Chapter 22: Aldous’ Weapon

Those words were meant to settle Mr. Thwaite and Grace.

Aldous is here.

And he had come to hunt the ghost.

The second floor was infested with the two instructors. The first floor was a crime scene no one would stick around in.

Milo waited out the group’s departure. Once his vision adjusted to the darkness, he sprinted onto the first floor—and almost tripped.

He windmilled his arms and looked down.

An abandoned notebook lay on the ground.

Idiot. I’d never leave mine lying around.

Except a look farther revealed more items scattered around the corridor. They ranged from an apple, to a single well-polished boot, to a hairbrush with a ribbon tied around its handle.

While he wasn’t sure why the corridor had been decorated, it sparked an idea.

One touch of Aldous’ weapon, and Milo could track the man hunting him. Follow him to the Calamity, too. But the baton’s outline would have to go.

Aldous had skipped his speech. He wanted the ghost unprepared. That was obvious.

The clumsiness jokes had to have some truth to it. A man that fast only had to put one foot wrong.

The classroom panes were covered now. Milo ran along the corridor, kicking the objects against the wall so Aldous could reach the bathroom at speed.

The apple rolled back; he stopped it with his foot and pushed it into the boot.

After rounding the corner beside the collection room, he turned to the locker and found the empty bowl.

Not wasting another second, he snatched it and placed it on another locker’s edge, just a few paces short of the bathroom he had earlier judged as comically useless.

He took a swing at the sealed door.

Thwack!

The noise made him jump and rattled the maintenance stack beside him.

Goddamn school. This is a bathroom.

The hits rolled the length of the building. He listened for a rush from the stairs.

Nothing yet.

He drove the hook into the door and pierced through, tearing a hole in the woodstone.

This was supposed to be prevention!

He angled the weapon closer to the frames and heaved. While the seal held, the woodstone around the lock cracked and the door creaked open.

Instead of going in, Milo made for the corridor’s middle and bent over.

His fingers stopped at his lips. He made himself open his mouth.

I have to.

Jamming two fingers up his throat, he lurched as quietly as possible. At the third gag, the leftovers of the soup finally came out and sloshed onto the floor. He spread the greasy soup across the path to the bowl. It was too little. He bent over and vomited all he had left.

In the darkness, Milo nearly lost track of where he had placed the empty bowl.

He skirted the wet patch, found the bowl by touch, and retreated into the bathroom.

The only thing left now was to wait.

One last check: the baton’s outline had not moved from its nest.

Goodbye.

The bowl would bring the Warden running. If the fall dirtied him badly enough, he might put his weapon down to wash.

Milo would have to get within arm’s reach.

He reached for the slingshot—

First came his bladder.

As far as he envisioned, there would be no other opportunity to pee. So he leaned out for a skim of the corridor before hurrying to the stall.

It took longer than he liked.

"Ahh..."

After a minute, he was back. Hands level, eyes on the bowl, the slingshot with the die charged right at it.

Tap. Tap.

Footsteps at the far end. Still on the stairs, perhaps. Milo held his aim. He needed them in the corridor when the bowl fell.

Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap.

Closer. Whoever it was had no reason to hurry yet.

Milo raised his aim for the drop and fired.

Swoosh... Clink! Whuu... Kksshhh!!

He ran for the bathroom stalls and hopped on top, clinging to the thin walls like a lizard.

Air roared past the bathroom, akin to the wall of clouds that chased Milo the day before.

Suddenly, it quieted down to one gliding and shouting thing:

"To fucking hell!"

Judging off the CRASH-SCREEEECH!!! alone, the body must have ragdolled over the whole passage until reaching the wall with a deafening BONG! and finally coming to a halt.

Under it all, a stray die ticked out the last of its bounces. Tk. Tk. Tk.

Milo clamped a hand over his mouth and listened to the aftermath.

"It’s in my hair... For fuck’s sake."

A short period of silence was all before the man got to his feet. Each step came with a wet squelch.

The noise approached the bathroom and entered it. Water hissed on.

Given the curses muttered under his breath, it was not a satisfactory amount of water.

Aldous laid the flail on the sink’s dry edge and jabbed at the paper towel dispenser.

Bang! Bang-bang!

Clearly, the speed of dispensed paper wasn’t to the man’s satisfaction either. If he was that aggressive, Milo could only pray to keep all his limbs intact if discovered.

When Aldous abandoned the towel work and cupped his hands to splash water on his face, Milo jumped down.

Soundlessly, per his Mercy, he dashed toward the sinks. He ducked his head so a mirror would not reflect him. He passed the man and brushed the flail with his fingertips.

Bookmark!

The sheet snapped open at Aldous’ shoulder.

[ Bookmark set ]

[ Marked: A Nimble...

Milo shot out the hand with the hook, grabbing the paper on his way. He darted out of the bathroom and behind the maintenance stack. His feet made no sound as they landed.

ROAR!

The man was already out of the room, head snapping left and right.

Dead-still behind the stack, Milo checked the nest. The baton upstairs was gone from his sight. Through the furniture, he watched the outline of the flail. Aldous was right outside.

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⋆˚࿔ Coming right up: "A Closet of Meals" ... ⤵︎ [!]