Lord Voldemort's spirit lingered in the room as police detectives attempted to make sense of the Hell that James' apartment had become.1 It was clear to the police that the Invalid Elliot was a high risk missing person who had been kidnapped. But fuck this shit what the kidnappers did to James. Chicom organ harvesters were a myth and they never did this. Which of James perverted Craigslist boyfriends did this seemed to be dominating the detective discussion. Voldemort knew something else was afoot.
A creature of pure will descended of the English Aristocracy had ascended. Perhaps this Elliot was the final piece he needed to finally defeat Ingsoc and save Britain from its own people! Every one of Voldemort's previous plans to save Britain failed when the British people demonstrated themselves unworthy of saving.
Elliot had been walking for a week maintaining strict silence around other people, and other times mumbling to himself in an attempt at self delivered speech therapy. Previous tastes be damned Elliot's current clothes were purchased at Dollar General. Every morning when Elliot passed a convenience store he'd pick up a newspaper and follow the police's unrelenting lack of progress in his missing person's case, and then at night he would use the paper as a blanket as he let sleep take him on the street.
Irony of Ironies, girls would smile at Elliot who had now become a muscled and somewhat dashing if silent creature of the street. Where Elliot once declared himself involuntarily celibate, the experience of having all of that sex forced upon his broken body led him to choose voluntary celibacy. At least until he made it to Arizona.
Elliot would have surely called the Hell, the Hell. ↩