Three Eleven Thirteen

Chapter Eight

Chapter Eight

"Do you know what this says?" I held up a book, and Ellie studied the cover.

"Robinson Crusoe."

"Good." I held up another book, "How about this one?"

"Frankenstein."

"And this?"

"East of Eden."

"Pretty good." I nodded, mentally congratulating myself on teaching him to read in less than two days.

I sat back in my chair, "Mr. Ellie, tell me how many fingers I'm holding up." I held up my hands, and he stared at them for a moment.

"Seven." He answered.

"How about now?"

"Three?"

"And what is seven plus three, answer this quick."

"Eleven."

I frowned, "Wrong. It's ten. I guess we still have to work on your math skills."

He stayed silent, and I decided to reward him for all he has done the past few days. He has listened and obeyed everything I told him, which I was incredibly thankful for, and relieved. "Why don't you go pick out a record from the shelf? We can listen to whatever you'd like."

He gave me a long look, before he stood up and walked over to the shelf. He examined each record until he pulled out what I already knew he'd pull out.

Frank Sinatra.

Don't get me wrong, I love Sinatra, but we've been listening to him so much the past few days, I feel like I may go insane if I have to hear him once more.

I cleared my throat, "Uhh, I know I sat anything you want, but do you think we could listen to literally anything else?" I walked over to the shelf, and pulled out a different record. "How about Bing Crosby?"

He rolled his eyes, a habit I must have taught him from the countless of times I've done it to him.

It's interesting to watch him turn from a machine-like individual to someone who copies the expressions he sees. I'm still not entirely convinced he could pass as a normal human being, but he's definitely improving. His sentences and speech in general make him sound educationally inept.

"Bing Crosby is not Frank Sinatra." He said as if it were obvious.

"I get that." I argued, "But it's good to be open to new things."

"Okay," He pointed to the window, "Then I should go outside." I catch him staring out the windows all the time. I know he really wants to go outside, but I can't let him. I just don't completely trust him yet.

"No." I stated sternly to get my point across, "You can't go outside, not yet."

"Because I'll be seen?"

"Because you don't understand what's out there, you won't know how to behave."

He looked at me again, the black in his veins and eyes got a shade darker from the grey that they were.

"Because of the people?"

"I don't think you are ready to be in big crowds. Okay?" I wanted him to stop talking about it, but he had every right to be angry at me. Being stuck in the house this long was torture.

"I won't-"

I cut him off abruptly, "You won't what? You won't hurt them? Attack them like you did me? Like you did my father?"

His eyes widened, "I listen to you rules. I will obey."

"You can't hurt people because you're uncomfortable, Ellie." I sighed, "It's not good."

"It's bad, I know that."

I put the record back on the shelf, and turned to him. I shot him a look of confusion as he took a step back, "If you know it's a bad thing to do, then why did you attack me?"

He shut his mouth as he were about to say something. I couldn't read the expression on his face but from what I could tell, he wasn't happy -obviously.

"I did nothing to you." I spoke up again, as he wouldn't answer, "But you jumped on top of me and you stuck your hands around my neck, you were trying to kill me." I didn't point out how terrifying it was that he knew exactly how to kill a human being. To suffocate them by squeezing their neck. 

How did he know that?

He shook his head no but I kept talking, "You bit my father. You bit him, Ellie. Like an animal."

"No-"

"My father killed himself because of that freakish black toxin that runs through you body."

"You aren't listening-"

"There is no excuse for what you did."

"Stop!" He shouted, and the both of us fell silent. That was the first time he ever rose his voice to me before.

Realizing I had lost my temper, I took a deep breath, and looked away from him. It seemed he took the moment of silence as an opportunity to turn on some music, the music he wanted to listen too.

Yes, Frank Sinatra.

Annoyed, I walked out of the room. Because I have been so busy with Ellie the past few days, I haven't had much time to paint. Which isn't good considering it's the only way I make a living.

I picked up a paintbrush and began to work on a new painting that I have been thinking about for a while now.

I didn't want to think about anything as my brush painted the blank canvas a light shade of orange and then red, and then pink. The colors blended together brilliantly, which satisfied me, and almost rid the irritation I had felt just a few moments prior.

Ellie was quiet in the other room, and I'm sure it's because I pissed him off, but at this moment, I don't care. It's not he didn't deserve to be scolded. 

If I were to let him outside, who knows what kind of threat he holds? If anyone were to die by his hands, the guilt would consume me.

I know I can't keep him in the house forever, but my hope is that he will learn, and that he will mature. He managed to read in less than two days, or maybe he already knew all this time, but pretended he didn't just to amuse himself. After spending so much time with him, I was beginning to wonder just how much he knew, and how much of an act he was putting on.

I'd catch him sometimes, saying grammatically correct sentences, full ones, as if he isn't just learning how to speak. It's as if he's faking it. He's faking everything about him, hiding just how intelligent he really is. That very thought is scarier than anything else.