Eager to see how fast he was moving, he turned his head from side to side. His jaw dropped as he witnessed life all around him taking place at a much slower speed 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 yet 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 ways, 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 as he tried to make sense of his life’s puzzle. 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, 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.
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’d 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 had 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.
No more stealing day after day. Amateur hour is over. This will set you up for a long time. You can get your own pad; no more motels.
Deep inside, Alan knew what he was doing was wrong. Whether it was his conscience, subconscious, or something else, a voice inside him 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’d suffered enough throughout his early years, that 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, crouched in an alley behind a large trash container with the city’s largest bank and trust across the street.
Sweat glistened off of Alan’s brow as he looked down at his watch: 5:58 PM. Alan had spent the last few weeks scoping out the building, and in that time, he learned that this day was the least busy of the week. He knew 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. This was by far the craziest thing he’d ever attempted in his life. His grip tightened on the mask’s thick fabric, and he chuckled to himself. He knew the mask wasn’t going to keep people from seeing his face; his supernatural speed would do that. The mask was more as moral support than anything else. It comforted him in a way that a safety blanket would a small child.
Alan took in another deep breath, and slowly let it out. He pulled the black mask’s thick wool over his face, the fabric scratching his skin as he slid it into place. There were three holes—two for his eyes and one for his mouth.
Even as he reached for the large, black duffel bag beside him, even as his digital clock hit 5:59 PM, Alan’s internal voice begged him to stop, told him he was doing the wrong thing, 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 fall of his Nikes on the pavement, Alan rehearsed the plan in his head. Straight to the vault, only large bills, in and out in 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 allowed teller windows to open in a crescent shape. Alan took in his surroundings as he ran forward.
To his right, a security guard, whom he could probably outrun even without his powers, was reading a newspaper. There were no customers in line. Only two patrons were in the process of depositing or withdrawing funds, and they both stood in the middle of conversations with the bank tellers assisting them.
Alan ran toward the middle of the teller windows and 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 ranging from looking as though they’d caught a whiff of someone’s old egg salad sandwich, to relief that 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 wondering what she was saying, but 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 bars almost sent Alan into a panic. Even as he placed his hand onto 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 overweight, elderly 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 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’d be caught at any moment and went to work instead. Against the walls, piles of cash rose on steel-framed cabinets. Luckily for Alan, they were all stacked in numerical value.
The pile of one hundred dollar bills 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—in one second, he’d go from counting money to having it disappear, literally, from right under his nose.
Loading the money into his black duffel bag felt great. Thick stack after thick stack of the one hundred dollar bills filled every inch of his sack. Alan fought against the urge to count his money right there and then. There’ll be plenty time for that later, he told himself.
Zipping the bag closed 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, with 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 duffel 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. Then 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 a normal speed, and the flags flapped and slapped against themselves in the wind.
The only thing that seemed out of place in the seconds that followed were the shouts from the bank and the vault’s alarm.
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 feeling the weight of his depression across his shoulders. He didn’t want to tell the woman showing him the place that he’d 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 few and far between, and bad days happened 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’d 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 realtor’s eyebrows rose as she looked at her watch. Alan knew what she was thinking. The clock 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 dining 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’d change his mind.
Alan walked in and out of the rooms, wondering why he wasn’t happier. This was something he’d always wanted. As far back as he could remember, a place to call his own had always been out of his reach. Every time he left a group home or a foster parent, he’d imagine a place where he wouldn’t have to leave. A place just like this, one 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 vanished as soon as he made to grab it. He was here now, though, so 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 echoing 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 of 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’s still missing. Apparently, super speed doesn’t come with any muscle tone. You’re still that skinny kid who couldn’t stick up for himself. We need to fix that.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Present Day
There was a beep, and then another, and another, and another. Alan opened his eyes, saved from a nightmare he couldn’t remember. He was lying in his bed. To his left, a heart rate monitor beeped along at a steady pace.
At once, the events leading up to his unconsciousness overwhelmed him. He sat straight up in bed, immediately regretting the decision. His face and upper body felt like they’d been put through a meat grinder. Alan grunted and fell back into his pillows as a blinding pain exploded in his head.
The heart rate monitor spiked at Alan’s actions, and the beeping sped up in tempo. He closed his eyes, trying to take in deep breaths, hoping that it would calm the monitor and the pain. It didn’t.
As he was staring at the ceiling, he heard his door open. Alan craned his neck forward despite the pain. Danielle walked toward him with a frown. “How are you feeling?”
Anger rose in Alan’s chest. He didn’t know why, but he blamed Danielle for what had happened to him. “How am I feeling? I feel like some psychotic chef broke into my place and beat the snot out of me while wearing my slippers.”
Danielle’s eyes widened behind her glasses. “Okay then, not sure I deserved that one, but you’ve been through a lot. I get it—misdirected anger.”
Alan stared at her, already regretting his snarky remark. “What happened to me? Who was that guy?”
“I got here as soon as I heard the conversation over the phone. Smooth move calling me, by the way. From the muffled voices, I guess I was in your pocket?”
“Yeah.”
“Nice. By your description of the man who did this to you, it was probably Dominic Drencher.”
“Who was he? What did he want with me?”
“He’s part of our rival organization—”
Alan couldn’t take all the talk of “organizations” anymore. Not when Danielle had already told him they were dealing with angels. “Enough with the organization talk. I can’t believe I’m saying this—we’re talking about angels and demons, right?”
Half of him already knew the answer, while the other half wished this was all some kind of sick, twisted dream. He wasn’t so lucky.
“Yes, however, there’s so much you don’t yet know.”
“Then tell me!” Alan hadn’t meant to yell; but his frustration had demanded he do so.
Danielle began removing the heart monitor wires from Alan’s chest. Sticky pads gently released their adhesive grip on his fair skin. “I’m going to take you to speak with someone who wants to meet you. He’ll explain everything, I promise. I also want to show you something now to start preparing you for the conversation you’re going to have.”
Alan looked at her, confusion written across his face. “I don’t think I’m in any kind of condition to travel anywhere right now.”
“I would agree,” Danielle said. “You know how you have the gift of speed?”
Alan nodded, wondering if she was going to say she had the same gift and was going to carry him somewhere.
“Well, I also have my own set of gifts. One of them is healing. I wanted you awake for this so you’d believe me. You don’t strike me as the type to take things on faith. Hold still.”
Alan couldn’t believe his ears. He felt his body flinch as Danielle put her hands on his left bicep.
“Don’t worry, this won’t hurt.”
Alan felt far from reassured, though. Bare-chested, Alan looked down at his torso, where mean-looking bruises of green and black fought for real estate on his skin. His body was a canvas of dark splotches and pain.
Goose bumps rose as Danielle closed her eyes and took in a deep breath. At first, Alan felt nothing; his body ached just as it had since he’d woken up, and his head throbbed like someone was beating on it with a h
ammer.
Then, things started to change. Alan felt warmth radiating out of Danielle’s hands, spreading from his arm into the rest of his body, her heat pushing back the pain that coursed through his chest and head. It was the same kind of heat Alan experienced when he ran.
For the first time in a very long time, he felt happy. A safeness that he couldn’t explain was slowly wrapping itself around him. Alan’s eyes widened as he saw his bruises fading.
The ache in his chest was lessening, and the warmth spread to his head. Instead of a throbbing headache, Alan felt calm and relaxed. A few moments later, when Danielle lifted her hands from his arm, Alan debated asking her for more.
He looked at her with awe and a newfound respect. She took a careful step away from the bed and let out a deep breath. The slightest hint of sweat glistened across her brow.
“Does healing hurt you?”
Danielle opened her eyes and shook her head. “No, but it’s work. Imagine lifting a heavy weight. The harsher the injury, the heavier the weight I have to lift. You should be healed now. I hate having to make you wait for answers. Just trust me, you’ll have them soon. Come on. Let’s get you ready. Michael is waiting.”
Chapter Twenty-Five
“He’s in there?”
“All the way at the top. You’ll need to get access to the roof.”
Alan suddenly felt uncomfortable. “And you’re not coming?”
Danielle shook her head. “Sorry, this is your time for answers. I went through the same thing. I’ll be here waiting for you when you’re done.”
Alan looked out through the car window at the tall corporate building. From the outside it seemed as if the structure was made entirely of steel and glass. Sunrays reflected off the windows, making Alan squint to see the top of the building.
The Complete Archangel Wars Series: A Shared Universe Series (The Archangel Wars) Page 6
