Chapter 15: All His (Part 2: Finale)

Quietly, Mr. Cald shuffled around the room. Milo looked up to where the baton stopped the longest.

Recalling the directions the man took to arrive here would give him a straight path if that ragged stick unlocked emergency seals. There was no normal key to get rid of them. If that were the case, Grace would’ve carried one.

So... what was the man hiding?

One thing Milo remembered for certain was the orientation of the baton strapped to Mr. Cald’s belt. With that, he could tell whether the instructor was facing the door or not.

He’d spent the morning getting beaten over one relic. An entire room of them was open now.

Running away from an open room full of relics, when he’d spent the morning getting beaten, would be ridiculous.

The locker he had put the soup on was too tall for an average student to view.

For Mr. Cald, though...

Seeing that would definitely make him warier. Spooked, the man might not go back into his nest at all, which would leave it open for Milo’s one and only soul.

The soup would stay where it was.

Just as he approached the door, preparing himself to dash into the room and behind a podium, the baton rotated to the corner.

He took off on his tip-toes, taking leaps as long as they could be without alarming the man.

His ribs tugged at each landing. Mr. Cald’s back was already turning when Milo ducked under the wood with a soft thud.

Shit!

Had the man heard it?

The outline of the baton froze. It moved toward the door while Milo soundlessly scrambled farther into the room.

Footsteps came echoing down the corridor.

Milo peeked around the podium he sat by, and found the man’s expression even more tense than his own.

Mr. Cald’s hands trembled around the dented bell. A drop of sweat trailed down his temple and onto his jaw. He set the metal on another case and closed the door as the footsteps drew closer, their pace fast.

A feminine voice behind them screamed something into a phone.

The man pressed his ear to the door and listened.

It was Grace.

"C-Containment!" she shrieked. "Was ... ... ... how ... ... ask me ... !"

With the instructor’s head facing away, Milo leaned closer to the wall too. Ear to door and ear to wall, the two eavesdroppers worked in parallel.

"There’s food left!"

Oh no.

They found out that he’d escaped.

"I didn’t go!" Two steps of corridor, maybe, between her and the door. "You call them. Please, he might be there!"

They had the dining hall right. The shrieking was the surprise, as about two hours ago a Field boy had put him on the floor over nothing. Now, a woman thrice his age was running from the idea of him.

Mr. Cald exhaled as the voice began receding.

"Telling ... ... ... passed right through!"

Being hunted as a ghost was the last thing he needed. The next person to see him wouldn’t scream and go back to their lesson; they’d bring something heavy.

The exhale at the door was the man’s business. Milo’s own relief was for the locker top she’d never looked at, and for what the man might make of an empty bowl now that he’d heard food shouted down the corridor.

What just happened raised a deeper question: why was a staff member hiding from another staff member? Him having the baton strapped to his own belt was the least bizarre thing. Somebody had to confiscate it off Seb after his outburst of violence.

The man came off the door and turned into the room. Milo shot back behind the podium.

Mr. Cald picked up the hand-bell and resumed digging at the corner.

From behind the podium, Milo could only hear it: glass ticking onto glass, the rasp of a case shoved aside.

The man worked like a burglar.

Investigating the incident would’ve been normal work for an instructor. Burning the seals off the door to do it, and flattening himself to that door when the secretary went by, was not.

As Milo eyed the baton’s outline, it began to swim again. He went to rub the bruise responsible, but the lightest tap nearly pulled a grunt out of him. So much for the sink and the towel.

Depending on what the man had to hide, being found would go worse than a beating. At least if his plan succeeded, the possibilities of being alone in a room that could feed him for a week were endless.

Two trespassers to one room, and only one of them knew the room was crowded. Milo pressed his back to the cold wood.

Thwack!

Ringing silence settled as something rolled to a stop by his podium.

Milo closed his eyes.

Passed out. If he asks, I passed out. No. I came back for a tooth. Yes. That could work.

Light footsteps followed, and a hand scooped the object out. Inches from his knee.

Milo prayed.

The door creaked open.

What?

He opened his eyes at once and peeked back out.

Mr. Cald was scanning the corridor. His head stopped on the lockers.

Yes... Milo clenched his fist and smiled, the throbbing flaring back into his cheek.

The man stepped out of the room and closed the door behind him. The baton moved down the corridor, in the direction of the empty bowl. It stopped by the lockers for a long minute, then moved on, far past them.

Milo braced a hand against the podium and hauled himself up.

Glass crunched under his shoe, the shards from his fight with Seb all over the floor. Rows of transparent cases lined both walls, placards and all; an entire curriculum with no supervisor.

The room was all his. The nest too, if Mr. Cald stayed away.

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⋆˚࿔ Coming right up: "Easy Peasy" ... ⤵︎ [!]