Falling Upwards

Page Three: A Strange Bedfellow

Misery can lead one to the Path of Enlightenment.

Alastor Needham Kelly-Saunders was a peculiar man. Upon seeing him for the first time, Oliver made this astute statement. While Oliver scowled, Alastor had an unreadable expression. It was not one of contempt nor one of acceptance. It was blank yet somewhat complete. It was like he was a living oxymoron. Oliver's scowl deepened by the second. The teen felt anger rise within him in each passing moment of silence. This increase was noticed by Alastor as his face finally contorted into something readable. Alastor genuinely smiled.

That morning, Oliver Prince woke up intending to cause havoc. His plan was to arrive late and not care about the consequences. 11:00 AM seemed like the best time to appear. As preparation, Oliver tossed some clothes onto himself after a thorough shower. He brushed his teeth and moisturized his skin but did not touch his messy hair.

Having remembered the directions, Oliver had no reason to use a map or his phone. He took his time. There was no need to hurry. He was only going to his new place of work. What was serious about that? With a chuckle, the teen locked his house and made his way to the store.
After an uneventful trek, Oliver stopped to look at the building. The structure had three different floors. The first level of the building boasted a sign above the entrance. It read 'Alastor's General Store.' Oliver thought the name was a bit bland for someone named Alastor Needle Hamburger Kelly-Ann Colonel Sandwich. He was Oliver Prince. Who was Oliver Prince to criticize given names? He was precisely the right person.

The door for that entrance was wooden. That design choice sold the building's 'I am owned by one man' look. The fact that the oaken door was explicitly the type seen on the house was triggering. This was more of a dingy corner shop than a general store. The windows on the first floor were sparse, but they were tinted and contained blinders. As Oliver approached, he noticed the tacky, purple 'Welcome!' mat the owner had put out. The words were in the ugliest shade of brown imaginable. Surprisingly, it was in pristine condition. The first floor had a calm sea blue color which became darker as one ascended floor-by-floor. The color of the last floor, which Oliver assumed was the living quarters, was navy blue.

The second floor of the building contained more windows than the introductory level. Perhaps Alastor was too broke to get proper ventilation for anything but the store. Alastor was a man from the house of Sandwich that was too poor to afford A/C. What a travesty!
The topmost floor contained a terrace and the direct beginning of a fire escape. The latter looked as if it was meant to be accessed from the top-down. Earnestly, it seemed more like a shortcut than a fire escape. The terrace did not protrude much from the main building, but Oliver clearly spotted some lawn chairs, a glass table, and ferns.

At that point, Oliver had decided that he had looked around for long enough. He made his way to the main entrance of the store. The teen scoffed at the mat and the blatant 'Open for business' sign. Without warning, Oliver opened the door and stepped inside his workplace. As the door opened, Oliver heard the faint chime of a bell.

The building was not small by any means, but the interior looked too spacious to be considered the same. It was as if the exterior was half as small as the interior. While this phenomenon had roots in perception, line of sight, and limited perspective, Oliver doubted that was the case. He saw the building. His observations made it seem like Oliver designed the structure. He knew something was amiss, but he did not know what. Perhaps saying that the interior was double the size was slightly exaggerated, but the point still stood. The inside was more immense than the outside.

From a quick glance, Oliver noticed a plethora of items on shelves. What he saw ranged from writing utensils to candy and from over-the-counter drugs to protection. It seemed like the store had whatever one would need. Oliver noted the varnished counter and the old-school, black cash register atop it. It was not automated? It seemed like his thoughts of air conditioning were correct, as Oliver saw a modern A/C unit on the walls. Did Alastor use his money for the air conditioning unit and could only afford the outdated register?

"I am terribly sorry for being late," Oliver shouted in a faux-apologetic voice. He saw nobody, so the best course of action was to yell. "I was given directions but lost on the way."

"My, my," A sleepy voice started behind the counter. Oliver immediately turned towards the counter. It was big enough to hide an entire person and opaque, but Oliver heard no signs of breathing. The teen could not listen to heartbeats, but his hearing was superb. The fact that this person was so silent was a bit concerning. It was as if he was not here, to begin with. He could not have just appeared there, right? That line of thinking was absurd. "That is rather unfortunate." The voice was sincere, but the speaker clearly did not believe anything from Oliver's mouth.

The person behind the voice put one hand on the counter as he had some struggle standing. His hand wobbled as he attempted to find his footing. From Oliver's observation of the man's hand, he was skinny. After a few mishaps, the person behind the counter stood.

Oliver noticed that the man was barely taller than him. The person was six feet tall with two inches to spare. His silver eyes would peer through any ordinary man's soul. It was too bad that Oliver Prince was no ordinary man. In fact, he was not a man at all; he was a boy. The individual had combed honey blonde hair. Oliver was confident that the man kept himself well. The person's skin tone was a lively peaches-and-cream. There were no cuts nor bruises in sight. Oliver doubted that any were present out of view either. Everything looked smooth. His frame was on the skinny side, as Oliver had noted. He should not be able to win a fight even if he was leaner than he let on. The man looked at Oliver ambivalently.

The person wore an iris-purple button-up dress shirt that sported teal flowers. A standard salmon-pink tie with diagonal cherry red stripes was fastened at the shirt's neckline. The man's bottom wear consisted of beige khakis. A leather belt with an authentic gold buckle held up his slacks. His feet were adorned by oil black dress shoes. A unique accessory that the man wore was a silver analog watch fastened to his left hand.

The person covered his mouth with a pure white handkerchief as he yawned.

"I do not believe you." He spoke calmly, no sooner than the man had expunged the sleep out of his system. His voice was more profound than expected; Oliver thought the man's voice would have been higher. It lacked the stuck-up tone and obnoxious accent. The man held up three fingers. "The store is close enough to your home, and the directions are straightforward. A map or a GPS would have sufficed. If you were lost, passersby should not hesitate to give you directions. Given your situation, it would not be wise to be late." After every sentence, he dropped a finger. "There are a few other reasons, but I think these three would suffice."

It was at that moment that Oliver Prince scowled. The man smiled in response.

"Well, Oliver Prince, I am Alastor Needham Kelly-Saunders," The man paused to extend his hand. "It is a pleasure to finally meet you."

Oliver's scowl deepened as he looked at the outstretched hand, "It must have been tough running the store by yourself. I mean, given the fact that I was lost. Business must not be booming – since you were sleeping. Why do you need me anyway? There is clearly nothing to need me for.

"Au contraire," Alastor wagged a finger. "I put out a notice stating that the store will be closed today about a week ago. For the last two days, I was reminding my regulars." The man spoke calmly. "Whatever plan you had seemed to have failed."

"What is with the blatant 'Open' sign then?" Oliver quizzed angrily. Did this Alastor man think he could outsmart him?

Alastor raised an eyebrow, "There is no such sign."

"Are you calling me a liar?" Venom rose in Oliver's voice.

"If you take it as that, so be it. Who am I to refute your own judgment?" Alastor chuckled. "Look, Oli," Oliver growled viciously. "You are mistaken."

"Do not call me Oli." Oliver spat. He could not beat the living daylights because that would cause more trouble. He only had words now. "I know that there was a sign there!"

"Alright then." Alastor clapped his hands once. "If you are sure about your observation, how about a wager between gentlemen?"

Oliver smirked. His eyes never lied. "You are going to make a losing bet, Sandwich man."

"Sandwich man?" The shop owner mouthed before refocusing on Oliver. "If you bring that sign to me right now, I will give you all of the profits of this shop for at least ten years. You would not be obligated to work here either. I will give you the best review possible. If I win, you will work here without complaint."

"It is like you read my mind." Oliver laughed at the illogical thought before going outside. "Consider this the start of my new life."

Oliver Prince was never wrong.

As soon as Oliver stepped outside, he returned inside. In an instant, he did a double-take. He then confirmed his observation by looking again.

The sign was not there.

The sign was not there?

The sign was not there!

Oliver had looked at the door a total of five times. Each time he had looked, he saw the same thing. Was this reality? It had to be authentic. It is not like he was transported to another timeline or alternate dimension on a whim. Did his eyes fool him? There was no way. Oliver Prince was never wrong.

"Someone moved the sign," Oliver stated flatly. "The sign would not move on its own. I saw the sign there. This must be a clearly crafted ruse. I see the smug look on your face! You planned this!" The teen's voice rose with his accusations.

Alastor chuckled, "I did nothing of the sort." Without speaking further, Alastor bent down behind the counter. He then rummaged around for some seconds. It seemed like the counter had some storage function as well. When Alastor stood up straight, he dropped the sign onto the table. "I told you it was not outside."

Oliver Prince did not heed the man's words. He instead focused intently on the sign. "The dimensions are the same," Oliver said emotionlessly. "Everything is the same as when I saw it. The odds of you having identical signs are low."

"I am putting my name on the line," Alastor paused to indicate his seriousness. "This is the only sign that I currently have. You saw things when you saw my door. Perhaps getting lost affected you?"

"I have had enough of this!" Oliver screamed as he glared at Alastor. "I will do what I should have done from the start!" Oliver clenched his fist and stiffened his left arm. He slowly walked around the counter and faced Alastor. A slight smirk appeared on his face as he moved. "People call me a demon; I think it is time to show you why."

Without warning, Oliver shot his fist at the older man's face. He was aiming for a swift left hook. The attack was to daze him with its speed and power. With enough luck, Oliver may knock a few teeth out to ruin the Englishman's smile. His fist approached at speeds beyond world record holders. The swiftness of this blow was flat-out superhuman.

Alastor's eyes trailed with Oliver's fist as it approached. Even if he could clearly see it, there was no way he could take the hit unharmed. Oliver Prince was never wrong. Instead of Oliver's assumed reaction, the man budged slightly. He only tilted his head to follow through with the hit and receive minimal damage. Oliver was aghast.

There was no way. There could be no way! "How did you even do that?" Oliver quizzed rapidly. He looked at his fist after retracting it. He rapidly opened and closed it. Nothing felt wrong. Was Alastor stronger than him? That should not be possible. It was improbable. The possibility of someone stronger than him was so unquantifiable. The number would have to be raised to a negative power equivalent to a googolplex.

"Traditionally speaking," Alastor ignored the question to increase the smugness in his voice. "A demon is a creature to be feared. Demons are represented by the worst aspects one can think of. Demons are not humans. Demons cannot become humans, but humans can become demons. Demons need fear to survive. What is a man without his sustenance? What is the faux-human without its sustenance? It is nothing. With that said, without fear, you are powerless. You prey on the weak and helpless to gain power. You lust for that feeling of superiority. You crave it. Demonic prince, I think it is about time someone opens your eyes. I am but a man, but one with a moral compass. I will vanquish you and quell your dark hold on this town. I swear on my family name that Oliver Prince will be a demon no more."

Oliver's mind was a haze. He did not hear when Alastor gave his stupid speech. The shock of his impotence still wreaked havoc on his psyche. He did not move when the man spoke something akin to cheesy B-movie dialogue. Neither did Oliver attempt to dodge the most telegraphed punch he had ever seen. The force of the blow, however, snapped him back to reality.
Oliver felt weightless as he was thrown backward. He soared through the air until he hit the store wall. The teen's body crumpled to the floor. He was motionless. The straight punch that Alastor threw was sloppy, but it still got the job done. The hit was so good at performing its duty that Alastor momentarily looked at his fist in shock. Instantly, the store owner regained his composure and looked at Oliver's body.

"Are you done yet?" Alastor stared at the teen. "Did you finally fully encompass the reality of the situation? You lost the bet. You are not as powerful or wise as you thought. I am sure that revelation is shocking to you. Your entire world must be crumbling right before you, but you have a store to sweep."

"Also, I lied about there not being any business today," Alastor stated casually as he walked toward a door. "We are opening at 12 noon today. You have twenty-five minutes to make the floor spotless and thirty minutes of break." Alastor opened the door and then entered the dimly lit room. He later returned with an ordinary broom. "If you complete the task faster, you will have a longer break period."

Alastor then dropped the broom next to Oliver before walking to the same door. "I am going upstairs to take a nap. That speech tired me out." The man yawned. "I will be back in fifty. You can take a bag of chips worth no more than $1.50 and a drink worth no more than $2.00 during your break." As he closed the door, Alastor reminded Oliver of one crucial detail. "You gave me your word."

After speaking, Alastor left the downed Oliver to his thoughts.
Oliver Prince was not dead, but he wished he was. He wished he was not living in this current reality. As he was slumped, the teen's mind raced. He tried to think of a logical explanation for what had happened, but nothing sufficed. His mind even wandered to illogical reasons that did not make sense.

Eventually, Oliver would stand up and begin sweeping. He would complete the task in four minutes, but there was no emotion in his work. He did not speak as he worked with incredible accuracy and precision.

Oliver Prince never lost; he swore on that statement years ago.

Oliver Prince was never wrong; he always tried to know everything before making an opinion. He knew what he saw. To be proven wrong was horrifying.

Oliver Prince was strong. His inhuman strength had been a defining characteristic. To be ineffective for the first time in his life was like having an allergic reaction to your favorite food.

Whatever happened, it was not natural. Oliver Prince had never experienced that reaction before. Whoever this Alastor Needham Kelly-Saunders was, Oliver knew he would find out.

Even then, Oliver could not fully distract himself from the weight the events of today had on him. He felt defeated. He was defeated.

Was this the end of Oliver Prince?

First, he lost his school, and now he lost his strength. What else did he have to lose?

He was Samson, and his hair had been cut.

After sweeping the store, Oliver wobbled back to the wall where he was once slumped. He sat down with his back to it, and he sighed heavily. "What is wrong?" Oliver muttered as he watched his hand meticulously. He debated trying to break something, but that would have caused more trouble for him.

Alastor was hiding something. He had to be. Nothing made sense anymore. Was Oliver going to become bald next? Was Alastor going to reveal that he was his uncle or some other family member? The funny thought of Alastor being Belinda in disguise crossed Oliver's mind. No, that did not make sense. It would be more likely that Alastor was Toby! Where would he get the extra height? Stilts. Yes, that was it.

Toby was using stilts!

No, that was unlikely. There should be no reality where Toby can tank one of Oliver's punches – let alone return one.

There had to be an explanation for his defeat. Oliver growled. The teen knew that he could not beat the information out of Alastor. There was the possibility of using deception, but the owner could see right through his earlier lie. Was he that good? Oliver had not tried to be as convincing as possible with that lie. He did not think it would be wise to risk it.

Lost in his thoughts, Oliver spent the remainder of his break time speculating. 

To be Continued...

Author's Notes

This chapter was a bit short, but it introduced Alastor.
He is a very normal individual.
There is nothing to worry about.

Honestly, this chapter would spark some questions. 
I would like to say that this is officially the turning point of the story.

Maybe soon you'll find out why it is called 'Falling Upwards'

Also, the title and chapter quote are Shakespearian.

The next two chapters would officially signal the intended direction for this story. This chapter was just a needed precursor. 

I hope you continue to read and comment.
Any feedback is appreciated

Yours truly,
Ryanzexal.