A Change in My Life, 6/?
Title: A Change in My Life, chapter six
Fandom: Where in the World is Carmen Sandiego?
Rating: T/PG-13
Word Count: 5,932 (figures. I worry that it's still too short and then discover this....)
Main Characters: Fictional Rockapella
Summary: Further meetings ... all while their enemy continues to work at keeping them estranged.
Will be posted to 10_hurt_comfort when complete.
Chapter Six
Since You Came Along
"It was a zombie jamboree, took place in the New York Cemetery. It was a zombie jamboree, took place in the New York Cemetery! . . ."
Barry raised an eyebrow. They were standing in the front lobby of the opera house, waiting for Elliott as promised. And Sean could not keep still. He was pacing the floor, boredly glancing at the paintings and opera posters on the walls he continued to sing.
"Zombies from all parts of the island; some of them were great Calypsonians. . . ."
"One thing is for sure---no one would think you were auditioning for the opera," Jeff interrupted.
Sean stopped. "Good," he smirked. "That's the last thing I want to do. Besides . . ." He draped an arm around Barry's shoulders. "I'd probably scare everyone away on opening night."
"Probably," Barry said. "Especially if you sang about zombies having a jamboree."
Jeff's smirk widened. "Not your typical opera fare," he said.
Mr. Gordon simply sighed and shook his head, exasperated by what was taking place. But at the same time, he had to admit that Jeff seemed more calm and happy than he had been in ages---and that was cause for stunned amazement. It was clear that he enjoyed talking and joking with Barry and Sean, judging from the way he had opened up around them. His uncle was not altogether sure why. But if his employer and this stranger could help Jeff feel better, then he was grateful. They were certainly better people than the gang Jeff had tried to befriend.
In spite of that, however, Mr. Gordon was still not sure what to think of Sean. He was such a strange screwball, not having ceased to bring levity since their arrival. Barry was not fazed by him, but not much ever fazed Barry. And Jeff was so at ease around the newcomer that it was almost like they were long-lost brothers. Mr. Gordon would have to ask Barry more about Sean at a later time. He still did not even know why Barry had brought the other man here or how they had met.
"Hey, here comes someone," Jeff announced now.
Everyone snapped to attention, turning to look out the windows. A short brunet was walking towards the main doors, glancing in all directions as if expecting to see someone outside. As he drew closer, Barry could see that he was the Elliott from the university's ad.
"It's him," he said.
Sean hopped to the entrance, throwing open the heavy doors. "Hi!" he greeted.
Elliott jumped a mile, his glasses slipping down his nose.
Barry sighed. "Don't mind him," he said.
Elliott sighed too, his shoulders slumping as he placed a hand over his heart. "I'm not used to so much enthusiasm," he said, managing a weak smile.
"Then it's time to start," Sean grinned.
Elliott just shook his head. "You must be Sean," he said. "I recognize your voice."
"In the flesh," Sean said. "And this is Barry . . ."
Barry nodded. "Hello."
"Jeff . . ."
Jeff half-waved. "Hey."
"And Jeff's uncle, Aaron Gordon," Sean finished in a grand tone.
Mr. Gordon nodded too, but did not speak. He studied Elliott with narrowed, serious eyes, still trying to determine exactly what was going on and what the reason had been for calling in a Physics teacher. If there was a pattern in the kinds of people with whom Barry was suddenly associating, he could not find it.
Elliott shifted, uncomfortable with the older man's intense glare. His own gaze traveled back to Jeff and then to Barry before falling again to Sean.
Suddenly Sean looked put on the spot as well. He rubbed the back of his neck. "Well! So . . ." he stammered, before looking to Barry for help.
And Barry came to the rescue with just the right thing to say. "I saw you last night," he said, watching Elliott carefully for his reaction.
The brunet's eyes widened. Somehow, even without Barry specifying where he had been seen, Elliott knew immediately what was meant. "You?" he gasped. "It was you in the limousine?!"
Barry gave a single nod. "I felt something strange," he said. "I'd never seen you before in my life, yet at the same time I was sure I knew you. When we were forced to drive away, I wanted to somehow find you again and talk to you." He glanced sideways at Sean. "And through a bizarre series of events, it's happened."
Elliott fell back. "I felt those things too," he admitted, his voice weak. This was far too much of a coincidence. Everything he and Scott had sensed was real. Barry was one of the two men they had felt they had to find. He had to be! And Sean . . . was Sean the other?
"Then I guess we don't have to explain as much as I was thinking," Sean said. "Except . . . why do we all feel like this?! Barry met up with me earlier today and we hit it off. More than that, we feel like we know each other, too. Any ideas on why?"
"I have no idea." Elliott frowned, looking from one to the other. "I mean, I thought of several things---that I was channeling someone who'd died . . . or that I was that person . . . or that I was just crazy. But . . . I know that isn't true. Me being crazy, that is. I'm honestly not sure about anything else."
"And then there's Scott L., too," Sean put in.
Somehow Elliott was not as surprised to hear the singer's name as he previously might have been. "I met him today," he said. Everyone stared at him. "It's a long story," he hastened to add.
"No kidding," Sean said. "So . . . what's he like?"
"A great person," Elliott said firmly, as much for his own benefit as for theirs. He would push all remaining doubts aside. There was something going on that they needed to solve, and Scott was part of it. But Elliott already knew that Scott was his dear friend. These people must be their friends, too. They would never feel such a bond if it was not so.
"Good to hear," Sean said. "Can we meet him too?"
"Sure," Elliott said. "I know he'll want to meet you. He's staying at the Waldorf. . . ." But then he trailed off, his eyes widening in alarm. "Oh no!" he moaned.
"What's wrong?" Jeff asked, raising an eyebrow. His uncle looked like he thought the entire lot of them were mad. Well, Jeff would think so too, if it wasn't for the feeling he himself had. As soon as possible, he intended to make it clear that he was allying himself with these crazies.
"We were supposed to exchange contact information," Elliott said, fumbling in desperation through his pockets. "But we didn't! Something happened and . . ."
Barry held up a hand for silence. "You said he's at the Waldorf," he said. "I can find out his room number. I can even get him called."
"He's probably sleeping right now," Elliott ruefully said. "He was going to call me when he got up."
"We could even wait a bit while he sleeps and then go right to the Waldorf," Sean said. "Scott'll probably be upset when he realizes he doesn't have your contact information, El."
This time Elliott did not try to correct him on the matter of his name. He just nodded. "He might try to go somewhere to find me," he worried, "even back to the airport. Maybe we should go to the Waldorf now. If he's asleep, we could leave information with his manager."
"Sounds good to me," Sean said.
Jeff's heart beat faster. It was time to act, no matter what his uncle would think of him for it. "I'm coming with you," he said as he stepped forward.
Everyone turned to stare at him. "Jeff!" Mr. Gordon cried in disbelief.
"You're coming?" Sean blinked. "Why?"
"I want to meet Scott too," Jeff said. He took a deep breath. "I've been feeling like I know you guys."
Instead of being surprised, Sean grinned. "Great!" he said. "The more, the merrier!" And he brought an arm around the stunned Jeff's shoulders. "To tell you the truth, we've been feeling the same about you. Barry and I have, that is."
Elliott stared. Jeff did seem familiar, now that he thought of it. Yet the piercings and leather did not. Had he not dressed that way when Elliott had known him, if indeed they ever had been acquainted?
Mr. Gordon's eyes flashed. "This is insanity!" he said as he found his voice. "Jeff, you don't know what you're saying! You don't know these people, nor do they know you. You're acting on impulse again!"
But Jeff's eyes flamed. He was at the end of his patience. "I'm sick of you always looking down at me!" he snapped back. "How do you know whether I know what I'm thinking?! You can't read my mind!"
Elliott flinched. He looked to Sean and Barry, his eyes clearly expressing his discomfort at observing the contention. Sean could only give a helpless shrug, while Barry sighed and shook his head.
"I know you're not capable of making a decision like this!" cried Mr. Gordon. "You're too rash!"
"Oh, and you're so almighty and calm!" Jeff retorted. "Always the perfect Aaron Gordon, P.I. You know, I bet they would've loved to make a TV show about you! It would've been a smash hit, with all the women cooing over the snappily-dressed, well-groomed, and cold and unemotional star!"
Sean blew out his breath in exasperation. "Well, we're just going to be on our way," he said in a loud voice. He took a step towards the door.
"And I wonder what 'they' would want to make about you!" Mr. Gordon burst out, ignoring Sean.
"I'm sure you already know, since you know everything else!" Jeff yelled. "America's Most Wanted, right?"
"Ouch," Sean mused.
"In a few years, maybe so!" Mr. Gordon retorted.
"Double ouch," Barry deadpanned.
Elliott inched towards the doors. Not knowing the situation, he did not feel like he could defend Jeff or his uncle. He did not want to be involved in the argument, even though it was being aired right in front of them. Jeff and Mr. Gordon were either not embarrassed or not thinking, but Elliott was very embarrassed. It felt like he was somehow intruding just by being present.
"Bye," Sean called as he followed Elliott to the doors. Barry only briefly glanced at Jeff and Mr. Gordon before bringing up the rear.
"I guess someday I'll see you from the pen!" Jeff screamed before turning to stalk after the others. "After all, you're my judge and jury, and you've already convicted me!"
Now Mr. Gordon flinched. "Jeff . . . !" he exclaimed. With one hand he reached for the boy, but in vain. Jeff was already leaving with Barry and the other men, not even looking back.
Of course, he had already left his uncle ages ago.
. . . Or had he felt pushed away?
Mr. Gordon clenched a fist. He was too frustrated and angry to really think about that. He could not let Jeff go off, nor could he let his client leave when there was a threat against him. The only choice was to go along too.
Outside, Sean jogged to catch up to Elliott. "Hey," he called.
Elliott looked over his shoulder. "Yeah?" he asked.
"I'm sorry you had to hear that," Sean said, coming alongside. "I don't altogether get what's going on, either. They've got issues."
Elliott gave a weak smile. "Yeah, I guess," he said.
"And Mr. Gordon's coming out with us," Sean remarked. "He'd better take his own car."
"I'm going to take mine," Elliott offered. He unlocked the driver's door and hauled it open before easing himself onto the familiar, plush seat. As he did so, something in the car caught Sean's eye.
"What's that?!" he gasped, pointing to a sheet of paper on the passenger seat.
Elliott blinked. "This?" He had completely forgotten the earlier prank on his windshield. "It's just a joke a couple of my students were playing." He held up the leaf with the newspaper letters.
"It's the same kind of note Barry got today!" Sean said in amazement. "That's at least partially why Mr. Gordon's following us out, I bet---he's worried about Barry going off because of the threat!"
Elliott gawked at him. Stunned would be a mild word for what was sweeping over him now. "Barry got one too?!" he said, incredulous. If those students of his had delivered the message to his car, why would they take another one to Barry? There was no connection between them and him.
. . . Not unless they knew both Elliott and Barry in their old life and remembered, for some strange reason. But why would they remember when no one else did?
"Who are these students, anyway?" Sean asked now, leaning on the open door with crossed arms.
Elliott shook his head. "Twin brothers," he sighed, setting the paper down again. "They do everything together, almost like they're one mind in two bodies. Around campus they're pretty much universally called Double Trouble."
"Well, that's encouraging," Sean said with a frown. "So they're pranksters."
"With a capital P. I was telling Scott that they have something against me." Elliott inserted the key into the ignition. "They're always trying to make me snap."
"And now they randomly go after Barry, too," Sean said, pushing himself away from the door.
"If it's them," Elliott was quick to add. "I still don't know for sure if they delivered the note to me."
"I bet they did," Sean said. "And they must be sneaky, to get into the Met and all the way to Barry's dressing room without anyone seeing them!"
"They're sneaky, alright," Elliott agreed. "I bet they could do it."
He glanced back at the others. Barry and Jeff were standing by Barry's car, waiting for Sean, while Mr. Gordon was already in his own car. Apparently he was not going to bother talking any more to either Jeff or Barry right now---which was probably a good decision. Jeff's expression was a storm cloud.
"We should go," he said now. "Maybe we can talk about this later."
Sean nodded. "I'll let Barry know about your note," he said. "This really does bear investigating. After we stop in to see Scott, we should check out Double Trouble's place and try to talk to them."
Elliott pulled the door shut. "Good idea," he said, turning the key in the ignition. "I was going to wait and ask them at the afternoon class, but now I don't think I should wait."
"Nope," Sean said, "you shouldn't." With a wave, he walked back to Barry's car.
Shaking his head, Elliott began to maneuver out of the parking space. They had not determined who would follow whom, but since he had parked in front of Barry and already had his engine running, he would lead the way.
Hopefully Scott really would want to see them. Immediately before Elliott had felt shaken at lunch, Scott had seemed strange. And then he had departed so suddenly, without either of them remembering to get the contact information from each other. At least, Elliott had not remembered. He supposed Scott had not, either.
. . . As opposed to Scott remembering, but not wanting to exchange it after all.
Elliott frowned, shaking his head. He had to push those thoughts out of his mind.
"I almost hope those twins do know who we are," he mumbled aloud to the car. "Because I don't anymore."
****
"Elliott! Don't leave me, Elliott! Please don't leave me!"
Scott started awake, the mattress jerking underneath his panicked form. His eyes flew open, staring at the white pillow where he was laying. He was not in some completely dark realm, calling out to his precious friend as some unknown danger threatened to take him away. He was safe---and alone.
He gripped the pillow, his quick and uneven breathing beginning to slow as he focused on his room at the Waldorf. There was his suitcase on the floor, still packed. His carry-on bag had been thrown onto a nearby chair, while his tie and vest remained draped on the top of the furniture. The suite was dim, but not pitch-black, as in his dream. The blinds were closed to allow him to sleep without the full interference of daylight---but he would have far rather been awakened by the sun than by his dream-self's heartbroken cry.
"Elliott," he whispered.
The dream was far too real to only be a dream. It had really happened; he had really cried out like that for Elliott at some past time. The circumstances were still a mystery, but for some reason he kept imagining feathers. Lots of white feathers, fluttering out of the darkness and into his hands.
He rolled onto his back. It was not likely that he would be going back to sleep now. Maybe he should call Elliott so they could work on solving this bizarre case. Not that there was really any way to do that. The very thought alone was overwhelming. How could they hope to find two people out of everyone in New York---or the United States, or the world? How would they even begin? All they knew to look for were two people with whom they felt they belonged. Would they just walk up and down streets, trying to feel such a sensation from someone they passed? Would he examine every face at his concerts, while Elliott studied everyone at the university? Or was it too much to hope that it would be that easy to run into them? Maybe they never would find those people and they would be left to search in vain all of their days.
"If he could hear you now, Louie would really think you've lost it," he said to himself.
Still, he reached up and fished through the objects on the nightstand. He had emptied his pockets before changing into his pajamas to sleep, but now he could not find the paper with Elliott's contact information.
He stiffened, his hand poised over his wallet. Had he forgotten to get Elliott's phone number and address? They had talked about it, but then they had ended up side-tracked to other subjects. And then had come the strange doubts, prompting Scott to get up and leave in order to think.
He had not been holding anything.
"We forgot," he said, sitting straight up in bed. "How could we have?!"
Or he had forgotten, at least. What if Elliott had not, but had said nothing because he did not want to exchange information?
Scott frowned. No, he would not believe that. There was no reason to, unless he was going to cater to those doubts after all. And he was tired of being undecided. Elliott was clearly important to him.
But was he as important to Elliott?
Why did he have to keep doing this?! It should be easy to determine one way or the other about their bond. They had both felt something. If he did not mean the same to Elliott, then Elliott surely would not have any sense of remembering an old friend.
If Elliott was telling the truth about what he felt.
Elliott was perfectly upright and honest! There had been no lie in his eyes.
Scott sighed, throwing back the covers as he sat up in bed. He would have to try going to the university to look for Elliott. He had a class in the afternoon, didn't he? Scott could just leave a short message for him and include his own contact information to show he was still interested. Then Elliott could decide whether or not to reciprocate.
He glanced at the nightstand. According to the digital clock, it was nearly one. Had Elliott mentioned what time the class met? It didn't sound familiar. Maybe it was even going on now. If Scott hurried, maybe he could make it in time.
Pushing himself off the bed, he shuffled to where he had left a fresh set of clothes. Now that he was more awake, it did not take long to change. He tossed his pajamas onto the couch before pulling on the shirt and pants and grabbing up his vest and tie. He was still tying the knot in the latter as he walked to the nightstand. With one hand he stuffed his wallet and other belongings into his pants pockets while he adjusted the tie with his other hand. Then he glanced down at himself, giving an approving nod before heading to the door.
The spirit that had been following and observing him stood by now, his features twisted in anger. Scott was still resisting all of the thoughts being whispered to his mind. In spite of everything that had been said to discourage him from his friendship with Elliott, he was leaving for the university. But that did not mean the phantom was giving up. No, it just meant he would have to try a new tactic. Perhaps if he opened Scott's mind to one memory . . . one horrible memory. . . .
A cruel sneer came over his features. "Remember Los Angeles," he hissed as he drew close to Scott once more. "Remember how Elliott treated you there. He said he hated you. He shoved you. He hit you. You were pleading for him to stop."
Scott froze, a flash of something passing before his eyes. He was sprawled on a dock, desperate to restrain a merciless attacker bearing down upon him.
"Stop!" he was screaming. "Elliott, stop! STOP!"
Elliott?! No! It could not be Elliott!
But it was. The same features that had been so kind, so gentle, were twisted in rage. Elliott's fists were clenched as he struck at the blond again and again.
As quick as it came, the scene faded. Scott gasped, moving a shaking hand over his face.
"What was that?!" he choked out. "Elliott. . . . How could that have been real?!"
His voice was loud in the otherwise silent room. He slumped back, his shoulders trembling. His skin was chalk white.
". . . How could it have not been real?" he whispered. The emotions were so vivid, so poignant and powerful and horrible. He could still feel the blows of Elliott's fists on his poor body.
"Why?" he asked the phantom in his mind. "Why did you hurt me, Elliott? Why were you hurting me?!"
But there were no answers to be had. And Elliott himself likely did not remember.
Scott's eyes narrowed. He would find out whether or not Elliott remembered. And if by chance he did, Scott would demand an explanation.
The spirit smirked, crossing his arms as Scott headed for the door again. "There's no need to tell the rest," he mused to himself. "No need to mention that Elliott was possessed by an ancient, evil spirit and was absolutely devastated. Let's let him think Elliott was being deliberately cruel."
With that he followed the distraught singer.
****
Sean could only stare in awe as he and the others entered the spacious lobby of the Waldorf-Astoria. The immaculate carpet stretched in all directions, while the furniture was perfectly polished and stuffed. The rich and wealthy milled about, busy with their own plans. They barely paid attention to the newcomers, though one or two looked over with thinly-veiled repulsion at Sean's worn clothes and Jeff's punk look. Jeff met their gazes with a cool air, letting them know that he was not so impressed with their world, either.
"I never thought I'd see the inside of this place," Sean mused, gazing up at a heavy chandelier loaded with glittering crystals. He stepped away, not wanting to be standing underneath it. The thing looked perfectly secure, yet when it was so enormous it looked as though it could come crashing down at any time.
"I never wanted to," Jeff retorted. "Too many snobs. I get enough of them in my own neighborhood." His tone was pointed, directed at the man he knew was walking behind them.
Mr. Gordon frowned. To his mind came the thoughts that he was concerned about pleasing the neighbors above all ease. He shook his head, pushing the idea away. It was not so.
Elliott glanced ahead. Barry was already at the front desk, inquiring about Scott. From his expression, the clerk was surprised that Barry would want anything to do with a pop singer.
"I can ring his room," he offered.
"He might be sleeping," Elliott interjected as he walked to the desk. "We wouldn't want to wake him up. . . ."
"His manager might be sleeping too, for that matter," Sean said. He and Jeff followed Elliott, with Mr. Gordon bringing up the rear.
"Maybe we should just leave a message," Elliott said.
But at that moment, the hurried footsteps on the carpeted stairs made him turn and look. Then his eyes widened. "Scott!" he exclaimed, as the blond came into view.
Scott froze, looking to Elliott in surprise. The other new arrivals were lost to his sight; he focused on Elliott, his eyes hardening.
". . . What are you doing here?" he asked at last.
Elliott stared at him, unable to mask the confusion and hurt in his eyes. Did Scott not want him here? Had his concerns and doubts been justified? ". . . I . . . we forgot to exchange our information," he said, his voice weakening. "And I found the other guys we're supposed to be with. . . . We came here to see if you were awake. . . ."
The unseen spirit grinned, leaning close to Elliott's ear. "You see?" he whispered. "Scott doesn't really care about you. It was an act. He hates you, you know. Remember when he pushed you through the trapdoor? You hit your head and almost died."
The color drained from Elliott's face. Suddenly, unbidden, Scott's voice was echoing through his mind. But it was not the cheerful, kind voice from their airport encounter, or even the icy tone of now; it was filled with hatred.
"You were never my friend!"
A dim scene flashed before his eyes. They were in a darkened building, Scott's golden eyes aflame with rage as he pushed on Elliott's shoulders. And Elliott screamed in shock and emotional pain as he pitched backwards through the open trapdoor. He hit the stone bottom, blacking out.
In the real world, he jumped a mile at the memory of the impact. His eyes were wide, filled with pain and horror as he continued to stare at Scott.
And Scott was noticeably shaken. "Elliott?!" he gasped, hurrying down the remainder of the stairs to reach his dear friend. "Elliott, what is it?!" He reached out, intending to grasp Elliott's upper arms.
Elliott snapped to attention. He was not thinking or even being rational at all. The only thing he could focus on was that Scott was making the same gesture as he had when he had pushed Elliott. And Elliott was panic-stricken. "Don't touch me!" he cried, snatching Scott's wrists. Now he was noticeably trembling. "Don't touch me!"
Sean was gawking. "Is anyone else missing something here?" he frowned.
"They act like they know something we don't," Jeff said. "Weird."
Barry said nothing as he continued to observe, his eyes narrowed in concern. The two were indeed lost in their own world, not even having noticed the others calling to them, asking what was wrong.
Scott had stiffened when he had been grabbed. Now he was staring into Elliott's brown eyes with his own blue-green orbs, bewildered and hurt. He had not meant to sound so cold upon seeing Elliott, but he had still been reeling from the memory of being beaten. Now Elliott acted as though he had seen or remembered something foul as well, something pertaining to Scott. The color had drained from his face, the panic and horror in his eyes unable to be concealed.
"Elliott," Scott rasped. Again he asked, "Elliott . . . what is it?"
Elliott did not answer. He was again staring into Scott's eyes . . . no, at Scott's eyes. And he gasped in realization. "They're blue," he said in amazement. "Blue-green. . . ." Slowly he released the other. "Not gold. . . ."
Scott stared, even more perplexed. "Yeah," he said. "My eyes have never been gold. . . ." But why did the very thought stab his soul? And why did it affect Elliott so much?
". . . You pushed me through a trapdoor," Elliott said at last. "Your eyes were gold. . . ."
An arrow slammed into Scott's heart. He could only gawk, not comprehending. "I . . . I pushed you?" he repeated.
The same scene Elliott had viewed leaped into his own mind. He could see himself, crazed and hateful as he shoved Elliott through the hole. And he could see Elliott's shocked, heartbroken eyes as he fell.
Scott cried out, recoiling as he pulled his hands away. He could never touch Elliott any more; his hands were filthy. He had used them to . . . to . . .
"Why?!" Elliott cried. "Why did you do it?!"
Scott shook his head. "I . . . I don't know," he said, his shoulders quaking. "I don't know!" He looked back at Elliott. "Is . . . is that why you beat me?"
Elliott stared. "I beat you?!" he gasped. Was that the reason for the cold reception---Scott had gained some memory of Elliott beating him? But . . . why would he do such a thing? Was it really because he had been furious about being pushed? He was not like that! He would never do that, not to Scott, not to anyone!
He had not wanted to believe in the rebirth theory, but . . . what if it was true? What if they had been close friends in their other lives but had ended up enemies? What if . . . what if one of them had even killed the other? He fell back, running a trembling hand over his face. Maybe they had been given second chances at life because they were supposed to repair the horrible damage they had done to each other.
But how could something like what they had remembered ever be repaired? How could either one of them grant forgiveness to the other? And still, even if they could, how could they put such a broken friendship back together? Each would feel so sickened by what he had done that he would never forgive himself, even if he could forgive his friend.
"Hey! Hey! Earth to Elliott K. and Scott L. Come in, Elliott K. and Scott L.!"
Elliott jumped a mile. Sean had come between him and Scott, standing with his hands on his hips. He was frowning, clearly bewildered by what he was witnessing.
"What is it with you guys?!" he exclaimed. "If it's this drastic, how about letting the rest of us in on it? After all, we all came to see Scott."
Scott gawked at the strange, tall man with the many assorted braids. For the first time it was dawning that there were four others with Elliott. And they were all staring.
"You have some serious, and I mean serious, issues," a punk kid commented.
"Issues that need to be worked out," a deep-voiced man said.
"Has everyone here gone mad?!" cried an older man.
"Highly possible," the man with the braids mused.
Scott shook his head, a weak but amused smile coming over his features. Elliott had said that he had brought the others they were supposed to be with, albeit that did not explain the other two. This, however, was not a logical place for their conversation. The number of people turning to look had quadrupled. He could only pray there were no reporters in the bunch.
"This isn't a good place to talk," he said. "Why don't we just go back to my suite?"
"That's sensible," said the man with the braids. "I'm all for it."
Scott took a deep breath. "Okay then," he said, turning to go back up the stairs. "Follow me up."
With that, the others trailed after him as they ascended. Sean continued to glance around at the luxurious surroundings, while Jeff looked about boredly and Barry remained deadpan. Mr. Gordon eyed his nephew, disapproval in his visage.
Elliott continued to watch Scott, his mind tumbling and reeling. He could not arrive at a satisfactory explanation for what he and Scott had seen. And with that hanging over their heads, it was almost impossible to know how to handle their possible friendship---or to even be in the same room as Scott. By the time they arrived at the suite, he felt ready to burst.
"I'm sorry we didn't meet under better circumstances," Scott said. He looked to Sean and Barry with a wan smile as he went to open the curtains and blinds.
"Oh, it's okay," Sean grinned. "'Better circumstances' would be us remembering everything about each other and our friendships, right?"
"I guess so," Scott said. He glanced to Elliott, then away. "But . . . do we really have friendships?" The very words stabbed his soul, yet they had to be said. What he and Elliott had remembered . . . didn't that mean they had really not been friends? Why would they attack each other if they were so close?
Why had his eyes been gold?
Elliott flinched at Scott's words. Yes, he had wondered the same thing---but it still pierced him to hear it spoken. They should not even be having such a conversation, not after what they had felt at the airport. Why did these other memories have to appear and ruin everything?!
. . . Yes, why did they? Why should he let them?
The turmoil and confusion began to fade, replaced by a firm and growing peace. He did not know the whole truth, but he knew enough. He knew the most important thing.
He raised his hands to his face, slowly removing his glasses. Then he set them on the nearest table, reflecting the outside light.
". . . We have friendships," he said at last.
Scott turned back to him, questions filling his eyes.
"I can't explain what we've seen," Elliott admitted, "but it doesn't take away what we felt. It can't. You mean everything to me!" He looked into Scott's shocked eyes. "I've been lonely all my life. I was never happy until I saw you at the airport. And I know with every part of my heart and soul that you are my brother in spirit. It's true that I've had doubts. But what I felt overcomes them all." He reached out to embrace Scott. Still stunned, Scott allowed it, his heart racing. Elliott pulled him close.
"I don't know why you pushed me," he said. His voice cracking, he added, "I don't know why I beat you, either." He lowered his tone. "But there has to be an explanation somehow, somewhere. I can't stand the thought of hurting you, Scott. Just thinking about it makes me want to recoil in horror. And knowing I beat you makes me feel like the lowest thing on this planet. I don't understand how I could ever lay a finger on you to cause harm."
He hugged Scott closer. "What I do understand is that I love you," he said at last.
Scott stiffened. "Elliott . . ." He reached with shaking arms, hesitant at first but then clutching at the older man. What Elliott felt . . . he felt it too. In spite of everything, against everything stacked in their way, he felt it clear and simple. And he could not deny it.
"Brothers," he whispered. "Elliott, I . . . I love you too."
And somewhere in the room, the evil spirit roared in hatred and frustration.
Fandom: Where in the World is Carmen Sandiego?
Rating: T/PG-13
Word Count: 5,932 (figures. I worry that it's still too short and then discover this....)
Main Characters: Fictional Rockapella
Summary: Further meetings ... all while their enemy continues to work at keeping them estranged.
Will be posted to 10_hurt_comfort when complete.
Chapter Six
Since You Came Along
"It was a zombie jamboree, took place in the New York Cemetery. It was a zombie jamboree, took place in the New York Cemetery! . . ."
Barry raised an eyebrow. They were standing in the front lobby of the opera house, waiting for Elliott as promised. And Sean could not keep still. He was pacing the floor, boredly glancing at the paintings and opera posters on the walls he continued to sing.
"Zombies from all parts of the island; some of them were great Calypsonians. . . ."
"One thing is for sure---no one would think you were auditioning for the opera," Jeff interrupted.
Sean stopped. "Good," he smirked. "That's the last thing I want to do. Besides . . ." He draped an arm around Barry's shoulders. "I'd probably scare everyone away on opening night."
"Probably," Barry said. "Especially if you sang about zombies having a jamboree."
Jeff's smirk widened. "Not your typical opera fare," he said.
Mr. Gordon simply sighed and shook his head, exasperated by what was taking place. But at the same time, he had to admit that Jeff seemed more calm and happy than he had been in ages---and that was cause for stunned amazement. It was clear that he enjoyed talking and joking with Barry and Sean, judging from the way he had opened up around them. His uncle was not altogether sure why. But if his employer and this stranger could help Jeff feel better, then he was grateful. They were certainly better people than the gang Jeff had tried to befriend.
In spite of that, however, Mr. Gordon was still not sure what to think of Sean. He was such a strange screwball, not having ceased to bring levity since their arrival. Barry was not fazed by him, but not much ever fazed Barry. And Jeff was so at ease around the newcomer that it was almost like they were long-lost brothers. Mr. Gordon would have to ask Barry more about Sean at a later time. He still did not even know why Barry had brought the other man here or how they had met.
"Hey, here comes someone," Jeff announced now.
Everyone snapped to attention, turning to look out the windows. A short brunet was walking towards the main doors, glancing in all directions as if expecting to see someone outside. As he drew closer, Barry could see that he was the Elliott from the university's ad.
"It's him," he said.
Sean hopped to the entrance, throwing open the heavy doors. "Hi!" he greeted.
Elliott jumped a mile, his glasses slipping down his nose.
Barry sighed. "Don't mind him," he said.
Elliott sighed too, his shoulders slumping as he placed a hand over his heart. "I'm not used to so much enthusiasm," he said, managing a weak smile.
"Then it's time to start," Sean grinned.
Elliott just shook his head. "You must be Sean," he said. "I recognize your voice."
"In the flesh," Sean said. "And this is Barry . . ."
Barry nodded. "Hello."
"Jeff . . ."
Jeff half-waved. "Hey."
"And Jeff's uncle, Aaron Gordon," Sean finished in a grand tone.
Mr. Gordon nodded too, but did not speak. He studied Elliott with narrowed, serious eyes, still trying to determine exactly what was going on and what the reason had been for calling in a Physics teacher. If there was a pattern in the kinds of people with whom Barry was suddenly associating, he could not find it.
Elliott shifted, uncomfortable with the older man's intense glare. His own gaze traveled back to Jeff and then to Barry before falling again to Sean.
Suddenly Sean looked put on the spot as well. He rubbed the back of his neck. "Well! So . . ." he stammered, before looking to Barry for help.
And Barry came to the rescue with just the right thing to say. "I saw you last night," he said, watching Elliott carefully for his reaction.
The brunet's eyes widened. Somehow, even without Barry specifying where he had been seen, Elliott knew immediately what was meant. "You?" he gasped. "It was you in the limousine?!"
Barry gave a single nod. "I felt something strange," he said. "I'd never seen you before in my life, yet at the same time I was sure I knew you. When we were forced to drive away, I wanted to somehow find you again and talk to you." He glanced sideways at Sean. "And through a bizarre series of events, it's happened."
Elliott fell back. "I felt those things too," he admitted, his voice weak. This was far too much of a coincidence. Everything he and Scott had sensed was real. Barry was one of the two men they had felt they had to find. He had to be! And Sean . . . was Sean the other?
"Then I guess we don't have to explain as much as I was thinking," Sean said. "Except . . . why do we all feel like this?! Barry met up with me earlier today and we hit it off. More than that, we feel like we know each other, too. Any ideas on why?"
"I have no idea." Elliott frowned, looking from one to the other. "I mean, I thought of several things---that I was channeling someone who'd died . . . or that I was that person . . . or that I was just crazy. But . . . I know that isn't true. Me being crazy, that is. I'm honestly not sure about anything else."
"And then there's Scott L., too," Sean put in.
Somehow Elliott was not as surprised to hear the singer's name as he previously might have been. "I met him today," he said. Everyone stared at him. "It's a long story," he hastened to add.
"No kidding," Sean said. "So . . . what's he like?"
"A great person," Elliott said firmly, as much for his own benefit as for theirs. He would push all remaining doubts aside. There was something going on that they needed to solve, and Scott was part of it. But Elliott already knew that Scott was his dear friend. These people must be their friends, too. They would never feel such a bond if it was not so.
"Good to hear," Sean said. "Can we meet him too?"
"Sure," Elliott said. "I know he'll want to meet you. He's staying at the Waldorf. . . ." But then he trailed off, his eyes widening in alarm. "Oh no!" he moaned.
"What's wrong?" Jeff asked, raising an eyebrow. His uncle looked like he thought the entire lot of them were mad. Well, Jeff would think so too, if it wasn't for the feeling he himself had. As soon as possible, he intended to make it clear that he was allying himself with these crazies.
"We were supposed to exchange contact information," Elliott said, fumbling in desperation through his pockets. "But we didn't! Something happened and . . ."
Barry held up a hand for silence. "You said he's at the Waldorf," he said. "I can find out his room number. I can even get him called."
"He's probably sleeping right now," Elliott ruefully said. "He was going to call me when he got up."
"We could even wait a bit while he sleeps and then go right to the Waldorf," Sean said. "Scott'll probably be upset when he realizes he doesn't have your contact information, El."
This time Elliott did not try to correct him on the matter of his name. He just nodded. "He might try to go somewhere to find me," he worried, "even back to the airport. Maybe we should go to the Waldorf now. If he's asleep, we could leave information with his manager."
"Sounds good to me," Sean said.
Jeff's heart beat faster. It was time to act, no matter what his uncle would think of him for it. "I'm coming with you," he said as he stepped forward.
Everyone turned to stare at him. "Jeff!" Mr. Gordon cried in disbelief.
"You're coming?" Sean blinked. "Why?"
"I want to meet Scott too," Jeff said. He took a deep breath. "I've been feeling like I know you guys."
Instead of being surprised, Sean grinned. "Great!" he said. "The more, the merrier!" And he brought an arm around the stunned Jeff's shoulders. "To tell you the truth, we've been feeling the same about you. Barry and I have, that is."
Elliott stared. Jeff did seem familiar, now that he thought of it. Yet the piercings and leather did not. Had he not dressed that way when Elliott had known him, if indeed they ever had been acquainted?
Mr. Gordon's eyes flashed. "This is insanity!" he said as he found his voice. "Jeff, you don't know what you're saying! You don't know these people, nor do they know you. You're acting on impulse again!"
But Jeff's eyes flamed. He was at the end of his patience. "I'm sick of you always looking down at me!" he snapped back. "How do you know whether I know what I'm thinking?! You can't read my mind!"
Elliott flinched. He looked to Sean and Barry, his eyes clearly expressing his discomfort at observing the contention. Sean could only give a helpless shrug, while Barry sighed and shook his head.
"I know you're not capable of making a decision like this!" cried Mr. Gordon. "You're too rash!"
"Oh, and you're so almighty and calm!" Jeff retorted. "Always the perfect Aaron Gordon, P.I. You know, I bet they would've loved to make a TV show about you! It would've been a smash hit, with all the women cooing over the snappily-dressed, well-groomed, and cold and unemotional star!"
Sean blew out his breath in exasperation. "Well, we're just going to be on our way," he said in a loud voice. He took a step towards the door.
"And I wonder what 'they' would want to make about you!" Mr. Gordon burst out, ignoring Sean.
"I'm sure you already know, since you know everything else!" Jeff yelled. "America's Most Wanted, right?"
"Ouch," Sean mused.
"In a few years, maybe so!" Mr. Gordon retorted.
"Double ouch," Barry deadpanned.
Elliott inched towards the doors. Not knowing the situation, he did not feel like he could defend Jeff or his uncle. He did not want to be involved in the argument, even though it was being aired right in front of them. Jeff and Mr. Gordon were either not embarrassed or not thinking, but Elliott was very embarrassed. It felt like he was somehow intruding just by being present.
"Bye," Sean called as he followed Elliott to the doors. Barry only briefly glanced at Jeff and Mr. Gordon before bringing up the rear.
"I guess someday I'll see you from the pen!" Jeff screamed before turning to stalk after the others. "After all, you're my judge and jury, and you've already convicted me!"
Now Mr. Gordon flinched. "Jeff . . . !" he exclaimed. With one hand he reached for the boy, but in vain. Jeff was already leaving with Barry and the other men, not even looking back.
Of course, he had already left his uncle ages ago.
. . . Or had he felt pushed away?
Mr. Gordon clenched a fist. He was too frustrated and angry to really think about that. He could not let Jeff go off, nor could he let his client leave when there was a threat against him. The only choice was to go along too.
Outside, Sean jogged to catch up to Elliott. "Hey," he called.
Elliott looked over his shoulder. "Yeah?" he asked.
"I'm sorry you had to hear that," Sean said, coming alongside. "I don't altogether get what's going on, either. They've got issues."
Elliott gave a weak smile. "Yeah, I guess," he said.
"And Mr. Gordon's coming out with us," Sean remarked. "He'd better take his own car."
"I'm going to take mine," Elliott offered. He unlocked the driver's door and hauled it open before easing himself onto the familiar, plush seat. As he did so, something in the car caught Sean's eye.
"What's that?!" he gasped, pointing to a sheet of paper on the passenger seat.
Elliott blinked. "This?" He had completely forgotten the earlier prank on his windshield. "It's just a joke a couple of my students were playing." He held up the leaf with the newspaper letters.
"It's the same kind of note Barry got today!" Sean said in amazement. "That's at least partially why Mr. Gordon's following us out, I bet---he's worried about Barry going off because of the threat!"
Elliott gawked at him. Stunned would be a mild word for what was sweeping over him now. "Barry got one too?!" he said, incredulous. If those students of his had delivered the message to his car, why would they take another one to Barry? There was no connection between them and him.
. . . Not unless they knew both Elliott and Barry in their old life and remembered, for some strange reason. But why would they remember when no one else did?
"Who are these students, anyway?" Sean asked now, leaning on the open door with crossed arms.
Elliott shook his head. "Twin brothers," he sighed, setting the paper down again. "They do everything together, almost like they're one mind in two bodies. Around campus they're pretty much universally called Double Trouble."
"Well, that's encouraging," Sean said with a frown. "So they're pranksters."
"With a capital P. I was telling Scott that they have something against me." Elliott inserted the key into the ignition. "They're always trying to make me snap."
"And now they randomly go after Barry, too," Sean said, pushing himself away from the door.
"If it's them," Elliott was quick to add. "I still don't know for sure if they delivered the note to me."
"I bet they did," Sean said. "And they must be sneaky, to get into the Met and all the way to Barry's dressing room without anyone seeing them!"
"They're sneaky, alright," Elliott agreed. "I bet they could do it."
He glanced back at the others. Barry and Jeff were standing by Barry's car, waiting for Sean, while Mr. Gordon was already in his own car. Apparently he was not going to bother talking any more to either Jeff or Barry right now---which was probably a good decision. Jeff's expression was a storm cloud.
"We should go," he said now. "Maybe we can talk about this later."
Sean nodded. "I'll let Barry know about your note," he said. "This really does bear investigating. After we stop in to see Scott, we should check out Double Trouble's place and try to talk to them."
Elliott pulled the door shut. "Good idea," he said, turning the key in the ignition. "I was going to wait and ask them at the afternoon class, but now I don't think I should wait."
"Nope," Sean said, "you shouldn't." With a wave, he walked back to Barry's car.
Shaking his head, Elliott began to maneuver out of the parking space. They had not determined who would follow whom, but since he had parked in front of Barry and already had his engine running, he would lead the way.
Hopefully Scott really would want to see them. Immediately before Elliott had felt shaken at lunch, Scott had seemed strange. And then he had departed so suddenly, without either of them remembering to get the contact information from each other. At least, Elliott had not remembered. He supposed Scott had not, either.
. . . As opposed to Scott remembering, but not wanting to exchange it after all.
Elliott frowned, shaking his head. He had to push those thoughts out of his mind.
"I almost hope those twins do know who we are," he mumbled aloud to the car. "Because I don't anymore."
****
"Elliott! Don't leave me, Elliott! Please don't leave me!"
Scott started awake, the mattress jerking underneath his panicked form. His eyes flew open, staring at the white pillow where he was laying. He was not in some completely dark realm, calling out to his precious friend as some unknown danger threatened to take him away. He was safe---and alone.
He gripped the pillow, his quick and uneven breathing beginning to slow as he focused on his room at the Waldorf. There was his suitcase on the floor, still packed. His carry-on bag had been thrown onto a nearby chair, while his tie and vest remained draped on the top of the furniture. The suite was dim, but not pitch-black, as in his dream. The blinds were closed to allow him to sleep without the full interference of daylight---but he would have far rather been awakened by the sun than by his dream-self's heartbroken cry.
"Elliott," he whispered.
The dream was far too real to only be a dream. It had really happened; he had really cried out like that for Elliott at some past time. The circumstances were still a mystery, but for some reason he kept imagining feathers. Lots of white feathers, fluttering out of the darkness and into his hands.
He rolled onto his back. It was not likely that he would be going back to sleep now. Maybe he should call Elliott so they could work on solving this bizarre case. Not that there was really any way to do that. The very thought alone was overwhelming. How could they hope to find two people out of everyone in New York---or the United States, or the world? How would they even begin? All they knew to look for were two people with whom they felt they belonged. Would they just walk up and down streets, trying to feel such a sensation from someone they passed? Would he examine every face at his concerts, while Elliott studied everyone at the university? Or was it too much to hope that it would be that easy to run into them? Maybe they never would find those people and they would be left to search in vain all of their days.
"If he could hear you now, Louie would really think you've lost it," he said to himself.
Still, he reached up and fished through the objects on the nightstand. He had emptied his pockets before changing into his pajamas to sleep, but now he could not find the paper with Elliott's contact information.
He stiffened, his hand poised over his wallet. Had he forgotten to get Elliott's phone number and address? They had talked about it, but then they had ended up side-tracked to other subjects. And then had come the strange doubts, prompting Scott to get up and leave in order to think.
He had not been holding anything.
"We forgot," he said, sitting straight up in bed. "How could we have?!"
Or he had forgotten, at least. What if Elliott had not, but had said nothing because he did not want to exchange information?
Scott frowned. No, he would not believe that. There was no reason to, unless he was going to cater to those doubts after all. And he was tired of being undecided. Elliott was clearly important to him.
But was he as important to Elliott?
Why did he have to keep doing this?! It should be easy to determine one way or the other about their bond. They had both felt something. If he did not mean the same to Elliott, then Elliott surely would not have any sense of remembering an old friend.
If Elliott was telling the truth about what he felt.
Elliott was perfectly upright and honest! There had been no lie in his eyes.
Scott sighed, throwing back the covers as he sat up in bed. He would have to try going to the university to look for Elliott. He had a class in the afternoon, didn't he? Scott could just leave a short message for him and include his own contact information to show he was still interested. Then Elliott could decide whether or not to reciprocate.
He glanced at the nightstand. According to the digital clock, it was nearly one. Had Elliott mentioned what time the class met? It didn't sound familiar. Maybe it was even going on now. If Scott hurried, maybe he could make it in time.
Pushing himself off the bed, he shuffled to where he had left a fresh set of clothes. Now that he was more awake, it did not take long to change. He tossed his pajamas onto the couch before pulling on the shirt and pants and grabbing up his vest and tie. He was still tying the knot in the latter as he walked to the nightstand. With one hand he stuffed his wallet and other belongings into his pants pockets while he adjusted the tie with his other hand. Then he glanced down at himself, giving an approving nod before heading to the door.
The spirit that had been following and observing him stood by now, his features twisted in anger. Scott was still resisting all of the thoughts being whispered to his mind. In spite of everything that had been said to discourage him from his friendship with Elliott, he was leaving for the university. But that did not mean the phantom was giving up. No, it just meant he would have to try a new tactic. Perhaps if he opened Scott's mind to one memory . . . one horrible memory. . . .
A cruel sneer came over his features. "Remember Los Angeles," he hissed as he drew close to Scott once more. "Remember how Elliott treated you there. He said he hated you. He shoved you. He hit you. You were pleading for him to stop."
Scott froze, a flash of something passing before his eyes. He was sprawled on a dock, desperate to restrain a merciless attacker bearing down upon him.
"Stop!" he was screaming. "Elliott, stop! STOP!"
Elliott?! No! It could not be Elliott!
But it was. The same features that had been so kind, so gentle, were twisted in rage. Elliott's fists were clenched as he struck at the blond again and again.
As quick as it came, the scene faded. Scott gasped, moving a shaking hand over his face.
"What was that?!" he choked out. "Elliott. . . . How could that have been real?!"
His voice was loud in the otherwise silent room. He slumped back, his shoulders trembling. His skin was chalk white.
". . . How could it have not been real?" he whispered. The emotions were so vivid, so poignant and powerful and horrible. He could still feel the blows of Elliott's fists on his poor body.
"Why?" he asked the phantom in his mind. "Why did you hurt me, Elliott? Why were you hurting me?!"
But there were no answers to be had. And Elliott himself likely did not remember.
Scott's eyes narrowed. He would find out whether or not Elliott remembered. And if by chance he did, Scott would demand an explanation.
The spirit smirked, crossing his arms as Scott headed for the door again. "There's no need to tell the rest," he mused to himself. "No need to mention that Elliott was possessed by an ancient, evil spirit and was absolutely devastated. Let's let him think Elliott was being deliberately cruel."
With that he followed the distraught singer.
****
Sean could only stare in awe as he and the others entered the spacious lobby of the Waldorf-Astoria. The immaculate carpet stretched in all directions, while the furniture was perfectly polished and stuffed. The rich and wealthy milled about, busy with their own plans. They barely paid attention to the newcomers, though one or two looked over with thinly-veiled repulsion at Sean's worn clothes and Jeff's punk look. Jeff met their gazes with a cool air, letting them know that he was not so impressed with their world, either.
"I never thought I'd see the inside of this place," Sean mused, gazing up at a heavy chandelier loaded with glittering crystals. He stepped away, not wanting to be standing underneath it. The thing looked perfectly secure, yet when it was so enormous it looked as though it could come crashing down at any time.
"I never wanted to," Jeff retorted. "Too many snobs. I get enough of them in my own neighborhood." His tone was pointed, directed at the man he knew was walking behind them.
Mr. Gordon frowned. To his mind came the thoughts that he was concerned about pleasing the neighbors above all ease. He shook his head, pushing the idea away. It was not so.
Elliott glanced ahead. Barry was already at the front desk, inquiring about Scott. From his expression, the clerk was surprised that Barry would want anything to do with a pop singer.
"I can ring his room," he offered.
"He might be sleeping," Elliott interjected as he walked to the desk. "We wouldn't want to wake him up. . . ."
"His manager might be sleeping too, for that matter," Sean said. He and Jeff followed Elliott, with Mr. Gordon bringing up the rear.
"Maybe we should just leave a message," Elliott said.
But at that moment, the hurried footsteps on the carpeted stairs made him turn and look. Then his eyes widened. "Scott!" he exclaimed, as the blond came into view.
Scott froze, looking to Elliott in surprise. The other new arrivals were lost to his sight; he focused on Elliott, his eyes hardening.
". . . What are you doing here?" he asked at last.
Elliott stared at him, unable to mask the confusion and hurt in his eyes. Did Scott not want him here? Had his concerns and doubts been justified? ". . . I . . . we forgot to exchange our information," he said, his voice weakening. "And I found the other guys we're supposed to be with. . . . We came here to see if you were awake. . . ."
The unseen spirit grinned, leaning close to Elliott's ear. "You see?" he whispered. "Scott doesn't really care about you. It was an act. He hates you, you know. Remember when he pushed you through the trapdoor? You hit your head and almost died."
The color drained from Elliott's face. Suddenly, unbidden, Scott's voice was echoing through his mind. But it was not the cheerful, kind voice from their airport encounter, or even the icy tone of now; it was filled with hatred.
"You were never my friend!"
A dim scene flashed before his eyes. They were in a darkened building, Scott's golden eyes aflame with rage as he pushed on Elliott's shoulders. And Elliott screamed in shock and emotional pain as he pitched backwards through the open trapdoor. He hit the stone bottom, blacking out.
In the real world, he jumped a mile at the memory of the impact. His eyes were wide, filled with pain and horror as he continued to stare at Scott.
And Scott was noticeably shaken. "Elliott?!" he gasped, hurrying down the remainder of the stairs to reach his dear friend. "Elliott, what is it?!" He reached out, intending to grasp Elliott's upper arms.
Elliott snapped to attention. He was not thinking or even being rational at all. The only thing he could focus on was that Scott was making the same gesture as he had when he had pushed Elliott. And Elliott was panic-stricken. "Don't touch me!" he cried, snatching Scott's wrists. Now he was noticeably trembling. "Don't touch me!"
Sean was gawking. "Is anyone else missing something here?" he frowned.
"They act like they know something we don't," Jeff said. "Weird."
Barry said nothing as he continued to observe, his eyes narrowed in concern. The two were indeed lost in their own world, not even having noticed the others calling to them, asking what was wrong.
Scott had stiffened when he had been grabbed. Now he was staring into Elliott's brown eyes with his own blue-green orbs, bewildered and hurt. He had not meant to sound so cold upon seeing Elliott, but he had still been reeling from the memory of being beaten. Now Elliott acted as though he had seen or remembered something foul as well, something pertaining to Scott. The color had drained from his face, the panic and horror in his eyes unable to be concealed.
"Elliott," Scott rasped. Again he asked, "Elliott . . . what is it?"
Elliott did not answer. He was again staring into Scott's eyes . . . no, at Scott's eyes. And he gasped in realization. "They're blue," he said in amazement. "Blue-green. . . ." Slowly he released the other. "Not gold. . . ."
Scott stared, even more perplexed. "Yeah," he said. "My eyes have never been gold. . . ." But why did the very thought stab his soul? And why did it affect Elliott so much?
". . . You pushed me through a trapdoor," Elliott said at last. "Your eyes were gold. . . ."
An arrow slammed into Scott's heart. He could only gawk, not comprehending. "I . . . I pushed you?" he repeated.
The same scene Elliott had viewed leaped into his own mind. He could see himself, crazed and hateful as he shoved Elliott through the hole. And he could see Elliott's shocked, heartbroken eyes as he fell.
Scott cried out, recoiling as he pulled his hands away. He could never touch Elliott any more; his hands were filthy. He had used them to . . . to . . .
"Why?!" Elliott cried. "Why did you do it?!"
Scott shook his head. "I . . . I don't know," he said, his shoulders quaking. "I don't know!" He looked back at Elliott. "Is . . . is that why you beat me?"
Elliott stared. "I beat you?!" he gasped. Was that the reason for the cold reception---Scott had gained some memory of Elliott beating him? But . . . why would he do such a thing? Was it really because he had been furious about being pushed? He was not like that! He would never do that, not to Scott, not to anyone!
He had not wanted to believe in the rebirth theory, but . . . what if it was true? What if they had been close friends in their other lives but had ended up enemies? What if . . . what if one of them had even killed the other? He fell back, running a trembling hand over his face. Maybe they had been given second chances at life because they were supposed to repair the horrible damage they had done to each other.
But how could something like what they had remembered ever be repaired? How could either one of them grant forgiveness to the other? And still, even if they could, how could they put such a broken friendship back together? Each would feel so sickened by what he had done that he would never forgive himself, even if he could forgive his friend.
"Hey! Hey! Earth to Elliott K. and Scott L. Come in, Elliott K. and Scott L.!"
Elliott jumped a mile. Sean had come between him and Scott, standing with his hands on his hips. He was frowning, clearly bewildered by what he was witnessing.
"What is it with you guys?!" he exclaimed. "If it's this drastic, how about letting the rest of us in on it? After all, we all came to see Scott."
Scott gawked at the strange, tall man with the many assorted braids. For the first time it was dawning that there were four others with Elliott. And they were all staring.
"You have some serious, and I mean serious, issues," a punk kid commented.
"Issues that need to be worked out," a deep-voiced man said.
"Has everyone here gone mad?!" cried an older man.
"Highly possible," the man with the braids mused.
Scott shook his head, a weak but amused smile coming over his features. Elliott had said that he had brought the others they were supposed to be with, albeit that did not explain the other two. This, however, was not a logical place for their conversation. The number of people turning to look had quadrupled. He could only pray there were no reporters in the bunch.
"This isn't a good place to talk," he said. "Why don't we just go back to my suite?"
"That's sensible," said the man with the braids. "I'm all for it."
Scott took a deep breath. "Okay then," he said, turning to go back up the stairs. "Follow me up."
With that, the others trailed after him as they ascended. Sean continued to glance around at the luxurious surroundings, while Jeff looked about boredly and Barry remained deadpan. Mr. Gordon eyed his nephew, disapproval in his visage.
Elliott continued to watch Scott, his mind tumbling and reeling. He could not arrive at a satisfactory explanation for what he and Scott had seen. And with that hanging over their heads, it was almost impossible to know how to handle their possible friendship---or to even be in the same room as Scott. By the time they arrived at the suite, he felt ready to burst.
"I'm sorry we didn't meet under better circumstances," Scott said. He looked to Sean and Barry with a wan smile as he went to open the curtains and blinds.
"Oh, it's okay," Sean grinned. "'Better circumstances' would be us remembering everything about each other and our friendships, right?"
"I guess so," Scott said. He glanced to Elliott, then away. "But . . . do we really have friendships?" The very words stabbed his soul, yet they had to be said. What he and Elliott had remembered . . . didn't that mean they had really not been friends? Why would they attack each other if they were so close?
Why had his eyes been gold?
Elliott flinched at Scott's words. Yes, he had wondered the same thing---but it still pierced him to hear it spoken. They should not even be having such a conversation, not after what they had felt at the airport. Why did these other memories have to appear and ruin everything?!
. . . Yes, why did they? Why should he let them?
The turmoil and confusion began to fade, replaced by a firm and growing peace. He did not know the whole truth, but he knew enough. He knew the most important thing.
He raised his hands to his face, slowly removing his glasses. Then he set them on the nearest table, reflecting the outside light.
". . . We have friendships," he said at last.
Scott turned back to him, questions filling his eyes.
"I can't explain what we've seen," Elliott admitted, "but it doesn't take away what we felt. It can't. You mean everything to me!" He looked into Scott's shocked eyes. "I've been lonely all my life. I was never happy until I saw you at the airport. And I know with every part of my heart and soul that you are my brother in spirit. It's true that I've had doubts. But what I felt overcomes them all." He reached out to embrace Scott. Still stunned, Scott allowed it, his heart racing. Elliott pulled him close.
"I don't know why you pushed me," he said. His voice cracking, he added, "I don't know why I beat you, either." He lowered his tone. "But there has to be an explanation somehow, somewhere. I can't stand the thought of hurting you, Scott. Just thinking about it makes me want to recoil in horror. And knowing I beat you makes me feel like the lowest thing on this planet. I don't understand how I could ever lay a finger on you to cause harm."
He hugged Scott closer. "What I do understand is that I love you," he said at last.
Scott stiffened. "Elliott . . ." He reached with shaking arms, hesitant at first but then clutching at the older man. What Elliott felt . . . he felt it too. In spite of everything, against everything stacked in their way, he felt it clear and simple. And he could not deny it.
"Brothers," he whispered. "Elliott, I . . . I love you too."
And somewhere in the room, the evil spirit roared in hatred and frustration.