The Mind of a Hero

Chapter Twelve: Balloons Pop Eventually

"What does that mean?"

"We", Elmer sighed, glancing at Jack through his eyelashes, "got too cocky. I began to think we were unstoppable. But we just...I didn't mean for it to happen."

"What did you do?" Elmer wasn't sure how to answer Davey's question; he didn't do anything, but the guilt weighing on his chest held him down, slowly losing weight, chipping away like old paint.

Albert would've pulled the weight off of him, and held him during the nights he cried harder than he ever had. He would've kissed away the tears he'd shed over his body, and told him he loved him.

"He..." Elmer swallowed, blinking away the burning sensation behind his eyes. His throat closed as he spoke, leaving him croaking like a frog in search of water. "He was walking back, back home. And, um...he didn't make it."

Elmer could see the uncomfortableness across Davey and Jack's faces, watching him as he attempted to hold back his sobbing—it must've been weird to see Elmer's brows furrowed with sadness, his lip quivering as if when they opened, the dam would break and tears would fall. Yet they marched on with him, teetering on the top of a crumbling wall. "What exactly happened?"

He couldn't say. He only knew what he saw. The details were finite, but the memories of what he knew were etched into his brain forever, imprinted until the day he died. He only saw Albert in his final moments, when shots rang throughout the block, and the sounds of screams filled the top floor.

Fear slapped Elmer, then landing its hand on his shoulder as he rushed out of his window and onto the fire escape, where metal cracked under the pressure of his feet. He didn't know where Albert was.

Last he heard, he was nearing the alley by their apartment building, and he heard gunshots ring in his ears only five minutes after. He partly hoped it would be someone's child who got wrapped up in the wrong parts of society, or someone's father who got caught in the wrong place at the wrong time. But as he got closer, he saw blue uniforms and plainclothes officers, who's badges shone in the sun's light like warning signs. It was the police, clearly. Elmer was only wondering why they were outside of his home.

The fear on his shoulder clutched his chest now, grabbing at his heart, just barely grazing skin. Elmer continued running down the stairs, breathing heavily from his pounding heart, rapping against his rib cage. He etched closer, ignoring the bystanders just nosy enough to gasp and stare in shock as he pressed on, his feet finally hitting the pavement. He ran over to an officer, glancing over the woman's outstretched arm, attempting to hold him back. Elmer would admit that there wasn't much need for that, as fear already had his heart in it's clutches, and he stopped breathing.

Red hair shone in the sun, the familiarity hitting Elmer like a freight train packed with crates of familiar freckles, and even more familiar clothing because Albert was wearing those clothes, and he had those freckles, and he had that red hair. His eyes were open; a smile had clearly fallen off of his face, and five holes were scared into his body—through his left thigh, his lower back, the right side of his chest,  his right arm, and the back of his neck, smack in the middle. It was Albert.

"I didn't do anything", Elmer whispered, tears rushing to his lips. He could taste the salt in them. "I just stood there. I couldn't...I couldn't breathe. I just stood there."

Davey wrote Elmer's words onto the lined piece of paper, his face stoic as the day they met. He didn't seem to have anything to say either, which only made Elmer shift in his chair. "I'm sorry that happened. Do you know why the police shot him? There has to have been a reason."

Elmer knew there wasn't always a reason on why people were shot, not really—sometimes it's a false reason, one fabricated and made to seem real in order to get everyone else on their side. He saw himself as better than the police, as he had reasons. Everyone Albert ever hurt deserved far worse, worse than the law could provide. But this was for Davey's book, and he quite liked him.

"He...The news said someone at that hotel?" Elmer recounted, clearing his throat. "She caught us running out of Harry's room. She only remembered him. The police found him, and shot him on sight."

Jack hummed, nodding along as his hands held his camera safely, the red blinking light singing as happily as ever. "What did you do after that?"

"I ran", Elmer chuckled sadly, blinking as his eyes rolled upwards, a trick he learned kept him from crying. "I went back to our apartment and grabbed everything I would need for a while. Clothes and food, mostly. And Albert's gun."

"Really?" Davey wrote it down, wafting away the eraser bits. "Why did you have that?"

"He left it that morning before he left. I like to think he left it in order to protect me. Maybe he knew what I wasn't ready to find out about."

"That's one way to put it", Jack mumbled, and Elmer watched as his face changed from slight disgust to pain as Davey kicked him under the table. He felt the urge to laugh, but couldn't bring himself to smile.

He grabbed a backpack and stuffed it with any evidence they could use, and found Albert's favorite shirts, stuffing them on top. He only managed to pack two pairs of jeans before the bag was deemed overfilled, and the gun on top sat like a cherry on ice cream. He closed it, and slung it over his shoulders, but he didn't move.

He'd been leaving homes for most of his adult life, in and out of buildings smelling of his own blood, and newly rotting bodies that had recently gone cold. Used to it he was, but he was leaving his home, and a dead body was outside; Albert's dead body was outside.

His racing jacket still sat on the back of the couch, lying there filled with memories only Elmer would remember now, practically taunting him with good times. He stepped toward it, then stopped.

It was within reach, but he feared what it meant. It was his jacket now, no one else could claim it. It was no longer his boyfriend's jacket. It belonged to Elmer. What reality did that create? What did that mean for him?

Elmer grabbed it and slid the backpack off of his shoulder, sliding one arm through and then the other, crying at the familiarity of it. It was a hug around him, one of Albert's final embraces, and he missed it even as it was on. He wanted him.

But he grabbed the bag, placed it into his shoulders, and walked toward the door, opening it and leaving his home for the first time.

"I ran in the opposite direction of the scene", Elmer stated, sighing deeply. Exhaustion masked over the fear, like the feeling of anxiety once felt on a rollercoaster being washed away as the ride ended, and he's left with wobbling legs and a loss of feeling in his chest. It was sadistically comforting, much like Albert's jacket. "I went to my mother's. She was always home then, so..."

"You didn't mention your mother much", Davey remembered, holding his head up with his non-dominant hand, and pencil still attacking the pad. "She wasn't very important to you, was she?"

"I love my mother", Elmer defended, his brows furrowed in anger. "I love her so much. She and Albert were the only two people in my life who...She loves me."

"Then why did you kill her, Elmer? Why?"

Elmer sat quietly, his leg bouncing under the table, his nail scratching at the metal of his handcuffs, his bottom lip clenched between his teeth. His eyes remained downcast, blinking back tears already falling. He breathed in once and sighed, avoiding Davey and Jack's eyes.

"I don't want to do this anymore", Elmer decided, looking behind him at the officer already grabbing at his bicep. "I'll see you guys in a few weeks."