(Alex Rider Fanfiction) Floating in the Dark

Nineteen

"Alex Rider is dead?" Tom just stared at him. That totally shell-shocked gaze was more than Ian could handle, especially since it was directed straight at him.

Ian struggled to pull himself together. This is my best friend...I can't - I have to do this. I have to! He swallowed hard, and dug his nails into the palms of his hands.

"You -" his voice cracked, and he tried again. "You...knew Alex?" So hard. It was so hard to keep his voice level and calm. I'm sorry, Tom. But you can't know.

"He - He was my best friend," Tom murmured dazedly. He stepped closer, peering at Ian with a strange intensity. "How did you know him?"

"Uh. . .I. . ." Ian didn't know what to say. Just how much did Tom know? How much could he tell Tom without him piecing everything together? "I met him. . .once."

"H-how did he die?"

Ian couldn't take much more of that shell-shocked expression on Tom's face. "He was shot," he blurted out. "By some kind of sniper. That's all I know. I'm sorry. I - I've got to go!" He whirled around, grabbed Jasmine by the wrist, and fled inside the school building.

Once he was behind the safety of several thick walls, he leaned against a set of lockers, and allowed himself to sag. He'd forgotten that he was still gripping Jasmine's wrist. Actually, he'd forgotten the girl was even there.

There were more pressing matters going on inside his head. Namely, a struggle to push back unwanted emotions, and all of the haunting whispers that came with them.

You lied to him, the whispers said to him. Alex isn't dead, you know.

Yes, he is! He mentally yelled back, trying to shove those thoughts into a tiny box, trying to make it all go away and become a peaceful blank space once again. It did not work. Somewhere, somehow, they came slithering back; it was like there was a hole in a dam that held all the water back, and now the water was trickling through, slowly but steadily chipping away at the hole, making it larger, weakening the entire dam in the process.

Tom's going to be grieving over a lie, the whispers said.

It's for the best, he immediately shot back, the guilt starting to feel like a pressure that was bearing down on him. It was the right thing, wasn't it? Better that than. . .

And then he'd realized that he'd been agreeing with the whispers. He groaned. Wasn't sure if it was mentally, or physically out loud.

It was crumbling. He knew it, but couldn't admit it. Didn't want to admit. The borders between the past and present were blurring. Ian was crumbling, chipped away by the trickle of water.

No, he thought desperately. It's not a lie. It's the truth! I'm not lying, because. . .because he is dead. Even as he repeated that mantra, it felt weak and unconvincing. Because deep, deep down, somewhere hidden in the depths of the dark, he knew.

He knew the real truth.

Ian was crumbling.

"Hey!" The sudden shout jerked Ian out of his miserable musings, and he'd realized that Jasmine had been shouting.

"What. . .?"

"Didn't you hear me? I said, let go of my arm!" She was glaring, and Ian suddenly became aware that he'd been holding her wrist all this time. Not only that, but he'd been gripping it so hard, his knuckles had become white.

He immediately released her, stepping back. "S-sorry." Her wrist was a dark red where he'd been holding it. She'd probably be bruised by the next day.