Date: Sat, 22 Sep 2007 10:14:29 -0700 (PDT) From: Matt Wess Subject: Double E: Part Nine I had every intention to do a full search of Eliot's room. Desperate times call for desperate measures. I knew his secret, which caused my heart to beat rapidly with fear mingled with excitement. Somewhere in his room had to be the answer. The final piece of the puzzle. Or so I thought. No sooner had I stepped inside the house than my mother called out that Carrie left me a message. "It sounded pretty urgent," my mother said, drying her hands on a dish towel. "You better call her back immediately." Sighing, I looked longingly up the stairs where Eliot's room was located, knowing that I would have to postpone my excursion. I dialed Carrie's number. She picked up on the first ring. "Eliot -- are you at home?" I could hear the sounds of traffic in the background. Feeling my mother's eyes on my back, I slipped out of the room and responded. "I am, why? What's up?" "I'll explain when I pick you up. Grab your business cards, and wait outside for me. I'll be there in two minutes." The click in my ear told me the conversation was over. I knew when Carrie said two minutes -- she meant it. I quickly grabbed my cards out of my book bag, explained to my mom that Carrie and I were heading out for an hour or so. Or at least, I hoped it was no more than an hour. I really wanted to search Eliot's room. The moment I stepped out of my front door, Carrie's navy blue Sunfire came careening down the street. She tossed open the passenger door, slowing to a crawl. I hoped in, quickly shut the door, and we were off. "This better be good," I said, buckling my seatbelt. "Oh, it is," she said. I had to admit, Carrie was looking pretty good. She was wearing a nice blouse, skirt, and a single strand of fake pearls. Her red hair was pulled tightly back in a bun. She dumped a manila envelope on my lap. "Georgina Cloves file," she unnecessarily explained. "Found this in my mom's room. Have a look." I opened the file and begin flipping through the thick stack of papers and photos that were clipped to the top. One eye on the road, and the other observing my progress, Carrie said: "Remember how I thought Georgina's parents weren't as innocent as they may appear." I nodded, waiting for an explanation. "According to those papers, Georgina's father claimed to have been wakened up at the sound of the gun shot. So, being a worried father, he wakens his wife, and they both run down the stairs to see their daughter dead and the killer still standing in their living room." Chills shot through my mind as I pictured the scene. Carrie continued. "The wife faints right there on the steps, hits her head and remains unconscious for some time. The father, on the other hand, is forced to watch the killer position his daughter and then leave his trademark." My mind was racing ahead. "Wait a second, if the father saw the killer -- then he could testify that it wasn't Eliot!" "My thoughts exactly," Carrie said, nodding. "But the father refused to tell the police anything about the killer. He said that the killer made a threat. Said he would be constantly watching their house, and he would know if the father told the police anything about the killer's identity. And if that happened, he would kill them both." I shivered again. "Why didn't he just kill the parents then?" "For one reason or another, he just wanted Georgina dead. I bet the father even knows the color of the killer's eyes." My blood began to boil. "And that lousy bastard won't say a word? All he has to say is, `Eliot didn't do it'!" I stopped short. "Unless," I said slowly, feeling sick. "The identity of the killer is Eliot..." Carrie remained silent. Seconds later, we strolled to a stop outside a two story home. I remembered passing this home after mass on Sunday and seeing all the squad cars parked outside. Now only a tiny Jetta was parked in the driveway. The house seemed lifeless and foreboding. Carrie and I stared at it for a few seconds, as if to double check this was the right address. The place where Georgina was shot. Once again, I was feeling doubtful. If Georgina's father wouldn't even tell the police who the killer was, he sure as hell wouldn't tell two high school students who barely passed as phony reporters. While climbing up the flagstone path, a scary thought skittered into my mind. "Carrie," I said softly, casting a suspicious eye around the eerily deserted yard. "Do you think the killer is watching us now?" Carrie responded in an equally quiet tone. "No. When he told Georgina's father that, I think he was bluffing. A killer wouldn't return to the scene of the crime..." Her tone was not convincing. Swallowing over a nervous lump in her throat, she knocked three short times on the door. "Let me do the talking," she muttered. We waited a minute or two, before knocking again and ringing the bell. Out of the corner of my eye, I thought I caught the silhouette of a person pull away from an upstairs window. At a second glance, the drapes were swaying slightly from the sudden disappearance of the person. My heart became incased in ice. "Carrie, let's go." Right now, I would have much rather been going through Eliot's underwear drawer, finding more pairs of briefs that he keeps hidden and seldom wears. Before I could stop her, Carrie nudged the front door open. "Mrs. Cloves," she called out in a sweet tone. "It's Carrie Fisher." Without thinking, I yanked her back from the door. "Are you crazy!" I hissed. "You can't go barging in there!" She wiggled out of my grasp. "Relax, Elijah, they know me. I've done this before." She gently opened the door the rest of the way open and stepped inside. "Mrs. Cloves, its Carrie Fisher!" she called again, her voice echoing in the empty house. The only other sound besides our rushed breathing was the rhythmical beating of a grandfather clock. I followed hesitantly down the foyer. "Carrie, we should really go..." Carrie bit her tongue pensively, placing her hands on her hips. "That's funny, Mrs. Cloves is almost always home. A house-wife, you see." We drifted to the kitchen, where Carrie continued to search around for a sign of life. Things to me just didn't feel right. The figure in the window...then the feeling that no one was around... I drew the line when Carrie began to ascend the steps. "No," I said stubbornly. "We need to leave. This is the part when everyone shouts, `don't go up there!'" Carrie stopped halfway up and actually laughed. "Listen, do you want answers or not?" "I do! But Carrie, there are safer, not to mention sane, ways to go about this!" "But those ways, aren't practical. I'll just take a peek upstairs, and if they're not around, I'll come back down and leave a message on their phone to have them call me." She gave me a would-be-reassuring smile. "If you want, you can stay down here and wait." I decided to wait. I hung around in the kitchen, listening to Carrie's footsteps move down the upper hallway. I was waiting for a sign to spring into action. Within five seconds that sign came. Carrie let out a high-pitched shriek. Pulse racing, I darted up the stairs and down the hallway where Carrie stood to the entrance of the bedroom, hands clasped over her mouth. I looked over her shoulder and into the bedroom, noticing immediately that both Mr. and Mrs. Cloves had been shot to death. Mr. Cloves had been blasted against the wall, while his wife lay in bed, her royal red blood soaking the white comforters. My guts churned upon realization that this was the upstairs window that I thought I saw someone standing in front of. I grabbed Carrie. "We really, really have to go," I said frantically, waiting for the killer to round the corner. I could still feel his presence...as if he were watching our every move... Together we sprinted down the hallway, down the steps, and out into the fresh air. Neither one of us said a word on the way back to my place. The moment I was inside, I ran to the bathroom, feeling sick. Ready to hurl. I gripped both sides of the sink, trying to control my nerves. But all I could see were the sad, lifeless bodies. My complexion in the mirror showed that I was ghostly white. A knock came from the other side of the door. My mother. "Lijh, are you okay?" No, I thought desperately. I didn't respond right away, I reached over with a shaky hand and flushed the toilet, then made to sound like I was washing my hands. "I'm fine," I replied, splashing ice cold water on my face, not caring that it dripped onto my shirt. "Okay...well, dinner will be in ten minutes. Do you know where your brother is?" I went ghostly white again as images of Eliot and his threesome crossed my mind, mixing with the visions of dead bodies. My mind began to twirl, and scream from all the mind-blowing images. "No," I lied. "Genevieve would know." I glanced back at my reflection. My brown hair was matted down not by the water I just splashed, but by my sweat that developed from fear. I was so absorbed in regaining sanity that I jumped ten feet at the sound of the doorbell chiming through the house. I listened as my mother went down for the door. Only one thought went through my mind: the killer found me. I burst out of the bathroom and dashed down the stairs, yelling, "Mom! No, don't open it!" But it was too late. She was bending forward and picking up a brown package, looking at it quizzically. My mom turned to face me. This time there was no way I could conceal my true state of fear. She held out the poorly wrapped package. "It's for you." With shaky hands I took the package and stared at it. No return address. It just read "Elijah Temime" in poor handwriting. It looked as if it were wrapped two seconds ago. I muttered thanks, and knew she was still watching me as I flew mindlessly to my room, securing the door shut behind me. Once inside, I ripped open the top of the package and dumped its contents onto my bed. My heart stopped at what I saw. My lungs clenched shut as if a fist were squeezing them. I slowly sunk down onto my bed, staring at the Polaroid photos of Carrie and me entering the Clove's home. There were even photos of us inside the home... Someone had been watching us... The killer was onto our secret... I grabbed the phone, it flopped around in my unsteady hands like a wet fish, and it took me awhile to dial Carrie's right number. She picked up on the last ring. "Jesus Christ Carrie are you okay!" I blurted out. "I'm fine Elijah...still shaken from the murder scene...are you okay?" I wasn't going to lie. "No, Carrie, I'm not. Someone took pictures of us entering the Cloves home. I have the pictures right here on my bed. Someone fucking followed us through the house!" My sentences were all jammed together I was shocked she could make out what I was saying. "Calm down, Elijah. We were the only ones in that house..." I cut across her. "No we fucking were not!" I began pacing the length of my room frantically, unable to look at the photos. "Some mysterious guy dropped the photos off at my house just five minutes ago!" "Elijah, you need to take deep breaths." Ignoring her I said, "Is someone home with you?" "Well...no...Elijah...you know my parents work late..." "I want you to come over -- now. We'll talk to my grandfather about the gun and..." I stopped abruptly at the sound of the doorbell, but it wasn't my bell I was hearing. It was Carrie's. "Someone is at the door, Elijah..." she suddenly sounded concern. "Don't answer it!" I bellowed. "Did you see the person who rung it?" "He left a package, I can see it sitting on the front steps..." My heart slammed against my chest. "I'm coming over, Carrie. Get out of the house. Start heading towards my house. Don't bother to drive. Just run -- don't protest, Damnit! GET OUT!" Carrie was silent. "What's wrong!" I shouted. "Carrie!" This time her voice was incredibly soft. "He's back..." "What?" "Elijah, he's back...and I think he's coming in..."