Okay, now we're cooking! Hold on tight… Enjoy!

Chapter Five

Thin walls are both a heaven-sent blessing and a jagged, skin-shredding Dwarvish curse.

This happens to be the case with our apartment. Anyone who knows a single thing about quality spy missions can attest to the benefit of thin walls for eavesdropping. However, those who don't give a rat about the latest development in the next-door-neighbor's divorce, even though they can hear it as it actually happens, will tell you that living in a paper-walled apartment complex sucks, big time.

Then there's the old saying about how eavesdroppers only hear what they don't want to hear.

I ain't been droppin' no eaves, Mr. Gandalf, sir! the valiant hobbit Sam Gamgee once protested in the sitting room of Bag End as the wizard grabbed him from the bushes. Well, over the years I had learned how to take such great care to avoid eavesdropping. I mean, I didn't really want to overhear the barely-adult newlyweds getting it on just down the hall, or learn how to curse someone out in Portuguese from around the corner.

Funny how I still manage to overhear these disturbing little snippets once in a while.

Mom had another surgery tonight, which meant she wouldn't even be out of her sterile hospital scrubs until nine o'clock at least. So I was on my own that whole night. As I munched a leftover hunk of her blue-hot Cajun chicken and put the finishing touches on my math homework, oblivious voices began to swell and rise in the apartment above.

They had no idea that I lived here, but I would have known those voices anywhere. Edwards and Garrison.

At this point, dear reader, I should probably explain that Garrison, a widower, and Edwards, five years divorced, rent a room together right above Mom and me. As ROOMATES. End of story.

I could hear Edwards's sighing groan as he settled himself in a chair. "I'm telling you, Michael, we cannot keep this up much longer."

Okay, so I wasn't so innocent anymore. In fact, I was pretty much a full-on trespasser. But Edwards's statement snagged my attention like a rough fingernail on cheap polyester gym shorts. First of all, Michael. Michael Garrison. I'd already screwed up once with "English Teacher Gandalf." Did his first name have to start with the same letter as Mithrandir? Then I did a double-take. Keep what up?

"I can't stand those shots. Staying hidden as we are is not worth its price in Botox, believe me."

"Those Botox injections are out of sheer necessity, Phillip," Garrison chided. "If left unchecked, those eyebrows of yours would certainly raise great terror among your students, not to mention suspicion."

I choked back a massive guffaw. So that was why Edwards's eyebrows were so freaking stiff! This was one of those instances when you find out a random fact about a teacher that totally shatters their image in your eyes. Take your motherly gym teacher; one day when she lets you shoot hoops during the basketball unit, she suddenly reveals to you that she is a Bare Naked Ladies fan. Or the day in study hall last year when I saw the fiery, bleeding black heart my teacher had tattooed on her lower back. Yes, Mr. Edwards as I knew him was gone for good. What kind of self-respecting man gets Botox in his eyebrows? They couldn't be that bad, could they? No way could Edwards possibly have eyebrows like Lord Elrond of Imladris, Rivendell to mere Mortals.

Edwards. Elrond. Eyebrows.

Wait a damn freaking minute! Edwards. Elrond. Eyebrows. Garrison. Gandalf. Michael. Mithrandir. The silver and white in Garrison's beard, Edwards's glossy black ponytail. The familiar mannerisms. Edwards. Elrond. Botox. Scary eyebrows. The sword in the closet, which only I could hold. And his first name was Phillip.

Phillip Edwards. Man, that must suck to have P.E. as your initials. Phillip. Edwards. Elrond. Eyebrows.

Phillip. Edwards. Elrond…

…Peredhil?

Our health insurance is fantastic, thanks to Mom's job at the hospital. I wonder if the plan offers decent coverage for psychiatric intervention.

"I spoke to him about the sword. He was absolutely shocked…" Garrison's voice faded out.

Spoke to whom? I wondered. Great. Now they were bringing someone else into this.

"They are excellent friends by now. Surely it will not be long…"

I realized that I was shaking. Like many other young men, I loved this sort of thing in movies, books, heck, even video games. But real live?

Uh-huh. I made a mental note to talk to Mom about seeing a shrink, and soon. It's all in my head. It's all in my head. It's all in my head. . .

"Amalric died fourteen years ago. Surely we must—" Edwards, too, faded out for a moment before coming back again briefly—"soon…"

Fourteen years. So this Amalric guy, whoever he was, died around the same time Dad did; I'd been only two at the time. Car accident. I didn't remember much of him. But I knew that my father's name had been Alec… right? Yeah, we'd better hurry up and get to that shrink.

"Clarice has been keeping me well informed. He has grown into a fine figure of a man. I have faith in him."

"Patience, Edwards. You must have patience. This cannot be rushed!"

"Yet it cannot be allowed to endure until it is too late!"

Too late. Yes, it was too late for me. I'd had enough. I couldn't even stand to wonder the identity of the woman whom Edwards had mentioned, even though she shared her name with Mom. If only I could fall asleep. Then things would at least be right-side up in the morning.