Richard Lockwood had attempted to undermine the credibility of Elliot's words and actions.
Shortly after Richard had followed Elliot into the washroom, Elliot had emerged in a ruffled state perfectly corresponding to Richard's claim that his son was imagining things, unstable.
After that, Elliot had passed me a note, one containing an instagram username and password of his own account, and another, the username of Nicole Romano's account.
From the timing and sequence of events, something had clearly happened between the two in the washroom- something that prompted Elliot to go for a method of quickly pulling public attention to the dubious circumstances surrounding Richard Lockwood and Michael.
"Elliot Lockwood on Instagram? You'd get millions of followers within a day. Millions you'll be able to send a message to within seconds, via a post, an Instagram live, or a DM. It'll be the best...protection you can get- even better than the police, in the short run. You know where I'm getting at, right?"
He'd remembered my words. What had prompted him to go for the method of wielding social media as a weapon against his father? What had happened in the washroom?
Nicole's DM came, as I logged onto Elliot's account.
'Hi, Clare. I've decided to speak up. A few days ago, a man with a gun came into my house and threatened my family- my husband, and my child. I used to think keeping quiet would keep my family safe. I realized they'll never stop.
'I'll show them that threatening my family was a bad move- not even once, but twice. But I want to make sure my family stays safe. That's why I agreed with Elliot, that I'll show myself to the public.
''He's hired personal bodyguards to protect my family- he promised me I won't have to pay the price of testifying.'
"It's okay. I'll deal with Nicole Grady's situation for now," he'd said.
Sitting in a cab heading to Ian's home, I re-read Nicole's message, again and again.
At the end of the pitch black cave that had been the past three years, there was light, a faint light, but one that showed there was an end to this cave.
"Three years ago, Dyan Grady, secretary to Michael Horan the CEO of Horan Holdings, had testified in his will that he was guilty of assisting Michael Horan in various acts of crimes, such as offering bribery to government officials in exchange for special favors, coercing freshly debuted actresses into relationships with executives for generating additional revenue and corporate relationships, funding of a child pornography and drugs business in the undergrounds."
I sat in my bedroom numbly staring at the red-headed YouTuber in his mid-twenties speaking to his subscribers and millions of other viewers.
"Dylan Grady was found dead in a garage, and his death concluded to be the result of breathing in carbon monoxide.
"He confessed in his will that CEO Michael Horan- after Lockwood Co. CEO Richard Lockwood found out about these doings, refused to work with Horan Holdings and attempted to make him confess to the police, Horan in turn tried to frame Lockwood with fabricated evidence of his involvement."
The YouTuber's voice rose, and a small vein bulged on his temple. A small spittle flew out of his mouth.
"Although there were multiple confessions by Horan Holdings employees, the submission of a voice recording that alluded to Horan's responsibility for the suicides of the actresses, there was lack of solid evidence of his involvement.
"In the end, he was sentenced to eight months' of jail sentence and fine.
"But just a few hours ago today, exactly three days after Elliot Lockwood, the son of Richard Lockwood created an Instagram account, something shocking happened.
"Nicole Romano, the wife of the late Dylan Grady, started an Instagram live using Elliot Lockwood's account.
"She recounted that on the day she saw her husband's dead body in the morgue, she saw a syringe mark on the collar of his neck.
"She also showed a screenshot of the text conversation with her late husband, which showed that he'd reserved a dinner with her at a restaurant for their wedding anniversary- reserved for a time just an hour before his suspected time of death.
"She also showed multiple letters exchanged between her late husband and herself, clearly showing that judging from the patterns and writing habits of her husband, the letter of confession left by his side in the garage, wasn't written by him.
"We've spoken to handwriting specialists, who put forth their analysis that there is strong discrepancy in the writing styles of his letters to his wife and to his friends, compared to the letter left in the passenger's seat of his car.
"Her most shocking confession on Instagram live, was that even when she brought up these doubts to the police, they immediately closed the case.
"She brought Horan Holdings journalist Ian Neil to her livestream, where he, too, highlighted the strong refusal of any involved witnesses or family members of the case to speak to him.
"The former CEO and current advisor to Horan Holdings, Michael Horan was also invited to the live stream. His claims of innocence, which were shut down by most three years ago, were brought to light again."
A knock came on my door, and Sonia stood at the threshold, a flour-adorned apron around her waist, and a tray of snacks in hand.
Wordlessly, she put down the tray on my desk, as the YouTuber finished his closing comment.
"All these revelations put a spotlight on the truth behind the Lockwood-Horan case three years ago.
"Although there was no detailed mention of Elliot Lockwood, Nicole Romano's mention that he gave her access to his newly created Instagram account, and the ongoing romantic relationship between Elliot Lockwood and Clare Horan, seem to point to one thing- that Elliot Lockwood, the golden child of the Lockwood family, seems to have turned against his adoptive parents.
"He is effectively leading the growing public sentiment that circumstances surrounding the Horans' conviction three years ago, seem worthy of a second investigation.
"Check out the pinned comment below for the Instagram accounts of Elliot Lockwood, Nicole Romano and Ian Neil. And that's it for today's breaking news. Please like, subscribe and-"
With a sigh, Sonia shut my laptop. "That's enough re-watching of that noisy video for today. Eat."
On the tray she'd brought in, was a mountain of chocolate chip cookies, vanilla muffins and a cup of milk.
I smiled faintly, picking up a cookie. "Thanks."
"It was just this morning that the live stream happened and the whole world's already talking about it."
Sonia tucked strands of her grey-streaked auburn curls behind her ears, gazing at me intently as if examining every feature on my face.
"So how does it feel like, eh? After having done something as tremendous as this."
Gingerly, I took a slight peek through my blinders.
Camping outside the gates of our small gated community were men and women armed with massive cameras, phones and mics.
I couldn't tell who where the journalists, reporters, YouTubers, or just people who wanted to upload anything noteworthy on their social media channels.
Guarding the gated community of houses were policemen, arguing with some of the camera-wielding people circling the community.
"Still can't believe it," I muttered, taking a bite. "Mum and dad are on the way."
Sonia rubbed her face with her two hands as if washing her face, exhaling hard.
"Still can't believe it too. For you and that boy to have... Richard Lockwood is not a man to be taken easily, honey. Your mother- oh lord, imagine the shock she must've been in."
I took up the glass of milk from the tray.
Social media was going abuzz and all sorts of conspiracy theories circulated the net within just a few hours of the live stream.
Some slammed Elliot for being ungrateful, for backstabbing the very people who transformed his life from that of a boy abandoned in an orphanage, to the golden child beloved by the public.
Others applauded him for his courage of 'standing up for justice', and for 'choosing love'.
There were missed calls and texts from Bianca and Ester, asking if I was all right. And there was not a single call or text from Elliot.
Condensation droplets from the glass wet my palms. I washed down the mouthful of cookie with gulps of the milk, and put down the glass, swallowing.
"Yeah...he isn't a man to be taken easily." I took up my jacket and picked up my car keys. "Please tell mum and dad when they arrive- that I just went out for fresh air."
Sonia followed me down the stairs, as I put on my jacket, heading to the entrance.
"Honey, unless your car has wings, there's no way you're going to get past the mess of- those disgusting pests crowding around the gates. And you didn't even have breakfast, at least eat some more."
"They're going to have to let me go past, unless they want to get run over."
"You've done enough, honey." Sonia stopped herself before the front door of the house, her eyes shining with tears. "I know you want the truth to be out, but that's enough. You've done enough."
"Sonia." I started, realizing there was a tremor lacing my voice. I pointed to Elliot's luggage, still sitting by the side of my front door. "I have to at least make sure that he's all right."
Putting her fist to her mouth, Sonia let out a trembling breath. "There are people in this house who have you as the number one priority in their lives, honey. Remember that."
She enveloped me in her arms. I inhaled Sonia's smell- of her favorite lilac scented soap, flour and sweet confectionery she never stopped baking. "I'll stay safe, Sonia. Don't worry."
~ * ~
Elliot had heard the car drive off. Richard was probably at a meeting with the board of directors.
The door had opened with the violence and force typical of only one person in this house, followed by the sound of shoes being kicked off at the entrance.
Then he heard Landon's voice, followed by the shattering of the vase.
Elliot, lying on the floor of his darkened bedroom, closed his eyes, swallowing again another mouthful of blood in his mouth.
"I said, open the door. You think you're something just because you're under dad's direct orders?" Landon's sneer came. "Give me the keys."
So this room had been locked. That wasn't necessary. Elliot couldn't move. The ribs that'd been wrapped by the brace hadn't fully recovered, and it'd taken another pounding.
With every exhale and inhale, acute needle-like pain went through his ribs, and a new, hot throbbing laced his arms and cheeks.
After a single barely audible sentence came from Gerald, the lights and shadow through the crack of the door shifted. Landon was walking away- then, walking back.
A wham came, followed by a crash. Something metallic clattered and rolled onto the marble, and a kick came on the door.
The lights switched on, and Elliot saw Landon at the entrance, holding a golf club in hand. On the floor was the broken-off door knob.
Perhaps it was because he was hungry- all senses worked so acutely. He felt the cold of the marble against his cheek, heard the click of Landon's heels through the floor, and the sweet, sweet scent of rum as Landon approached.
Landon stopped short, kicking away the shattered iPad with his foot.
A tremble ran through his body, and his large knuckles were white against the golf club.
His startling blue eyes- the blue eyes of the Lockwoods, colored bloodshot- stared down at Elliot. The golf club gently swung back and forth in his grip, like an unsteady pendulum.
"Our family was perfectly happy before you came. You came and- and mum went insane. I don't know what you did to her but she has seizures at the mention of your name and can't go by a day without medication."
Dragging the golf club against the marble, Landon walked, circling the room. Gerald stood at the entrance of the room, his back turned to them.
"Dad's weirder too." Landon mumbled, scratching his head. "To everyone else in the world he looks perfectly the same as before- but I know. I'm his son, I know. There's this weird look in his eyes- it's like he's dead.
"Just like mum- she's just a shell. And then you- this morning- you do that. You fed my father to the dogs- the public. The man that picked you up from the hell of the Fairfields orphanage."
Elliot wondered if Clare was at home.
Journalists and reporters must be at her gates- just like there were swarms surrounding his home.
He almost smiled. So she'd gotten what he was hinting at. Clever.
The screeching of the golf club stopped. With a shaky hand, Landon lightly prodded Elliot's face. The golf club was cold- almost cold enough to numb the ache of his jaw.
"I'll give you one more chance, Elliot." The hushed, rum-roughed voice of Landon sounded almost like a plea.
His eyes, focused- yet dazed- stared Elliot down. "Tell me. What did you do to my mother, that you killed her soul like that?"
What your mother did to mine, I want to know. Elliot swallowed, the words threatening to come up his throat, wrestle through his teeth and burst through his lips. "...Nothing."
Landon, please. Not today. Look at me- look at what your father had already done. Enough, enough for today.
Elliot couldn't remember what exactly happened the next few moments. But the next time he was conscious, the one thing he was aware of- was pain.
Iron, white-hot pain covered his body, like flames were licking every corner of his skin, every length of his bones.
Eternity. It was an unfathomably long time, but this, for sure, was eternity. For a time that never seemed to pass, Elliot lay on the floor, the golf club coming down, again and again.
Then, muted silence came over him. It was like he was suddenly underwater. A strange buzz and whirring sound followed, then, everything stopped.
The club stopped, and one sentence, spoken serenely and clearly, broke through the silence that had covered his eardrums.
Clare stood at the entrance of the door, holding the broken-off door knob in hand as if wielding a weapon, her eyes guardedly fixed on Landon.
"Elliot Lockwood, don't be a bloody idiot and tell your brother what you told me."
"My mother disappeared from the face of the earth after a tall, blond American woman with blue eyes visited her."
Was this a hallucination, conjured from his desires? Elliot only blinked, breathing in, then out, staring at Clare. Would she disappear, just like she did in his dream of fogs and an endless path?
Landon turned his body towards Clare, and chuckled. His fingers curled tighter against the handle of the golf club. "The Horan girl, is it, dear brother?"
He took a step closer to Clare. Without knowing what he was doing, Elliot reached out, and closed his hand around Landon's ankle.
At that, Landon stared down at Elliot, his bloodshot blue eyes boring into Elliot's. A cold shudder went through his body. "Landon, leave her alone."
Squaring her shoulders and standing tall, Clare repeated herself, staring straight into Landon's face. "I said, Elliot Lockwood, tell your brother what you told me. About his mother Isabella."
"You're our family now. Period." Landon grinned, ruffling Elliot's hair. "If anyone messes with you at school, tell them you're a Lockwood. Once a Lockwood, forever a Lockwood. If anyone brings up even the alphabet 'a' of 'adopted', give them the finger."
Elliot's eyes grew hot, and a sting rose to his nose. His mouth refused to open.
Landon yanked his ankle off Elliot's grasp, and took a step closer to Clare. An empty, unfocused smile hung from the corners of his lips.
"Let me hear what you dared to speak about my mother, Elliot. Tell me, Horan girl. What tales did he tell you?"
On the table spread out before Elliot, was a massive, three-tiered Spiderman-themed birthday cake, with the candle 'Happy 11th' stuck on the highest tier.
Next to the cake was a full set of expensive looking pencils, paintbrushes, sketch books and all sorts of art supplies that seemed more fitting for a professional artist than they would an eleven year old- and especially, an eleven year old like Elliot.
To the left side of the cake were shopping bags of boys' clothes and a large drawing tablet.
"Didn't know what kids your age like, so...just got some random stuff." Landon sheepishly muttered, gesturing to the dining table.
"And another good news. The bad people at Fairfields who hurt you. I made sure they're behind the bars now. Those monsters can't hurt you anymore, I made sure of that."
Elliot, bursting into tears, sank his face into Landon's stomach and wrapped his arms around his body.
"Whoa- whoa- you don't like the presents? Hey Elli, why're you crying?"
"Nothing." Elliot swallowed. The taste of iron in his mouth was getting stronger. "Nothing, Landon. Nothing."
Clare looked at him, her eyes full of questions.
Landon wasn't listening. The golf club dropped from his hand and clattered onto the floor. He took another step towards her.
"Your father was only in jail for that long because of my father, do you know, Clare Horan? And you- the daughter of Michael Horan- you feed my father to the journalist dogs, the hyenas."
Even through the haze of his mind and the strange buzzing in his ears, Elliot heard the sudden slowing of Landon's speech, the curling of his large fingers against his palms, and the sudden stop of his feet an arm's length away from Clare.
He knew what would follow after those typical, routine actions.
Perhaps it was because of the unbearable pain, or the red-hot flush of blood through his body and head as he saw Landon swing his fist towards Clare.
The next thing Elliot knew, he was on his feet, his fist wet with blood from Landon's nose.