A Change in My Life, 5/?
Title: A Change in My Life, chapter five
Fandom: Where in the World is Carmen Sandiego?
Rating: T/PG-13
Word Count: 5,016
Main Characters: Fictional Rockapella
Summary: Barry receives a strange message. Meanwhile, Scott and Elliott ponder on their meeting.
Will be posted to 10_hurt_comfort when complete.
Chapter Five
There's a Change in My Life
Barry and Sean, meanwhile, had spent the better part of the last hour conversing with people in the Physics building as they had looked for contact information on Elliott. But what they had learned was that most people there did not know how to reach him, either. He was unlisted in the phone book and kept to himself, only giving out his phone number or address if he had to. He did not want to be bothered. Still, after at last managing to get into the office of the department's head and pleading their case, they at last located what they sought.
Sean grinned as they were finally handed a slip of paper with a phone number. "Thanks," he said to the pretty secretary.
She nodded. "Good luck," she said. "He's hard to get hold of."
"So we're finding out," Sean said with a wry smirk.
He blew out his breath in frustrated relief as they walked away. "It was about time," he muttered to Barry. "Let's get him called right now."
Barry nodded. "Hopefully he'll be available," he grunted.
"And we need to think of a reason why we're calling," Sean said, turning to stroll down the corridor. "Somehow I don't think that saying we think we know him will go over well."
"It wouldn't," Barry said in a flat tone.
"Maybe . . . we want to talk to him about his research?" Sean suggested.
Barry looked at him. "He's not doing any research," he said.
"Well . . . we could say we heard he was," Sean said. "Or maybe we heard that he has good control over the classroom and we want to ask his secret?"
Barry shook his head. "If he agrees to speak with us, it will be a miracle," he said.
"Who knows. So many other weird things have been happening today, right?" Sean rounded the corner, then stumbled and gasped as he nearly collided with the punk from earlier. He held out his hands to stop the youth's barreling run, grabbing at Jeff's leather-clad arms as the kid screeched to a halt.
"Right," Barry said, his tone pointed.
"What's with you?!" Sean exclaimed, looking Jeff up and down.
The boy shook his head. "My uncle just called me," he said. "He said to get down to the Met because you got threatened!" He looked to Barry, who frowned.
"Threatened?" the opera singer repeated.
"Yeah!" Jeff pulled away from Sean. "There's a note or something. You're probably in danger if you stay roaming around."
"I think I can manage," Barry said, "but now I'm curious." He moved to go past them to the door. "I wonder if this is different from the last rabid fan who threatened me."
Sean ran after him. "Wait, a fan threatened you?!" he gasped. "What kind of fan is that?!"
"A really sick one," Jeff said, rushing to catch up with them.
"She wanted me to sing only to her," Barry said, his expression never changing. "She said I belonged to her and that no one else deserved to hear my voice. She included an airplane ticket for me to fly out to her town and said that if I didn't use it, I'd be sorry. She's in a mental institution now."
Sean just gawked. "And how often does stuff like that happen?!" he said in disbelieving horror.
"That was the only time it went that far," Barry said. "Thankfully."
Jeff looked to Sean. "You haven't ever heard crazy fan stories?" he asked as they stepped outside.
"Sure," Sean retorted. "But not that crazy!" He blinked. "Hey, are you coming with us?" he wondered.
"If we're all going to the same place, it'd be faster than walking," Jeff said with a shrug. "Besides that, it's going to rain." He gestured at the purple clouds.
Sean smirked. "I can't argue with that logic," he said.
Barry grunted. "There's room for you in the back," he said, "if you can sit with Sean's guitar."
"I can sit almost anywhere," Jeff smirked. He looked to the red car as they drew closer. "And this is going to be a sweet ride."
"It's the destination I wonder about," Barry said. "That's more liable to be sour."
****
Scott sighed, running his hands over his eyes as the limousine bumped over the road. It was taking him and Louie to the hotel, where they would hopefully gain a much-needed rest. But he was not sure whether he would actually sleep. His mind was too full of thoughts about the strange experience at the airport.
Why had he suddenly been bombarded by doubts in the restaurant? Had it been a reawakening of common sense? Or was it actually common sense that told him he and Elliott had known each other? The feeling had seemed so strong and determined at the time. Maybe the doubts really had been brought on solely by exhaustion and should not be considered at all.
But on the other hand, maybe it was because he was still smarting from what had happened with the only person whom he had once been close to as a friend. He had been so naive, thinking that they would remain surrogate brothers through the years. It had hurt to realize that his friend had considered other things more important. It was only natural to have some doubts about someone else.
"Hey!"
Scott started at the sudden, confused, and irritated voice. He looked over at Louie with bleary eyes.
His manager was looking back with a frown. "You haven't even asked me what I thought of that Elliott guy," he said. "You were so enthusiastic about him before. Now you're so down in the dumps. What's with you, Scotty?"
Scott struggled to smile. "Nothing," he said. "I just got really tired all of a sudden. You know how you get even more exhausted when the adrenaline rush wears off." He straightened up. "But what did you think of him?"
Louie shrugged. "He seemed like a nice kid," he said. "I guess anyone who can draw you out like that can't be all bad."
Scott smiled more. "Yeah," he said, leaning back against the seat. "I'm going to call him after we get some sleep," he remembered.
"And do what?" Louie asked, raising an eyebrow. "You're supposed to relax and get ready for the U.S. tour. If this Elliott guy ends up taking all your attention. . . ."
"He won't," Scott interrupted, an edge slipping into his voice. "I know I have to devote time to my singing, but don't I get any chance for some recreation or to hang out with friends?"
Louie frowned, taken aback. "Sure. Of course," he said. "It's just that this is something we've never ran into before. And Elliott is someone we've never ran into before. It's just weird!" He threw his hands into the air.
Scott gave a grim smirk. "It sure is," he said. "It's hands-down one of the weirdest things I've ever felt in my life." He hesitated. "Maybe I even really am going crazy. But if I am, I guess Elliott is too."
"Well, somethin' unnatural is goin' on," Louie said. "That's for sure."
"I don't know whether I'd call it that or not," Scott said. "But it's weird. And . . ." He paused again. "I like it."
A slow smile spread over his features. That was true---he did. What was more, Louie had feared he was not thinking clear---but his mind had never felt more clear than when he had talked to Elliott. The emptiness he had felt before today had completely dissipated, leaving him with a deep happiness that he had never before known. Why would he feel that way about a supposed stranger?
On the other hand, the thought that it was all nonsense had filled his heart and soul with a dark confusion and almost a stupor. It was one of the coldest, most frightening things he had ever experienced.
Maybe he was crazy. Of course there would be a dark feeling at the thought of someone being a foe, when he believed he deeply cared about the person. That was no guarantee that his positive feelings were what was correct.
But he could not bring himself to believe that Elliott was not a good person. Saying the moon was made of green cheese would sound more logical.
He did not know how he could be so sure of Elliott's integrity, but that did not matter.
What mattered was that it was true.
He leaned further into the seat as they drove up to the Waldorf-Astoria. Its forty-seven stories towered above the limousine, casting the vehicle in its immense shadow. Suddenly the high-style hotel seemed so out of place for him. He was just a kid from Indiana. What was he doing at an establishment like this? How had he really become such an international sensation?
Why was he singing all alone? Why wasn't Elliott with him? Why weren't those other people with them too?
"Why am I thinking so crazy?" he mumbled to himself as he rubbed his left eye again.
He was starting to feel like he was taking part in the plot of an old, jazzy song. First you say you do and then you don't. . . . Then you say you will and then you won't. . . . One minute he was agreeing with every one of the odd feelings he had started to have. The next, he was doubting again. He could not make up his mind.
You're undecided now, so what are you gonna do?
. . . And he did not even listen much to jazz; he was more of a Motown fan. Where would he have heard a jazz song?
"Scotty, let's go!" Louie broke into his thoughts. "Spacious suites await!"
Scott started again. "Oh . . . yeah." He grinned as he pushed open the car door. "I can hardly wait to have a hot shower and plop in bed."
"Now you're talkin'." Louie got out the other side while the driver collected their luggage.
Scott craned his neck, staring up at the famed hotel as they walked towards it. Their suites were on one of the highest floors, if he remembered correctly what Louie had told him. The view was probably excellent.
He walked faster. A hot shower and sleep really did sound great. And maybe he would even wake up knowing what to do.
It was worth hoping for, anyway.
****
Aaron Gordon pulled back the white Venetian blind, glowering out the window with an obvious air of impatience. "Where is that boy?" he muttered to himself. He turned away from the glass, letting the blind fall back into place.
He was not in a decent mood at all. Not only had his employer been threatened, but he could not reach the man on the phone. He was continually redirected to Barry's voicemail. And he could only hope and pray that the writer of the message had not already found Barry and caused some harm.
The argument with Jeff had only added to his frustration and discouragement. The boy grew more rebellious by the day. And no matter whether Mr. Gordon asked the simplest of questions, he received a smart-aleck response. By this point, he had no idea what to do with his nephew.
He glanced at the clock again. Jeff was rarely on time, though to be fair, Mr. Gordon had not given him a specific time to arrive today. But he would not be surprised if Jeff would linger at the college on purpose just to frustrate his harried uncle. He held no interest in the work of a private detective and was always quite willing to show it. He balked when Mr. Gordon tried to involve him in a case, coming up with any excuse he could to not get involved. Mr. Gordon, however, was insistent. It was for his own good; if Jeff worked on the side of law and order, maybe he would be less willing to stray down a criminal path.
That was what Mr. Gordon insisted to his sister, anyway---and even to Barry, who had suggested in his matter-of-fact way that the P.I. should not push his nephew.
"You're isolating him," the opera singer had remarked. "The more you try to force him to stay close to you, the more he's going to slip away."
And Mr. Gordon had been annoyed. "Mr. C., I realize that you are my employer and I may be out of line, but I would appreciate it if you would stay out of my family affairs," he had replied.
Barry had only grunted. "If your 'family affairs' involve me, such as when you want Jeff to look at my suspicious fanmail, then I feel I have a right to state my opinion," he had said.
Barry almost never said anything about someone's personal matters. For him to speak about Jeff, it had brought about at least some of the desired effect, in that Mr. Gordon had considered the other man's words. But in the end, he still felt he knew best.
Jeff's words from a few minutes earlier were ringing through his ears as well. "Even Mom and Dad could tell you thought I was guilty!"
And though he would never admit it, those words stabbed him. Was that true? Did he believe that not only would Jeff go down a criminal path, but he had already taken the first steps?
Jeff had always insisted his innocence in the convenience store robbery. "They framed me!" he had cried at the police station. "I wasn't involved. They told me to meet them there, and when I went, they'd already held up the old guy and were taking the money from the cash register. One of them threw the gun at me to hold. And for crying out loud, I had to grab it! I thought it might go off if it hit something. The safety wasn't on!"
He had narrowly escaped going to a juvenile detention center that time. The store owner had been too shaken to really speak in Jeff's behalf, unable to remember whether he had been there all the time, and the security cameras had been shot out by someone in the gang. It was probably only because of Jeff's father's influence that Jeff had been allowed to go free.
But even at that, his arrest in the case followed him like a cruel spectre. People had been prejudiced and suspicious, not wanting anything to do with him. And the stain had extended to the rest of his family too. So many busybodies had asked Mr. Gordon why he had not done anything to try to correct the problem. Jeff should have been sent away to someplace such as a military school, some of them had said, instead of allowing him to stay home and dress in leather and acquire piercings.
And something that concerned Mr. Gordon deeply was the idea that maybe what people thought was the real reason behind why he pushed Jeff, instead of that he was trying to help the boy for his own good.
He knew Jeff was a good kid and that he would certainly have never used the gun, but there was always the lingering doubt as far as the rest of the situation was concerned. Jeff had been starved for friends and had thought the gang truly cared about him. If he had thought he would be accepted, wouldn't he have maybe gone with them and just held the gun to look intimidating?
Part of Mr. Gordon's mind said Yes. But the other part said No, Jeff was smarter than that. And apparently Jeff had picked up on the part that held doubts. Mr. Gordon could only hope and pray that it would not be fatal to their rocky relationship---and that he would be able to overcome his concerns. If he could not believe in Jeff, then that was a grave problem which might always leave a painful scar.
But how could he believe in Jeff when his doubts were so strong? The fact that the teen did dress in leather and had acquired so many piercings only made Mr. Gordon's concerns increase tenfold. If he was not a criminal, why did he choose to appear like so many hoodlums did? Of course, there were many who dressed that way and were perfectly upright citizens. For Mr. Gordon, however, the incident at the convenience store made it difficult for him to fully believe that Jeff was among that number.
At that moment the door swung open, admitting Barry, Jeff, and a strange man. Aaron Gordon stared.
"Mr. C.!" he exclaimed. "What . . ."
"Jeff told me about the threat," Barry deadpanned.
"It's a long story," Jeff said with a certain amount of glee at his uncle's surprise.
"And this is Sean," Barry said, indicating the unknown man with the braids.
"Hi," Sean grinned with a wave.
Mr. Gordon gave a blank nod. Barry's manager would be throwing a fit if he was here. As it was, Barlow was away on business and had not yet heard of the threat.
"Where is the note?" Barry wanted to know.
Mr. Gordon handed over a piece of paper that had been placed in a sheet protector. Barry took it, frowning at the newspaper letters which made up the message.
We know who you are, too.
If you don't, you'll be sorry.
Sean read over his shoulder. "That's weird," he said.
"To put it mildly," Jeff frowned, looking over Barry's other shoulder.
"And it's different," Barry said, setting the note down. "Where was this found?"
"On your dressing room door," Mr. Gordon said. "There was no mistake it was meant for you."
Barry glanced at it again. "It doesn't even make sense," he observed. "What's meant by 'too'? That indicates that they sent a message like this to someone else first."
"And they're basically saying that if you don't know who you are, you'll be sorry," Sean said. "What the heck? Why wouldn't you know who you are? And how would these pranksters know?"
But as soon as the words were out of his mouth, he froze. With wide, stunned eyes he turned to look at the equally stunned Barry. They both felt like they knew each other as well as Scott L. and Elliott K. Did the writers of the note know the reason for those feelings? Yet if so, why had they not left any contact information?
Mr. Gordon's eyes narrowed as he looked back and forth between the two men. "Excuse me," he said then. "Do you have an idea of who is behind this?"
"No," Barry said. "Just an idea of part of a possible why. Even though it opens up more questions than answers."
Jeff raised an eyebrow. "Well? Are you going to tell us?" he asked, folding his leather-clad arms.
Barry shook his head. "Maybe later," he said.
Mr. Gordon was not pleased. "Mr. C.," he said, "you hired me to help you. But I can't do that if I don't know all of the angles."
Barry picked up the sheet protector. "You can start by finding out who brought this," he said. "Question everyone. Someone must have seen a suspicious person or two."
Mr. Gordon took the note. "I've already asked," he said, a bit put-out that Barry did not seem to think he could do his job. "No one saw anyone suspicious."
"Gee, Unc," Jeff smirked. "I guess you'd better come up with a new strategy."
Mr. Gordon gave him a withering look in response.
And suddenly something occurred to Sean. "Hey!" he exclaimed, reaching into his pocket. "We didn't try calling Elliott yet."
Barry raised an eyebrow. "Do you want to call him now?" he queried.
"Why not?" Sean pulled out the scrap of paper with the telephone number and the address. "There's no time like the present."
With a shake of his head Barry gestured to the desk. "You can use the phone here," he said.
"Great!" Sean said, crossing to the desk and lifting the receiver.
Mr. Gordon was forced to watch in disbelief. "This is how you handle the threat?" he said. "By calling a stranger?"
"Who knows," Sean said as he plopped into the soft chair. "Maybe he's not a stranger at all."
****
Elliott sighed to himself as he waited at the airport gate. By now it was an hour later. Geri's flight had at last landed and the passengers were disembarking. This time Elliott made sure to stay out of their way. He stood to the side, searching each female face for a match to the picture he was holding in his hand.
The one passing near him had the right features, but was blonde. Another was brunette, but not the correct figure. And there were two redheads.
A woman resembling the photograph did not appear until the group had almost completely dispersed. She was carting a heavy carry-on bag as she looked around for both the luggage belt and her sister. Finding neither, she gave a frustrated sigh as she brushed a stray piece of hair out of her eyes.
Elliott swallowed hard. It definitely looked like Geri. And that meant he had to overcome his shyness and make the first move. He fumbled with the picture, trying to stick it in his pocket as he walked over to her.
"Uh . . . excuse me," he stammered.
The woman turned to look at him, questions in her eyes.
Elliott flamed red. "M-Ms. Parker sent me," he said. "She had a Chemistry seminar and it's running late. . . ."
She frowned, looking him and down as if that would let her know whether his story was true. But at last she sighed, shaking her head. "Well, you don't look like some crazy," she said. "I guess you wouldn't try to mug me in a crowded airport. Are you supposed to bring me to my sister?"
Elliott shook his head. "She said to wait," he said.
"Good," said Geri. "You must be on the up-and-up then." Finally picking out the sign that directed people to the luggage belt, she turned to head in that direction.
Uncomfortable, Elliott followed. What was he supposed to say? Any possible ideas for conversations had flown out of his mind upon seeing her. And the Chemistry seminar really should have ended. Would Ms. Parker come soon? He had to hope and pray she would.
"So who are you, anyway?" Geri called over her shoulder.
Elliott started back to the present. "Oh . . . I'm the Ad-Advanced Physics teacher," he said. "Elliott K."
Geri stopped, turning to look at him again. "You're Elliott?" she said.
Elliott's eyes widened in surprise. "You know about me?" he said, unable to keep the incredulity out of his voice.
"Sure." Geri smirked. "My sister talks about you. She thinks you're pretty cute."
The color bloomed on Elliott's cheeks once more. "She's a nice person," he said. "She knows her chemistry, too. . . ."
Geri laughed. "She wishes you would ask her out," she said as they arrived at the luggage belt. After giving the merry-go-round a brief glance, she pulled down one heavy suitcase, then another.
By now Elliott wished he could fall through the floor. He was half-praying that it would open up and swallow him. "She wishes that?!" he squeaked.
"Yup. Don't underestimate your appeal." Geri pointed a forefinger at him in emphasis. "We like the quiet, shy types."
"I see," Elliott stammered. "Well, that's . . . flattering. I think. . . ."
He jumped a mile at the sudden, unexpected voice that came next. "Elliott! Geri!" Ms. Parker's voice called from somewhere nearby.
Elliott whirled, looking back towards the entrance. The Chemistry teacher was hurrying over, waving as she ran.
Geri grinned. "Hey!" she called. "We were just getting acquainted."
Elliott had to fight to not visibly sigh in relief. Now he could hopefully make a quick departure.
"How was the seminar?" he said as Ms. Parker approached.
"It was fine," she smiled. "And it looks like you and Geri are getting along well."
"Not bad at all," Geri smirked. "He's a shy, sweet man, like you said."
Now both Elliott and Ms. Parker blushed.
Elliott was the first to break the silence. "Well, I'll leave you two to talk," he said with a smile.
"You're welcome to stay," Ms. Parker said, smiling too. "We were going to get something to eat."
"That's alright," Elliott said. "I just ate. Anyway, I need to get my lesson together for today's class." Before a protest could be uttered, he began to walk away, giving a friendly wave as he went. The sisters called their reluctant goodbyes.
"Thank you for coming," Ms. Parker hurried to add.
"It was no trouble at all," Elliott assured her.
"It was good to meet you, Elliott," Geri said then.
"It was good to meet you, too," Elliott called back, stammering over his words.
He sighed to himself as he turned around. He could not help feeling like he would be intruding on a family reunion if he stayed. And of course, he was just nervous at the thought of spending time with two women, too. He would not be good company at any time, but especially not now. He wanted to hurry home where he could puzzle over his confusion about Scott. He knew what he had felt and could not deny it . . . yet on the other hand, it sounded so bizarre that it seemed like he would have to be imagining.
Scott could have been lying to him about feeling the same, but that was unlikely. Scott had been genuinely stunned. There had not been any lie in his eyes. They were two guys looking for somewhere to belong.
He was out of the airport and steering through the terrible traffic when his cellphone gave a sudden ring. He blinked in surprise, reaching to fish it out as the cars on all sides came to a standstill. The number on the screen, he noted as he pulled it out of his pocket, was unfamiliar. But he unfolded it and held it to his ear. "Hello?" he asked.
"Elliott K.?" greeted an unfamiliar voice.
Elliott slid forward a half-inch before being forced to throw on the brakes again. "Yeah?" he said. "What can I do for you?"
The caller began speaking in a friendly, easy-going tone. "Well, you won't know me," he mused, "but I'm Sean A. Right now I'm at the Met with Barry C. You've heard of him, right?"
"Sure I have," Elliott frowned. "But how did you get this number?" He was not shy now. Instead he was instantly on the alert for the slightest hint of anything suspicious. His number was unlisted and private.
"The head of your department," Sean said. "And say, El . . ."
"Elliott," he interrupted, still frowning. Why was this stranger being so familiar with him? More to the point, why did he half-feel that it was normal?
His eyes widened. Could this be one of the people he and Scott had determined they needed to find? . . . If those feelings were something to take stock in, of course. But how could one of those people find him, just like that? That would be too much of a coincidence.
. . . Not that any of what had transpired today could be considered a coincidence. That just trivialized it.
"Oh yeah. . . . Elliott." The caller sighed a bit, then perked up again. "Anyway, El . . . Elliott . . . we want to talk with you. Would it be convenient for you to come on down to the Met?"
"You know how this sounds, right?" Elliott said with a raised eyebrow. "Why do you want to see me?"
"Uh . . . we're fascinated by your knowledge of physics and want to talk to you about it?"
For some reason, Elliott had to chuckle. "You're a terrible liar," he said.
"It's not a lie!" the caller protested.
"You want to talk to me about something, but it's not physics," Elliott said.
The cars began to move forward. He balanced the phone in one hand while gripping the steering wheel with his other hand and hitting the accelerator with his foot. He was going to have to end the call; talking while driving was something he was paranoid about not doing.
"Okay! But . . . will you come?" the man on the phone persisted. "It's the Met! You won't be mugged here, especially in broad daylight."
Elliott gave a resigned sigh. ". . . I guess it couldn't hurt," he said. "But if I find out you just want to waste my time, that's the end of it." He looked at the cars stretching ahead of him to the semaphore. "It's not every day a strange guy calls up wanting to meet you at the Met."
"Nope, but it's today," the caller said.
"How did you get the head of my department to tell you anything, anyway?" Elliott frowned. "He can't give out information to just anyone."
"Barry used his influence," was the reply. "And I'm a very convincing guy, too."
"I don't know about that," Elliott said.
"Are you getting anywhere?" a deep voice grunted in the background.
Elliott raised an eyebrow. That really was Barry C. He had one of the most recognizable voices Elliott had ever heard. The brunet had to admit, he had wondered whether such a bizarre call was truly for real. Here was one more indication that it actually was. . . . Unless the screwball had made a recording of Barry asking the question and was playing it back right now to make it seem authentic. But that would be a ridiculous and inane amount of trouble to go to.
"He's coming around," the caller said in reply.
An amused smile crept over Elliott's features. "I'll be there," he said. "Just as soon as I can make it through the traffic."
"Good!" Sean grinned. "We'll be waiting down in the main lobby." And with that, he hung up.
Elliott closed the phone, slipping it back into his pocket. This was one of the strangest days he had ever experienced.
And it was not even noon yet.
Fandom: Where in the World is Carmen Sandiego?
Rating: T/PG-13
Word Count: 5,016
Main Characters: Fictional Rockapella
Summary: Barry receives a strange message. Meanwhile, Scott and Elliott ponder on their meeting.
Will be posted to 10_hurt_comfort when complete.
Chapter Five
There's a Change in My Life
Barry and Sean, meanwhile, had spent the better part of the last hour conversing with people in the Physics building as they had looked for contact information on Elliott. But what they had learned was that most people there did not know how to reach him, either. He was unlisted in the phone book and kept to himself, only giving out his phone number or address if he had to. He did not want to be bothered. Still, after at last managing to get into the office of the department's head and pleading their case, they at last located what they sought.
Sean grinned as they were finally handed a slip of paper with a phone number. "Thanks," he said to the pretty secretary.
She nodded. "Good luck," she said. "He's hard to get hold of."
"So we're finding out," Sean said with a wry smirk.
He blew out his breath in frustrated relief as they walked away. "It was about time," he muttered to Barry. "Let's get him called right now."
Barry nodded. "Hopefully he'll be available," he grunted.
"And we need to think of a reason why we're calling," Sean said, turning to stroll down the corridor. "Somehow I don't think that saying we think we know him will go over well."
"It wouldn't," Barry said in a flat tone.
"Maybe . . . we want to talk to him about his research?" Sean suggested.
Barry looked at him. "He's not doing any research," he said.
"Well . . . we could say we heard he was," Sean said. "Or maybe we heard that he has good control over the classroom and we want to ask his secret?"
Barry shook his head. "If he agrees to speak with us, it will be a miracle," he said.
"Who knows. So many other weird things have been happening today, right?" Sean rounded the corner, then stumbled and gasped as he nearly collided with the punk from earlier. He held out his hands to stop the youth's barreling run, grabbing at Jeff's leather-clad arms as the kid screeched to a halt.
"Right," Barry said, his tone pointed.
"What's with you?!" Sean exclaimed, looking Jeff up and down.
The boy shook his head. "My uncle just called me," he said. "He said to get down to the Met because you got threatened!" He looked to Barry, who frowned.
"Threatened?" the opera singer repeated.
"Yeah!" Jeff pulled away from Sean. "There's a note or something. You're probably in danger if you stay roaming around."
"I think I can manage," Barry said, "but now I'm curious." He moved to go past them to the door. "I wonder if this is different from the last rabid fan who threatened me."
Sean ran after him. "Wait, a fan threatened you?!" he gasped. "What kind of fan is that?!"
"A really sick one," Jeff said, rushing to catch up with them.
"She wanted me to sing only to her," Barry said, his expression never changing. "She said I belonged to her and that no one else deserved to hear my voice. She included an airplane ticket for me to fly out to her town and said that if I didn't use it, I'd be sorry. She's in a mental institution now."
Sean just gawked. "And how often does stuff like that happen?!" he said in disbelieving horror.
"That was the only time it went that far," Barry said. "Thankfully."
Jeff looked to Sean. "You haven't ever heard crazy fan stories?" he asked as they stepped outside.
"Sure," Sean retorted. "But not that crazy!" He blinked. "Hey, are you coming with us?" he wondered.
"If we're all going to the same place, it'd be faster than walking," Jeff said with a shrug. "Besides that, it's going to rain." He gestured at the purple clouds.
Sean smirked. "I can't argue with that logic," he said.
Barry grunted. "There's room for you in the back," he said, "if you can sit with Sean's guitar."
"I can sit almost anywhere," Jeff smirked. He looked to the red car as they drew closer. "And this is going to be a sweet ride."
"It's the destination I wonder about," Barry said. "That's more liable to be sour."
****
Scott sighed, running his hands over his eyes as the limousine bumped over the road. It was taking him and Louie to the hotel, where they would hopefully gain a much-needed rest. But he was not sure whether he would actually sleep. His mind was too full of thoughts about the strange experience at the airport.
Why had he suddenly been bombarded by doubts in the restaurant? Had it been a reawakening of common sense? Or was it actually common sense that told him he and Elliott had known each other? The feeling had seemed so strong and determined at the time. Maybe the doubts really had been brought on solely by exhaustion and should not be considered at all.
But on the other hand, maybe it was because he was still smarting from what had happened with the only person whom he had once been close to as a friend. He had been so naive, thinking that they would remain surrogate brothers through the years. It had hurt to realize that his friend had considered other things more important. It was only natural to have some doubts about someone else.
"Hey!"
Scott started at the sudden, confused, and irritated voice. He looked over at Louie with bleary eyes.
His manager was looking back with a frown. "You haven't even asked me what I thought of that Elliott guy," he said. "You were so enthusiastic about him before. Now you're so down in the dumps. What's with you, Scotty?"
Scott struggled to smile. "Nothing," he said. "I just got really tired all of a sudden. You know how you get even more exhausted when the adrenaline rush wears off." He straightened up. "But what did you think of him?"
Louie shrugged. "He seemed like a nice kid," he said. "I guess anyone who can draw you out like that can't be all bad."
Scott smiled more. "Yeah," he said, leaning back against the seat. "I'm going to call him after we get some sleep," he remembered.
"And do what?" Louie asked, raising an eyebrow. "You're supposed to relax and get ready for the U.S. tour. If this Elliott guy ends up taking all your attention. . . ."
"He won't," Scott interrupted, an edge slipping into his voice. "I know I have to devote time to my singing, but don't I get any chance for some recreation or to hang out with friends?"
Louie frowned, taken aback. "Sure. Of course," he said. "It's just that this is something we've never ran into before. And Elliott is someone we've never ran into before. It's just weird!" He threw his hands into the air.
Scott gave a grim smirk. "It sure is," he said. "It's hands-down one of the weirdest things I've ever felt in my life." He hesitated. "Maybe I even really am going crazy. But if I am, I guess Elliott is too."
"Well, somethin' unnatural is goin' on," Louie said. "That's for sure."
"I don't know whether I'd call it that or not," Scott said. "But it's weird. And . . ." He paused again. "I like it."
A slow smile spread over his features. That was true---he did. What was more, Louie had feared he was not thinking clear---but his mind had never felt more clear than when he had talked to Elliott. The emptiness he had felt before today had completely dissipated, leaving him with a deep happiness that he had never before known. Why would he feel that way about a supposed stranger?
On the other hand, the thought that it was all nonsense had filled his heart and soul with a dark confusion and almost a stupor. It was one of the coldest, most frightening things he had ever experienced.
Maybe he was crazy. Of course there would be a dark feeling at the thought of someone being a foe, when he believed he deeply cared about the person. That was no guarantee that his positive feelings were what was correct.
But he could not bring himself to believe that Elliott was not a good person. Saying the moon was made of green cheese would sound more logical.
He did not know how he could be so sure of Elliott's integrity, but that did not matter.
What mattered was that it was true.
He leaned further into the seat as they drove up to the Waldorf-Astoria. Its forty-seven stories towered above the limousine, casting the vehicle in its immense shadow. Suddenly the high-style hotel seemed so out of place for him. He was just a kid from Indiana. What was he doing at an establishment like this? How had he really become such an international sensation?
Why was he singing all alone? Why wasn't Elliott with him? Why weren't those other people with them too?
"Why am I thinking so crazy?" he mumbled to himself as he rubbed his left eye again.
He was starting to feel like he was taking part in the plot of an old, jazzy song. First you say you do and then you don't. . . . Then you say you will and then you won't. . . . One minute he was agreeing with every one of the odd feelings he had started to have. The next, he was doubting again. He could not make up his mind.
You're undecided now, so what are you gonna do?
. . . And he did not even listen much to jazz; he was more of a Motown fan. Where would he have heard a jazz song?
"Scotty, let's go!" Louie broke into his thoughts. "Spacious suites await!"
Scott started again. "Oh . . . yeah." He grinned as he pushed open the car door. "I can hardly wait to have a hot shower and plop in bed."
"Now you're talkin'." Louie got out the other side while the driver collected their luggage.
Scott craned his neck, staring up at the famed hotel as they walked towards it. Their suites were on one of the highest floors, if he remembered correctly what Louie had told him. The view was probably excellent.
He walked faster. A hot shower and sleep really did sound great. And maybe he would even wake up knowing what to do.
It was worth hoping for, anyway.
****
Aaron Gordon pulled back the white Venetian blind, glowering out the window with an obvious air of impatience. "Where is that boy?" he muttered to himself. He turned away from the glass, letting the blind fall back into place.
He was not in a decent mood at all. Not only had his employer been threatened, but he could not reach the man on the phone. He was continually redirected to Barry's voicemail. And he could only hope and pray that the writer of the message had not already found Barry and caused some harm.
The argument with Jeff had only added to his frustration and discouragement. The boy grew more rebellious by the day. And no matter whether Mr. Gordon asked the simplest of questions, he received a smart-aleck response. By this point, he had no idea what to do with his nephew.
He glanced at the clock again. Jeff was rarely on time, though to be fair, Mr. Gordon had not given him a specific time to arrive today. But he would not be surprised if Jeff would linger at the college on purpose just to frustrate his harried uncle. He held no interest in the work of a private detective and was always quite willing to show it. He balked when Mr. Gordon tried to involve him in a case, coming up with any excuse he could to not get involved. Mr. Gordon, however, was insistent. It was for his own good; if Jeff worked on the side of law and order, maybe he would be less willing to stray down a criminal path.
That was what Mr. Gordon insisted to his sister, anyway---and even to Barry, who had suggested in his matter-of-fact way that the P.I. should not push his nephew.
"You're isolating him," the opera singer had remarked. "The more you try to force him to stay close to you, the more he's going to slip away."
And Mr. Gordon had been annoyed. "Mr. C., I realize that you are my employer and I may be out of line, but I would appreciate it if you would stay out of my family affairs," he had replied.
Barry had only grunted. "If your 'family affairs' involve me, such as when you want Jeff to look at my suspicious fanmail, then I feel I have a right to state my opinion," he had said.
Barry almost never said anything about someone's personal matters. For him to speak about Jeff, it had brought about at least some of the desired effect, in that Mr. Gordon had considered the other man's words. But in the end, he still felt he knew best.
Jeff's words from a few minutes earlier were ringing through his ears as well. "Even Mom and Dad could tell you thought I was guilty!"
And though he would never admit it, those words stabbed him. Was that true? Did he believe that not only would Jeff go down a criminal path, but he had already taken the first steps?
Jeff had always insisted his innocence in the convenience store robbery. "They framed me!" he had cried at the police station. "I wasn't involved. They told me to meet them there, and when I went, they'd already held up the old guy and were taking the money from the cash register. One of them threw the gun at me to hold. And for crying out loud, I had to grab it! I thought it might go off if it hit something. The safety wasn't on!"
He had narrowly escaped going to a juvenile detention center that time. The store owner had been too shaken to really speak in Jeff's behalf, unable to remember whether he had been there all the time, and the security cameras had been shot out by someone in the gang. It was probably only because of Jeff's father's influence that Jeff had been allowed to go free.
But even at that, his arrest in the case followed him like a cruel spectre. People had been prejudiced and suspicious, not wanting anything to do with him. And the stain had extended to the rest of his family too. So many busybodies had asked Mr. Gordon why he had not done anything to try to correct the problem. Jeff should have been sent away to someplace such as a military school, some of them had said, instead of allowing him to stay home and dress in leather and acquire piercings.
And something that concerned Mr. Gordon deeply was the idea that maybe what people thought was the real reason behind why he pushed Jeff, instead of that he was trying to help the boy for his own good.
He knew Jeff was a good kid and that he would certainly have never used the gun, but there was always the lingering doubt as far as the rest of the situation was concerned. Jeff had been starved for friends and had thought the gang truly cared about him. If he had thought he would be accepted, wouldn't he have maybe gone with them and just held the gun to look intimidating?
Part of Mr. Gordon's mind said Yes. But the other part said No, Jeff was smarter than that. And apparently Jeff had picked up on the part that held doubts. Mr. Gordon could only hope and pray that it would not be fatal to their rocky relationship---and that he would be able to overcome his concerns. If he could not believe in Jeff, then that was a grave problem which might always leave a painful scar.
But how could he believe in Jeff when his doubts were so strong? The fact that the teen did dress in leather and had acquired so many piercings only made Mr. Gordon's concerns increase tenfold. If he was not a criminal, why did he choose to appear like so many hoodlums did? Of course, there were many who dressed that way and were perfectly upright citizens. For Mr. Gordon, however, the incident at the convenience store made it difficult for him to fully believe that Jeff was among that number.
At that moment the door swung open, admitting Barry, Jeff, and a strange man. Aaron Gordon stared.
"Mr. C.!" he exclaimed. "What . . ."
"Jeff told me about the threat," Barry deadpanned.
"It's a long story," Jeff said with a certain amount of glee at his uncle's surprise.
"And this is Sean," Barry said, indicating the unknown man with the braids.
"Hi," Sean grinned with a wave.
Mr. Gordon gave a blank nod. Barry's manager would be throwing a fit if he was here. As it was, Barlow was away on business and had not yet heard of the threat.
"Where is the note?" Barry wanted to know.
Mr. Gordon handed over a piece of paper that had been placed in a sheet protector. Barry took it, frowning at the newspaper letters which made up the message.
We know who you are, too.
If you don't, you'll be sorry.
Sean read over his shoulder. "That's weird," he said.
"To put it mildly," Jeff frowned, looking over Barry's other shoulder.
"And it's different," Barry said, setting the note down. "Where was this found?"
"On your dressing room door," Mr. Gordon said. "There was no mistake it was meant for you."
Barry glanced at it again. "It doesn't even make sense," he observed. "What's meant by 'too'? That indicates that they sent a message like this to someone else first."
"And they're basically saying that if you don't know who you are, you'll be sorry," Sean said. "What the heck? Why wouldn't you know who you are? And how would these pranksters know?"
But as soon as the words were out of his mouth, he froze. With wide, stunned eyes he turned to look at the equally stunned Barry. They both felt like they knew each other as well as Scott L. and Elliott K. Did the writers of the note know the reason for those feelings? Yet if so, why had they not left any contact information?
Mr. Gordon's eyes narrowed as he looked back and forth between the two men. "Excuse me," he said then. "Do you have an idea of who is behind this?"
"No," Barry said. "Just an idea of part of a possible why. Even though it opens up more questions than answers."
Jeff raised an eyebrow. "Well? Are you going to tell us?" he asked, folding his leather-clad arms.
Barry shook his head. "Maybe later," he said.
Mr. Gordon was not pleased. "Mr. C.," he said, "you hired me to help you. But I can't do that if I don't know all of the angles."
Barry picked up the sheet protector. "You can start by finding out who brought this," he said. "Question everyone. Someone must have seen a suspicious person or two."
Mr. Gordon took the note. "I've already asked," he said, a bit put-out that Barry did not seem to think he could do his job. "No one saw anyone suspicious."
"Gee, Unc," Jeff smirked. "I guess you'd better come up with a new strategy."
Mr. Gordon gave him a withering look in response.
And suddenly something occurred to Sean. "Hey!" he exclaimed, reaching into his pocket. "We didn't try calling Elliott yet."
Barry raised an eyebrow. "Do you want to call him now?" he queried.
"Why not?" Sean pulled out the scrap of paper with the telephone number and the address. "There's no time like the present."
With a shake of his head Barry gestured to the desk. "You can use the phone here," he said.
"Great!" Sean said, crossing to the desk and lifting the receiver.
Mr. Gordon was forced to watch in disbelief. "This is how you handle the threat?" he said. "By calling a stranger?"
"Who knows," Sean said as he plopped into the soft chair. "Maybe he's not a stranger at all."
****
Elliott sighed to himself as he waited at the airport gate. By now it was an hour later. Geri's flight had at last landed and the passengers were disembarking. This time Elliott made sure to stay out of their way. He stood to the side, searching each female face for a match to the picture he was holding in his hand.
The one passing near him had the right features, but was blonde. Another was brunette, but not the correct figure. And there were two redheads.
A woman resembling the photograph did not appear until the group had almost completely dispersed. She was carting a heavy carry-on bag as she looked around for both the luggage belt and her sister. Finding neither, she gave a frustrated sigh as she brushed a stray piece of hair out of her eyes.
Elliott swallowed hard. It definitely looked like Geri. And that meant he had to overcome his shyness and make the first move. He fumbled with the picture, trying to stick it in his pocket as he walked over to her.
"Uh . . . excuse me," he stammered.
The woman turned to look at him, questions in her eyes.
Elliott flamed red. "M-Ms. Parker sent me," he said. "She had a Chemistry seminar and it's running late. . . ."
She frowned, looking him and down as if that would let her know whether his story was true. But at last she sighed, shaking her head. "Well, you don't look like some crazy," she said. "I guess you wouldn't try to mug me in a crowded airport. Are you supposed to bring me to my sister?"
Elliott shook his head. "She said to wait," he said.
"Good," said Geri. "You must be on the up-and-up then." Finally picking out the sign that directed people to the luggage belt, she turned to head in that direction.
Uncomfortable, Elliott followed. What was he supposed to say? Any possible ideas for conversations had flown out of his mind upon seeing her. And the Chemistry seminar really should have ended. Would Ms. Parker come soon? He had to hope and pray she would.
"So who are you, anyway?" Geri called over her shoulder.
Elliott started back to the present. "Oh . . . I'm the Ad-Advanced Physics teacher," he said. "Elliott K."
Geri stopped, turning to look at him again. "You're Elliott?" she said.
Elliott's eyes widened in surprise. "You know about me?" he said, unable to keep the incredulity out of his voice.
"Sure." Geri smirked. "My sister talks about you. She thinks you're pretty cute."
The color bloomed on Elliott's cheeks once more. "She's a nice person," he said. "She knows her chemistry, too. . . ."
Geri laughed. "She wishes you would ask her out," she said as they arrived at the luggage belt. After giving the merry-go-round a brief glance, she pulled down one heavy suitcase, then another.
By now Elliott wished he could fall through the floor. He was half-praying that it would open up and swallow him. "She wishes that?!" he squeaked.
"Yup. Don't underestimate your appeal." Geri pointed a forefinger at him in emphasis. "We like the quiet, shy types."
"I see," Elliott stammered. "Well, that's . . . flattering. I think. . . ."
He jumped a mile at the sudden, unexpected voice that came next. "Elliott! Geri!" Ms. Parker's voice called from somewhere nearby.
Elliott whirled, looking back towards the entrance. The Chemistry teacher was hurrying over, waving as she ran.
Geri grinned. "Hey!" she called. "We were just getting acquainted."
Elliott had to fight to not visibly sigh in relief. Now he could hopefully make a quick departure.
"How was the seminar?" he said as Ms. Parker approached.
"It was fine," she smiled. "And it looks like you and Geri are getting along well."
"Not bad at all," Geri smirked. "He's a shy, sweet man, like you said."
Now both Elliott and Ms. Parker blushed.
Elliott was the first to break the silence. "Well, I'll leave you two to talk," he said with a smile.
"You're welcome to stay," Ms. Parker said, smiling too. "We were going to get something to eat."
"That's alright," Elliott said. "I just ate. Anyway, I need to get my lesson together for today's class." Before a protest could be uttered, he began to walk away, giving a friendly wave as he went. The sisters called their reluctant goodbyes.
"Thank you for coming," Ms. Parker hurried to add.
"It was no trouble at all," Elliott assured her.
"It was good to meet you, Elliott," Geri said then.
"It was good to meet you, too," Elliott called back, stammering over his words.
He sighed to himself as he turned around. He could not help feeling like he would be intruding on a family reunion if he stayed. And of course, he was just nervous at the thought of spending time with two women, too. He would not be good company at any time, but especially not now. He wanted to hurry home where he could puzzle over his confusion about Scott. He knew what he had felt and could not deny it . . . yet on the other hand, it sounded so bizarre that it seemed like he would have to be imagining.
Scott could have been lying to him about feeling the same, but that was unlikely. Scott had been genuinely stunned. There had not been any lie in his eyes. They were two guys looking for somewhere to belong.
He was out of the airport and steering through the terrible traffic when his cellphone gave a sudden ring. He blinked in surprise, reaching to fish it out as the cars on all sides came to a standstill. The number on the screen, he noted as he pulled it out of his pocket, was unfamiliar. But he unfolded it and held it to his ear. "Hello?" he asked.
"Elliott K.?" greeted an unfamiliar voice.
Elliott slid forward a half-inch before being forced to throw on the brakes again. "Yeah?" he said. "What can I do for you?"
The caller began speaking in a friendly, easy-going tone. "Well, you won't know me," he mused, "but I'm Sean A. Right now I'm at the Met with Barry C. You've heard of him, right?"
"Sure I have," Elliott frowned. "But how did you get this number?" He was not shy now. Instead he was instantly on the alert for the slightest hint of anything suspicious. His number was unlisted and private.
"The head of your department," Sean said. "And say, El . . ."
"Elliott," he interrupted, still frowning. Why was this stranger being so familiar with him? More to the point, why did he half-feel that it was normal?
His eyes widened. Could this be one of the people he and Scott had determined they needed to find? . . . If those feelings were something to take stock in, of course. But how could one of those people find him, just like that? That would be too much of a coincidence.
. . . Not that any of what had transpired today could be considered a coincidence. That just trivialized it.
"Oh yeah. . . . Elliott." The caller sighed a bit, then perked up again. "Anyway, El . . . Elliott . . . we want to talk with you. Would it be convenient for you to come on down to the Met?"
"You know how this sounds, right?" Elliott said with a raised eyebrow. "Why do you want to see me?"
"Uh . . . we're fascinated by your knowledge of physics and want to talk to you about it?"
For some reason, Elliott had to chuckle. "You're a terrible liar," he said.
"It's not a lie!" the caller protested.
"You want to talk to me about something, but it's not physics," Elliott said.
The cars began to move forward. He balanced the phone in one hand while gripping the steering wheel with his other hand and hitting the accelerator with his foot. He was going to have to end the call; talking while driving was something he was paranoid about not doing.
"Okay! But . . . will you come?" the man on the phone persisted. "It's the Met! You won't be mugged here, especially in broad daylight."
Elliott gave a resigned sigh. ". . . I guess it couldn't hurt," he said. "But if I find out you just want to waste my time, that's the end of it." He looked at the cars stretching ahead of him to the semaphore. "It's not every day a strange guy calls up wanting to meet you at the Met."
"Nope, but it's today," the caller said.
"How did you get the head of my department to tell you anything, anyway?" Elliott frowned. "He can't give out information to just anyone."
"Barry used his influence," was the reply. "And I'm a very convincing guy, too."
"I don't know about that," Elliott said.
"Are you getting anywhere?" a deep voice grunted in the background.
Elliott raised an eyebrow. That really was Barry C. He had one of the most recognizable voices Elliott had ever heard. The brunet had to admit, he had wondered whether such a bizarre call was truly for real. Here was one more indication that it actually was. . . . Unless the screwball had made a recording of Barry asking the question and was playing it back right now to make it seem authentic. But that would be a ridiculous and inane amount of trouble to go to.
"He's coming around," the caller said in reply.
An amused smile crept over Elliott's features. "I'll be there," he said. "Just as soon as I can make it through the traffic."
"Good!" Sean grinned. "We'll be waiting down in the main lobby." And with that, he hung up.
Elliott closed the phone, slipping it back into his pocket. This was one of the strangest days he had ever experienced.
And it was not even noon yet.