Elliot Grey Solves a Murder

Chapter 6: Fallon would survive a horror movie

Whereas I would be the first person to die in a horror movie.
We have to take a boat off the island and Fallon literally has to cover my mouth to keep me quiet. The boat ride to the mainland is excruciating, but only then does he allow me to talk.
"Look you're being targeted by—whatever this is," I say.
"Ghosts don't exist," Garth says, nervously.
"What makes you say that?" I ask.
"My father would know about it and try to protect me from them," Garth says.
"Oh he makes a good point I feel better," I say.
"The phone, the disappearing remains, the raven, the odd photographs, let alone this person being on the island, somehow, is all pretty hard to explain. At this point we need to protect Grey because it's targeting them," Fallon says, "You shouldn't come back."
"No—what if it goes after someone else?" I ask.
"What do you mean?" Garth asks.
"I ran into him—it—because I was alone and miserable. You're telling me another kid won't be in the same boat? No. I'm not doing that. If this is Lucas and he's-weird and killing people we need to stop him," I say. We're going thorugh airport security like this. It says a lot about teenage boys that no one is paying attention to our conversation.
"Okay how do you propose we do that?" Fallon asks, "We don't know what we're up against."
"I know but," I admit I don't have a better plan.
"No, Elliot's right. Somehow, someway, we need to find out what is going on we owe to those who have died. And there is no way to even report this. The photos will be presumed forged only we know they're not," Garth says.
"And only we believe me that I even met Lucas," I say, "That phone looks like something I set up and I'm crazy remember? They'll think I left it out there. It's the only number in it!"
"Okay, then what do you two final girls think you're going to do?" Fallon asks.
"You're clearly the final girl, you have deductive reason skills," I say.
"That's completely true, fact remains, we don't have a plan or a way to combat this," Fallon says.
"No, but Elliot was right. Lucas came out to them," Garth says.
"When I was in crisis, so—," I say.
"No, not you again," Fallon says, "It's already fixated on you I don't think you should come back to the island."
"I'm not letting you guys do it alone," I say, "It has to be me I'm the reason this is happening."
"Look into my eyes," Fallon grabs my chin, "Not your fault. Got it, Grey?"
"Got it," I say, a little surprised.
By now we're through airport security, and trailing the back of our group towards the gate. All the fencing bags are checked so it's just us and our backpacks. I don't have a fencing bag. I take that back Fallon might have packed one for me.
"I'm texting Jaden, she agrees trying to lure it out," Garth says, "If she—or I—pretend to have a crisis, on a roof."
"That'll never work," Fallon says, "Also if you're doing it have her do it. You can't lie."
"Why wouldn't it work? If he's some—okay ghost—showing up?" I ask.
"I feel like we're missing something," Fallon says.
"What?" I ask.
"It's the only plan I can think of."
"Well they're not the first kid to have a crisis are they? Let alone on the roof sometimes I balance up there to relax—,"
"Oh god—,"
"Please don't!"
"We didn't need to know that—,"
"Focus. Point is, lots of kids have crises only now did the murders start. It's something about Grey," Fallon pokes my arm.
"Ow," I say.
He stares at me.
"Instinct I have a big brother," I say.
"Oh that's fair then. No it's about Grey," Fallon says, "I don't know why."
"Well it's our best bet. Jaden can try to—I don't know, cry someplace, and we'll all hide in wait with weapons?" Garth asks.
"It has to be special weapons, like iron, or silver," I say.
"I'm begging you to tell me you're not basing your knowledge of how to catch a ghoul on Supernatural," Fallon breaths.
Of course I am so I say nothing.
We board the plane and are seated apart so we have to use in flight messenger to finalize our argument. Simon, for I think the same reason as me, has a great knowledge on how to kill ghouls and is excited at the prospect.
The flight is long and I'm surprised how, despite the recent hauntings, I'm missing Forest Grove. I get up to go and find Garth but he's asleep so I find Fallon as a last resort. I don't like him or anything but I know him and there's lots of room in his seat.
"What are you doing???? What do you think you are a lap dog??? Do I look like Garth to you?????" Fallon groans, as I crawl into his seat with him.
"Please can I sit here?" I ask, head on his shoulder, already completely in the seat.
"Why?"
"I'm lonely," I say, laying my head against his chest.
"And this makes you feel better?"
"Admittedly not a lot but Garth fell asleep."
"Nice to know I was first choice."
"Did you want to be first choice?"
"No I heard it too."
I curl up against his chest and fall asleep, listening to his heartbeat. When I wake up a flight attendant is lovingly asking me to move back to my seat. Fallon is asleep, his head on mine. I get up as carefully as I can and go back to my seat for landing.
O'Hare is a mess, and we're being shuttled from the plane swiftly to a chartered bus. We may have gotten out of Seattle without hitting the paparazzi but there are some hounds camped out here.
Garth just pus an arm around Fallon and I both and tugs us against him, hand over our faces.
"My dad has a deal with the press," he explains, "You're safe right here."
I'm still sleepy from the plane and my meds, and press my face into his hoodie.
We get on the shuttle, and Fallon puts his head down, hoodie pulled up. The entire team is subdued. None of us are strangers to the press but it's been a nice reprieve being on the island away from reality. Now we're back in it. Our hotel will be protected but the rest of the city and the event? Not so much.
I text my dad that we made it, and he asks if I want to have coffee this afternoon or if I'm too tired.
"I'm gonna have a coffee with my dad, he's in town," I say.
"Oh that's nice," Garth says, "My dad is meeting us there tomorrow."
"Oh good," Fallon says, with no emotion, while texting.
"Other dad."
"Oh sweet you staying in the penthouse? Can I come?" Fallon asks.
"No we're not opening it this trip," Garth says.
"You differentiate that much?" I ask.
Fallon nods.
"My one dad has been known to intimidate my classmates, the one who paid you," Garth says.
I don't point out that they both tried to pay me.
I text my dad back the affirmative that we'll be checked in, in maybe an hour. He replies with a thumbs up.
We make it through the traffic and the hotel is as promised, locked down. We get in and are informed our bags will be here soon. Garth and I share a room. Fallon is alone as team captain and seems to be looking forward to that.
"Who's his roommate?" I ask Garth.
He looks over at me "Otto."
"What?" I ask.
"Oh my god—you didn't, right get in," he says, unlocking our room.
"What?" I ask.
"That's why the fight that day was such a big deal. He demanded they change his room. There was no one to swap. He refused to go back and he's been bouncing in between the other fencers. I just found this out that's why I brought him back with us," Garth sighs.
"Why would he do that?" I ask. Otto's a dick but his fight was with me.
"He's more loyal than he makes out," Garth says, diplomatically.
"Well let's get him a mattress," I say.
"Quite, I'm fine with three to a room honestly they could just bring a bunk bed," Garth says, "Since there's nowhere free-wait who's with Con?"
"Con got a note after me. He only let me in because I'm queer and chill," I say.
"Ah. Would he—,"
"They'd kill each other."
"Thought as much."
My dad texts that he made it and I head on down to the lobby. As promised he's here, not in a very convincing disguise. Baseball hat, worn jeans, and a plain black t-shirt and zip up, are not actually that subtle. Oh well we tried.
"Hi," I say.
"Hi," he smiles a little, not a lot, "There's a Starbucks a block from here. You want to walk?"
I nod.
We're unobtrusive enough, and make it down the street without being spotted. I snag us a corner table and he orders. Cookie dough frappe for me, black coffee for him.
"How was the flight?"
"Forgot how much it sucks not to be in first class," I smirk.
"Oh yeah you're incognito," he says, looking down at his coffee.
"Oh god is this leading to something?" I ask.
"Your mom is upset you haven't taken any calls."
"Oh my god why do you still talk to that woman?" I groan.
"Because people make mistakes, El," he says, gently.
I stare at him.
"She messed up. She knows that. I'm not here to excuse how she acted this spring I'm not even done being mad about it. I'm here to tell you I felt so much better after I asked her how she could let you die I'm suggesting you do the same thing, it felt good," he says, spinning the coffee cup between his hands.
"So this isn't to be mature we're being petty bitches together?" I ask.
"Something like that," he smiles a bit, "Let's go with half and half? You get to be mad at her. So be mad. And move on. People make big, huge, terrible, life costing mistakes. That doesn't mean we don't love each other."
"I could have died," I say, tracing patterns in the frost on my coffee cup.
"I know. You can't—begin to imagine the first twenty four hours. You're in the ICU. I'm standing there making phone calls, texting lawyers, trying to get in to see you to get them to let me donate. I was standing outside the hospital because they wouldn't let me in. I had to get a court order. Twenty four hours. And all I kept thinking was that this was my fault. I should have done a paternity test before, I could have. Why I didn't ask her. Why I even was that stupid in the first place to be having the affair," he sighs, "We were so stupid we almost lost you. That's not okay. And we're not going to change that but I am at least trying to get better."
"You didn't know," I shrug, "Other than, fucking my mom."
"Yeah, well, hardly thought back then that we'd be there. I don't think she did either. In answer to your question from before—sort of—I think she wanted to believe you weren't mine. And it's been sixteen years that's a long time of wanting something to be true," he says, "And you were nearly dying. She did feel betrayed you'd called me and at that point it was my word that you'd said nothing of importance. She's said she genuinely thought I'd told you about the affair."
I sigh.
"I'm not saying forgive her. I'm saying you will have some visitation. And it's better to be angry then hang up, then be stuck in the house," he says.
"When is visitation supposed to be?" I ask.
"Probably Thanksgiving, Judge said split the holidays," he says, "I'm working up till Christmas but you can have whatever friends over and play video games?"
"That sounds perfect," I say, dragging my fingernails down the frosty glass, "All of Thanksgiving week?"
"Yeah. Legally once we finalize it I can't get to you that's violating the custody order. It is NOT violating the custody order for you to go and see your friends, highly recommend it," he says.
"I don't know if anyone lives in Beverly Hills," I say, "I can just go?"
"You're not a prisoner. And if it's arranged then no, it would be against your health and wellness to stop you from hanging out with your friends, and you have your phone for what it's worth you can call me at any point," he says.
"Okay," I say.
"And if it's bad you can just say you want to go to a hospital I know that's not appealing."
"Fuck in patient, Stephen, seriously," I sigh.
"That's what I figured. It's a free country so I'll get a hotel room close. That's not a lot of good but there is nothing to say we can't meet in a public place and I can't buy you dinner if you need out," he says.
"I'd say that's not necessary but you heard my last interaction with Otto," I say.
He winces, "Lawyers loved that."
"Thought they might," I sigh, "Is life always this fucked up, forever?"
"No, sometimes your brat teenager is walking into your office quoting an 80s dark comedy after setting his shoes on fire," he smiles.
I do too.
"You'll call me on therapy bullshit, but I'm genuinely glad we are here, not of how we got here. But," he says.
"That is therapy bullshit. We need to get you out of therapy it's hurting your brain," I say.
"Little bit. All right tell me about school. Your friends sound fun. Have you and the foul-mouthed one broken each other's noses lately?" He asks.
"No give us time. No, they're cool," I say, stirring my drink with the flimsy green straw, "Can I ask you something?"
He nods.
"Why you and my mom? You're—almost okay. She's her," I say.
"Okay this is therapy bullshit, but I spent a lot of time and a lot of money on therapy to understand this so. We all are born accepting infinite love, then life starts to happen to us, and we believe we deserve less and less of that, till some of us think we shouldn't get any at all, then someone comes along and gives us a sliver, and think they're the world," he says, "That's my problem. I don't blame her. That's me. I and don't at all want it to be you."
I look down, "I think I might be okay."
"Well there's my minimum requirement of Elliot-minding," he smiles.
"Will you really be there all of Thanksgiving?" I ask.
"Yes, I will be in a hotel, nearby, frantically working," he says.
Reader, he will wind up getting his ass invited to dinner.
"If I ask you something, you have to answer honestly, then you get to ask me one thing," I say.
"Go on," he nods.
"Are you still having an affair with my mom?"
"What makes you ask that?"
"She was wearing your shirt in the last zoom call. I know that's your shirt," I say, flatly.
"Oh my god I said you could tell," he breaths.
"So that's a yes."
"All right first of all I never claimed that therapy actually worked or fixed me—,"
"I don't want to know more," I say.
"Thank god that was about all I had," he says, head down on the table.
"Why are we disasters?" I ask.
"I don't know I do assume it's my fault," his head is still down, "are you—laughing?"
"I mean the more upsetting part where you were fucking her sixteen years ago to get me it's kind of over now," I say, "She seriously battles you in court then hooks up?"
"Yes," not moving.
"Does former dad know?"
"No."
"How?"
"I don't know again about therapy not fixing me I fully aware it should have by now," he says, "But I'm half fixed, because now I know her legal moves and once again have the passcode to her phone so I know about the thanksgiving thing and that she's gonna agree."
"I think we need to get you a better girlfriend, and possibly some drugs of your own," I say.
"I completely agree," hand over his face.
"It's your turn what's your question?" I ask.
He sighs, "I'm totally unprepared to utizlize this now you know that."
"Try," I say, dotting some whipped cream on my finger and onto his forehead.
He stares at me.
I laugh.
"Have you fallen in love? See that's not even good that's clinical if I'm anything to go off of we'll need to get you at least two more therapists to deal with that situation," he says, waving a hand at me generally.
"No. My friends are all already in relationships or whatever, whatever being idiots, or freshmen," I say, "And then there's my fencing team captain and he's not my friend he's just involved and he's a class A jerk."
"Right," he nods, "So I can hold off on the therapy."
"I'm going grind up my antipsychotics and put them in your food," I say, "Stop dating my mother."
"I am genuinely trying to. Apparently if she calls me up crying about our child nearly dying I will just show up when she asks, didn't know I was this bad either," he says.
"Was she crying? She should be," I say.
"I know that too!! Seriously this is about you now, what about your friend, Lucas who you were hoping to see? Did you find him?" He asks.
"No," I shake my head, "Never found him."
We walk back to the hotel and my dad promises to come to the tournament the next day.
"It'll be boring," I say.
"So long as you're not embarrassed."
"I'm embarrassed being alive it's fine," I say.
The hotel turns out to be peaceful, and I enjoy my version of self-medicating, which is I get to take my own meds and not tromping off to a nurse's office.
Fallon is military as ever about the operation, making sure we're all in our rooms, tucked in bed, without caffeine, and patrolling the hall religiously. Honestly I think there are fewer chaperones this trip because he's doing it. Like they just assume he'll do it.
Garth and I are used to each other at this point. Neither of us want the TV on, and he goes and calls home while I listen to music.
The goddamn wake up call comes early and mean, I might throw an ice bucket at Fallon's head it's a blur.  I have terrible aim he's fine.
We all have room service bring up breakfast, Fallon takes my chocolate chip muffins and I try to kill him.
"GIVE ME BACK MY MUFFINS!!"
"I AM NOT HAVING THIS ARGUMENT WITH YOU AGAIN, GREY!"
"YOU'RE NOT EVEN LETTING ME FENCE!!!!!!! THAT IS MY MUFFIN!!!!"
"STICKING A HERSHY BAR INTO A STICK OF BUTTER IS NOT A CHOCOLATE MUFFIN I'M JUST KEEPING YOU ALIVE!!!!!!"
Garth breaks us up while laughing. I eventually recover my chocolate chip muffin parts, while Fallon and Garth wrestle.
The shuttle to the arena takes away all our merriment. There's press everywhere. Several high profile teams including the rich kids. Garth and Fallon are significant targets. In solidarity we're all wearing black hoodies pulled over our heads but they still snap away at us.
Garth's dad is there and waiting, NotAGovernmentSceintistDad, that is, and he catches my lanky roommate in a fierce hug. My dad also shows up while we're getting set up.
"Who's DiscountManBunKitHarrington belong to?" Fallon asks the team.
"Oh my god that's my dad," I growl.
"Appreciate that you knew that," Fallon mutters, wiping butter off my shirt, "Go on. We have five minutes."
I wave at my dad, we don't hug, Garth is still talking to his dad. Mine nods, offering me a cup of coffee. I have fear for my life so I shake my head no, mouthing 'not allowed' he frowns.
I did tell him this would be boring.
"I did tell you it would be boring,"
"You did," he says, as we stand watching the bouts.
"That's my roommate, tall one, keeps winning," I say.
"Ah," my dad nods, "You—don't fence at all?"
"I got your coordination do you really want me out there with a sharp object?" I ask.
"No now that you say it," he mutters, offering me my coffee.
"Wait till that little one goes out—yeah okay now, the team isn't allowed caffeine," I say.
"You're not participating," he says.
"Something about team morale or spirit or something I'm too gay to understand," I say, taking a long drink, "you didn't have to come."
"This is very interesting actually," he says, "how do they score points?"
"I don't really know."
"Okay."
I think we win. There is a lot of cheering but we could just be very happy people generally I'm not sure. I also think it's a little too late to ask. Garth does very well I do know that because he says "I did all right" and his father says "you didn't lose a bout" so that's doing well.
Honestly the highlight of the trip is where I see a snickers bar, mostly unopened on the floor, pick it up, and then I hear footsteps so I cram the entire thing in my mouth. Then Fallon leaps on me and peels it out of my mouth, not unlike a person trying to stop their dog from eating plastic.
"YOU CANNOT EAT PLASTIC I'M NOT HAVING THIS ARGUMENT WITH YOU AGAIN!!"
"OH MY GOD IT'S MADE FROM PLANTS CALM DOWN," while chewing fiercely.
"THAT'S NOT AT ALL TRUE !!!!!!!!"
And my father gets to witness this in real time, with a confused expression. Garth and his dad just nod like that's normal, which it is.
The weekend passes quickly, and we all go our separate ways. The parents who came, leave. My dad and I wave at each other, I think we're regressing. Garth bids his dad farewell with a hug and I think a forehead kiss is involved but that's fine I can't ask for affection but apparently I need it.
And we return home to the island. Which is apparently haunted.
I took my dad's words to heart, and figure I should in fact call my mom. The night we get back it's late, and Garth is texting Jaden and calling his parents to tell them he's home safe. I make a quick gesture that I need to make a phone call, and leave the dorm.
Outside in the cool fall air, I lean against the cabin's wall, and finally get up the nerve to call my mom. Five rings and it goes to voicemail. There's something inevitable about that. Ms. 'Call me anytime' birth to present. Really after 98 missed calls you'd think she'd take her phone off silent. You'd be wrong. I sigh, staring down at my phone. Does this count as trying? Or do I have to try again?
"Hey you."
I look up, slowly. I'd know the voice anywhere at this point. But my heart still skips a beat when I look up to see Lucas standing down the path in front of me, cigarette dangling from his lips. Tight white t-shirt, basic jeans, he looks like he did the last time I saw him on that damn roof. His eyes glint, ever so little, in the light from the lodge behind me.
"You didn't answer my calls," I say.
"You had my phone."
"Before that."
"Let's go for a walk," he says.
See this is why I wouldn't live through a horror movie, "Yeah sure."
I follow him off campus and towards the trees. I know I know. Don't say it.
"Where are we going?" I ask.
"You mad at me?"
"I'm not —thrilled. Where have you been? You're supposed to be my friend," I say, slowing as we reach the path towards the beach.
"You're not usually alone," he says, putting a hand through his hair.
"You've been watching me?"
"Just looking out for you."
His hand lowers from his head. There is yellow paint dried on his palm. The same paint we shot the raven with.
"Did you kill them?" I ask, slowly.
"Who?"
"What's going on? I know you're not enrolled at Forest Grove," I say.
"You and your new friends have been busy," he scoffs.
"So where do you live?" I ask.
He gestures vaguely to the forest, "You're mad."
"I'm not—thrilled—you've killed four people."
"So?"
"So?" I choke.
"I don't like them. I like you," he says, stepping forward, "We're friends right?"
I think this is how deals with the devil work, "Yeah of course we are. But I'm worried about you now? What you've just been living out in the forest?"
"Why'd you give the phone back?"
"Things were getting weird? Why'd you quit answering me?" I ask.
"Things were getting weird," he smiles, "Come on, aren't you happy to see me?"
"A little surprised actually? You ghost me and then...people wind up dead?"
"People aren't you," he says, reaching out a hand to touch my face.
When a paintball explodes in his face.
I jump back, face splattered with white paint. Lucas looks around quickly then bolts back into the forest, paint dripping down his face and white t-shirt.
"Simon!" I cry.
"What?" The boy emerges from the brush, dressed as Solid Snake, "That was the demon."
"Shh—-maybe don't call him a demon, out loud," I say, looking down at the camera clipped to my jeans pocket. My friends are going to love this one.