Nothing But Bones

17: Sorting Things Out

Tiff takes off her boots before she gets in Elton's car. Failing miserably in her attempts not to think about leaving her vomit-covered sneakers in Darius's car, in that regard, she chuckles a little, holds the boots out in the rain, and brings them into the car at her feet, where Kepler already is. "What's the full plan, then? I can't make a decision."

Frowning at Dingus, who is panting in the backseat and dirtying up his car with his muddy paws, Elton sighs and shakes his head. "First we shower, gather ourselves, and reconvene close to dinner time and I take you out on a not-date before we drive back here, find somewhere to park this bad boy, and creepily creep around an old manor that houses a living skeleton."

"Creepily creep?"

"You heard me. Straight creeping."

He turns his car on. Creeper's "Cry To Heaven" blasts from the speakers louder than it should. He drives off to the sound of it, leaving the house behind and ignoring the way Tiff kind-of-laughs at it.

Elton drops her off at the Beaverdell Hotel in accordance with the plan. He watches her gather up everything in her arms— the shoulder-bag, the wet shoes, the wet rat— and tries to make her way, barefoot, back to her room so she can get the stench of rot off of her. Once she's inside, Elton drives the minute down the road to his house and parks his car. It isn't even one in the afternoon and he's already kind of exhausted. It isn't every day he fights zombies or has a skeleton encounter. Maybe for Tiff it is, but not him. He's a waiter and a paranormal investigator with a YouTube show he has been neglecting.

He has another video scheduled to go out tomorrow that covers his investigation of his neighbor's pool house. It's less of a house and more of a shed, but hey. He stayed the night in it. Surprisingly, he even caught some very interesting EVPS. After that, there's the evidence breakdown video he had to finish editing and then... nothing. There might be something to say about that, but he isn't going to say it.

Sighing, he supposes a shower is in order. Though he isn't as covered as that weird fucking American, he is quite stinky from rotten zombie goo dried onto his face and clothes. He catches his face in the side mirror. There's a smear of blackened bodily fluids across his cheek. Fucking gross.

Dingus, in the back seat, also stinks. Elton isn't sure what's worse: wet dog or dead man.

"Come on, boy," he sighs. "Let's head inside."

Half an hour later, Elton sits at his desk with wet hair, a clean dog, and absolutely zero traces of zombie left on him.

Should he try talking to Ben? Does he want that right now— right before his big stakeout?

Why couldn't Ben have made it easy on him and been uncomplicated? Things would be easier if he had said, "Gosh, Elton, I feel the exact same way about you that you do about me. Let's meet up and hold hands," or, "Oh, sorry, Elton, but I'm not into dudes. If I were, though, I'd totally be into you." That latter wouldn't have felt great, but he would have at least had a clear answer and their friendship could just continue.

But no. Ben had to have conflicted feelings.

He rolls his head along the back of his chair in an attempt at some semi-melodrama. Looking at the dog pouting by the window, he sighs, "Oh, Dingus, why must it be this way?"

Dingus has been ignoring Elton. He huffs and, facing the window, lays his head on his paws.

Bathtime may have been a betrayal but, Hellhound or not, Grace Castle would not appreciate a messy pooch in her house. Elton did what was necessary. He's not going to apologize for it. "Get over it, you big beast."