The Elemental

Chapter 1: Alyssa

It was a perfect night in downtown Los Angeles. The air had a muggy bite to it with an aftertaste of smog that could only be found in the city. Various lights from traffic, businesses, and street lamps drowned the stars from the clear black sky. The warm breeze was perfect for an evening stroll, but 17-year-old Alyssa Maxwell could only stare miserably from the 14th story balcony of this week's hotel suite.

It wasn't the first time she had fought the urge to jump. Though she held no desire for death, she couldn't help thinking about the fall. Fantasizing about it. Longing for the feel of the wind against her face, the freedom of soaring through the open air. All it would take was one more step, a slight lean, and—

"Alyssa, it's time to come in. I'm leaving." Jeff Maxwell — Alyssa's father — was a high profile businessman and well known as the richest man in the world. With brown eyes and graying brown hair, he looked sharp in his suit. His salt and pepper goatee complimented his round face and nose.

He had been dragging her around the globe from hotel to hotel for the past year, guarded closely by an armed private security detail. Though the terrorist attack on their home had nearly destroyed it, Alyssa still felt her father's reaction was too dramatic.

"Stay inside, please, and lock the doors. I'll be back late. Quinton is out in the hall if you need anything."

She groaned. "What am I, ten? At what point am I going to be allowed to just walk down the street without an army around me? It's humiliating."

"We've been over this, Alyssa," he responded in a tired voice. "Until they've dealt with the taunts and their little uprising, we have to take precautions. They're targeting me, which means you're a target by proxy. You know what they did to your mother; it's too dangerous to take risks."

"Why are they even targeting you, anyway?"

"I don't have time for your barrage of questions. I know you think I'm the worst father in the world, but there are much worse parents you could have."

She made a mocking face at him as he turned his back to grab his cellphone from the counter. "I feel more like a prisoner than your daughter," she muttered, fidgeting with a stray thread on the hotel's heinous ochre couch.

"Yes, Alyssa; prisoners are kept in five star hotels with television and room service," he retorted. "Be grateful. There's a pool on the roof. Have Quinton call you an escort, and you can go for a swim if you'd like."

"What kind of business meeting starts at seven at night?" she questioned.

"It's a dinner meeting. For godsake, Alyssa. What else would it be?"

She shrugged. "A date?"

He scoffed, shooting her a disdainful glare. "We're not having this conversation again. My car's waiting. I'll see you in the morning. If you need anything, tell Quinton."

Alyssa rolled her eyes and walked back into her room as he left. What kind of a name is Quinton, anyway? she wondered.

Her phone rested on the bed, devoid of notifications. After a year of dealing with her reclusive lifestyle, most of her friends had given up trying to stay in contact. She reclined against her pillow and snapped a selfie, mustering a half-smile.

Sparse freckles dotted her pale cheeks, and the camera made her small round nose look as though it were bulging out. She frowned and deleted the photo. Every picture of her mother seemed as though she were a glamorous model, but Alyssa had always felt she'd gotten the worst combination of her parents' looks; Lynette's baby blue eyes, heart shaped face, and perfectly upturned celestial nose were lost to her. With her father's round face and brown eyes contrasting her mother's fair skin and curly red hair, she couldn't help feeling that she looked like an oddity.