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Taking Chances, by E. L. Van Hine and L.H. Nicoll
mariez:
Good Morning all,
The first paragraph of Chapter 6:
The victim. Despite his frustration with the lack of evidence, Ellery felt a small relief that the photographs did not show the damage that had been done to Jack Twist. He had steeled himself for autopsy photos, a detailed forensic report and the testimony for the coroner’s inquest, which he would have had to spend a good deal of time attempting to erase from his mind and never share with Ennis. But the shadowy, hunched figure was an enigma, the lack of an autopsy, inexcusable. To Ellery, this hunched figure in the black leather coat, lying still, his death a suspicious mystery, remained “the victim,” someone whose life had come to a sudden end on a lonely road in a town he was most likely just passing through.
I was relieved too. All these passages dealing with the details of Jack's death are so hard to read, so heartbreaking. To think about Jack lying there, to wonder and imagine what his last moments were like, all the unanswered questions - what an unbearable anguish for Ennis! :(
Wayne seeing Ennis naked! :o Poor Ennis - he was so embarrassed - and poor Ellery - that just added to his bad day - but, yet, I couldn't help but laugh at Wayne's reaction! He is always such a welcome comic relief! Gotta love him!
Thanks - Marie
MaineWriter:
Good morning! Chapters 11 to 15 today, and we start out with a very difficult chapter, "Powderkeg."
http://louisev.livejournal.com/30918.html
Ellery nodded, wanting to go to him, to touch him, reluctant now, after Ennis had accused him of seducing him. Caught between his own hurt feelings and the helpless grief of a man who was still teetering on the edge of striking out at the first thing that moved.
“Don’t come near me,” Ennis said, his voice low, warning, flinching at a subtle movement of his hand.
“I ain’t gonna. Not unless you say so.”
“You don’t understand what this is like,” he said, his voice thick as though with drunkenness, though he had only drunk the one shot before he went in the shower. It wasn’t drunkenness.
“I know,” he replied, nodding, keeping his hands still.
“Ya can’t talk me back inta bed an suck me off an make it all better, Ellery. It don’t work that way.”
“I understand,” he replied, trying to keep the hitch of alarm out of his voice.
“I gotta get outta here. I can’t stay here. I can’t see you right now. You understand?”
Ellery nodded, his throat suddenly dry.
“All I got... twenty years, all that’s left a him... one picture. One fuckin picture an ten pages an a stupid fuckin poem. That is all I got ta show, boy. How am I supposed ta go on that? How’m I supposed ta pick up an move in here pretty as you please an live a happy queer life, when all I got a him is a fuckin picture?”
Ellery had no answer, this time, his own eyes tearing up from the reflection of Ennis’s impotent pain, welling out from beneath the choked rage of his words.
“I ... I don’t know sweetheart...” he said softly.
“Don’t fuckin... call me ... that!” he shouted, the explosion that had threatened, finally emerging in one burst, and he moved toward him. Ellery backed away, still moving slow, and Ennis’s arm brushed him as he rushed through the kitchen door, and out. Moments later, he heard Ennis’s truck start up, and he went to the window to see the plume of dust as he drove off.
He walked slowly into the bedroom. Ennis took nothing with him... and on the middle of the bed lay Jack’s journal, the envelope from Lureen Twist, and the photo tucked in next to it, and as he wiped stinging tears from his eyes, Ellery breathed a shaking sigh of relief. It meant he would be back.
Leslie
MaineWriter:
Chapter 12:
“But what Reynolds? Listen. I just fell on my ass in my living room an I really need to lie down right now. You know what ta ask these guys an if ya need help, ya call Joe Tooey an get him out there ta see em. What part of that is too tough, Reynolds?”
“Nothin, nothin Chief. I just wanted ta make sure it was all...”
“I got ta go Reynolds. I am expectin a call. Please don’t call back unless there’s a shootout at the bar or somethin okay?”
“Yes Chief.” Ellery felt a pang of embarrassment at the obvious hurt in Reynolds’ voice. He thought he had been doing the right thing to call. Ellery managed to slam the phone in its cradle with the last of his arm strength, and sank back against the sofa, feeling more miserable than he had in months.
Maybe Ennis would come back, stuff his clean clothes in his gunnysack, put his truck in gear an disappear in a cloud of dust, and never speak to him again. Go back to his mountain, the picture of a smiling Jack Twist in his pocket, and add it to the memorial he had made on the mountain. It had seemed to calm him, going there the first time. Maybe the picture was too much, and the fragile island of peace he had retreated to had vanished like an oasis in a desert of pain, and Ellery with it, offering nothing but the illusion of solace from a loss he could not name.
“You think too goddamn much Ellery,” he muttered to himself, burying his head into the cushion of the sofa. And despite the pain gnawing at his back, the alcohol in his body eventually won, and consciousness slipped away.
L
MaineWriter:
Chapter 13:
Ennis bore him up easily, taking small steps, half dragging him into the living room, kicking the door shut behind him. “How did ya fall?”
Ellery squeezed his eyes shut. “Drunk.”
“Yeah, well. Knew that. Smart college egghead, drink an ya fall down, real smart,” he muttered. “I used ta think I was the stupid one a the two of us.”
“No, that’d be me,” Ellery said, gasping as his spine twisted going through the doorway, then letting out a ragged moan. “Stop! Stop stop ... just stay like this a minute, I got ta get my foot up.” And he took a deep, painful breath, and with it, brought his left foot up by will alone, because his muscles would not respond normally. He could hear Ennis’s breath near his ear, that warm presence that had comforted him from his own, lesser grief of having no one to touch or hold, and he shuddered slightly, his eyes stinging with tears. “Okay,” he said, his voice thick. “Let’s go.”
“You sure? I should just put you in the truck an take you to the emergency room.”
“No, Ennis. Please.”
“Why shouldn’t I Ellery? You are doin such a piss poor job a takin care a yerself an then ya get drunk an fall down...”
“Please, Ennis,” he choked back the word “sweetheart”, not daring to provoke him, feeling fragile and endangered, despite the strong arms helping him. He knew Ennis was still angry, still volatile, he could sense it in his body still, that need to strike at anything that threatened the fragile emotions that lingered right below the surface of his still features.
L
MaineWriter:
More from Chapter 13:
He swallowed with difficulty, and said nothing this time. Ennis let him down onto his side, now skilled at the method, and rolled him onto his stomach, this time very cautiously.
“You said the orange pill,” he said, voice thick.
“Yeah. I need milk for it.”
Ennis left the room, returned with his Motrin and a small glass of milk. “Shit,” said Ellery softly. “I can’t take this. I’m already nauseous.”
“Didn’t ya eat?”
He shook his head.
“Goddammit,” Ennis growled, and pulled the sheet over him. “Eat first, take the pill, then I’ll rub yer back.”
“Thank you,” he said, voice soft.
“Stop sayin that too!” he tossed over his shoulder and went back in the kitchen. When he heard the banging of pots and pans once more, Ellery smiled through a sudden rush of tears. A man who is leaving doesn’t make dinner and give a massage before he goes, he told himself. He would find out soon enough.
L
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