Alex Armstrong: Awakening (9 page)

He made his way back to the table. “Are there any other questions?”

“When do we take the pill?” said a familiar voice. Alex turned and saw Philip half-standing in his seat, backpack in hand. He looked irritated.

Professor Startsman squinted at Philip. He stared like this for a moment and then shrugged and turned to the whole class. “Let’s go to the lab.”

Professor Startsman led the way up the aisle and directly across the hallway to a sliding door marked BlueLab1. He stood just inside and watched the line of students as they passed. “I know you’re all tired and hungry. And probably cranky. This won’t take long. Just go ahead and find a seat and we’ll get moving.”

It was cold inside. Sterile. Shiny. With its stainless steel cabinets and tabletops, it looked like a kitchen from an upscale restaurant. Two rows of ten tables ran the length of the room, and since Alex and his friends were some of the last to enter, they had to settle on a table in the back. The four of them sat on their stools and swiveled to face the professor. His shirt had come untucked again.

“In truth, this is quite anticlimactic. Like I said before: no needles, no drills. You will notice two cups on the napkin lying before you, one of which contains a plump little red pill just begging to be swallowed. Once that pill goes down, there’s no turning back, your journey has begun. You’ll notice that we don’t offer a blue pill here at Pal Tech,” he said, smiling, “so if any of you wants out, raise your hand and let me know. We will provide you transportation back to your home. Any takers?”

Professor Startsman was met with silence. “Ahh, the power of peer pressure. Well then, without further ado, bottoms up.” He tossed back an imaginary shot.

Alex felt his stomach tighten. He was suddenly way more nervous than excited. He flattened both palms on either side of his napkin and lifted them away and stared at the steel, his ghostly imprints fading into nothingness.

“You guys ready for this?” Patrick said.

Alex looked up and saw that his three friends were staring at him. He found strength in Eva’s eyes. “On the count of three?” Nate and Patrick nodded.

“One…‌two…‌three!”

They touched cups in the center of the table and threw back their heads and downed the pills.

Professor Startsman glanced around the room. “See, that wasn’t so hard. Now about those side effects…” He cleared his throat. “You will each become as tired as you’ve ever been sometime in the next two hours. Don’t fight it. Just let the deep sleep wash over you. You will wake some time tomorrow. I would strongly suggest a heavy meal at the Dining Hall, and then straight to your dorms with the curtains pulled.

“Expect vivid dreams tonight, the most vivid you’ve ever experienced. Some of you may even have nightmares.” He looked as though he wanted to add something, but he didn’t. Instead, he walked to the sliding door and positioned himself so that it stayed open. “I won’t keep you any longer. Get some food, get back to your dorms, and hope for happy dreams. I will see each of you on Monday.”

10 - Sleepy Head

10

Sleepy Head

“I have a Signal 33 in progress on 1200 Fairmont Avenue. Requesting backup.”

Alex looks out the window and sees his reflection. He needs to shave. He looks old. Tired. He wears a navy uniform. The plastic nameplate under his silver badge reads
Officer Armstrong.

The car barrels down a dark street. He sees a paint-chipped porch with no chairs. Vulgarity-covered plywood in place of windows. He touches his weapon.

“I have a Signal 33 in progress on 1200 Fairmont Avenue. Requesting backup.”

The engine rumbles and the exhaust roars and Alex presses into his seat. The siren blares. An SUV swerves to the right and as they pass he sees the reflection of their flashing lights in its sheet metal.

The car crests a hill and his stomach lurches. He’s never known an autopilot to drive so quickly. He looks left. Hands are on the wheel.

It’s Philip.

He turns to Alex with a maniacal grin, eyes twitching. He licks his lips. “We’re gonna shoot some bad guys!” An eruption of spittle. He leaves it hanging there on his lower lip and turns back to the road. His badge is absurdly large.

“I have a Signal 33 in progress on 1200 Fairmont Avenue. Requesting backup.”

“Officers Ryan and Armstrong, en route!” Philip says. He drops the two-way and it dangles at the end of its coiled noose. He cranks the volume on the radio. Heavy metal. He accelerates. He works the steering wheel as if he’s wringing a towel and his knuckles go white. “We’re gonna
kill
some bad guys.”

****

There’s screaming and shouting and shooting. It starts to rain. Alex looks up and feels the cool softness of it. He half-closes his eyes and watches the droplets dotting his eyelashes change from red to blue and back again, each a miniature crystal ball of terror.

“I count at least a dozen shooters,” Philip says.

Alex steals a glance over the trunk at the crumbling two-story structure that some family once called a home. Something explodes inside and flames belch out the side windows and he winces from the heat and returns to a crouch. He reaches for his gun. It’s not there. Alex pats his chest as if he’s searching for keys and realizes that he isn’t wearing his vest. He gasps and feels his bowels loosen and only at the last second does he avoid soiling himself. He wants to go home.

“I lost my gun.”

Philip turns to Alex and his mouth torques into some toothy monstrosity. “You didn’t lose your gun, you idiot. I told you to leave it in the car.”

“What? Why?”

“Because we don’t need em.”

“What the hell are you talking about?”

“No one can hurt us. We’re invincible.”

“Are you insane? I want my gun! I need it!”

A cop runs in from nowhere and slides to a stop behind the next police car. Loose bits of gravel click against the door. The cop’s eyes are bulging and his chest is heaving. He readies himself and stands and takes one, two, three shots and then ducks back to cover. He leans his head against the car and cups his hands around his pistol as though he’s in prayer. The cop stays like this for a minute and then opens his eyes and nods at Alex and Philip. He takes a few quick breaths and pops from cover and fires one, two, three—

SPLAT

The back of the cop’s head explodes in a bloody mess of hair and bone and brain. His hands fall to his sides and his body stays standing there longer than it should and crumples to the ground in a heap.

Alex vomits.

“That won’t happen to us. I promise,” Philip says.

Alex says nothing and stares at the remains of his dinner.

“You don’t believe me?”

Alex shakes his head.

“I’ll prove it.” Philip fans his fingers and the dead cop’s pistol flips through the air and into his hand. “Here. Take it. I want you to shoot me.”

“What?”

“You heard me.” Philip shoves the grip into Alex’s hands.

Alex takes the pistol and wraps his fingers around the wet steel and feels its weight.

“I mean it, Alex. I’ll stop the bullet.”

Alex loosens his grip.

“Look at me, Alex.”

“No. You’re crazy.”

Philip grabs the barrel and pulls the muzzle against his chest. “Pull the trigger.”

Alex twists the pistol out of Philip’s grasp. “No. Get the hell away from me.” Bullets strike the outside of their car.

“Alex, I’m only gonna ask one more time.”

“Or what?”

“I’m serious.”

“Go to hell.”

Philip flashes a psychotic grin and then moves faster than Alex can react. He grabs the pistol and points it at his temple and pulls the trigger.

“
NO!
”

But there’s no blood. No pink cloud. And Philip’s head doesn’t move. His look of intense focus fades into a smile and he looks at Alex and lowers the pistol.

A bullet is spinning in place just inches from Philip’s skull. It drops harmlessly to the ground and bounces into a wet footprint and sizzles.

“But how did you?”

“I told you…‌we’re invincible. It’s easy. Here, you try it,” he says.

Alex edges back as much as he can while still maintaining cover. “No. Get it away from me.”

“I want you to try it.”

“I said NO!”

“Alex, I’m only gonna ask one more time,” Philip says. He levels the barrel at his partner’s chest.

“Philip, please.” Alex wants to cry. He wants to scream. But he can’t. He can’t even move. His blue eyes beg for mercy.

“Yes, Alex. This is important. You need to learn. Now get ready. Focus. I’m gonna fire on the count of three.
One
…”

“Philip.”

“
Two
…”

“Please.”

“
Three
.”

Everything is dark.

****

He hears a soft whirring. Rhythmic. Peaceful. Now something dissonant. It keeps
beep…‌beep…‌beeping
. He feels hot. He tries to push away the covers, but he can’t move. More
beeping
.

Now there’s talking. Three people. His mouth is dry. He can barely swallow. He wants to speak but he becomes self-conscious about his breath and keeps his mouth closed. Now he’s sensitive to other smells in the room. Dried blood. Sweat. A faint smell of piss. And then, cologne. It’s familiar.

Something tickles his arm. He tries to ignore it, but the tickling becomes an itch and the itch only gets worse. He tries to focus on something else—anything else—but the itch is unbearable. He reaches his left hand across his body and digs at the spot with a fingernail.

“He’s awake!”

Of course I’m awake
, he thinks. He realizes his eyes are closed. He tries to open them but nothing happens.
Maybe I am asleep.

“Alex? Little buddy, can you hear me?”

It’s his dad. He’s just inches away. Alex feels little puffs of cool air coming from his dad’s nose and they feel good against his hot skin. “Dad, where am I?” He keeps his eyes closed, but just the thought of his dad sitting at his side makes him smile. He notices his dad is holding his right hand and gives the smallest hint of a squeeze. His dad squeezes back.

“You’re in the hospital, buddy. You’re gonna be okay.”

“What’s wrong, Dad?” Alex starts to open his eyes.

“You’re gonna be okay,” his dad repeats.

Alex hears his dad sniffing. He can only open his eyes a crack. He looks at his dad and sees that his eyes are bloodshot and his face is covered in stubble. His shoulders heave with the occasional spasm.

“I’m here, Alex,” he says. He forces a smile, but it’s cut short by another bout of sniffling.

“Robert, are you ready?”

Mr. Armstrong nods.

“Are you sure you want to go through with this?”

Mr. Armstrong takes a deep breath, stands, and kisses Alex on the forehead. “Everything’s gonna be all right, now. I love you so much, little buddy.”

Now Alex is moving. A train of fluorescent lights overhead. There’s a jolt as they shove his stretcher through a doorway.

A mask is placed over his face. “Alex, I need you to count backwards from one hundred.”

The gas smells funny.

“It’s almost over, little buddy. I love you most.”

“One hundred, ninety-nine, ninety-eight, ninety-seven…”

He passes out, aware that his dad is still holding his hand.

****

Alex sits outside on a well-manicured lawn. He smells the grass clippings. He looks up and feels the sun on his face. On days like this, his dad would always tell him that he has his mother’s eyes. Blue like the sky.

He blinks once, twice, and now he’s surrounded by people. Hundreds of people. They sit on foldable metal chairs and most wear black. Alex glances down and sees that he’s wearing his favorite black suit. He blinks again and now he’s looking at an ornate coffin. A preacher stands behind a podium and speaks, but there is no sound.

Someone is holding his right hand. He thinks of his dad and grins and gives a little squeeze. But the hand’s too small. He looks. It’s Eva. She tries to smile but her lips tremble. A tear sparkles in the sunlight as it slides below the edge of her sunglasses.

“I’m so sorry, Alex,” she says.

He feels a hand on his shoulder. He turns and sees Patrick. His eyes are red. Nate sits beside him wearing black aviators. He wipes his nose and nods at Alex.

Alex looks at the coffin. A sick feeling washes over him. His stomach clinches. He feels a tear begin to swell on his cheek. It wobbles and falls and lands with a plop. Paper. He looks down and lets go of Eva’s hand and unrolls his program. “Robert Armstrong, Loving Husband and Father.”

His breathing quickens and his heart beats faster. He feels it reverberate in his ears. Now he overhears two women having a conversation.

“It was the only way.”

“A heart transplant?”

“Yes. The boy was shot. The bullet lodged in his heart.”

“So he died? Right there on the operating table?”

“Yes, so his son could live.”

“Oh dear. And did it work?”

“Why yes. They said it was a miracle. That’s him. Sitting right there. Tall. Handsome. Looks like his mother.”

“Do you know her?”

“Yes. She was a lovely woman. She would’ve been a great mother.”

“What do you mean?”

“Catherine died during childbirth.”

“Oh heavens.”

“I’ll never forget that day. They were both so young. And they were so cute together. So in love. I remember how they went on all kinds of trips…‌always going out to nice dinners. They just knew how to have
fun
. And then Catherine got pregnant and they spent those last few months getting ready for the baby. Oh, they were so excited. And then just like that…‌it was over.”

“I’m—I’m at a loss.”

“Oh, I know. It’s such a tragedy. But you have to look at the silver lining. Robert finally gets to see her again. He loved her so, so much.”

Alex feels faint. His heart’s racing.
His dad’s heart
. He shudders and his shoulders lurch and his chest heaves. He sobs. Loud, wet sobs. He tastes bile.

His chair falls backwards when he stands. He can barely see through the tears. His feet carry him away from the casket, away from the people trying not to stare.