A Slow Descent

Chapter 9
Glory Blaze

Chapter Description: Brandon and Alex give one last swing at life.

We drove through Boston and into the suburbs with Alex in the back, and me holding a needle to the doctor who was driving. It occurred to me that I could be driving right now if it wasn’t for Mrs. Figg.

The sun had set by the time we pulled up to her driveway, and we had a plan ready. Alex was to distract her with loud noises in the front lawn, and then run, so she didn’t catch him. Meanwhile, I would be digging through her things to find her papers which told her how to make the formula, and her excess vaccines, so she couldn’t duplicate it.

"And if something goes wrong." I said. "We abort. Run away, and we’ll meet each other at the nearest gas station. Hopefully it won’t come to that."

"What about him?" Alex pointed at the doctor, still with fear in his eyes as I pointed the needle at him.

I punctured his skin with it.

"What are you doing?" he yelled. "I thought we had a deal!"

"Sorry." I replied. "But we can’t take any chances."

Soon, the doctor started feeling changes. He started to care less and less, and soon, his mind was blank. He thought his last thought and then slumped into his seat, babbling nonsense words.

"He was going to put that in us?" said Alex.

"To be fair, it probably wouldn’t have affected us like that."

"Ok, then." said Alex. "Let’s get started."

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I sat behind Mrs. Figg’s back door and waited for what felt like hours. At first, I thought she may have already caught Alex, but sure enough, I heard him clashing her trash bins together, smashing pots, making all sorts of loud noise. Something little kids are good for.

As soon as I heard her run out of the other door, I ran inside the back. It was unlocked (we had checked previously), probably because of how far she was from any civilization.

As I crept further in her house, I wondered for a second if other people lived in the house. It was a pretty small house, though, so I figured not.

I couldn’t see much, so I had to feel around. Eventually, I found my way to her celler. I figured that’s where most crazy people hide their crazy people business.

I was right, because as a felt around, my hand pricked a needle. Thankfully, it didn’t puncture the skin, and even better, I had found her stash. Next to it, were a few papers with the word "REGRESSIONALL" written all over them. Remembering that regression meant de-aging, I started shivering in excitement. I was finally going to take her down.

That’s what I thought until the lights flicked on.

A very angry Mrs. Figg appeared from the staircase, wearing pink slippers and a bathrobe.

I couldn’t help but giggle at this funny sight, until I saw she had Alex,

"Let him go!" I yelled.

"Shut up!" she yelled. "You are the most resilient, annoying, and horrible little brat on this earth! You come into my home? Try to take my life work!" she grabbed me and threw me against the wall.

"I’m going to let you watch Alex here lost his memory and adult thoughts! Then it’s your turn!"

"No!" yelled Alex. "Please!"

She took one of the needles and injected Alex, and put him back on the ground besides me. Then, she tied us both up to the wall.

"In the next few minutes," she said, wickedly. "Alex will forget everything. Then, you’ll be all alone."

Alex had stopped yelling. Instead, he was crying.

"Alex." I said. "You got to stay with me. Please."

"Brandon..." he said. "Where are we?"

"Alex, how old are you?"

"I’m... Uh...." He seemed confused. "Where’s m’ daddy? Where am I?"

I realized that Alex was at the age before his father left his life. He still thought he was there.

"Alex." I said for the last time. "How old are you?"

"Tis many." he said. He held up seven fingers.

He was gone. I figured that all I could do now is get myself out.

Mrs. Figg came over. "Are you ready?" it was not really a question

She pulled out anther syringe and pulled up my sleeve. "This might hurt a bit." she said mockingly.

As the acidic fluid started to flow through my blood, I started forgetting why I was here. The lady in front of me started looking more menacing. I started to wonder what was happening... Maybe this was a dream? It seemed like it. Maybe mom would wake me up....

As my mind was depleting, the small sliver of me that was still sixteen years old saw an opportunity. Just a chance. There could be a way.

A small bottle of gasoline was sitting on a shelf above us. With all of my Third-Grade might, I slammed against the wall. The bottle fell and hit Mrs. Figg in the head. The needle slipped out.

As soon as I came to my senses a few seconds later, I didn’t run right away. Instead, I picked up the bottle of gasoline and started to pour it on the rest of the syringes and the paperwork. The, I took the lamp and smashed it against the table, sending it ablaze.

"WHAT ARE YOU DOING!" yelled Mrs. Figg. "That will take years to redo!"

I didn’t wait to answer. I hurried up the stairs as fast as my little legs could take me, carrying Alex with me. I hid under the nearest table with a phone under it.

"What are you doing?" asked Alex.

"Using the phone." I said.

"Why?"

"Because I’m trying to save us."

"Why?"

"Because I don’t want to be an annoying little kid."

Alex looked hurt. " ’m not a li’l kid! My mom says I can stayup all th’ way to eight!"

"Shut up." I said, muffling him.

I dialed 9-1-1.

"911, What is your emergency?" said the operator.

"This lady at 435 Main street in Plymouth Massachusetts abducted me an’ my friend Alex. I’m Brandon Fredrick’s."

I hung up after that, because Mrs. Figg had made her way up the stairs.

I looked at her. Her face was singed and her eyes were bloodshot.

"Oh, Dear, where are you?" she sounded mad, both in the British sense and the American.

I kept my pudgy arm on Alex’s mouth until he closed his eyes. Getting him to be unconscious was the only way to keep him from blabbing.

The fire began to get closer, but Mrs. Figg didn’t seem to care. She was still trying to find us, looking under chairs and other tables.

Finally, I decided to make a run for it. I opened the door and ran it just in time, because Mrs. Figg had found us, and was on my tale.

As we ran into the front lawn, (Me carrying Alex) the police showed up in the driveway.

I ran to them, exhausted. I dropped Alex into someone else’s arms as they handcuffed Mrs. Figg.

That point on was just a blur of blue and red lights, police, and questions asked by adults which I couldn’t really understand.

I went back to the hospital, but this time for a real injury (I had many of them, apparently.)

The funny thing was, I ended up back in the same bed I was in for those six weeks back in the summer. How far away that seemed now. Right now, it was ten degrees, snowing, and I was four feet tall, almost.

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In the next few hours, my parents finally found me in the hospital, and immediately started apologizing like crazy.

"If we knew how nuts she was," said dad. "We wouldn’t have done this to you."

"I’m so sorry that we made you what you are now." said Mom. She was crying. Maybe I had underestimated these people. Maybe they were my parents.

"Mom." I said, "It’s ok. Ive always loved you, even through the last few months. Both of you."

"The new doctor said that you took a lot of that injection." said dad. He turned away. "she said that there’s no way to stop it. Your going to regress much faster now, until you forget everything completely. Im so sorry."

"We will stop treating you like a little kid until you do." said Mom." Of coarse, then, we will have to."

"No." I said, still drowse. "You can treat me like I’m little. You deserve it. I shouldn’t have been so cold to you both, so distant. I can see now that this is my fault. I should have gotten past the past."

"We will always love you, honey." said Mom.

Later in the night, Alex’s mom came. She seemed a bit less distressed, but was remorseful of her old son just the same.

I looked back again on my former life, on the most recent night, as the conclusion of my Slow Decent into my childhood commenced.

As you may have guessed already, this writing that you have just read is a journal I wrote to myself to keep myself aware of my age over the past six months. I am here, writing this entry in the hospital bed. I hope to keep this, so that some day, I will once again find it and remember my former life. It might bring me joy, or it might bring me sorrow. Time will tell.

The doctor says that she will keep a tight monitor on me while i finish the regression progress. If I wake up tomorrow and don’t know how to right, then I suppose, dear reader, that I will see you in another life.

Peace.