Elliot Grey Solves a Murder

Chapter 4: The already viscous plot thickens

By the end of the week we're no closer to finding out what happened to Lucas. Or our gunman. Naturally we stick to campus from here on out. But, Jaden's search of the school records yield nothing. No proof he was even a student here.
And in our desperation, we break a Forest Grove code.
We Google Lucas.
The results are, anti climatic. Not even a reverse image search yields anything. Lucas Yarrow is clearly a fake name, big deal, but his image isn't on the internet. He had cigarettes. He had clean clothes. He was clearly showing up here knowing his way around. So where did he come from? And who wanted to keep us off that beach?
With Lucas yielding no new leads, we revert to trying to identify the gunman.
"What do you want and how much is it worth?"
"Hi to you too, Con," I say, leaning in the door, "How much do you know about guns?"
"Do I look like a conservative to you?" He asks, tugging on his My Chemical Romance T-shirt, nails now sparkly green.
"Fair," I close the door.
"He seemed charming," Garth means it.
"Okay that was my contact, who else?" I sigh, "The gun—caliber—type—thing might be our only lead. Can any gun make that shot down to the beach? We don't know."
"All right I do have an idea but you're not allowed to take it poorly, or you can, but you can't be cross at me—,"
"Oh god please no I see him twice a day that's more than enough—,"
Fallon is usually in Lion Lodge as it happens, but he's perpetually out at the sports grounds doing fitness. I don't know okay? He's doing push ups when we find him, a white wife beater dripping with sweat, and barefoot. Like a training samurai. Or a very dedicated high school junior who is so damned extra he brought a candle out to do pushups over.
"What do you know about guns?" I ask, folding my arms.
"This have anything to do with the gunshots everyone heard three days ago?" Fallon asks, not getting up.
"Why aren't you moving?" I ask.
"Oh my god it's a plank you should know that."
"Not really I'm not into sports—,"
"ITS WHAT I WAS TEACHING YOU THIS MORNING."
"Oh that is a good reason. Right. Guns," I say.
"Yes it does, I didn't know other people heard them," Garth says.
"Yeah, those echo, I didn't hear it I was inside, the chaperones said it was from the next island, but you nerds wouldn't be here if it was?" He looks up, face lined with pain, dark hair sweaty and sticking to his skin.
"We believe we were being shot at," Garth says when I shrug at him, "can you—tell what kind of gun it was?"
"Depends. How many shots?"
"Three," I say.
"Spacing?"
"I don't know—of what?"
"The shots. How long in between."
"Maybe a few seconds. Fifteen?" Garth says.
"How loud? Like a pop or more of a solid crack?"
"I don't know," I say.
"Did you see the shooter?" Fallon climbs to his feet, "How was he holding his hands?"
"I don't know, I just saw a shape," I say.
"Look, we're not here to get you in anything," Garth says, "We think an old friend of Elliot's might be involved in something bad. That's all."
"If you have any of the rounds then I can tell you what caliber the gun was, probably," Fallon offers.
"Round what?" I ask.
"Oh my god a bullet casing is this your first day out of doors?" Fallon asks.
"We didn't even think about those," Garth says.
"Some bullets even have serial numbers, not all, but the type of bullet can tell me what type of gun. Some guns are even illegal and favored by criminals, some favored by law enforcement, it might give you an idea. But if you already know he's in something illegal then why are you asking?" Fallon asks.
"He's missing. Possibly murdered," I say, "And someone—shot at us."
"And you didn't call the cops because —?"
"No one is going to believe me," I say.
"And we've got no information on the shooter, besides we think we saw someone and we heard shots," Garth says.
"Do you know where the bullets went?"
"Yes but since we got shot at last time we weren't going back out there."
"He got shot at?" Fallon pokes Garths' shoulder.
"Yes," I say.
"He's my best fencer a threat to him is a threat to the team. We're going. But not him. I can't have him injured this season is already going to be a pain with YOU."
"You're all heart, Granger."
Garth goes with.
Jaden is in study hall, so it's just the three of us. I thought seeing Fallon twice a day for work outs was really enough. Actual fencing practice is going to start soon. I'm probably going to need another therapist to cope with that alone.
The three of us head out towards the cliffs, and I grudgingly fill Fallon in on our search for Lucas.
"Runaways happen. He could just be hiding out. Usually things are less mysterious than they appear," is Fallon's only offer. Garth, thank god, is happy to make conversation with him about the upcoming fencing season.
We're partway up the path when my phone rings. My father. I sigh. I haven't missed a call but this is early. Mostly I just tell him I'm fine. I thought I had a few more hours.
"My dad—I seriously have to take this," I say, holding it up.
Fallon shrugs, traditional glare on his hard features.
"Of course," Garth says, so nicely.
"Hi," I answer, walking a bit out of earshot back down the trail.
"I've got a late meeting tonight you all good? End of the week fine?" He asks.
"We don't have to do this. I am fine as I'm going to be you're busy like, we don't have to become a 'call say goodnight' sort of people," I say.
"Humor me then? I'm not around much. It's good to hear your voice."
"I'll record a message."
"Do that actually, and um, don't forget we have family therapy tomorrow. I say this because I'll be taking a Valium before that so I recommend you do too."
"Fuck yes, I forgot, thanks," I say.
"I'll text you about it but, however much pain you're in I want you to know I also am not having a good time with the sessions all right?"
"Is this really keeping custody?" I ask.
"It was part of the reconciliation yeah. Is that still what you want?"
"No. I want you to have custody," I say, quietly, "Look I'm with some classmates. I'm going to go."
"Okay, yeah, um, talk to you tomorrow then."
"Text me like, two hours before so I can take the sedatives."
"I will."
I hang up.
The others are waiting, still clearly talking about fencing. Garth turns though.
"Everything okay?" He asks, kindly.
"Yes—yeah, my dad just reminding me we have this stupid family therapy thing," I say.
"Oh I understand how that can be frustrating. We saw an adoption therapist for some years I did regard it as a pain but eventually I found it beneficial," Garth offers.
I am stunned into silence. Because until this moment, reader, it did not occur to me that he was adopted. Yes I knew he had two dads. Yes I knew those two people did not birth him. No he does not look like them. But I generally did not assume that he was adopted. In the back of my head I kind of assumed it was a wonder-woman, Amazon type of situation. Like these two men just climbed up Mount Olympus and formed this perfect sweet kid from clay. If asked that was what I was generally envisioning. No I didn't think that that was how gay people got kids. It's the most logical way I thought THESE gay people got their kid, having met them and the kid.
I can't say any of that outloud.
"You knew I was adopted right? You did you met my dads," Garth says.
"Yes. Adoption, yes," I say.
"What you thought I was a surrogacy thing? Lord no, I mean I'm sure they'd have gotten a therapist for that. No I was a foundling and my fathers had been on the list to adopt me and I came up. I went home when I was less than three weeks old," Garth explains.
"Did you not know how gay people have children?" Fallon asks me, studying my face.
"I don't think about how other people got here! I didn't think about how I got here until it was like way too late and now I'm in therapy to forget how I got here," I say, in my defense, "Except tomorrow's therapy is more therapy to remind me how I got here I have see all my parents."
"That must suck, this isn't anytime near practice is it?"
"No," I glare at Fallon.
"I have I suppose somewhat similar experiences?" Garth offers, ignoring our side argument.
"Did you ever find your birth parents?" I ask, "Or—want to? Or is that not something you talk about or is it weird to ask about?"
"Oh no I don't mind! I've done DNA tests and all that for lineage for what it's worth. No I never really cared I mean I went home at three weeks old my fathers were very thorough I had a lovely childhood. My birth mother they never found, DNA test turned up nothing I'm not looking. I'd really only want her to know I'm perfectly well and if a birth father was ever aware of me, the same," Garth says, shrugging, "My parents took me home two days before Christmas I've been home ever since."
"I assume you both know this—? My father is not my father, my mom fooled around. Bam, me. This all came out early this year, anyway, my biological father, my real father, has custody he's—cool I guess with being my father. But my mom and my former dad want some custody, visitation, and this therapy," I say.
"Fucking fast to get custody," Fallon frowns.
"I see. Well that's a lot to cope with, I always knew that I was a foundling I never knew different, your reality changed," Garth offers.
"Good way to put it. Yeah. Anyway apparently my biological dad didn't know, he asked if I was his she said no. My mom we think knew for a while, which is what sucks of her," I say.
"Dishonesty hurts everyone," Garth says.
"You've had too much therapy I'm calling the cops on one of your dads I don't care which one," Fallon says.
"It's true. Dishonesty hurts like me you'd be less than half this hurt if you'd known the truth to begin with. However painful," he says.
"Yeah, need fewer mysteries," I say, staring off at the trees. Like this one. Why was Lucas lying to me? Why lie and say he went to school here if he was in hiding? And why risk coming out? I sigh. I'm actually happier contemplating my best friends murder rather than face my family.
We make it to the beach in record time because Fallon marches like he's trying out for the Olympic Walkathon. We don't have to go all the way down the steps though.
"Do you see these?" Fallon asks, kneeling in the leaf litter.
"No I'm looking at the back of your head."
He sighs, holding his hand up higher.
"Trash, litter, terrible," Garth says.
"I agree," I say, "Bad for the environment."
"I'm selling you, Grey. They're fucking flare cartridges, they were shooting flares at you," Fallon stands up, "See? That's not a bullet casing."
"Oh so it wasn't dangerous," Garth says, content.
"Yes it was, and it was still a warning. But this is America, fewer people own a flare gun than actual gun," Fallon says,
"And that's not a known criminal, they'd have a real gun," I say.
"Correct, they were trying to scare you off. Which means," Fallon says, "There's something on that beach worth finding."
We all three creep to the edge of the cliff and look down.
"And this is where those morons fell?" Fallon isn't a sensative person. I agree but I wasn't going to say something like that outloud.
"Yes," I say.
"So we have a potential of four people killed that night because Lucas is missing too," Garth says.
"You—both—do realize that your friend being missing makes him more likely the perpetrator?" Fallon asks.
Garth and I did not realize that and look at each other slowly.
"If they were bullying you and he wanted revenge for your little helicopter ride? He probably lured them here one by one, pushed them off the cliff,easy enough in the dark when he knew where the edge was and they didn't. Armed with—I don't know here's a random idea— A FLARE GUN, he could have easily forced them to back to close to the edge in the dark," Fallon says.
Garth and I stare at each other.
"Mystery solved. Not saying they didn't deserve it. Let's go back eh?" Fallon asks.
"But—you said yourself something could be down on that beach," I say.
"Yes. Evidence of a murder! This isn't our problem anymore. Logically speaking the idiot with the flare gun who took shoots at you, is probably the same person who somehow backed three people off a cliff. Someone we do NOT need to be involve with," Fallon says, "Now we have practice first thing in the morning. Come."
Garth and I follow him numbly, exchanging one more glance.
We meet with Jaden and Agnes in the Lion common area, at our usual corner sofa. Agnes is Jaden's roommate, a tall girl with frizzy hair and thick glasses, she's an artist at heart and wears perpetually paint splattered overalls. She's nice and we've appraised her of the mystery.
"Unfortunately as much as I hate saying this, Fallon's probably right," Jaden says, "The shots were to scare us off. And the shooter probably was just spooked with us at the crime scene."
"And Lucas is the most likely shooter," Garth says, gently.
"Okay so our best theory is, he's some sort of runaway and he figured he'd get our revenge on the bullies? Now he's spooked and in hiding, dropped his phone that night and for some reason didn't find it?" I ask, "Damn I was hoping it would sound impossible but that's pretty good."
"It's most likely," Garth says, "Which means we should likely tell the police, right?"
"Most of our theory is still based on Elliot's testimony," Agnes says, "I'm—just going out on a limb here do you really want to talk with authorities? Again? We all saw the med evac this spring I'm guessing you're a bit sick of police?"
"And hospitals. Right now the only solid bit of evidence we have is that phone," I say.
"One you've been texting," Garth admits, "I don't want to get you in it—but if he did—kill people—,"
"Let me see if I can unlock the phone," Agnes says, "We get two guesses a day till it times out. Most people do some variant of four corners."
"Can we just let it ride? We don't even know if he and the phone are connected. Right now the police should have combed the area and done their jobs," I point out.
"Yeah for all we know the phone was dropped later, and we realistically know whose it is so we're waiting for his friend to claim it," Jaden says.
"All right," Garth shrugs, "I suppose we don't really have new information other than the flare gun."
"Which was a flare gun, I mean it's dangerous but it could technically have been an accident, or cops will think it was," Agnes says.
"We'll keep looking though," Garth says, "But can we agree that we're not going back out to that beach again?"
"Agreed, whoever was shooting as us was sending a message. If it was Lucas then—fine we'll leave him alone," I say, doing a very good impression of someone with a reasonable will to live and concern for personal safety.
After that we adjourn our meeting. I have not only family therapy tomorrow, but our first actual fencing practice. I don't know how to fence but Fallon, in his latent insanity, has stated his intent to either turn me into a productive member of the team, or injure me so badly I'm disqualified from the team. I decided that's acceptable since I don't actually want to be on the team, I'm down with the second one.
But between those two things and the ongoing mystery of Lucas' disappearance, I don't get a lot of sleep. I have sleeping pills I can take, but I have to walk to the nurse to ask for those, so I settle for curling up watching YouTube videos of movie outtakes. No not fencing. I'm not a productive person.
I wake up for our morning torture session. I don't know how people 'look forward' to working out. I don't look forward to things as a rule. However this is worse. I'm never going to complain about my dad making me come for a jog again. I'm not telling him that he can eventually notice I'm more grateful, if I survive running around the track at the ungodly hour.
"Why can't you do pushups unless I'm holding your ass in position?" Fallon snarls, foot on my ass. The real answer is because about fifty push ups ago I started to find it funny that he has to stand here kicking me back into place. But I am not about to say that outloud.
"Because I'm too gay to be able to do this properly," I pant.
"Do you think Freidrich von Stueben was straight?"
"I don't know who that is and I refuse to learn."
"Oh thank you for sharing your sexuality with us!" Garth is incredibly nice, "We're glad you feel safe."
"You have two dads of COURSE he could tell you that," Fallon snarls.
"Oh that's right!" Garth laughs.
"I'm actually queer but for comedic purposes I'm simply gay," I explain, to Garth not Fallon he doesn't give a shit.
"I don't give a shit," see?
"Similarly you can gender me as anything you want if it works out comedically," I say, trying to get up and falling. Fallon drags me up by the back of my sweatshirt.
"I don't make jokes," Fallon says.
"I am not at all talking to you," I say.
I'm actually completing, some, of the work outs, so Fallon doesn't make me stay after to jog with him. I'm not really good, so I strongly suspect my sand paper personality has also finally done me a favor.
Garth and I change and head back to the class buildings together, we both have math first period anyway, and I've gotten spoiled with his indifference to my physical state. I'm still Arkham-Asylum-Skinny, with suspiciously placed scars but he has yet to say anything. I mean he knows I went through stuff but I appreciate his silence on the subject, instead he's filling me in on what we usually do at fencing practice. I'm trying to give him my full attention, but between how very little I care about sports, my meds I'm not retaining much. The drugs I'm on make it a bit hard to concentrate, nothing too terrible but some caffeine will help here.
We're on our way into the math building when we run nearly directly into Otto. He's with one of his more gross friends, a big kid named Beau. He bullied me a little last year but he was never a worse offender.
"So sorry!" Garth was born polite, and backs up.
"I suppose you're happy now? Was this what your little display this spring was all about?" Otto asks.
"Are you referring to my mental break down?" I ask, pleasantly.
"I don't think this is productive before class," Garth says, trying to walk us away, Beau blocks him.
"How do you fags find each other?" Beau asks, shoving Garth's shoulder.
"Touch him one more time," I say, darting between them, "Whatever homophobic, ableist problem you have is with me."
"So protective. What are you gonna do? Pretend to kill yourself again?" Otto asks.
"Okay just shut up," I say, still keeping myself between them and Garth.
"Elliot we should walk away," Garth volunteers.
"Go on. Do something. You're so goddamn unstable all the time, defend your homo friend," Otto grabs the front of my shirt, "You just weren't getting enough attention, huh?"
"You—seriously believe I want to be like this?" I stutter, too surprised to fight back.
"I'm asking you to let my friend go, we're going to be late for class," Garth should be a kindergarten teacher I swear.
"Do we have a problem here?"
I don't see Fallon till he's directly in front of me, hand tightly gripping Otto's thumb and twisting it back, painfully, and effectively freeing my shirt.
Otto cries out in pain.
"Let him go. That's assualt!" Beau says, pushing Fallon who still has hold of Otto's hand.
"This is how many fucks I give," Fallon snarls, releasing Otto but tripping him to the ground, "Now what's the problem gentlemen?"
"This is a private conversation, Playgirl," Beau says, looking like he's contemplating laying hands on our up tight fencing captain.
"They used a slur and derogatory language regarding Elliot and myself I do believe, we were just leaving," Garth says.
"No, we weren't. I don't know where in your underdeveloped brain you blame me for all this, but I really don't care. You don't like me? Awesome don't fucking talking to me, I don't like me either," I say.
"So are we good? Don't fucking talk to them," Fallon says.
"How many fag friends do you have following you around to protect your schitzo ass?" Otto snarls, climbing to his feet.
"Don't insult my friends or Fallon," I say.
"I'm about to have a significant problem with you Bravs," Fallon says, squaring up in front of Otto.
"This is between me and my bastard brother, Playgirl, so just step aside," Otto says.
"That dumbfuck is now a member of my team and therefore under my protection. You mess with them you mess with me," Fallon snarls.
"Is that why you're here?" I ask.
"Yes we have an out of town match in two weeks we talked about this this morning, Grey," Fallon says, to me, completely calmly, "I emailed you a spreadsheet."
"Oh," I delete his emails. It's like five a day. Half are reminders to make it to class on time or not to eat carbs and other things I'm willing to ignore.
"I memorized the spreadsheet, Fallon," Garth says, very nicely despite our current stand off.
"So you're going to walk away, right now, and reconsider your vocabulary when addressing members of my team," Fallon says.
"Is he creepy about this? Not that I don't appreciate it," I say.
"A little," Garth admits.
"This isn't your school, Playgirl," Otto says, pushing Fallon's chest.
Beau snatches the back of my sweatshirt, putting me a headlock. I struggle but I am not given to physical endeavors. All right all right, I'm a scrawny nitwit.
"I'll get help," Garth is about to run but Otto neatly trips him.
That's all Fallon needs, he flies at my brother with reckless abandon, by which I mean like a wounded cat. Otto has size going for him that's all, the wiry maniac quickly has him on the cement, pummeling his face.
I kick one more time, this time getting crotch. Beau loosens his grip enough for me to wrest my way to the pavement. He kicks me in the gut and I try to grab his foot and flip him like they do in movies. I get his shoe off so that's a win.
"Fucking homos," Beau says, punching me in the face, now he has one shoe. I throw it then realize it could have made a good weapon. Oh well. If I live through this book it'll be a miracle.
"BREAK IT UP!" Coach Waters' voice shocks us into coherence.
Beau stops pummeling me, and Fallon releases Otto from a choke hold. Fallon's face is flushed red and his nose is bloodied but otherwise he looks unscathed. Garth, who clearly summoned the coach, is bouncing behind him.
"What is all this?" Coach asks.
I say nothing, blood dripping from my face. 2/3 I guess.
"Nothing, coach," Fallon says, glancing at me. Otto is still struggling to breath. I am not clear on if Fallon was going to actually suffocate him or not.
"Nothing," I say.
"I think you'll find my teammates were defending themselves, the yard security footage will show we attempted to leave several times," Garth says.
"He was trying to kill me. They're insane," Otto chokes.
"Good training for you Bravs," Fallon snarls.
"They started it," Beau says, "The little freak is crazy everyone knows that. He stole my shoe."
Coach looks at me, bloodied and still sitting on the cement.
"Is that it? The biggest issue here is the shoe? We're gonna talk about that?" I ask. Fallon and I are both bloodied and Otto is still recovering from nearly being strangled.
"Coach—I think administration will find my friends and I were verbally and physically assaulted. Multiple slurs were used by the aggressors and we attempted to leave several times. My audio recording of the entire altercation supports this," Garth says, holding up his phone.
"You were recording it?" I ask.
"As soon as we encountered your brother I thought it prudent," Garth says.
"He records everything," Fallon says at the same time.
Coach sighs, so tired of us already, "All of you. Office."
We obey, he separates me and Fallon from Beau and Otto, and sends Garth ahead to go and give our statements to admin. Fallon and I are allowed to go to the nurse' office to get ice packs and stuff to stop the bleeding.
"Can I get a picture?" I ask Fallon.
He flips me off, staring at his own phone.
"Thank you," I take his picture and text it to my father. 2/3 I'm so random 🤭
He replies, immediately: Jesus Christ Elliot why? Isn't that the same person?
Me: kind of a joke we were attacked. Does this count?
Him: YES IT COUNTS. Who attacked you?
Me: Otto
Him: let's count it as a half.
Me: that's fair
I put down my phone, sighing. Fallon is staring straight ahead, done texting as well.
"I'm sorry if you're in trouble or whatever. Because of me. And sorry Otto's a dick," I say.
"Dick to you too. He knows better than to fuck with my team now," Fallon says, not looking at me.
"He's been like that since I came out," I say, "And since—well this spring worse."
"Dick," he shakes his head.
"Yeah," I nod.
"You know why he called me that?" He asks, after a moment of silence.
It takes me another moment to remember that Otto was calling him something separate from me and Garth.
"My sister's a model. First year everyone had, cut outs of magazines. Put 'em on my door, in my locker," he says, "That's why."
"I'm sorry, about him," I say.
"Oh they learned to quit messing with me. He shouldn't bother you again," Fallon says, checking his fist which is bloodied, "If he does let me know. I won't let his prejudiced, immature, ass compromise my team."
"Right," I say, "Of course. Your fencing team is most important."
"Obviously."
In the end we don't get in any real trouble. Garth proves to be a very competent defense attorney, and administration concludes that we were the victims, though our parental contacts are notified. I already texted my dad and I assume Fallon told whoever his parent(s) are. I don't know. I don't recognize his name and he didn't say his sister's name, which I can't blame him.
I know my family situation is embarrassing, most of which is me. But I can't imagine what it's like to have a mom or a sister plastered across magazines for you to be ridiculed over. I assume that she did at least risqué poses, which is whatever but her little brother hardly has anything to do with that and much less wants to be barraged with the pictures. I wonder why he bothered to tell me. So I didn't google it? Or was that actually an olive branch and something approximating normal conversation?
I'm distracted by thoughts of the fight throughout the rest of the day, and I pointedly avoid the main halls. By noon Simon, still dressed like Solid Snake, shows up to escort me to the dining hall.
"I don't need a freshman to protect me."
"Why would you take someone's shoe off in a fight?"
"I need a freshman to protect me, lead the way."
That's how that goes.
Jaden and Agnes meet us for lunch, having already heard of the fight second hand. Garth and I fill them in briefly, but we're both a bit sick of talking about it.
"Can you send me that audio recording?" I ask, "I ah—might need it for my dad."
"Of course," Garth says, texting it to me, he watches me save it, "Why—why is your contact photo of me a picture of Jesus?"
"Because I'm hysterical," I say.
Jaden and Agnes are laughing too hard to help him understand.
I get out of one afternoon period to do family therapy. I think it's history, but I'm not sure the dude talks softly. From what I know of world history, it will negatively affect my mental health to understand more of it.
Family therapy is over zoom, so I find a quiet room to log on. Quiet rooms are little study rooms, not lockable, but sound proof. There's a full glass window to prevent students from hooking up, and monitors do come around and glance in. But it's easy enough to hide my actual screen and the big deal for me is not to be overheard. Most of us use the rooms appropriately, calling family, studying in total quiet, or doctor appointments like this.
I set up the laptop and log on, then scroll on my phone. I now have Fallon's phone number, I don't know why I wouldn't use that priviledge to text him memes.
He responds with like, entire paragraphs about how I need to focus in class and keep my grades up for the good of the team, as well as links of fencing videos that I do not plan on watching.
Our therapist, Dr. Sheen, logs on next, then he merges the lobby so that all of us are on. Oh good my mother is wearing one of my actual dad's shirts I'm thrilled having me out of wedlock sixteen years ago didn't hinder their relationship.
My former dad is on his own video, but he's probably working.
"Elliot, what happened?" My mother asks.
I forgot. Ahem. I've been in two fights in the last week. Rocky Balboa has nothing on me. Like it's bad, Fallon packs a punch, and so does Beau.
"Oh, recently?" I don't contemplate being this much of an asshole. It just comes up.
"Were you in a fight?" My former father asks.
My dad is letting me answer, he's rubbing his face like hoping the Valium will set in.
"A little, it wasn't my fault," I say.
"This is why you shouldn't be at Forest Grove," my mother says.
"The goal here is reconciliation, and Elliot to have a safe space to express his concerns while custody is finalized. Mr. Grey's temporary emergency custody ends early next year," Dr. Sheen says.
"And we want you to come home," my former father says, calmly, "We can discuss what school you want to attend but uprooting your life is not the answer."
"Too late," I say.
"Elliot for you own safety it's better if you don't board this year," my mother says.
"He wanted to go," my dad says, "You're going week by week right Elliot?"
"I'm fine. I'm safer here than I am their house," I say.
"We've spoken as a family, we'd all like it if you came back home," my former father says, "Your brothers included, psychologically losing your whole family isn't good for you right now and there is no need."
"Yeah there is," I say, and then I turn on the tape of the fight. I had it fast forwarded to some of the worse slurs. I let Otto on the tape get through a few lines then I pause it again.
"Dr. Sheen that's my HALF brother, on the recording. I and my roommate, were walking to class. That goes on I'll be glad to send it to you. But it ends with me and a teammate who was trying to descalate, both being attacked. My teammate won, Otto looked fine mom, but that's not the point, I lost by the way," I point at my face, "And you two trying to encourage me to move back home when you can't even control your son, is not safe. Next hearing I'm going to tell the judge I'm happy in Stephen's custody because at least I can go back to his house without being discriminated against."
"He said all that?" My former father asks.
"I'm texting it to you. Ignore my companion he's very protective of me," I say, sending it to him.
"The person in the photo?" my dad asks, raising his hand.
"Same," I nod.
"If Otto said all that—,"
"Do you not know his voice or do you want the video too? Because Forest Grove has that," I say. They wouldn't have heard yet that he was in a fight. Secretaries handle that sort of thing the fact that he wound up in detention is usually a blip on the radar. The only reason my dad finds out about me immediately is due to my delicate condition he asks to be told.
"We'll be speaking to him. At length. Elliot this only proves that being away, at school, isn't a safe environment your mental health suffered before," my former father says.
"No, it proves, that your son is an absolute issue and that my friends and that one prick, actually stood up for me, something you clearly can't even do to your own son. We're done here," I end the call, closing my laptop swiftly.
I sigh, putting a hand through my hair. Within about two seconds my dad calls me.
"I answered, so now I can hang up," I say.
"You didn't tell me they said all that."
"I did now. Look I'm fine," I say.
"You don't have to be that—he shouldn't have said all that."
"I noticed."
"Elliot."
"I've got class soon," I sigh.
"No, you don't. Now look you can go. But if this is going to work you need to talk to me."
"I take all your calls already," I growl, "I picked up didn't I?"
"Yeah you did. Okay we're going to be rescheduling for next week, and it needs to last longer than five minutes."
"I don't want to live with them. It's their fault I about died," I growl.
"I know. But if you won't go to therapy or quit talking to me I can't get full custody. And if you keep cutting out of therapy it looks like I told you to. We both need to cooperate."
"It's for like two years, then I'm eighteen."
"And they can get you declared incompetent."
I sigh.
"You know I'm right. Go to the talks. Agree to visitation occasionally apparently without your brothers there," he says.
"What the fuck am I supposed to say to them? Either of us? 'Thanks for nearly killing me it's been fun'?" I snarl.
"I don't care—I do care, but it doesn't matter. Tell us about school, your team, your friends, I know you were hoping to see Lucas you said? Tell us about a movie you watched I don't care, but you can't seem temperamental or unstable or that's going to make it harder. You want to be in my custody?"
"I said it already."
"Then start acting like a mature well rounded person, which none of us are, but we learn how to pretend. If you seem like you're thriving in my custody which is mostly doing as you like, they'll let you stay, understand?"
"Understood," I sigh.
"Okay. I am still calling you tonight. Do you want to move up talking with Dr. Gross after what happened this morning?"
"No, I'm fine really. Otto's always been a dick," I say.
"Your friends sounded cool," he says.
"The asshole in the photos is not my friends, he's captain of our fencing team, I do not want to be on the fencing team but like you heard, he's not about to lose just because I have no coordination," I say.
"Well, even so. If something like that happens again—,"
"I'm fine, seriously, Stephen."
"I'll call you tonight. Try to go a few days withou winding up in a fist fight?" He asks, dryly.
"This still count as a half?" I ask.
"I may scratch it completely when I get through this audio recording."
"Oooo have fun."
He scratches it completely but also sends 'thin fucking ice, Elliot' a few times to hammer the point home he knows fully well how confrontational I am.
I go on to fencing practice, ignoring the texts from my former parents.
Fencing practice, is not what I envisioned.
Did my knowledge of sword play come from The Princess Bride? Yes.
Did I do anything to prepare for this? You could say I did. I deleted Fallon's texts that's a form of preparation. I'm prepped to ignore him.
We practice indoors (huh, weird). On a floor that's like a ballroom wood (weird). The swords are blue tooth and wired (weird). And the fencers wear all white and masks (weird). Not cool masks either. Like fucking beekeeper masks.
"You look like idiots," I say.
"You always look like an idiot put on the suit, Grey," Fallon throws piece of gear at me, as he guesses my sizes, "This is spare tell whoever is responsible for you to order you one. Or order it yourself."
"I'm probably going to do neither of those things."
"It's fun! And you won't get hurt," Garth says, nicely, "We just tap each other with the swords."
"I can get hurt doing anything. I got hurt walking to class this morning," I point out.
"The idea is to get you at least good enough to participate with small children at the tournament week after next," Fallon says, physically pushing me towards the wall, "Do touches there. I sent you videos. Just lunge and touch your sword to the foam pad. It's easy."
Five minutes later he's actually sobbing, hand over his face, "How can you miss twenty inch square target from two feet away?"
"I have no coordination," I say, proud.
"I CAN SEE THAT!!!!!!!!! OH MY GOD WHY DO WE HAVE YOU???????"
He has to go fence Garth just to calm down. Garth is like, really good, both of them are, so watching them fence is kind of fun, in that they're super like, quick and stuff, so they look more like the videos that I deleted.
So you could say that fencing practice goes okay. Fallon shakes me a few times but I think it realigns my bones so I don't even mind and he seems to feel way better.
By the weekend I'm in something approximating a good mood. Morning exercises come way too fucking early, but my other classes are all right. I'm not failing yet. Which sounds like a low bar the first two weeks of the semester but I know myself. Fencing isn't something I'm good at, but I'm fucking great at going limp and claiming to be paralyzed while Fallon physically drags me out onto the court. I think I'm helping him honestly it's good exercise and I get a little rest and some skin to skin contact. One day in therapy we may look back on this relationship and realize how fucked up it was.
I haven't forgotten about Lucas's disappearance, but with no new leads I'm prepared to give up the phone to the police. We meet as a group in the Lion Lodge common area, on our usual corner purple sofa.
"I admit I'm out of ideas. And we can't keep the phone much longer," I say.
"Agreed, and shooting off the flare gun was dangerous," Garth says, "Admittedly it isn't much but—we should let them know."
"They aren't going to care, you know that right? Like the cops are going to assume it's someone's burner phone," Simon tells us. He's involved since he did help rescue us from the beach. 
"They may be able to unlock it. It's not an iPhone. And by all accounts Elliot knows someone was on campus last year, who wasn't a student," Jaden points out.
"And they aren't going to believe me. I'm an unreliable narrator guys, three diagnoses ago I lost all credibility," I say, "I don't even feel like going through it. I'm in a custody battle right now."
"What if we just mail in the phone with a note?" Garth offers.
"That doesn't include your testimony, and what if Lucas is—in trouble?" Jaden says.
"Then one of us tell them," Fallon speaks up, from where he's tinkering with one of the fencing swords, "Who cares if Grey is the one who actually saw him? We tell the truth just one of us is the one looking for him."
"I appreciate the idea but my phone number is on that phone. It's tied to me. We turn it in, I'm talking to the cops," I sigh, "And I really don't want my former parents to have more ammo in court to take me back, much less pull me from here."
"Then we keep trying to find Lucas on our own? I mean, he's done nothing wrong, and other than thinking it's your friend's phone that's not a crime to keep it planning to give it back," Jaden points out.
"I still think we need to report being shot at that day," Garth says.
"They are not going to fucking do anything. I promise you, they will do nothing. You don't even have a description," Fallon says.
"I hate doing nothing because what if Lucas is in trouble? But I also can't go to the police," I say.
"I mean it's not technically nothing, we have no evidence of foul play here," Jaden says.
"It is your friend's phone, maybe he is enrolled under another name," Garth offers.
"Then who shot the flare gun at you, who was camping on the beach, and in case we all forgot, three people mysteriously died," Simon folds his arms, "There's no way that wasn't murder. And someone wanted you off that beach."
"Well we're off it now. And we can't go to the police with a phone Grey has been texting, saying it belongs to someone only Grey has seen," Fallon says, "That's like, negative evidence. No offense."
"No you're right. I just feel bad like we're withholding evidence," I say.
"Evidence of what though?" Jaden asks.
"I don't know, but the cops won't do anything with any of that, which means we have to," Simon argues.
"How? Genius? We don't even know who this Lucas is," Fallon says.
"Uh, guys," Garth stares down at his phone, "Did you just get this?"
"No I block official texts," I say.
"Unblock me right now or you're straight," Fallon says immediately.
"Actual official texts, dumbass," I say.
"Beau Hansen is missing? Anyone with knowledge of his whereabouts after last night needs to report to admin, he didn't turn up for class this morning," Jaden says, looking down at her phone.
We all look at each other: "Beach".