The Lies He Spoke

FIVE

LOGAN

Logan put his hands against the cold metal bars and leaned his forearms against them. Goosebumps popped up on his skin, but he leaned in closer as if that would somehow help him melt through the bars and grab onto Elijah.

"Okay," he said. "This isn't so bad. I can make the bail and get you out of here and then we can figure out why the fuck they keep thinking you did this."

From the other side of the bars, Elijah stayed quiet.

"Elijah? Are you listening to me? What the fuck is wrong with you?" Logan snapped. "It's like you want to be in there or something. Can you please at least pretend that you're paying attention to me?"

"You can't make bail, Logan," Elijah said quietly.

Logan scowled. "Why the fuck not? I can do whatever the hell I want to-"

"Logan, there's not going to be any bail."

Logan's insides were squirming. He hated the sound of Elijah's dead, defeated voice. Elijah had never been like that. He always, always said it was going to be okay.

"Why are you saying things like this?" he asked. "They have no evidence. They can't not allow bail."

Elijah wouldn't look at him. "They'll find evidence."

Logan's eyes widened. "Where?" he demanded. "You've never even smoked a cigarette in your life, much less even laid eyes on a drug. You don't even drink! You've never gotten a parking or speeding ticket! You're so much the fucking poster boy of a fucking angel that it literally makes me sick! What're they going to hold against you?"

Elijah had the nerve to roll his eyes at him. "I'm in here for a murder, not selling drugs."

"I'm sorry, I guess you were just serial murdering your way through Louisiana while Olivia was asleep." Logan shoved his face against the bars. "Are you hearing a single fucking thing you're saying right now?"

"I just need you to take care of Olivia."

Logan's face went as cold as the bars he was holding on to. "No," he said. "No, no, no. You come back home and take care of her yourself. I am not doing your job if you're still perfectly fine and-"

"Logan, I'm not coming home!" Elijah snapped.

Logan fell silent. Air that he was breathing caught in his throat, thick and suffocating. He cringed at the horribly familiar feeling. He had already had two panic attacks that night, and he didn't want another one. Not now.

Just think to yourself, this too shall pass.

Dr. Chandler, you are the world's greatest idiot.

"Elijah," he said as steadily as he could. "You are coming home."

"You just need to take care of her."

"I can't take care of a kid! I don't know the first thing about this!"

"You know how to run an apartment."

"That's not the problem. Olivia's the problem."

Elijah glared at him. "If you stop calling her 'the problem,' it'll be fine."

"You know what I mean!" Logan dragged a hand down his face. "We've only just started getting along again recently. And we're still at each other's throats half the time. I don't know whether I expect me to survive or her!"

He was panting a little. He couldn't breathe comfortably. Memories of Olivia and him screaming at each other wouldn't stop. They had once gotten into an argument that started out as Logan demanding why Olivia always stacked the plates in the sink when he had already asked her to just leave them on the counter and ended up as a full yelling match about why Logan never took his clothes out of the dryer and why Olivia never answered her calls.