Original Stories Fan Fiction ❯ Inside Out ❯ Trouble with the Police (Part 2) ( Chapter 8 )

When Elias woke up, his mind was filled with a thick drowsiness that he rarely had the pleasure of experiencing. His body was encased in warmth, and as he came to his senses, he realized that he was curled up inside of a blanket. The whole vicinity was warm, and sitting up, Elias realized where he was: the car.

 

Lucas was sitting in the front seat with a stoic expression on his face, eyes looking out beyond the window shield to what seemed to be never-ending white. Eyes shifting to the rear view mirror as he heard movements, he tore his gaze from the front and turned to face Elias.

 

“Did you have a nice sleep?”

 

Okay. This was where he needed to be careful.

He didn't like the way he asked that—and he certainly didn't like the way he was looking at him. Shifting carefully underneath the blanket, Elias pulled the material tighter around his small frame and nodded, before burying himself further into its softness.

 

He had had a nice sleep, which was odd because if he didn't dream, he was always in some state of unrest. And he had thought that he wouldn't get any sleep. But apparently, he'd been wrong.

 

In fact, his eyelids were still heavy. And as he lay there, even though he could feel Lucas's eyes on him, he could also feel himself slipping into another bout of sleep.

Struggling to keep his eyes open, he was surprised when Lucas spoke.

 

“You can go back to sleep. I turned my cell phone on when I woke up; she said they were coming.”

 

He knew right away that `she' meant their mother, and happy to comply, Elias fell into unconsciousness.

 

 

-

 

When he woke up again, the car was moving.

Shivering, the boy rolled onto his back and rubbed the sleep from his eyes.

He couldn't have slept that long, for the ride from the movie theatre had only been about an hour…hadn't it? Propping himself up onto his elbows, he looked to the front.

Lucas's fingers were gripping the steering wheel with a firmness that automatically set Elias on alert.

 

His posture was rigid as he sat in the seat, and even as he moved to sit up, Lucas did nothing to acknowledge he knew that he was awake. Eyes moving over the contents of the back of the car, Elias hastily snatched up his pants and tugged them on over his lower half. It was actually rather hard to do this and keep the blanket on himself while the car was in motion, but he did it nonetheless.

Smoothing the material over his boxers (which Lucas must have put back on him some time during the night), Elias hastily fastened the button of the jeans and began to look for his shoes. He had no recollection of when they had been taken off (perhaps he had been too busy crying?) but he found them under Lucas's seat.

 

Tying them up, the boy thought about scrambling into the front, but didn't know if he wanted to get that close to his brother at the moment. Eyeing the blanket and then the front seat with disdain, he settled for the back seat, and sitting back against the vinyl, he strapped himself in.

”When did mom call?”

“Around eight, when I turned my phone on.” After a moment, Elias caught Lucas mumbling; “I swear that bitch is psychic.”

 

They fell into silence, and Elias listened to the tires as they rolled over the snow-ridden asphalt. He didn't want to talk, but he wanted to fill the silence. He was uncomfortable when they were so long, and especially when they were with Lucas.

 

-*-

 

Almost home, is what he kept telling himself. Almost home is what swam through his mind. A smirk slid onto his lips as he turned off of the highway, and his car fell in behind a particularly long line of traffic that led up to the shopping district near their house.

 

The smirk remained, although it faltered as he thought about the night prior.

He hadn't known Elias did that. He didn't know, he didn't know. But was it really such a big deal?

 

Yes, it was.

 

He couldn't keep it a secret. He'd have to tell someone.

But the sinking feeling in his stomach told him that he was the reason for the boy to do what he did. And how the hell would he explain what went on between them if Elias told someone it? He'd have to come out about that, too.

 

So would he keep it a secret to save his own ass, or would he tell somebody so that Elias didn't hurt himself?

 

Gritting his teeth, Lucas shook his head and fixed his eyes onto the road. Frustration was building up inside of him, and it was only more frustrating because he was digging his own grave. He should stop this. He could stop it.

 

And he was unsure of whether it saddened him or frightened him when a resounding voice in the back of his head clearly screamed no don't do that.

But in all honesty, he didn't know if he would be able to handle it.

He had been too nice to him. This was his conclusion.

He was giving the boy a false sense of security, and he was fooling himself in the process.

He didn't actually feel anything for Elias. He just wanted to ruin him. Make his life hell—like his had been.

 

But was that fair?

 

Who cares about fair? Let him suffer; it doesn't affect you. He's just a kid no one really gives a damn about anyway.

 

He'd have to show him that his own moments of weakness were nothing.

That whatever he'd said before was all a lie. Let him be pissed off. What was he going to do?

 

He's just a weak little kid. You can do anything you want. You can ruin him.

 

Frowning, he let his gaze drift up to the rear view mirror. Elias was sitting in the back, legs crossed, blanket pulled around his small shoulders. His hair was tousled from sleep, and he was staring out the window with a hauntingly lost expression. Guilt consumed Lucas as he let his eyes return to the expanse of road before him, but he soon pushed the feelings aside.

 

Maybe he's ruining me, too.

 

-

 

As the gravel crunched under the tires, and their mother came bursting out of the house like her ass was on fire (an image Lucas actually snickered at) he knew he was in for it.

Kicking his door open in a rather irritated manner (for he already knew she was nagging him) he lifted his palms up in a sign of submission and looked to the woman standing before him.

 

Her hair was, to be frank, a bloody mess, and the bags under her eyes were a deep purple.

The wrinkles in her forehead were set into a deep groove, which accentuated her frown, and Lucas thought; funny, I didn't know people could age overnight.

 

“Where is he? Is he all right? He didn't freeze did he? Catch a cold?”

 

“I'm okay, mom.”

 

Looking over his shoulder, Lucas watched as the boy carefully got out of the car.

He had put his shirt back on, but was still holding the blanket around him.

The mans' eyes couldn't help but wander down to his midsection, where he knew several deep cuts had been carved into the soft skin. They had been red and swollen, a drastic contrast to the boys pale complexion.

 

 

“I don't feel good,” he mumbled, shifting uncomfortably as their mother engulfed him in her arms. “I think I'll go lay down—can I go lay down?”

“Of course you can honey! I'll make you some soup—I'll bet you're hungry, aren't you?”

 

Shooting a glare to Lucas, she turned and guided Elias back into the house.

 

And suddenly, he was seething.

 

He was angry.

He was mad.

He was downright pissed.

 

Slamming the car door closed, he locked it before stuffing the keys angrily into his pocket. He was going to do something about this.

 

Why the fuck did he always get blamed for everything?

He hadn't meant for the weather to turn as shitty as it had and keep them in the car.

He had just wanted to take the kid to a goddamned movie!

 

Storming into the house, Lucas tried to contain his anger, although he was sure it was rolling off of him in waves. One of these days, he was going to kill that bitch.

And it wouldn't be his fault because for twenty years, she had treated him like shit.

Treated him like dirt, and coddled that little brat that was upstairs.

 

Perhaps it was jealousy that had him so outraged?

Probably.

 

He rarely felt this feeling of betrayal. He didn't even know why he was feeling like he did. All he knew though was that he was going to make their mother sorry. He was going to take it out on Elias. And this time, he didn't care if she walked in on them.

 

But when he got upstairs, Elias wasn't in his bedroom.

 

The aroma of chicken noodle soup became apparent, and his eyes searched the hallway as the scent grew thicker. He could feel his anger ebbing to be replaced by irritation, but this still did nothing to quell the urge to hurt something. Anything.

 

Stalking passed Elias's bedroom, Lucas stopped in front of the bathroom door.

It was closed. Locked, no doubt.

 

Found you.

 

Hand falling onto the doorknob, his fingers curled around the device and he gave a fierce jerk. He wasn't surprised when a panicked yelp sounded from inside, and a small voice cried; “J—just a minute!”

 

“Open the fucking door, Elias.”

 

“I'm in the bathroom!”

“I know what you're doing.”

 

He rattled the door a couple of times before he slammed his palm down in the center of it.

He didn't care if their mother heard him; he was right there right there.

 

And all that was separating the boy from him was a piece of wood? He didn't think so.

 

The doorknob broke as he exerted a particularly large amount of strength (which he never really put into anything else), and nudging his shoulder against the frame, pushed it open. The border splintered, but he ignored the small chunks of wood that embedded themselves into his t-shirt.

 

Elias was crouched inside the bathtub, and his shirt was lying in a crumpled heap on the floor. His arms were crossed over his abdomen, but Lucas could see the blood smeared along his inner forearms. His body was shaking, and although he couldn't hear any audible sounds to give away that the boy was crying, his lower lip was trembling and his cheeks were wet.

 

“What are you doing?” he hissed, slamming the door (what it would, anyway since it was broken) behind him.

 

Marching up to the tub, he dropped to his knees and grabbed Elias's shoulders.

The boy was trembling beneath his hands, and his head lolled to the side as he gave him a fierce shake.

 

Something slipped from Elias's fingers as he shook him again, and when Lucas's eyes dropped, they focused on a bloody razor. Swearing profusely, he picked it up and made quite a show of throwing it in the trash.

 

Leaning forward, the boy extended a thin arm out, his hand shaking as he grappled for his t-shirt. Lifting his head, Lucas stepped over it and knelt down. Pulling it away from Elias's reach, he threw it to the other end of the bathroom and leaned forward on his knees. Pushing the boy back into the tub, he grabbed Elias's wrists and pried them from his chest.

 

-*-

 

He struggled against Lucas as he pulled his arms away from his chest, and curling his legs up, Elias brought them out in a motion meant to kick the other away from him.

 

He let go of his wrists so fast however, that he barely had time to register the fact and Lucas had his arm around his waist in seconds. Avoiding his feeble attempt at a kick.

 

“You're going to have to do more then that to hurt me,” he exhaled; his breathe more of a pant, caused from the struggle between them. “and you have a lot of explaining to do.”

 

“I don't have to tell you anything,” Elias seethed, his voice rising barely above a whisper. “I don't owe you any explanations.”

 

“Elias, honey?”

 

They both froze, and Lucas chanced a glance over his shoulder.

Thoughts began to collide with one another inside of Elias's head, and his eyes searched the bathroom.

 

“Is the door locked?” he whispered, his voice beginning to shake.

Lucas let go of him long enough to lean back and extend an arm, but by the time his hand was close enough to push the door open, their mother had pushed it open.

Looking down at the doors frame, she frowned.

 

Turning to look at Lucas, an angry tone claimed dominance in her voice.

“Lucas, what the hell happened to the d—”

 

-*-

 

That's when she started screaming.

Cursing, Lucas got to his feet and extended his hands to try and shut her up, but the woman saw the blood on his hands and Elias's abdomen and clearly misunderstood.

 

“What have you done to him, you sick bastard!” she blurted, her hands flying to her mouth. Her fingers were trembling madly on her pursed lips as she backed out, and her eyes were as wide as saucers. Turning, she stumbled over the threshold of the bathroom and bolted down the stairs.

 

“Fuck!” Lucas screamed as he followed suit, leaving Elias to bleed in the bathroom.

This was not good. Wiping his hands on his pants, he sneered n disgust at his bloody fingers.

 

“You got it wrong!” he yelled, stalking into the kitchen. “That wasn't—”

“Help!” The woman blubbered, clinging to the kitchen phone. “Help! He's gone mad! He attacked my son! Send the police!”

“Shut up!” Lucas snarled, advancing forward. With a shrill scream, she dropped the phone and took off into the living room. Picking up the device, Lucas slammed the receiver down before pivoting onto his heel.

 

“What did you do to your brother? Elias, honey! It's okay sweetie, I've called for help!”

 

“I didn't do anything!” Lucas seethed, stepping into the living room. “Just stop screaming and listen to me!”

 

“You're insane,” she blubbered, shaking her head. “You're crazy! You're just like your father.”

 

“You know what? Fuck you!”

 

Lifting a hand, Lucas really wasn't sure of what he'd have done if something hard, something cold, hadn't pressed into his lower back, and a low, dangerous voice said in a commanding tone; “Freeze.”

 

-
-
-

 

-Some time later.-

-

 

-

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-

-

 

 

The police station was moderately empty, aside from a few sniffing mothers and some crying babies. Why was there always crying babies? Fidgeting in his seat, Lucas gave a jerk of his arms, which were bound behind his back, and tried to loosen the tightness of the handcuffs around his wrists.

 

“Come on!” he yelled for about the millionth time since his arrival six hours prior, “Let me out!”

 

This is stupid, he thought for maybe the hundredth time. I didn't do anything. They can't keep me here.

 

“You need to shut up,” a Police officer grunted as he walked by. “You'll get out soon enough, when the investigators return.”

 

“There isn't anything to investigate!” Lucas sneered. “I didn't do anything!”

“We'll leave that to them,” the Policeman quipped angrily, before proceeding down the hall.

 

Leaning against the bench, Lucas let his head fall back against the wall with a soft thud.

He was screwed. And this was no pun intended.

 

-

 

“Lucas Taylor?”

 

Opening his eyes, Lucas looked back to the front desk with a cynical hiss.

Rolling her eyes, the receptionist gathered several folders into her hands before getting to her feet. Motioning to a Police officer (who had taken to standing beside the bench for some reason), he turned and lifted Lucas rather gruffly to his feet.

 

“The inspectors have arrived from the scene,” she informed the police officer. As if Lucas wasn't there. “They want to talk to Mr. Taylor. Mrs. Taylor has already made her statement.”

 

“This is ridiculous,” Lucas muttered as he was dragged down the hall. “I didn't do anything—she just needs to stop jumping to conclusions.”

“Let the police do their job, Mr. Taylor.”

 

A heavy metal door was opened, and Lucas was `escorted' (in his opinion, more like shoved) inside. Two men who had been sitting at a metal table stationed in the center of the room stood as if to greet him, both their expressions grim.

 

As the door slammed behind him, the resounding noise made his ears ring, and Lucas shifted uncomfortably. The Policeman gestured to a chair, and Lucas obliged before slumping back against the hard surface.

 

“Do you know why you're here, Mr. Taylor?”

“Because my mother jumped to conclusions. Can you do something about these? I can't feel my arms.”

The Policeman exchanged glances before the one nearest him retrieved a set of keys from his pocket. Moving around him, he unlocked the handcuffs that were holding Lucas's arms behind his back.

 

“I'm detective Laurence and this is Detective Michaels.”

“Okay. When do I get to go?”

“Would you mind explaining to us what happened?” Detective Laurence asked, folding his hands atop the metal surface of the table. “That way we can assess the problem from a more…reasonable point of view.”

“What is she saying? Probably that I was trying to kill him, didn't I? That I was trying to murder him.”

“Along those lines,” Detective Laurence replied dryly. “But give us your side of the story.”

 

Well, he couldn't exactly tell them he had gone upstairs with intentions of beating the shit out of Elias—that would probably get him locked up. And he couldn't tell them that he was worried about the cutting, because his brother obviously meant for no one to find out about it. When had he started, anyway?

“Mr. Taylor?”

“I don't know. We had to stay the night in my car because we went to see a movie, but the roads closed because of the snow storm.”

 

Nodding, Detective Laurence ran his hand over his beard before looking to Detective Michaels. Probably to make sure he was taking notes. And he was.

 

“So I got him home the next day, and he'd been in the hospital last week because of an assault, so our mother was worried. He said he wanted to go lie down, so he went upstairs. I followed him, and he wasn't in his room. When I checked the bathroom, it was locked so I got worried.”

 

It sounded fake, even to him. But what could he do? He was lying off of the top of his head.

 

“Wasn't he going to the bathroom? The door would have been locked.”

 

“I could tell something was wrong,” Lucas bit out. “I don't know how, but I just did.”

 

“And what did you do then?”

 

“I broke the door to get into the bathroom, and—”

 

He actually couldn't say it.

Humiliation boiled up inside of him, and Lucas bowed his head.

He had made him hurt himself. It was his fault.

And he didn't even know where Elias was at the moment.

 

“And?”

 

“He was … cutting himself.”

 

 

The silence that was in the room thickened, and one moment turned into two before the Detective exhaled. Nodding, he motioned for Michaels to stop taking notes. He complied.

 

“Cutting himself?”

“With a razor.”

“….And?”

 

“I grabbed it and threw it into the trash.”

“That explains your fingerprints.”

 

Gritting his teeth, Lucas tried to refrain from getting up and lunging at the police officer.

Instead, he took several calming breathes before continuing.

 

“I grabbed his hands to pull them away from his chest so I could see how bad he'd done it—because he was …bleeding a lot. And then she came in to tell him that his soup was ready, I'm guessing. Since the door was broken, she did. And she saw us.”

 

The Detective's eyebrows disappeared in his hair a moment before he exhaled sharply. Running a hand through disheveled bangs, he nodded for Michaels before standing up.

 

Lifting his head, Lucas blinked several times. Waiting for them to say something.

 

“This is an uncommon situation,” Michaels commented, looking over what notes he had taken. “Aside from what you say about the boys' … self injuring, it seems to all have been a very bad misunderstanding.”

“Whatever charges were laid upon you (the bitch had actually pressed charges?) will be dropped.”

 

Lucas nearly slumped forward in relief.

 

“If the boy agrees to your statement.”

 

Oh.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Shit.

 

 

A/N: They just seem to be getting short… and shorter X.x. I bet you'll all be surprised with the next couple of chapters though! Anyway, I hope you enjoyed it.

Please REVIEW after you finish reading this! I do so love to hear what you guys all think!! :B