Alan Price and the Colossus of Rhodes (The Nephilim Chronicles) (4 page)

Chapter 13

The wind, 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
all of those faces of pity wrong. Anger, desire, the will to live awoke inside
Alan as the ground rushed to meet him.

Gritting his teeth Alan yelled at
the ground, now only a few feet away. Then his downward momentum slowed. It
felt like someone was lifting him, carrying him up. His forward progress
continued to lose speed until it 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. Alan
hovered above the ground for a spilt second, then dropped the last remaining
feet to safety.

Chapter 14

Present Day

“Another drink, sir?”

“Yes. In fact, can you just bring
the bottle? I think that will be easier for both of us.”

“I certainly can, sir—would
you like to be informed of the price? I mean before I go get it.”

He knew she was trying to be
polite. Deep down he understood what was going through her head. She was doing
the calculations on how much he already drank, in addition to the cost of the
bottle. “No, I don’t need to know the price. Just bring the bottle please.”

He caught the surprise in her eyes
even as she turned to go. The server bobbed with a bounce of her blonde curls
and was gone.

He smirked to himself and brushed a
dark blond strand of his own hair behind his ear. He could feel the expensive
fabric of his tailored shirt press against his muscular chest and arms as he
reached across the table for the book that lay face up in front of him.

Reading the book alone looked out
of place in such a high-end bar, even he realized that. The book reminded him
of how he had felt as he made his own transition from plain and ordinary to,
something else entirely. Something he was still trying to understand.

He could feel eyes on him from the
female patrons in the bar and the staff. He witnessed his server murmuring to
her coworkers while grabbing the requested bottle of 1939 Macallan.

The sheets in his book gently
ruffled, his fingers touched familiar passages. The pages were like old
friends. He couldn’t help but smile as he remembered exactly how many times he
had read the book.

The lighting in the bar was dim,
which would have posed a problem to anyone else but him. The words were so
familiar that he could see the print on the page as clearly as if he were
sitting at a bench in the park during a bright midday out.

He heard her before he saw her.
“Here you are, sir. The most expensive bottle we have. I had to convince my
manager that this wasn’t a joke but when I told him who ordered it he
practically ran to fill the request.” She placed the newly dusted bottle of
whisky on the table. “Do you come here often?”

He put the book down, his blue eyes
making contact with hers. “From time to time. Usually there’s a different
waitress working.”

“Oh, I’m part of the day shift. I’m
just picking up extra hours.” Her eyes fell from his, hesitating too long on
his muscular torso and rested on the book that was placed on the table. “Spartans,
huh?”

He nodded, “Spartans.”

An awkward silence filled the space
between the two as the attractive young woman grasped for a follow up line. A line
she never had to use before; men had always felt obligated to fill the silence
in an attempt to please her. “Ummm… can I pour the whisky for you?”

“No, that’s fine you can leave the
bottle.”

She cleared her throat, once again
at a loss for words. “If you don’t mind me asking, who are you? I mean the
entire night staff seems to know you and I think every woman in here has asked
about you since you sat down.” Her face reddened even as she asked the
question.

He looked at her; he really looked
at her. She was pretty, young and carried herself like a woman rather than a
girl. High energy and a steady smile made her not only attractive but even
approachable. He didn’t blame her for the question. In all fairness, it was one
that he had been trying to answer for the past four years. “I don’t know. I
don’t know if I’ll ever know. The last few years have been a blur of temporary
happiness.”

This was clearly not the answer she
was expecting. “Oh, okay. Well, let me know if you need anything. My name is
Sophia.”

He nodded as she turned and left.
Part of him wished he had been nicer, but it was the truth. Alan Price opened
the costly bottle of whisky as nonchalantly as someone would open a water
bottle. He poured himself a generous portion. As the glass traveled from the
table top to his lips, he thought back to the first night he realized that life
would be more of a mystery than he ever thought possible.

Chapter 15

Four Years Ago

Alan’s whole body tingled. He felt
warmth emanating from the very core of his being. Air leaked slowly, almost
painfully into his lungs as his mind fought 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 around him,
above him, everywhere, anywhere that could provide an answer as to why he
wasn’t dead. There was nothing that could have stopped him. Alan never felt so
alone. No one would believe him even if he could explain what happened.

He searched desperately for any
pedestrians, anyone to confirm that he wasn’t crazy, that he had flown or at
the very least hovered. There was no one. The business district that teemed
with human traffic during the day was 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. 

Waiting and trying to explain to
the police what 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 and to a future that seemed
more bleak and alone than ever.

Chapter 16

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 had spent on the tuxedo and haircut
that night for the school dance. He was alone, vulnerable and, above all,
confused.

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 happening 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.