It probably helps Eric has gone limp under her fingers. God, his skin’s pale. Like pearls. 

It's so smooth, too, under all the grime. If she can get him clean he'll be really beautiful. And he's so cute, and sweet, and she could imagine him playing in the backyard with Zanna. What kind of mother would let him get into this state? She thinks she might actually strangle this Belinda woman, if they ever meet. Probably calling the cops on her will work out better.

On the other hand, he doesn’t seem to have any scars, besides his navel. Not a single blemish. His feet don’t even have callouses.

And... despite how filthy his hair is, he doesn't have any split ends. It isn't damaged in any way. She peeks at his hands; the nails are glossy and healthy. She'd say he'd gotten a recent manicure, if he weren't an elementary-school-aged boy and if they weren't actually fairly long.

Weird.

She runs him under the faucet to get the soap out of his hair. "Alright, let's drain this tub and get you a proper bath. Do you want to sit in my lap so you don't get cold while it's running?"

Nod nod. Ellen might notice Eric’s foot looks substantially better.

...huh. She drains the tub, sprays the dregs of dirt down the drain with the shower hose, starts the tap again, and bundles Eric into her lap. (Her outfit was already a lost cause.)

She remembers looking at him, and thinking that his ankle might be broken. She decided it must be sprained instead, based on how he was moving.

Right now, when she looks at him, she thinks his ankle might be sprained, but it might just be a nasty bruise.

A broken ankle doesn't look like a nasty bruise. It looks wrong. A bad enough sprain can look like that. A nasty bruise can't.

She's heard that people have bad memories, almost everyone. She read a book about it, where a man talked about the crystal-clear memory of his friend waving a gun in his face, and his friend said it was you with the gun, I've never owned a gun in my life and I wouldn't know what to do with one if I had it, and he realized it must be true. And, sure, he was on the kind of drugs that make people completely crazy, but he talked about these studies where even normal people couldn't remember things that just happened -

but Ellen acted like Eric's ankle was broken. She's not making that up.

"Eric, you said your ankle would be okay in a little bit," she says, trying not to sound like she feels. "Is it feeling better yet?"

Eric flexes his ankle experimentally. “A lot better!”

Yeah, that's not sprained.

Ellen has additional questions.

"It's good that you heal so quickly," she says. Because that's true.

“I am thankful for my mother’s blood,” Eric recites like a little boy in church. A church for what is the question.

"And what blood is that?" Ellen mutters, not really expecting a response.

“Lilith. But she’s more like my great-great grandma.”

Ellen has never felt so strongly like she should have paid more attention in church. (Is it church she recognizes that name from? It feels like a churchy name, but she might've been queen of Madagascar in 3000 BC for all Ellen knows.)

The tub's filling up again, a foot or so of warm, clean water. She doesn't re-bubble it, just plunks Eric back in. "Alright, time to give you that last rinse. Could've probably gotten away with just spraying you down with the showerhead, but where's the fun in that?"

Eric nods. It certainly is more fun than how Belinda groomed him.

Scrub scrub scrub. That beautiful, pearly skin gets cleaner and cleaner.

She goes to clean under his fingernails, and check how pruney his fingers are getting. (If they even are.)

They are not! Smooth as ever!

Yeah, that's how today's been going. She cleans them out with a soft-bristled brush, humming as she goes.

"Do you have any friends, Eric? Kids your own age?"

Eric shrugs. "Around. I've met lots of kids! There's this one boy Tom who likes to play hide and seek with me."

He smirks. "He calls it the Hunt."

"The Hunt! Oh, I'll have to tell Zanna about that, it might get her playing with the other kids for once... does Tom live nearby?"

"I don't think so, but he's been following me for a while."

"...do his parents travel?"

“Yeah.”

Of course, not always with Tom. Also, “parents” is debatable.

"Alright." That doesn't make the whole picture make sense, but it's a start.

She finishes washing Eric down and starts the tub draining, then pulls him out and starts drying him off with a fluffy white towel. "I don't have any clothes for you... but you don't usually wear them anyway, right? Or do you want me to find you something of Zanna's that'll fit?"