The most conspicuous part about starting a new novel had to be comparing it with my first. The biggest contrast was in genre - AEON Book 1 is a fantasy fiction novel, very videogamish; CROSS is set in the modern world and time. I think my writing style and voice didn't change much with handling each of them, but even in the same light, novels of different genres will be different.

PROLOGUE

3:00 PM. The last period’s bell finally rang. It was Friday, and I was so glad to get out of school. I had to admit, all things considered, it was a nice day. I said goodbye to Ben and Leyla, hopped on my bike, and began riding home.

3:15. By some stroke of the devil’s luck, my bike broke. The wheel fell apart from the frame, and I scraped myself on the pavement. So much for a nice day. I abandoned the bike and continued home on foot.

3: 40. I couldn’t believe it, but I was lost. The streets of the city were suddenly unfamiliar. I didn't’t know where I was. And I felt weirdly dizzy.

3: 50. Now I felt really dizzy. There was something wrong. I felt sick, I wanted to throw up, I wanted to collapse right there on the street. Everything was spinning…growing dark…

3: 59. I saw the woman. She came from the other end of the street, her golden hair flowing around her face. The woman was wearing a beautiful white dress, and a brilliant necklace hung around her pale neck. She was walking – no, gliding – towards me, and she reached out a hand to me as I felt myself fall backwards, the darkness overtaking me…

Desperately, I reached out too, until my fingers were just inches away from hers…

4:00. I woke up.

KIDNAPPING

The television was on in a small living room on the third floor of an apartment on a quiet street somewhere in New York City. It was on the news channel, and the reporter on screen spoke quickly and seriously, reading out from reports being handed to him.

A man walked into the living room, a bag of chips in one hand and a glass of iced soda in the other, and plopped himself lazily on the couch in front of the television. His eyes were indifferent and aloof behind a pair of round glasses, his blonde hair and goatee an organized mess. This man’s name was William Noble.

William’s attention turned to the news reporter as he began nibbling on his chips.

“The kidnapping took place around half-past three this afternoon, and the sole witness said it was ‘so quick, I couldn’t tell what was even going on…’”

Interesting, William thought, sipping his soda. Someone was kidnapped.

“The following clip,” went on the newscaster, “was taken from a surveillance camera in the nearby department store, which was mostly empty at the time of the kidnapping.”

The reporter disappeared from the screen, and was replaced by a blurry, colorless video clip of a sidewalk. A boy was slowly walking along…and then a brief moment later, a man in a coat had crept up behind him, stealthily put something in his hand over the boy’s mouth, and carried him away. It didn't’t take longer than five seconds.

William Noble’s eyes widened with shock as his eyes fell for a brief second on the kidnapper’s face.

“The kidnapped victim,” the news reporter went on, reappearing on the television screen, “has been positively identified as Ashley Maureen, son of the renowned politician Ike Maureen. Ashley was said to be walking home from school when this incident occurred…”

William, his eyes focused now on the screen, grit his teeth together and dropped his bowl of chips.

“Careless…” he muttered, his accent heavily British. “Careless…”

Ashley Maureen woke up slowly, resurfacing from unconsciousness. He found himself in a small room that must have once been a bedroom. The yellowing walls and dusty furniture that surrounded him were bathed in a small beam of sunlight that flowed in from a single window.

Groggy, he tried to move, and then suddenly found that he couldn’t. He was tied to a wooden, straight-back chair, his hands bound behind him, and his ankles tied to the chair’s legs.

As awareness flooded into him, Ashley’s blue eyes started quivering with panic and his breathing became quick and heavy. Sweat began to build on his forehead, beneath his blonde bangs, and his thin arms and legs began to furiously fight against their bounds. His struggle to free himself from the chair was futile.

Where the hell was he? How’d he get in here?

The last thing he remembered, he was walking home from school. Walking…because his bike had broken down…

And…there was a woman, he remembered… a beautiful woman who had reached out to him just before he completely blacked out…

In desperation, he shouted, “HELP!” His voice ripping out of his lungs hurt his dry throat.

To his surprise, he got an answer. “Hey!”

A gloved hand lashed out of nowhere and slapped Ashley across the face. It turned out he wasn’t alone in the room. Ashley bit through the pain of the smack to look up and see his company.

A tall man towered over him, wearing a long, red, open trench coat, boots and gloves. His face was framed by long, messy, jet-black hair that was tied in a ponytail. Ashley could not see the man’s eyes – he wore a pair of strangely shaped purple spectacles that acted as shades.

Understanding hit Ashley like a ton of bricks, and as it did so, his lips clenched into a snarl and his eyes furrowed into a deep glare.

“What was that for!?” he yelled at the man, his cheek stinging painfully.

“Don’t be so loud,” the man said, his voice annoyingly collected. “It’s irritating.”

“Wait a second…irritating…!?” Ashley began to struggle again against the ropes that tied him securely to the chair. “Irritating? You…you…!”

“Yeah,” the man responded, nodding. “I kidnapped you.”

“Yeah!” Ashley screamed, shaking the whole chair with his efforts but still unable to get himself free. “You kidnapped me! So…uh…”

“So what?” the kidnapper challenged.

“So…err…let me go!”

“Or else what? Huh? What are you gonna do? Hurt me?” The man’s tone turned slightly mocking, and he chuckled lightly as Ashley gave up trying to free himself. The knots were too tight, and he figured he was just hurting his own wrists by trying so hard.

A few seconds passed by in silence, the only sound in the room being Ashley’s own breathing.

“It wasn’t so difficult,” the kidnapper said. “I used a special water-based formula of my own device to knock you out. It’s kind of like chloroform – except the victim never knows he’s unconscious until he does wake up. One dose of that, and you were out like a light. Then all I had to do was bring you here.”

Then the kidnapper reached down and took something from Ashley’s chest – turned out that he was still wearing his school ID. The man examined it for a few seconds.

“So…Student ID 98004. Ashley Maureen,” he said in his cool and collected voice, reading out from the ID. “Grade 9. Sheridan Private School.”

He let the ID drop from his hand. “So, you’re Ashley Maureen, correct?”

Ashley didn't’t answer, choosing instead to glare silently at the man, trying to gaze past his shades and see the eyes that hid behind them.

“You’re a student at Sheridan Private school, and you’re in the 9^th grade?”

Ashley kept glaring.

“Are you the same Ashley Maureen, son of Ike Maureen?”

Ashley kept up the silence.

“You wanna talk at all?”

Still, no response besides a very dirty look on his face.

The kidnapper sighed, exasperated, and turned away from Ashley to look out the window. “Just a second ago, you were so loud. And now, I’m asking questions, and you don’t want to answer. I’m trying to be friendly and…”

“FRIENDLY!?” Ashley burst, his voice incredulous. “You kidnapped me, slapped me full in the face, and now you’re telling me you’re being friendly? Dude, what kind of crazy are you!?”

The man turned back to Ashley, his face expressionless, and sighed again. “Fine, fine. I’m sorry, alright?”

“Wow, sorry totally cuts it.”

“How about this – I’ll tell you my name.”

Ashley raised an eyebrow, not sure where he was going.

“It’s Christopher Cross. You can call me Chris.”

After another brief pause of silence, Ashley laughed. “Uh-huh. Sure. Like that’s your real name. Chris Cross.”

“It is.”

“I’m not stupid. You kidnapped me, and that’s a crime, and you know that once I get out of here, it’s as easy as telling the police your name. Then you’re done. You’re going to jail. There’s no way you’re giving me your real name.”

Chris smiled. “But it is my real name. And I’ve given it to you because I have no worries about the police or any of that at all.”

“Huh?” Ashley gave Chris a confused look.

“Forget that,” Chris said, shaking his head slightly. “I’ll ask you again now. Your name is Ashley Maureen?”

Ashley sighed and rolled his eyes. “Ash,” he finally said.

“Sorry?”

“Call me Ash. I hate the name Ashley. Always did. It’s so…girly.”

“Ash, then. And you’re the son of…”

“Yeah, Ike Maureen is my dad.”

“Now, we’re getting somewhere.”

“Are you going to free me yet? These ropes aren’t so cool. And my face itches.”

“Of course not yet. There’s a ransom on your head, and until that’s paid, you’re not going anywhere.”

Ash grunted, and after a another short, useless struggle against the ropes that had him tied to the chair, he sighed. Looking up at Chris, he muttered, “A ransom. Of course. Your kind of people are always like that, always about the money. So, how much?”

“Five million dollars.”

“Five…million!?” Ash found that for a second, he couldn’t breath.

Chris chuckled. “What’s wrong? Maybe, you think you’re not worth that much?”

“Shut up! Five million dollars!?”

“And your people have until tomorrow evening to deliver the money. Just a bit more than twenty-four hours from now.”

“Tomorrow!? And…and…” Ash gulped in horror. “What if they don’t?”

“What do you think? They don’t, you’re dead.”

Ash felt the blood fade from his face. “…But…What do you need that much for?”

Chris suddenly frowned and turned away. “For something far more important than you’ll ever know.”

“And…what’s that?”

“Don’t ask,” Chris snapped. “Just…don’t. And believe me when I say, I do need that money.” Chris’s voice was grave as he sat down on the bed and crossed his arms. Outside, the sun was beginning to sink, the light turning red as the earliest signs of dusk began to show.

A lot of time after that was spent in silence. Ash had to remind himself to breath, but even as he did so he felt like his air was poisoned. He couldn’t see the watch he wore on his wrist, but he thought he could feel every tick of the second hand.

Chris seemed quite comfortable with the situation…although there were hints of tension, too.

Around Manhattan, the news of the kidnapping found a lot attention after just a few hours, and people were already in their wait to see what would happen next. The gossip spread like wildfire. Night fell unbelievably quickly. New York didn't’t get any quieter in the evening hours, but in that small, old, room in that abandoned building, it had. In that room there was a single bed, which Chris took to sleep in. Ash had to satisfy himself with sleeping still tied to the chair.

He would not try to escape, because he knew he couldn’t.

Blackness had covered everything, but shadows even darker than the darkness writhed like worms. Fear was not something that Christopher Cross usually felt, but this time it gripped him and suffocated him mercilessly.

The worst part about some nightmares was that they were often because of reality. More than nightmares they were the past, come to haunt him.

A glint of light flashed off the blade of a dagger.

A splash of red made it clear blood was spilt.

A scream pierced the darkness.

“Claudia…” he murmured.

“What?” a voice asked, confused.

“Claudia…CLAUDIA!” With a scream, Chris realized he had already woken up. Pain was etched onto every line of his face. Before long he met the gaze of Ash, still tied to that chair.

It was still the middle of the night, and they were still in the same room.

Ash’s expression was one of disbelief. Since Chris wasn’t wearing his shades anymore and he had adjusted to the light, Ash saw for the first time Chris’s eyes. They were dark, and screamed some kind of anguish he didn't’t understand.

Chris clutched his head and muttered something about nightmares.

“Hey, who’s Claudia?” Ash asked.

“Shut up,” Chris said, standing up to leave the room.

“Seriously, you kept murmuring that name in your sleep. Who’s Claudia?”

“Shut up,” Chris growled again.

Ash saw that he was ticking Chris off. Chris was losing his cool. He didn't’t mind at all. “Who’s Claudia!?” he asked again.

“Argh!”

Chris’s hand plunged into his trench coat. Ash saw him pull out a gun and take aim, a frantic and raged look in his eyes…

An explosive bang sounded as Chris pulled the trigger. The bullet flew an inch away from Ash’s face and buried itself in the wall, cracking the plaster that made it up.

Ash immediately shut up, horrified.

The silence that followed the gunshot was almost tangible. Smoke hissed from the gun’s barrel. Chris glared at Ash so angrily and fiercely that Ash had to look away.

A whole five minutes passed before Chris lowered the gun, broke his glare at Ash, and turned to storm out the room, slamming the door behind him.

Only when he and the gun were both out of sight did Ash’s heart begin to show any sign of slowing down.

What the hell was that about? Ash stared at the door, wondering what was on the man’s mind, wondering what he was dreaming about before waking up. A single name…unbelievable, how a single name could set anyone off like that.

Claudia…

But as Ash stared at the door, petrified as he was, he couldn’t help but think of his own dream, the dream he had before waking up to find himself kidnapped. It was hard to take out of his head the image of that golden-haired woman, moving towards him with her arm outstretched…

Ash closed his eyes. But was it really a dream…?