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

Titles also by Jonathan Yanez

The Elite Series

The Beast Within (Book 1)

The Trials (Book 2)

The Judge (Book 3)

Bad Land

The Steampunk Files

Steam and Shadows (Book 1)

    “The
two most important days in your life

    are
the day you are born and the day you find out why.”

-
Mark Twain

 Alan Price

By

Jonathan Yanez

       Text copyright ©
2014 Archimedes Books

      
To my sister Cynthia, who has always been close to my heart.

Chapter 1

Four Years Ago

Just one step and it would all
be over
. Alan teetered on the ledge of the fifty-story building. The cold
wind whipped around him at dangerous speeds harassing his tuxedo jacket’s
lapels and short blond hair.

Well, you came here to do it.
You came all this way.

Alan looked at the streetlights stretching
out in every direction; at the trim landscape so far below him. He swayed as
the power of the wind tried to pull him over the ledge too early. Alan winced
as the cold breeze forced itself against his face.

An ache reminded him of his black
eye as he squinted. Reaching a hand to his face, Alan felt the tender swollen area
around his right eye.

That’s going to leave a mark.
It’s going to have to be a closed-casket funeral. What are you talking about?
Nobody is going to come to your funeral anyway.

Alan bit his lip at the harsh but
true thought, immediately he regretted his action. Pain and fresh blood oozed from
his recently spilt lip. Alan grunted to the foreboding night as the discomfort
subsided.

The air was cold and dark.
Fitting,
Alan thought,
for this night to be my last
... The night he died would be
just like the life he lived. He hadn’t asked to be born, but he was. He didn’t
want to be depressed and angry all the time, but he was. It seemed as thought
he didn’t have too many choices in the world except for this one. He did have
the choice to end his own life.

One step; just one jump and it
can all be over. No more pills, no more being alone, no more looks of disgust
directed your way from kids at school or the adults you know. One step, Alan,
come on you can do this.

Alan swayed once again in the wind.
Goose bumps prickled at his hands and neck. A shiver ran down his spine. For
all the many reasons Alan wanted to jump, there was only one holding him back.
It was giving in to defeat. Alan hated
losing.
If he did jump, he knew he would be giving up, on
everything.

You tried; you tried it all.
This isn’t giving up. This is your last unexplored option. You did everything
you could, especially today, and you still ended up looking like a loser. You
still ended up alone.

Alan looked down at his fancy
clothes. The tuxedo, the boutonnière, the clothes all the cool guys wore in the
movies, the clothes that were supposed to make him feel better about himself.
They hadn’t.

For a moment, Alan wondered how irritated
the tuxedo rental store would be that he had died and ruined one of their
suits. Then he wondered if they could, would they salvage the suit and re-rent it.

Alan shook his head as he inched
closer to the edge of the building. Looking down made his head swim. The ground
below him zoomed in and out like a high-powered camera lens trying to focus.

It’s not giving up. How can it
be after today? You tried everything. You’ll always be a loser; you’ll always
be angry and depressed. This has to be the way—doesn’t it?

As Alan once again debated whether
or not he should take his life, the wind made the final decision for him. A
violent gust came up behind him and before Alan could step back or try to
regain his balance, it pushed him over the edge. Buildings all around him
rushed by as he headed face first to the unforgiving cement floor below.

It was then that Alan knew he
wanted to live. It was too late now but he knew that this was giving up. This
was the easy way out. In that moment, as the earth rushed to meet him, he knew
he wanted to see the next day. A burning desire heated him from the inside out,
a desire that told him to survive.

The ground came closer and closer,
only seconds away from embracing him. Alan’s life didn’t rush before his eyes
in his final moments the way everyone says it does. Instead, the just events
from that specific day did.

 Chapter 2

“Alan, you’re going to miss the
bus. Hurry up, you can’t afford to be late again.”

Alan ran down the creaking stairs
grabbing his worn backpack in one hand and trying to wrestle his
shoulder-length hair into place with his other. Tony waited for him by the open
door with that same look on his face. It was a look Alan hated with every fiber
in his being. It was a look that said, “I’m sorry you are like this. I wish you
could be better.”

Alan flashed a practiced grin to
Tony. A grin empty on Alan’s part but that seemed to satisfy most anyone else,
“Thanks, sorry.”

Tony just wore that same look on
his face as he nodded, “Up late again last night reading? Those fantasy books
again?”

“Yeah, I’m sorry, I know.” Alan
rushed past Tony and out into the front yard. The house he lived in with Tony
and the two other boys wasn’t the worse to which Alan had been assigned over
the years. He didn’t want to cause waves now, or do something that might get
him kicked out. Running across the lawn towards the waiting bus, Alan turned
around, “I’m sorry, Tony. I really am. I promise it won’t happen again.”

Tony just stood there. An awkward
moment passed as Alan thought Tony might say something. Maybe give him some
reassurance, or tell him that it was fine. He didn’t. Instead, Tony turned his
back and walked into the house, letting the tired screen door close behind him
with a sigh.

Chapter 3

The bus had been rough at first.
High school politics were just as brutal as any grasp for power on Capitol
Hill. Alan used to try to find a spot next to someone who then would usually
give him a dirty look or tell him that the seat was taken. Now Alan went
straight to the back of the bus where everyone left a seat open so they
wouldn’t have to sit next to him.

Eyes directed to the floor now,
Alan made his way to the rear of the bus. With any luck, he could avoid eye
contact with the already sitting passengers he knew were looking him up and
down with disgust.

Studying the bus’ black floorboards
Alan walked to the back. A snicker met his ears, “Well, the freak decided to
show up for the ride. What were you up to last night, weirdo? Playing World of
Warcraft on your Xbox?”

Alan’s mouth opened before he could
stop himself, “They don’t make World of Warcraft for Xbox; it’s a PC only game.
And, no, I was reading.” Alan looked up shocked at his own words. Brent Carson
was your typical jock—the letterman jacket, the offensive line position
for the school football team and boyfriend to the prettiest girl in school,
Jennifer Richardson.

Brent’s face looked just as
surprised as Alan’s did at the response. “Whatever, nerd. Get to your seat in
the back of the bus before you have an accident.” With a disgusted look he
turned to Jennifer, “Don’t worry, I’ll have my license in a few weeks and then
we can skip this whole bus thing. We can leave the minions to their public ways
of travel.”

Jennifer nodded not saying a word; instead,
she gave Alan a look like Tony had. With one look she said she was sorry; not
for her boyfriend’s actions, but that she was sorry Alan was such a loser. It
was a look that made Alan’s stomach turn.

Alan made it the rest of the way to
the rear of the bus without incident, passing cliques of hipsters, jocks and Goths.
Slumping into the familiar black seat, Alan let out a sigh. He was facing
another day: another day of being alone, of school and of avoiding eye contact.
Depression sank deeper, the water soaking into a thirsty sponge. Alan looked
out the window at the passing homes left to his own thoughts.

Chapter 4

“Alan, how is the medication
working?”

Alan was sitting in Dr. Larson’s
office in a dark brown leather chair. His hands were in his lap and he was
looking around the room in awe. Although he had visited his psychiatrist’s
office for months now, Alan still got a sense of joy and wonder when surrounded
by so many books. Shelves lined each wall making the doctor’s office look more
like a library than a doctor’s office.

“Alan?”

“Oh, sorry. The meds aren’t
working. I don’t feel any better.”

“Still depressed?”

Alan let out a sigh, “Yeah,
depressed and angry now, too.”

The doctor cocked her head to the
side, “Angry? What’s making you angry, Alan?”

“Life. That I can’t kick this
feeling of sadness; that it will never go away. I hate not being able to do
anything to feel better.”

The doctor nodded scribbling notes
on a pad she held just close enough to keep Alan from seeing. “These feelings
of depression, are they rooted anywhere specifically?”

“Everywhere. The only time I feel
like I can get away is when I lose myself in a book.”

The doctor grinned, “Which book are
you reading now?”

Alan leaned down to reach into his shabby
backpack lying by his feet. He pulled out a red covered paperback and handed it
to the doctor.

She took the book and flipped
through a few pages. “I should have guessed: another book about ancient Greece,
gods and mortals, Spartans and legendary creatures.”

Alan nodded with a smile. Even the
mention of those words brought images to his mind that allowed him to forget
his own reality for a few seconds and escape into a world he knew well.

“Alan,” the doctor handed the book
back to him. “There isn’t anything wrong with having a healthy appetite for
fantastical books, especially at your age. But you have to try to balance that
with living your life in the present. Living here and now.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean you need to take small
steps to better yourself each day. I know it’s hard but start small and I
promise that getting outside of your shell will be easier and easier. Start by
talking to someone you don’t know at school. Maybe just saying a hello.”

Alan didn’t say anything aloud but
inside he was thinking,
Yeah, okay, that’s going to happen. I’m depressed
enough, even having suicidal thoughts, without being blown off by someone I
actually try to talk to.

“Isn’t there a dance tonight?”

Alan looked at the doctor as if she
had recently escaped a mental institute and he had just found her eating grass
in a field. “Yeah, there is a dance but I’m not going.”

“Why not?”

“Are you kidding me? There isn’t
enough time in our hour session for me to explain all the reasons why not.”

“Try me. And stop looking at me
like I’m an alien.”

Despite himself, Alan had to grin
at her response. “Well, I don’t have a date. I don’t have clothes. I don’t have
a way to get there and I have no desire to be there. And even if I was there, I
would be alone anyway, so what’s the point?”

Dr. Larson nodded, her glasses
reflecting the sun from the open window. “There will always be excuses, Alan.
There will always be reasons it would be easier to not try at all. I’m sure
you’ve read about plenty of heroes that would have had a more comfortable life
if they made excuses and took the easier route. I would consider the idea that
it is better to try and fail, than to not try at all.”

Alan bit back a sarcastic comment
but he knew she was right.

“Alan, you said you were frustrated
about not being able to do anything about your depression, right?”

“Right.”

“Well, here is something you can
actively do. Try it. For one day, one day, Alan get outside of your comfort
zone and you may be surprised at what happens next.”

Alan was about to open his mouth to
tell her again the reasons he couldn’t do that when a knock on the door
interrupted their meeting.

“Come in,” Dr. Larson said glancing
at the watch that hung off her slender wrist.

The door cracked open just an inch
and the elderly female secretary’s voice could be heard from the other side.
“Oh, I’m sorry to disturb you, Doctor, but your next appointment is here.”

“Thank you. We are just finishing.”

The door closed in response. Dr.
Larson stood up handing Alan back his book. Alan had to stop himself from
looking the doctor up and down.

Eye contact, keep eye contact.

Dr. Lisa Larson was a recent
college graduate and couldn’t be more than seven or eight years Alan’s senior.
She was tall and slender with a slight muscular touch that hinted at a few
trips to the gym every week.

“I know you, Alan. You won’t give
up. Have faith that with more effort and time we’ll figure this out. And think
about what I said; get out of your shell for one day. I’ll also look into
another prescription for you. Stay positive, Alan.”

Alan slung his backpack over his
shoulder. He nodded at the doctor’s comment as he exited her office. It was an
interesting idea, Alan admitted. It seemed he had tried everything over the
last few years, but he hadn’t gone so far out on a limb to attend a school
dance on his own. Maybe Dr. Larson was right. Maybe this is what he needed.

The school halls were jammed full
as Alan made his way to his last period class: history. Kids, freshman through senior,
ran or walked along the hallways all accompanied by their cliques. Individual
groups of friends wadded upstream through the constant flow of human traffic.
As usual, Alan did his best to avoid eye contact with anyone and made a beeline
for the history classroom.

He was staring along a wall to
avoid a group of cheerleaders when his eye caught sight of a large yellow sign
that read:
School Dance Tonight!
Alan’s eyes skimmed over the rest of
the information as a plan started to form in his mind.

No, that would be crazy. Even if
you did go, you would be no better off than you are right now. You would be
trying to avoid people the whole night. You might as well be invisible.

“You’re not thinking of going to
the dance tonight, are you?”

Alan felt his body clench as he
recognized Brent’s voice. He forced himself to turn. The jock was there with a
smirk on his face. One arm slung over Jennifer’s shoulder he chuckled.

“I—well, I was
thinking—“

“Better not to think, dude. You
might end up getting hurt.”

Alan felt blood rush to his face as
students began to notice the conversation between the two. Eager eyes soon
began to stop, waiting to see if there would be a physical confrontation.

Alan looked down at the floor
remaining quiet.

“Leave him alone, Brent,” Jennifer
said. “If he wants to go, he can go. Come on, we’re going to be late for class.”

Alan still didn’t look up.

“Yeah okay,” Brent said as he
turned his attention away from Alan. “I was just trying to give the loser some
advice. Let’s face it, he needs all the help he can get.”

A sigh escaped from the crowd that
had begun to gather. All anticipation for a fight was lost. Now with their
hopes crushed, they broke into their groups heading to their next classes.

High school could be just as brutal
as the Coliseum. Outrage warmed Alan’s chest, anger not at Brent or the other
bullies that made him feel like nothing every day, but anger at being too weak
and helpless to do anything.