Alex Armstrong: Awakening

by Hayes Farley

  Brady took one last look at the body. He noticed a pistol strapped to the man’s ankle. He grabbed it and wedged it into his belt at the small of his back.

  The three of them worked their way out of the maze and back to the edge of the clearing. They were now halfway between their SUV and the log wall. Lachlan peeked around the corner.

  “Do you see him?” Brady said.

  “Yeah. He hasn’t moved.”

  “Probably waiting for his boys to get back.”

  Lachlan eased away from the edge and shook his head. “I don’t know…‌he didn’t seem to care about the first guy that went down.”

  Brady looked for himself. “Sonnier’s eyes are open. That’s good.”

  Lachlan shook his head again. “I don’t like it. Something’s not right.”

  “You think he’s using the old man as bait?”

  “Maybe.”

  “So what do we do?”

  Alex watched Lachlan. His eyes were closed and his head was down. The ends of his blond hair were dark with sweat. “We could try to flank him. Run back through the shipping containers all the way to the water. Then cut over and surprise him.”

  Brady’s eyes lit up. “I like it.”

  “I do, too,” Alex said. “I’ll get some more diamonds.” He started to open his hand.

  “No.” Lachlan grabbed Alex’s wrist. “He’ll see it. It’ll give us away.”

  Alex slowly made a fist. “Sorry.”

  “And I need you to stay here. Let Brady and I handle this.”

  “But I can help.”

  “I know.”

  “You need me.”

  “Probably. But it’s not worth the risk. You’re too valuable.” Lachlan saw that Alex was about to speak again. “This isn’t up for discussion, Alex. Stay put.”

  Alex turned to Brady for support, but the older student quickly looked away.

  “The police should be on the way. If something goes wrong, stay hidden until they arrive.” And with that, Lachlan and Brady ran into the shadows.

  Alex checked his watch. They had only been gone a few minutes. He stood and peeked around the corner again. The professor still hovered there in his captor’s shadow, his head held at such an angle that he looked like a hanged man dangling at the end of his rope. Roka seemed to be staring at something either on the ship or beyond it. Alex started to turn away when he noticed something missing…

  He snapped around just in time to be face-to-face with the skull mask, the fabric frayed and ragged and slick with blood around his exposed nasal cavity. The man breathed heavily through his mouth and yet little bubbles of blood could be seen popping within that dark red void in the center of his face. He pistol-whipped Alex across the jaw.

  The pain was unlike anything he had ever felt, and as the shockwaves ripped through his body, his vision went white and his ears started ringing and his legs began wobbling and then he crumpled to the ground and there wasn’t a thing he could do about it. The back of his head slammed into the concrete and the taste of blood filled his mouth. Alex opened his eyes to find the man straddling him and saying something in another language. He dropped to the ground and used his knees to pin Alex’s arms in place.

  He screamed. The man was so heavy. Alex tried to kick his legs as if he could squirm away but it was a waste of effort and only served to make the man laugh, every chuckle bringing with it a few drops of blood. When the man saw this, he leaned forward so the blood dripped on Alex’s face.

  “Get off me!” Alex wrenched his head around and caught sight of the diamonds. He tried to focus, tried to wrap his mind around just one of them, but the moment he felt one within his grasp, the man’s fist crashed across his jaw and everything went white again.

  There was another foreign word and now the man produced a large knife. Alex tried to protect himself but his arms were still pinned and all he could manage were weak slaps across the man’s thighs. He caught another glimpse of the knife and the madman wielding it and he knew then that he was going to die, the acceptance filling him not with panic but something else entirely; his mind flooded with memories of his dad, their dinners together, their jokes together, their golf rounds together, and then thoughts of Eva washed over him and he remembered their first kiss, the way she tasted, the way she smelled, the time he saved her life, the times they sat together on the bench. So many good times. Time. The watch. She wanted me to wear the watch. He lifted his hand and glanced at the case. Alex could feel it. All of it. He closed his eyes and instantly his mind shattered the crystal and dove inside and ripped apart the movement into all its separate pieces, hundreds of tiny wheels and pinions which now went bursting out of the case and burrowing into the man’s eye. He dropped the knife and rolled over screaming, blood running between his fingers. Alex drove the shards through the vitreous and into the grey matter beyond and the man’s leg twitched a few times and then all was still.

  “Brady, put it down!”

  Alex was on all fours spitting blood when he heard the gunshots. He scrambled to his feet and ran out into the open.

  Lachlan was the first one he saw. He lay unconscious in the spot where Roka had been standing. His legs were bloody and there were diamonds scattered about.

  “Roka, please! Roka, don’t do this!”

  Sonnier and Roka were now in the center of the log wall, their shadows long in the crane’s light. The professor was still hovering in Roka’s wake, grunting as he desperately tried to wrench free of his shackles.

  “He’s only a boy, Roka!”

  Roka paid him no mind. He walked slowly toward Brady, frozen there with his arms outstretched, hands wrapped around the pistol he had stolen. Smoke wafted from its muzzle. Roka stopped and stared at the bullet spinning in the air. He went to touch it and then withdrew his hand and looked at Brady. “After everything you’ve seen tonight, you somehow thought this was the answer?”

  Alex stopped, paralyzed. His heart was racing.

  Roka stepped closer to Brady. He leaned forward and whispered something in his ear. A tear rolled down Brady’s cheek.

  “Please!”

  Roka stepped back and motioned with his hand and Brady went sliding on two diagonal lines like a bishop on an oversized chessboard. When he stopped and pivoted Alex saw his eyes and they were full of terror. The bullet was spinning just inches from his forehead.

  “Roka, NOOO!”

  There was a pink mist and Brady fell soundlessly to the ground.

  Sonnier lurched forward, cursing and screaming and spitting, his lips curled and teeth gritted like some junkyard dog straining against his leash. Alex heard nothing, deaf to the outside world as he watched the blood spread across the concrete, gobbling up little bits of wood and rind, a sight at once revolting and infuriating. He felt no urge to vomit, no urge to turn away, the hatred that was now flooding his mind making him impervious to any feelings of sickness. He balled his fists until his fingers were white and his nails dug into his palms. His eyes ignited into blue flames and he looked at the SUV and he flexed his fingers and every diamond and piece of glass darted into the air and with one massive shove he sent them racing for Roka, a cloud of iridescent projectiles a thousand strong. The man in black held up a hand and the barrage began streaming around him like air rushing over the hood of a car. Alex doubled his effort, pushing the diamonds deeper and deeper until finally one burst through the barrier and tore through Roka’s cheek, the blood vivid red against his pale skin. He staggered back.

  Alex moved forward and ripped his hands through the air and the metal bindings holding the professor snapped in half. “Now, Sonnier!”

  Sonnier rushed for Roka and drew back his massive fist to deliver a killing blow. His hand froze just inches from Roka’s temple.

  “Don’t you ever quit?” Roka touched his cheek and looked at his blood fresh on his fingertips. Then, without any fanfare, he produced a knife and brought the blade to Sonnier’s throat.

&nb
sp; Alex felt the hand as if it were his own. The knife stopped with a twitch just before drawing blood.

  “Impossible,” Roka whispered. He leaned forward and yet his hand did not move.

  Alex thrust his palm and Roka tumbled along the ground.

  There were sirens and flashing lights and a voice coming through a loudspeaker.

  Roka looked into the distance and then at Sonnier and Alex. The blood on his cheek had smeared and was now all over his face. He looked like a vampire. “We’ll finish this later.” He hopped to his feet and bent his knees and flew away.

  Alex watched him soar above the wall and over the ship and disappear into the night sky. “I can’t do that,” he said.

  “Not yet.”

  27

  A Familiar Face

  A pink glow bisected the darkness and began spreading across the horizon, pooling on the underbellies of the distant clouds so they hung there blushing at the sun’s approach. Alex leaned over the railing and spat. He waited to see if any fish would nibble on the bloody phlegm, but they did not. He touched his face. He winced and touched it again.

  He wasn’t sure how long he’d been standing there. A while. Long enough that he was already starting to feel a sense of numbness to the night’s events. He looked at his watch, now just a strap and the metal case back, and as he fingered the polished rose gold, his first thoughts were not to the man he killed, but to Eva, and to his dad. There was something about that realization that frightened him. Alex looked away and focused again on the horizon.

  He tried to remember everything that had happened since Roka escaped, but it was all such a blur. All that was left were fragments. Like the first cop, the one who pulled him aside for questioning. He couldn’t recall anything that was said, but he remembered the way the cop grabbed his upper arm and yanked him away from Sonnier, the way the cop snapped his fingers in front of his face when he caught Alex watching the medics as they loaded Kim into the helicopter. And he remembered the confused and angry look on that cop’s face when the men in the dark suits arrived at the crime scene. How the young one got out of the Mercedes and walked straight for Alex. How he reached in his jacket and pulled his identification and asked the cop to leave. Soon, all the cops were asked to leave. There was some cursing and some yelling and then doors were slammed and lights stopped flashing and all that was left were Sonnier and Alex and the suits. There must have been a dozen, each of them taking pictures and collecting evidence and making notes on their tablets.

  He remembered Sonnier calling President Joyce and getting angry when he didn’t answer. He muttered something and slipped his phone in his back pocket only to immediately grab it again when it vibrated. He turned and walked away, but not before Alex heard those first words: “They knew.”

  He walked back after a while and handed the phone to Alex.

  “Sir?”

  “Alex, Sonnier’s told me everything. I’m so sorry. This has never happened during a Greyjean…”

  Alex listened without hearing. His mind was cloudy. He was tired. Even as the president kept talking, the only words playing in his head were those spoken by Roka. “Sir?”

  “Yes, Alex?”

  “He said you started it. That this was all part of some larger war that you started.”

  There was a pause. “Alex—”

  “Is it true?” He looked at the SUV, the logs, the bullet casings, the blood.

  “Alex, what you’re asking demands a long answer that should not take place over the phone.”

  “But—”

  “No, Alex. You have my word that I will tell you everything, but now is not the time. Your thoughts should be with Brady, your teammates, your friends, your—”

  “Dad. I haven’t called my dad.” He felt sick to his stomach. He wanted to go home.

  “Then quit talking to me and call him, for God’s sake.”

  “Yes sir.”

  “And Alex?”

  “Sir?”

  “Thank you.”

  Now he remembered why he was standing here at the edge of the pier. He was going to call his dad. Alex turned away from the water and pulled out his phone. It was dead. He pushed the button a few more times just to be sure. He went to find Sonnier.

  Alex rounded the corner of the log wall and saw the professor talking to a man not wearing a suit. “Dad?”

  Mr. Armstrong turned at the sound of his son’s voice. “You never called.”

  Alex rushed into his arms and closed his eyes and buried his nose into his dad’s jacket and started sobbing. He felt his dad’s arms and hands around his back and they felt better than any bulletproof vest. He didn’t want to move.

  Mr. Armstrong waited until the sobs turned into sniffles before grabbing his son’s shoulders and holding him at arm’s length. He felt thicker, stronger. And though his eyes were bloodshot, they were even bluer than he remembered. He watched Alex try to smile, but the attempt was cut short by another bout of sniffles. Mr. Armstrong pulled him in again. He turned to Sonnier and thanked him. The professor rubbed his thick hand on Alex’s head and walked away.

  “I was so scared, Dad.”

  “I know, buddy. I know.” He squeezed a little harder.

  It was a long while before either of them spoke. A car door shut. Then another. Alex pulled away just enough to see his dad’s face. He looked older. “You were right, you know.” His dad smiled but didn’t say anything. “About me being made for this place. You were right.”

  Mr. Armstrong sighed. His smile suddenly looked a little sadder. “I was hopin you forgot about that.”

  “Why?”

  “Cause I hear you say those words, and I think I know what it means. Alex, there’s no shame in walkin away. You don’t have to do this anymore. You can go back to bein a normal kid.”

  “But—but what you said before.”

  “Buddy, I know, it’s just—well I didn’t think it’d lead to this.” Mr. Armstrong glanced at the SUV.

  Alex saw the glassiness in his father’s eyes. “Dad, they need me.”

  “Buddy, I need you.”

  Alex smiled. He hugged his dad again. There was so much to tell him, but right now, none of it mattered. And so he didn’t say a word, just pulled tighter and tighter.

  About the Author

  Hayes Farley lives in Ponte Vedra Beach, Florida, with his wife Dawn and daughter Mackenzie. When he’s not reading or writing or changing diapers, he can be found at the golf course, hoping that with enough practice he might one day hit a fade.

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  Get in Touch

  Email: hayes@hayesfarley.com

  Website: hayesfarley.com

  Acknowledgments

  I’ll start with my family. Dawn, I know it sometimes took me a while to switch out of writing mode, so thank you for putting up with me when I wasn’t as engaged as I should have been. You’re the best. Oh, and I love you most.

  Mom and Dad, your support and encouragement got me through the days when self-doubt crept into my brain. Thank you for always being there for me. And Kacy, you may not know this, but I owe you big time for pointing out a pretty major flaw with someone that will be a very major character. Thanks, Sister!

  A big shout out to my beta readers: Brenda, Brian, Clayton, Renee, and Wendy. Your comments and suggestions were invaluable during the editing process.

  Speaking of editing, this book wouldn’t be anywhere near as smooth as it is without the help of Mollie Mohr Turbeville. Mollie’s an incredibly gifted editor, and I consider myself
lucky to have found her. I can’t wait to have her tear through another Alex Armstrong novel.

  And how about that cover! That’s the work of Jeroen ten Berge, my friendly and awesomely talented cover designer. Not only is Jeroen blessed with an artistic brain, but he lives in New Zealand. I am officially jealous.

  Last but not least, I want to give a special thanks to Chris Regas. Without him, this novel never would have happened.