Nothing But Bones

7: Tiff and Elton's Very Normal Interaction

The sun bearing down on her through thin curtains brings with it the uneasiness of waking from a dream and finding herself back in her body. It's a sensation that lingers now that she can wander in Dreaming rather than staying beholden to its boundaries, but the truth is that waking has almost always felt that way. Oneiron's eyes burning through the dark black void wasn't the first time that she woke up with her lip curled and a knot of worry growing behind her ribcage. It certainly wasn't the last.

There's no real time to lay there and get her head straight. There never has been. The day isn't coming; it's here, and she has to greet it. It can be with a smile or a pair of pliers to its teeth, but she has to say hello.

She pushes Kepler off her gently and untangles herself from the topsheet. Getting dressed is, as always, a process of multitasking and trying not to lose track of herself. Somewhere between threading the striped belt through dark denim loops and finding her shirt on the floor, she pulls her phone off the charger by her fucked-up laptop and retrieves the number Elton gave her yesterday from the front pocket of her jeans. With a granola bar from the side pocket of her bag between her teeth, she makes the call.

Elton Castle is in his bedroom in the attic of his family's home. His family has had this house going back for a very long time. The kitchen, the foyer— it has all been here for generations. The attic renovation was a big deal and his mother reminded him of it constantly, seeing as it was his idea to turn it into a bedroom.

He's awake. He has been for at least an hour. His thoughts keep turning to him and how fucked up it all is. How he had said too much and could take none of it back. It's an endless loop.

Then his phone rings, startling him out of his thoughts. Elton sighs, thinking it's his mother trying to get him to come in and work at the Big fucking Beaver. Not today, he won't! He grabs his phone and sees a number he doesn't recognize. Weird. Spam?

He almost sets the phone down before he remembers he gave that girl with the strange "dog" his number. Shit. Fumbling the phone, Elton hits accept, brings it up to his face, and says (much too loudly), "Hello?"

In the deafening crackle of Elton's voice, Tiff accidentally swallows the half-chewed granola bar. She croaks out an, "Ow."

"Oh, oh no. I'm sorry! Shit. I thought you may have been spam since I didn't recognize your number and I was going to ignore it. Then I remember I gave you my number. Wait. You're the girl from yesterday right? Shit. Hi."

Tiff swallows again, trying to get the granola past her epiglottis without having to reach in there with two fingers and fish it out. Fuck. Is that what she sounds like on a good day?

Her voice still comes out hoarse once the swallowing is done, scraped to pieces by razor-sharp honey-coated oats. "Yeah, that's me. I'm heading out to that house today and then I'm going to immerse myself in research based on what I find. You said you could help. Did you want to, or am I going it alone?"

It is, in fact, how Tiff sounds on a good day. Elton, though, is having an off morning. Truly. He composes himself and rolls to sit up on the edge of his bed. His dog, Dingus, lifts his big dumb head and eyes Elton with contempt.

"Yes, yes! I absolutely would love to..."

"Cool. That's great." (How do oats hurt this much?)

He realizes something. He has no fucking idea who this person is, or anything about her— not even her name! "Um, you're not going to murder me, right? Also, I never caught your name..."

Murdering him wasn't the plan, but it feels weird to answer that question. "Tiff. Cain. Tiff Cain."

That's fair. That's technically legal. She doesn't need to give him the other name, like he's a fed or something. Tiff puts the phone on speaker and sets it on the desk before kicks her shirt up into her hand, turns it right-side-out, and shoves it down over her head.

"Yeah," she says, like repeating it won't be weird and suspicious. "Tiff Cain."

Tiff Cain. Elton considers it. She repeated it as if she was trying to convince herself that it was her name. Weird, but okay.

Fuck, he's absolutely going to get murdered. At least it'll be interesting. Final, but interesting.

He breaks the awkward silence. "Okay, Tiff. I expect you're at the Beaverdell Hotel?"

"I'm not going to murder you," she blurts, hand splayed on the desk in front of her. "I don't know what you heard about me that makes you think I'm going to murder you, but I'm not. I'm just here to look at a haunted house for normal reasons." After a long second of physically biting her tongue until she's more spit than person, she adds, "Yes. That's where I am. To answer. To answer the question. Yeah. The Beaverdell Hotel."

Is this what he sounds like to other people? Elton lets silence fill the call for longer than either him or Tiff would like. "Uh, cool. Yeah. Makes sense. My aunt owns it. Not that that matters, but... yeah. Normal reasons are the best of reasons."

"We're so normal."

"Um... I won't murder you, either."

She shakes her head. There's still granola stuck in her throat. "You couldn't. You could try, but you couldn't."

"Oh, probably not. I wouldn't try. Unless it was in self-defense, but you said you wouldn't so I think I'm safe. So are you. Safe is good. Haha." He verbalizes the laugh.

"Oh, Elton." She squints at the window and the trees beyond, trying to sound mysterious. "I'm never safe."

From the foot of the bed, Kepler throws one of her shoes at her. The thick rubber sole hits her in the arm.

"Ow. Fuck. Fine. That's not true. I just wanted to sound cool and hard." She puts the boot on out of spite, fingers picking easily at green laces. "Are you happy, you shiteating little rat?"

"Shit... eating rat?"

"Not you." She says it a little too quickly. If she had a free hand, she would palm her forehead. "Someone else."

"Sure. Cool. I'll be over in a few minutes. If you'd like, I can drive you to where the house is and you can take a look. Can't go onto the property, but you can at least take a look!"

The promise of someone else driving lifts a weight from her chest that she hadn't quite been aware of. She can't keep herself from grinning. "Trespassing doesn't matter."

Elton tries to decipher that. Who is this person? Doesn't matter? Okay, sure, he broke into the house last year and looked around. There was also the incident with the basement at Johnny's, but still. She hardly knows him and she's admitting to wanting to trespass?

He grins. "Noted. See you soon!"

He hangs up first. Tiff nods to herself and tucks her phone into her back pocket. She fucking loves crimes.

And so does he.