Dante
Elliott messages me the next morning and informs me we need to talk. I had given him a heads-up over Eloise's predicted arrival yesterday evening, in which she did not disappoint, and told him what I told her so that we were on the same page—my worst fear was Elliott blowing it by giving Eloise a completely different version of vague events. I am assuming since I didn't hear from him immediately after she left that the interrogation went about as swimmingly as it could have gone, but I do feel tension at having to meet with Elliott. We haven't had a candid discussion about the night of the premeditated attack. If Eloise has told him everything, then I'm right in the thick of s**t creek with no paddle or boat.
The fields are white and flat, the sky that weird shade torn between gray
