Page 5

Three days had passed since Elliot’s visit to Sugarplum Island. At least, he thought it was three days. His days and minutes and months were all jumbled together, and he was having trouble remembering anything that happened since he returned to Jared Price’s home. When he thought about it for too long, it made his head feel fuzzy, like someone had scooped out pieces of his memory and patched the holes with cake frosting. The only thing Elliot knew was he needed to get away. Away from Dallas, Texas, and away from Jared Price.

When Elliot Price stepped off the Greyhound bus with one pastel-pink suitcase, one beige bandage wrapped around his wrist, and one broken heart, he closed his eyes and took a deep breath, hoping to catch the scent of freedom. He knew he smelled it once before, though his mind was thick with confusion, and he couldn’t remember the occasion. It was a good day, though, he thought. Probably even the best day. If only he could actually remember why that was.

It didn’t matter. The past was in the past, and Elliot was looking into his future.

The city square was quaint; like a snapshot of small-town America. There was a courthouse in the center with street lamps lining the concrete walkway around it. A red brick road surrounded the courthouse, and across the road, a swarm of stores surrounded the courthouse. There was a diner, a dollar movie theater playing hits from yesteryear, and a small, second-hand store that appeared to sell compact discs containing music. It was fabulous—a word Jared never allowed Elliot to use, as he deemed it “too gay,” whatever that meant. Words didn’t have sexual orientations. They were simply strings of consonants and vowels stitched together to form sound.

But, yes, Elliot thought. Yes, he could see this place becoming his new home. He just hoped his unexpecting future hosts wouldn’t turn him away. It didn't feel like his home, though. Elliot's heart belonged somewhere—he knew it did—but he couldn't remember where that home was.

Elliot crossed the red brick road and walked onward, trying to locate Main Street. Before leaving Dallas in a haste—though he still couldn’t remember why his exit had been so sudden—he wrote down an address. Two addresses, actually. One was in Dallas, though, and Elliot knew he needed to stay far, far away from Dallas, Texas. The other address was for a building in Genevieve, Georgia. A library, apparently. His only means of escape from a life spent in silver cages.

So Elliot walked. He walked and walked until his feet were sore, but those sore feet didn’t hold a candle to the ache he felt in his knees each time Master Jared Price forced Elliot to kneel at his side as he watched television. Elliot needed to be still and quiet, just so Jared would have someone to strike should something offend him on screen. Lately, it seemed Jared was offended by everything.

Elliot passed person after person, each smiling cheerfully at him, as if his presence genuinely pleased them. Women wearing pearls and men in fedoras. Even some men in pearls, some women with fedoras. It was truly a picturesque sight.

He got lost along the way, and he wasn’t sure he would ever find his destination. Elliot thought it happened when he crossed over Mill Street. Elliot took a right when he probably should have taken a left, and he didn’t realize he went off track until he reached a small country road leading out of town. The road tilted downward, and, because the town rested atop a rather large hill, Elliot believed if he looked long enough, he could see forever laid out before him.

Elliot sighed, setting his pastel pink suitcase on the ground and taking a seat. Normally, he would be happy as a lark to take an extended walk, because Jared rarely let him take them, but on that day, his ankles were tired and swollen, and he needed a rest. He placed a hand on his tummy and sighed.

Elliot stared down the seemingly endless hill, drinking in the sights of overgrown fields and a small stream leading out past the horizon. A small part of him wanted to follow the stream to see if it might lead him . . . where, exactly? Elliot couldn’t be sure, but he was sure he’d know it when he saw it.

Home.

Elliot ran his fingers up and down the sides of his pink suitcase, realizing what a stark contrast it was to the green scenery around him. Inside the suitcase were two tiny keepsakes he kept for himself, as well as one pair of pressed khaki trousers and a pink Polo shirt. His shoes were now scuffed from the hike, but he didn’t mind. What were a few scuff marks when his freedom was at stake?

A bluebird landed on a nearby bush, chirping out its midmorning song. Elliot’s fingers twitched with each note, following along like an orchestra’s conductor, his body lightly bopping to the tune. Elliot allowed himself the moment, because he hadn’t been allowed much else. The song sounded a bit like an unbroken promise, and it played the entire time Elliot rested. He wanted to pull out the celebratory treat he brought with him, all the way from Dallas, Texas, but he feared the click of his suitcase might startle the bird, and Elliot was enjoying its song.

Eventually, when Elliot rose, he did so with a groan and two popping knees. He held his hand to his back, trying to catch his breath. The cracked rib was recent, only three days old. Or had it been three months?

Elliot startled as the bluebird flew in front of him, then circled Elliot round and round. It paused long enough to peck at his nose, then quickly darted behind Elliot’s back like a cheeky scamp. Elliot twirled around, wincing from the pain of his aching ankles. There was heat in his chest, like someone had lit a fire in his esophagus. He’d felt the burn quite often in the recent days and months and minutes, only having brief moments of reprieve between the bursts of discomfort.

The bluebird chirped in Elliot’s face then flew away. As he watched the bird flutter off, the initial rush of happiness that flooded his veins faded, and Elliot once again found himself alone. He closed his eyes and sighed. Bending over, he picked up his suitcase and groaned.

The journey back into town took longer than the journey out, but he didn’t let it deter him. As he walked for what felt like miles, he kept his eyes peeled, but he still couldn’t find Main Street. Just as he was about to sit down on his suitcase again, the bluebird returned and pecked Elliot with its beak. It flew westward, pausing long enough to look back at Elliot, as if waiting for him to follow. He shrugged and followed along, figuring he couldn’t get more turned around than he already was. He put his faith in the blue songstress, knowing if he wound up at a landfill, at least he would have been escorted there by a pretty bird singing a pretty song. Thankfully, the bird didn’t lead Elliot to the landfill. Within minutes, Elliot was back where he began, right in the center’s heart, and the bird flew away, leaving Elliot alone again.

A bell tolled in the distance, though Elliot couldn’t place its source. It rang five times before stopping, and then pandemonium hit Genevieve, Georgia. One by one, shop doors opened, and owners and workers locked them on their way out. Elliot counted forty-two and one-half people, although the half-person could have simply been the upper half of a window mannequin. Elliot couldn’t be sure.

The courthouse door opened and another hundred-or-so people filed out in nice, neat, single-file lines. He was amazed at how peaceful the square was, even with umpteen workers all walking toward a large parking garage down a side street on the square. He stood there watching happy people heading to happy homes with happy families. Elliot prayed he may one day know the feeling of having someone waiting for him at home, or to be waiting for someone he truly loved who truly loved him back. A fool’s dream, perhaps, but that didn’t stop Elliot from dreaming it, anyway.

One by one, Cadillacs and Lincoln Town Cars pulled away, some using the red brick road around the courthouse, others driving away from him. Then, be it hours or minutes or months later, Elliot was alone in the city’s heart. His chest ached and his stomach dropped at the realization that sundown had come, and it was getting dark. He would never find his destination if he lost daylight.

Elliot remembered Jared Price mentioning some human phenomenon called fight-or-flight. He’d explained that, when faced with terrifying circumstances, people would either stay and fight or run. No matter how many long walks Elliot may have wanted to take in his new life as a free man, he wasn’t much of a runner. He wasn't a fighter, either, but that was to be expected. Mother had programmed him with a trusting, docile soul. More often than not, when faced with a traumatic life experience, Elliot tended to freeze. His legs would fail to function, and he’d be unable to speak.

Elliot froze again. He knew finding his potential safe house would be impossible at night, and Elliot’s body shook as he tried to think of what to do. First and foremost, Elliot needed to find a power supply. After a long day on public transportation, he would require a full charge overnight.

Slowly, he walked around the square, looking for a single wall outlet outside the many stores, only to be met with disappointment.

He placed his suitcase on the curb and opened it. On top was a treat he’d taken from Jared’s home before running away. While he always wanted to try one of Jared’s plum jam cookies, he’d never had the chance. Well, he had plenty of chances when he went to collect them from . . .

Elliot froze, his eyes closing on their own. Where did the cookies come from? Why couldn’t Elliot remember? He knew he got them three days ago. He remembered, because it had been three days since Jared Price kicked his ribs until they cracked.

Elliot’s wrist throbbed beneath the bandage, but he pushed past that pain, taking out the plum jam cookie, closing the suitcase’s lid, and taking a seat. Opening the wrapper around the cookie, Elliot smiled at the purple jam dollop, still intact. He brought the cookie to his face and inhaled deeply. The smell was nice, and he knew he’d smelled it before, but each time he reached for the memory of when he smelled it last, his head throbbed. Like more little holes filled with frosting.

“Are you lost?” a man asked from behind Elliot. He peeked over his shoulder to find a man, perhaps in his early thirties, wearing a pair of khakis like the ones Elliot was wearing. The man also had on a light pink button-down shirt, and a necktie dotted with . . .

“Are those tiaras?” Elliot asked, pointing at the small crowns littering the man’s tie.

He nodded. “Tiaras are my weakness. Well, tiaras, boy bands, and lemon rosewater.” He extended his hand for Elliot to shake, and Elliot, having been trained in etiquette all his life, lifted his hand in return and provided a shake. The man stared at Elliot’s face and frowned. “Are you okay?”

Elliot tensed. Why did the man frown at him? “Yes, sir. I’m quite alright.”

The man reached down and touched Elliot’s cheek, making Elliot’s body shake and his eyes slam shut. The mental picture of the man’s finger touching his cheek reminded him of the way Jared . . .

“What’s your name?” the man asked, his voice warm and welcoming, pulling Elliot out of his troubled headspace. When he opened his eyes, the man was smiling warmly at him. Nervous orange light flickered through Elliot’s eyes and he scolded himself for letting his colors show. Most people weren’t fond of automatons, and Mother always told them it was best to hide their colors. It was usually easy for Elliot to mask them, which was good, because Jared Price didn’t care for the flashing lights in the corner of Elliot’s eyes. This man didn’t seem to mind, though. In fact, he seemed quite spellbound by them, which calmed his racing heart.

“I’m Elliot,” he finally answered, then, in a much smaller voice, he added, “I believe I’m lost.”

“Well, you’re in luck, because I know this city by heart. It kind of comes with the job.”

“With what job?”

“I’m Genivieve’s mayor,” he clarified, pointing at the courthouse behind him. He reached for Elliot’s hand and squeezed. “Mayor Beau Rivera, at your service. Now, where are you trying to go? I can help you, I just need to know how.”

Elliot swallowed. “I’m looking for the local library. I have a friend in town I was hoping to stay with.”

“A friend at the library?”

Elliot nodded. “Two of them. Periwinkle and Arthur Price. They’re not expecting me, but I think they’ll be happy to see me. I’m hoping they’ll allow me to live with them.”

Beau smiled warmly. “I know Arthur and Peri well. Periwinkle’s always happy to see everyone. Arthur, less so, but still. I’m sure they’d be happy to have you. And, if they don’t, we’ll figure something out. Genevieve is a place for hope and change.” He eyed Elliot curiously. “You look like you could use a little bit of change and a whole lot of hope.” He pointed at a small pink golf cart wedged between a dental office and a pharmacist. “I’d be happy to give you a ride. I’m heading home, and it’s on the way.”

Elliot’s eyes bulged as he stared at the golf cart, hopping up, ignoring his sore, swollen ankles. He attempted to grab his suitcase, but his back was aching just as much as his ankles. Beau must have noticed Elliot’s discomfort, because he stood and picked the suitcase up himself. Elliot regretted not placing his plum jam cookie back inside, but it was too late for that, as Beau was already walking toward the cart. Elliot clasped the cookie delicately and took off after Beau.

When he reached the cart, he sucked in a sharp breath, because it was positively stunning. It was the most beautiful shade of pink Elliot had ever seen. “You drive this?”

Beau blushed. “I know it’s not anything fancy, but it’s sassy and cute.”

Elliot quickly shook his head, awestruck. “No! Mayor Rivera, it’s perfect!”

“You can just call me Beau. Mayor Rivera is my dad. You can call him Dad. Everyone else does. I guess if you want to keep it formal, you can call me Mayor Beau. I’m fine either way.”

Elliot blinked at the man, confused. “Anyway.” He turned and beamed at the cart. “This is absolutely divine! Look at the colors! Oh, and tiny tiaras. They’re just like the ones on your tie!” His eyes bulged as he saw the small disco ball hanging from the rearview mirror, sending silver fractals of light dancing against the cart’s interior. A tear trickled down Elliot’s cheek, and he didn’t bother to wipe it away. Instead, he ran his fingers down the cart’s hood. “You can just get in this at any time, and drive wherever your heart takes you.”

“Well, technically, I can only drive about thirty miles before the battery dies, but yeah.”

Elliot looked back at Beau and flashed his cheeriest grin, though his heart wasn’t fully invested in the smile. “I’ve wanted that for so long.”

Beau’s hand touched Elliot’s shoulder, and when Elliot looked over, the man with golden skin and pretty brown eyes was giving him a look he couldn’t quite interpret. Elliot wondered if Beau found him attractive. And then Elliot wondered if he found Beau attractive. From a purely biological standpoint, the telltale signs were there. Elliot’s heart raced and his stomach fluttered, but something was lacking. Maybe because of his bond with Jared? Any other time he’d scoff at the notion, but right then, beside Beau Rivera’s golf cart, Elliot realized he must have trauma bonded with his master, because he couldn’t bring himself to look upon Beau Rivera lustfully. There was an internal warning bell going off in Elliot’s head, screaming that Elliot did not belong to the mayor, and the mayor did not belong to Elliot. A sad state of affairs, Elliot pondered, that he could be stuck with a man who only ever brought him pain, simply because it was decided on Elliot’s behalf.

Once they were on the cart, Beau drove at a snail’s pace, even though his pedal was touching metal. As they drove past building after building, Elliot pointed at each of them and proudly proclaimed, “That isn’t a library,” as Beau snickered in the seat beside him.

“I know where the library is, silly.” Beau took one hand off the steering wheel and pointed at a tall building in the distance, and as it came into view, Elliot knew they found their destination.

Elliot nodded emphatically. “Yes! That’s the place! I was there a day or week or month ago.” He closed his eyes and shook his head. “Or have I even been here at all? Honestly, I’m not sure. He may have just sent me a postcard. Sorry, my mind’s been foggy lately. I can’t seem to keep my timeline straight.” He cocked his head to the side.

Beau snorted. “Well, I can’t keep anything straight, if you know what I mean.”

He didn’t. Elliot hadn’t the slightest idea what Beau was talking about, but his training included bridging conversational gaps created by awkward exchanges. Mother taught him to nod with a smile—his teeth not touching—never letting the other men in the room feel inferior when they told a joke that didn’t land.

“I understand completely,” Elliot lied. Better to lie than embarrass the mayor.

“As for your disjointed timeline,” Beau said as he rounded a corner marked at Main Street. “Unless you’ve got a strong stomach, I don’t think it could have been in the last few months, considering your condition. You look like you should be in bed with your feet up.”

His condition? Could Beau tell Elliot was bruised and nearly broken? Was he implying Elliot couldn’t make long trips because of the pain Jared had inflicted? Because he proved that claim false by traveling from Dallas to Genevieve on his own, and he did just fine.

Beau parked the golf cart next to Genevieve’s public library. Elliot reached for his suitcase on the floor, but Beau grabbed it before he had the chance. They walked to the door together, and the mayor pressed the doorbell. They waited silently for over a minute before Beau began knock-knock-knocking over and over. Even as someone on the other side of the door struggled with the deadbolts, Mayor River continued banging, flashing Elliot a cheeky grin. “He’s going to be furious with me. I can’t wait.” As the man continued banging, Arthur Price’s familiar grumpy voice bellowed out, “I’m trying, dang it!”

Beau and Elliot shared a glance, chuckling.

The door swung open, and there stood Arthur Price, eyes bulging as he looked Elliot up and down. “Elliot?” His husband, Periwinkle, was standing behind him, staring, seemingly speechless.

“Master Price,” Elliot greeted, giving him the same customary nod he’d given Arthur every other time their paths crossed—usually when Jared would spring an impromptu visit to his little brother’s home. He always claimed it to be a spur-of-the-moment decision, when in reality, the man simply liked to keep Arthur on his toes. Ever the bully, even to his family.

Arthur turned his head to Beau and stared at him, seemingly stupefied. “Mayor Rivera?”

Beau Rivera gave Arthur a ridiculous salute. “At your service.” He wrapped an arm around Elliot’s shoulder and beamed at Arthur. “I met Elliot on the square. He got lost trying to find you and Peri. So I told him I’d take him to you.” Beau’s cheeks flushed red. “I hope that’s okay. Silly me, I didn’t even think to call and ask first. For all I know, this man could be a raging murderer.” He turned to Elliot and gave him a stern expression before dramatically walking a circle around the automaton. He paused behind Elliot, mumbling something to himself, then continued his circle. When he was once again looking into Elliot’s eyes, Beau’s jaw clenched. “Are you a deranged stalker, Elliot? Because if I’ve just led you to a potential victim, I’ll probably get recalled.”

Elliot looked to Arthur for guidance in managing the confusing and charming man at their side, only to receive a dumbfounded look in return. Typical, Elliot thought. While Arthur had always been a bit of a pushover, Elliot didn’t particularly mind.

“It’s very nice to see you again, Master Price. I was hoping you might be willing to hide me.”

Arthur stared at Elliot. “Hide you?”

“Just for twelve days. Or, perhaps, twelve weeks.” He chewed his cheek. “Or was it twelve years?” Elliot shook his head, trying to remember how long he needed to be away from Jared. Twelve days sounded right, but he thought that couldn’t be the case, because that would be far sooner than the date Elliot had to be hidden on. “Twelve weeks,” he finally said, sounding far from certain.

“Just twelve weeks?” Mayor Beau Rivera asked.

Elliot nodded, then looked at the mayor. “Maybe longer, maybe shorter, if all goes according to plan.” He smiled warmly at his potential new friend. “As lovely as this journey has been, I’m afraid I’ll have to tackle this next portion on my own, my potential new friend.” He patted Beau’s arm the way the mayor had done with him earlier.

Beau chuckled. “I hope you stick around, Elliot. If you need anything—”Beau reached into his pocket and handed him a business card—”my number’s on there and you can use it any time. I’m always happy to help.”

With that, Mayor Beau Rivera returned to his golf cart and gave Elliot a parting glance before speeding off into the darkening streets of Genevieve, Georgia. Well, he drove as fast as a standard golf cart could drive, Elliot supposed.

When Elliot turned around, Arthur still had the same dumbfounded look on his face, his eyes pointed at Elliot’s lower half. Sadness encapsulated Arthur Price, and the man breathed shakily, coming to terms with Elliot’s less-than-ideal situation.

“What did he do to you?” Arthur asked, though Elliot didn’t think Arthur was really asking as much as he was simply voicing his concern. Elliot wasn’t surprised. He was sure he had the same shell-shocked look on his face when Jared advised him of the procedure he planned without Elliot’s consent.

Elliot had always been the first of his kind. He was the first of the i-Series automatons. The first househusband officially constructed for a sadist. The first of Mother’s children to guess the secret ingredient of her world-famous lemon meringue pie, though cinnamon sugar didn’t sound like much of a secret ingredient at the time. Now, he was the first to experience—

“Oh, my God.”

Elliot looked up. Unlike Arthur, who was wearing a silly sweater vest with festive kittens on the fabric, and an untamed garden of unkempt brown weeds atop his head, Periwinkle was the picture of domestic bliss. He wore a lovely light-purple shirt with skin-tight banana-yellow shorts that rested only inches above his knees. Not a single brown hair on his head was out of the place, neatly parted at the side and styled with quite a bit of product.

“Hello, Periwinkle,” Elliot greeted with a smile. “I need your help.” Then Elliot placed a hand on the baby bump poking out of his tummy and sighed. “As you can see, I’m in a state.”

“Oh, Elliot,” Periwinkle whispered, his voice small and filled with sympathy.

“I can’t go home.” His jaw trembled, but Elliot silently praised himself for maintaining his composure. Then, bringing his voice to a whisper, he added, “I don’t think I can ever go home again.”