Chapter 45: Burnt-Top Basque Cheesecake (Part 3: Finale)

Showing actual evidence that Milo could not crawl anywhere in this state silenced the instructor for now.

Of course, he had to point out the dent in the ventilation, but that was about it. He made no more allegations, and Mr. Thwaite was moving them out of the bathroom.

"We’ll come back to it when the academy returns to its routine. He’s not crawling anywhere this week."

By the time the three withdrew from the matter, Henry’s voice came from the left again.

Except now, it was right next to Milo and four more people were present.

Paul scratched at his red hair while Maigh slumped on his shoulder, Roy more toward the side with Layla.

"It was him!" Roy pointed at Mr. Cald. "He was there!" His head swung between the girl and the two instructors. "He locked us in. Cald!"

Mr. Thwaite leaned in to Mr. Cald’s ear.

"So that’s what you were briefing me about?"

"Clearly psychotic." The instructor pointed back at Roy and others, at their red-rimmed eyes and bloated faces. "They were showing psychotic symptoms when we found them. They remember being locked in, but they don’t understand why it was necessary."

Clever. Roy could name the men and insist they’d imprisoned him, yet Cald didn’t have to dispute any of that. All he needed was for Thwaite to believe the boys had been found first and isolated afterward.

However, the two instructors were guarding them while they were supposed to be missing. Perhaps they had been trying to contain the Plague themselves? Still, why keep that from the rest of the staff?

Anyway, everyone had seen the bowl by now, and Layla was here.

Milo slid in between the bodies and passed the pink coils.

"Hey, can you come here for a second?"

He stopped a few paces away. Layla waited for Roy to pause before following him.

"What?"

"There are some things I wanted to tell you."

"Milo."

"What’s wrong?" His fingers tightened around the dish. "Is it something they said?"

"You keep leaving."

Layla spoke quietly enough that the argument continued behind them.

"You keep leaving." She crossed her arms. "Before the lockdown, you said we’d meet after lessons, and you never showed up. At the hall, I told people that the seat was taken. I keep making plans with... a ghost."

"I can explain it all. There are reasons. I can tell you what happened."

Expulsion and how Louise got him readmitted was a start. There were still many, many things he could say aloud.

"I’m tired of having to guess where you’ve gone. Will you explain it now, or tell me to meet you somewhere you’ll never go?"

"I can explain it now."

"Well, I can’t listen now, Milo. They’re taking the boys’ statements, and I said I’d go with them."

As he worked through a choice of words that wouldn’t lead to a catastrophe, Layla left him for the three bullies.

Maybe that was how everyone felt around him.

I keep leaving.

With Louise, he’d done much the same thing: thanked her for helping with the academy and left once the conversation was over. Most of his questions had been attempts to find out what she knew.

By the time he was enjoying her company, he had stopped thinking about what to say at all, and left her with a smile and a nod.

Milo could at least go back and tell her he’d liked being there.

He pivoted to the staircase, but Roy raised his voice again.

"I’m telling you, your ghost was back there too! I saw the shadow. They must’ve been in on it!"

At the mention of the ghost, Mr. Cald’s eyes snapped to the bowl in Milo’s hands, then up at the second floor.

Did they see me making the noodles?

The instructor exchanged whispers with Henry, excused himself, and rushed toward the staircase.

Milo’s muscles tensed. An impulse almost set him off, but he stopped.

To stay, or to leave.

Cald probably decided that whatever had been in the vent was now in the room where Milo slept.

The flail was behind a different door, and its outline hadn’t moved; he would know if it did. Running upstairs after the instructor would only give Thwaite a reason to chase them both.

For once, he had to stay.

Milo continued down to the dining hall.

Louise was thinking of her autistic cousin while he worried about the weapon under his sweater. Explaining that misunderstanding was out of the question, but going back to thank her shouldn’t require another lie.

Autistic.

What should one bring as a thank-you?

Flowers were the usual option, the social norm, but he had none. Maybe the kitchen had a cake, but then he’d have to steal it. Dishonest. Vodka entered the list of potential gifts, but again, he had no means of obtaining it.

He would have to go back without a present and say it properly.

But whether his own words would be enough, he wasn’t sure.

Guests in suits stood talking over wineglasses throughout the dining hall.

Milo kept to the wall in his blue sweater until he found an empty bench where he could set down the bowl.

A slight shove of his palm would open Louise’s door, but drafting a thank-you that wouldn’t sound as though he’d come back only for another slice called for more thought.

Somehow, she’d got him talking long enough for him to forget he was afraid of her.

Maybe she wouldn’t mind if he stayed a little longer.

Milo opened the door.

Her legs hung over the desk.

Only you can make my favorite Japanese-style cotton cheesecake.

It was always about that, wasn’t it.

Only Aldie could’ve made her favorite cheesecake, couldn’t he.

Only Aldie could’ve made her favorite anything, and she’d never get to experience it again.

On the plate below her was another slice of the cake she’d served him, half-eaten.

Along with its taste, the memory of her laughter at his attempt to answer around a mouthful was still fresh.

Burnt-top Basque cheesecake.

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