Alan Price and the Colossus of Rhodes (The Nephilim Chronicles) (5 page)

Chapter 18

“You can do this. You did this
before,” Alan paced back and forth at a park just a few blocks away from the
motel where he spent the previous night. His stomach rumbled not for the first
time as Alan pushed himself to be as fast as he had been the night before.

“Come on!” he yelled in
frustration. Pedestrians that bothered to glance at him frowned or shook their
head. Alan could only imagine what he looked like: a teenager in a rented
tuxedo, yelling to himself in a public park.

Think, in both cases you were
afraid. You feared for your life. That has to be it. Whatever is happening is
triggered by your will to live.

Alan tried to remember that feeling
now; he tried to remember the exact feeling as he fell. He imagined that same
grip on his shoulder. The fear being chased had brought gradually spread to
every fiber of his body.

He felt himself quiver at the
memory of being bullied for so many years. He thought back to his countless
nights and days of depression, the feeling of loneliness and the panic that
social events usually triggered. Alan felt perspiration start to bead across
his brow as angst built up inside. Then Alan forced his eyes open and ran.

Alan ran as fast as his legs would
carry him. His feet yelled as they were forced to a dangerous pace, rubbing
against his cheaply made, nonetheless-expensive-to-rent tuxedo shoes. Grass
blades crunched under foot as Alan streaked across the park.

Eager to see how fast he was moving
he turned his head from side to side. Alan felt his jaw drop as he witnessed
life all around him taking place at a speed much slower than his own.

People stood still as he moved
forward. Birds hung in the air, their wings stuck in place. There was no noise.
Everything around Alan looked like a picture, lifelike but unmoving. Alan
pulled to a halt, his mind trying to make sense of the impossible. As he
stopped, everything around him began to move at a normal pace once again.
People continued about their way both on the sidewalk and in the park; horns
blew and birds ascended and descended in flight.

No way. There’s no way you’re
that fast.

Alan crouched in a kneeling
position as he tried to make sense of the puzzle whose pieces lay scattered all
around him. Thoughts of superheroes, mutants or evolved humans passed across
his mind. In all honesty, there was no telling what he was now. All he knew was
that he could move, and he could move fast.

From that moment on Alan promised
himself things would be different. Plans started to form in his mind on how he
could put this gift of speed to use. His stomach rumbled again.

Priorities, man; food first,
money later. Now, what sounds good?

Tingling and laughing aloud, Alan
stood from his crouching position. Feet firmly underneath, he ran.

Chapter 19

Present Day

“Hi. Sorry, I don’t want to disturb
your reading time—Oh, Spartans, very cool. Hope you don’t mind me looking
at your book. I’m not trying to be nosey or anything, just trying to make
conversation and not let this get awkward.”

Alan raised his eyes to see a dark
haired woman about his own age. Large black-rimmed glasses framed her eyes. Jeans
and boots marked her as someone who either had not anticipated or didn’t care
she was going to a bar where they valeted Austin Martins and Ferraris on a
regular basis. “I’m sorry. Do I know you?”

“Nope, not yet. Do you mind if I
sit down?”

“Listen, I don’t want to be rude.
I’m sure you’re a great person but tonight—“

“Oh, oh, no. Do you think I’m
hitting on you?”

Alan raised an eyebrow.

“I mean, not that I don’t think
you’re attractive. My gosh, have you seen your arms?” The young woman shut her
pink lips tight. Her fair skin turned as red as the outside of an apple. “I am
so not good at these types of things.”

She took a seat at Alan’s booth
across from him disregarding his attempt to politely decline her company.
“Listen, let’s start over.” The young woman extended a fingernail polished hand
that matched her red face, “My name is Danielle Turner.”

Alan pursed his lips and set his
book on the table. He reluctantly shook the woman’s hand. Four years of running
from his past and denying the underprivileged path his adolescent life had
taken, Alan was used to using aliases, “Connor Moore.”

Danielle released his hand and
laughed, “Alan, please if you are going to use a fake name at least choose one
that’s not already taken by someone so unique.”

Alan felt his posture straighten.
If she wanted to get his attention, she had it now. Alan was a name he had left
a long time ago. “How do you know my name? No one has called me that in a very
long time.”

Danielle took a deep breath.
“Listen, this is not going at all how I planned. I told him I wasn’t good at
this kind of stuff.”

“Told who?”

Before she could answer, the server
appeared at the side of their table. “Hello, can I get you something to drink,
Miss?” She motioned towards Alan’s bottle of whiskey. “Perhaps a glass?”

“What? No.” Danielle said with the
slightest hint of disapproval. “I’ll have a Shirley Temple please.”

The server nodded, her mouth
beginning to drop open before she turned to fulfill the order.

“Shirley Temple, huh?” Alan asked.

“Yeah, I’m a lightweight. Give me a
drink or two and—“ panic washed over Danielle’s face again as she found
herself in the middle of a sentence she didn’t want to finish.

Alan felt his lips twist into a
grin despite himself. “Okay, you have me interested. How do you know my name
and what is it that you want?”

“My organization has been watching
you since the night you jumped—fell—off the roof and even before
that. What we want is your help. What I mean to say is that we think a
partnership would be mutually beneficial.”

Alan searched the dimly lit
interior of the bar, for what, he wasn’t sure; cameras revealing that he was
being set up, dark-suited government agents set to take him away for
experimentation or the FBI for all the money and merchandise he stole over the
past four years.

He scooted a bit closer to the edge
of his booth, ready to run at a moment’s notice. As a general rule, he didn’t
use his speed in public. Tonight could be an exception.

“Please, don’t do your super speed
thing,” Danielle said. “You’re not alone in this. I know you must have so many
questions. I can give you the answers you’ve been searching for. The world
needs you, Alan.”

Alan could feel his chest
constrict. Fear of the real possibility of having his questions answered spread
through him for the very first time. For years Alan searched for answers to
what he was, every lead ended the same, with only more questions.

The server appeared out of the
corner of Alan’s eye, balancing a glass on a tray. Danielle turned her
attention away from him and visibly brightened, “Oh, my Shirley Temple. There’s
a cherry in it, too. Yesssss.”

Chapter 20

Three years ago

Alan readied himself in the
shadows. He was tired of stealing food one or two meals at a time. He was
exhausted from taking everything he wanted in secret. Sure, it had been great
the first year but there was just something about having money to buy things in
public instead of taking them right from under people’s noses. He wanted to
feel normal: he wanted to go shopping with and in front of everyone else. A
weird part of him actually wanted to pay for things, like normal people.

The last year provided Alan with a
ton of experience when it came to working on his speed. He was quicker than any
camera, faster than any eye. Now he was done with trivial things; now was his
time to step up into the big leagues.

No more stealing day after day.
Amateur hour is over. This will set you up for a long time. You can get your
own pad, no more motels.

Deep inside Alan knew what he was
doing was wrong. Whether it was his conscience, subconscious or something else,
a voice inside told him he was given this gift for something more than just
stealing and personal advancement.

Day after day Alan silenced this
tiny cry of morality until it stopped pleading with him altogether. He
justified his actions by convincing himself that he had suffered enough
throughout his early years. He told himself worldly possessions would make him
happy and keep the tide of depression and anxiety at bay. Now Alan found
himself with a black ski mask in his right hand and crouched in an alley behind
a large trash container with the city’s largest bank and trust across the
street.

Sweat glistened off Alan’s brow as
he looked down at his watch; it read 5:58 PM. Alan spent the last few weeks scoping
out the building. In that time, he learned that this day was the least busy of
the week. He knew that the bank closed its doors at exactly 6:00 PM every
business day.

This is going to work. Nobody
can see you, let alone touch you.

Alan could feel his heart beating
out of his chest. By far this was the craziest thing he had ever attempted in
his life. He felt his grip tighten on the mask’s thick fabric and chuckled to
himself. He knew that the mask wasn’t going to keep people from seeing his face;
his supernatural speed would do that. The mask was in his hand more as moral
support than anything else was. The mask comforted him in a way that a safety
blanket would a small child.

Alan took in another deep breath
and let it out slowly. He pulled the black mask’s thick wool over his face. The
fabric scratched his skin as he slid it into place. There were three holes, two
for his eyes and one for his mouth.

Even as he reached for the large
black duffle bag beside him, even as his digital clock hit 5:59 PM, Alan’s
internal voice begged him to stop. It told him he was doing the wrong thing. It
told him he was meant for so much more. Alan forced the voice from his mind as
he lunged forward.

The sounds of everyday life ceased
to exist. When Alan ran it seemed as though everything stood still while he
moved at a normal pace. His legs pumped beneath him as he exited the alley and
crossed the street.

Taxis paused in their afternoon
routes, pedestrians looked like mannequins and flags hesitated in their waving.
This was all familiar to Alan. He crossed the street and ran up the steps to
the bank. With each step of his Nikes on the pavement, Alan rehearsed the plan
in his head.
Straight to the vault, only large bills, in and out under a
second.

Alan reached the glass door of the
building that boasted the bank name in large golden lettering
Shepherd and
Montgomery
. He ripped the door open and ran inside.

The interior of the bank was large.
Wooden paneling underfoot supported matching wooden counters and an interior
floor plan, shaped in a half circle that allowed teller windows to open in a crescent
shape. Alan took in his surroundings as he ran forward.

A security guard, whom he could
probably outrun even without his powers, was reading a newspaper to his right. There
were no customers in line. Only two patrons were in the process of depositing
or withdrawing funds. They both stood in the middle of conversations with the
bank tellers assisting them.

Alan ran towards the middle of the
teller windows. He unlatched a small gate that led behind the counter. An army
of bank workers stood before him. All dressed in dark pants with light blue
shirts, they held expressions anywhere from ones that looked at though they had
caught a whiff of someone’s old egg salad sandwich, to ones of relief the day
was finally over. One lady in particular held her hands in the air as though
she was raising the roof. Alan couldn’t help but wonder what she was saying.
That thought soon disappeared as he made his way to the bank vault.

The huge circular steel door was
open. No one was inside as Alan entered the steel-like tomb that guarded the
bank’s cash. Another set of steel bars almost sent Alan into a panic. Even as
he placed his hand on the cold metal, he could see the door wasn’t closed all
the way. An inch of space between the metal gate and the vault wall saved
Alan’s master plan.

He reached for the door and swung
it open as he entered the first of two rooms. The bank’s vault was divided into
two separate compartments—one for the bank deposit boxes and the other
for cash.

Alan stopped mid-step as he made
his way into the vault and turned the corner. He wasn’t the only one in the
room designated to housing the bank’s cash. An elderly, overweight gentleman
with a nametag identifying him as the bank manager leaned over a mountain of
money.

Alan paused, forgetting for the
moment that he was moving faster now than anyone could see. Fear once again
made its presence known as he hesitated to take another step.
Move, move,
move. There’s no time for this!

Alan wrenched his body forward;
ignoring the fear that told him he would be caught at any moment and instead
went to work. Piles of cash rose on steel-framed cabinets against the walls.
Lucky, for Alan they were stacked in numerical value.

The pile of one hundred dollar
bills that Alan was after just happened to be the pile of cash the bank manager
was leaning over. The balding man looked as though Alan had caught him mid count,
his chubby left hand holding a thick stack of bills as his right hand reached
out for another.

Alan grinned through his mask as he
imagined the bank manager’s expression. The man would go from one second
counting money to the next having it disappear, literally from right under his
nose.

Loading the money into his black
duffle bag felt great. Thick stack after thick stack of the one hundred dollar
bills piled into his sack until it filled every inch. Alan fought against the
urge to count his money there and then.
There will be plenty time for that
later
, he told himself.

Zipping the bag close took some
effort but with a few more grins and smiles Alan managed to secure his loot.
The table that once held the money was all but bare. Only a few lone bills
scattered across the steel frame.

Alan couldn’t help himself as he
reached out and plucked the last stack of bills right from the bank manager’s
hand.

“Sorry, I need this more than you.
The bank is insured; you’ll be fine when they look at the tapes and realize
it’s not your fault.”

With that, Alan turned and ran out
of the building. The duffle bag bursting with money felt heavy. The fabric
strap dug into his shoulder making an uncomfortable indentation as Alan burst
out of the bank and across the street.

Alan ripped off his mask and
stuffed it into his back pocket. He crouched behind the alley dumpster one more
time and stopped. Time unfroze as soon as he ceased moving. The cars on the
street continued on their way, the pedestrians on the sidewalk moved along at
normal speed and the flags flapped and slapped against themselves in the wind.

The only thing that seemed out of
place in the following seconds were the shouts from the bank followed by the
vault’s alarm.