Waters of Lethe, Book 2

28. Bad Samaritans

We found Alex Number 2 exactly where Drew told me he'd be, which was at the school's huge football stadium.

It was a closed off practice, but no one was around to stop us from sneaking in. We watched from the tunnel that led up to the bleachers so that we'd stay out of sight, Alex leaning against the concrete wall, arms crossed, while I stood beside him.

We located Alex Number 2 immediately. He wore normal football gear: large shoulder pads, tight pants. He took off his helmet several times to wipe the sweat from his eyes, his brownish-blonde hair short but gleaming in the already hot sun.

"He does kind of look like you," I told Alex. "Maybe if he had a little more hair."

Alex pursed his lips to make a disgusted face, but he saw it, too.

"What if you two are twins separated at birth?" I pondered.

"Our mother named both of us Alex?" he chuckled.

I shook my head, watched the rest of the play that the team went through.

Luckily for us, we strolled up toward the end of the practice. We watched as the men had a short meeting on the field, taking their helmets off and chugging water while listening to the coach yell at them. Then they all began walking toward us, to the locker room that we assumed was under this part of the stadium. We quickly exited, heading to the parking lot where all the player's vehicles were parked.

Alex bumped me on the shoulder as we stood in the heat, waiting for Alex Number 2 to come out. "You like making bets, right?"

"Depends. What are we betting on?"

"Hmm..." he thought for a moment. "Winner gets to shoot Whitman. Loser has to haul him into both the car and into the plane."

"He has about seventy pounds and four inches on me," I pointed out, "and only about fifteen pounds on you. This sounds unfair."

"Oh. So you like girly, friendly bets?"

I sighed, buying into his taunting. "Alright. What's the bet?"

He looked around. "Which one of these cars do you think belongs to him?"

I looked around with him. There were several types of vehicles in the lot, from Toyota Corollas to Honda Civics to BMWs. I narrowed it down to either the red BMW or the white Mercedes. What would Alex Number 1 like? I thought to myself. I didn't think either one of the cars I narrowed it down to was my Alex's style.

"Okay. I think the white Mercedes. That screams I'm rich."

Alex tapped his chin, looked around the parking lot one more time. "It's the white Audi."

Audi...

My eyes closed. Images of the older man in my memories I saw on occasion flashed behind my eyelids, his black Metallica shirt catching me off guard.

"El?"

"Huh?" I asked, opening my eyes.

He grinned at me. "Stay with me, Ellie Eileen."

I shook my head, noticing that he liked that saying a little too much. Stay with me. As if he were referring to my mind and how it drifted off sometimes, how it drifted off to be in another world I couldn't remember. Stay here. Stay with me, Ellie Eileen, in this world. The one you belong to now.

Not if they got the note I left them in Mark's Organic Foods.

I blankly watched Alex as he went over to the Audi and fiddled with one of its back tires, then watched as he walked back to me. I was still trying to connect words and images in my mind, not caring about what he had done. I was so close...

My mind officially came back to the present when the football team poured out into the parking lot, getting in their vehicles to go home. Or, in Alex Whitman's case, a party at his home.

In ten minutes, we were on the side of the highway, parked behind the white Audi to help with an unfortunate flat the car had suffered.

Alex and I got out of our car.

"Alex Whitman?" my Alex asked.

Alex Whitman had went to the other side of the car, inspecting the damage with a phone in his hand. Whitman looked up from his phone. I realized that he was calling for help; he probably didn't know how to fix a flat tire.

"Yeah?" Alex Whitman said, more like a Yeah? Who are you? Something in me said that we felt familiar to him, like he knew we weren't actually there to be good Samaritans and help fix a flat tire.

Alex said nothing else, just whipped out his stun gun and popped Whitman in the chest, causing him to sink to the ground.

I tried to hide my panic. No one was around, no cars driving past. But that didn't mean no one was watching. "Alex! We're on a freaking highway! What if someone drives by—"

"Well you better get him in the car quick," he chuckled.