Lost Game Notes (Novel)

Chapter 22: Monster

A shrill, two-note tune rang through Alex's mind, bringing him to reality with a jolt. He blinked his blurry eyes, staring at the soft crisscross of yellow light.

"Careful Alex, you're falling over." The soft voice had him looking to the side.

Golden light shone off Sky's bruised, tear streaked face, highlighting his dull, lifeless eyes. His hair was marred with dirt and matted.

Alex became aware of Sky's arm wrapped firmly around him, realizing at the same time his hoodie was missing, exposing his skin to the sting of the chill breeze. A huge avalanche of pain swept over him just then and he gasped, grabbing Sky's smaller arm to support himself. He hadn't noticed how much he was hurting until now.

"What...what—" Alex began, but Sky hushed him.

There was a tremble in his voice when he spoke: "I know it hurts. I'll have Lawrence take you to the hospital as soon as—"

"Wait. What happened? Why are we—" Alex glanced around, feeling a soreness in his neck as he did so "—are we standing on my porch?"

"You got into a fight with Jude," Sky whispered, his eyes glossing over with tears. He brought up a dirty hand to swipe at them.

Just like that, everything came back to Alex. The message he had received from Jude, the lie that Dawn was with him, the money he had tossed away, the stalker who turned out to be...

Alex felt a sudden surge of anger. "You...how could you?"

Sky's dull eyes turned frantic. He choked, "I'm sorry, but I can explain, I swear. After you get bandaged up."

It wasn't just the chilly wind that caused Alex to shiver. He spoke slowly. "I thought you were my friend."

"I am!" Sky's eyes widened, almost innocent. But then his cheeks flushed and he looked away.

"Friends don't betray each other like you did," Alex spat, feeling his own face heat up, but wit anger.

The door flung open just then, revealing a silhouette and the lingering scent of strong perfume.

"What on earth is going on?" Lawrence's sharp voice demanded.

Alex tried to pull away from Sky, but Sly held on tight. "You'll start bleeding again."

"Wha—" Alex looked down at the ruby red, damp hoodie Sky held bunched to his side. Blood was smeared all over the pale white skin there, disguising the recently healed pink streaks of skin.

"Mr—Mr. Brooke," Sky stammered, "Alex ran into some trouble, and he was—"

Lawrence broke in. "It's that worthless Jude, wasn't it?"

"Sir, it was a misunderstanding," Sky quavered.

Alex's head pounded, blood rushed in his ears. He felt himself going faint, trapped between the bantering. He swayed unsteadily on his feet, catching both their attention.

"Give him to me, Skyler." Lawrence said firmly, taking Alex by the arm. "You go on home and care for yourself."

"But he needs the hospital," Sky protested, "and stitches."

"Leave that to me." Lawrence paused, then added, "And if anyone asks about Alexander's absence, tell them he's contracted a serious cold."

With those words, Lawrence tugged Alex inside, allowing the hoodie to puddle on the porch floor, and closed the front door.

Alex gingerly clamped a hand against the wound on his side, shivering at the tenderness of his skin.

Lawrence leaned against the front door, arms folded. For once he was dressed in a black shirt and jeans instead of a suit. His russet hair was pushed back, eyes lacking sleep.

"Explain," he said in a clipped tone.

"I'm going to faint," Alex breathed, holding out an arm to support himself. At that moment he didn't care how cold Lawrence was being. All he felt was pain. He pleaded, "Take me to the hospital, please."

Lawrence cursed, grabbing Alex's shoulder and steering him to the couch. "In your dreams. Don't think you can run around, find yourself trouble and get away it. I've been there, done that, and it got me nowhere."

Alex dropped unto the couch, all the air whooshing out of his lungs as he did so. He gazed up at Lawrence pleadingly, but he was already turning away.

"Stay there," he ordered. "And don't make my couch dirty."

Alex dropped his gaze to the cracking leather couch. Lawrence had bought it second hand store and claimed it in mint-condition. He closed his eyes and tried to focus on the ticking of the clock on the coffee table, the scent of stale oil from the regular take-outs. But the insistent throbbing of the wound didn't help, neither did the flying curses and slamming of cabinets somewhere in the house.

Alex let out a shaky sigh, feeling warm tears ooze out of his eyes. Why did things have to be this way? Why did Sky betray him? Why was he stupid enough to think Jude had Dawn? His eyes flew open when he remembered something else. He had tossed all that money away. All of it. Just like that. Maybe Jude wasn't far off after all, calling him an idiot.

"Sit up, Alexander." Lawrence's deep voice had Alex eyes opening.

He silently obeyed, struggling to sit up without making things worse. He was completely at the mercy of his father now to ease his terrible pain.

Lawrence reappeared in the living room, beads of water spotting his wrists, the sharp smell of disinfectant heavy in the air. Lawrence dropped unto his knees in front of Alex and began the procedure, mopping the blood away from the wounded area with a damp cloth, all the while muttering curses under his breath, ignoring Alex's hardly contained howls of pain when the alcohol got into the wound.

"Asprins, please?" Alex rasped. His throat and lips felt parched; water would do him good.

Lawrence pinched the blood soaked cloth by the tips of his fingers and tossed into a corner. He turned to Alex, amber eyes cold as steel. "You are the one who got into a fight with Jude, and now you're asking me for aspirins? I say this should be a punishment for you."

Alex's emotions got the better of him and he wailed, "But it hurts!"

Lawrence's expression only became colder. "I'm not taking you to the hospital and I'm not giving you pain killers. Now tell me, would you prefer your wound sown shut or left open?"

Alex's tongue was frozen to the roof of his mouth. He wanted to scream, but nothing came out. Shadows etched the face of the man sitting in front of him, light glinted of the sharp needle held between his deft fingers. The man named Lawrence be barley knew. His father. It must have been the overwhelming pain getting to his head, but all he saw was the face before him twisting and contorting into that of a monster, with sharp rows of teeth and blood-red eyes.

The words that floated to Alex as darkness seized him were,

"You stitched me good, father. But I'll do you one better."