6 – Unfortunate Situations

When the taxi let her out at Pinkerton's gates late that night, Zero did not return inside. Instead, she shoved her hands in her pockets and strode off into the trees, needing a little longer with her thoughts before she did so.
Screw him and his bullshit.

Her facial muscles twitched with a snarl. This was exactly why she had left – to get away from her father's awful, disease-ridden ideas. His self-centred mindset. His shitty excuse for being a parent. His abuse. He wasn't family.

That, she supposed, was why Mama had left too.

Zero exhaled shakily, leaning against the coarse bark of one of the tall pines. Well, at least it was all over now. He was the exact opposite of anything she intended to be. He was part of the reason she joined I.N.K, to be honest. Fighting against a tyrannical teacher gave her a strange sense of positivity inside, like maybe – just maybe – she could be a good person.

Maybe her life didn't have to be dictated by a screwed-up childhood.

She snorted at the thought, pushing back off the trunk and walking again, this time in the general direction of the school. Her path had already taken its place. There was nothing she could do about who she was now. People don't change.

And speaking of people . . .

She saw a large, bulky silhouette of a man nearby, illuminated ever so slightly by the light coming from the buildings. He raised his hand to his mouth and took a long drag of a cigarette, before exhaling in a thin trail of smoke that faded into the night. Her voice was quiet when she spoke.

'Better not stay out here too long. Van'll be looking for you.'

Burt snorted, turning his head ever so slightly to regard Zero. 'Could say the same about you, Blondie. Where's your pretty boy?'

She carefully arched an eyebrow, forcing her expression to remain impassive, though the thought of Vin was trying its best to nudge its way into her mind. 'I don't have one.'

He huffed a quiet laugh, before taking another drag. 'Alright, then. I won't ask if you don't tell. I don't reckon Van will care too much 'bout where I am.' He dropped the cigarette on the ground and snuffed it out with his foot.

Zero watched the toe of his boot grind it into the dirt and stuffed her hands back in her pockets. The story of their latest break-up was not unknown to most of the student body. 'So I've heard.'

'Mmh.' He turned towards Pinkerton, and waited for her to walk up to meet him, before he too began pacing with long, leisurely strides.

They walked in near silence until they reached the tree which led up to the open window. She climbed through, followed by Burt, and so began the arduous task of trying to navigate the dormitory halls in the dark. His presence was solid beside her, and all she could smell was his smoke. It kept her brain preoccupied, and she felt . . . blissfully numb. Serene, even.

She looked up to see that he had been watching her out of the corner of his eye, his expression something she couldn't quite read. Though, it registered properly when his gaze travelled from her eyes, down her exposed neck, and slightly lower. He reached out with a hand and smoothed back her hair so it fell behind her shoulders like it should have been, and she couldn't even be bothered to smack him upside the head for touching her. It didn't seem to matter.

'You knew I'd be back,' she finally found herself saying in a low voice.

Burt didn't reply, but instead raised self-satisfied eyebrow as he continued to walk.

'I don't know what makes you so certain about yourself, but you never seem to be wrong. I find it very hard to understand that.'

They turned into the boys' hallway and paused just outside Burt's door. He leaned against the frame and folded his arms, which made his muscles stand out against his sport jacket. 'Why don't you come in, then. I can be a bit more . . . forgiving than you.'

He pushed open the door and gestured with his hand. Zero simply looked at him for a long moment, before stepping inside.

'At least you don't care about this either,' she said quietly, as Burt closed the door behind them. 'It makes it easier to . . . forget things.' She leaned against the wall as Burt shed his jacket, letting it fall to the ground. He caught her gaze, before walking over to stand before her, placing his hands on the wall either side of her head.

'Well then maybe I can help with that,' he whispered. His eyes were piercing, and he lowered his head so their noses were brushing. Something stirred in her gut, followed by a string snapping.

Zero thought she ought to respond – verbally, at least - but her shirt was already on the floor. His quickly followed.

'I should'a just woken someone up and asked,' Liz muttered to herself as she looked confusedly around Pinkerton's hallways, trying to discern which direction the laundry would be. She balled her bloodied sheets tighter to her chest and peered around the next corner, feeling particularly paranoid about being caught in this state of vulnerability. She looked like an absolute mess right now, wearing an oversized R.E.M. t-shirt as a nightdress, her hair was ratty, her eyes were smeared with mascara, and, oh yeah, she was spectacularly bloated, and bleeding in a place she'd rather not be.

Not the best position to be caught in at midnight, when you were in a boarding school that was still pretty foreign to you.

Who would she have asked, though? It wasn't like she'd really made a friend yet – at least, not one she could complain to about the dramas of womanhood.

With a sigh, she slumped against the nearest wall, drawing her knees up to her chest. Maybe she could ask the girl in the room next to her – Bertha. She seemed friendly enough the few times Liz had spoken to her, and she – oh, wait, she goes home to her family on weekends, doesn't she?

Liz sighed. She could just wander the halls aimlessly, but there was a good chance at least one of the teachers were on patrol, or the security system would notice, at least.

Then it struck her. The boys' bedrooms were the next hall over, weren't they? She could bug Ginger to at least give her directions – it was highly unlikely he would actually figure out what was going on, anyway – and maybe lend her some detergent. That was the funny thing about small boarding schools: you had to bring your own detergent, and wash your own clothes. Liz just hadn't gotten around to sorting that out, yet. Or perhaps –

Her train of thought was interrupted as she heard low voices moving down the hall to where she sat, and with a surge of panic, Liz scrambled to her feet and hid around the corner, heart hammering.

'. . . makes you so certain about yourself, but you never seem to be wrong. I find it very hard to understand that.'

She drew in a breath and flattened herself against the wall as two figures entered the hallway from where she'd been sitting not a moment ago. Thankfully, they turned towards the boys' rooms and started in that direction. Liz had, thankfully, gone unnoticed.

It was a female who had spoken, and she realised after a moment that she recognised the voice – that macho chick, the blonde who wasn't Van.

She squinted at their silhouettes in concentration, wishing she weren't so damn awful with names, when the other, much larger figure leaned against one of the doorframes.

'Why don't you come in, then?'

And then, Liz realised there was something very wrong with this scene.

Burt?

She looked at the two of them in horror, all the while trying to remember that name, and Burt continued.

'I can be a bit more . . . forgiving than you.'

Liz had no idea what he meant by that, and the girl responded with a look that was stony in the moonlight. But, when he pushed the door open and extended an offering hand, she walked inside. He followed, closing the door with a snap.

He's cheating, Liz thought numbly. Or, well maybe not cheating, but he's obviously done it before. She thought of Vanessa – stupid, clueless Vanessa – and sighed. It was so ironic.

She only wasted a short moment on this however, as she had more pressing matters at hand. Such as finding the laundry.

Refusing to part from her rather intimate relationship with the wall, she edged her way into the corridor and peered around anxiously, trying to figure out which was Newton's room. Soon she found herself standing at one of the far doors, deliberating on whether or not she should knock. In the end however, she didn't really need to make that decision.

She had been standing there for a few solid minutes, weighing her options at a rather slow pace, when the door opened a crack and Newton's head appeared. He rubbed his sleep-worn eyes and yawned.

'What are you doing here?

'Ginger!' Liz breathed, unable to keep the relief out of her voice. 'I – you're the only person I could think to come to – we're friends, right? – um, could you point me to the laundry?'

'The laundry?' he mumbled confusedly. 'What, you piss yourself or something?'

'No. It's – I . . . well . . . How'd you know I was here, anyway?'

He snorted. 'What, you'd think I wouldn't have a security system set up around my own room?'

'. . . No?'

He shook his head disbelievingly, opening the door a little wider. 'Anyway, why do you – oh.' His eyes settled on the bloodied sheet ball bundled under Liz's arm, narrowed for a moment as he thought about it, and then widened in realisation. 'Oh.'

'Yeah,' she mumbled, unable to keep her cheeks from burning. Normally this didn't bother her, but being caught out in a place she wasn't comfortable with really didn't help.

He hesitated awkwardly. 'Uh, do you . . . need any, uh . . . any stuff? I keep some in a drawer for if Trix or Zero get caught out . . .' He trailed off, face going red.

She shook her head, saving him from going on and causing further embarrassment. 'I'm fine – I just need directions. And detergent, if you've got any.'

He straightened up. 'Oh, yeah. Sure.' He disappeared back in his room, reappearing a moment later with a cardboard box. 'Here you go.'

'Thanks.' She took it, and hesitated for a moment. 'You're a good kid, Ginge. I mean -' She gestured vaguely. '- keeping . . . stuff . . . for your girlfriends, just in case – not many guys have the balls to do that. It's nice.'

'Ah, well . . .' He scratched the back of his head awkwardly. 'Yeah, I guess. Anyway, I can take you to the laundry if you'd like.'

'Thanks,' she said gratefully. She waited for him to pull on a dressing gown, before asking, 'Uh, Zero? Which one is she?'

He blinked for a moment, processing her question (he was clearly still half-asleep), before mumbling, 'The one with a mean right hook.'

'A visual description would be more helpful.'

'Oh, yeah. The albino chick.'

Liz froze as realisation struck her, before carefully saying, 'The blonde?'

He gave her a look that said well duh. 'Well, yeah.'

She shook her head rather aggressively, still reeling. 'Uh, no, I just . . .' She floundered momentarily, attempting to find words that wouldn't give away what she had seen minutes before. 'I, uh, she looks like she'd knock my head off my shoulders without a second thought.'

'She probably would,' he agreed cheerfully. The look in his eyes however, dared her to say something derogatory. 'Problem?'

Liz absently tugged on a ratty strand of hair as she thought about it, suddenly able to string her thoughts together. Thoughts that were conveniently very useful.

'Only if she punches first,' she replied simply. She returned the double-meaning grin. 'Then we might.'

He snorted, stuffing his hands in his pockets. 'Great. Now I've got two friends who'd beat me up.'

'Seems like it,' she agreed, stepping aside so he could lead her down the hall.

'You seem tense,' he noticed.

She hesitated, wondering if this was something she ought to divulge. 'Do you know where she is tonight?'

He scratched the back of his head. 'She, uh, Vin said she went out. Dunno where.'

Liz hesitated, before deciding to screw it and just launch into the topic.

'Well she's obviously back now, because I saw her with Burt.'

The reaction she got was exactly what she expected. He stumbled, eyes going wide with alarm. 'What did you see?' he asked quickly, surveying her face as though it would give away the answer.

She put her spare hand on her hip and turned to him with a deadpan look. 'Well, call me crazy for being so bold, but I think they're fucking,' she replied dryly.

He pinched the bridge of his nose and exhaled slowly. 'Again?'

'What do you mean, again?'

He turned to her and pointed a finger. 'Not a word to anyone, got it?' When she nodded, he continued. 'I walked in on them once. You know, empty hallway and all. Scarred me for life. Zero's threatened to kill me if I tell anyone.'

She frowned at him, lips pursed. 'You know this means he's cheating on Vanessa.'

He shrugged. 'Half the time it's technically not cheating, when they're broken up.'

'But still, that makes him a scumbag. Why does she want to be with someone like that?'

'I don't exactly think it's a loving and caring arrangement, Elizabeth.'

She snorted obnoxiously as they came to a stop outside a door. Newton pushed it open, before gesturing inside with a grand sweep of his hand. 'The laundry, madam,' he told her with an affected air of seriousness. She snorted again, but went inside.

Newton was nice enough to help her work the washing machine, and the two of them sat on the bench while they waited for one of the clean sheets to come out of the dryer. Liz scratched her nose absently, wracking her brain for a topic of conversation, since gossiping about Zero had died off pretty quickly (Liz was now fairly certain that she couldn't be a part of I.N.K. She seemed far too moronic to be involved in something so . . . intelligent.) While she was here, she figured she could poke and prod Newton to see if he knew anything of use.

'So,' she said carefully, 'that Macbeth's a nightmare, isn't she?'

He huffed a laugh. 'Try living with her for six years.'

She winced sympathetically. 'Eesh.' She had to play her cards right if this was going to work. Somehow, she thought Newton wouldn't be swayed if she attempted to seduce him, especially when she looked this much of a mess. Besides, he'd just helped clean up her period blood. It seemed just a little cruel to take advantage of the poor guy like that. So, she was going to take the more low-key route. 'This probably sounds stupid, but she seems like the sort of evil teacher you see in kids' cartoons, y'know? The sort that makes crazy inventions and tries to enslave the populace.'

If her words had any impact on him, his face didn't show it. 'Well, she did pay a paedophilic thief to stir up trouble and ransack the place, if that counts.'

That was a curveball she had not been expecting. 'What?'

He shrugged offhandedly. 'Long story.'

She stared at him incredulously for a moment, before awkwardly deciding to continue with her spiel. 'Anyway, it kinda makes me wanna fight back – all secret-agent like, you get me? With gadgets and traps . . .' She trailed off, deliberately turning away from him in her acting. 'I dunno where I get these ideas, honestly. It's fun to imagine, though.'

'I'll bet,' Newton said, and she heard a thump as he slid off the bench onto the floor. 'Anyway, I should probably get back to my room – you can find your way, can't you?' When she nodded, he grinned and nearly ran to the door, pulling it back open. 'Alright, see you, Elizabeth.' She barely had time to reply before the door closed again, and he was gone.

He couldn't have been more freaking obvious.

With a self-satisfied grin, Elizabeth turned back to the dryer and pulled out a fresh sheet, inspecting it.

One down. Three to go.'

'You're late.'

'You want a report, you got a report. But I work on my own schedule, Sadie.'

'Well, then? What do you have for me?'

'Nothing for certain. I've got a few leads I'm chasing down, but I'm not going to lock anyone in for certain just yet. Sit down, yeah? We've got a lot to cover.'

10/12/2021