Alex Van Helsing Voice of the Undead - By Jason Henderson Page 0,31

even though it would be of great comfort to us. And, Alex, it takes extraordinary effort not to believe that which is of great comfort.”

The man leaned closer, and Alex could hear all the crosscurrents of high and low in his voice. “Let me tell you what comforts you must not believe, Alex. You’re not going to get much farther. Your friends, whatever friends you have made, will not survive being close to you. Your family will not remain proud, because of the damage you will cause. And in the end you will not be able to overcome the inherent flaws; your intellect will sadly not reach above the rather rudimentary heights it has attained now. You also, despite what you believe, will not be very tall.”

Alex felt a stab of sadness at that last one, but it was just one more thing. All of this truth was exactly as he had expected.

The vampire clicked his tongue. “But look—you were able to stop a great clan lord and command the respect of a very stubborn organization. You have attained achievements most men your age could only dream of. It truly does not get any better than this.”

He pointed. “The iron there is extremely spiky and hard. If you were to leap upon it, in all likelihood you would, almost instantly, be able to seal your life, seal it, here, at its best point, when you have all those things that, really, you know you only barely deserve—friends, respect, and accomplishment. And it’s so easy—to step. Isn’t it?”

Alex was watching the iron line and listening, and all of this made sense. There was something in the back of his mind that he had intended to do, but what the man had said made sense.

The man was talking again, like a refrain in a song, and it was true. Alex lifted his foot and hung it over the side, how easy it was. Like being in the snow, letting it close in and envelop you.

This feeling had happened once before.

Alex had been in the snow for too long the last time he had felt it, after rescuing a man on the mountain who had taken a wrong turn; Alex was a hero and then suddenly he himself had gotten lost when the rescue helicopter set off half the mountain in an avalanche. Alex had hunkered against a tree as the snow came down around him like a wave. And for what seemed like hours he had waited, so easy to go to sleep, to let the snow overtake him; he was a hero and it would never—

Alex.

He could sleep, he could step, and it would never—

Alex!

It would never be better, never to disappoint, never to overlook or outgrow, let go, step—

Beyond the droning of the voice, beyond the flowing of the rails, there was a rattling sound, a whooping sound. Something deep within him reached out for this new sound, just as he had when he had been lost in the snow. He had seen hands furiously digging toward him, digging like the coming noise, moving snow out of the way, a voice calling to him—

Alex!!

And now there was a helicopter swooping into view from over the trees, coming into view the way a pair of hands had come into view, hands reaching through the snow for him, his sister’s gloves—

Take my hand!

Rattling, whooping sound of a helicopter, diving closer, thirty yards above, and Alex was reaching into his pocket. His foot still hung over the edge, and he wrapped his fingers around the handle of the palm-size grappling gun in his jacket and raised it—

Take my hand, Alex!

And fired it.

The hook looped around the skids of the chopper and Alex felt himself yank free, his shoulder twisting and screaming in pain, yes, Wake up, take my hand, come on.

He was swinging wildly in the air and then there were people dragging him up into the chopper, and he could barely hear Sangster and Armstrong. Alex lay on the floor of the chopper and watched the train disappear into a tunnel, as the vampire in the peasant shirt turned slowly and stepped inside.

Chapter 11

“I would have done anything he told me,” said Alex, putting down his pen and bringing everyone’s work to a halt. It was the next day, Tuesday. The first Pumpkin Show was that evening, and the ball in three days’ time. He, Paul, Minhi, and Sid sat at an enormous round table in the New Aubrey House study, working