Crazy but Sweet, Sweet but Crazy

29: stage manners

"I'll check on Elli to see if he's all right. Please, go ahead."

Nonsense, bullshit, bloody hogwash.

As if spellbound by something, I ate. I ate as if starved, slicing, chewing and swallowing- tasting nothing. This was an absurdly senseless and transparent lie crafted by Richard Lockwood to scare me, to muddle the waters.

After a period of time I couldn't estimate, the door of the washroom banged opened violently. Gerald, who'd been standing by, watched with the tranquility of a man gazing at still waters of a river, as the father and son emerged from the washroom.

I stood, shattered out of the state of stupefaction looking at Elliot.

Water dripped from Elliot's hair and face as he sat on the floor at Richard's feet, sobbing, shaking his head.

I stared. This wasn't the Elliot I knew- the Elliot who wouldn't blink an eye as he discussed armed robberies, tailing and the violence of his own brother inflicted upon him.

"I- I know that you- you put everything on the Horans. I also know that- Fairfields- they're- they're coming for me again. I know, they're trying to put me back. I see them in school, everywhere, following me. Please, let me stay at your house, I'll be a good son-"

Tears streaked Elliot's face as he held onto Richard's hand- hung onto- and implored, his voice and words, stumbling over each other.

"I'll be good, I promise. Just let me stay please- and- and Landon- he's right outside, waiting for me. He's going to hurt me, believe me."

This wasn't Elliot. His face was flushed from the sobbing, his hair damp with sweat and water, his uneven, hurried breathing filling the quiet of the restaurant. 

I could finally taste the food I'd swallowed. It tasted sour and bile-like, creeping tenaciously back up to my mouth.

Elliot's two hands clung tight onto Richard's hand, like a drowning man would onto a safety float.

With a soft and cautious gesture of his hand, Richard stroked Elliot's head.

"The people at Fairfields Orphanage stopped looking for you long ago, and Landon's not even in this state, Elli. He's in Houston. C'mon, Elli. Clare's here. Look."

Elliot's eyes, which had been fleeting over me like I blended into the surroundings, slowly raised up to my face.

His eyes unfocused, Elliot staggered up to his feet, came up to me, and squeezed my hands, tightly.

"I know you'll help me look for my mother, Clare. She'll protect me from the Fairfields people- and Landon. He hurts me."

His words were jumbled, all sense scattered. This was no speech of a logical, collected person.

The tremors that had been wrecking his body were gone, his hands over mine, steady, and his breathing, as leveled and silent as before.

Feeling sick, I searched Elliot's face, as he closed my hands into fists, his back to Richard.

"Please, help me Clare."

Stepping forward gracefully, Richard pulled Elliot away by the shoulders.

His two hands that enveloped Elliot were large and calloused, blue veins and tendons showing through his sun-kissed forearms.

"I'll take him home so that he can have some rest and the family doctor can visit."

Water from his hair dripping onto the shirt we'd just bought, Elliot limply followed Gerald like a child, out of the restaurant.