Black Ice

Chapter Six

"Everybody's got a past. The past does not equal the future unless you live there." 

~Tony Robbins

*****

I wake up early the next morning and experience a searing pain in my side. 

I roll over, gasping, and tumble over the side of the bed. I land on my back in a tangle of sheets and pillows and cry out. As quickly as the pain struck me, it vanishes. I sit up awkwardly and inspect my ribcage, but there is no visible damage.

Then I remember that I'm dying. 

I lay back down on the floor and groan. Is this what it's going to be like from now on? Trudging through every day of my life, clinging to existence, but never really going or doing anything because I know I won't be able to finish it? 

My thoughts stray back to the previous evening. Carter. 

I sigh. He's so...there. Real. Like a rope to cling to that will pull me away from the edge of the cliff I'm dangling off of. 

I've already spent two of my precious thirty days. I can't waste the rest. 

I stand up slowly. It's still dark outside. My alarm clock reads 5:42 a.m.

Alone in a big, dark house. Yay.

The stairs creak as I make my way toward the kitchen for breakfast, so I watch my step. I feel like a prisoner, forbidden from opening the cereal cupboard on penalty of death. I'm halfway down the stairway before I'm struck with an idea.

I glance over at the long banister. Father insisted we have one to make a good impression on the business people who came over for parties. I always wondered what it would feel like to slide down it. 

When will I get another chance?

Hesitantly, I swing my leg over the side and hoist myself up. Oh, this is scary. Bad idea, bad idea, bad-

I start to slide. 

Bad. Idea. 

I go hurtling down the banister, my shrieks of fear swallowed by my sudden burst of excitement. This is amazing. I fly off the end and land with a painfully hard bump on the marble floor. I ignore the pain and roll over, laughing like a maniac. I can't believe I never had the guts to try that before. 

Maybe it's the adrenaline rush, but I feel like doing something else that's incredibly dangerous. Something like raiding Mum's secret chocolate stash. 

She thinks Bethany and I don't know she keeps her best chocolate in the jar behind the toaster. We've known for years, but we've never done it for fear she'll notice the missing candies and we'll get in trouble. We used to like to bet on how many she'd eat each evening, or what brand she'd buy to re-stock. Mum is a chocolate addict. We find it hilarious. 

I creep into the kitchen like a burglar stealing diamonds from a vault. Then I remind myself that the comparison is ridiculous. 

What I'm doing is much more dangerous than stealing mere diamonds. 

I sneak over to the toaster. My stomach growls. This is going to be-

My phone buzzes. 

I shriek and jump about a foot in the air before reminding myself that I'm not in danger of being caught. 

It's just your phone, stupid. You're being paranoid.

Sighing with relief, I tug it out of my pocket and check my messages. Carter has texted me. 

Meet me on the football field in  a half hour. I have a surprise for you. If you don't show, I'm coming to your house. And trust me, this isn't the type of surprise that you want around a bunch of rich people in the AMs. Your neighbors will not be happy. 

I sigh, but can't resist grinning. He's crazy. I love crazy. 

Of course, this mission impossible is crazy, too. I open the chocolate bar and pull out...

A...piece of paper? 

It's a note from Mum, to herself. It smells of her perfume. It's written in her handwriting. I read it over once, twice. It makes no sense. 

Call Paul Myers in Surrey. You know who. Don't mention Alysson. 

Isn't Surrey in England? I wonder. 

I google it on my phone. Yes. Surrey is in England. Mum hates England, because she's originally British, but her parents disowned her when they found out she was marrying Father for the money. 

I re-enter my search as 'Paul Myers'. 

He's a musician is San Fransisco. What? 

I type in, 'Paul Myers, Surrey'. 

The first result is an article about a Paul Myers retiring from a newspaper company in Surrey called 'Little Page, Big News'. 

The second result is an article written by Paul Myers almost eighteen years ago. I click on it. I love mysteries. 

It's about some Russian dancer in the St. Petersburg ballet named Kristina _______ (Insert name I cannot pronounce). 

I scroll down until I find a picture. 

I drop the phone. My knees buckle.

Kristina has long dark hair and icy blue eyes. 

She looks just like me. 

*****

AN: It's short! I'm sorry! I need a nap!

What is going on? Conspiracy theories below, please! Who is Kristina? Who is Paul? What is Carter's surprise? 

Sorry about publishing issues and the lateness of my story. There have been a lot of things going on right now...life is life. As for the publishing issues, my laptop is evil. I apologize. (I'm not kidding. Casper the evil ghost is hiding behind your screen, watching you read this. Beware.)

I thought since so many of you are taking time to read and review and vote, I would repay the favor by saying that you can advertise your story to me in the comments and I'll try to read it and review it for you! 

Hugsnkisses!

-HopelessByComparison

P.S. This one is dedicated to all the Carters out there who are amazing guys and probably do all sorts of brilliant things for their Alyssons. We love you <3

P.P.S. Who here is excited about Season Six of Downton Abbey? Huh? Huh? Anyone else annoyed that the new Flash and Arrow seasons aren't on Netflix? Huh? No? Okay then.

P.P.P.S. Anyone notice how long this Author's note is? That's annoying. I'll shut up now.