Lost Game Notes (Novel)

Chapter 26: Connecting The Dots

  Alex's muscles were sore and aching from lying on the bathroom floor for hours. His mind was fogged, unable to hold a thought but one: It's over. I'm giving up. It seemed tragically impossible, that right when he was about to put the last piece into the puzzle, Lawrence swooped by and snatched it from under his nose.

"I'm sorry, Dawn," he whispered into the still air. "I know I've failed you, and mother, too. She'd be devastated if she knew you were missing."

Alex let the sting of failure wash over him, listening to the whispers chanting around him, "Fail, fail!" He did nothing to stop the voices.
A sudden roar of outrage coming from downstairs stiffened him. Maybe Lawrence had found something else and was heading up the stairs just then.

Alex's mind was beginning to swirl with possibilities of where to hide when he heard the front door slam. An engine revved, tires squealed. For several moments Alex listened to the silence that followed. Lawrence had left, angry about something. Did it have to do with him?
Wait—Lawrence was gone. It was the perfect opportunity to read the last note—if it was still there, and if he could get out of his room. Alex had a choice to make. He could stay there, curled up on the cold floor of his bathroom, or he could finish the game of lost notes once and for all.

"I have to," Alex muttered aloud. "Dawn is depending on me. And mother. I've got to make her proud. Both of them."

With a strengthened resolve, he took a deep breath and sat up. His head went dizzy and he had to take several more breaths, but he managed to his feet, swaying slightly. He took a careful step forward, then another. If he didn't lean his weight unto his stitched side, he found, it didn't hurt so bad.

Alex got to his bedroom door and jangled the handle. Locked. He didn't slam his shoulder against the door in an attempt to open it. Instead, he roved his room in search of something like a hairpin. He found a coil of wire in his desk drawer, left over from a science project he had never completed. He snipped off a lengthy amount and looped it over his finger, until he had something similar to a hair pin. He tried it in the lock, twisting, until the door gave way and clicked open.

With a satisfied grin, Alex headed downstairs, huffing by the time he reached the last step. He had forgotten how exhausted he was. Surveying his surroundings, he noticed everything seemed a little knocked out of place. Suddenly feeling the pang of a throat dried to the texture of parchment paper, Alex detoured into the kitchen.

A chair lay sprawled on the floor, a bottle on its side on the table, emptied of its contents. A piece of crumpled paper lay on the table top, half sodden with liquid. Alex edged over to read it.

Congratulations! You've found the last note! Don't forget to look at the flip-side.

With shaking hands, Alex gingerly peeled it off the table and turned it over. A fluffy tear went down the middle, but he could still read the bold words:

Conan Simmons sentenced to prison for twelve years.

Alex lowered himself unto one of the standing chairs, trying to still his raging thoughts. If he was going to do this right, he had to have a clear mind.

The last note was about Conan Simmons. Twelve years, in prison. A though hit Alex like a train, causing him to straighten and cause a flare of pain in his side.

There was the newspaper clipping that said Lawrence had tried Conan at court. How long ago had that been?

Alex scrambled out of his chair, ignoring stabs of pain twitching everywhere. He bounded upstairs and scoured his room for the clipping. He found it, crumpled into the sheets on his bed. He was grateful that Lawrence hadn't found it first, but scolded himself for being so careless. On his way out of his room, his toe caught the edge of a book, which skidded across the floor.

He had stepped into a tangle of mess, consisting of earphones, wrappers, gum, pencils and more. It must have accumulated from the day he had turned his room upside down looking for that damned jar of meth. Alex felt his fingers twitch and curl. He was yet to get his revenge, but when he did it would be sweet and slow, like sawing off Jude's limbs. He saved the thought for later and stooped to pick the book off and floor and flipped it over. It was Dawn's worn, treasured book, The Adventures of Sherlock Holmes.

He had found it in Sky's bookshelf, was it? Alex flipped it open to a page bookmarked by the note he had never taken out.

For a moment, it was him.

Back when he had connected those dots, he came to a conclusion that "him" was Conan. "For a moment" referred to the moment Lawrence saw the painting. Alex saw the number two scribbled at the top. Perhaps it was some weird coincidence, finding one of the notes from the beginning when he was almost at the end of the game.

He tucked the note back into the book and placed it on his desk. Back at the kitchen table, he set the two notes side by side.

Conan Simmons tried at court after attempting murder on Olivia Brooke.

Conan Simmons sentenced to prison for twelve years.

Alex didn't know much about what went on in court, though Lawrence was a lawyer. Now he knew Lawrence wanted him out of his business. Alex also knew Lawrence had tried Conan, but didn't twelve years seem far too lenient for murder?

Alex felt his eyes wander to find the date of the first note, the one of the court case: Fifth April, 2007.

The next date, when he was sentenced, was on fourteenth April, 2007.

So Conan definitely wasn't the one to murder his mother, if he had been in prison since 2007. But then, Conan had been sentenced to jail for twelve years, since April 2007.

Alex fumbled to calculate the years, but finally gave up and went to search for a calculator. He found one in the living room. After a few failed attempts, he finally drew to a conclusion.

Eleven years had passed, plus the months after April and up till August.

Basically twelve years.

Alex set the calculator down. Things were coming to light. Suddenly he understood what that message on Lawrence's phone meant.

Conan is loose.

Conan's twelve years were up, and he had been released from prison. The last piece of the puzzle clicked into place, and Alex's pulse sky-rocketed. Dawn was in big, big trouble.

Alex pushed himself off the wall and stumbled into the hall, grabbing the landline with trembling hands. He feverishly flipped through the phone book, racing a finger down the page until he found Kamila's number.

He dailed the number and listened, waiting for her to pick up.

"Hullo, Kamila here. Can I be of—"

Alex blurted, "Where are you?"

"Alex? Something wrong?" She questioned, concerned.

"Just tell me where you are."

"Okay. I'm driving into Maple Road right now. I picked up only because it was you." Kamila paused. "Is something wrong?"

Alex ignored her question. "You're driving?"

"Yes."

"Good. Can you be really honest and answer a question?"

A moment of hesitant silence.

"Fire away."

Alex drew in a breath. "Where is Conan?"

"Conan?" Kamila's voice held a hint of surprise. "He was imprisoned several years ago."

Alex bit his lip hard, drawing salty blood. "True, but he's released now, for some days—a week, I think. Do you have any idea where he could have gone?"

"Can you hold on for a while? I have to think."

"Of course." Alex tugged on his overgrown bangs, twisting strands around his finger. Waiting was the last thing he wanted to do.

Kamila came back on the lie what felt like an eternity later. "I got it. He's in one of the five or so motels down Riverbend Street."

"Five motels?" Alex groaned. "How on earth am I going to find him soon enough?"

"You're going to find him? Hold on—what's going on?"

Alex took another deep breath, wishing the air to fill his lungs, but there was much to be desired. "I—I think I know where Dawn is."

Kamila didn't mention the school camp trip. "You mean she—?"

Alex nodded dumbly, then said, "Yes."

"Oh, god. No. Where's Lawrence?"

"I think he's gone after her."

Kamila's calm demeanor trembled. "I'll head there straight away. I'm turning around now. But what about you? You can't drive."

"Don't worry about me. I have an idea. I'll meet you there." Alex added in a hoarse voice, "And have a camera ready, please."

"Will do. Just—please don't do anything stupid."

Alex chocked back unwanted emotion. Kamila cared about him. "I won't," he promised, and meant it.

He hung up then, but didn't run out of the door like his pants were on fire—yet. He breathed erratically, scanning the contacts in the phone book until he found the one he wanted.

The call was picked up immediately, and Alex didn't dally. He blurted, "Jude, I need you to come over now, and bring your motorbike."

"Alex?" Jude sputtered.

"You can apologize later. Can you just hurry over?"

"Wait, what? Why?"

Alex swallowed, tugging a string out of his hoodie. His voice came out unnaturally calm. "I'll tell you when you get here."