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

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.]