Lost Game Notes (Novel)

Chapter 23: Don't Trust Anyone

  Of all the things that could have pulled Alex out of his dreamless slumber, it was the creak of a footstep on the floorboards. He tried to open his eyes. They felt like somebody had plucked them out, rolled them in beach sand and popped them back in. His throat and mouth felt just as dry and scratchy, like he had swallowed mouthfuls of sand.

Standing in the doorway of his room, frozen mid-stride, was a tall, brown-skinned woman, curly hair spilling out of the bun on her head. Her eyes seemed to stare at him past her sunglasses.

She lowered her foot. "Hi, Alex. I'm not breaking in if that's what you thought. I've been worrying about you. I just swung by to drop off some groceries, but all the windows and doors were locked." She paused, then narrowed her eyes. "I knew it wasn't just a cold. Hey, you look terrible."

Alex might have responded, but he found he couldn't get a word past his lips. He stirred, trying to stretch his stuff limbs, and suddenly felt every single muscle he hadn't known he had, every joint, and then the searing pain in his side.

With a whimper he managed to whisper, "Water."

A look of alarm flashed on Kamila's face, and she dropped her things on the end of Alex's bed and left his room. Alex tried to pull himself together, but every little movement caused pain, either here or there. He ran a shaky, weak hand over his face, then worked hard to pull the blanket away from himself, revealing an angry red streak in his side, meticulous stitches crossing from top to bottom, perhaps one too many. Emotion trapped in his throat, choking him up.

Lawrence had done that.

He heard Kamila's feet on the stairs and yanked the blanket back up. She entered the room and offered a glass brimming with water to him. Alex grabbed the cup like it was candy and tipped it to his lips, downing the entire cup in a few gulps. The much-needed water ran down his parched throat like honey, and he shakily held out the cup for a refill.

Kamila repeated the process and returned with another cup. Alex drank it all, then, with a filtering sigh slumped against his pillow. "How did you get in?" He asked finally, starting up a fire in his throat. He must have worked his vocal chords too hard, screaming like that.

Kamila grinned slyly. "A lady's always got a spare hairpin." Then she reached for her purse, her bead bracelets tinkling as she did so. "A girl in school wanted me to give this to you."

She handed Alex a card, which he took and opened. Penned in cursive letters was:

Hope you get well soon! Love, Erin

"A couple of kids were asking about you," Kamila said softly.

Alex looked up, an ache throbbing in his neck. He set the card on the bedside table, beside his baby photo, and eased back. He wouldn't take the message on the card to heart. "What were you doing at Juniper High?"

"Oh." Kamila chuckled. "Surprising an old teacher friend. Lots of fun that was."

Alex tried to smile. Maybe he was beginning to trust Kamila a little more. She didn't treat him like some bothersome, gangling teenager who lived for trouble. She treated him like a person with feelings. And he definitely enjoyed her witty ways, deceiving Lawrence like that.

Thinking of which, he asked, "So how did the undercover mission go?"

Kamila looked a little lost for a moment, then she smiled. "Worked out just fine. Tricked that old rabbit, too. I may or may not have twisted the truth a bit." She flashed him a grin.

"Did you?" Alex asked.

"Sure I did." Kamila's face sobered up, and she shook her head. "Lawrence is the epitome of disgusting. I wouldn't give him the truth for anything. I hate him. No offense, by the way."

This was new news for Alex. He had known she didn't actually like Lawrence, but that she despised him? Ignoring her apology, he said, "What makes you say that?"

Kamila let out a short laugh. "I don't think I'd be far off the mark if I said you don't like him too."

"Yeah." It was one, mumbled word, but an admission that cut deeper than he thought it would. He hated his father, and this woman was okay with it.

Kamila didn't notice the pained look on Alex's face. "What about you? I know it isn't a cold—I haven't heard you sniffing the entire time I've been here."

Alex hesitated. What would he say? How much could he say? "I...I got into... some trouble."

Kamila gave him a long stare. "Trouble, huh? Peer pressure? A fight? "

Alex began to shake his head, then thought better of it. "No, just a plain down-right psychopath"

Kamila frowned. "That might be a little strong."

"You'd call Lawrence a psychopath, wouldn't you?" He shot back.

Kamila tugged on a loose curl. "In a heartbeat."

"Why do you hate him? You didn't tell me."

Kamila's eyes clouded for a moment, then she pressed her lips together. "It's complicated. Look, you haven't told me your reasons for hanging out in bed the entirety of Friday. Is there something—"

"What?" Alex struggled to sit straighter. "It's Friday? When... How—?"

Kamila gave him a strange look. "Don't tell me you slept through yesterday."

Alex fumbled to put the pieces together. He had blacked out right before Lawrence had made the first stitch, a great relief. Although he could still feel the pain now, it had subsided a considerably. After that, well...

"I guess I did," Alex said slowly.

Kamila's eyebrows furrowed. "What's up? You can tell me, you know."

"It's nothing serious," Alex mumbled. Kamila was starting to get too nosy. "I kind of wish you'd go away."

Kamila didn't budge. "Did you get hurt somewhere? Was someone teasing you? Did you wound yourself?"

Alex sighed. What could he loose, if he didn't tell Kamila about that stupid bargain? "Alright. I'll show you." Gingerly, he lowered the hem of the blanket to expose his bare chest, the sown-up tear of flesh drawing the eye to his side.

Kamila's hand flew to her mouth. "Alex! What happened?"

Alex tugged the blanket back up. "That part is none of your business."

"Fine. But we do need to bandage that up. And you must be raving hungry. Can I fix you anything? Some tea, maybe noodles?"

At the mention of food Alex realized that his stomach felt like a crater. He hadn't eaten for a few good days. "Yeah. I'd like that. Chamomile tea, please."

Kamila seemed happy to oblige and promised, "I'd be right back."

As soon as she was gone, Alex let his eyes ease shut and his thoughts wander. He made some vows. One, he was drifting farther and farther away form Lawrence and wasn't sure he'd like to come back. Two, he would never forgive Jude. Three, He was never going to talk to Sky again. That traitor had gone behind his back like a snake, and twisted the entire story, too. He hadn't been gambling at Cosmos. He would never do that. It was sort of an unspoken decision he had made.

Alex felt a buzz travel through the mattress and into his hand. He opened his eyes to see the screen of Kamila's phone light up as a call came through. There was a picture of the caller. Alex was drawn like a moth to a flame, and he strained to see it clearer.

The man was gazing straight at the camera, half-smiling. One side of his once-handsome face was marred with thick, pink scars. Jet-black tattoos snaked up the man's heavily muscular arm, flourished against his set jaw, all the way up to his bald head. What drew Alex's attention wasn't the tattoos or muscles. It was the sleeve of the shirt that had been tucked into itself, where the other arm should have been.

Alex looked a little lower and saw the caller ID. Hudson. Yet again, things were taking a turn. Hudson. Where had he seen that name before? In Dawn's journal, the name circled in red right above Kamila's. Hadn't he asked Kamila if she knew a Hudson? She had looked blank until she brightened up when she mentioned her four-year-old nephew.

With his heart doing uncomfortable leaps, Alex settled back, ignored his freshly stitched wound protesting, and squeezed his eyes shut. What was this? Another sign that he truly couldn't trust anyone at all? The possibility that Kamila had met this new Hudson right after she said she didn't know one was slim. Or could it be that she was deceiving him too? Trying to get close to score some information? That was a strong possibility.

Alex felt sick. He couldn't trust anyone. Not even Dawn. He didn't know where his god-damn sister was in all of this. Deep inside he wished she were here to sort all of it out, but he could still hear her in his head: " Come on, Alex. You've got to do some digging yourself. A secret ain't no fun when there's no tension to it. "

Alex felt like he'd had enough of tension for the rest of his lifetime.

The scent of Chinese noodles and spicy tea wafted to Alex's nose seconds before Kamila stepped through the door, balancing a tray with a practiced flourish.

"You eat this up," she ordered. "I'll get something to clean up that handiwork of your father's."

Kamila propped up Alex's pillows, set the cup of steaming tea on his bedside table, and placed the warm tray on his lap. Alex breathed in the delicious aroma wafting up from the bowl. Pieces of chicken, peas and carrot floated on the creamy broth, noodles swimming underneath like unbothered worms."

"How did you know it was Lawrence?" Alex asked, causing Kamila to stop in the doorway.

"What, the stitches? For one, I know he wouldn't spare a cent at the hospital if he himself were bleeding to death. Two, he wouldn't—" Kamila noticed her phone lighting up as another call came through. "If you will excuse me, I have to pick this up."

Alex lifted the chopsticks, and nodded, pretending to look busy with the noodles. Kamila strode out of the room, picking the call before "Hudson" hung up.

"Hey, William. It's been a while. I was wondering—" Kamila's words cut off as she closed the door, but Alex had heard the first part.

William. So it was William Hudson then. Just perfect. He was making some good connections. The image of the scars on the man's face, the missing arm played in Alex's mind. He wondered what had happened to cause him such fate.

It was as he lifted another mouthful of noodles to his mouth that an outrageous, yet plausible idea struck him. He dropped the chopsticks back into the bowl. What if this Hudson guy had been involved in an accident? Namely, the "missing victim" from the car crash? With the thick burns, missing arm and one milk-white eye, he made for an almost-perfect fit into the mold.

What if, after all, there was someone to blame for killing his dear mother? Someone to torture? If Lawrence knew about this, would he trail William at court?

Yes. That match was, indeed, almost too perfect.

Author's Note: Hey guys! I really hope you like the story so far. If you are, comment your thoughts, vote and maybe share this story? Thanks for sticking with me and Alex. It means a lot :)