Kingdom Come (Book 1)

Chapter Seven:

Alice pushed herself out of bed with a groan, her movements sluggish but less burdened than before. The nights were improving, the weight of sleepless patterns gradually lifting, leaving her strangely energized—a fact she hadn't expected to notice.

With that surprising thought, she quickly switched to pondering what she was going to wear today. She might be meeting Clayton in the afternoon, and she wanted to look mature enough for him. She wanted him to see her as a woman, not just a girl.

After searching through her dresser, she settled on a soft pink, long-sleeve shirt and jeans.

Her clothes were scattered all over her room; Kevin remarked that it looked like a bomb had exploded as he walked past to the kitchen before leaving for work.

Ignoring Kevin's comment, Alice matched the outfit with a nice jacket featuring a fur hood, long enough to keep her warm. A touch of makeup and silver jewelry softened her date look as she tried to tame her long hair with a quick brush. Alice soon gave up, quickly tying it into a ponytail, before walking into the living room to deal with her unruly hair.

Everything was quiet and still as Alice stood in the living room. A strange unease pressed against her chest—June was most likely still asleep.

She moved cautiously, preparing breakfast with deliberate motions and switching on the TV. The news of another war overseas flickered on the screen, but she barely registered it. The fire glowed faintly, casting enough warmth to fend off the morning chill. Her focus remained on packing her bag, sliding her homework carefully into the pocket.

Through the corner of her eye, she caught movement outside: Clayton was climbing into his truck. Ruth sat beside him in the passenger seat, her hair unnaturally bright and dead straight. He wore his usual ensemble—simple, utilitarian—a brown shirt layered under his familiar leather jacket, paired with jeans and scuffed hiking boots. Yet something felt odd, as Alice lingered by the window. Where could he be heading? He didn't strike her as the corporate type.

Her gaze drifted to the battered leather bag he carried, its edges worn and frayed by time. As if sensing her stare, Clayton turned, his eyes locking on hers through the frost-glazed glass. For a fleeting moment, he waved. Alice stiffened, feeling unexpectedly exposed.

The truck growled to life, roaring down the street and out of sight.

Later, when Alice stepped outside, she was greeted by a snow-blanketed scene—the lawn transformed into a crystalline wonderland beneath the pale winter sun. The skeletal oaks loomed overhead, motionless against the blue sky. Walking toward her car, she passed a flurry of pedestrians rushing to work. Their hurried movements felt alien to her. Why this obsession with speed? To her, the day stretched out endlessly, no matter how fast you ran.

*******

By midmorning, classes were in full swing. Madame St. Claire, Alice's French teacher, passionately outlined the significance of the French Revolution and the inevitability of the king's demise.

Alice, her thoughts torn, listened halfheartedly.

Just as Madame St. Claire's lecture reached its crescendo, Alice mustered the courage to text Clayton. She stared at her phone screen, fingers trembling, and typed:

Hey. It's Alison. Um, I was just wondering if you're free to meet up for coffee... as you promised?"

She reread the message twice, her heart thrumming with nervous energy, and hit send.

Three tense minutes passed before her phone buzzed. Her breath caught as she read the message:

"Ok. Where?"