The Skeletøn Bøy

THIRTEEN

"The possession of knowledge does not kill the sense of wonder and mystery. There is always more mystery." -- Anais Nin

++ C H A P T E R | T H I R T E E N ++

Wes lifted a stack of hay over his shoulder. "What's next?"

Wes's father Mark shrugged. Mark wasn't that old for having a son, and not having a wife to share his life with was getting him down. Mark wasn't all that emotional, but even he needed a break.

"Anna. I've seen her around and I like her." Wes gave his father a knowing look. "You've seen her around, eh?"

Mark laughed and sent his son a wicked look. It was the type of look that needed no words, and Wes understood immediately. The two had an entire language just in looks. Wes was raised on it - Mark didn't like to talk all that much. Especially about serious things where anyone could be listening in.

"Elliott might not take that well." Wes offered, throwing the hay bale down. He wiped his brow, wishing he was anywhere but on a farm. The work was hard, and the gym hadn't prepared him for this.

"I don't really care how that wanker feels about it, to be honest. He's a jolly old chap but I don't want him getting in the way of a possible relationship. If you know what I mean."

Wes shook his head. "Dad, Elliott's cool. Really. Though, I'm not sure he'll like this. Then again, Elliott doesn't really seem all that close to Anna. He might not even care."

Wes felt his mood lifting as Elliott became the topic. Something about the boy made Wes feel like a child on christmas morning. It probably had to do with having no friends and being lonely, but still. Wes would take friendship no matter what package it came in.

"I hope not. I want to get to know Anna. I've been single for too long."

Wes laughed at his father. "She must be special if she's making you go all soft."

Mark grinned at his son. "Oh, you know she is." But, then he frowned. "You're very close to Elliott. Too close."

Wes could tell where this conversation was going, and didn't like it. Not one bit. "I'm not that close."

"Yeah, you are. Elliott has you wrapped around his finger practically."

Wes shot his dad a scathing look. "You don't know what you're talking about. You're the one that suggested Elliott work for us. I'm just being friendly. And hey, maybe I want to be his friend."

Mark glared down at his son. "You know better. That kid is dangerous. You've heard the stories. The last thing I need is your dead body ending up somewhere."

Wes laughed, but it wasn't full of humor. It was dry and cold, and left Mark fuming with anger. "Drop it, dad. You're the one pushing me to become closer. And sure, for good reason, but you're just plain crazy now. Leave it."

Mark grabbed Wes's arm tightly. "Wes, don't you screw this up. I've trained you well enough. Elliott is dangerous. And you need to pull yourself back before you get sucked in too deep, you understand me?"

* * *

"Elliott, come on. Focus." Brent patted Elliott on the shoulder, noting he was having a bad day. Elliott never seemed particularly happy, but his eyes looked dead today. Brent had wanted to hate Elliott, but the more the he hung around Brent, the pretty boy was growing on him. He wasn't talkative, so what he did say was never pointless and ignorant, and Brent liked that. More often than not, most of his friends voiced their thoughts, and it drove Brent mad.