Through The Ascension room

Alexander's obscure yet routine life is about to unravel before his very eyes after being 'selected' to join a secret society involved with time travel, Alex will be forced to uncover his true purpose and his ties to the dark secrets that await him, through the ascension room... past will encounter present, destinies will be fulfilled, and time and space as you know it may be changed forever...


1. Chapter One







Another town. Another welcome sign. After a while it gets old. The new scenery. The new tastes, sounds, smells. This place smells like old garbage and seaweed and every bit of its exterior screams, "turn around, get out while you still can". But I ignore it and instead I give a saluting gesture to the welcome sign like, "right back atcha."

My name? to some its dropout. Others, its drifter. My, parents use to call me Alexander. Use to. I remember standing so proud and swing around my imaginary sword besting foes left and right as my dad called me 'Alexander the Great'. I don't remember enough of him to really feel anything. Just a shadow in my past, here some days not the others. And just like a shadow, serving no purpose to me now.

Life on the constant move changes you, makes you calloused and often times a little cynical. I can't afford to keep going tonight, it's getting late and I've almost ran out of fuel, both for my bike and for me. My stomach gives another rumble forcing me to reach down one hand to cradle it back to sleep. Just inside the town border is a small stardust motel much like out of the movies, where bits of the sign are faintly dimming giving passerby's the impression that the motel is called, "star  ust  ote ".

The landscaping is kept to a minimum with a shrubbery here and a shrubbery there. To the left of the motel is a small building with an equally appealing sign that reads "Ma gie'  D ner" and around the corner is a four pump gas station half lit up by the one pulsing overhead light, half engulfed by a cloud of darkness undoubtedly home to countless monsters and goblins waiting to pounce on an unsuspecting victim. I make a mental note not to venture to close to the black abyss.

Seeing the sign for the diner awakes the sleeping giant in my stomach again and this time a gentle pat won't subdue it's raging growls. I need food. I'm not exactly sure, but I'm willing to bet it’s been a good 14 hours since my last meal and even longer than that since my last good meal where I wasn't worried that the food wasn't going to come alive once I had eaten it and would begin to return me the favor and start eating me from the inside out.

Though the motel is the furthest thing from a good sleep in my mind (and I'm beginning to feel like I'm walking into the set-up of a horror film where any minute I’ll be chased by a hacksaw totting psychopath with an empty flour sack over his head) again I ignore the overwhelming invitation to just keep on going and decide it’s in my best interest that I stop for the night. That is if I can get some money. I've been running dangerously low on funds these last few days and know that I need to make a pull for some cash soon.

I pull into the mostly vacant lot between the two building structures of the motel rooms and the diner and turn the bikes motor off. The motor gives off a sigh of relief. More than a half days drive would exhaust even the most veteran of motorcycles. I give the tank a quick pat.

Planting my feet on the asphalt feels almost foreign to me. When you've spent the better portion of the day balancing your feet on the vibrating pegs of a motorcycle you get use to the constant movement, and abruptly introducing solid, unmoving ground to the equation, your feet develop an almost adverse effect to that of seasickness. I have ground sickness. I kick out the stand of the bike and release the tension between my legs, slowly lowering it to its crutch. I lift my hands to side of my face and cradle the thick black helmet in my hands. I insert both my thumbs into the opening where my neck is and begin to slowly pry it off my head. I've been wearing it so long it feels almost like I'm in the process of taking off my face. Pealing the skin and revealing the soft underlay of tissue and muscle. Feeling cooled by the soft breeze blowing on my newly paroled face I stand for a moment and breathe in deeply trying my best to enjoy the air, though riddled with a sour stench of rotting sea life. At least it wasn't first filtered through the sweaty foam cushion of the interior of a helmet like I've grown accustomed to.

I could only imagine what my hair looks like, a smooth bowl of black plastered to the top of my scalp draped jaggedly over the top of my forehead. Though it doesn't look like there’s any chance ill run into anyone worth looking my best for anytime soon. My appearance dilemma would have to wait anyway, because the growling in my stomach has now escalated to a ferocious roar and I can now feel the beast inside me start to kick and flop, like a child throwing a tantrum. I slip my arm through the strap of my bag and swing it around to my front side. I slip my gloves off and stuff them into my one hand as I undo the buckles of the bag opening the flap to reveal its contents. Nothing special just a water bottle; which contains about 90% backwash at this point, a cell phone; just in case I need to order a pizza or something, and a small stack of assorted wallets and purses. Like I said its hard living life on the move and sometimes in order to make it, I'm forced to do dishonest and often off putting things.

I try my best to remain emotionally uninvolved with my struggle to stay alive. As if I am watching the movie of this all play out and I'm sitting cozy on my living room couch, a soda in one hand and a bowl of buttered popcorn(extra butter), in the other telling myself don't worry it's not real it's just a movie. The boy on the screen is just an actor paid to look like he is starving and struggling to stay alive. It works out for the most part. I get through most nights with only a few psyche altering nightmares where i starve to death or I'm freakishly sucked into the center of the earth were I am crushed to death by the immense pressure. I pictured being sixteen a little different than this.

I start to dig through the rubble pile of leather and canvas pulling one out at a time. "Rick Johnson" is the name of the man pictured in the license of the first wallet I pick out. His picture is of an obviously younger age than he was when I pulled this wallet from him last week. The Rick Johnson pictured is seemingly fit with dark hazel eyes, a slightly rounded chin and only minimal signs of hair loss. The Rick Johnson I pulled it from couldn't be more opposite. He has an excessive amount of weight carried all over his body, especially in his gut area and under his chin. He had shallow beady eyes and is sporting the always fashionable cul-de-sac hair style.

He was an easy target. And I must say, I enjoy the easy targets. It makes what I do that much more bearable. He wasn't easy because he had money just pouring out of his pockets, or he was throwing it around like he had just won the lottery. No, he was easy because he deserved it. He deserved to be taught a lesson.

I remember watching him sit nervously, eyes darting, sweat dripping down his long forehead, in his gently used Buick in the parking lot of the motel twisting back and forth a ring on his left hand. Anxiously he pulled at his neck tie loosening it till the tail end pulled free from its knotted noose. Crumpling it into a ball, he carelessly tosses it into his backseat. I watched him for a second from a bench near the motel rooms pretending to occupy myself with my phone that wasn't even turned on. He might as well have been holding up neon sign that read, "Hey everybody, I'm cheating on my wife!" Sad really.

Soon after I spotted him as my target, he spotted his. A very tall blonde woman, in a pair of black super-high heels (that only exaggerate her height all the more) and a cheetah print dress sucked tightly against the curves of her body, emerged out of the chocking darkness of the night. She was tightly clenching a clutch purse in one hand by her side while the other hand bent at the elbow, swayed back and forth, raised as she walked. Again something straight out of the movies. The story of my life. After she spots the neon sign over the man’s car, she casually strolls over to him and bends over to lean into the car.

From my place on the bench near the rooms I can hear and exchange of words. And then a giggle comes from the amazonian woman as she pulls herself free of the car window and the man rolls it up. The woman then stretches out a bit of the gum she was chewing from her mouth. Twisting it around and around until she now has a pink ball at the end of her finger. She then returns the ball of gum back to her mouth as the man makes his way out of the car.

The scene makes me uncomfortable and I feel sick to my stomach, like I'm going to barf, or pass out from disgust, or both. I just want for this moment to end.

I press on through the ill feelings and continue to watch them as the man pulls a couple of hundreds out of his wallet and dangle it in front of the woman. She quickly grabs the money and she shoves it into her dress where it disappears into the cheetah fabric.

The man then slips his stuffed wallet into his back pocket and they make their way, arm in arm, step in step, towards the rooms. They make a left and begin to walk past me. An overwhelming cloud of too much cologne or perfume fills my nose and then my lungs and my eyes begin to water as I start to choke. I can't tell if the smell is from the man or the woman. Either way, I'm even more disgusted now that even my sense of smell has been violated by their sickly intentions.

The smell distracts me for a moment, but I regain focus and realize that I need this pull or else I may not see another person for a while and I really needed some spending cash.

One good thing about pulling from these guys is that they always tended to carry large amounts of cash, which was much easier to swipe and use at my own convenience later on with no worries of being tracked down and busted. I realize I need to act quick or the opportunity will pass. I reach out my hand and close my eyes. Concentrating now on my surroundings as I picture them in my mind. The man. The woman. The pants pocket. The wallet. I can see it now. I can feel it. An extension of me is released from my extended hand towards the man. The air around me seems to throb.  Closing in on me. Expanding outward stretching me. Tight. Relaxed. Tight. Relaxed.

The pants pocket. The wallet.

I begin to remove it from the man’s pocket. Opening my eyes now that I had the wallet locked in my mind, I see the object of my intentions slowly rising out of the man’s pocket peeking out as if to say "peek-a-boo".  Easy Money.

The focus needed to do this without the man feeling it does takes tremendous focus and I'm sure that I'm being helped by his divided attention. Thank you Amazonian woman.

I give one last pull to move it out of the man’s pocket when the lip of the wallet catches the rim of his belt breaking it from my concentration sending it on a one way ticket to the ground.

Time seems to stand still. Every breath a millennium in length. A shuddering shockwave of time and space seemingly ripples out from me causing time to halt its unruly advance.

There is not much ambient noise where we are (other than the pounding in my heart) and I know that if the wallet hits the ground they will hear it and promptly turn around to pick it up. I've got to move fast, again I thrust me arm out with a slight grunt and close my eyes desperately focusing on the falling wallet, slow motion. Slower now. Slower... I swing my other hand into action throwing every bit of me into the efforts. Until finally,  I have got control of it and open my eyes to see the two of them sneak away into one of the rooms. Promptly closing the door and locking it repeatedly. First the twist lock. Then the dead bolt, followed by the chain lock.

I'm at first strangely shocked at the sight I see where the wallet should be, and think that while my eyes were closed the man turned and picked up the wallet. A wave of disappointment rushed over me. There is nothing there where the wallet should be. I'm confused as I lower my arms and the tension coursing throughout my body dwindles with it. The moment I do so, the wallet falls a couple of inches from a veil of camouflage, exactly where it should've landed.

Unsure of what just happened; I chalk it up to the lack of sleep and the hunger I am experiencing. Unable now to withhold the smile forming on my face I let the confusion fall away and victory set in.  Easy money.

All I can think about is how good I'm going to eat tonight. Thanks to my ability...or abilities...


--End of Chapter One—


******If you enjoyed Chapter please leave a comment for this chapter with what you liked, what you didn't like, etc... Also make sure you continue reading onto Chapter Two to find out what happens next with Alex. Thanks for reading!********



Join MovellasFind out what all the buzz is about. Join now to start sharing your creativity and passion
Loading ...