"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.
Ian turned away, a bit horrified. She was an irritating monster, but still. . .she didn't deserve that. "Sorry," he muttered again. "I didn't realize. . ."
"That's for sure," she snapped. "What was that about, huh? Who's that kid? A friend of Alex's?"
He didn't want to deal with this. So he started to walk away.
She grabbed his shoulder, forced him to face her. "What's your problem? I asked you a question, so answer it!"
Ian just looked at her, seeing a spoiled teen-aged girl. She was four years older than him, yet he only got the impression of a rich brat. Like Ricard. . . .
He shook his head slowly, tiredly. "Just shut up already. I don't want to answer your stupid curiosity, and I'm not going to. As far as I'm concerned, you're just an annoying, spoiled brat."
It was like someone jabbed her with a cattle prod. She jerked straight, her expression stunned. Ian watched her with detached, weary amusement. He bet that no one had ever told her that to her face before. Well, it was about time.
This time, she didn't stop him from walking away. A few moments later, the bell rang, signaling that another day of school had begun.
ARARAR
The next week passed by, painfully slow. For Ian, it was nothing short of being downright miserable. Tom missed the next two days of school, which was fine. He could deal with Tom's absence. But Tom came back on Thursday, and attended school like nothing had happened.
Sure, he looked like a washed-out ghost, with his pale face, and pained expression. That was his only sign of grief. He paid attention in class, answered questions calmly, and used the excuse that he'd been sick whenever someone asked him why he missed school, or why he looked like his dog died.
Yet, Tom still watched Ian. More so than ever before. Whenever Ian glanced back in the class room, he met Tom's steady, thoughtful gaze. Whenever Ian went outside during lunch to find some quiet, Tom was always somewhere nearby, watching, observing. Almost. . .calculating.
It was unnerving. Ian had thought that with what he'd told Tom, the boy would leave him alone. The effect had turned out to be the opposite, and Ian found himself becoming even more nervous and unraveled. With Tom's constant watch, he worried whether he gave something away with his words, or his actions. What if something he did turned out to be a huge clue, and give away the whole chaotic truth?
Every time he opened his mouth to speak, he wondered, Is this something he said a lot? Was this how he said it?
Every time they played sports, he was thinking every movement through. He was really good at this, so I should do it terribly. A normal kid shouldn't be able to do that, so I need to be careful. Am I doing this too badly? Is it obvious?
He was conscious of everything he did, trying to remember if he had had any obvious little habits, or quirks. It was more difficult than he realized. The problem was, he couldn't remember. The differences between Ian and Ale - him! -were seemingly becoming non-existent. He could barely recall the difference in their personalities, attitudes and emotions, or if there were any differences to begin with.
One of them was dead, so therefore was supposed to be nonexistent. Yet, even though he fought against it with all of his strength, that dead identity was seeping back from the grave.
And Jasmine. She came over twice to tutor him. While she had good knowledge of the subjects he needed help with, she applied very little of it during their sessions. She was more interested in Alex Rider, and Ian's relations to him.
No matter what he said or did, she persisted, refusing to be driven back with a glare or snarling retort. The more he told her to shut up, the more she pressed him. She was absolutely fascinated with the idea of being a secret agent, and she saw Alex as her opportunity to getting her foot into that door.
Their study sessions did nothing more than stress him out further. It was annoying, her constant, repetitive questions about him. At least Jacqueline was there to help calm things down. With her help, he was able to chase Jasmine out of the door earlier.
But Jack could only do so much. With her new identity, courtesy of MI6, she really had no choice but to obey them. She was limited as to what she could do, and one thing she couldn't do, was to get rid of Jasmine entirely.
It was thanks to these events that Ian never noticed something odd going on at Brookland School. It was something barely out of place, so Wolf, who was responsible for watching the school, didn't even see it.
A white sedan, with tinted windows. Parked for one hour across from the school, every day for the past week. It arrived at 8:55 a.m., every school morning, and left an hour later, at exactly 10 o'clock. For the whole hour, it simply sat there, while its occupants observed the school.
It was among several other vehicles that parked there everyday. Any person who noticed it would've thought that someone had a job or something nearby, and just parked there everyday. But only a few would notice that nobody ever left, or entered the vehicle for the entire time.
ARARAR
"How long is he going to keep it up?" Jack murmured to no one in particular. She had just watched the teenager leave the kitchen table and go straight to his room. It was something he'd been doing for a while now, leaving right after meals to go hide out in his room. He rarely talked to her now, and it hurt.
"I'm not sure," came Ben's quiet answer. Acting his part as her husband, he still sat at the table, sipping at a can of non-alcoholic beer. "It was only supposed to be temporary, just until he got his bearings."
"I don't think he realizes that, Ben," Jack said. She glanced over at the SAS-turned MI6 agent. She was suddenly glad that out of K-Unit, he'd been the one to take this position. The others were friendly enough, but he seemed the most mature, the most approachable. If the situation had been different, she'd probably be attracted to him. "I think he took the new identity thing seriously."
"It was to be expected, but only for a little while. It's been over a month now. Maybe you should talk to him."
Jack laughed bitterly. "Have you seen him lately? He hardly talks to me anymore. I'm barely a part of his world. If anyone were to get through to him, it'd be someone who understands all that cloak and dagger stuff."
Ben nodded, looking thoughtful. After a moment of silence, he offered a gentle smile and met her gaze. "Don't write him off yet, Jack. He still a kid, and he still needs you, even though he may not realize it."
ARARAR
Ian had spent the entirety of Saturday in his room, sleeping, staring at the ceiling, or trying to read his schoolbooks unsuccessfully. By Sunday, he was ready to get out of the house. So he came out, muttered to Jack that he was going for a walk, and left the house.
He'd barely gotten past the front yard when a familiar voice spoke up. "Nice morning, isn't it?"
Besides a small jerk of surprise, Ian barely reacted. He looked over to the nearest tree, against which a familiar figure lurked. "What do you want, Scare?"
Immediately, the easy smile disappeared from the man's face. He straightened, and walked over to Ian, his expression completely serious. "Walk with me, kid."
Not having much of a choice, Ian found himself walking down the sidewalk with Scare at his side. Three blocks of silence, before Scare finally spoke up.
"I once knew a man. A great man, really. I was probably around your age when I first met him. . ."
Ian wasn't sure what the sniper was going on about, but he kept silent. Something about the man's seriousness made him listen.
Scare looked at him. "His name was John Rider."
Ian skipped a step, and nearly stumbled. But he recovered quickly. "What's your point?" he muttered.
"I promised a boy once, that I'd tell him about his father," Scare spoke quietly, watching Ian closely. "But that boy. . .has gone missing."
"That's because he's dead," Ian snapped, suddenly irritated.
"Is he?" Scare asked softly. "I think he's merely missing. . .perhaps hiding somewhere. Cowering in some dark place because he's too afraid to face the world." He looked away from Ian, and gaze up at the sky. "It's a pity. His father was never so cowardly."
Ian was biting his tongue, too stunned and upset to respond verbally.
Scare lifted a hand in farewell. "Well, I'd better go. Until Alex Rider comes back, I guess I can't really tell him what his father wanted to say to him. . ." He stepped off the sidewalk, and onto the street. A car passed by, hiding his form for a brief moment, followed by another two cars. When the street was clear, there was no sign of the mercenary.
ARARAR
He sat in the park, considering what would happen if he just. . .disappeared. Probably, not very many people would care. Well, MI6 would miss their little secret weapon. They could just find another kid to shanghai into working for them, and ruin his life, too. But Jack. . .
Ian closed his eyes, and leaned forward. Jack. . .she must've been hurt all this time. But she did whatever she could to help, or make things easier. If only he hadn't come into her life - she'd be so much happier.
Silent, barely-there footsteps came beside him. For a moment, they just stood, then a large form settled itself down on the park bench beside him. Ian didn't bother moving. He could guess who it was.
"You okay?" A gruff voice asked. Wolf's voice.
Ian didn't even bother answering, because frankly, that was a really dumb question.
"Er. . .I guess you wouldn't be, huh. Sorry."
The man fell silent, and they just sat on the bench for a long while. Minutes passed slowly. Ian remained curled up on the bench, feet pulled up, head buried in his knees. Wolf remained still, watching families romp over the park, their laughter and shouts distant. A stray dog trotted back and forth between the people, eager to join the fun.
"I've killed a lot of people," Wolf suddenly said. "It's part of the job description, you know? Fighting the bad guys, saving the world." He paused, and looked over at Ian.
The kid hadn't moved. Which was a good sign, he supposed, since it meant that Ian was listening. He sighed. This was so awkward. He never was good at giving talks to kids.
"I was twenty-four when I killed my first bad guy," he went on. "It was on our first mission as an unit. Some low-key terrorists were holed up in a cabin in the middle of nowhere, and it was our job to bring them in. It went well, at first. We stormed the place, covered all exits. Snake and I went in the front door, while Fox and Eagle went in the back. There were four of the terrorists, like intel had said, all at the kitchen table, having some kind of meeting. So we jumped them, and captured them with little trouble.
"But intel had made a mistake. There'd been a fifth guy. And it was our mistake too, since we didn't bother sweeping the rest of the cabin." Wolf paused, remembering the moment with a gloomy face. "He came out with an AK-47. Snake was hit in the shoulder, I was grazed on the arm. I didn't think, only reacted. My men were in trouble, so I shot him. Three times in the chest. There was some crazy gunfight after that, since the four we'd captured took advantage of the moment. We took out the rest fairly quickly, but the last guy had a grenade. We managed to get out on time, but the cabin was destroyed. The explosion caused a fire, and it burnt down in a few hours."
Wolf hesitated, his rugged features dark. "But what we didn't realize, is that there were civilians in that cabin. They were being held hostage in one of the bedrooms by the fifth terrorist. If we'd only known. . .if we'd known that they were there, we could've saved them. I could've saved them..."
"But you didn't know," a small voice told him. Startled, Wolf looked over at the boy. Haunted brown eyes met his own, and he got the sudden impression that he wasn't looking at Ian, but at Alex Rider.
"Exactly," he looked away. That lost look in those eyes disturbed him, though he was careful not to let show on his rugged face. "Sometimes, sh- er, things happen, and there's nothing we can do. So -"
"It's not the same!" Alex exclaimed. He clutched his head with one hand, as if trying to keep it from falling apart. "It's not the same," he whispered. "Those innocent people, I knew, and I still killed them."
Wolf was silent for a long while, trying to figure out how to respond to that. What could one say to that? He exhaled a long breath of air. "Why did you kill them?"
"Wh-why?" the boy seemed startled. "I - I'm not sure why. . ." He started to tremble, tormented by those moments.
"Did you want to kill them?"
Alex jerked up, his eyes wide with horror and self-loathing. "No! But I did it anyway! I'm a murderer, Wolf. A murderer. . ."
"You were manipulated, Alex." The SAS said firmly. He lifted a hand, and almost reached out to touch the boy. But Alex looked so fragile, that maybe a simple touch would shatter him. He dropped his hand, and inwardly cursed Scorpia and MI6 alike for creating such a mess. "Scorpia lied, and manipulated you into a corner. You killed Tulip Jones, which there really is no excuse for. Ah. . .what I meant was, you made a huge mistake. But you're not a murderer, Alex."
"That's -!"
"In my books, a true murderer is like a serial killer. Someone who enjoys offing people, and doesn't feel a bit of remorse. You're just a kid, you know. A kid whose made some real big mistakes that'll probably haunt you for the rest of your life. Now you're just going to have to deal with it, just like I've never forgotten those civilians who burned to death in that cabin. But at least I'm not letting it ruin my life."
Wolf got to his feet, then, having said what he could. Maybe he should go down to the Bank and give those people a good piece of his mind. And a piece of his fist,too, while he was at it. Bloody idiots, the lot of them!