Date: Fri, 28 Sep 2007 15:26:23 -0700 (PDT)
From: Matt Wess <cow91387@yahoo.com>
Subject: Double E: Part Twelve

      "Oh, my god!" I gasped as a flash of heat and debris roared through
the air.
      I turned away from my window and crouched down to shield myself as
the oven like shock waves from the explosion whipped upwards.  A loose
flying piece of debris rocketed through the air and crashed through my
window.
      Glass rained down on me as I covered my head with my arms.
      I let out an anguish bellow as I felt the debris slice my shoulder
open.  Warm blood oozed down my arm, staining my shirt.  I stared in
disbelief at the small, sharp fragment of the P.T. Cruiser landed a few
feet away from me.
      My cut was throbbing.  Pain shot through my body as I staggered to
my feet, trembling.  The house was alive.  My parents were thundering
down the stairs.  I clutched my bleeding shoulder and burst out of my
room heading for the bathroom.
      The wound was a lot worst than I imagined.
      A huge gash ran the length of my shoulder.  Blood continue to seep
all the way down my arm and dripped off my fingers.  I swayed on the
spot, tore open the medicine cabinet, tossing out bottles of pills,
looking for the medical tape.
      "Elijah!" someone was shouting.  A pair of feet came tearing up the
stairs.  "Elijah!"  It was my mother.  She was looking in my room.
      I slumped against the sink.  "I'm in here!" I called out in a
surprisingly strong tone.
      In the next millisecond my mother was in the bathroom, running
towards me.   Her arms were supporting me.   "My God, Elijah.  We have to
get you to a hospital!"
      Too faint to argue, I wobbled down the stairs using her as a
support.  By the time we reached the foyer, sirens could be heard.
Squad cars, ambulances, and fire trucks were rocketing down the street.
      We walked out into the cold night.  The rest of my family as well
as the neighbors were outside watching the roaring fire with
bewilderment.
      Everything was thrown into an awful silence.
      I remember seeing Detective Booker making his way across the lawn
with medics.
      Then a blue Sunfire pulled up behind the squad cars - Carrie.   She
was running across the yard towards me.  Her hair as red as the raging
flames.  She was saying something and reaching out for me as I slipped
through my mother's grasp and collapsed on the cold ground.

I lay in an apathetic state and, straining to move my head, stared
without recognition at the pale blue walls of the hospital room.  When I
stopped looking at the wall I lay back down to sleep, and awoke after
violent yet unrememberable dreams to see the concern face of Carrie,
hovering above my vision.  I knew it was no use fighting against the cold
weight of my nameless malady, or asking how it came about.
      "How are you feeling?" Carrie asked, still looking down at me.
      I blinked a few times against the light.  I heard the rattle of
carts being pushed around the corridors, doctors talking, nurses over the
intercom.   The window was open and I was shocked to see that it was
light outside.
      "What time is it?" I grumbled, trying to sit up, but a searing pain
shot through my shoulder immobilizing me.
      Carrie jumped at the opportunity to help me.  "It's almost noon,"
she said, adjusting my pillows.
      "Noon!" I exclaimed, shocked at how long I was out of it.
"Shouldn't you be at school?"
      Carrie waved a dismissive hand.   "Nothing was planned for today,
anyway.  Your parents were with you all last night.  I don't think there
was ever the chance that you would..."
      "Die," I finished her sentence.
      She cringed.  "Yes, what you said.  But they still stuck around.  I
took over in the daylight.  You gave us quite a scare."
      "I gave myself quite a scare," I said, running my hand across my
face, feeling the sweat.  I allowed my head to fall back on the pillow,
exhaling audibly.
      "Elijah," Carrie said slowly, reclaiming her seat next to the bed.
"I know you just woke up and all and you should be taking it easy, but do
you know who did this?"
      Without moving my head, my eyes looked over in her general
direction.  "Rocky Katz," I said grimly.  "He called me two seconds
before it happened."
      Carrie nodded.  "That would have been my guess, too.  The police -
oh, I don't Elijah - the police are being close minded like you said from
the beginning."
      I sat up this time, ignoring the lightning bolts of pain.  "Why,
who do they think did it?"  I asked angrily.
      She bit her lip and said softly, "Eliot..."
      "Why would Eliot blow up his own car!" I shouted.  A passing nurse
poked her head in; I waved a hand indicating everything was okay.
      "My guess would be that they think Eliot is trying to destroy
evidence," Carrie explained hastily.  "I know, I know - it sounds insane!
I heard my mom talking to that Detective Booker.  Oh man - is he a
winner," she added sarcastically.   "But Eliot was taken in for severe
questioning.  My mom doesn't think he did it - but the ultimately the
Chief Medical Examiner's opinion doesn't really matter."
      "They know about the deaths of Georgina's parents," I said,
relaxing.  "They probably think Eliot did that mess, found discriminating
evidence in the car so he blew it up.  But Jesus, there are more sane
ways of getting rid of cars - like leaving it in the woods or something."
      "I know that - you know that.  Try telling it to Detective Booker."
      "Wasn't Rocky even taken into consideration?"
      "No - you're the only one who would pin him to this.  And you
haven't really been awake long enough to interrogate.  I'm sure they'll
be around eventually."

And so Carrie turned out to be right.  She left a little after three in
the afternoon after having played eighteen games of "Go Fish" and eating
nasty cafeteria food with me.  My parents stopped in several times
throughout the day bringing more edible food.
      When Detective Booker came around I had most of my strength back
and was ready to ditch the hospital, but on doctors orders I sat around
for a couple more hours.
      I could now actually sit up easily without wincing - much.
      Despite the fact that I wanted to toss Detective Booker out of the
window for being a close minded bastard, I still noted how good looking
he was.  Probably one of the few good looking detectives on the force: a
strong build, nice smile, sparkling eyes, and a personality that I wanted
to squash with fists of furry.
      "Elijah Temime," he said smiling, walking around the foot of the
bed.  I glared at him as he took the seat Carrie sat in an hour ago.
"How are you doing?"
      "Cut the crap - why are you pinning all of this on my brother?"
      Detective Booker continued to smile.  "Elijah, do you have any
alternatives?"
      "Try Rocky Katz, you small, close minded idiot."
      Booker gave a few weird short laughs.  "May I remind you that you
are speaking with an officer and not to someone your age?"
      I folded my arms.  "Could have fooled me," I said stiffly.  "Face
it - you're no Sherlock Holmes."
      "And you're no trophy kid."  He paused to flip open his notepad.
"Now why should I trust your word that Rocky Katz blew the car?"
      I kept my mouth sealed and looked the other way.
      Detective Booker gave out an exasperated sigh.  "Okay - don't tell
me."  He leaned forward and said in a whisper, "But don't expect Ms.
Fisher to be very happy with you.  She's always willing to help out the
authorities."
      Realization dawned on me.  I snapped my head around.  "You were the
third guy with Eliot and Ms. Fisher," I said incredulously.  Images of
that scene popped into my mind.  My blood began to pulse I recalled Eliot
and Detective Booker in their underwear...
      "Oh, very good, Elijah.  Might I add that your brother looks
awfully good without clothes on."
      It was my turn to laugh.  "Boy did you make a mistake telling me
your little secret.   Something tells me once I get out of bed you won't
be on the force much longer."
      He was still smiling, which was getting on my nerves.  "Then you
won't be in school much longer either after they figure out your little
time spent with Ms. Fisher.  She tells me everything, Elijah.  Something
you need to learn to do right now.  If you cooperate - I can give you
photos of Eliot."
      "Fuck you."
      Detective Booker rose to his feet.  I tried extremely hard not to
be attracted to him.  For the most part, it worked.  "Have it your way,"
he said, about to leave the room.  "I have a feeling we'll be seeing each
other shortly."
      Still obnoxiously smiling, he left the room.

I returned home that day shortly after noon.  Every once in awhile a
stabbing pain would strike my body, but for the most part I was doing
pretty good.  My parent's were losing their minds.  The phone was ringing
off the hook - usually the reporters were calling to milk information
from us.
      Eventually my father yanked the phone cord from the phone wall.  It
didn't help that much.  Reporters still hung around our house, doing
newscast about a car that exploded right here in Jamestown.  No one could
remember such excitement since Lucille Ball returned for a visit.
      Later in the night my parents left to join Eliot at the police
station.   I was slowly falling out of the Double E loop.   My notes
hadn't been updated for several days.  Eliot was becoming a smaller part
of me every day and I still had no earthly clue who killed Georgina
Cloves.
      Maybe I was being close minded.
      I was passing my parents room, on the way up to my room, when I
noticed my grandmother sitting on my parent's bed.  Postcards were all
around her.  Hundreds of them.  All the ones she thought she had sent out
to her deceased friends.
      I pushed the already ajar door open the rest of the way.  She
looked up and I sensed remorse in her eyes.  She had a few cuts, bruises,
and burns from the explosion.  Sitting in her flower night gown she
looked - for the first time ever - sane and alone.
      Her smile faltered as she attempted to brandish one of the
postcards.  "They're not around, are they Elijah?  All these people I
sent postcards to - they're not around."
      I gently moved some of the postcards and sat down next to her.
      "I think I knew that they were gone - in the back of my mind.  This
is what happens when you get old.  You lose friends and family.  The last
thing you say to someone could very well be the last thing.  Seeing all
these names I addressed on the postcard I wonder - what was the last
thing I said to them?  And I pray that it was something worthwhile."
      There was a small silence.  Her frail, wrinkled hands went through
each and every post card.  I noticed each one ended with "Love Always."
      "Life is filled with too many adventures to fit on one postcard,"
she continued, smiling.  "But if you are writing one and you find that
you are running out of room - then that must mean you're leading a pretty
damn good life."
      I looked at the postcards strewn around us.  Every single one had a
large paragraph crammed on the back.  The further the paragraph
progressed the smaller the handwriting became - indicating that she was
running out of room.

Even later that night I ran out and bought a postcard.  Returning to my
room back home, I sat down at my desk under my eaves and began writing
the Double E story.   I got halfway through when I reached the end of the
postcard.
      I leaned back in my chair and actually smiled.
      In fact I began to laugh.
      Everything in the past week was so ridiculous, so absurd that I was
having trouble believing it myself: Murder, sex, violence, crazy bastards
stalking Carrie and I.
      "Goodbye Double E!" I shouted, tossing the postcard and pen in the
air.
      Outside I could hear the sound of crunching gravel.  My parents
were home with Eliot.  I jumped out of my chair and raced downstairs.
There were a few things I wanted to say to Eliot.  In fact, I was looking
forward to talking with him.  I was going to set things straight once and
for all.
      But when the front door opened my parents were alone.  "Where's
Eliot?" I questioned, shoving my hands in my jeans pocket.
      "Your brother," my mother said slowly, shrugging off her coat.  "Is
awaiting the bail money."
      I think my jaw hit the ground.  "What?" I said incredulously.
      "He pleaded guilty - Lijh, I really don't feel like talking right
now."
      My parents swept pass me, leaving me open jaw in the foyer.  How
could Eliot?  I think reality hit me at that moment - Eliot was not the
murderer.
      But I knew who it was.
      I grabbed my jacket.
      And headed off to finish this - once and for all.