Eliot Strange and the Prince of the Apocalypse

28) Visit from a Neighbor

It is late afternoon by the time I get home. The prince has returned. I don't know if he found Steven and Nana or not because he is asleep on the couch in the family room. I don't want to wake him up because he is beautiful when he is not talking, even with the shadow of a beard and without most of his hair that still has a hint of red in it. He looks a lot like that Naval photo of him that I posted all over town. I resist the urge to stroke his smooth, beautiful face. I am of course lying to even myself, because let's face it, he is beautiful even when he is awake and arguing with me. I feel all funny inside when I look at him. All calm and excited at the same time.

 Is this what love feels like? I don't know. I have never been in love. Well, there was Patrick, but that was a lifetime ago. Patrick came at the beginning, before hunger and great fear, when the end of the world seemed oddly full of possibility. It was when loving a soldier going to war seemed romantic, at least until he didn't come back.

Thinking of Patrick makes me sad so I focus back on my prince. As I watch him sleep, see his eyelids flutter, trace his lips with my eyes, see his chest rise and fall, all I know is that I would kill anyone who tried to hurt him. Claw their eyes out with my chewed down fingernails. Smash their face with a cast iron frying pan. Anything, I would do anything for this man who drives me crazy.

Just when I think about lying down on the couch bedside him, there is a loud banging on the front door. Torin does not stir. I close the door behind me and go to the front door. I guess who it is, and I am right. A red-faced, out of breath, huffing and puffing Mr. Thomas is on the front porch. I step out to speak to him to let the prince sleep.

"I've been robbed," he screams.

"Robbed?" I ask in my innocent tone of voice. "Why, Mr. Thomas, what on earth did you have that anyone would want?" Just that quick I go from innocent to sarcastic. As usual, I cannot control my emotions.

He stammers. "Uughh, I had lots of valuable stuff. My door was locked. They took all my stuff."

"Like cereal, and ice cream, and what about all those bags of Doritos? How about that very large radio and the generator? Are they gone too?" No denying the sarcasm now.

"Eliot, did you see them? Did you see who took my things? If I can reach my friends, we can catch them. Get my stuff back."

"Friends? Who are these friends?"

"I am not supposed to say. She will be mad."

"Who is .... She?"

He looks around before he answers in a whisper. "Your mother."

Unbelievable. I guess he thinks I won't be mad at him if he mentions my mother.

"Mr. Thomas, my mother is dead. Probably dead."

He looks around again and whispers again, "No, no so she is not. I talked to her last night on that big radio. She will be here in a few days. I am supposed to be looking after you." He pauses here and is no longer whispering; he is shouting. "She wants to know who you have in your house. I told her it was not Steven. She said it better not be a boy."

Torin steps on the front porch, all wrinkled and sleepy eyed but still his usual, cocky, assured self. He says in his best American accent, "I assure you, there are no boys in this house."

"Who, who are you?"

"Jack Taylor. This is Jack Taylor," I tell him.

"Jack?" he asks like he is confused.

"Jack Taylor," says Torin as he offers his hand to shake. "Please assure Eliot's mother that I am looking out for her daughter and under my care, nothing will happen to her."