Mrs. Jones sat on the hotel bed utterly exhausted. She was staring at her phone screen, wondering if she should call the number, wondering what she would say. She wasn't able to think for long before a decision was made for her; the phone started to ring, the number she wanted to avoid appearing on the screen. She took a deep breath, preparing herself for the conversation.
"Jones."
"Are you going to tell me what's going on now?" Jack confronted.
"Jack," she began. "Alex is in the hospital."
"What? What happened? He was okay last night."
"His condition is stable."
"What happened, Mrs. Jones?"
"I'm afraid I can't discuss this on the phone, Jack."
"Alright, tell me the name of the hospital he's at. I'll come over right now," she demanded.
She sighed. "We're not in England right now."
"What!" Jack almost screamed in her ear.
"He will be transferred to a hospital in London as soon as possible."
"I want to talk to Alex. Pass him the phone right now."
"He's not awake. Listen, Jack, you'll have to trust me, alright?" she finally said, hanging up the phone. It was starting to become a habit, hanging up the call in the woman's face.
Jack threw the phone onto the table, hearing it clang against it, hopefully not breaking the screen, not that it was her main concern at the moment. She sat in one of the chairs, bringing her hands to her head, sinking against them. Everything was spiraling out of control; everything was wrong. She was afraid to mourn the Alex she knew since he was little, the Alex that was always smiling, the Alex that was so well-mannered that every parent was jealous, the Alex that was gentle with every little thing, the Alex before Ian's death. It scared her what she saw last night; that wasn't the Alex she knew. So full of anger and hate, and against his best friend, the same one that Jack never saw Alex raise his voice against—it was wrong, it was strange.
She heard the door open. "Jack?" Tom's voice echoed through the house.
"Kitchen," she responded back.
"What's going on?" he asked as soon as he entered the room. From the moment he set his eyes on Jack, he knew something was wrong.
"Alex is in the hospital," she broke the news.
"What? What happened?" No matter what Alex had said to him, how he had behaved, Tom still cared for his friend, even if he spent the night hating him for what he said to him, for what he said to Steph. He still cared.
"I don't know; no one says anything to me."
"It doesn't matter. What hospital is he in? We'll go there right now," Tom said, already preparing himself to leave.
"I don't know," she responded, not raising her head.
"I'll call every hospital in London if I have to, Jack. We will find him," he was already taking out his phone, searching for hospitals' numbers.
"Tom, he's not in London; he's not even in the country."
Tom stopped, phone in his hands. "What? How's that possible?" Nothing made sense. Alex was there last night. How could he all of a sudden be in another country, admitted to a hospital? What has Alex gotten himself into?
Crawley sat in the room for hours, filling out reports and listening to nurses get in and out of the room throughout the night to check Alex's vitals. He got some strange looks. After all, they were well past visiting hours and no other patient got to have someone in the room all the time, but they had orders to keep quiet and not ask questions. So far, Crawley got no complaints. Someone even took pity on him and offered him some coffee. Crawley would prefer a cup of tea instead, but considering the quality of French tea, he wouldn't complain about the coffee. Normally, this kind of job didn't fall on his shoulders, his or Jones's. It was well beneath them. But Alex was a special exception; he wasn't an official agent or someone of high profile, but he also couldn't say that Alex was a civilian because he wasn't. Right now, security was fragile. Someone had killed Grief; they still didn't know who. They still didn't know what organization was behind Point Blanc. They still didn't know their power, and while they didn't find out, they couldn't scratch the possibility of someone coming after Alex.
YOU ARE READING
Left Behind
Fanfiction"We have to go; Jones wants us out of here. Apparently, there's a storm coming; they're doing the cleanup when it passes." They were leaving, and they would be taking a fake Alex with them. Alex tried to call out to them as they left the room, tried...
