(Alex Rider Fanfiction) Floating in the Dark

Sixteen

The alarm clock sat on the dresser, ticking faintly as it counted the time. Its large, luminescent green numbers read 6:59. Right beside the dresser, a figure lay motionless in bed, sprawled on top of the sheets, and tangled with the blankets. The figure was a teen aged boy, who was sleeping deeply, dreamlessly.

The clock chose that moment to switch over to 7:00. The moment the numbers changed, the clock erupted into a high-pitched beeping that was guaranteed to wake even the deepest slumberer. It certainly did its job; the boy in the bed jerked awake, eyes snapping open as he immediately came alert. He instinctively tried to jump out of bed and land in a ready crouch, but with his legs tangled as they were with blankets, he only ended up falling onto the floor with a heavy thud.

As the alarm continued with its annoying beeping, the boy lay still, trying to calm his racing heart. After a long while, he shoved the blanket away, and got to his feet. He leaned across the bed, and shut off the alarm.

He yawned widely, stretching out his arms above his head. Lowering his arms, he padded out of his small bedroom, and into the bathroom across the hallway. After closing and locking the door, he turned to face the mirror.

A stranger stared at him. The boy had, over the past few days, seen this face gazing back at him whenever he glanced into reflective surfaces, but it would be a long time until he would become used to it.

The face in question was young, crowned with a wild, spiky mess of black hair. The deep brown eyes that were gazing out of the face seemed intensely alert, with a hint of dark wildness hidden deep within their depths. They were eyes that didn't belong on the face of a teen aged boy. They belonged on the face of a killer.

The boy sighed to himself. His eyes had changed so much in such a short time, he barely was able to recognize them as his own. And not just his eyes. He himself had changed.

Pushing those weary thoughts away, he turned on the shower. As he waited for the water to warm, he slowly stripped off his pajamas. The clothing fell silently to the floor, creating a small heap. He reached out a hand, and let the water run through his fingers. It was hot, almost scalding.

He stepped into the shower, and almost flinched away at the heat. Closing his eyes, he let the water cascade down his body, and fill the air with hot steam. Old scars and injuries twinged as the hot water slid over them. He knew without looking where each scar was situated, and could tell a long story for each as how he had gotten them. But he didn't like to think about them; they were mementos of a dangerous, frightening past. A past that wasn't his.

Someone banged on the bathroom door, and a woman's voice called out. "Ian, get out of there! You're going to be late for school!"

A second sigh escaped his lips. But he grabbed the bottle of shampoo. "All right," he called out. "Just give me a minute!"

Several minutes later, the boy emerged from his bedroom, completely dressed and leaving a wet towel sprawled on his unmade bed. He padded softly down the hall, his eyes inadvertently flicking to the closed doors and the shadows in the corners where the light didn't reach.

Then he came to the kitchen, where he was greeted by a young woman who was only a few years older than himself. She turned, brushing long blond hair over one shoulder, and smiled widely. "Breakfast's on the table, Ian dear."

He bit back a faint scowl as he sat himself down. "Don't call me dear, Jacqueline. I'm not your son."

"Hey, take it easy, kid," a man spoke as he entered the kitchen. He cast a small frown at Ian, then smiled gently at the blond woman. "Jackie cares about you — you know that."

"Huh," Ian merely grunted, and dug into the plate of food that had been placed at his spot. "It's just weird. Who ever heard of newlyweds fostering a kid that's only ten years younger than them? What're the people at school gonna think, Ben?"