Falling Upwards

Page Two: The Fewer Things Change, The Better

"All bad acts lead to a reward."
Power. What is power? Can this illustrious power simply be explained in words? It may be an impossible endeavor, but one to be attempted nonetheless. That five-letter word can be contextually described as a feeling held over someone or something. It is essentially the act of being in control over some aspect of someone else. This feeling of power can lead to egotism. Egotism can lead to complacency. It is said that: With pride comes a fall. Complacency can lead to slippage, and slippage can lead to a loss of power. A loss of power can lead to unforeseen consequences.

It was not even the start of homeroom yet, but everyone gave Oliver Prince uncomfortable glances. These brief moments of focus were more frequent and rapid than any other time. To think he had graced them with his presence this early morning just for them to look at him as some sort of alien. Well, more than usual, that is. Oliver then glanced at the lack of Toby and Michael in the classroom. A light smile appeared on his face. It only increased when his eyes trailed to the hole in the blackboard. That would be a reminder to all. Nobody messes with Oliver Prince and simply gets away with it!
 "Why is that demon smiling?" Someone whispered. "He truly does not have a heart."

"He practically destroyed any opportunity for dear Michael to be scouted for a sports scholarship." Another responded in an equally quiet tone. "He is a force from hell indeed."

All of those words brought security to Oliver's mind. They feared him, and he lived for that. The more that had fear instilled in their hearts meant that he had more power. He was invigorated.
A slight buzz filled the room as the PA system whirred to life. "Oliver Prince, report to the principal's office at once!" A female shouted angrily. "That is all."
 Oliver stood up; his smile was unwavering. He promptly grabbed his bag and slung it over his shoulder before exiting the class. He spared no glances and said nothing to the worthless idiots he was forced to be amongst.

"I bet he will just get a slap on the wrist." A voice whispered a bit louder as Oliver had left the room.

"As always." Another voice finished. "When will he ever get comeuppance?"

Oliver strolled leisurely down the hallway. He ignored the scowls of his upperclassmen. The demon then made his way up the stairs to the second floor of the building. He doubted that Aunty Francine would be mad this time. She always put on a façade before giving him menial tasks to do. It was a fantastic relationship.

The boy dashed straight towards the principal's office, ignoring the staffroom. The principal's office had an oaken door. Said door had a square window with blinds. It was optimal for peering and assessing who was on the corridors of the second floor. Above that window was a fixed gold plaque with silver writing that read: "Francine Phillip – Principal."

Oliver knocked on the door giddily. "May I enter?" He put on his most respectful voice but could not contain his glee. Oliver did not obtain a response, so he opened the door and entered. He spared no glances outside before he closed the door behind him.

The principal's office was of moderate size. It consisted of a central mahogany table with a custom-designed chair on one end and one plain chair on the other. The custom chair consisted of an arm-rest, most notably. Some expensive fabrics were interwoven with the gold-encrusted seat. Where did she obtain those? The other chair paled in comparison to the principal's own butt rest. The latter chair did not have wheels for mobility either.

On the side of the principal's chair were two adjacent filing cabinets. They were always in arms' reach. Along the walls were massive bookshelves. Placed on the shelves were various trophies, pictures, and awards. The occasional piece of literature could be seen as well.

On the desk was a mug of coffee. It had "#1 principal" handwritten on it. It was signed by the lady herself. Opposite the mug was another cup that contained various pens and pencils. Some folders and other utensils were centered on the desk, such as staplers and glue. Another plaque was at the forefront of the desk in its embroidered glory. It read the same as the first one.

"Hello, Auntie Francine." Oliver greeted, sitting as he did.

Francine Phillip was five feet-seven inches tall. She had lively, mediumly tanned skin, and her hair was jet black with some curls. It made its way to the nape of her neck. Her nose was straight, if not a bit flat. Her lips were adorned with a velvet shade of lipstick. Said lipstick was also seen on the coffee mug on her right. A scowl was on her face. Her outfit consisted of a white shirt with a blue jacket over it. Her bottoms were a pair of grey pants accompanied by leather dress slippers.

"Don't you dare 'Auntie Francine' me!" The principal cursed. "Wipe that grin off your face too."
Oliver's face immediately sunk into a scowl. She was serious this time? All he did was take a girl's pen.

"You caused so much mayhem for a simple pen?" Francine spoke incredulously. "You broke through a blackboard with that inhuman strength of yours. Why you are not playing for any sports teams is beyond me."

Oliver did not respond.

"You broke the leg of a young, promising athlete." Her voice dropped a few octaves. "He was projected to carry us to the finals in two of the most competitive sports in the state. The doctors said it would be a miracle if he recovered."

"Let us not forget Toby." She paused to look for any shred of empathy on Oliver's face. She saw none. "He complained of breathing problems constantly and had to be taken to the ICU. He has panic attacks nonstop. This does not do him any favors with his respiratory conditions."

"It's not my fault if he was born weak," Oliver replied casually. Francine's eyebrow twitched.

"Your actions resulted in the damaging of many chairs as well." She narrowed her eyes. "Whether they were broken on you or you punched someone through them, I do not care. It is your fault it happened. Take some responsibility."

"And lastly," Francine's words were like ice. "You injured a foreign exchange student over a pen which was rightfully hers. Ignoring the moral dilemmas present, this could be a massive scandal. The reputation of our school and town is at risk due to your stupidity. Then investigations would be conducted. Everyone would know of that weird and improbable hold you seem to have over everyone."

"You know what, Oliver," Francine looked at him in his eyes. He did not flinch. "I have been enabling you for long enough. The fact that it took a foreigner being hurt for me to fully open my eyes appalls me. With that said, you will do what I am about to tell you, or you can kiss whatever idiotic or demonic dreams you had."

"You are hoping on the demon train too?" Oliver was taken aback.

"What I see before me does not even deserve to be called a human," Francine said without emotion. "You lack empathy and understanding. You are self-centered and self-serving. You embody the worst aspects of life. You do not deserve to be treated like a human. Alas, you are one in the flesh."

"First of all, you are suspended." A frown appeared on Oliver's face. "In this suspension, your school work will be sent to you via email. You are to do them on time. No exceptions at all. You could just make a doctor right a fraudulent letter or something. All deadlines are final."

"Secondly, you are not to appear within one hundred yards of the school." Francine continued gazing into the soulless abyss. "We do not want you here until you learn your lesson."

"Thirdly, you are to do some volunteer work." She paused once more. "I will tell you more on that later."

"Fourthly, you are to sincerely apologize to Ms. Altham and return that blasted pen." This time her gaze became a glare. "Once we see that you have some form of humanity in you, we can let you be treated as one, in all regards."

"Finally, you must stay away from Toby, Michael, and Ms. Altham." She was stone-faced and stern. "The only exception is if they want you near them. I find it hard that anyone would like to be in your presence, even for a microsecond."

"That hurt," Oliver stated, aghast. He seemed a bit sarcastic.

"Good, now you can continue to be hurt and do what I said." Francine chuckled to Oliver's chagrin. "Do not pretend to be a person now, at this time. Why not when Ms. Altham told you no?"

Oliver laughed, "I did not think she was worth listening to."

"Get out of my office. Get out of this school and do not pester my children at home or me. I do not even want to look at you right now! All other details will be emailed to you." Francine stood mid-sentence to point at the door. "What are you waiting for?"

Oliver slowly stood and held his hands outward in faux-defeat. "Whatever, Francine."

"Are you sure you do not mean Ms. Phillip?" She threatened. Oliver did not budge.

"I am quite sure, Francine." Oliver then opened the door and left, slamming the door behind him. The entire room rattled, but nothing fell. Francine audibly sighed.

With a huff, Oliver retraced his steps. His frown deepened with every step he took. Before descending to the lower level, the teen noticed some teachers peaking from the staffroom. He mustered a quick glare in their direction and the blinds promptly shut.

Upon reaching ground level, Oliver grimaced. His gait became a slouch, and his steps wide and radical. Who the hell does she think she is? I run things. My entire modus operandi is now forfeit due to that stupid foreign exchange student. The students that were roaming before homeroom stood clear of the demon.

"I have never seen him so pissed." A student whispered.

"It seems like justice has finally been served." Another stated triumphantly.

Instead of paying them any heed, Oliver was focused on his thoughts. A suspension? How neat. I run things here! This is a significant blow. What would happen to this school without my presence? Everything will be ruined. Oliver had passed the first pair of classrooms.

Behind Oliver, some students congregated to watch him leave. What a momentous occasion. Yes, it was the sign of a new beginning for all. I actually have to use my stupid school email now. It would be worse if I was failing. He approached the second pair of classes before moderately increasing his pace. His face contorted into a scowl. Oliver edged closer to the exit. Volunteer work? I feel like everyone in town knows me well enough. Some work should be a breeze.
All of this is due to that damn Blenda girl. Oliver gnashed his teeth as he looked to the floor briefly. Like hell! she is not getting an apology! He touched his pants pocket, which contained his prize. He had kept the pen there since the morning. And I am holding onto the pen! It's not like I even wanted to be around her and those weaklings. I can avoid them and the school!

As Oliver diverted from the main entrance, he noticed an individual stationed at the specific exit he chose. He looked down at the individual before staring into his eyes. Oliver scowled. Was this fate?
 "I had a feeling you would be taking this route," Edgar stated flatly. "Perhaps this break would help you holistically."

"The only thing it would help me do relates to you being beaten up." Oliver's gaze did not falter as a light smile appeared on Edgar's lips. "I swear if the student council had anything to do with my situation, I will-" He was cut off.

"- find myself in more trouble?" The shorter boy tried his best impression of Oliver's voice. "It is best you do not make any more threats. It seems like the tables have turned."

Oliver did not react to the hall monitor's smugness. Instead of acting on impulse, he listened intently.

"Given that I am the closest to you, I was informed by the principal herself," Edgar explained coolly. "I swear if you were not so thick-headed, you would not have found yourself in this predicament." He lightly tapped his own head with his knuckle to illustrate his point. "The other council members will be informed at a meeting I am to chair. Your class will be informed shortly thereafter via a representative."

Edgar's tone changed to a slightly sympathetic one. "Oliver, you never listen to reason. Instead, you insist on things going your way. I do not know what has changed within you. I just remember when we were kids. You were pleasant. After an extended stay with my European relatives, I noticed that you became an entirely different individual. You have avoided my questioning, and our communication became sparse. That has been the case up to this point, seeing that you are an agent of chaos in this school while I represent order."

Oliver groaned, "I am tired of hearing you talk." He motioned towards the exit, but Edgar stood in front of him. "Move aside, pipsqueak."

"Oliver," Edgar started slowly, unaffected by the name-calling. "This may be your last chance. Use it wisely." Oliver cursed under his breath and pushed the shorter boy away. He opened the door and exited the main building of the school. "Please, return Ms. Altham's pen!"
Oliver had long drowned out Edgar's voice with his internal thoughts. What was it with people and that pen? Sure, it could be said that stealing a pen was petty, but the entire fiasco that then followed was even pettier.

Having left the main building, Oliver crept towards the southern boundary of the school. Using that route, he could reach his home a few minutes faster than the other routes. The stationed security guard gave him a conflicted look before stepping out of his way. He had free reign to leave his kingdom and never return. To Oliver, this was most definitely a coup. A king being exiled from his throne? It was only a temporary abolition. Yes, temporary indeed. Oliver almost pitied his enemies; they would not survive his swift wrath.

And just like that, the draconian king's legacy died with a whimper.

Oliver's trek home was slow and lifeless. His crawl made a rock look like an Olympic sprinter. His speed, or lack thereof, obstructed the town's daily flow of life. Many intersections were blocked due to his sprint. A plethora of people was delayed. The police were called, but even they could not do anything about it.

"Sir," A female officer started. Her eyes looked at the traffic that stagnated on one of the few one-way streets. The sidewalk had trees, hydrants, and other well-intentioned obstructions that prevented anyone from diverting. In the past ten minutes, Oliver had only made three footsteps on the crossing. "For the last time, if you cannot move faster, I will be forced to take physical action."

Oliver did not bat an eye toward her. Instead, he canceled the step he was taking to stand in the middle of the road. His eyes were only focused on his destination.

Obviously, the officer knew who Oliver was. She had not met him face-to-face, but rumors spread quickly in a place as small and well-knit as Humdrum Bay. With all her strength, the officer pushed the brick wall that stood before her. There was no movement.

"What if I hit him with my car?" An angry man screamed. "He may be a kid, but I think enough is enough."

"I do not think that is needed, sir." The officer stated curtly. She doubted that backup would be sufficient. At this rate, she would need a tow truck or a crane to move the menace that stood before her.

"We tried moving him already!" The same man screamed. "I clearly stated that in my call to the station."

The officer groaned as she pressed the walkie-talkie on her shoulder a few times to access a specific channel. "Oliver Prince is blocking the road, and I request permission to use my taser on him. Hopefully, the shock will wake his joints up on the lowest setting. I have tried everything else that I could think of."

The voice on the other end was muffled by the screams of the populace. The officer's response, however, was as clear as the sky. "What do you mean tasers do not work on him!"

To the officer's knowledge, it would take nothing short of a lightning strike to affect him. Seriously, what was this kid? Why he was not accepted by the military for any scientific study was beyond her. He seemed resistant, if not outright immune, to pepper spray and tear gas – the latter was seen when the SWAT division was called to deal with an armed robbery in which he was an observer. As for the former, a pissed-off parent assaulted him with such a weapon. The only things that seemed to work were flashbangs and bullets. The former provided a mild annoyance to him and temporary tinnitus. The latter was just speculation. Potentially immune or not, nobody in the force was going to shoot someone on the off-chance that they were bulletproof. That possibility was reduced to an infinitesimal number when considering someone under eighteen.

Imagine the possibilities if Oliver Prince was serving the country. He could be some type of super-soldier. Scientists could use his genetic structure to create more people like him – if such a thing was possible. An army of Oliver Princes. Such a future would be scary to think of. The officer secured those thoughts before returning to reality.

The officer looked at the frozen teenager with her calm, blue eyes. "Oliver Prince," She started slowly. "May you please cross the road?"

The air grew icy after the officer made her request. Everyone in a two-mile radius felt a chill run up their spines. It was as if Fimbulwinter had come early. Oliver faced the officer and peered directly into her soul. The ten seconds of inaction were tense. The officer quivered. The unbridled sensation of fear overtook everyone. How much longer would he keep them in suspense? Tension. Soul-crushing inaction.

After an eternity, Oliver walked to the other side of the street. No words were exchanged. No sooner had he gone out of view than his supernatural hold on the area was lifted. Everyone exhaled the breath that they had been stifling.

The officer calmly walked to the sidewalk and let traffic flow continue uninterrupted. The angry drivers just drove by. There was no cursing nor driving after him. It was as if nothing had happened.

When she had joined the police force, she had read some of Oliver's files. The first known incident was about five years ago. He had knocked out a grown man in a street fight. It was peculiar. Why would a grown man fight a child? Why would a child willingly fight a grown man? Everyone was shocked when the ambulance came, and everyone was questioned. At best, the ethics of subjecting a child to an actual interrogation without any guardian present were debatable. The response the police force obtained was simple: "Because I wanted to."

Quickly after the event had transpired, the officer made her way back to the station. She had a report to file.

In total, Oliver's walk home took hour hours. Only an eighth of that time consisted of him walking at an average pace. He then removed the key from his bag and entered his modest abode. To be fair, modest probably was not the best word to describe Oliver's place of residence. The house was decently sized. It was not a mansion, but it was spacious. The two-story building boasted some windows. It also sported at least one terrace. Oliver supposed that there was a central door. Oliver did not care for some of life's finer details, as he did not even pay enough attention to the aesthetics of his own home!

After quickly locking the door behind himself, Oliver went up a flight of stairs and into his room. He did not look around. For what was there to look around? Oliver Prince's room ironically sported a king-sized bed. A cabinet was stationed at the left-most corner of the room. A bookshelf was adjacent to it. The room itself was a subdued cloud grey in color. Posters of some musical bands were present, including a few relating to electricity, firearms, and ornamentals. A desk which sported a workstation PC and a swivel chair was close to his bed.

Oliver tossed his bag onto his bed and pulled out the chair at his desk. Upon sitting, he sighed heavily and then booted the computer. He logged on and accessed his school email with his hands akin to a blur.

Urgent: Update on the situation of Oliver Prince – Management

Without much ado, Oliver clicked on the email.

'Dear Demon Child,' Oliver paused his mental reading to roll his eyes. He then proceeded to skip the parts that he already knew. Those sections were him being berated and ragged on. The email contained over three paragraphs discussing the stupid decision to steal a pen and not apologize for it. Either way, Oliver thought retreading covered ground was a waste of time. The first new information he saw was that he had to use the school-sanctioned website and applications to submit assignments and complete examinations. That sounded like fun.

As for the volunteer work, Oliver had to work at a home-owned shop. It was run by a random guy with a weird name. To Oliver's surprise, the man's name was on par with Blenda's. Oliver had never heard of this man nor his shop. It turned out that the shop was close to the police station. The area was one of the quieter parts of the town.

From reading, the man's name was Alastor Needham Kelly-Saunders, and he was from Europe. That was not surprising. Why did the Europeans have such weird names? From the brief history given in the email, Oliver learned that Alastor was from Packwood, Warwickshire, England. It was a small village. Oh yes, a hometown hero traversing the seven seas to make it big in life. It sucked that he ended up in North America, of all places. Oliver thought that Alastor was compensating for something with that name of his. It also screamed pompous, entitled asshole. Oliver was sure that working with Alastor was going to be a delight.

Oliver was to report to the store at 8:00 AM. The business officially opened at 9:00. The hour was to be used to introduce Oliver to the store and the owner. He would finish at 3:00 PM with an hour for lunch and two short break periods in which the owner would run his store. The exact nature of the work would be determined by Alastor. Oliver supposed it was menial labor and petty tasks.

Oliver switched the PC off before he got up with a stretch. That was enough speculation for now. Without expecting to be greeted by anyone, Oliver made his way down the stairs. He did what he had always done when he was at home. Oliver Prince proceeded to make some food. He aimed for nothing extravagant. He just wanted some fuel to distract him from the day's events to that point.

As he made his way to the refrigerator, Oliver saw a family photo hung on a wall. It featured a younger version of himself surrounded by two adults – a man and a woman. It had been years since the incident, yet he still felt that a core part of his life was missing. While making his sandwich, Oliver reflected on his past for the first time in months. He remembered how things once were.

Perhaps this was a punishment of sorts. On second thought, it was a reward. Oliver had not done anything malicious in his entire life. No good deed goes unpunished. Was this the recompense for his actions?

Oliver knew that he would always succeed in whatever situation he found himself in. This detour was just another stepping stone. Alastor was just an individual who did not know who he was dealing with. He pitied the man's ignorance.

Oliver knew that the upcoming day was going to be amazing. He felt it; he knew it. All signs pointed to that fact. A bad situation would often resolve into a beneficial one.

Oliver Prince was never wrong. 

To Be Continued...

Author's Notes

Chapter 3 coming sooner than later.

Who is this mysterious Alastor? 
What secrets is Edgar hiding?

Is Oliver really a demon?

We shall find out eventually.

Please read and leave a comment if you'd like to.

Yours truly,
Ryanzexal.