The Vanished Read Online Free
Author: Melinda Metz
ten reasons why goldfish made lousy pets. The fifty funniest words in the English language. (Number one was panty .)
Even when Alex was most down, when he was crushed over Isabel or struggling against his got-to-be-a-military-man father, that spark of light that allowed him to find the humor in any situation never went out.
Max tried to express this all to the consciousness, flashing memories of Alex goofing around, his friends cracking up beside him. The collective absorbed those memories, and Max was relieved to feel amusement from some of the beings in response.
They were getting what Max was trying to tell them.
That Alex was good, Alex was his friend. It was as easy and as difficult to express as that.
There were still some rumblings in the corners of the collective that insisted Alex didnât belong on their planet. Dark rumblings.
Max couldnât agree more. He wanted Alex back on earth more than any of them. Max sent an image of the beings in the consciousness forming another wormhole and sending Alex back. Could they do it?
No, came the reply, they couldnât. Max received a sense of pure weariness and exhaustion from the friendlier members of the collective. A picture of a group of glowing moons traveling slowly through a dark, acid green sky flashed in front of him. Because he didnât know how fast the moons passed over the home planet, Max couldnât be sure how long it would take before the beings in the consciousness were recovered enough to send Alex back. But he understood that it would be a long while.
Max suddenly felt very tired. He wasnât strong enough for this kind of prolonged communication yet.
But before he detached himself, he sent one last message into the darkness.
Tell Alex Iâm going to help him. Please tell him Iâll find a way to bring him back.
He wasnât sure if the message would get to his friend, but it was the best he could do. Max separated from the collective consciousness and let himself slump down in his soft bed. Every limb on his body felt like it weighed about a hundred pounds.
All he could do now was wait. Wait and hope the collective would get his message to Alex. Hope that he could figure out a way to get his friend home.
Isabel couldnât relax. All her usual tricks â organizing her jewelry, refolding all her clothes, giving her long blond hair one hundred strokes with a brush â had failed her tonight. She had even arranged the shoes in her closet by designer, subdivided by color, but that hadnât calmed her down, either. Isabel stood in the center of her room, surveying the impeccable order. There was nothing left that needed to be done.
Flopping down on her back on the fluffy bed, Isabel let out a long sigh. As soon as she closed her eyes, she thought about Alex. Alex, who she was trying so hard to avoid thinking about. Alex, who had loved her far more than she had deserved.
She missed him. That sounded so lame. Like he was on vacation with his parents or something. But she couldnât think of a better way to say it. She missed him.
Isabel turned onto her side, pulling her legs up to her chest. Things had been bad between them before he disappeared. And it was her fault. Guilt â her least favorite emotion â churned in her gut.
She sat up on the edge of the bed, clutching a pillow to her chest. You apologized to him for the way you broke up with him, she reminded herself.
Not that some lame apology could make up for the way sheâd done the deed. Sheâd been ruthless and harsh. Maybe there wasnât any good way to break up with somebody, but any other way would have been better than the irrational tirade sheâd subjected him to.
A memory of how hurt Alexâs eyes had looked when sheâd told him off forced its way into Isabelâs mind. He had loved her, through some intensely bad times. Heâd always been there, even when she tried to shove him away. And how had she repaid
Even when Alex was most down, when he was crushed over Isabel or struggling against his got-to-be-a-military-man father, that spark of light that allowed him to find the humor in any situation never went out.
Max tried to express this all to the consciousness, flashing memories of Alex goofing around, his friends cracking up beside him. The collective absorbed those memories, and Max was relieved to feel amusement from some of the beings in response.
They were getting what Max was trying to tell them.
That Alex was good, Alex was his friend. It was as easy and as difficult to express as that.
There were still some rumblings in the corners of the collective that insisted Alex didnât belong on their planet. Dark rumblings.
Max couldnât agree more. He wanted Alex back on earth more than any of them. Max sent an image of the beings in the consciousness forming another wormhole and sending Alex back. Could they do it?
No, came the reply, they couldnât. Max received a sense of pure weariness and exhaustion from the friendlier members of the collective. A picture of a group of glowing moons traveling slowly through a dark, acid green sky flashed in front of him. Because he didnât know how fast the moons passed over the home planet, Max couldnât be sure how long it would take before the beings in the consciousness were recovered enough to send Alex back. But he understood that it would be a long while.
Max suddenly felt very tired. He wasnât strong enough for this kind of prolonged communication yet.
But before he detached himself, he sent one last message into the darkness.
Tell Alex Iâm going to help him. Please tell him Iâll find a way to bring him back.
He wasnât sure if the message would get to his friend, but it was the best he could do. Max separated from the collective consciousness and let himself slump down in his soft bed. Every limb on his body felt like it weighed about a hundred pounds.
All he could do now was wait. Wait and hope the collective would get his message to Alex. Hope that he could figure out a way to get his friend home.
Isabel couldnât relax. All her usual tricks â organizing her jewelry, refolding all her clothes, giving her long blond hair one hundred strokes with a brush â had failed her tonight. She had even arranged the shoes in her closet by designer, subdivided by color, but that hadnât calmed her down, either. Isabel stood in the center of her room, surveying the impeccable order. There was nothing left that needed to be done.
Flopping down on her back on the fluffy bed, Isabel let out a long sigh. As soon as she closed her eyes, she thought about Alex. Alex, who she was trying so hard to avoid thinking about. Alex, who had loved her far more than she had deserved.
She missed him. That sounded so lame. Like he was on vacation with his parents or something. But she couldnât think of a better way to say it. She missed him.
Isabel turned onto her side, pulling her legs up to her chest. Things had been bad between them before he disappeared. And it was her fault. Guilt â her least favorite emotion â churned in her gut.
She sat up on the edge of the bed, clutching a pillow to her chest. You apologized to him for the way you broke up with him, she reminded herself.
Not that some lame apology could make up for the way sheâd done the deed. Sheâd been ruthless and harsh. Maybe there wasnât any good way to break up with somebody, but any other way would have been better than the irrational tirade sheâd subjected him to.
A memory of how hurt Alexâs eyes had looked when sheâd told him off forced its way into Isabelâs mind. He had loved her, through some intensely bad times. Heâd always been there, even when she tried to shove him away. And how had she repaid
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