Chapter 39: Ventilation Grille (Part 1)

As Milo reached for the handle, Mr. Thwaite lowered his voice.

"Please don’t mention, to anyone else, that the vomit in the corridor was yours."

Milo shut the door behind him, empty-handed and enrolled again.

On Monday he was to attend the first lesson before leaving for a two-hour psychological consultation.

Getting back in had taken less arguing than he had prepared for, and for a while he stood outside the office trying to decide what to do with the rest of the evening.

The dining hall would be full chair scraping and voices that made him tired just listening. Before he joined them, he wanted a wash.

Milo turned back to ask the principal where he could go.

"Milo!"

His palm hadn’t even reached the handle when Henry called from behind him.

"I’m relieved you’re actually okay."

The instructor stopped beside him, smile faltering as he took in his face once more; a pattern that had become annoying by now.

"Yeah," Milo muttered. "Guess you couldn’t say it back there in the office. I’m easy to miss, right? To forget about?"

"U-Uh. I didn’t mean to—"

"I need some time alone. Away from that crowd."

"Of course, Milo, of course." Henry went back to an awkward smile. "I’m sure you were terrified. Walking, when an entity might be—"

"The students will be sleeping somewhere. Is there a place where I can wash myself?"

"There’s a shower upstairs in the staff rooms. I can show you."

Past the taped-off bathroom, which Milo eyed, past the confiscation closet, at which Milo raised an eyebrow, all the way into a common room with an electric kettle and two further rooms behind glass panes.

"You can stay here. There’s tea by the kettle, and the shower’s through that door. It’s small, but it should do for tonight."

Milo put his hand on the back of a chair while Henry went on explaining.

"It’s the farthest from the dining hall, so you should get some quiet."

Yeah, you’d know.

"You can go down later if you’re hungry." Henry scoffed. "The cooks won’t hold any grudges!"

At least the chair seemed comfortable enough to sit in while the kettle boiled.

Milo nodded and looked toward the shower, which got Henry moving back to the door.

"Mr. Thwaite wanted to discuss something," the instructor said. "Well, I’ll be there."

Once alone, Milo washed off the stink everyone had been kind enough to ignore and made himself tea.

Between refills he pushed two chairs together and bundled his sweater under his head, leaving the cup close enough to reach without sitting up. The water grew paler each time, but by now he was drinking it for the warmth.

On Monday he could turn up in clean clothes and let somebody else do most of the talking.

The principal had managed most of their conversation on his own, but two hours would give the psychologist plenty of time to ask questions.

And what will I tell her? Oh, I killed a Parish Warden?

The cup rattled in its saucer when he set it down.

Shit, I actually killed a Parish Warden.

He tucked his hands between his knees, but the trembling went on in his legs. Closing his eyes only gave him more to look at.

Disable. Turn off.

Faces, all those mouths. Had he reached the cooks in the kitchen, too? What if someone had been out of range?

OFF.

God, could he do that to his head? Just for tonight?

He opened his eyes.

"What were you trying to tell me before?"

No rustle or scratching pen appeared above him.

Right. All hail Consultation. The message he’d crushed while hiding the flail mentioned...

"The Gauge."

Yellowed paper unfurled over the chairs.

[ The Gauge: 80% ] 𓂃🖋

Milo blinked. It had been zero.

"Eighty? Of what?"

[ Pressure from claimed Calamities. ] 𓂃🖋

He freed a hand from between his knees and spread his fingers under the page, though they wouldn’t stay straight.

Was that why? Pressure building inside him?

"And what do I do with it?"

[ Release the pressure. ] 𓂃🖋

"Yeah. Through what? My fucking ears?"

[ Consultation is a Day Development. ] 𓂃🖋

The writing faded, leaving him with his hand in the air.

Release it. Fine. Off. Turn off, stop—

He pressed his palm over his eyes. Every time he tried to think of how to stop, he thought the command again. Maybe he should get up, find someone, have them talk about anything at all.

"Gauge."

[ The Gauge: 81% ] 𓂃🖋

"No. Do not tell me that is the cost."

Did it count every time, even when there was nothing to turn off? He’d been doing it all evening. And now, lying here, trying to sleep—

Don’t say it.

He shut his mouth, though he hadn’t said anything aloud.

What happened at a hundred?

For a while he watched the dark glass. He could make out the rooms where the four had been kept.

Daylight was across the floor when he next opened his eyes, and his cheek had worked into the gap between the chairs.

Milo seemed to have slept for only a couple of hours. Hunger eventually got him upright.

In the dining hall, students occupied the tables again, elbows close as they reached over one another for breakfast.

He passed a table of boys arguing over the food.

"So where’s the cheesecake?"

"Today. Aldous is coming back today."

"They said yesterday! We got normal food yesterday."

One of the boys coughed into his fist, jerking his plate away.

"Yeah, surely. Aldous won!"

The others laughed. Milo stared at them.

OFF.

By the kitchen, Layla was talking to a maid, her pink coils down her back. Miss Rolt bustled in and out beside them, stopping to inspect what came out on the trays.

If Layla hadn’t heard about the expulsion, he would have to explain that part first, but at least he could tell her he was staying.

With the news put that way, he might even manage to make her smile.

He straightened and went over.

"Ah, you too, love." Miss Rolt slid a plate along the counter to him. "Staff and brave students involved deserve the priority."

He froze short of Layla, eyes on her back as Miss Rolt addressed him from the side.

"You think I’m brave?"

"No doubts. If my Aldie couldn’t nail this entity, then your survival is a great feat."

Milo’s lips parted. The recommendation letter, the principal’s last request...

"Did you speak to Mr. Thwaite?" he asked quietly. "About me, I mean. He was very keen that nobody hear about the vomit."

Miss Rolt only smirked before leaning back and raising her voice.

"Once Aldie’s back, he will make a Japanese-style cotton cheesecake for us. Only for the staff and the brave ones. That includes you. If I don’t eat it all, of course!"

Continuing to giggle, she disappeared into the kitchen.

Layla leaned closer to hear the maid over the noise of the hall.

Milo left the plate on the counter, spun away from the pink coils and threaded his way between the tables.

What’s Miss Rolt going to say when she finds him dead?

He lengthened his stride. Doorways blurred past him down the corridor.

Am I a killer or a hero?

His shoulder struck someone. A voice called after him, but he didn’t stop.

I killed a fraud. I didn’t kill Seb or Tessy.

Ahead, the blur brightened. He walked faster, eyes on the light.

This is all Henry’s and Cald’s fault.

"I AM A HEro augh—"

Milo choked mid-word. He folded in half and coughed on his own saliva.

The grass around his shoes sharpened into separate blades.

He stayed bent over, hands on his knees, waiting for the next breath to come more easily.

Slowly, he straightened and looked left, finding a girl with two blond braids hanging down her shoulders.

Her sharp eyes were fixed on him. Under her feet lay the fallen ventilation grille.

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⋆˚࿔ Coming right up: "Ventilation Grille (Part 2: Finale)" ... ⤵︎ [!]