not. What are you saying..?' she cried, her fists crunched into tight balls.
'Nothing, nothing. I have to ask everything. I need to know what went on. I'm sorry, I'm just trying to help you.'
Elwood got to his feet and turned toward the mantelpiece.
'Do you smoke?'
'Huh?'
'Do you smoke, Marilyn?' he repeated gently.
'I used to, I quit when I found out I was having Jack.'
Elwood advanced across the room to his writing desk, that was a very similar style to the one in his study. He opened the drawer and revealed a dust-covered pack of cigarettes, they had to be at least a year old. He brushed the dust away, removed two, and offered one to Marilyn who reluctantly accepted. He lit hers and then his with a cheap disposable lighter that was equally as old. Clouds of smoke began to fill the room, breaking into twisting, fading swirls before disappearing. It felt good, for both of them. For Marilyn, it was like she'd never quit. What was his next move? He was running out of questions and ideas.
'Marilyn, I want to try something, OK. It might not work, and it may seem a little bit, I don't know, silly, but it's worth a try.'
He inhaled a deep, rewarding drag of his Marlboro, held it, fought back the familiar tickle and exhaled.
He was reminded of a book he once read about a hard-boiled private investigator. A rich, elderly woman's husband was murdered, she was the key witness but couldn't remember a thing.
The brain is complex and sometimes irrational thing need stimulation to function as needed.
'I need you to lie down and close your eyes, can you do that for me, Marilyn?'
Elwood paced back and forth, and then circled the drab rug in the centre of the floor that covered up some of the careless carpet stains, taking both long and short drags of his cigarette as he did so. Marilyn agreed with a nod of her head. He handed her a glass ashtray and they both extinguished their smokes. She watched the dying amber turn to dead black before she lay back nervously, trying to keep her breathing regulated and steady. Elwood bent down, reached for her hand and gave her some encouraging words smothered in a tender whisper.
'Wonderful, now. I need you to relax. Take a few deep breaths and try and stay calm.’
She breathed deeply, steadily.
‘Brilliant. Now, close your eyes and take three more deep breaths. I want you to try and forget everything and only listen to the sound of my voice, nothing else. OK? Try your best to empty your mind.’
EIGHT
The pair sat in a difficult silence heading into the storm. They couldn't pick up much of a speed, the road was hardly visible and the weather was too unpredictable. The man concentrated on his path ahead. The boy sat next to him, his eyes closed.
'Where's my mom?' Jack asked, not pulling any punches.
The man didn't reply. He cleared his throat and just twisted his fingers tighter around the steering wheel.
'Where are we going? What do you want? Who are you? Are you going to hurt me?' Jack rattled, without taking a fresh breath.
The man took his empty eyes from the road and glanced at the boy, briefly. There was very little emotion in his face.
'If you behave, then I won't hurt you,' the man snapped, in an icy, serious tone.
He directed his vision back to the road, without so much as a change of his facial expressions.
The boy rubbed a chain around his neck.
'Who are you?' he asked, calmly, his hand still clasped around his chain.
The man stared out of the window, saying nothing. There was a minute of silence. His mouth twitched.
'My name is O'Sullivan. Walter O'Sullivan. My friends call me Walt.' His sentences lingered, like each word was new, spoken for the first time.
The boy rubbed his eyes once more, oiled his vocal chords with a throat-clearing cough and pinned a believable smile to his face.
'I'm Jack. Nice to meet you, Walt.'
O'Sullivan just stared at him, his face like stone.
'Nice to meet you too, Jack.' The beginnings of a trying smile
'Nothing, nothing. I have to ask everything. I need to know what went on. I'm sorry, I'm just trying to help you.'
Elwood got to his feet and turned toward the mantelpiece.
'Do you smoke?'
'Huh?'
'Do you smoke, Marilyn?' he repeated gently.
'I used to, I quit when I found out I was having Jack.'
Elwood advanced across the room to his writing desk, that was a very similar style to the one in his study. He opened the drawer and revealed a dust-covered pack of cigarettes, they had to be at least a year old. He brushed the dust away, removed two, and offered one to Marilyn who reluctantly accepted. He lit hers and then his with a cheap disposable lighter that was equally as old. Clouds of smoke began to fill the room, breaking into twisting, fading swirls before disappearing. It felt good, for both of them. For Marilyn, it was like she'd never quit. What was his next move? He was running out of questions and ideas.
'Marilyn, I want to try something, OK. It might not work, and it may seem a little bit, I don't know, silly, but it's worth a try.'
He inhaled a deep, rewarding drag of his Marlboro, held it, fought back the familiar tickle and exhaled.
He was reminded of a book he once read about a hard-boiled private investigator. A rich, elderly woman's husband was murdered, she was the key witness but couldn't remember a thing.
The brain is complex and sometimes irrational thing need stimulation to function as needed.
'I need you to lie down and close your eyes, can you do that for me, Marilyn?'
Elwood paced back and forth, and then circled the drab rug in the centre of the floor that covered up some of the careless carpet stains, taking both long and short drags of his cigarette as he did so. Marilyn agreed with a nod of her head. He handed her a glass ashtray and they both extinguished their smokes. She watched the dying amber turn to dead black before she lay back nervously, trying to keep her breathing regulated and steady. Elwood bent down, reached for her hand and gave her some encouraging words smothered in a tender whisper.
'Wonderful, now. I need you to relax. Take a few deep breaths and try and stay calm.’
She breathed deeply, steadily.
‘Brilliant. Now, close your eyes and take three more deep breaths. I want you to try and forget everything and only listen to the sound of my voice, nothing else. OK? Try your best to empty your mind.’
EIGHT
The pair sat in a difficult silence heading into the storm. They couldn't pick up much of a speed, the road was hardly visible and the weather was too unpredictable. The man concentrated on his path ahead. The boy sat next to him, his eyes closed.
'Where's my mom?' Jack asked, not pulling any punches.
The man didn't reply. He cleared his throat and just twisted his fingers tighter around the steering wheel.
'Where are we going? What do you want? Who are you? Are you going to hurt me?' Jack rattled, without taking a fresh breath.
The man took his empty eyes from the road and glanced at the boy, briefly. There was very little emotion in his face.
'If you behave, then I won't hurt you,' the man snapped, in an icy, serious tone.
He directed his vision back to the road, without so much as a change of his facial expressions.
The boy rubbed a chain around his neck.
'Who are you?' he asked, calmly, his hand still clasped around his chain.
The man stared out of the window, saying nothing. There was a minute of silence. His mouth twitched.
'My name is O'Sullivan. Walter O'Sullivan. My friends call me Walt.' His sentences lingered, like each word was new, spoken for the first time.
The boy rubbed his eyes once more, oiled his vocal chords with a throat-clearing cough and pinned a believable smile to his face.
'I'm Jack. Nice to meet you, Walt.'
O'Sullivan just stared at him, his face like stone.
'Nice to meet you too, Jack.' The beginnings of a trying smile
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