Trepidation from the beginning

Ok, so I know this is REALLY long. But I've completely changed the ending to satisfy you (my reader's) needs (gosh, you're so demanding). And so, of course, I understand if you don't have time to read it. Again, please be honest in telling whether you like the new ending.

Rick Somner opened the front door and inhaled deeply the pre-storm air.

"Perfect timing," he thought.

Quickly, he slipped on a sweatshirt and some shorts. As he stepped outside, he felt the first raindrops fall on his nose and eyelashes.

For as long as he could remember he had loved running through the cemetery in the thick, late-summer air of a rainstorm. It had something to do with the heavy, wet-asphalt smell and the peaceful feeling of the cemetery.

Before taking off, Rick grabbed a soccer ball out of his yard. For just a moment, he lifted the ball to his face and smelled the ball, the grass, and the rain.

As he dribbled the ball through the cemetery, he thought about life. He enjoyed school, couldn't wait to date, and appreciated things that most teenagers didn't. He was an educated student who people liked being around, and he knew what made people happy. He loved soccer and felt that’s its unique, yet simple nature defined him.

After dribbling a lap, Rick stopped the ball in front of him. He closed his eyes and pictured his opponent. With precision, he faked right, went left, and exploded across the cemetery. Going full speed, he popped the ball up with his foot, took a touch off his thigh and WHAM! He smashed the ball into a vine-covered fence, now on the other side of the cemetery.

"Hey! You 'bout gave me heart attack you little terd!” said an old voice behind the vines. “This is an old fence, and I'll call the cops on you if you ever do that again!"

"Sorry." Rick replied, startled.

"You better be." replied the old man.

Rick scampered off, cursing the old man under his breath.

"It's a freakin' chain-link fence," he thought, "I’m sure I scared him, but come on!" As he gave the incident more thought than it deserved, he noticed a plywood board laying in an empty part of the cemetery. Out of curiosity, he went and lifted up the plywood to see if there was anything underneath.

The clouds had blocked out most of the light and he had to lift the board off the hole to see inside. He saw the corner of something sticking out of the dirt at the bottom of the hole. He jumped in and moved some dirt around with his foot.

His heart stopped at what he had uncovered:

An old knife and a muddy picture.

~~~~~

Rick jumped out of the hole, and then stood for a moment, glued to the spot.

"What now?" he thought as he looked back in at the knife and picture.

He quickly scanned the area to see if anyone was watching him. When he saw no one was around he thought to himself,

"Come on Rick, it's a picture and a knife, they're not going to attack you."

Gently he lowered himself back into the hole and picked up the picture. He wiped off the mud with the sleeve of his sweat-shirt and held the picture up to see it in the dim light. What he saw caused him to drop the picture like it was white-hot.

He was in the picture! He and an old woman who he didn’t recognize were standing side by side.

After a minute he again regained his composure and managed to pick up the picture. As he looked more closely, he noticed that he had been poorly photo-shopped into the picture. The proportion of his body to the tree next to him was off.

"What’s going on?" he thought, "I’m in this picture!"

Having lost all feeling, he carefully he set the objects down in the hole and lifted himself out of the hole, covering it with the plywood how it had been before. Turning to head home, he noticed something across the cemetery;

A hooded man staring right at him.

~~~~~

Rick felt his stomach crash into his tonsils.

Those eyes.

It felt as though they were piercing his soul, and corrupting it with deep, cold, blackness.

"What do I do?" he thought, turning around and walking the other direction.

"He's in between me and my house, I have nowhere to go, and it's raining." He looked over his shoulder and saw that the hooded man was gone; leaving only the bench he had been sitting on behind him. Rick released an apprehensive sigh of relief, turned around, and started to walk home.

As he walked he could not stop envisioning those eyes. They stayed in his mind like tree sap sticking to his hands. Rick remembered a time when he had foolishly carved a pine stick with his new pocketknife, covering it in sap. As he washed it off, he had suddenly slipped and sliced open the heel of his hand. At first it hadn't hurt too much, but then searing pain had entered his hand and gone up his arm. That's how these eyes were, searing in his brain and filling his whole body with their image.

As Rick remembered this experience, he heard something move. It sounded like it had come from the tree he had just passed. Before he could turn around, something hard hit him in the back of the head and blackness took over everything.

Except those eyes.

~~~~~

As Rick came-to, he heard an unfamiliar voice,

"This yours?"

His eyes slowly adjusted and he saw that the creepy, hooded man was sitting in front of him, holding up the ball. Up close Rick could see that the man was in his mid twenties with black hair, stubble covering his strong chin, high cheekbones, and those deep, cold, piercing eyes. His face showed that he had been through a lot in his life.

Rick was lying on hard white mattress in an average sized room, which was surprisingly inviting. The walls were a warm, tan color and the carpet was a clean black.

"Yeah, that’s mine. But you can have it if it'll get me outta here." Rick hoped that he sounded mature.

"Haha," the man chuckled, "I imagine this is all very strange for you."

"What is "this"?" Rick asked, scared and annoyed.

"For now, I just want to ask you some questions, then I'll take you home."

"Okay." Rick said, figuring he was in for more than just some questions.

"Why do you like soccer?" the man asked.

"It's fun." Rick replied.

"More detail."

"It's unique, simple, you can always get better…it kinda defines me." Rick said.

“I wonder if this has anything at all to do with what I saw in the cemetery,” He thought.

"What's your favorite color?"

"Green…explanation?"

"Yes," replied the man.

"It's rich, has depth, and makes me smile."

"What is your greatest fear?" the man asked.

"Not having control."

"Why?"

"Does it need explanation?" Rick replied with an edge in his voice.

"What do you think about death?"

This caught him off-guard.

"Death?" Rick repeated, hoping he didn’t sound scared, though he knew he did.

"Yes."

"It's sad, necessary, and happens naturally, without interference." he hoped the man got his message.

“That’ll be all.” Said the man.

“Wait, can I ask you a question?” Rick asked.

“Sure, but I may not answer.”

“What’s your name?”

“Sean,” the man replied. “and we’ll leave it at that…For safety I need you to wear a blindfold, or I can just knock you out again."

"I'll wear the blindfold." Rick said.

~~~~~

The ride was strange and his head throbbed. He tried to keep track of the turns and how far they were going, but after a while he gave up.

After short ride the car stopped and the man spoke,

"Get out." he said.

Rick took off the blindfold and saw that he was just a block away from his house.

"You can drive me the rest of the way if you want to." said Rick, trying to lighten the mood.

"Ha...Ha...Ha," the man mockingly laughed, "Just shut up and get out of the car."

"Sheesh, who peed in your Cheerios?" Rick said as he jumped out of the car and ran off with his ball. He glanced back and saw that the car was an old Acura Integra without a license plate.

It was dark now and the rain had really picked up.

"I must have been blacked out longer than I thought." Rick thought, rubbing the back of his head. He stumbled and nearly fell from the excruciating pain. He glanced at his hand and saw that it was covered in blood.

"Oh man," Rick thought aloud, "I didn't realize that it was cut open." He wiped his hand on the wet grass and shoved his hands into the front pocket of his hoodie.

"What am I going to tell my parents?" he thought. As he approached the corner where his house was, he sat down on the curb and thought about what he could say. He didn't know if he should tell them. He figured it was the right thing to do, but he wasn’t sure.

"What would they even do anyway?" he thought, "I have no proof, no way to lead them anywhere, just a story, that's all,”

Just a story.

~~~~~

"Where were you?" asked Rick's mom.

"I went running," replied Rick.

"In this weather?"

"Yeah, but it wasn't coming down quite as much when I went out." Rick said, rubbing his head and grimacing.

"What's the matter?" asked his mom

"I hit my head."

Rick's mother examined the back of his head and gasped at the size of the bump.

"It really hurts,” said Rick.

"How did you fall?" asked his mom

"I tripped over the ball,” said Rick

"This was from the pavement?"

"Yeah…"

"So…you just went for a little run in the rain?"

"Like I always do."

"What is it with you and rain?" she said, more to herself than to him.

"Oh and mom, when I was running there was a grave with a piece of plywood over it, so I lifted it up¬¬—"

"YOU DID WHAT?"

"I just lifted it up to see if there was anything under it, and there was a knife."

"A knife?"

"Yeah."

"Ok, I think you've had enough fun teasing me for tonight, why don'—"

"No mom, I'm serious."

"Mmhmm, I know, now why don't you go shower and wait for your dad to get home so he can look at your head."

"Mom, I'm not lying."

"Just go, you're soaking wet."

The water stung the back of his head. He didn't use shampoo, figuring that if the water stung, fragrant soap probably wasn’t going to feel like a fluffy pillow either. He got out and tenderly dried his head,

“I didn’t lie,” he thought, “but I guess I didn’t tell the whole truth either.”

Rick went into his family room, turned on the T.V., and soon fell asleep.

~~~~~

Rick’s dream was vivid. He had already experienced it. He saw himself, sitting in a sixth grade classroom. At the front, Mrs. Young was introducing communism to the kids for the first time. She was explaining how horrible it was and what it had done. Rick saw himself raise his hand, timidly.

“Mrs. Young, isn’t it the leaders that corrupted the system?” he asked.

“What? No Rick, these leaders were not horrible men, it was the sys—

“No, it was the absolute power that corrupted them. The system had nothing to do with it.”

“Rick, are you saying that you think communism works?” Rick’s teacher asked.

“I didn’t say that.”

“Yes you did, you said that the absolute power corrupted them, not the system of communism.”

“The absolute power comes from communism. So yes, with an incorruptible leader, I do think that communism works.” Rick responded defensively.

“Rick, communism is horrible. Look at every instance where it has been put into pla—“

“The absolute power has corrupted the leader, and it has fallen. I’ve seen what has happened.” Rick said, his temper rising.

“Rick, you’ve got to reali—

“You’re wrong!” Rick yelled.

“Stop it Rick, you don’t know anything.”

“Shut up!” the young Rick yelled, “You’re wrong, it’s the absolute power! It’s the absolute power that corrupts, not the system! You just don’t get it!” Rick watched himself storm out of the classroom in tears.

~~~~~

The next day he awoke to the smell of eggs and bacon.

He pulled himself up the stairs, driven by the juicy aroma of the bacon. Once upstairs he dished himself up more than his fair-share of breakfast.

"Thanks Dad." he said, hoping that his dad realized that he really was grateful for a good start to his day, especially after yesterday.

He killed a couple hours by watching T.V. and surfing the internet. At 11 o'clock he went upstairs into his living room and glanced out the window. It was still wet and lightly raining. Some city workers were digging a grave somewhat near the hole he had visited yesterday.

"Perfect," he thought. He had been waiting for someone else to be in the cemetery. He slipped on some sweats and the same hoodie he had been wearing yesterday. He jogged around the same way he had before, avoiding the vined fence. As he approached the spot, he saw that the plywood was gone. But not just the plywood, there was no hole, no fresh soil, just grass.

Nothing but grass.

~~~~~

Ricks breathing became heavier as he walked endlessly around the cemetery, hoping against hope that the board had been at another location. As he rounded south corner, opposite his house, he saw the hooded man, walking behind a tree on the other side of the cemetery. Rick quickly looked away, but glanced back every couple seconds to make sure the man stayed in that spot. Thinking quickly, he walked straight for the tree, acting as though he was still searching for the hole.

Just as he came within arms-length of the tree, he concentrated all his energy on hurling himself around the tree and hitting the man as hard as he could.

He was successful. The man, who had been holding a baseball bat, keeled over after a blow to his gut.

Rick lunged again at the man, grabbing the bat and ripping it from his surprised enemy. He held up the bat threateningly and said,

"All right, I want you to tell me everything."

The man turned quickly on the spot and began to run. Rick swung at his legs, but missed horribly, he never was very good at baseball. He tossed the bat aside and gave chase, catching up and tackling him from behind. This time he took no chances, putting the man in a tight headlock and bashing his face with his other hand.

"TELL ME EVERYTHING!" Rick screamed, giving him three good blows to the cheeks and chin. He stopped to allow the man to talk.

"I'm sorry," the man said, "I can't tell you anything."

Rick lifted his leg, threateningly over the man's man-parts.

"I'll do it," Rick warned, "I'm in control here."

"Ok…her name is Jane…and I laid the sod."

"Jane?" Rick thought, "What is he talking about?"

As Rick thought, he inadvertently loosened his grip just enough for the man to deliver a blow to Rick's diaphragm, allowing him to escape. Rick tried to get up, but sat, coughing, for several seconds.

When he did get up, the man was gone.

~~~~~

Later that night, Rick laid in his bed thinking,

"I may not be Jason Bourne or Ben Gates," he thought, "That doesn't mean that waiting for something to happen is going to help."

And with that thought, Rick lifted himself out of bed and slipped on a pair of jeans and his hoodie. He eased open his window carefully and lifted himself out. Once he was in the window-well he closed his window till it was open just a crack.

Quickly he grabbed a shovel from the garage and crossed the street, trying to stay in the shadows as he headed toward the spot where he had seen the picture and the knife.

He gently lifted the sod off of the dirt, laying it next to him. It took him almost an hour and a half, plus a lucky guess as to where he should start digging so that he would come right down on the two objects. When he was done, he laid the sod back on the dirt, leaving little evidence that he had been there.

Back in his room, he turned on his reading lamp to get a better look at the objects. The knife was a fixed hunting knife, made by the "Buck Knife Company" as the handle specified. It felt fairly sharp to Rick, though he was no knife expert.

Then Rick turned his attention to the picture. The printout was recent, though the original photo looked to be several years old. He examined himself in the picture, and realized something suddenly.

"I posted that picture on my blog! That's where they must have gotten it!” he thought, “You might as well call me Bourne, he's got nothin' on me!"

Turning the picture over in his hands, he saw two words written in scratchy handwriting on the back:

Our leader.

After studying the words for a few minutes, Rick fell into an uncomfortable sleep.

~~~~~

That night Rick was sucked into another third-person dream. First he saw himself sitting on the floor watching CNN reruns, about government, and different systems.

Next he saw himself examining his report card after first term in 10th grade. There were people gathered around, looking surprised. He had gotten an A in Mr. Johnson’s AP Gov. class, the only A he had ever given out.

Next Rick saw himself sitting in the library, finishing the book, “Governments of the World.” He had finished the 550 page book in one day. He was only 11 years old.

Last Rick saw himself in a 5th grade experiment. For one day he was given the opportunity to run class. One by one, Rick had gone through each of his classmates and allowed them to choose what they wanted to do for fifteen minutes.

~~~~~

The next morning he headed to the library the moment it opened. He scanned the picture and searched for matches on the internet. Three matches came up. The first matched the image of Rick to the picture he had posted on his blog.

“I was right!” Rick thought.

The second matched the landscape to Salem, just a few miles down the road from Ricks house. The third matched the woman's face to a woman who was a co-founder of ABW, the Association for a Better World. He skimmed over the caption quickly, and then something caught his eye:

Jane Thompson.

"...her name is Jane." Rick remembered what the man had said. Quickly, Rick searched the web for more information on Jane Thompson.

"ABW was formed on the shoulders of three women, Meredith Reeder, Jane Thompson, and Linda Prince. The organization was originally a school for brilliant youth who the founders thought could rise to change the world.

The system was inspired by Nicholas Burbules theory that the way we think about power decides what that power will become. These women believed that by giving gifted children advanced education at a young age, they would form leaders who would never become corrupt, and would eventually rise to world power, creating a form of "utopia" in which differences would be forgotten and the world would become one smooth-running economy.

The system became corrupt due to the difference in curriculum which each of the women presented the children. They were introduced to many political ideas and separate opinions from each of the women on each of these ideas. Jane Thompson was the only one to stick to the original plan and carry on the association.

After some of the students showed signs of brainwashing and aggressive behavior, Meredith Reeder and Linda Prince reported Jane Thompson for suspected child abuse. When officers arrived at the headquarters, however, Jane; her husband, Gary; and one of the select pupils, Sean Hunter, had disappeared.

It is believed that ABW is still functioning, however police have little evidence and no clues as to where."

Overwhelmed, Rick printed off this page, and walked home, contemplating the information and what it might mean about him.

~~~~~

That night, Rick climbed on his bike. He rode for about an hour, coming to the exact location of the picture. Sitting right where Rick appeared in the picture, was a small building.

It was late, and Rick was hoping that no one would be inside. He had worried about an alarm, but knowing that this was an illegal association, he banked on the fact that they probably wouldn’t want the police showing up, with or without someone trying to break in.

He went around to the back and smashed a hole in one of the windows, unlocking it and letting himself in. He moved quickly, though he knew the chances of him getting caught tonight were small. He went to each of the three rooms, emptying out each drawer and shoving all of the documents in his backpack. He also found a drawer full of videotapes, which he also took.

~~~~~

After reading all of the documents, he found out three basic things.

1) The system that ABW formed was almost identical to communism, the only difference being the training of the leader.

2) Jane was living in Wendover, just another mile down the road from Salem.

3) He, Rick, fit the description of the perfect leader, which ABW had come up with:
• Mature
• Understands Communism
• Believes That Absolute Power Corrupts
• Thinks A Lot
• Handles Power Well

Then Rick watched the tapes. They were all recordings of young boys who shared characteristics with Rick. Five of the tapes were filled up with footage of Rick alone. Along with him in sixth grade, arguing with his teacher, watching CNN, reading government books, and researching in the library, they also showed him playing soccer, running in the rain, and sitting in his room.

~~~~~

The next day there was a tan Acura sitting in the cemetery. Feeling trapped, Rick decided that the next day he would call the police if the Acura was still outside.

The next morning he woke up and found a note taped to his door.

Went to meeting. Back around 10.
Love, Mom

It was 8:20. Rick heard the front door open upstairs. His stomach shot up to his throat as he realized that he was home alone. Quickly he grabbed his backpack, with the documents and tapes, and left through his window.

As he ran through yard after yard, jumping fences where necessary, he decided that he would work his way towards Main Street, figuring that he had at least a two-minute head start.

Rick hit Main Street just a block from the police station, sprinting as fast as he could. Just before he rounded the corner to head towards the police station, he heard a car approaching. He turned and saw the Acura about 30 yards behind him, approaching fast. Rick turned the corner and sprinted with all his might, hearing the squeal of tires. Pulling up to him, the car swerved onto the sidewalk. Rick dove onto the grass, narrowly missing the back wheel.

Sean stopped the car on the grass, now just a few feet in front of Rick. He got out of the car and came towards Rick, a knife in his hand. Rick reacted quickly, sweeping his legs out from under him and stepping on his hand, forcing him to drop the knife.

Rick scooped up the knife and held it in his hand apprehensively.

Sean jumped up, approached Rick menacingly. Rick kicked him in the gut with all his might. As Sean keeled over Rick hit him in the chin with the heel of his hand as hard as he could. He fell to the ground, unconscious.

By this time, some officers had noticed the situation and were now running toward Rick, guns drawn. Rick raised his hands in the air, and was taken into the police station for questioning while Sean was attended to.

~~~~~

Of course Rick had explained the whole situation, showing them the evidence in his backpack. He received a police escort home, and suffered through the awkward ride home.

Just as Rick began to open his front door, he caught the scent of the pre-storm air.

Quickly, he slipped on his hoodie.