"He's Free"

Alphonse wandered the streets for an unknown length of time. His head felt like it had been stuffed with cotton and his heart…well, it felt empty and desolate, a jar with nothing inside of it.

Occasionally he would pass a house and see people inside of it and he would feel his heart contract with jealousy. That seemed to be the only emotion he was able to feel at the time. He could still feel the unspeakable touch of the Chasers on his skin, a touch that would shift back and forth from cold hands into hard talons. It gripped and scratched on his arms and neck where he had been held by them.

The thing that had snapped in his head when he had seen Naz's true form still remained broken. Something had changed inside of his brain, he knew that, but he wasn't sure what it was. He would probably start to see soon enough but right now it didn't matter. Nothing did.

Al would have wandered all night if a Police car had not suddenly pulled up alongside of him. The officer was a large white haired man in his fifties and he squinted out the window at the boy with the unruly black hair and wide blue eyes. "Hey! Hey kid!" he yelled out of the window.

Alphonse barely heard him. The voice came from far away, from further along the silver road, in another world.

The police car stopped and the officer got out and ran towards Al. Al looked back behind him and stopped walking. The policeman stopped in front of him, his hands on his hips. "Am I in trouble, officer?" Alphonse asked. His voice sounded distant to his ears, disconnected and dead.

Perhaps it actually sounded that way because the policeman in front of him looked a little taken aback. "No, you're not in trouble, boy" he said. He peered closer to Alphonse and asked, "Are you the Brightman kid, by any chance? Son of Frank Arbuckle?"

Al looked at the policeman for a long time before answering. His thoughts were still on the way Naz had grabbed Eric and shoved him into the backseat of the blood-red Lexus SUV, a machine that had not really been a car at all, but a kind of door. It was these doors that the Chasers had come through and now—

"Frank Arbuckle? A teacher, at the high school—kid are you okay?" now the policeman sounded worried. "What are you doing out here? Are you hurt?"

"No, no I'm fine" Al said. "What's with my Dad?" he knew what was with his worthless father though, because he could hear the thoughts that were whirling and whizzing around in the policeman's head. Listening to them was like hearing someone muttering on a badly tuned radio.

—don't know why the boy is out here, his father might have kicked him out, the kind of man who does that to a woman should be—there wasa brief pause of complete blankness, then—locked in jail safely now, the scummy bastard.

I can hear this thoughts Alphonse thought dully. On any other day this would have filled him with wonder and awe. He would have jumped up and down, reveling in this newfound ability, but not now. Now he could only think of Eric.

"Say kid, how about getting in the car with me?" the officer was saying. His name was Voddery. Patrick Voddery, Alphonse could hear his name in his mind, a wordless wave of knowledge of the man's identity and secrets.

His wife was dead and they had never had any children of their own, but Officer Voddery loved children with his whole heart; he just didn't know how to treat them. That wasn't to say he was cruel to them; he just spoke to them as if they were mini adults.

Alphonse sat down in the back of the police car and watched the streetlights go by as they cruised down the street. He thought of Grandpa Eric's way of being both philosophical and relaxed at the same time. He thought of how he had enjoyed the feeling of having family outside of his father…now that was gone.

He looked out of the window, up at the stars which swirled and whirled in the black fabric of the night sky; points of radiance in a sea of blackness. There is a Silver City out there somewhere he thought quietly. A great city bigger than New York, bigger than any city, one that holds everything together. And there are Heirs, people who…protect it somehow, I guess. And there are psychics who work to find those Heirs and kill them…not because they want to, but because She wants to. Jazzmin, the girl in the painting.

Was Eric back among the ranks of those poor people already? Already doing his job as a seer? Using his full powers as he had promised in exchange for his grandson's freedom? Or was he still journeying through the space between the worlds in those not-cars, with only the loathsome beings that had come to get him as company?

Al shuddered away from that thought, still feeling their touch on his skin; it hadn't faded away yet. Nor would it ever, he knew. He would feel it forever. No matter where he went, no matter what he did, he would feel that touch that switched from hands to claws on him for the rest of his life.

Officer Voddery pulled up in the driveway of Al's house. The scene that met the boy's eyes surprised him very much. The neighbors were all standing out on their lawns. Al's house seemed to be the focus of their attention, but many were going back inside their houses. There were at least three police cars inside of his driveway and from the looks of it, they had already done what they came for.

"So my Dad's in jail?" Al asked.

"Yes, he is" Officer Voddery said. He looked into the rearview mirror at the cold, dead blue eyes that stared at him from its reflected surface. He was trying to grasp the way to break the news to a child like the one he had in the back seat, and failing.

Those eyes gave him the creeps, Al knew, but he didn't remove his gaze from the mirror. Let the policeman sweat. He knew what he looked like. He also knew that whatever had happened to him in his brain had given him the abilities of Grandpa Eric called a telepath. These presented interesting opportunities…

Alphonse Brightman was taken home that night by Officer Patrick Voddery of the Springwood PD. His father, Franklin Arbuckle was arrested on charges of rape, assault and resisting arrest.

Al was appointed a foster family, as Frank would most likely be found guilty. If he was, he would be sentenced to twenty years in prison. Alphonse thought that was too light a sentence. Far too light a sentence. He personally thought that Frank should be sentenced to spend the rest of his life in prison.

Mr. and Mrs. Hardman, the family that Alphonse was appointed to, were nice enough people. They welcome him into their home and provided him with what he needed for his daily life. He went back to school, and he stayed to himself. He never really opened up to them, and that was the only problem.

Frank was found guilty, but was only sentenced to three years in prison. Al was never sure how his dad's lawyer was able to pull that little legal miracle off, but it happened just the same.

"I'll be back for you, Al" Frank said. His eyes were red with tears and his face was crumpled from crying. "I'm so sorry, son. I let you down and I let myself down too." He went forward to receive the hug of his solemn faced son, one he would remember in his prison days and think of when it got bad.

Alphonse turned away without giving him anything.

For the next three years Al lived at the Hardman's house, going back and forth to school. He did no outside activities during this time and kept to himself. He would have the occasional friend over, but never the same one.

Al grew tall over the three years, and decided to grow his black hair long. With that long black hair and his cold, somehow dead blue eyes, he soon attracted a reputation as being "dangerous" and "cool" even though he had done nothing to deserve either. At thirteen years old, Alphonse Brightman had grown tall and grim beyond his years. He was a good student; no one could deny him that. He always seemed to know the right answers to the questions and homework…as if he had picked them right out of the teacher's mind.

What no one could understand was why Alphonse always seemed so nervous. He could not go ten minutes without looking out the windows at cars passing outside in the street. It was almost an obsession with him. But other than that, he was a perfectly charming, if distant boy.

Then when Alphonse Brightman was thirteen years old, his father got out of prison. After five months, Frank Arbuckle demanded back custody of his son. It was granted.

When Al rode with Mr. Hardman to meet his father at a Starbucks, he did not know what to expect, but he felt the old anger rolling around in his head again. He had not thought about Eric Brightman for a very long time, but now those thoughts had begun to come again.

Al found Frank as soon as he opened the door. Prison had changed his father, but he could still make him out. Frank truly had changed however. His already balding head had lost all of its hair; he later revealed that he had requested it all shaved. He had become a Christina in prison and had prayed to be forgiven for the sins he had committed against Ellen Bergerac.

But not the ones against Grandpa Eric Al thought. Of course he would become a Christian in prison Al, who had read considerably more books since then, thought. It was so cliché of him. But he smiled anyway and went home with his father. Frank had bought a new house far away from their neighborhood and Al went to a new school.

It was in this school that his problems started. Alphonse was quickly labeled as the boy whose father had been in jail. There was nothing he could do, nothing he could say to prevent it. It was inevitable. His reputation once again became labeled as "dangerous" except this time "cool" was not attached to it.

Worse, Al would have to walk home from school, something he hated. He would always be on the lookout for cars. Because, as he well knew, not all cars were what they seemed…

His gift stayed with him, the ability to read the minds of others, but so did the sensation of the Chasers hands on his skin.

He could still feel that eternally changing demon's touch on his arms and neck, no matter what he did. He had gotten used to it eventually and it hardly bothered him anymore.

When he was at home, Alphonse and Frank rarely had anything to say to one another, other than polite greetings. Frank because he was so ashamed at what he had done, and Al because he hated his father so much. He never brought friends to his house, but he eventually began to expand his personality within the school. One day, in front of all the lunchroom, he brazenly beat the crap out of a kid who had called him "jailbird". He never was hit once; Alphonse used his gift to anticipate the hasty, fumbling thoughts of his enemy.

After this, something was released within Alphonse Brightman, something fierce and merciless. After that, he was not afraid to fight anyone, boy or girl who crossed him in any way. Soon he had been suspended over eight times throughout the course of the school year.

Frank Arbuckle grew used to seeing the reports that his son had gotten into fights. He was afraid to lay hands on the boy because of what had happened before. He still could remember in that time when he had almost struck Alphonse with his fists and if the old man next door had not intervened—

So he did not punish his son. He merely talked to him and as Alphonse entered 10th grade, he stopped doing that.

Al Brightman was an anomaly at his school. He belonged to none of the "groups", he was regarded as a delinquent yet he got straight As. No one knew what to do with him.

Al knew this and he enjoyed it. He felt like a savage Viking chieftain surveying a land that he had conquered. All were in awe and slightly afraid of him, afraid that he would beat them if they looked at him the wrong way. His grades were good and he was on the honor roll…all was going his way. And yet…

And yet everything was hollow. He felt that he had no heart anymore, just a great abyss at the center of his being, a gaping black darkness that swallowed all it touched. He needed stronger sensations. And so he began to pick fights with people both in and out of school, over the smallest little thing. Sometimes he won and sometimes he lost but he always got what he wanted. The sensation. At least for a little while.

Alphonse decided that he wanted a girlfriend and so by the time May of his sophomore year rolled around he had Kale with him. She was of the "skater" group and he had chosen her because she was one of the few people who did not look at their shoes when confronting his cold blue eyes.

Their relationship lasted for six months. Kale knew how to stop Alphonse from indulging in the pointless fights. She listened to him, and he found that he could open up to her in a way he had not done in years. They visited each other's houses a lot and generally had a good time. She reminded him of Cody Pinder, and he supposed that was another reason that he had picked her.

Then in October of his junior year in 2005, Alphonse and Kale were sitting on top of the bench in the backyard of Alphonse's house. He and Cody sat watching the sun go down. "Pretty, isn't it?" Kale asked. She ran a hand through her long brown hair to part it back from her face.

"Yeah, I guess" Al said, "I don't know why you girls always enjoy such stupid stuff." He spoke to her often this way. He also picked her mind for things as well, and he decided to do it this time, just to see what she was thinking. He did and—

—she ran her hands through Calvin's bright blue-dyed hair. His lips pressed against hers and she sighed in perfect contentment. She thought of Al and how she should perhaps tell him, but then he might get angry and—

Oh, he was angry. No, furious. Kale sensed he was angry about something and she turned, but she merely caught his fist with the best part possible: her face.

"Ah!" she grunted and fell off the bench. "Al, what the hell are you—" she began to back up as he jumped down in front of her and began to advance.

"You…cheating…bitch" he snarled. "I can't believe this! I can't believe that you did this to me! What's his name? His whole name? Tell me you, slut!" he raved.

Kale's eyes hardened. "I don't have to tell you anything, Al. Look; we just don't work out okay? You're so…hard to reach. You shut yourself off from everyone. It's like you're afraid of getting close to people."

Something about what she said sent Alphonse into a rage. He kicked her in the chest. She screamed and fell down. Then his fists descending on her face, head, chest, stomach and his feet kicking, kicking, kicking.

Kale's screams and shrieks of pain made his rage escalate. "Take that! And that, and that, you bitch! Dump me? I'll show you I've—" what Alphonse was going to say evaporated like mist in the morning as he heard the voice.

Oh, Al, steady now. Control yourself. He heard the words as clearly as day and he knew whose voice had uttered them.

It was Grandpa Eric.

Wildly Alphonse looked around for the old man, but he was nowhere to be found. He ran around the yard, throwing things aside, tearing them apart. For the first time in years he remembered the old man, truly remembered him, and he remembered the things that had taken him—

But now Kale was cursing at him through a mouth that was just a bloody hole in her bruised and swelled face. Alphonse looked at his hands. Kale's blood had wormed its way into the whorls, loops, and ridges of his fingers and hands and under his fingernails. The picture brought a nightmarishly vivid image of Frank pointing at him from the stairs, his drunken eyes crazed.

Oh my God, I've become him. I'm what he used to be. I'm worse than him because my Dad's changed. He's changed so much since then. I'm the monster now. He tentatively walked over to Kale where she was lying on the bloodstained grass. She seemed to have passed out and Al went over and shook her.

She did not wake up, but she cried out in pain—invoking another vivid memory of Cody Pinder, all those years ago. He had been too weak to do anything then but call for Grandpa Eric, but now he could do something—and he would.

Grunting softly, he lifted Kale up and began to carry her to the house. Frank was gone—he had a church meeting and would not be home in hours. He did not know that Kale and Alphonse were there; he always invited her when he knew his dad would be gone.

He did not stop to think; he merely carried her upstairs and placed her on his bed. His room was a spare place, dull white and decorated with a few posters of bands. Lying Kale on the bed, he tried to treat her cuts as best as he could, hating himself as much as a person could.

Leaving her, Alphonse went down the stairs and into the kitchen. Sitting at the table he put his head in his hands and shook it. What had he become? Had his whole life been like this? He didn't know and suddenly he felt very tired. And the touch, that terrible touch that kept changing from cold hands to talons on his skin was worse than ever tonight.

He got up and then he noticed something on the table. It was a package. It was made of cardboard and looked very, very old. Seeing it, he picked it up and turned it over. There was no return address, and he could barely read the name of the person whom it was addressed to.

To: Alphonse Brightman was all it said. Al's heart began to beat a bit more as he opened the box. The ancient cardboard disintegrated under his questing fingers as soon as he opened it and he found himself looking at an unidentifiable shape wrapped in golden paper. Next to this shape was a small painting of some kind in a flat golden frame. Al ignored the painting for now. He looked at the paper on the shape and his blue eyes widened.

On the golden paper, written in Grandpa Eric's writing were these words:

Alphonse,

I cannot begin to express the joy I have of sending you this. After all the ways and all the days it makes this worth it. I love you with all my heart and wish that I could see you, truly see you as you are now. I send my blessings and the blessings of all who are with me. May all the world open to you and may you live a peaceful life.

P.S. Steady on, Al. Control yourself. You can do it.

Choking tears back from his throat and eyes, Al looked at the painting. His heart leaped in his chest. The painting was small but he could make out every detail. The painting depicted a sunset, the sun painting the sky with reds purples and violets.

These colors beat down on a great ocean and that ocean was the blue of dark sapphires. Thousands and thousands of roses floating in that great sea and he could not count them. Across the sea lay a city.

An alien metropolis, he could see its spires of silver that formed buildings of terrible beauty. Walls of pure white marble surrounded the city, walls that had been made to curve up to resemble the delicate petals of a rose.

In the above, six lines of light ran across the marvelous sky. One was blood red, one was copper, one was white, one was purple, one was green, and one was silver. They all connected to the walls at different points along its length.

Along the opposite shore, separated from the city by the rose-filled sea, was a warrior. He was not much older than Alphonse and his hair was the same dark sapphire as they sea. He was dressed in the rags of armor and various bits of clothes but his demeanor was so noble that it made them seem like kingly robes. A great sword was strapped across his back in a scabbard. And across from him, Al could see that on the walls of the city was…the girl from the painting before, the one on the throne of skulls—Jazzmin. She had undergone a transformation however.

Her crown was missing and her white hair was wild. Her red dress blew around her in some wind in the painting. Her face no longer wore that lazy, evil smile. Instead she looked 

stupid and at the same time crazy. She was staring at the young warrior on the opposite bank. with a mixture of hatred, fear and envy. For some reason, seeing her drastic change from the luxuriously evil figure he had seen so long ago filled him with a sense of tremendous relief.

Finally, he turn to shape that the paper had been wrapped around for the first time. It was a bottle, a small glass phial engraved with small patterns of prancing horses. Inside was some kind of liquid.

Al carefully unscrewed the crystal knob of the container and it came off. Immediately the entire kitchen was drenched in the sweetest smell Alphonse had ever experienced. It was the smell of life, of good. It was water inside the phial, water and rose petals inside and he wanted to pour this mixture over his head and drown in its sweet reek.

The water inside was blue like the sapphire colored sea, where he knew it had come from. He splashed it up into the air and the water began to swirl around him in a liquid vortex. Water and roses, roses and water all singing the same song of all worlds.

The water spiral fell and splashed onto him, more than should have been able to fit in the phial and yet it was not even half empty yet. Alphonse heard a trumpet blast in his ears, a bright clarion call that split the air around him. He felt himself transported into a state of bliss that made him imagine what it must be like to finally achieve Nirvana after years of meditation.

The horrible touch of the Chasers which had been on him for all these years was gone at once. It did not fade into nothing; it was simply wiped away like chalk off a blackboard. He raised his head, tossing his long hair back and gave a shout of pure joy

There's good in you Al, you just have to see it for yourself Eric's voice said in his mind, and he knew that the old man had left something of himself embedded in the water and rose petals; perhaps it was possible to do that anywhere in the world he had been taken to, but Alphonse didn't think so. He thought that you had to be at a special place to be able to do that.

Like the Silver City.

He's free Al thought to himself in wonder and amazment. He got away from them again. He's free and he's not running this time; I don't think so. He's fighting against them this time. They and their masters, the ones who want to destroy that City. This thought filled him with pride for his grandfather.

The door to the front hall suddenly opened and Alphonse saw Frank standing there in the doorframe. His father had his back to his son and did not realize that Al was in the kitchen. He carefully placed something down on the hall table.

Moving a bit closer, Alphonse tried to probe his dad's mind to see what it was and found he could not. Then something else Grandpa Eric had said reoccurred to him. The mind is a human being's last sanctuary.

Al looked at his father in the light and saw how old Frank had become. He had wrinkles beside his mouth that hadn't been there before and he was bald. Al realized that he had been viewing his father through the lenses of ten-year-old hatred all of this time. He started to the hall.

"Dad?" Frank turned around and saw Alphonse.

"Al? What is it, son?" he asked cautiously. Alphonse realized that the two of them had not really said a completely normal word to each other in years.

"I…I'm sorry" he said suddenly. "For everything I've done."

"Al, I don't…I don't…." But Frank was beginning to cry now and he dropped the bags on the ground and hugged his son. Suddenly there was a groan from upstairs. Kale. "What was that?" Frank asked.

"Dad" Alphonse said. "Will you help me, if you I ask you to? Can you forgive me?"

"Can you forgive me?" Frank asked in return.

Al smiled slightly and nodded. "I can. Yes, I really can."

Father and son headed upstairs to behold the source of the mysterious (from Frank's point of view anyway) groan. Alphonse knew that his father would be upset and that he himself would probably face terrible consequences, but he could not make himself feel the apprehension. All he could think about was Grandpa Eric, his new relationship opportunities with his father, and the worlds, all the worlds lined up on their Pathways, spiraling around the Silver City. Housing their citizens.

Singing their eternal songs.

End.

This is kind of a strange ending for a story, I'll admit that. I know it seemed like a lot of random drabble except for the end, even for me. I just wanted there to be a sense of how negatively the events of that night affected Al's life from then on.

For those people who are confused about the parts that allude to other things, Grandpa is part of several stories I'm writing that are connected to one another, as is Eyes. Eyes deals more with Jazzmin and what the Silver City is and does, along with who the Heirs are. I hope no one was disappointed by the Chasers when they finally showed up. Part of the reason I took so long to introduce them was not only to build suspense but to also figure out what they would appear as! XD

Cheers!

--Beast King