry for you, but most of all, I wish you could be different.” In their eyes, Alan saw it all: pity, disappointment, and the longing that he could be something more than helpless. Murmuring rose up all around him, but one voice Alan caught through the crowd rang out the loudest in his ears: Amber Jacobson’s. “I can’t believe I was going to let that zero take me out, even if he does have a nice car. What a joke.”
Alan was brought back to his waking nightmare by Dr. Larson as she placed a gentle hand onto his shoulder. “Alan? Alan, can you hear me? Are you all right? Do you need to go to the hospital?”
Alan struggled to his feet, then looked down at the tuxedo that was supposed to change everything. The expensive fabric was ripped and covered in punch and his own blood. “No, I’m fine.”
“Alan, we should really get you checked out. You’re bleeding. I think—”
“I said I’m fine!” He didn’t mean to yell, but when he did, a hush covered the gathered crowd. Every direction Alan looked, he saw the same expression: pity. He’d tried. He’d done everything now. He’d hoped to overcome his depression, had hoped so desperately that he’d done things that night he never would have thought possible before, and he’d failed.
With blood still oozing from his lip and pain throbbing in a dozen different parts of his body, Alan walked toward the front entrance. A path parted for him as dance attendees recoiled as if embarrassment and humiliation were contagious.
Alan reached the front entrance, slamming down on the metal bar that released him from the gymnasium and the nightmare he’d just endured. It was cold. The wind had picked up, now throwing gust after gust at him, and Alan was given a physical reminder of the blows Brent and his accomplices subjected him to only minutes before.
What did you think was going to happen? You’re an idiot for thinking that anything would change. This is your life. This is never going to get better.
Alan opened the car door, turned the ignition, and stomped on the gas. Pulling out of the school parking lot, he could see Dr. Larson exiting the gymnasium, her head turning in every direction, searching for him. Better than anyone else, she knew what he might do next.
During their counseling sessions, Alan had been careful to never use the word “suicide,” but more than once, he’d brought up the idea of freedom. Not necessarily victory, but freedom from the constant grinding battle to be normal; freedom from his depression, anger and loneliness; for it all to be gone.
Alan sped out of the parking lot and lost sight of the doctor. He knew what he had to do now. He knew what he could do. Just as he had rationalized taking Tony’s car, he could rationalize himself now to take his own life. He’d tried everything.
Chapter Sixteen
Alan made his way to the downtown section just a few miles from the high school. In his pocket, his cell phone rang on and on before he pressed the button to silence its vibrations.
He didn’t even have to look to see who it was; he knew Dr. Larson would be calling him. She’d probably even call Tony and the police if he didn’t answer. This didn’t bother Alan at all. He parked in the structure that led to one of the tallest office buildings in the business section of the city.
Suicide wasn’t a daily thought that ran through Alan’s mind; still, he thought about it enough that if the time ever did come, a jump off of a tall building would be the best way to go.
It was late, and no one but a security guard was in the building’s brightly lit lobby. Alan walked across the manicured lawn with its decorative statues, up to the glass door. Without hesitation, he pulled it open and walked through the immaculate lobby.
Alan was so far past the point of caring, he didn’t even give the security guard a second look as the large man addressed him. “Hey, can I help you?”
When it was apparent Alan wasn’t going to stop, the security guard stood up and spoke louder. “Hey, you. You can’t go back there.” Yet Alan didn’t skip a beat; he walked straight to the shining elevator doors. His right thumb made contact with the button sporting an arrow pointing up. A short chime greeted him as the elevator doors slid open.
Alan could hear the security guard’s running footsteps on the tile as the man spoke into his walkie-talkie. “Hey, Bob, we got an intruder. He just entered elevator—”
That was all Alan caught as the doors slid shut, and he pressed another button directing him to the top floor. Elevator music played in the background as the steel box ascended. Alan couldn’t help noticing the white rose the doctor had provided closely resembled his own state: the white petals were crumpled and wrinkled, and red dots of his own blood had scattered themselves around the flower like the disco lights across the floor at the dance. “Hang in there, little guy,” Alan said to the flower. “It’s almost over.”
Chapter Seventeen
The wind, or maybe fate, had made the final decision for him, pushing him over the edge. Now, moments from hitting the cement walkway, Alan knew he wanted to live, if for nothing else than to prove wrong all of those faces of pity; anger, desire, the will to live all awoke inside Alan as the ground rushed to meet him. Alan yelled at the ground, now only a few yards away, then gritted his teeth, when his downward momentum slowed as though someone was lifting him, carrying him up. His forward progress continued to lose speed until it had stopped completely. Alan had never used a parachute, but he imagined the feeling would be similar.
It happened so fast, Alan wasn’t sure what to think; fear, confusion—a hundred feelings hit him at once. For a split second, Alan hovered above the ground, then dropped the last remaining feet to safety.
Chapter Eighteen
Alan’s whole body tingled. He felt warmth emanating from the very core of his being. Air leaked in slowly, almost painfully, into his lungs as his mind struggled for an answer. The fall that should have killed him, the plummet from the business building dozens of stories up, left him standing on his feet rather than a stain on the cold cement ground.
Alan’s eyes darted—above him, everywhere, anywhere that could provide a reason why he wasn’t dead. Nothing should have stopped him, and Alan never felt so alone. No one would believe him, even if he could explain what had happened.
He desperately searched for any pedestrians, anyone to confirm he wasn’t crazy, that he’d flown or, at the very least, hovered. But there was no one. The business district that teemed with human traffic during the day was now a desert of tall buildings and empty windows.
Alan would have stayed there, stuck, searching for an answer that seemed unexplainable, if not for the wails of distant sirens. It came back to him in a second: the security guard on duty must have called the police. Trying to explain to the police what had transpired seemed like a joke. Maybe they could have helped him, but adrenaline was surging through Alan’s veins at a sickening pace. In that moment, he decided to run.
Tuxedo jacket trailing behind him, Alan ran away from the sounds of the nearing sirens, toward a future that seemed ever more bleak and alone.
Chapter Nineteen
Going home wasn’t an option. In a weird kind of way, Alan felt like he was starting his life from the
beginning. He had nothing. Any money he once had, he’d spent on the tuxedo and the haircut that night for the school dance. He was alone, vulnerable and, above all, confused.
The wind that had 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’d managed to escape death only minutes before, his current destination seemed the least of his worries.
This is crazy. You’re going crazy. There’s no way you should have survived that—no way. How… But…
Alan felt as though his mind was tearing. Synapses 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.
Despite his best efforts, Alan shivered 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 their 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 who’d 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 looked and sounded 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 who 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. Panic seized 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 out-pace his pursuers. Not only was he wearing rented tuxedo shoes, Alan was also anything but athletic. His body was attuned for events more resembling spelling bees and chess tournaments, not sprints.
Alan gritted his teeth as 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 up 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. He ran as though the very dogs of Hell were behind him. In what seemed like only a second, the grip on his shoulder released, the pounding sounds of pursuit faded, and the scenery around him blurred. Then he stopped, forgetting about his pursuers and wondering why his vision had been distorted. Alan found himself well past the motel once only a single block ahead of him.
Alan’s chest heaved as he sucked in cold air that stung on the way down to quivering lungs. He turned around in a circle. The motel he’d been desperately trying to reach was now a block behind him. In fact, he had to squint to see the two men, who stood barely visible in the dark, two blocks down the street.
Alan couldn’t see their facial expressions, but their heads were moving from side to side as if they were talking to each other, just as confused as he was. Alan shook, not from the cold, but from what had just occurred.
He looked down at his hands that now 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. Another motel stood on this block. Apparently, he’d passed it while he ran. Alan took a step toward it now, a step toward the two men who’d chased him.
They watched him approach. From two blocks away, Alan could hear them scream as they turned and ran.
Chapter Twenty
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 onto 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 pants 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 the apps. “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, then left the office. The woman seemed anything but interested in Alan as he caught her looking down at her new phone.
The walk was short from the motel office to his room. The entire complex was made up of only a dozen or so rooms. The farthest room was only a short walk from the lobby.
The motel formed a horseshoe shape around a poorly maintained pool. Weeds grew up the side of the fence that surrounded the water with its uninviting green tint.
Alan wasted no time in finding his accommodations for the night and letting himself inside. The room was what he’d expected—small, with a scent in the air that reminded him of mustiness 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 a TV that looked like they’d come from a different century, and a door farther back that Alan guessed led to the bathroom.
What are you doing? What are you going to do? What’s happening to you? He reluctantly sunk down onto the worn mattress, no answer coming. He knew he couldn’t go home. Not after “
borrowing” Tony’s car and being humiliated at school, but especially now, after having experienced whatever was happening to him.
Alan settled on the bed, staring up at 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 probably had 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 Twenty-One
“You can do this. You did this before.” Alan paced back and forth at a park just a few blocks away from the motel he’d spent the previous night at. His stomach rumbled, not for the first time, as Alan pushed himself to be as fast as he’d been the night before.
“Come on!” he yelled in frustration. Pedestrians who bothered to glance at him frowned or shook their heads. 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’s happening is triggered by your will to live.
Alan tried to remember that feeling now, tried to remember the exact feeling as he fell from the building, imagine that same grip on his shoulder. The fear being chased 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 bead across his brow as angst built up. Then Alan forced his eyes open and ran.
Alan ran as fast as his legs would carry him, feet yelling as they were forced to a dangerous pace, rubbing against his cheaply made but nonetheless-expensive-to-rent tuxedo shoes. Blades of grass crunched underfoot as Alan streaked across the park.
The Complete Archangel Wars Series: A Shared Universe Series (The Archangel Wars) Page 5