Date: Tue, 28 Aug 2007 07:23:24 -0700 (PDT)
From: Matt Wess <cow91387@yahoo.com>
Subject: Double E: Part 4

      I'd set my alarm for six, but I was up at five thirty, anxious to
start the first day of school, and start my adventure to uncover answers
to questions that needed to be answered about Eliot.  I took a shower
before the rest of my family, standing under the pounding hot water,
trying to clear my head.  After ten minutes passed of mindless washing, I
suddenly recalled that just yesterday my mother was yelling at Eliot for
being the only one who takes long showers.  I quickly snapped off the
water, picturing my mother on the other side of the bathroom door, fist
raised, ready to beat the door down.
      I hurriedly towel-dried my hair, and wrapped the towel around my
waist, anticipating my mother.  When I yanked open the bathroom door, I
felt my apology that was on my lips disintegrate as I looked directly
back in Eliot's sharp blue eyes.  His fist was raised, towel draped
around his bare shoulders, and my heart skipped a beat as my eyes
traveled south and saw him in his tight, blue boxer briefs.
      Neither one of us forgot our encounter yesterday, especially not my
sliced finger which throbbed a bit from the soapy water in the shower.
Without a single word we bypassed each other.  On the way up to my room I
wondered guiltily, did I just look into the eyes of a killer?
      Back in my room I tugged on my school uniform: good slacks, white
button shirt tucked neatly in and a suffocating tie.  When I was done I
looked like a preppy school boy, a fact that I wasn't too proud to hold
true.
      I ate Frosted Flakes for breakfast.  If they were good enough for
Tony the Tiger, they were good enough for me.  I swallowed down a
multivitamin, brushed my teeth, and I was ready to go.
      Minutes later, Eliot and Genevieve wandered down the stairs.
Genevieve was tying her blonde hair back into a bun, while Eliot finished
knotting his tie.  A bad scar was still on his hand from punching the
mirror.  Nobody said much of anything.  My father had already gone to
work; my grandfather was still hung over in bed, my mother tidying up the
kitchen (she refused to be in the same room with Eliot).  My grandmother
was fiddling with the camera.
      "Wait! Wait!" she cried, as Eliot placed his hand on the doorknob.
A flash unexpectedly went off as she tried to sturdy the camera.  She
most likely got a good picture of half of my left eye and Genevieve's
startled face.  "Gather together!"
      The three of us hesitated.  It was a tradition to take pictures on
the first day, but nobody was in the mood.  Nonetheless, my grandmother
hadn't picked up on our pessimism, so we slowly scrunched together, I was
in the middle.
      Eliot lazily strung his hand over my shoulder, sending chills down
my spine.  The moment the picture was taken we broke apart faster than
light.

On the way to school, the weathermen droned their early warning of
another rainy day, and sure enough morning felt like night.  Smeared
headlights passed us on the road, rain streaked down the car windows.
Eliot was driving.  Among the three of us, we usually argue who was going
to drive, but neither Genevieve nor I felt up to battling him.
      From the backseat, I watched as occasional passing headlights
illuminated Eliot's serious face.  He would mindlessly adjust his tie,
until Genevieve would tell him its fine.
      I was silent during the whole ride.  Today was day one, and at that
thought my heart would catch in my throat.  Today I would begin my
adventure to divulge answers about my brother's sexual orientation and
about the murder of Georgina Cloves, for which Eliot, I believe, was
getting framed for.  I just had no idea where to start...
      School was one place.  We joined the rest of the students running
towards the main entrance to St. Joseph's, trying to dodge the rain.
Nevertheless, a driving rain managed to soak our uniforms
instantaneously.  Once inside and dripping wet, Genevieve found her
friends, Eliot found his, and I found mind.  With a quick glance over my
shoulder, I noticed Eliot's retreating back, his wet white-buttoned shirt
soaked through to his white beater.
      J.J. Simmons, my friend for eighteen years now, materialized out of
nowhere, leaning his broad frame against the neighboring locker.  He took
a deep breath of the "refreshing" school atmosphere and sighed
sarcastically.  "Nothing more enticing than the first day of school,
eh?"  With his sun-streaked hair, and muscled body, J.J. had obviously
divided his time between the beach and the gym.  I knew that, like many
families who send their children to St. Joseph's, J.J.'s family had money
and invested a large chunk of it on a beach house.
      "Had a good summer, then?" I grinned.  Because he spent most of his
summer on the coast, I seldom got to see him during the three months.
      We began walking down the crowded corridors together.  "Almost
perfect.  All the babes on the beach," he made a whistling noise, and
elbowed me a few times.  "I just wish my grandmother would have chosen a
better time to die."
      "I'm sorry," I began to apologize, but J.J. waved a dismissive
hand.
      "Don't be, nobody liked her.  She was the black sheep in our
family.  An outcast.  It was only until the last year of her life that
she found out that my father owns a beach house.  So she forced her
company on us, even when we weren't living there."
      I've heard stories about J.J.'s grandmother before, but today I was
listening from a different view.  I couldn't help but to think that Eliot
will end up the black sheep should he be indicted for murder...
      "So tell me about your summer!"
      I shrugged, slid into the desk next to him for homeroom while
saying, "You know my family.  Drama twenty-four hours, seven days a
week."
      J.J. nodded silently.  "Well don't think you get all the fun, it
wouldn't hurt my family to visit Dr. Phil."
      A thought occurred to me.  "J.J., how much do you know about
Georgina Clove's murder?"
      He shrugged.  "Not too much.  That news didn't reach the coast.  We
only heard about it when we go back.  If you want some information, I
suggest talking to Carrie Fisher."
      "The actress?" I asked, arching my eyebrows.
      "No, not the actress," said J.J. rolling his eyes.  "Carrie Fisher
is a senior, writes the gossip column for the school newspaper and from
what I understand had some kind of close friendship with Georgina.  But
why would this interest you?"
      "Curiosity," I had timed my answer right, the bell signaling back
to class rang, sparing me any questions from J.J.  He was becoming
increasingly curious as well, but I didn't want to explain my whole
ordeal with Eliot.  Switching classes gave me an excuse to switch
topics.  And so I did.

The rest of the day ticked by slowly.  First day of school, and already
my mind was completely preoccupied with other matters.  Not good.  J.J.
gave me a rough description of Carrie: red hair, spare tire waist, and a
flamboyant persona.  I kept my eyes peeled all day and found nothing that
even resembled her.  I did, however, come across both Genevieve and
Eliot.  Genevieve said hello.  Eliot did not.
      His ignorance made me wonder, once again, why I was sticking my
neck out for him.  Nobody was asking me to.  He sure as hell didn't want
my help.  But a feeling within me told me, that if I uncover one answer,
the other one will be tagging along.  So in the long run, I guess I was
doing all this for self-satisfaction and to keep my brother out of jail.
      By the end of the day, I had basically given up searching for
Carrie.  Too many people, too little time.  I was just about to head out
to the car, when I realized I should have checked the newspaper office.
Turning on my heels, I tore off down the hallway.  I had about ten
minutes, if I was later than that, Eliot would surely leave me.
      Panting and out of breath, I came to a halt at the bottom level of
the school.  I have never been to the newspaper office before in my
life.  It was a small, almost closet size, room with a bunch of people
milling around.  They barely noticed me as I edged my way in,
side-stepping a tall stack of old newspapers.
      The sound of fingers running across several keyboards cluttered the
air.  Small, skinny, vertical windows scarcely allowed the afternoon sun
to filter in.  A few wobbly ceiling fans lazily twirled above the many
heads.  I wasn't claustrophobic, but staying in this room for a few hours
could definitely make me so.
      I spotted Carrie immediately.  She was seated behind a rickety
wooden desk at the back of the room.  Several manila envelopes were
scattered across her desk, along with bunched up pieces of paper.  I knew
it was Carrie not by her shoulder-length red hair, but by the picture of
Hedda Hopper on the front of her desk.  I approached, preparing my speech
in my head.
      Towering above her pudgy figure, I said, "Carrie Fisher?"
      "If you're expecting Princess Leah you're going to be gravely
disappointed," she smiled up at me.
      I laughed at her wry humor, and felt the laugh echo hollowly within
me.  "No, actually I was wondering if you could help me with a question I
have."
      She pushed her rolling chair away from the computer so that she was
facing me, and crossed her arms, saying, "Shoot."
      I was momentarily taken aback at how open she was.  I expected her
to withhold, or be stubborn to acknowledge my presence.
"Uh...um...right...how much do you know about the murder of Georgina
Cloves?"
      Her beaming smile quickly faded.  "A terrible tragedy.  Those are
the only words that can describe it.  I knew Georgina.  She was a lovely
person with a lot of likable qualities.  Why do you ask?"
      Without uttering Eliot's name, I carefully explained how I thought
the police were trying to indict the wrong person for her murder.  By the
end of my very brief explanation, Carrie looked perplexed.  "So you want
to find the right person," she said slowly, weighing each one of my words
mentally.
      I nodded and glanced up at the clock, I had four minutes left.
      Carried waved a finger at me.  "You're traveling in hot water.  I
would leave this to the police."  She turned back to her computer
screen.  I took that as a sign to leave.  Slowly I turned around, but:
"Wait," she called.  Her printer had started to kick into life.  "Here,"
said Carrie, handing me a piece of paper.  "His name is Rocky, kind of
like the boxer.  I was hanging out with Georgina once when we ran into
him.  The pair of them seemed to be friends with benefits, if you ask
me.  He's dangerous, so I would watch my step around him, but if you warm
up to him, he might give you answers."
      I glanced down at the sheet she just handed me.  It was directions
to Get Fit Gym.  Realizing I had only two minutes to make it back to the
car, I hurriedly thanked Carrie, shoved the directions into my book bag
and tore out of the school, thinking that this was going to be easier
than I thought.

By the time I got back to the P.T. Cruiser, my legs felt rubbery from
sprinting, and I was panting heavily.  Eliot was pissed at my lateness.
He had the car running, ready to leave me behind in the dust.  The moment
I slid into the back seat he rounded on me.
      "What the hell took you so long?"
      I almost looked at him, but couldn't quite fix my gaze.  It moved
to the school at the other end of the parking lot, and I said: "I had
business to take care of.  Chill."
      Eliot threw the car into drive and we rolled out of the school
parking lot, arriving minute's later back home.  We were still in the car
when we saw Detective Booker and Sergeant Manning leaning against their
parked squad car.  My heart sank.  The only thought that occurred to me
was that they found substantial evidence against Eliot.  Why else would
they be back here?
      Neither of them moved until we were out of the car.  "Eliot,"
Detective Booker said. "Mind if we have a word?"
      "As a matter of fact, I would mind," Eliot retorted, hitching up
his book bag.  He strode forcefully between Genevieve and me and directly
into the house, slamming the door directly in all of our faces.
      For a moment the four of us just stared at the well-polished door
and its brass knocker.  Booker and Manning weren't exactly smiling.
Three floors above us rock music was playing.  Genevieve sighed.  "Is it
anything important?" she curtly asked the officers.  "Are you going to be
coming to our house on a daily basis?  You know, you might get more
answers out of him if you left him alone."
      Sergeant Manning's lips thinned.  He peered over his glasses at
Genevieve.  Apparently he had much disdain for adolescents.  "So generous
to give advice, young lady.  But this is police matter.  A murder has
occurred; your brother is a plausible suspect.  So we'll be here a lot -
in fact you can expect us tonight."

I was satisfied with the work I had accomplished so far.  Mentally, I
planned my visit to Get Fit Gym later in the evening.  I wanted to ask
the guy Rocky a few questions about Georgina.  Carrie had been right in
saying that this was police work, but as far as I was concerned they were
being closed minded.  Booker's and Manning's second appearance, and
promise to come back, made me feel as if they already found the killer
and he was living in this house.
      Inside my grandmother was bent over a desk, scribbling away on a
postcard.  She looked up as Genevieve and I entered.
      "Oh, Rhapsody and Elijah, there you are.  Who was outside?"
      Genevieve didn't bother to correct her.  "The police..."
      "The police!" my grandfather exclaimed, a glass of whiskey in his
hand.  He rushed over to the wind, peering out conspicuously, sloshing
some of his drink onto the floor.  "They certainly need some damn help
with this case."
      My grandmother looked worried.  "There isn't a problem with Ruby is
there?  She didn't get stuck in a tree?"  Genevieve and I exchanged looks
as my grandmother hobbled over to the door, calling out, "Ruby!"
      To my surprise, Eliot was out of his room.  He was pacing the
length of the kitchen, preparing a sandwich, while cradling the phone
with his shoulder.  I pounced upon his current occupation, and slipped
upstairs to his room.  The door was open.  Music was on pause.  And his
computer was on the screensaver.  Various pictures of him and his buddies
would appear on the screen then disappear in a slide show manner.
      I was one step ahead in proving his innocence, but one step behind
in discovering his sexual orientation.  Making sure that he was still
downstairs, I got in front of the computer, jiggled the mouse and
flinched at the sound of the short ringing tone.  If there was one way to
prove if he is straight or not, it is to view his computer activity.
      It may provide a subtle hint, or judging by some websites that were
visited, it may even be a clear sign.  My heart was beating faster than
it should.  Eliot would kill me if he were to wander in at the precise
moment.  My eyes would focus on the screen, then shoot to the door, then
back to the screen.  I just had to view recent websites he visited...it
may be that simple and task one would be over...
      With sweaty palms that could barely control the mouse, I double
clicked on Internet Explorer.  My eyes were focused on the screen, I
quickly peeled them away and looked at the door, back at the screen, back
to the door one more time and I felt my stomach rapidly free fall into
the abyss.
      Eliot was standing in the doorway.