I try to sleep but it isn’t easy worrying about my mum having to come down. I know they get cross if she takes off of work and she already took off of work to spend a couple of days with me before I left and to see me off. I was fine, in never should have let them see I wasn’t fine. I am fine. they didn’t need to worry. I hate this place. I thought things would get better, me being here and making good money and such. But things only seemed to get worse. This place is infected somehow, dying slowly on the inside, decaying around me into madness. I absolutely hate it. but I can’t go home either. There is no place to go. No place is safe, Ginny is hunted, they’d lock her up. Hell, they are trying to lock me up. All questions no answers. Nobody to even hear you ask.
At least that got Titus to sleep, he is like a hyperactive child most of the time. They used to send us down to help out with the little Project 10s, play with them and help them do their homework and stuff. Those small people were more patient than Titus. At least they could be reasoned with, to go and play with a toy or lie down or have a drink of water or whatever. not him, he didn’t think he needed to eat or sleep or do anything his awfully busy brain didn’t want to do. And that made it so sad as well. because he did have such a busy brain and all he needed was to be talked to and occupied and have increasingly complicated dangerous activities, then he was happy, for a while. Until he realized everybody else was tired and content to do nothing, for a bit, and he wasn’t. he wanted to keep going and going and never stop until he broke, just like he was with running. Run until his own body just gave out and even then I wouldn’t put it past him to be thinking and plotting and calculating, even lying there comatose and worn out as he was. he was still plotting.
Wilde did a good job of cleaning out my room. She’s even found the liquor I had beneath the mattress. Where did she go to an alcoholic intervention school? I am annoyed, being sober is slightly more depressing than being intoxicated on the basic principal that when you are intoxicated you at least have the comfort that things will look better when you sober up. Not so when you’re sober and have no hope of obtaining alcohol. I check my tablet from messages, nothing from Hawking but I know they work them 24-hour shifts out there and if she has only moments she’ll communicating with her lovely fiancé and not me. I’m glad I had the chat with Leavitt, though. I hope it did him at least half as much good as it did me. The boy needed talking to. He seemed a lonely sort and it didn’t do him any good to be here I was sure none of the others talked to him. Of their squadron, he is the only one from technical universities, which are almost free if you had good enough scores to get in. Ones like King got sent to school parents paying or parents with enough means to help them get scholarships, some even got scholarships to the Academy. So I thought Leavitt must be lonely, and the IA guys had given him a rotten time of it. them and Ebbel, I was really annoyed with him lately. That and I think he’s sending me prank memorandums about the end times. For a while, I had thought I was sending them to myself when I was really drunk, but I’ve been sober all day and another one has appeared on my tablet.
I sigh and lay back on the bed, my Bible open to Revelations, lying next to me. no liquor to speed the words through my brain, though. God, I am tired. And the 4:30 am wake up calls came far, far too early. I should really just sleep. Try to get a good night’s sleep for a change. That’d be a change of pace, eh? I almost laughed to myself at that. Go to sleep and sleep peacefully. That would definitely be a change.
I realize I fell asleep clutching my tablet. My mum had messaged me late. they had heard about death, the IA guys being flown in, all that. I assured her I was fine.
My father hadn’t asked, which confirmed my suspicion that he was on an outer planet or moon. He had messaged very quickly to say he was thinking of me and he had to go back to work again but to let him know how I was. I had. I told him about Peter as well. I didn’t tell my mum because I didn’t want her to think I might go and do something like that, I already knew she was worried about me after the person in the pies incident.
But my father hadn’t seemed particularly worried, more generally concerned for my well being. And for some reason, I didn’t think that fathers were likely to be especially worried about things like mothers might be. I didn’t know how true it was. and I hadn’t the heart to type it all out twice. It made me sad, I’ve known Peter all my life. He is like a brother, we were all like brothers and sisters, the Project 10s, half of us could’ve been, for all we knew. He hadn’t talked to me as much since our birthdays and me finding out my parents, not only one but both, did want to know me and his—didn’t. neither of them. I had felt bad but I hadn’t known what I could do to make it better. or what I could say. I was sorry? Of course, I was, but I also was very, very glad I did get to at least know they were well and sort of wanted me about. he didn’t have that luxury. His parents wanted to forget he existed.
We hadn’t really talked about any of that, and now I have no idea when if ever I will get to see him again. Surely they would put him the hospital and didn’t we get passes for that sort of thing? Maybe we could write a memorandum for it.
Titus would love that sort of thing, he was good at it as well. I’d seen him writing memorandums to the MTIs before. I wasn’t sure about what, though. Maybe he could help me with writing one. It was only fair Nicole and I and some of the others got to visit him. it would do him good, we were his friends. I consider messaging Titus now, but we aren’t even supposed to have our tablets out anymore, and he’s probably asleep.
I am so lonely tonight. I’ve fallen into a fitful sleep, finally exhausted by the day’s running and marching and all. I am curled up far to one side of the bed, I’m so used to Ginny coming and curling up with me. When the heat’s off, she will always snuggle in my bed with me, under her blankets and mine. I would be drunk, too drunk to move, and she’d just curl under my arm. So I’d learned to get myself to one side, all the way, so when I was too drunk to move there was still room for her.
I still sleep like that, now that I am not drunk and she isn’t here. don’t think about that. pretend you are there, and your mum will come in late and tuck another blanket around you. One Christmas, she’d come in very late, and we were sound asleep, but she’d put a new blanket over us, and when we woke up the thick, soft dark blue blanket was tucked over us, and she was sitting on the sofa, still in her clothes from work. I sigh and shift in the bed, no need to be on one side, I’m going to fall out at this rate these beds are so tiny.
When I shift I feel something else in the bed. I jump a little, only to see that it’s Tsegi, her eyes are closed. She must’ve crawled up here and then fallen asleep when she realized I was asleep. I smiled a little because it seemed a nice sort of thing to do like she’d sensed I was lonely.
I quit smiling when I realized her head was no longer connected to her body.
None of her limbs are, in fact. I pull back the blanket to find that out. That was a mistake. She is in her PT gear that we all slept in, but her smooth skin and the clothes themselves were slick with blood because her limbs were separated at every joint, knee, ankle, wrist, elbow, shoulder, and of course, head at the neck.
Shaking, I pull the blanket back over her, gently, putting it over her head as well. I should have screamed, in fact, I really wanted to. But I can’t bring myself to like it would wake her up or something. and I don’t want the others seeing her like that. I wanted them to come and get her quietly and let her rest someplace. That is what goes through my head, anyway, right or wrong.
I crawl off the bed, nearly slipping because of course, I’m wet with her blood as well. my whole body trembling, I slowly walk out of the barracks. Nobody stops me, which feels odd because we aren’t supposed to leave. But I do. I just walk out and walk towards the MTI’s barracks. Because I need to tell someone. I need to TELL them. As in talk to them. And have them hear me.
I knock on a few doors before one of them opens.
“What the---Cadet report,” Ebbel opens his door
a crack, it’s dark in the hall he can’t see the blood on me, he rubs his eyes.
“Sir, she’s dead,” I say, my voice shaking. I don’t know her last name I don’t remember but somehow I remember to call him sir.
“What?” He asks more alert now.
“Sir, one of the cadets is dead,” I say, again, my voice stronger, “I need somebody to come and get her or something but I didn’t know who to go to so I thought I’d come here, sir.”
“Get in here,” He says, pulling me into the light, and then he takes his hand off of me when it comes off with blood. “What happened?”
“Sir, I don’t know I woke up and she was lying there dead,” I say, and for the first time, I realize I’m about to cry.
“What do you mean? Damn it,” he says, tugging me all the way into the room and picking up his key card and a handful of things from a desk.
“Sir, she’s in my bunk I don’t know how I was asleep and I woke up and she was there,” I say, as he types onto his tablet, no doubt alerting the IA investigators.
“Why’s it always you, Leavitt?” He asks, looking up at me.
“Sir, I really don’t know, I wish it weren’t,” I say.
“Yeah, I bet you do, be glad you have an alibi for the one who got baked,” he says, not moving to help me get the blood off or anything. I sort of wipe it off my hands and onto my shirt, but that’s all bloody too.
“Yes, sir,” I say, stupidly, because that’s usually an okay response to anything.
“Ah shut up,” he says, shaking his head. that’s actually way more comforting than it should be because it confirms that he can actually hear me.
“Sir, I don’t like leaving her there,” I say, looking the smears of her blood on my hands.
“Why not?” he asks.
“Sir, ‘cause she’s alone, and the others might be afraid of her now, and she might not like that, because it’s not her fault she’s all dead,” I say, looking down at my feet. I didn’t put my running shoes on, so my feet are bare. They’ve got blood on them too, there’s a cut on one as well, I suppose I got that walking over here.
“Kid, it’s not gonna matter, she’s gone,” he says, about to put a hand on my shoulder then thinking better of it. My shoulder is probably bloody. “She doesn’t know any different.”
“Sir, how do you know?” I ask.
“I---okay fine damn it we’ll wait for the MPs over there,” he says, about to guide me out of his room, then he sees my bare feet. “Put my shoes on there---you’re huge kid you’ll probably fit in ‘em.”
I obey, picking up the shoes and kneeling to put them on. They do fit just right or close enough. I am not really noticing stuff like that.
“You okay, kid?” he asks.
“No, sir,” I say.
“But you aren’t going to quit talking on me or set yourself on fire or anything, are you?” he asks.
“No, sir,” I say, as strongly as I can, “That wouldn’t do anybody any good, would it?”
“No, certainly not me, now come on,” he says, taking my shoulder now and pushing me ahead of him since I probably am not walking properly.
“I smell blood,” I say, sitting up abruptly.
“What?” Logan mumbles beneath me.
“I’m pretty sure somebody’s dead in here, come on,” I say, hopping onto Tom’s bunk and poking her.
“What no, we were sleeping that was far more interesting, remember?” she mumbles.
“No, wake up, I think there’s a dead body in here and I want to look at it before the police show up. I love dead bodies, don’t you?” I ask, shaking her shoulder hopefully.
“No, I don’t want to see a body,” Logan says, more awake.
“You’re insane,” Tom says, artfully kicking me off the bed, “How can you smell blood---oh my god.”
“Yeah, see?” I asked, sniffing the air as I sit up rubbing the back of my head where it hit my bunk on my way down. her actively kicking me out of her bed was not my ideal way to leave it after being in it the first time, but that was okay, she is still talking to me and I had only come to wake her up to find a body with me and not more romantic endeavors.
“What are you doing?” the living Tim hisses, sitting up.
“We’re going to go and find out who died, I think it’s over there,” I say, waiting politely for Tom to get down.
“No, we are not looking,” Tom says, but she and Logan follow me anyway.
“It’s definitely over here,” I whisper.
“Go back to sleep, you’ve put the guidon on the roof enough times,” Darla hisses, hearing us but not getting up.
“What’s going on?” Liesel asks, sitting up as well.
“I sincerely hope nothing,” Tom says, following me tiredly.
“Oh yeah, it is a body, not Leavitt though, shame,” I say, pulling myself up to his bunk and looking under the blanket.
“What?” Tom asks, pushing me aside to climb up as well.
“Don’t look if you---” I warn as she and Logan both look and shriek in horror. Well, Logan does most of the shrieking, Tom is more of a gasp of horror.
“I said don’t look,” I say, as I stand poised to catch Tom as they struggle to get down. as it is, she doesn’t fall but Logan does so I catch him. I drop him immediately because I wanted her to fall into my arms but she clambers down deftly.
“Oh my god,” she says, her face is sheet white, “Who is that?”
“I think it’s Tsegi, but I’m not positive, it definitely isn’t Leavitt,” I say, crawling back up to look at it some more. The severed head arouses me. I shall have to cut off somebody’s head sometime. Ebbel maybe? No, I really like the death I have planned for him just as it is. oh well, somebody else later. Not Leavitt---well maybe Leavitt after I let him live without his legs for a while. Hmm, I’ll decide later. Something to think about when I’m the brig tomorrow night.
“Oh my god, who---what would have done that to her?” Tom asks, by now nearly everyone is up and coming over to see what we’re looking at.
“I think I’m going to be sick,” Logan says.
“Oh go to a trash can then, do, I do dislike scrubbing vomit off the floor and you know they’d make us do it like last time,” I say, crawling back down, careful not to get blood on my hands. “Want another look?” I ask, Tom.
“What---no, that’s disgusting,” she says, shuddering, “Why?”
“To determine the cause of death, and the instrument used to flay her,” I say, “You know the MPs will take forever to tell us and since you knew her I thought you’d want to know.”
“Okay, yes,” she says, crawling back up with me.
“Looks like she died before the serration occurred, look at the endings there---are you going to vomit as well?” I ask she’s just staring white as a sheet.
“No no-” she says, her voice cracking, “I can’t look at her like that, I’m sorry, just tell me what you think.”
“It looks like she was strangled, the decapitation is a messy attempt to hide the strangle marks,” I say, looking around the room now, not at the body.
Tyrell is staring at me. He heard what I said. and his mouth twitches in anger. So he killed her. I didn’t think Leavitt would have the stomach to. Well, this is getting out of hand. If they catch him, which they will this is no way to dispose of a body plus he’s probably left DNA evidence on her, then he’ll expose me as a part of the cooking of Tim, and I really don’t want to be on the run just yet. I’m enjoying being on this side of the law for a while. No, he’s going to have to be removed. The devil of it is, my most surefire way to do it is hazardous to me. But then, there’s no great gain without great risk. Card’s move.
Of course, when we get to the barracks all the little heathens are crowded around the body looking at it. the ugly one wearing my shoes is the only one who it appears to have occurred to that the MPs need to be notified.
As it is I order them all out and they go reluctantly, some of them vomiting some bickeri
ng with each other over what happened.
Thorn and Wilde show up to help me secure the area shortly before the MPs arrive.
“This is disgusting,” Wilde says.
“Yeah, probably means the last one wasn’t an accident either,” I say.
“Thorne you’re quiet through all this---are you humming ‘Another one Bites the Dust?’ “ Wilde asks, turning to Thorne who is very distinctly humming that ancient song.
“No,” he says, innocently.
“You were,” I say, “You’re not very surprised.”
“I told you. anyone of us is next. The slaughter of the lambs is beginning,” Thorne says, very seriously.
“Get him out of here before the police see him and decide he’s psycho and needs to be locked up,” I groan.
“Okay, come on, let’s go and round up the cadets,” Wilde says, taking his arm.
“Oh, yeah, and bring Leavitt in to talk to the police,” I say, staying with the body. after all, I don’t know if she doesn’t know. the boy’s words haunt me. what if she does know we’re here staring at her? What if they all do?
“Which one is he?” Wilde asks.
“The one with blood all over him,” I say.
Chapter 23
“I
can’t believe she’s gone,” Tom says, we are sitting at dinner which is not tight therefore we can whisper quietly. Tsegi always used to dine with us. I’m not very talkative because I am ensuring that tonight’s plan to eliminate Tyrell is seamless.
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