Night 47: M21-30 Hallway

[sdatislife]

Shinji once again lingered on the threshold of his room, debating on whether he truly wanted to step out into the dark, uninviting hallways. The sense of claustrophobia, of being watched, of being enclosed were already starting to creep up on him. He rubbed at his arms, swallowing softly. He paused to pick up his flashlight, rolling it back and

Comments

M25

[quarter_english]

L paid careful attention to the announcements, with a deeper focus on the second one. The development of his current theory demanded it.

What he could discern from what he had heard... it must relate to what Lunge had reported the first morning that L awoke at Landel's. There has been a common assumption that Landel encountered Doyle the night of the supposed "zombie attack." Then, last night, Landel seemed shaken that Doyle was... what? Still dead after all? Landel described him as his best friend, then as his greatest enemy; he seemed distressed then, gloating tonight. How consistent is his personality?

He shook his head to disrupt his musings: the most pertinent thing right now was finding his belongings. Since his side of this room had been prepared for a new resident, there might be a flashlight under the pillow. He'd need the light to find anything else. He moved to the head of the bed, felt under the pillow, found the light and turned it on. Abe was also preparing to leave by this point, but he had the apparent advantage of knowing where his things were.

L realized that the key to his old desk drawer was still in his pocket. Why hadn't the nurse asked for it back, or given him a new one? He frowned and, by the light of the torch's beam, moved to the desk, where he tried the key.

The drawer opened.

Is it possible... is it the same desk? That would have been the least unsettling explanation: the desks exchanged so that the move could be accomplished during the day. In that case, he might be in luck: he shined the light into the drawer, shifting aside the stack of pens and the radio and the batteries.

The knife's blade glimmered: a dull reflection of the light. As he confirmed that it was still there, he realized that he had been holding his breath, and exhaled in relief. Although the blade was flimsier than that on a knife made for fighting or hunting would have been, it was the best protection he'd managed to find so far.

The scalpel and the shears might prove useful at some point, but all in all, they were less important to him. Also, his tipster on the bulletin board had suggested a visit to the Experimental Treatments Laboratory on the second floor, not far from where he'd picked up the blades: if worst came to worst, he might be able to get more without wasting an entire night doing it.

He moved to the dresser drawers. In his last room, he'd occupied the bed to his right, and had had the top two drawers. His revolving cast of roommates had had the bottom two, and this had never changed. He pulled out the third drawer, then lifted several folded pairs of underwear, and there, under them, were the scalpel and the autopsy shears.

Relief, again, and a flash of misgiving.

Re: M25

[quarter_english]

There was another simple explanation -- that members of the staff had simply swapped out the drawers between the two rooms, rather than moving only their contents -- but experience had taught him to look past the easiest explanations in suspicious circumstances. He already had his doubts about the privacy of the locked drawers; in a psychiatric hospital, there would almost certainly be a master key and, if the drawers were locked, probably impromptu searches. (The master key could also account for the contents of the desk drawer being intact: if his dresser drawers had been swapped, why not the desk drawer?) So then, there were serious questions: were patient keys useful for more than one desk? More importantly, why had no one confiscated the blades? The file he had stolen was still in the drawer, too.

It was something to chew on, and it might affect the choices he made in the future, but for the moment, Lunge and Jones were waiting for him. Their mutual agreement to his proposal for the night indicated that they were willing to work together, and he was curious about what they all might glean from their jaunt. He put a sweatshirt on over his t-shirt, then got his coat and boots from his closet, and put them on, too.

There was a problem of accessibility with the knife: he didn't want to carry it in such a way that there was a danger he would fall on it, but he needed to keep it handy. He had only just recovered from his leg injury -- recovered with suspicious speed, in fact -- and had no desire to cut himself a few inches further down the leg. Therefore, sliding it into his boot was out. Carrying the knife in his coat pocket would be unsafe as he climbed over the wall and would make it difficult to protect his hands from the numbing cold. He could try to tuck it into the waistband of his pants, against his back, but his attempt with the shears the other night had failed: because of his thinness, the drawstring wasn't tight enough to support their weight.

Returning to the shears gave him an idea. He doubted he would need a pillowcase to carry things in tonight. He tugged it off of the pillow, cut a long, spiralling strip from it, lifted his shirt, wound the strip around the smallest part of his waist several times, tied it, and tucked the knife under the strip. The blade was much flatter against his lower back than it would have been otherwise, and he was satisfied that he wouldn't hurt himself by accident.

That left the radio as his final consideration. He stared at it for a long, still moment, thinking. Then, with a quick, casual gesture, he snatched it up, put it in his coat pocket, locked the desk drawer, and was on his way.

[To here.]