DEAD STOP by SPENSE RATED FRT

Third in a loose trilogy of vacation related stories.  

Thanks to both LMC and Boomercat for their input on this one.

Alan woke up to the usual sounds. The roar of the waves hitting the beach as they curled and broke over, the never-ending sounds of the birds and wildlife that accompanied life that close to the water.

With a huge, jaw-cracking yawn, he sat up and scrubbed his face with his hands. The light seemed brighter than normal, somehow. Must be just because it was later than usual. That was interesting. Not like his family to let anybody sleep in too long.

There were always things to be done. Cleaning the silo bays, scrubbing and servicing the Thunderbirds, it was just never-ending. He didn't know why everybody had let him sleep so late, but he wasn't going to look a gift horse in the mouth, that was for sure.

Stretching until his shoulders popped, Alan rolled his head around on his neck and opened his eyes.

All thought processes came to a dead stop.

Where the hell was he?

The sounds were all right, but the room sure wasn't. It was a light cream, with dark wood moldings and trim. The walnut window shutters were open, letting the warm breeze in. The furniture was heavy, also of walnut. The whole thing looked like something out of India when it was occupied by the British many, many years ago.

After looking around blankly for a moment, Alan finally got up, and found his clothes, all neatly folded in the armoire.

Shaking his head in puzzlement, he got dressed, the remains of a faint headache slowly fading, and let himself out into a deserted passageway.

Alan slowly meandered down the hall, hands in the pockets of his shorts. It was obviously an Inn of some type, and lovely at that. More dark shutters were thrown open allowing the tropic breezes to flow through the house, making it comfortable.

Not a soul in sight. Not a brother either. Huh.

As he made his way down the broad staircase, the lush green potted plants his only companions, he thought back to the last thing he remembered. That would be leaving New York for the airport.

Vacation. He must be on vacation. He grinned involuntarily. Well, it wouldn't be the first time he'd tied one on, only to not be able to remember much the next morning. Or not memorable, in a literal sense as the case may be.

Alan finally spotted a live person. Geez, he was beginning to wonder what was going on. Finally.

The man was at the front desk, looking at something open in front of him. At Alan's approach, he looked up.

"Ah! Mr. Tracy. I hope everything is to your satisfaction, and that you slept well?"

"Yes, thank you," Alan began, but before he could say anything more, a voice hailed him from behind.

"Alan!" The voice was cheerful, hearty, and very familiar. Coincidentally, it also wasn't a brother, which cheered Alan even more. Vacations were the pits when you had a babysitter. Except Gordon.

Alan turned with a grin. "Max!" No wonder he didn't remember anything from last night. Max could drink like a fish, and had always insisted that Alan match him glass for glass. Unfortunately, although he had a pretty high tolerance, he was nowhere near in Max's league.

Max Turner was bearing down on him, an equally big grin on his face. Alan had known Max from his racing days. They'd been very good friends, and had usually managed to get into a fair amount of trouble together. The only one better than finding trouble than Max was Alan's brother Gordon. Only Gordon was far better at getting out of it than Max was and usually a whole lot more subtle.

Some of the biggest fights Alan had ever had with his father and brothers had been over Max. Even Gordon had made it clear that he thought Max was trouble. Reckless, endowed with not overly great judgment and a tendency towards bad choices. Alan had always shrugged the criticism off. Max was great fun, and Alan felt that he could handle any problems that came up. Except for once. And no Tracy would ever let him forget that particular glaring exception. He gave a mental shrug and greeted his friend.

"Well, that certainly explains my fading headache and lack of memory this morning," Alan, a huge grin splitting his face. In his delight, he missed the slightly befuddled look on his friends face as he continued. "Vacations with you seem to have that effect on me."

That certainly explained the gap between the car ride to the airport and now. Max tended to start celebrating early, and it wouldn't be the first time the drinking games started at the airport. He was vaguely surprised that the airline had let him on the flight if he had this much of a blank. But then again, he was with Max, and Max could charm a rock if he set his mind to it.

"Moi?" Max questioned broadly, a theatrical hand on his chest.

"Yes, you!" Alan shoved a pointed finger into Max's chest, making him step back a pace. "Because of our last little foray, Dad has made sure I never get a vacation without a watchdog. He made it very clear that he felt you were a poor example and a bad influence on me."

Max started to gaffe. "Me? He should look at Gordon more carefully! And he thinks I'm a bad influence on you."

"Yeah, funny, wise guy. As Virgil commented on our last vacation - yeah, I had to go with Virg – he said it was not only expensive, but it was memorable. And my brothers won't ever let Dad forget it. You screwed me over royally, pal!"

Max was howling with laughter by the time Alan finished his tirade, the sting removed by the smile on his face.

"You have no idea what it's like to have to go on a vacation with an older brother in tow. They make watchdogs look like couch potatoes," he finished, whining.

"Alan, old friend," Max said as he swung an arm over the slighter man's shoulder, "Don't give up. We're here now. No family anywhere – neither your eagle eyed barracudas or my abnormally neglectful elders - so it's time to raise some hell!"

Alan allowed himself to be guided back to the desk, wondering how long it was going to be this time before his father allowed him off the island alone again. Trouble followed Max like a magnet, but it was usually pretty fun as well, so it would be worth it, no question.

"So, what's there to do around here?" Max asked the man at the counter enthusiastically.

"Well, we're just a way stop. The others should be arriving this afternoon, and then you'll continue onto your destination. The plane will arrive at about five o'clock, so please make sure you're here and ready to board."

Max looked so disappointed than Alan had to laugh as the gentleman continued.

"There is a pool out in back, as well as a lounge. Diving gear and climbing gear are available as well, so please, make yourselves at home."

"Well, lets explore then!" Max's enthusiasm boiled over again, and he headed out the French doors towards the pool, leaving Alan to wonder where their destination was. He wasn't going to ask, he already felt stupid enough for drinking enough to black out. He was amazed that he didn't feel more hung over.

Alan carefully fitted his fingers into a crevice in the rock, testing to make sure his hold was secure before he shifted his foot. Up ahead of him on the sheer rock face, Max was doing the same.

The cliff jutted out over the startlingly blue water. The green of the foliage was intense as was the color of the sky. More intense than Alan had ever seen. It caught his attention again for a moment. He was used to the tropics; he lived with those colors every day. But these seemed more vivid than usual - enough to make him stop and pause. He thought fleetingly that it was too bad Virgil wasn't here, he'd go ape over these colors. Alan had had to listen to him gush over Hawaii's foliage for two weeks, heaven knew what he'd do about these.

"How's it going?" Max's voice called down to him, reclaiming his attention to the here and now.

"Fine!" He called back.

"Okay. I'm going to step it up a little then, okay?"

"Sure," Alan laughed. That was Max to the core. If things were going well, then he upped the amps a notch or two, just to make it more interesting.

Max came from the same kind of background Alan did. He'd grown up with wealth, much as Alan had. They'd both had an excellent education and both were very bright. That was probably the reason they'd gravitated to each other when Alan had begun racing. Max was a few years older than Alan, but Alan had always been around people older than himself, so that had been no barrier to their friendship.

But that was where the similarities in their background ended. Max was a playboy, through and through. Whereas Alan had four older brothers and a father with a middleclass background and values, in addition to a strong military history, Max's family was completely different.

Max was an only child from parents who had grown up wealthy as well. His mother was a born socialite, and his father spent most of his time on the golf course. His parents spent far more time apart than they did together. The money had come from his grandparents on both sides.

Max basically did as he wished. The only stipulation was that he not do anything to besmirch the family name. And he was careful about that - to an extent. Max had been everywhere, and had pretty much done everything.

He teased Alan about his overbearing (as he saw it) and restrictive brothers, but was often heard to say how much he envied Alan his close ties with his 'normal' family. He enjoyed hearing about the Tracy's and their interactions, and was quick to help Alan cover up their misdeeds as much as he possibly could in order to keep him out of trouble.

Alan reflected than Max was really a good deal like Gordon. They both had the same quirky sense of humor and love of practical jokes. But Gordon was very subtle and careful not to really hurt anybody. Max was like an immature, less careful version of Gordon. He just seemed to lack the common sense his Tracy counterpart did.

Alan enjoyed Max's company immensely. Whereas he always heard 'more self-control' from his father and brothers - absolutely necessary with IR and related projects - it was nice to cut loose and live on the edge with Max once and awhile.

He knew that Max worried Jeff and his brothers. And Alan understood why. He just wished they'd give him a little more credit for being able to handle himself with Max. He was careful.

Well, most of the time. His drinking binge last night was one of the worst he'd ever had. He'd never blacked out like that before. It had been really stupid on his part, no doubt about it. He hoped he hadn't made too much of a fool of himself. His father would be livid. But Alan did trust Max to make sure that he would have been out of sight during the worst of it. Max understood the duty to the family name and reputation even more than Alan did. Besides, Max had the constitution of an ox. He'd probably not felt a thing.

Max was just clearing the top of the cliff. Alan looked up, measured the remaining distance, and methodically worked his way up. He carefully slithered his way over the edge, and looked over to see Max carefully handling the ropes as Alan finished.

"That was great!" Max enthused.

Alan had to hand it to the man, he got the most out of every second of his life.

"I'll say," Alan said stretching and looking around. The view was magnificent. The turquoise water stretched for miles, blending into the vibrant, cloudless sky. Alan marveled again at the colors - so amazingly intense. It seemed everything was just a little bit brighter here.

He hated to admit that he still didn't remember where they were. And he sure wasn't going to open himself up to that kind of ridicule by admitting it to Max. Max was as bad as his brother's in that regard - he'd needle him unmercifully about it.

"So now what?" He asked with a grin, as he noticed Max taking in the surroundings as well.

"Repel down!" He answered enthusiastically, a huge grin splitting his face. "Then let's do some diving. That water's just begging for it!"

"You're on," Alan agreed instantly. Max was always up for something interesting.

As they began to adjust the ropes and their harnesses, Max asked "So what's Gordon's latest? He's always up to something."

Alan began to laugh. "You wouldn't believe it. This time he got John." Alan began to go into Gordon's latest amusement - at least the one that didn't involve anything with the IR equipment. Max had an insatiable appetite to hear anything about Alan's family. He supposed it was from his lack of any cohesion in his own. Alan was usually happy to oblige.

As much as his own family could drive him crazy, and as much as he enjoyed time away, he really appreciated them and the camaraderie they shared. He just wished that they saw Max the way he did. He continued elaborating until they were back over the cliff for the adrenaline rush of the fast drop back down.

After following up the climbing with some snorkeling, the two spent the remainder of the day exploring the beach, then lounging by the pool. The only thing to keep the day from being absolutely perfect was the oddity of their isolation. They didn't see another living soul except the concierge. This niggled at Alan at the oddest times, but it didn't seem to bother Max. But then again, nothing much ever did.

The only distraction occurred when they finally headed back to their rooms to change for dinner. They were intercepted in the lobby by the same man at the desk they had seen before.

"Ah, Mr. Tracy, Mr. Turner. There you are. Everybody else has arrived now, and the flights are getting ready to leave. If you'll follow me, I'll get you on your transportation out to the planes."

Alan and Max looked at each other, puzzled.

Max shrugged his shoulders, shaking his head. "Where? We didn't see anybody come in.

"We pride ourselves on our privacy, Mr. Turner. Follow me please."

"But our things . . ." Alan protested.

"They have been taken care of. Please. You don't want to be late. This way." He shepherded the two young men towards another part of the large lobby. Stepping in front of them, he opened a door. "Mr. Turner, if you please?"

The door opened to another bright, sunny garden, with a waiting golf cart. The driver looked up inquiringly.

Max shrugged eloquently. "Okay, whatever. Come on Alan," he said as he strolled nonchalantly through the doorway.

Alan moved to follow, but the gentleman stepped in front of him immediately. "Ah, no Mr. Tracy," he said clearing his throat and closing the door firmly before Alan could follow.

Alan stopped abruptly before he could run into the man, and looked at him quizzically. "Huh?"

"You're on a different plan. This way." He opened another, previously unseen door, next to the one Max had just stepped through.

Alan looked at him suspiciously. "What the . . .?"

The gentleman sighed patiently reminding Alan suddenly of Kyrano. "Please Mr. Tracy. There was a last minute change. All will be made clear. Just through here . . ." He gestured through the open doorway towards the same lovely garden Alan had just seen through the other doorway.

Alan, eyes fixed suspiciously on the man's face, stepped through. As the door closed behind him, he found himself alone in the verdant green expanse. He looked around, trying to find Max, but he was nowhere to be seen. Shading his eyes he gazed into the distance. Nothing.

Shutting his eyes for a moment in order to clear the confusion in his head, he opened them to find the garden gone, instead he was in a silver gray formless void. The transformation was accompanied by a kaleidoscope of movement, dizzying in it's effect. Alan blinked at the sudden change.

And in that blink, the world shifted again.

Alan looked out on a black, rain slicked night. Wind was whipping leaves from the trees with rain splashing down. Alan could make out flashing lights from emergency vehicles and faces over him. The distinct shape of an oxygen mask on his face was clear, as were the forms of paramedics and firefighters bending over him, rushing in and out of the background in their haste.

Blink, and the world changed.

This time he was apparently back in the garden once again. To his unfocused eyes, the colors were an impressionist's view of soft greens and whites. Thank heavens. He didn't know what had just happened, but he could do without it.

He blinked again, trying to get his eyes to focus after that weird disorientation, and the soft colors solidified not into the garden, but into what was clearly a hospital room. ‘What the . . .' Now he was completely baffled.

"Welcome back," the familiar voice of his father said.

Alan turned instinctively towards the well-known voice and gave an involuntary moan as he did so. The headache he'd woken up with that morning was back with a vengeance. He felt confused and bewildered, as well as absolutely lousy.

"Dad?" He whispered groggily.

"Right here." Jeff was smiling as Alan found his face.

"Hey, Al," Scott's face moved into position next to his father. "Nice to see you awake. How do you feel?"

Alan looked at them quizzically for a second before he answered. "Okay, I guess," he finally replied hesitantly after clearing his throat and trying to get his bearings. "What happened?" He asked as his mind began to process once again. He opened his mouth to speak and ended up coughing instead.

Finally he was able to speak again. "All I remember was that I was on vacation with Max . . ." He stopped again to try to sort out this thoughts. He looked at the patient face of his father as the older man waited for Alan to continue. "We got separated on our flights out, and I . . I ended up someplace with rain, wind and medics." He paused again, trying to think how he got from the garden to the hospital, then gave up and continued. "Is Max okay? Did he make it alright?" Alan sighed in relief as he finally managed to get out what he wanted to say, albeit in fits and starts. He couldn't figure out why his throat hurt so much.

Jeff's and Scott's expressions would have been hilariously funny if Alan hadn't felt so rotten.

"What?" He asked again, this time with a little more force.

"Vacation with Max?" Scott said blankly.

"Uh-huh," Alan confirmed, deciding he'd better not say anything more about their drinking binge. Neither his father nor Scott were terribly happy with Max to begin with, and they would definitely have words to say about the drinking. Especially since he apparently had gotten a head injury less than a day later.

Jeff and Scott were looking at each other. Jeff looked back at Alan, taking his hand gently.

"Alan, you weren't on vacation. You were heading home from a business meeting in New York."

Alan's brow furrowed. "Yeah, I remember leaving New York for the airport," he whispered in deference to his throat. "I was meeting Max for vacation. We got to . . ." he hesitated, searching his mind for the location of where they'd been.

Jeff was shaking his head compassionately. Keeping hold of Alan's hand, he stroked his forehead gently. "No, you were coming home. And you didn't make it to the airport. It was late, and it was stormy. The roads were bad. Another driver crossed the centerline and hit you. The paramedics almost lost you at the scene." Jeff's voice broke for a moment, and his eyes were sympathetic at his son's obvious confusion.

"You hit your head really hard, Alan," Scott said gently, trying to break the news as easily as possible. "You've been unconscious for nearly three days."

Alan looked at them blankly. "No . . That can't be right. I was with Max."

Jeff and Scott exchanged another look, clearly exchanging information. As a result of the non-verbal communication, Scott got up and went to the table across the room and picked something up as Jeff took a deep breath and spoke again.

"Alan, that isn't possible. I was trying to call you at the office that night. But you'd already left. I'd just missed you. I was going to tell you to cancel your flight and reschedule for a few days later. I knew . . . I knew you'd want to go . . ." He broke off.

"Go where?" Alan asked in trepidation.

Jeff paused again uncomfortably before he spoke again. "To Max Turner's funeral. He was killed the day before your accident. It was a crash at the speedway during training. He died instantly."

Alan was speechless. Scott reappeared with a newspaper in his hand. He folded it back, exposing the section he was looking for. "Here, Alan."

Alan took the paper gingerly and looked at the picture. There was Max, smiling back at him, looked exactly as he'd seen him just a few hours ago, and the caption read "Champion driver, Max Turner, killed today in a spectacular crash and fire." The words below talked about the recklessness of his style, and the fact that it had finally caught up with him.

Wordlessly, shocked, Alan looked at his father and older brother. "But, we went climbing . . . I was there . . .How . . .?"

"I don't know Al, I really don't know." Scott said, clearly at a loss.

"I don't know either, Alan, but hold onto that memory. You know at least that you had one last visit with a good friend. Not many are granted that," Jeff said at last.

Alan nodded slowly, looking back at the picture in front of him. Then he did a double take. For one brief moment, he could have sworn that deep within the grainy image, Max had winked at him.