Lost Game Notes (Novel)

Chapter 7: Deadline

 The screech of the doorbell pulled Alex out of his restless slumber. It wasn't a noise one could ignore, especially when it kept going. No doubt Lawrence was already at work. He was the only one home to... pull himself out of his bed and go to the door.

Alex lay still, staring at the ceiling through blurred eyes. He swallowed, but his throat was parched and dry. Just like that, it all crashed down upon him. The painting. The note. The headlines. Now he knew his mother's murderer. How the heck had he painted that murderer? Alex couldn't remember if he had looked at a photo for reference.

The blaring of the bell startled Alex out of his bed. His sides ached with the effort of having had forced every single tear out of his being throughout the night. Moving like a zombie, he pulled on a hoodie and jeans and stumbled downstairs, nearly missing all the steps. By the time he was at the door the bell was screaming again.

Alex yanked the door open, his blurry gaze landing on two black boots. He heaved a sigh and looked up and past his overgrown bangs.

Jude's stood with feet apart, brows raised and arms folded. The tattoo on his neck peeked out from the collar of his shirt, speaking volumes: Rebel.

"Did you fall into the toilet?" Jude questioned with a snort.

Alex clutched the door frame to steady himself, and Jude's eyes fell on his knuckles coated with crusty dried blood. "What do you want?"

"So you've forgotten already," Jude hummed, cracking his own knuckles. "My meth."

Alex mouth went dry. He had never hidden it in a safe place. He began to turn away, but Jude grabbed his arm.

"Hand it back, and I won't break your neck." His eyes were latched on Alex's, lips pulled back in a sneer.

Alex yanked his arm out of Jude's grip and rasped, "Wait here"

He headed towards the stairs, his feet feeling like a burden to lift as he climbed the steps. He swayed and had to pause to steady himself, taking in several deep breaths. If he didn't know better, he'd think he had fallen into a toilet, too.

What a dumbass he was, to think not knowing the reason for his mother's death was better for him. Finding out now, like this, proved painful. He attempted to push the memory of yesterday's events on the farthest shelf in his mind, but yet there it was, staring at him, unblinking.

The meth, Alex thought, gritting his teeth. Get the meth, and then you can sleep the rest of your worries away.

He got to his room and unzipped his backpack, blindly feeling for the bottle. He opened it further and peered inside. He dumped the contents out, his eyes catching on the compact block-letters of Mrs. Blyton's writing. He had never given the note to Lawrence.

"Yeah, right," he murmured to himself.

He crumpled the note and tossed it under his desk.

Alex fished through the stationary, earphones, books, wrappers, wires, wrapped candy, balls of crumpled paper... His foggy mind jump-started when he realized the meth wasn't there.

Cursing profusely, Alex began to search his room in a frenzy, upturning furniture, looking under his bed-sheets, in his drawers, under his bed. He hadn't remembered to hide the jar, so why wasn't it still in his backpack?

A shiver swept through Alex as he gazed around the mess he had made.

The meth wasn't there.

He was going to have to accumulate a good lie to tell Jude, or put on the brave face he used at school and find another way out.

Alex heaved his shoulders up, lifted his chin, and headed to the front door. Jude was still waiting there, his hands jammed deep into his pockets. A frown crossed his face when he saw Alex was empty-handed.

"Where is it?" He demanded.

Alex leaned in the doorway. "I'm not giving it to you until tomorrow. Don't ask."

"Bold," Jude scoffed, pulling a pack of cigarettes out of his pocket. He shook one out, lit it, took a drag, and looked up to study Alex. "We had an agreement."

"Tomorrow by six in the evening," Alex said firmly, sealing his fate.

Jude leaned close and blew a stream of smoke right into Alex's face. He murmured, "If you don't have it by then, I'll tell Lawrence you're pedalling drugs. He'll believe me." A sharp glint entered his eyes, and he turned, heading to his motorbike in long strides.

Alex blinked hard, trying to wash away the sting. Still, he wouldn't give Jude the satisfaction of seeing him scrub his eyes. He pushed himself off the door frame and slammed the door. Then he jogged up the stairs two by two, turning into his bedroom.

It was a wreck. He was a wreck.

Sighing in frustration, Alex let his hands drop at his sides. It was no use searching. He hadn't taken anything out of his backpack.

Unless...

Could it be that...Sky found it yesterday during the maths lessons? Alex doubted it. Would Sky have taken it? That was a thought Alex couldn't fathom. Besides, he hadn't seen Sky rummaging through his backpack.

In any case, he had to have a jar of five ounces of meth by tomorrow, at six the evening. Wasn't he stupid, setting a deadline like that for himself?

Alex's eye trained on a crumpled, ripped piece of newspaper clipping, partly hidden by a pillow on the floor. He squatted, taking the two pieces and putting them together.
Headlines stared back at him boldly:

CONAN SIMONS TRIED AT COURT AFTER ATTEMPTING MURDER ON OLIVIA BROOKE

A shiver went down Alex's spine and he closed his eyes. Dear mother. It didn't state the man named Conan had actually killed his mother. But who or what had? The police had claimed Olivia's death as a murder, as far as he dared to know. Perhaps Olivia had died from blood loss, in the hospital.

Conan had killed his mother.

Sudden tears sprang in Alex's eyes and he angrily swiped a them, surprised nonetheless. He didn't think he would have any tears left to cry after yesternight. But he missed his mother. And it was Conan's fault. Alex stared down at two pieces. He flipped them over, recognizing the neat but crooked writing scribbled at the top, pink ink glittering. A little three numbered the note. He had found the next note, the right one.

The spoon in silver spoon.

Alex sat back on his heels, mind reeling. Immediately, the scent of strong coffee and buttery croissants, the hum of conversation, the feel of the delicately ripped leather, it all came to him like a breath of air. Silver Spoon. The diner. He used to go there everyday with Sky after school for as long as he could remember, before they fell apart.

His jumbled thoughts were brought to an abrupt halt when the handle on his bedroom twisted, then opened. Alex scrunched the newspaper swiftly, chucking it under his bed. Then he twisted around from his crouched position on the floor, to find Lawrence gazing around the room, his lips pressed together in a disapproving line.

"Your room is a mess." His eyes fixed on Alex. When Alex turned away and said nothing, he continued. "I met Connell's boy on my way here. Very nearly crashed into him with my car, scared him to death. I suggested breakfast at some café as a way to apologize. I'm sure you'll come and get to know you're friend better."

"Excuse me?" Alex said slowly. Friend? He wasn't sure he had heard right.

With a sigh, Lawrence repeated himself.

"You think Jude and I are friends?"

A stiff smile spread on Lawrence's face. It wasn't genuine, but it would take one like Alex to realize. "You are."

"Breakfast at some café?" Alex questioned, plopping into his bed.

"You're not a good cook and neither am I, so unless you're willing to eat plain cereal you will come." Lawrence paused, then added, "Jude is a good boy."

Alex snorted. Who did Lawrence think he was fooling? Not long ago he had been the one telling Alex to stay away from him. Alex crossed his arms over his chest, staring at the ceiling. Was it just him, or was that a leak?

A thought occurred to Alex, and his pulse quickened. He took in a deep breath. "Okay, as long as we go to the Silver Spoon Diner."

"Good—I didn't think I would have to argue for you to agree. It would do you good to acquire a friend. It hasn't escaped my notice that you don't have any." Lawrence turned and strode to his own room, calling over his shoulder, "Be ready in five minutes."

Alex picked himself off his bed and flung open the doors of his closet, picking out something a little less ripped and plain from his closet. A hoodie and jeans.

Lawrence obviously had something up his sleeve, but so did Alex.

Author's Note: Ooh, what could our boys be up to now? I hope y'all are excited. I can't thank you guys enough for all the votes and comments and reads! And to any other reader who might be wondering, this IS my first story ever finished/published, thanks to a lot of hard-work and dedication (he he). It's not perfect, but even then, I'm proud of myself :)

 I might have to tell you to look out for hints and clues, cause Dawn was right about Alex. He is a little 'blind to what's in front of him'...