They Call Him Alpha [NEW VERSION]

⊵ Arrival

© They Call Him Alpha 

⊵ Arrival

"It's Blake...it's me."

Blake Westfall.

The boy who had disappeared.

I hadn't seen or heard from him in four years.

So when he had called me the morning following my escape, I hadn't recognized the number that flashed on my phone. The sun hadn't even come up yet. I had been lingering outside a sketchy gas station on the outskirts of town when I heard my phone ring. The Uber driver had refused to take me any farther than the edge of town. He had said something about not wanting to be charged as an "accomplice" to a crime. So, until I had gotten Blake's call, I had loitered around trying to plan my next move while calculating approximately how long I had until I heard sirens wailing and blue and red lights flashing around the corner.

When I saw the unknown number pop up, I accepted the call-half out of curiosity and half out of worry that it would be my parents ready to unleash hell on me. However, I knew it wouldn't be them. They didn't know about the second phone I had gotten on Jana's phone plan; I've had it since I was fourteen. I had left the phone they had bought for me behind, fearing that they'd find some way to track me. The male voice that spoke through the phone's speaker was unfamiliar to me, yet he said my name so naturally and with such intimacy. Like a name his tongue never forgot. When he identified himself his as Blake Westfall, I almost didn't believe him. He was different...at least his voice was. It had matured greatly; it was different-rougher, deeper, firmer.

He hadn't sounded like this in high school. We had been quite a duo when we were younger. Living in the same snobby, upper-class neighborhood, Blake and I had met at the tender ages of eight and six, respectively. Despite being two years apart in age, he and I were close as close gets. Clay always wanted to tag along, but he was too young for our antics. Together, Blake and I were a troublesome pair-we pulled pranks, skipped out on curfew, and raised hell. We gave the posh housewives of our neighborhood something to gossip about. It was Blake who had been the one to show me that I could be more than a trophy daughter. I don't know who I'd be if I hadn't met him. I guess, in a way, he had saved me.

But then suddenly he was gone.

It had been out of the blue. At the end of his senior year-sophomore year for me-he had left. No warning or goodbye. I remembered coming back excited that summer to hang out with Blake after a week in New York for my mother's charity banquet. I had walked the three doors down to Blake's house; I had been ready for a summer of fun and mischief. There were no cars in the driveway. When I had knocked, there was no answer. When I had called out for him, I had been greeted with silence. When I had grown curious and looked through the window, I couldn't believe what I saw.

Empty.

It was entirely empty.

The whole grand house had been left bare and vacant-the furniture, pictures, décor, and any sign that a family had lived there had all vanished. I had dialed Blake's number dozens of times, but each call had ended with the same automatic message: "Sorry, the number you have dialed is no longer in service."

No one knew where Blake and his parents had disappeared to. The police hadn't investigated further because they said no crime had been committed. The Westfalls had just vanished. It's like they just didn't exist anymore. The gossips of the neighborhood had had a field day with the whole thing. "On the run from the mafia," Mrs. Abbott, a member of my mother's book club, had rumored. "Kidnapped for ransom", another woman had said. "Abducted by aliens," Hilda-an old, wealthy lady, who was off her rocker-had insisted.