A/N: Thank you all, again, for your wonderful reviews! Thank you Kaneswolf, the encouragement is well received and very much appreciated. And , I'm so glad you love it!
I think that Eliot/dog-fighting scene is open to interpretation. I took Eliot's words and demeanor to mean he was all for it. He was happy, beaming and even gleeful. In my experience, no one who is calling people out for any kind of animal cruelty is happy, beaming or gleeful. They are somber, sickened and even livid. Luckily, it doesn't matter who is "right" or who is "wrong", because the eight-year-old took it to mean Eliot was for it, and reacted as only a kid could—and get away with it.
Enjoy this next (short) chapter!
And Happy Mother's Day to every mother out there!
Chapter Eight
Eliot drove the sedan, getting into position. He saw her, on the phone, standing in the middle of the arc of the driveway in front of the hotel. The place was bustling with people, but that should work to his advantage. Her curly blonde hair bounced over the blue top of her pantsuit. She wore black slacks and shoes with just a little heel. She was a reporter…or something. That didn't seem right, but…she was.
She started walking.
It was time.
He pressed his foot on the gas and jerked the steering wheel hard. He sped down the driveway and ran her over. She bounced off his car with a yelp and landed face down on the pavement.
Eliot jumped out of the car and then forced calm. He had a job to do. He knelt down and grabbed her hip, turning her face up. Somewhere in his mind, he winced. Never, ever move an accident victim unless the car was about to blow up. But he did it, and he wasn't gentle. He rummaged through her purse, purposeful but calm. He had it, the red file, in his hands.
Looking up, he saw another blonde woman, staring at him in horror. Everyone else was shocked—but she was terrified. She must know the dead woman. As she stared at him, the faintest hint of recognition spread across her face. So she knew him, too.
He locked eyes with this other blonde and felt the slightest trace of a smile form at his lips before getting to his feet and returning to the car. "Move," he growled at a bystander getting a little too close. He didn't even bother peeling out; he just drove away with that file.
Then he drove back.
He saw her standing in front of him, on the phone.
She started walking.
He pressed his foot on the gas and jerked the wheel.
She bounced off his car.
Eliot woke with a shout. He wiped his face, covered in sweat again. He knew the woman, the dead one, the one he'd just killed. It was the same woman who was at the café, the one that tried to taser him.
Eliot stumbled to the shower and disrobed quickly. He had to get back to the library. What time was it? It was still daylight, they should be open. He pulled on his jeans and grabbed a fresh shirt and headed downstairs.
He took the stairs, not the elevator, even though he was feeling weaker the more sleep he got. Stairs were more defendable, though he'd never had trouble dispatching an attacker in an elevator. He just felt better with the stairs seeming to have more escapes.
He walked through the lobby and stopped short at a glass door. It led to a tiny room with a single chair and a computer. The sign said it was for hotel guests.
Interesting idea. He'd prefer saving a trip to the library. He was tired, and the energy he expended making sure he wasn't being followed was taking its toll. Besides, after being kicked in the shins by an eight-year-old and almost tasered by a newbie, he didn't want to know what else was out there waiting for him.
He pulled on the door, but it was locked.
"You have to use your room key."
Eliot whirled around. The desk clerk waved at him and pointed to a lock at the side of the door. Eliot thanked him and put his card in the slot. The door clicked, and he stepped inside.
It was hardly bigger than a closet and the computer and chair faced the wall, forcing him to sit with his back to the glass window. He'd have to talk to them about security, this was ridiculous.
Eliot remembered the name of the hotel in the dream—he had to guess at the city—and typed it in with 'hit-and-run'. The third link down showed promise. He clicked it.
'Man runs into blonde woman and then hops out of the car to steal an item from her purse. Witnesses say he didn't take the purse, only a red folder.'
Eliot's breath left his body. He stared at the screen, lightheaded.
He'd killed her.
In real life, not in a dream, he killed that blonde woman and took her files. It all had to do with government secrets—but which government?
It was for the general. Or…because of the general. The general gave the orders, and Eliot followed them. The general had told him to run the blonde woman down, and Eliot obeyed. General Flores? No, that didn't sound right.
How was any of this possible? He didn't remember running down a blonde, but he must have. Who dreamt of taking a red file and then it turned out, in reality, you had?
That someone was him.
He'd gone to the café for a quick bite. He'd been growing weak from hunger, the headaches and nausea doing nothing for his appetite. He had to get to Flores. He'd needed strength, and soup and a sandwich sounded good. And then she was next to him. The woman he'd run over was smiling at him and touching his arm. He'd felt it. She was real. She was there!
The door clicked behind him. He shot out of the chair, sinking into a defensive stance. A red-headed older woman grabbed her chest in fright.
He straightened and pushed the hair out of his face. "Sorry, ma'am."
"My goodness, young man. You're a bit jumpy, aren't you?"
"I am ma'am, lost in thought. I'm sorry if I scared you."
"If? It's safe to say you nearly scared me to death."
"I apologize. Please excuse me."
"It's okay, young man. You scared the manners right out of me." She reached toward him. "Do you need any help?"
Eliot couldn't speak. She was being nice. Everyone was being nice. The whole world was being nice to him, except for the eight-year-olds and the dead women he didn't remember killing. And now, he was sure he would go back upstairs, fall asleep despite his best efforts not to, and dream about killing this nice old lady.
