Chapter Twenty
—
Authors Note:
Hey guys, sorry for the slow updates lately. Been hitting writers block.
Loid was becoming increasingly aggravated.
When he went to the SSS he'd hoped to find at least the smallest smidgeon of evidence towards Kai Forester. About his past. About his family. Who he was.
He wasn't even sure that he'd recognize Forester if he saw him.
That night at the lab, he was cast in shadows, the dim lights doing little to chase away the night. His hair had looked dark orange, his stature lean and tall, but that's all he could recall.
He'd hoped the SSS would have had more.
But nothing. He'd left empty-handed and more hopeless than ever.
He'd been working with Yor, who'd been using her questionable tactics to investigate, and it still went nowhere.
She'd asked Yuri what he knew and he was adamant that he had nothing they could use. He was upset that he couldn't help her.
Loid fwapped down the papers he held onto the table, his chair shoved back as he stood, a grunt of frustration.
He paced to the front door and back, running his hands over his face.
He couldn't stand the thought that the director was still free. That he was still doing as he liked. That despite everything he tried, everywhere he looked, there was no hint of him.
No one even knew what he looked like to search for him.
Every time he saw Anya, he heard the voice telling him to ask. Ask for everything she knew about him, but he couldn't.
He just couldn't.
Wether she'd been so happy lately or not, he couldn't bring him up to her.
Loid came to sit down again and looked through his notes.
There had to be something here. There had to be something he'd learned to give him some trace, some clue to go off of.
He flipped through his notes he'd taken when he was the SSS and settled on a page.
He'd looked at it before, but moved past it, in hopes of finding something better.
He hadn't.
This would have to do for now.
—-
Fweeeeeeeeeet!
The whistle blew and the relay began.
From the side-lines, Forger watched as the first kid jumped a small hurdle, somersaulted over a mat, jumped between tires, dashed around cones, and army crawled underneath a net set up on one side of the gym.
The obstacle course was run halfway through when the next kid went, and the next, halfway through that.
The students waited in line for their turn as they cycled through, the gym teacher keeping them at a steady pace. The scratching of his pen that logged the kid's times, lost in the sea of squeaking shoes and excited children.
He cued the next kid to start as the last rejoined the line at the back.
Damian waited in the middle somewhere with his friends and they took a couple steps forward. The spot at the front, filled, as he darted a glance in forger's direction.
He'd noticed her sitting out from the very start. It was hard not to when she was the only one not participating.
It prompted a suspected connection to the bandages he'd seen earlier that day, entirely by accident.
He'd been coming from the dorms with his friends when he found Forger and Blackbell in conversation walking to the school.
Blackbell saw him first and stuck her tongue out at him, unprovoked, and it startled Forger. She swept her hands behind her reflexively, at their presence.
It was weird.
Later that morning, he saw the bandages when class ended. Saw the white wrapping as Forger packed her bag up when he came down from his seat.
So it wasn't entirely accidental when he purposefully looked her way.
After that, the subtle ways she hid her hands were obvious to him.
How she pulled her sleeves as low as possible or held them behind her back. How sometimes she'd sit on them, or hold them between her knees when she could.
But that couldn't be the reason for her pass from Phys. Ed., could it? It was just her hands.
And why would she care so much?
Damian looked away as he stepped forward again. It would be his turn after the next two kids.
He should stop thinking about it now, he should concentrate.
He was determined to beat the course in record time. To be able to tell his father he was the most athletic student in Cecil Hall.
The kids went and he followed soon after.
Damian rushed forward when the teacher blew the whistle and easily jumped the hurdle. The somersault everyone else did, upstaged by his dive onto the mat. He tucked his head in and the impact greeted his shoulder. It flowed over his back and he scarcely felt a thing.
Damian sprang up from the roll, barely a second lost, and raced for the tires. They were laid face-up in two rows, tightly pressed into each other like a honeycomb.
His feet barely touched them and jumped between them with incredible accuracy.
He flew from them to the cones, next. Dodging them with such speed, he imagined they shook when he passed.
Then the nets.
It was a near belly slide to transition from running to crawling beneath like a seasoned veteran.
The click of a stopwatch was heard when he crossed the finish line and knew he was victorious. The champion he knew he had to be.
The next round would be even better, no one would beat his time. He'd make sure he was the best.
Damian rejoined the line for the next round feeling pumped. He was ready to go again. He was going to demolish all the competition. No one stood a chance. Not with a Desmond here.
"Wow! You should have seen yourself, Boss! You were super fast!" He heard Ewen say a half a minute later when he came up behind him.
Desmond sniffed, his hands in his pockets. "I know." He said.
Emile also praised his skill when he came up shortly after, panting for breath.
They chatted eagerly for a moment as the lined moved along.
"Are you curious about the rumours?" Ewen asked Damian.
"What?" He turned to face him. Turned away from Forger who he hadn't noticed he was looking at.
The girl, who it turned out, he didn't know much about as he broke down what he knew of her.
"Um . . .I'm was thinking what a wimp she is for skipping out." He lied.
"Yeah, how lame." Emile reaffirmed. "She looks fine, she's probably just looking for attention."
"Pft, yeah." Damian scoffed, refraining from commenting further to let the topic end. The fact he'd looked at her again without realizing it happened, irritating him.
He used the energy in his next run through, striving for an even better time. And an even better one the next.
With the course being fairly short, the students each went through several laps.
The gym teacher blew the whistle loudly, declaring the class was over.
He didn't announce who was fastest. He didn't mention anything about Damian's world breaking records. He did say to come see him if they wanted their time, and only their own.
He simply directed the kids to the locker rooms to change.
'Tch, how annoying.' Thought Damian. How was he supposed to impress his father if his teachers kept getting in the way?
He knew he did the best, but it wasn't the same without confirmation.
Damian quickly changed and exited the lockers with his friends and noticed Forger waiting by the gym entrance for Blackbell.
He passed by without a word and left, considering his options once more.
Oddly, he had very little information on Forger. There was enough time spent between them that implied he knew more about her than he actually did.
No matter how much he thought about it, he knew almost nothing. Nothing about her life, very little about her family. Heck, if someone asked him what her favourite colour was, he wouldn't be able to answer.
Not that it mattered. That stuff wasn't important if he was just wanted dirt on her.
Or . . .maybe it did. . .Yeah. . . He guessed if he really wanted the truth, he'd need to dig deeper into her life.
Did he really want to do that, though? All he wanted to know was what happened and the weird things Forger could do. He wasn't interested in learning any of that other stuff.
And even if he was, how? It's not like he could just start up a conversation, could he? He didn't want her think he wanted to be friends.
A conclusion that would to easy to come to after that hijacking incident. When they'd talked and he'd let it slip he was just watching out for her on the bus.
Then it became very clear she only wanted to be friends because of who he was.
He had to be careful to not give her the wrong idea.
'She's just like the others', his thoughts turning bitter as he remembered it. He wasn't sure why it upset him. Why did he care? It's not like he was losing out or anything. He didn't care. He never cared any other time that happened, it was expected.
So why did he feel disappointed the instant he thought of it? Why did his anger fizzle out almost immediately after? It made no sense.
'Whatever', Damian thought, peeved. 'I don't care.' He amended.
Once he found out the truth, it wouldn't matter, anyway. She wouldn't want to be his friend after that, and that's the way he wanted it.
Right?
Right.
Is what he told himself.
—-
Twilight waited until Anya left the building to follow behind.
Normally he liked her to go straight home after school, but it was Friday, and she had catching up to do with the Blackbell girl.
It was a constant debate wether he should've allowed her to go without him or Yor right beside her, but he knew it'd be fine. He was being finicky.
As long as one of them was close enough, he could jump in if need be.
He parked a little ways away from Martha and donned a disguise. A security guard a simple task to pose as, and take a post inside the building.
He didn't enter the same area as Anya, but remained at a watchful distance. He could see her looking through clothes with Becky, but couldn't make out their words.
He went on with his first objective and ascertained exits and entry points. Where someone might come in any second and catch them off guard.
Twilight ran through several simulations of how he'd dispatch them, or simply take Anya and escape. He included Blackbell and Martha in these hypothetical situations, knowing he couldn't just leave them alone.
It was highly likely they would use them as leverage or hostages to get what they wanted, he couldn't risk it.
Twilight wasn't just worried about Kai, either. He'd found records of a few names and numbers involved with the lab.
People who might know what the lab did, what Anya was. What if they came after her, too? He had to be prepared.
He'd shared this with Yor and she'd pointed out a name she recognized in his notes. A lady she'd "interrogated" and killed.
So, they most likely did.
Just because the lab was down, didn't mean she was safe. Not as safe as he'd like. She wouldn't be until they could deal with everyone who knew of the lab.
It would be a constant danger in the future to look out for unless they got rid of them.
Yor was already readying for the questioning and disposing of bodies that would take place soon.
She would get as much data as she could out of them before taking them out. It was the best lead they had so far to find the director, but knew it might be fruitless.
Vincent Chad hadn't had anything, and he'd employed their services.
Anya stepped into a changing room and he hoped she didn't know he was there.
He wanted her to be able enjoy herself without feeling hovered over. He wanted her to enjoy just being with her friend and not worry about everything he was worrying about.
She didn't seem to notice him the entire afternoon though, and didn't look his way once.
Didn't look his way when they went for ice cream after, and walked around the park for a bit.
Twilight trailed a ways behind in a new disguise. A position from which he could still see the enormous amount of peanut toppings Anya prioritized.
He studied each person the girls passed, each person ahead and behind them. Studied the trees where anyone could be watching.
When they went home, it was a load off his mind that they were no longer out in the open.
He didn't expect a shopping trip to be so stressful.
—-
Just her luck.
Anya thought as she sat across from Damian in art class.
The teacher explained the project and what they'd be doing. Anya, scheming for Plan B, as she beheld the popsicle sticks and glue laid out before her group.
They were then instructed to role up their sleeves and Anya hoped the teacher wouldn't notice that she didn't.
It made her anxious to have her hands out in the open as they started, a paranoia every time she reached for more sticks. But the intense focus the others had on their projects didn't lend her any attention.
It made it easier to concentrate on her own.
Her house was going to be amazing, she decided. Her classmates would be jealous they hadn't thought of it first.
Her initial task, to take sticks and break them into four even pieces. She glued them back together and made four squares she placed on her building platform.
The base came next and the floors, then the walls with protruding appendages.
Before she built the roof, she finished the back wall and an addition to the front.
Anya proudly considered her work. The house wasn't large, but it was beautiful.
It was a little lopsided since she couldn't get the wheels identical, but it just added character.
The wings on the sides drooped a little too, and she worried it'd need more glue.
Anya poked at the propeller on the back to make sure it'd stay, and it held.
It was perfect.
She'd finished in plenty of time like she'd planned, and looked to Damian's. He felt her watching and raised his gaze to her.
Anya smiled her warmest, friendliest smile.
"Anya can help." She said in her sweetest voice, referring to the elaborate styled building he assembled with meticulous care.
A look came over his face she couldn't distinguish, his eyes locking onto her. A stunned moment, when a choked sound emerged instead of words.
"Wh—what do you mean, you'll help?!" He eventually said.
"What even is that?!" He asked her, her building the object of his scrutiny.
"It's Anya's house."
"You can't call that a house! Why does it have arms? Where's the door?!" He asked.
"Right there" Anya pointed to it on the second floor.
"Obviously." She scoffed.
"How is that a door? What is that thing in front of it?!"
"A slide."
"You can't put a slide on a house! How are people supposed to get inside?"
"By climbing a rope up the wall." She said.
'Like Bondman in Spy Wars.' She recalled him scaling a tall building in the show.
"That's a terrible idea!" He so generously offered.
SHOCK! Anya gaped at him. She was so sure it would impress him.
"You're hopeless. Never mind helping with mine, you can't even make your own properly. Besides, last time I let you help, you ruined everything." Damian said, referring to the failure of a griffin that resulted from her "assistance".
"Oh. . ." Anya's spirits sank, her gaze lowering in dejection. She'd hoped she could make up for last time.
But she felt him tense and he sighed.
"I guess. . .you can help with this." He pointed to a side wall not yet finished. "But that's it."
"Okay!" Anya smiled again and he looked away rather quickly.
Damian told her what it was supposed to look like and she did her very best. He often glanced from his own work to make sure she was doing it right.
He couldn't let it end up like last time.
After the wall was done, Anya edged her way into other parts. Damian, giving up on keeping her out of it.
"I'm surprised you didn't mess it up. Not bad." He surveyed the architecture, giving it one last look over. A mansion as big as he could make it, with the limited supplies they were given.
"You did a really good job!" Anya told him, a shade of bright red gracing his face as it contorted into speechless. . . she didn't know what that was. Even reading his mind, she couldn't tell what it was. It felt weird. . . .
"Uh. . .Of—of course I did!" He looked to the side, folding his arms. "I'm a Desmond!" He said, offering no other words. A bright smile greeting him, when he looked back.
"Wh—what is it?!"
She shrugged and swung her legs back and forth.
She may not understand everything he was feeling, but it was obvious he was pleased with the resulting project.
It was a small step, but Anya had done well.
She felt triumphant as she tidied up her space. The two others working on their own houses, diminishing the awkwardness when Anya noticed her hand.
The glue that had found it's way to her lower palm, attaching the edge of her sleeve to her bandages. It was nearly dried, Anya, not sure when this happened.
She tugged lightly at it behind the safety of the table to separate it, but it wasn't hard enough.
She was afraid to pull too much. What if it ripped her sleeve? Was it adhered enough for that to happen? How well would the dressing hold?
She tugged again, and it held strong.
Was this a bad thing? Her parents always told her to keep it as clean as possible.
She gave it another pull and it still didn't come off. Should she try harder? It made her anxious.
Anya blew a raspberry. How did this happen? This was going to drive her nuts.
She tried to peel it away one more time when a familiar shiver ran down her back. She looked up to see Damian watching curiously.
If her hands weren't already hidden, they would have slammed in her lap. They did anyway, but it was less noticeable. Less noticeable than her intake of breath as she felt her whole body tense. An effort not to flinch that backfired.
'It was fine. It was fine, it was fine, it was fine, it was fine.' She repeated.
Her hands were hidden, he didn't see. And even if he did, she'd lie about it.
Damian didn't say anything and raised an eyebrow at her weird behaviour.
Anya broke eye contact when he didn't, and squeezed her hands between her knees.
Maybe it was ridiculous. This need to hide her hands from anyone who might see. Who might ask questions.
They made her angry and confused. Made her skin crawl with disgust, even she didn't want to look at them.
She hated they were there. Hated looking at them. Hated what was underneath.
It fed her refusal to let anyone see. To let anyone know they'd existed. She would've convinced herself it had never happened if the evidence didn't affront her eyeballs all the time.
Affront her with reminders until they were healed. Until they disappeared and she wouldn't have to look at them ever again. Until they were gone without a mark left behind, without scars.
She knew there wouldn't be any.
There weren't last time.
"If you're done with your project, go ahead and put it on the counter." Ms. Dawson said and pointed to one side of the room.
Anya waited until Damian left with his, to jump off her seat and grab her own.
The teacher helped the tiny people lift them up as they came, and were instructed to clean up their area.
Becky and Anya left together when the class ended. Anya, sending Becky ahead of her to split off into the bathroom.
She wasn't sure this was a good idea. To try and soak the glue out, but she couldn't leave it like this. It would have to come off eventually.
The tap was twisted slightly to control water flow and Anya carefully wet the edge of her uniform. It took a couple minutes of scrubbing, but it came loose. Leaving her to rinse as much as she could out of the fabric.
Unfortunately, wetting the sleeve, also wet the bandages. It soaked into the dressing and the gauze at the base level. She could feel it moistening her hand.
Should she leave it? Her parents said wet bandages were also bad. They said it could lead to bacteria and infection.
Maybe she could just undo the area around her hand. But what if the rest came undone 'cause of that? She couldn't go to the nurse 'cause then she'd see.
Anya could already feel her palm clamming up at the invading water.
She couldn't take it off, it made her too nervous. Maybe it would dry out.
Anya tore off a piece of paper towel and absorbed as much of it as she could and made it to the next class not long before the bell rang.
Anya decided to fake being sick if there was glue next time.