A Change in My Life, 4/?
Title: A Change in My Life, chapter four
Fandom: Where in the World is Carmen Sandiego?
Rating: T/PG-13 (I knew it....)
Word Count: 4,499
Main Characters: Fictional Rockapella
Supporting Characters: Mr. Schwemphf
Summary: The villain begins to put his new plan into action. Meanwhile, Sean and Barry meet a strangely familiar punk.
Will be posted to 10_hurt_comfort when complete.
Chapter Four
'Cause You Help Me Be Strong
They selected a corner table, with a window looking out over the runways. Scott raised an eyebrow when Elliott looked for the healthiest foods he could find on the menu, but when he thought about it, it did feel right. Somehow he could not picture Elliott eating a common meat burger or French fries.
"So . . . what is it you do?" he asked, crossing his arms on the table as he waited for his own order to arrive. "I mean, besides teaching Advanced Physics."
Elliott gave a wry smile. "I study?" he offered. "Seriously, I don't have much of a social life. I'm not interested in going to the staff parties and things like that. Ms. Parker, the lady who asked me to come here, was talking about that just yesterday. She wished I'd come out more."
Scott grinned, having already sensed that Elliott was very girl-shy. "If you had a friend to go with, would you go then?" he wanted to know.
"Maybe," Elliott smiled. "So . . . what do you do, besides being an international singer?"
"I talk to reporters?" Scott smirked. ". . . I guess most of what I do is connected to being a singer," he said in realization. "I don't have much time for a social life. And Louie said once he was worried that if I ever did end up finding a girlfriend, it would make all my fangirls jealous of her. He was also worried that the girl would end up being a gold-digger."
"So you just can't win," Elliott chuckled. He poured himself a glass of ice water from the courtesy pitcher.
"You could say that," Scott said. "I figured it'd be less of a headache to stay single for now. Anyway, I'm not really interested in getting a girlfriend yet."
"Me either," Elliott said. "But I don't know when I will be ready."
Scott gave him a long, thoughtful look. ". . . Why do you wear glasses you don't need?" he asked then. He had been tactful enough to not inquire before, but they were so comfortable at the moment that he had decided maybe it would be alright.
Elliott blushed. "Maybe I hoped they'd make me look more like a scholar," he said. "I was shocked when the position was offered to me. I mean, I'm only two years out of college myself. I was really nervous about how the students would treat me."
"And how do they treat you?" Scott asked.
"Most of them are great," Elliott told him. "But there's always a couple of screwballs. I've got these twin brothers in my class who look for ways to goof off." He shook his head. "They've made it their goal to make me lose control of my temper. I don't get what they've got against me."
"They'd probably treat any teacher like that," Scott said with a sympathetic gaze.
"Yeah," Elliott sighed.
He swished the ice cubes around in his glass. ". . . I guess the real reason I wear the glasses is just to give myself something to hide behind," he said. "I wasn't ever treated good by the neighborhood kids when I was younger. They said no one liked me. And . . . I don't know . . . I think I decided that if that was true, I wouldn't let anyone see the real me." He gave a weak laugh. "But I'm not good at pretending. The glasses don't make me more social or anything like that. They just make it a little harder to see into my eyes. I guess that was kind of what I wanted, though. . . ."
Scott frowned. "Those kids were feeding you garbage," he said. "If they didn't like you, it was because they knew you were a better person than them. They probably couldn't stand to be around you because they knew they were creeps." He looked into the surprised brown eyes. "I like you, Elliott . . . and I don't even remember who you are." His voice lowered. "But I do know right now that you're a good guy, someone worthy of having all the happiness possible of getting out of life."
At last Elliott snapped out of his stupor. "No one's ever said that to me," he said, stunned. "Well, other than my family."
"Then it was time someone did," Scott responded. His eyes flashed. "The thought of anyone treating you rotten . . . it just disgusts me."
Elliott looked down at the menu. This was a new experience for him. No one aside from his family had ever shown enough interest as to be upset if he was mistreated. Well, there had been a few at school who had not liked to see him bullied, and who had tried to stop it if they saw it, but they had never tried to make friends with him. He had looked at each one with grateful, hopeful eyes, only to be met with a sympathetic smile as each one turned away. He had come to detest and loathe that look. Sympathy, pity . . . he did not want those. He wanted someone who really cared about him.
". . . What are you thinking about?" Scott asked.
Elliott looked up again. "I was thinking how the kids at school sometimes tried to stop people from hurting me, but they never wanted to be with me," he admitted. "I always hoped that if they cared enough to stop the bullying, they'd want to get to know me or something." He shook his head. "They didn't."
"It sounds like they were hypocrites," Scott said. "They didn't want you to be bullied and yet they didn't want to let you into their social circles, either."
He clenched a fist. Even if he did not feel this connection to Elliott, he would be revolted by what he was hearing. And the fact that he did feel the connection only made his anger stronger.
"You'll always be welcome with me," he said.
Elliott smiled. "I believe you," he said. "Thanks."
The waitress, a blonde girl wearing green, interrupted their conversation by bringing them their food. She set down the plates, then regarded the men strangely as she moved to leave.
Scott slipped a few coins into her hand. She closed her fingers around them, almost as if in awe, before nodding and departing. Scott only watched her for a moment before turning his attention to the food.
Elliott picked up his fork. "She was staring us down," he said.
"She probably just thought she recognized me from somewhere," Scott said.
"I guess," Elliott said. But he was not convinced. He frowned, looking at his plate as he scooped some of the food onto his fork. Scott was likely right. What other explanation would there be? There was no other reason for her to study them with such intensity.
And yet he could not make himself believe it. In spite of his common sense, he could not help thinking that there was a different reason for the girl's interest. He shook his head, beginning to eat.
". . . What do we do from here?" he asked at last.
Scott shrugged. "Well, hopefully Louie will be more receptive to you," he said. "We need to go back to our hotel suite and unpack."
"Don't you need to rest, too?" Elliott said. "After flying over from Tokyo, you must be exhausted."
"Normally I am," Scott said. But even as he spoke, the weariness was suddenly crashing over him. The excitement of meeting Elliott had held it at bay until this reminder. An immense yawn tore from his lips.
Elliott gave a gentle chuckle. "After we eat, I'd better leave you to get some sleep," he said. "I'll write down my address and phone number for you."
Scott tried to perk up, especially since the offer did interest him. "I'll write down mine, too," he said. "We'll be staying at the Waldorf-Astoria." He shoved a forkful of food into his mouth. "After I get some rest, I'll call you. Or you can call me. Whichever."
"I'll wait for you to call," Elliott said. "I might wake you up."
"Probably not, but we'll go with that," Scott smiled. "We'll figure out what to do from there. We need to find those other two guys, for one thing."
Elliott nodded. It was really an overwhelming prospect. Where would they look? There was no guarantee that those men, whoever they were, even happened to be in the city. And it did not help that neither he or Scott knew names or faces. They only had this odd but insistent feeling---which was not extremely scientific, but then again, nothing about this situation was scientific.
"What is Louie like?" Elliott asked at last.
Scott gave a wry smile. "He's . . . protective," he said. "But he's got good reason, I guess. Rabid fans . . . shysters . . . we've seen a lot of crazy stuff in the last three years.
"He's managed several people since he got into the business. . . . He heard me sing at a charity event in Indianapolis when I was eighteen. And he said he was 'bowled over.' He thought I could be the next Elvis or King of Pop."
Elliott grinned. "You must be good."
Scott smiled, looking down at his plate. "Good enough to draw sold-out crowds," he said, "in both this country and others."
"You're coming back from Japan," Elliott noted. "Do you speak the language?"
Scott grinned. "Hai," he said. "You?"
"I'm not really good at Japanese . . . or any language except English," Elliott said. His grin turned mischievous. "But I like toro. And oo-toro. And Totoro."
Scott burst out laughing.
Two tables over, Louie shook his head. He had never seen Scott so happy. What kind of effect did Elliott have on him? Elliott seemed like a normal guy. At least, he did not appear to be some kind of sorcerer or warlock or anything else that could have cast a spell on Scott. He was happy, too.
"There's somethin' goin' on that I just don't get," he said to himself. "Why are they so nuts about each other?"
He stared into his glass of Sprite, as if it could give him the answers. But it only continued to fizz. He sighed, taking a sip.
Scott did not see or sense the figure leaning with crossed arms on the back of his chair. Neither did Elliott or Louie---or anyone in the restaurant at all. But the ghost bent over, whispering into Scott's ear. He, like Louie, could not understand what was happening between Scott and Elliott---for a much different reason.
"What you've been feeling is just an indication of your immense exhaustion," he said. "Elliott has never known you. And if you got to know him better, you wouldn't want to know him, either. He's not as nice of a man as you're being led to believe."
Scott frowned, straightening up. The sensation that was coming over him was strange---almost as if it was a tinge of reality coming back into his idealistic mind. What was he doing, talking and laughing with this man like they were long-lost brothers? Maybe he really was just tired and these feelings would soon be gone.
But . . . he did not want them to be gone. He wanted to keep feeling exactly as he did right now. It had been so long . . . too long, since he had made a friend. And Elliott was not just any friend. He knew that. It was his exhaustion trying to convince him otherwise. Elliott was a good man---the best. And of course Scott wanted to get to know him better!
"Are you okay?"
Scott started, looking to the concerned Elliott. At last he managed a smile.
"Yeah," he said. "Yeah, I'm fine. But you're right about me being wiped out. Sleep sounds really good now." He stretched. "I'll see you later."
Elliott nodded. "I'll wait for you to call," he smiled, reaching across the table to shake Scott's hand.
Scott hesitated, then grasped Elliott's hand and gave it a firm shake. After scraping the last bite of food off his plate, he stood and waved. Elliott stood too, watching his friend stroll to the door. A couple of tables away, Scott's manager rose to follow him.
A slight frown crossed Elliott's features. Louie had been eavesdropping on them, or at least, spying? He sat back down, returning to his unfinished meal. He had not expected that.
In frustration the phantom straightened up as well, observing as Scott departed. He would not fall so easily. But oh well, at least a seed had been planted. And this devil could always work with Elliott, too. Poor, shy Elliott. If he came to doubt himself, he would second-guess his feelings about Scott. And for such an insecure man, it should not be too difficult to achieve.
The spirit walked around the table, sitting down next to Elliott. "Louie was there with Scott's permission, you know," he whispered. "Scott cared so little about keeping your conversation private that he invited his manager to hear it. He's not good enough for you. He even invaded your private affairs by asking about your glasses."
Elliott's frown deepened at the unwelcome thoughts. But then he shook his head. Scott had respected his privacy. He had only queried about the glasses after they had talked for a while and had grown more comfortable with each other. And Scott inviting Louie to listen in . . . that was crazy, right? Louie had probably decided on his own. Scott had not even acted like he had seen his manager there.
Still . . . maybe he should mention it later and see what Scott would say. If Louie would have to always be present when they talked, this might not be such a good thing after all.
A cruel smirk came over the spectre's visage as he leaned back. The second seed had been sown. Now they were getting somewhere. He would have his revenge on his hated counterpart.
"That's right," he said. "Reconsider your feelings. It's just not logical, is it? You of all people should know better."
Elliott shoved the last food into his mouth. He should not feel so hesitant like this. Both he and Scott had been so confident in their feelings a few minutes ago. And yet . . . it really was bizarre, to think that they had been best friends in another time and place. Maybe he had taken leave of his senses.
He pushed back his chair, getting to his feet. Now he wished it was still several minutes earlier.
He wanted to be happy again in this time and place.
****
The clouds overhead were darkening by the time Sean and Barry drove onto the campus and pulled up in front of the university bookstore. Students walked past on their way to classes and dorms, barely giving the red car a second glance. Barry got out with a sigh, reaching into his pocket for meter money. Sean followed suit, shoving his hands into his own pockets.
"So I guess now we just need to find the Physics building," he mused.
Barry nodded. "There should be a map of the campus either in the bookstore or in the administration building," he said.
"Or we could just ask someone," Sean said.
The door to the bookstore opened as a young kid strolled out, his light-brown bangs brushing against his forehead as he moved. His leather jacket was open, revealing his white T-shirt, and the piercings in his ears and nose caught the faint light from a struggling sunbeam. His expression was filled with boredom.
Sean blinked. "He looks too young to be in college," he said.
The kid looked up. "You wanna make somethin' of it?" he retorted.
Barry gave Sean a Look. Sean gave an inward groan. He had not thought he would be heard.
"It was just an idle observation," Sean said then. "Consider it a compliment! Can you tell us where the Physics building is?"
"It's that way," the young punk said, pointing to the right beyond the bookstore. "You can't miss it."
"Thanks," Sean grinned. He moved to walk up the path, then stopped. "Do you know the Advanced Physics teacher?" he asked. "Elliott K.?"
"I know who he is," the kid said. "Quiet, shy guy. But you don't wanna cross him."
"It's always the quiet ones," Sean quipped with a smirk.
"Guess so," was the shrugged reply. "Are you done yet?"
Now Sean frowned. "Yeah, I'm done," he said. "We won't bug you any more."
"Good." The kid brushed past him but then stopped, blinking at Barry in surprise. "Hey, I know you," he said, poking the big man in the chest.
Barry raised an eyebrow, both from the announcement and the contact. "You do?" he said. He really was meeting a lot of people whom he never would have thought would give him a second glance. But this was far more surprising than even Sean recognizing him.
"Sure," was the reply. "My uncle works for you. Aaron Gordon."
At last a spark of understanding came into Barry's eyes. "He works for me as a private investigator," he said.
It was Sean's turn to stare. "You need a P.I.?!" he said in disbelief. "Since when does an opera singer need a detective?!"
Barry grunted. "Mostly he tries to keep the rabid fans back," he said. "And to get to the bottom of the . . . strange letters some of them send."
Looking to the boy he said, "He's talked about you. You're Jeff, aren't you?"
The kid blinked and nodded. "Yeah," he admitted. "What's he said about me? Wait, I bet I know. He's probably said that I'm headed on the road to destruction and that I'm utterly and pathetically hopeless and that he wouldn't be surprised if I steal something someday and end up in prison for life." With each prediction, he made quotation marks in the air with his fingers.
Barry regarded him with a deadpan expression. "You know a lot about what your uncle says," he said.
Sean frowned. "Wait, you mean he really says stuff like that?" he said. "Just because of the leather and the piercings?"
"Ohhh yeah," Jeff said. But then he saw Barry's unchanged expression. ". . . Okay, maybe I'm exaggerating a bit," he added.
"Maybe a bit," Barry agreed.
"I mean, he doesn't come right out and say those things," Jeff said, "but you can tell it's what he means and what he's really thinking. Some creeps did try to frame me for stealing something once, when they robbed a convenience store. And he never came out and said so then, either, but I know my uncle believed I did it."
"That's awful," Sean said, his hands going to his hips. The kid was a bit obnoxious, but he didn't seem like a hood---especially now that he was opening up to them. And strangely, talking to him felt normal. . . .
Not again! So now he was going to feel like this punk was someone he knew too? This was getting even weirder.
Now Jeff shrugged. "It's the life I have to deal with," he said. "I'm not gonna change just so my uncle will maybe see me different. I've never done anything illegal, and if he can't see that now, I don't really care about my image. Not that I care about it anyway."
"Well, good," Sean said. "Maybe someday he'll come around."
Jeff snorted. "I doubt it. He hasn't for all these years.
"Anyway, I'll see you guys later," he said now. "I have to get to my class."
". . . Class?" Sean repeated.
". . . Mr. Gordon said his nephew is sixteen," Barry said then, looking him up and down.
"So?" Jeff crossed his arms. "I'm not too young to be here. And just because I dress like this doesn't mean I'm not interested in education. I'm already taking some college classes."
"Great," Sean said. "Good for you. And we'd better be off to find Elliott."
"He's probably not in yet," Jeff said. "There's no morning Physics class today, just one in the afternoon."
Now a frown came over Sean's features. "Just one in the afternoon, eh?" he said. He glanced at Barry before continuing, "Maybe we'll come back later. What time is the class?"
"I don't take Physics," Jeff said, "so I'm not sure. It's late afternoon. Three, three-thirty . . . around in there."
Sean nodded. "Thanks," he said.
Jeff nodded too, then walked past. The two men watched him go down the sidewalk and turn left.
". . . You've got interesting friends," Sean said at last. "But this Aaron Gordon . . . he sounds like a stuffed shirt."
"He's . . . strict," Barry said. "And stern. He gets the job done." He turned, walking towards the Physics building. "It's obvious he cares about his nephew. They just don't understand each other."
"I guess not," Sean frowned.
Then he blinked, seeing what Barry was doing. "Hey!" he exclaimed, hurrying to catch up. "What are you doing? Elliott isn't here yet."
"He could have come early to set things up," Barry said, "or for a multitude of other reasons. And even if he isn't here, we might be able to learn something from someone else, such as an address or a phone number."
Sean blinked. "That's true," he acknowledged. "Okay then. Lead on!" He grinned, gesturing ahead.
Barry shook his head.
****
Jeff barely made it into the classroom as the professor began the lesson. With a sigh he slumped into the seat by the door and took his notebook out of his backpack. The guy looked pretty involved in what he was saying. Maybe he would not notice Jeff's late entrance.
"You're late again, Mr. T.," the teacher droned without even turning around. "Do you or don't you want to be part of this class?"
Jeff gritted his teeth as the other students turned to look at him. "I made it in time," he retorted. "What's your problem anyway?"
"Yeah," another student spoke up. "Jeff always does well on quizzes and tests and exams. So he's a few minutes late sometimes. At least he comes. And this time he made it before you even did anything except review the last chapter."
The teacher drew an exaggerated sigh. "Tardiness is highly frowned upon in this class, Mr. T.," he said, "as I've told you time and time again."
"What is this---kindergarten?" sneered a guy from somewhere in the middle of the room.
"Kindergarten teachers have the right idea, Mr. G.!" grumped the teacher. "Why should we stop enforcing being on time just because we're adults here? If anything, the rules should be more strongly in place because this is an establishment of higher education!"
"You know," Jeff mused, "you're wasting valuable time chewing us out when you could be teaching what we're all paying to hear."
The rest of the class laughed and clapped in agreement.
"You tell 'im, Jeff!" cried the guy in the next seat. He leaned over, high-fiving the smirking Jeff.
The teacher sputtered, flustered.
The rest of the class proceeded in a normal, useful manner. By the time it let out, Jeff was feeling a bit better. He collected his belongings, then hurried into the hall before he could be called back. It was easy to blend in with the crowd until it dispersed, the students hastening in different directions for their next appointments.
A heavy metal ringtone blared from Jeff's pocket. He frowned, juggling his backpack while reaching for his phone. "Unc," he muttered to himself, seeing the caller I.D. screen. Suddenly his relaxed mood was evaporating. With a sigh, he flipped open the cellphone and placed it to his ear. "Yeah?"
"Where are you?" Aaron Gordon's annoyed voice came over the receiver. "I've been trying to reach you for an hour."
Jeff's eyes narrowed. "Where do you think I am?" he snapped. "I just got out of Schwemphf's class. I've told you before I'm at the campus Tuesdays and Thursdays."
A sigh. "Oh. That's right . . . today is Tuesday, isn't it."
"You just always have to think the worst of me," Jeff said.
"That is uncalled for," Mr. Gordon said, his voice hardening. "I asked you a simple question."
"Well, maybe if you ever actually sounded worried or something," Jeff said. "But when I can hear these accusations every time you open your mouth, including on the 'simple questions,' it gets old fast."
"If you wouldn't run around dressed like a hoodlum . . . !"
"You'd what? Trust me?" Jeff pushed open the door and stepped onto the landing of the building's front steps. "You know, I didn't have any piercings at all when you thought I should be plopped in jail."
"I never said anything like that!" Mr. Gordon's voice was rising.
"Even Mom and Dad could tell you thought I was guilty!" Jeff shot back. "You still think it. That's why you call up all 'Where are you'. You think I'm out holding up convenience stores again. Or maybe you think I've moved up to banks now. Is that it? You think I'm a bank robber?"
"No!" Mr. Gordon took a deep breath, struggling to get himself under control. "I don't think you're a bank robber."
"You think I'm something," Jeff said.
"Nevermind what I think." Now the detective had finally brought his voice to a normal volume. "I need you to come to the Metropolitan Opera House."
"The Met? They'd probably throw me out of there," Jeff sneered. "What do you want me for?"
"My employer has just been threatened. I want you to come look at the note."
Jeff stopped walking, stunned. "Threatened?!" he gasped, his anger dissipating in the light breeze. "How?! Why?!"
"Get down here and we'll talk."
"Okay, fine," Jeff said, closing the phone without saying goodbye. Usually he had plenty to say when his uncle attempted to drag him into law enforcement work---which was something he had little interest in after being falsely accused of a serious crime. But now he was too shocked by what he had been told. Barry, the guy he had just talked to before class, was in trouble? Why would anyone threaten him? Was it some crazy fan?
And did Barry himself know yet? His car was still parked by the bookstore.
Jeff broke into a run. Barry and that other guy were probably at the Physics building. And if possible, he had to warn them about the possible danger.
He had not had time before or during class to think about the strange feelings he had experienced while talking to them. For some unknown reason, it had been like they had talked before and perhaps had even been on friendly terms. And while he would be worried if any poor guy was threatened, it was even worse when it was someone whom he felt so strange towards.
"You just don't have feelings like that," he objected to himself. "It's nuts. Unc would really think kooky things about me if I told him this. Not that I ever would."
He rounded the bend, his footsteps echoing as they slapped on the pavement.
Our beloved real-life Elliott inadvertently provided some of the humor. The "toro" line is his.
Fandom: Where in the World is Carmen Sandiego?
Rating: T/PG-13 (I knew it....)
Word Count: 4,499
Main Characters: Fictional Rockapella
Supporting Characters: Mr. Schwemphf
Summary: The villain begins to put his new plan into action. Meanwhile, Sean and Barry meet a strangely familiar punk.
Will be posted to 10_hurt_comfort when complete.
Chapter Four
'Cause You Help Me Be Strong
They selected a corner table, with a window looking out over the runways. Scott raised an eyebrow when Elliott looked for the healthiest foods he could find on the menu, but when he thought about it, it did feel right. Somehow he could not picture Elliott eating a common meat burger or French fries.
"So . . . what is it you do?" he asked, crossing his arms on the table as he waited for his own order to arrive. "I mean, besides teaching Advanced Physics."
Elliott gave a wry smile. "I study?" he offered. "Seriously, I don't have much of a social life. I'm not interested in going to the staff parties and things like that. Ms. Parker, the lady who asked me to come here, was talking about that just yesterday. She wished I'd come out more."
Scott grinned, having already sensed that Elliott was very girl-shy. "If you had a friend to go with, would you go then?" he wanted to know.
"Maybe," Elliott smiled. "So . . . what do you do, besides being an international singer?"
"I talk to reporters?" Scott smirked. ". . . I guess most of what I do is connected to being a singer," he said in realization. "I don't have much time for a social life. And Louie said once he was worried that if I ever did end up finding a girlfriend, it would make all my fangirls jealous of her. He was also worried that the girl would end up being a gold-digger."
"So you just can't win," Elliott chuckled. He poured himself a glass of ice water from the courtesy pitcher.
"You could say that," Scott said. "I figured it'd be less of a headache to stay single for now. Anyway, I'm not really interested in getting a girlfriend yet."
"Me either," Elliott said. "But I don't know when I will be ready."
Scott gave him a long, thoughtful look. ". . . Why do you wear glasses you don't need?" he asked then. He had been tactful enough to not inquire before, but they were so comfortable at the moment that he had decided maybe it would be alright.
Elliott blushed. "Maybe I hoped they'd make me look more like a scholar," he said. "I was shocked when the position was offered to me. I mean, I'm only two years out of college myself. I was really nervous about how the students would treat me."
"And how do they treat you?" Scott asked.
"Most of them are great," Elliott told him. "But there's always a couple of screwballs. I've got these twin brothers in my class who look for ways to goof off." He shook his head. "They've made it their goal to make me lose control of my temper. I don't get what they've got against me."
"They'd probably treat any teacher like that," Scott said with a sympathetic gaze.
"Yeah," Elliott sighed.
He swished the ice cubes around in his glass. ". . . I guess the real reason I wear the glasses is just to give myself something to hide behind," he said. "I wasn't ever treated good by the neighborhood kids when I was younger. They said no one liked me. And . . . I don't know . . . I think I decided that if that was true, I wouldn't let anyone see the real me." He gave a weak laugh. "But I'm not good at pretending. The glasses don't make me more social or anything like that. They just make it a little harder to see into my eyes. I guess that was kind of what I wanted, though. . . ."
Scott frowned. "Those kids were feeding you garbage," he said. "If they didn't like you, it was because they knew you were a better person than them. They probably couldn't stand to be around you because they knew they were creeps." He looked into the surprised brown eyes. "I like you, Elliott . . . and I don't even remember who you are." His voice lowered. "But I do know right now that you're a good guy, someone worthy of having all the happiness possible of getting out of life."
At last Elliott snapped out of his stupor. "No one's ever said that to me," he said, stunned. "Well, other than my family."
"Then it was time someone did," Scott responded. His eyes flashed. "The thought of anyone treating you rotten . . . it just disgusts me."
Elliott looked down at the menu. This was a new experience for him. No one aside from his family had ever shown enough interest as to be upset if he was mistreated. Well, there had been a few at school who had not liked to see him bullied, and who had tried to stop it if they saw it, but they had never tried to make friends with him. He had looked at each one with grateful, hopeful eyes, only to be met with a sympathetic smile as each one turned away. He had come to detest and loathe that look. Sympathy, pity . . . he did not want those. He wanted someone who really cared about him.
". . . What are you thinking about?" Scott asked.
Elliott looked up again. "I was thinking how the kids at school sometimes tried to stop people from hurting me, but they never wanted to be with me," he admitted. "I always hoped that if they cared enough to stop the bullying, they'd want to get to know me or something." He shook his head. "They didn't."
"It sounds like they were hypocrites," Scott said. "They didn't want you to be bullied and yet they didn't want to let you into their social circles, either."
He clenched a fist. Even if he did not feel this connection to Elliott, he would be revolted by what he was hearing. And the fact that he did feel the connection only made his anger stronger.
"You'll always be welcome with me," he said.
Elliott smiled. "I believe you," he said. "Thanks."
The waitress, a blonde girl wearing green, interrupted their conversation by bringing them their food. She set down the plates, then regarded the men strangely as she moved to leave.
Scott slipped a few coins into her hand. She closed her fingers around them, almost as if in awe, before nodding and departing. Scott only watched her for a moment before turning his attention to the food.
Elliott picked up his fork. "She was staring us down," he said.
"She probably just thought she recognized me from somewhere," Scott said.
"I guess," Elliott said. But he was not convinced. He frowned, looking at his plate as he scooped some of the food onto his fork. Scott was likely right. What other explanation would there be? There was no other reason for her to study them with such intensity.
And yet he could not make himself believe it. In spite of his common sense, he could not help thinking that there was a different reason for the girl's interest. He shook his head, beginning to eat.
". . . What do we do from here?" he asked at last.
Scott shrugged. "Well, hopefully Louie will be more receptive to you," he said. "We need to go back to our hotel suite and unpack."
"Don't you need to rest, too?" Elliott said. "After flying over from Tokyo, you must be exhausted."
"Normally I am," Scott said. But even as he spoke, the weariness was suddenly crashing over him. The excitement of meeting Elliott had held it at bay until this reminder. An immense yawn tore from his lips.
Elliott gave a gentle chuckle. "After we eat, I'd better leave you to get some sleep," he said. "I'll write down my address and phone number for you."
Scott tried to perk up, especially since the offer did interest him. "I'll write down mine, too," he said. "We'll be staying at the Waldorf-Astoria." He shoved a forkful of food into his mouth. "After I get some rest, I'll call you. Or you can call me. Whichever."
"I'll wait for you to call," Elliott said. "I might wake you up."
"Probably not, but we'll go with that," Scott smiled. "We'll figure out what to do from there. We need to find those other two guys, for one thing."
Elliott nodded. It was really an overwhelming prospect. Where would they look? There was no guarantee that those men, whoever they were, even happened to be in the city. And it did not help that neither he or Scott knew names or faces. They only had this odd but insistent feeling---which was not extremely scientific, but then again, nothing about this situation was scientific.
"What is Louie like?" Elliott asked at last.
Scott gave a wry smile. "He's . . . protective," he said. "But he's got good reason, I guess. Rabid fans . . . shysters . . . we've seen a lot of crazy stuff in the last three years.
"He's managed several people since he got into the business. . . . He heard me sing at a charity event in Indianapolis when I was eighteen. And he said he was 'bowled over.' He thought I could be the next Elvis or King of Pop."
Elliott grinned. "You must be good."
Scott smiled, looking down at his plate. "Good enough to draw sold-out crowds," he said, "in both this country and others."
"You're coming back from Japan," Elliott noted. "Do you speak the language?"
Scott grinned. "Hai," he said. "You?"
"I'm not really good at Japanese . . . or any language except English," Elliott said. His grin turned mischievous. "But I like toro. And oo-toro. And Totoro."
Scott burst out laughing.
Two tables over, Louie shook his head. He had never seen Scott so happy. What kind of effect did Elliott have on him? Elliott seemed like a normal guy. At least, he did not appear to be some kind of sorcerer or warlock or anything else that could have cast a spell on Scott. He was happy, too.
"There's somethin' goin' on that I just don't get," he said to himself. "Why are they so nuts about each other?"
He stared into his glass of Sprite, as if it could give him the answers. But it only continued to fizz. He sighed, taking a sip.
Scott did not see or sense the figure leaning with crossed arms on the back of his chair. Neither did Elliott or Louie---or anyone in the restaurant at all. But the ghost bent over, whispering into Scott's ear. He, like Louie, could not understand what was happening between Scott and Elliott---for a much different reason.
"What you've been feeling is just an indication of your immense exhaustion," he said. "Elliott has never known you. And if you got to know him better, you wouldn't want to know him, either. He's not as nice of a man as you're being led to believe."
Scott frowned, straightening up. The sensation that was coming over him was strange---almost as if it was a tinge of reality coming back into his idealistic mind. What was he doing, talking and laughing with this man like they were long-lost brothers? Maybe he really was just tired and these feelings would soon be gone.
But . . . he did not want them to be gone. He wanted to keep feeling exactly as he did right now. It had been so long . . . too long, since he had made a friend. And Elliott was not just any friend. He knew that. It was his exhaustion trying to convince him otherwise. Elliott was a good man---the best. And of course Scott wanted to get to know him better!
"Are you okay?"
Scott started, looking to the concerned Elliott. At last he managed a smile.
"Yeah," he said. "Yeah, I'm fine. But you're right about me being wiped out. Sleep sounds really good now." He stretched. "I'll see you later."
Elliott nodded. "I'll wait for you to call," he smiled, reaching across the table to shake Scott's hand.
Scott hesitated, then grasped Elliott's hand and gave it a firm shake. After scraping the last bite of food off his plate, he stood and waved. Elliott stood too, watching his friend stroll to the door. A couple of tables away, Scott's manager rose to follow him.
A slight frown crossed Elliott's features. Louie had been eavesdropping on them, or at least, spying? He sat back down, returning to his unfinished meal. He had not expected that.
In frustration the phantom straightened up as well, observing as Scott departed. He would not fall so easily. But oh well, at least a seed had been planted. And this devil could always work with Elliott, too. Poor, shy Elliott. If he came to doubt himself, he would second-guess his feelings about Scott. And for such an insecure man, it should not be too difficult to achieve.
The spirit walked around the table, sitting down next to Elliott. "Louie was there with Scott's permission, you know," he whispered. "Scott cared so little about keeping your conversation private that he invited his manager to hear it. He's not good enough for you. He even invaded your private affairs by asking about your glasses."
Elliott's frown deepened at the unwelcome thoughts. But then he shook his head. Scott had respected his privacy. He had only queried about the glasses after they had talked for a while and had grown more comfortable with each other. And Scott inviting Louie to listen in . . . that was crazy, right? Louie had probably decided on his own. Scott had not even acted like he had seen his manager there.
Still . . . maybe he should mention it later and see what Scott would say. If Louie would have to always be present when they talked, this might not be such a good thing after all.
A cruel smirk came over the spectre's visage as he leaned back. The second seed had been sown. Now they were getting somewhere. He would have his revenge on his hated counterpart.
"That's right," he said. "Reconsider your feelings. It's just not logical, is it? You of all people should know better."
Elliott shoved the last food into his mouth. He should not feel so hesitant like this. Both he and Scott had been so confident in their feelings a few minutes ago. And yet . . . it really was bizarre, to think that they had been best friends in another time and place. Maybe he had taken leave of his senses.
He pushed back his chair, getting to his feet. Now he wished it was still several minutes earlier.
He wanted to be happy again in this time and place.
****
The clouds overhead were darkening by the time Sean and Barry drove onto the campus and pulled up in front of the university bookstore. Students walked past on their way to classes and dorms, barely giving the red car a second glance. Barry got out with a sigh, reaching into his pocket for meter money. Sean followed suit, shoving his hands into his own pockets.
"So I guess now we just need to find the Physics building," he mused.
Barry nodded. "There should be a map of the campus either in the bookstore or in the administration building," he said.
"Or we could just ask someone," Sean said.
The door to the bookstore opened as a young kid strolled out, his light-brown bangs brushing against his forehead as he moved. His leather jacket was open, revealing his white T-shirt, and the piercings in his ears and nose caught the faint light from a struggling sunbeam. His expression was filled with boredom.
Sean blinked. "He looks too young to be in college," he said.
The kid looked up. "You wanna make somethin' of it?" he retorted.
Barry gave Sean a Look. Sean gave an inward groan. He had not thought he would be heard.
"It was just an idle observation," Sean said then. "Consider it a compliment! Can you tell us where the Physics building is?"
"It's that way," the young punk said, pointing to the right beyond the bookstore. "You can't miss it."
"Thanks," Sean grinned. He moved to walk up the path, then stopped. "Do you know the Advanced Physics teacher?" he asked. "Elliott K.?"
"I know who he is," the kid said. "Quiet, shy guy. But you don't wanna cross him."
"It's always the quiet ones," Sean quipped with a smirk.
"Guess so," was the shrugged reply. "Are you done yet?"
Now Sean frowned. "Yeah, I'm done," he said. "We won't bug you any more."
"Good." The kid brushed past him but then stopped, blinking at Barry in surprise. "Hey, I know you," he said, poking the big man in the chest.
Barry raised an eyebrow, both from the announcement and the contact. "You do?" he said. He really was meeting a lot of people whom he never would have thought would give him a second glance. But this was far more surprising than even Sean recognizing him.
"Sure," was the reply. "My uncle works for you. Aaron Gordon."
At last a spark of understanding came into Barry's eyes. "He works for me as a private investigator," he said.
It was Sean's turn to stare. "You need a P.I.?!" he said in disbelief. "Since when does an opera singer need a detective?!"
Barry grunted. "Mostly he tries to keep the rabid fans back," he said. "And to get to the bottom of the . . . strange letters some of them send."
Looking to the boy he said, "He's talked about you. You're Jeff, aren't you?"
The kid blinked and nodded. "Yeah," he admitted. "What's he said about me? Wait, I bet I know. He's probably said that I'm headed on the road to destruction and that I'm utterly and pathetically hopeless and that he wouldn't be surprised if I steal something someday and end up in prison for life." With each prediction, he made quotation marks in the air with his fingers.
Barry regarded him with a deadpan expression. "You know a lot about what your uncle says," he said.
Sean frowned. "Wait, you mean he really says stuff like that?" he said. "Just because of the leather and the piercings?"
"Ohhh yeah," Jeff said. But then he saw Barry's unchanged expression. ". . . Okay, maybe I'm exaggerating a bit," he added.
"Maybe a bit," Barry agreed.
"I mean, he doesn't come right out and say those things," Jeff said, "but you can tell it's what he means and what he's really thinking. Some creeps did try to frame me for stealing something once, when they robbed a convenience store. And he never came out and said so then, either, but I know my uncle believed I did it."
"That's awful," Sean said, his hands going to his hips. The kid was a bit obnoxious, but he didn't seem like a hood---especially now that he was opening up to them. And strangely, talking to him felt normal. . . .
Not again! So now he was going to feel like this punk was someone he knew too? This was getting even weirder.
Now Jeff shrugged. "It's the life I have to deal with," he said. "I'm not gonna change just so my uncle will maybe see me different. I've never done anything illegal, and if he can't see that now, I don't really care about my image. Not that I care about it anyway."
"Well, good," Sean said. "Maybe someday he'll come around."
Jeff snorted. "I doubt it. He hasn't for all these years.
"Anyway, I'll see you guys later," he said now. "I have to get to my class."
". . . Class?" Sean repeated.
". . . Mr. Gordon said his nephew is sixteen," Barry said then, looking him up and down.
"So?" Jeff crossed his arms. "I'm not too young to be here. And just because I dress like this doesn't mean I'm not interested in education. I'm already taking some college classes."
"Great," Sean said. "Good for you. And we'd better be off to find Elliott."
"He's probably not in yet," Jeff said. "There's no morning Physics class today, just one in the afternoon."
Now a frown came over Sean's features. "Just one in the afternoon, eh?" he said. He glanced at Barry before continuing, "Maybe we'll come back later. What time is the class?"
"I don't take Physics," Jeff said, "so I'm not sure. It's late afternoon. Three, three-thirty . . . around in there."
Sean nodded. "Thanks," he said.
Jeff nodded too, then walked past. The two men watched him go down the sidewalk and turn left.
". . . You've got interesting friends," Sean said at last. "But this Aaron Gordon . . . he sounds like a stuffed shirt."
"He's . . . strict," Barry said. "And stern. He gets the job done." He turned, walking towards the Physics building. "It's obvious he cares about his nephew. They just don't understand each other."
"I guess not," Sean frowned.
Then he blinked, seeing what Barry was doing. "Hey!" he exclaimed, hurrying to catch up. "What are you doing? Elliott isn't here yet."
"He could have come early to set things up," Barry said, "or for a multitude of other reasons. And even if he isn't here, we might be able to learn something from someone else, such as an address or a phone number."
Sean blinked. "That's true," he acknowledged. "Okay then. Lead on!" He grinned, gesturing ahead.
Barry shook his head.
****
Jeff barely made it into the classroom as the professor began the lesson. With a sigh he slumped into the seat by the door and took his notebook out of his backpack. The guy looked pretty involved in what he was saying. Maybe he would not notice Jeff's late entrance.
"You're late again, Mr. T.," the teacher droned without even turning around. "Do you or don't you want to be part of this class?"
Jeff gritted his teeth as the other students turned to look at him. "I made it in time," he retorted. "What's your problem anyway?"
"Yeah," another student spoke up. "Jeff always does well on quizzes and tests and exams. So he's a few minutes late sometimes. At least he comes. And this time he made it before you even did anything except review the last chapter."
The teacher drew an exaggerated sigh. "Tardiness is highly frowned upon in this class, Mr. T.," he said, "as I've told you time and time again."
"What is this---kindergarten?" sneered a guy from somewhere in the middle of the room.
"Kindergarten teachers have the right idea, Mr. G.!" grumped the teacher. "Why should we stop enforcing being on time just because we're adults here? If anything, the rules should be more strongly in place because this is an establishment of higher education!"
"You know," Jeff mused, "you're wasting valuable time chewing us out when you could be teaching what we're all paying to hear."
The rest of the class laughed and clapped in agreement.
"You tell 'im, Jeff!" cried the guy in the next seat. He leaned over, high-fiving the smirking Jeff.
The teacher sputtered, flustered.
The rest of the class proceeded in a normal, useful manner. By the time it let out, Jeff was feeling a bit better. He collected his belongings, then hurried into the hall before he could be called back. It was easy to blend in with the crowd until it dispersed, the students hastening in different directions for their next appointments.
A heavy metal ringtone blared from Jeff's pocket. He frowned, juggling his backpack while reaching for his phone. "Unc," he muttered to himself, seeing the caller I.D. screen. Suddenly his relaxed mood was evaporating. With a sigh, he flipped open the cellphone and placed it to his ear. "Yeah?"
"Where are you?" Aaron Gordon's annoyed voice came over the receiver. "I've been trying to reach you for an hour."
Jeff's eyes narrowed. "Where do you think I am?" he snapped. "I just got out of Schwemphf's class. I've told you before I'm at the campus Tuesdays and Thursdays."
A sigh. "Oh. That's right . . . today is Tuesday, isn't it."
"You just always have to think the worst of me," Jeff said.
"That is uncalled for," Mr. Gordon said, his voice hardening. "I asked you a simple question."
"Well, maybe if you ever actually sounded worried or something," Jeff said. "But when I can hear these accusations every time you open your mouth, including on the 'simple questions,' it gets old fast."
"If you wouldn't run around dressed like a hoodlum . . . !"
"You'd what? Trust me?" Jeff pushed open the door and stepped onto the landing of the building's front steps. "You know, I didn't have any piercings at all when you thought I should be plopped in jail."
"I never said anything like that!" Mr. Gordon's voice was rising.
"Even Mom and Dad could tell you thought I was guilty!" Jeff shot back. "You still think it. That's why you call up all 'Where are you'. You think I'm out holding up convenience stores again. Or maybe you think I've moved up to banks now. Is that it? You think I'm a bank robber?"
"No!" Mr. Gordon took a deep breath, struggling to get himself under control. "I don't think you're a bank robber."
"You think I'm something," Jeff said.
"Nevermind what I think." Now the detective had finally brought his voice to a normal volume. "I need you to come to the Metropolitan Opera House."
"The Met? They'd probably throw me out of there," Jeff sneered. "What do you want me for?"
"My employer has just been threatened. I want you to come look at the note."
Jeff stopped walking, stunned. "Threatened?!" he gasped, his anger dissipating in the light breeze. "How?! Why?!"
"Get down here and we'll talk."
"Okay, fine," Jeff said, closing the phone without saying goodbye. Usually he had plenty to say when his uncle attempted to drag him into law enforcement work---which was something he had little interest in after being falsely accused of a serious crime. But now he was too shocked by what he had been told. Barry, the guy he had just talked to before class, was in trouble? Why would anyone threaten him? Was it some crazy fan?
And did Barry himself know yet? His car was still parked by the bookstore.
Jeff broke into a run. Barry and that other guy were probably at the Physics building. And if possible, he had to warn them about the possible danger.
He had not had time before or during class to think about the strange feelings he had experienced while talking to them. For some unknown reason, it had been like they had talked before and perhaps had even been on friendly terms. And while he would be worried if any poor guy was threatened, it was even worse when it was someone whom he felt so strange towards.
"You just don't have feelings like that," he objected to himself. "It's nuts. Unc would really think kooky things about me if I told him this. Not that I ever would."
He rounded the bend, his footsteps echoing as they slapped on the pavement.
Our beloved real-life Elliott inadvertently provided some of the humor. The "toro" line is his.