Hafsa can't bear to look down again. If she does, she'd be met with Ezekiel's dull, lifeless eyes. So she focuses on the dark feline concealed in shadows. Although he typically wore bright colors, his attire is nearly all black save for bone-like markings that outlined a skeleton; an attempt at a costume.
"To… ma…?"
Her grip on Desmond's hand tightens. Although she cannot see him, she can feel his pulse racing.
Toma doesn't move from his hunched stance. He looks back at them with a blank, almost catatonic, expression. Blended into the darkness, towering and silent, the sight of him makes the serval's blood run cold. That and of course, the gun he has clenched in his right hand.
Behind her, Desmond dares to speak. "T-Toma… what happened?"
His quavering demand is met with yet more silence. Ignoring them? No, it's entirely possible he can't even hear them.
"Hafsa…" The ram lowers his voice, muttering at Hafsa's back. "Something's wrong with him. He might be dangerous."
His eyes dart down to the dead rhinoceros. Scratch that, he's definitely dangerous.
"We shouldn't get too close until we—"
Hafsa lets go of his hand before he can finish. She squats down, and begins to inspect Ezekiel. Ezekiel's body.
The first thing she notices is his face. His usually grey skin is almost a pitch black void, darkened by water. Droplets of water trickle down his horn, down his lip, sliding in between his lower teeth, all stained a dark, putrid crimson. Even in death, his mouth is still open. But it's his expression that haunts the serval. He's smiling.
It's a twisted grin, strained uncomfortably tight, making the wrinkliness of his skin even more pronounced. Combined with his eyes, still wide open, he almost seems in the middle of one of his classic tirades. But of course, there's no light behind his eyes, and his entire mouth is glistening red with blood. He'd spat up a good amount. Some viscous bubbles still dance around the upturned corner of his mouth.
Hafsa stares down at him. What exactly should she be feeling right now? Ezekiel was a loathsome animal that saw her as less than an insect, and was no doubt behind this atrocity. He only ever antagonized her and all other carnivores, blackmailed her friend, and unrepentantly fought for her and everyone like her to be expelled. He intended for people to die today, yet still carried out this needlessly cruel and convoluted attack. Should she feel vindicated? Relieved, even?
She's not sure what she should be feeling. But right now, all she feels is incredibly revolted. Because the Ezekiel that's lying beneath her was her classmate, and a teenager, and a person, and he's dead now. And no matter how much she hates someone, and she hated Ezekiel a lot, death is just too great a punishment. Maybe Ezekiel realized that in then end, too.
The pink sludge on the floor shifts, indicating Desmond is now at her side. She glances up, meeting an equally disturbed sheep nervously glaring at the body.
"You should look away." She cautions.
"I… I can handle it… Probably…."
Hafsa doesn't protest further. Instead, she lets him stand awkwardly next to her as she continues to inspect the rhino.
She remembers hearing two gunshots, and indeed, there are two small gashes on his body. One, noticeably, is in his chest, just above his left pectoral. The small, circular hole pierces through his clothes, creating a splotchy halo of blood around the radius. Buried deep inside, it stands to reason, is a bullet. The thought seems so incongruous considering they are in a school, but that must be true. She almost doesn't spot the second bullet wound, but notices darker streaks of pink beneath his head. He had been shot in the throat as well. The ungulate's large head covers the wound in shadow, tempting Hafsa to tilt it to the side, but she isn't stupid enough to go tampering with a crime scene (excessively).
Still, she can make out the general gist. A hole to the left of his Adam's apple confirms that was probably the fatal blow, and it too is smeared in blood. Perhaps because Ezekiel struggled, or tried speaking, but the wound is far more irregularly shaped than the one in his chest; it appears to been stretched larger, with other scratches and cuts nearby.
"Hafsa, look."
Desmond redirects her attention, pointing to Ezekiel's right wrist. Calloused and partially underwater, it doesn't look particularly strange. But the ram's finger hones in on the area of his radius and ulna, and that's when the feline notices thin scratch marks, deep enough for some blood to leak out into thin wispy strands of pink that swim around the pool of filthy water. How like her Watson to notice that detail.
Aside from these points of interest, the body seems to be otherwise intact. It's enough to paint a clearer picture of what exactly went down, but of course, Hafsa is still missing a key testimony. She stands up, fighting against the weight of her filthy gown, and approaches the panther who remained immobile the entire time. Desmond bleats out incoherent noises of concern, but ultimately fails to stop her.
"Toma… tell us what happened." Her voice is still wavering, despite herself, but her eyes shimmer with determination regardless of the corridor's broken lighting.
Toma stares back, and for the first time, appears to have some sort of reaction. A blink, and then another. And finally, something.
"Hafsa…"
"Ezekiel's dead."
"He's… Yeah…" His words are slow, clumsy.
The panther's daze only hastens Hafsa's tone. "Toma, tell me this wasn't you. Tell me you didn't kill him."
He looks down at her, almost sleepily, and furrows his brows as if he doesn't understand."I…"
The female cat's nerve spikes. "Tell me, Toma! Why... Why are you holding that gun?! Tell me you didn't shoot him!"
Desmond steps towards her. "Hafsa, calm down—"
Her blood runs hot. She grabs at his shirt, fisting the fabric and pulling it towards her as she bared her fangs underneath her muzzle. "Well?!Say something, damn it!"
Toma looks at her, then at Desmond, then past him.
"SAY SOMETHING!"
"I… I did it."
Silence.
Only the delicate whisperings of water indicate time is passing.
Desmond feels as if he should say something. He's not quite sure what, but he opens his mouth anyway. However, no words manage to come out, because he is interrupted by the harsh sound of skin striking skin.
Hafsa slaps Toma across the face. Hard. The raw impact of her open palm reverberates along the hallway, down the stairs, and possibly across the entire academy.
"You fucking… idiot!"She screams.
The panther, facing sideways, lifts a paw to gently rub his cheek.
"Do you have any idea what you've done?!Do you know what's gonna happen to you now?!"
Feverish tears streak down the serval's face, disappearing into the wired casings of her muzzle. "You killed a herbie! Do you have any idea what they'll do to you now?! You could go to jail for life!"
Toma's expression is concealed but he replies in a tone bordering on amused. "I'm already a convicted criminal. It doesn't matter, for someone like m—"
"So what?!"Hafsa sobs. "You were innocent!You could've fought it, because you were innocent, and of course you were! Until now! Now—now look at you! I can't defend you now!"
His his jaw, agape, twitches. He looks… hurt, genuinely. But he offers no counter to that. Instead, all he can do is hang his head, not daring to look at either of them.
Desmond, still standing behind Hafsa, speaks up. "That gun you're holding… It's Ezekiel's, isn't it?"
Toma looks down at his hand, noticing the gun for the first time. "I… uh, yeah. How did you…?"
"I know you don't own a fucking gun, Toma."
The panther almost laughs at that.
"It's not yours, then." The sheep grips and scratches at his lower horns. "Did you kill him in self-defense?"
"I… I don't know. Yeah?"
"I need a more confident answer."
"Y-yes… It was self-defense."
Desmond nods. "Yes, it was. That's what you're gonna say and that's how we're gonna treat it."
Hafsa whips her head around to face the herbivore, baffled. "Are you serious?! You're just gonna take his word for it?! The police will beg to differ!"
But Desmond's expression only hardens. It's a challenge. "Why wouldn't you take his word for it? Don't you trust him? Isn't he your friend?"
The female's whiskers' twitch. Her mental barricade cracks, letting a wave of ice cold guilt soak her senses back to life. The reality of the situation becomes clear: she's being faced with the ultimate test of her trust. Her friend has a smoking gun in his hand, and is claiming self-defense. Does she believe him? Can she?Shouldshe?
Of course not, her inner voice hisses. He's a carnie surrounded by blood. It's impossible for him to be thinking clearly. He must have reached for the gun the moment it left Ezekiel's hands. A panther of his size could have easily made a run for it or knocked him unconscious, but he wanted to kill. We carnivores can't help who we want.
Immediately after, the same inner voice, in a much more offended tone, chastises her. What a heartless monster you are. You call Toma a friend, you claim to care about him, yet you scream 'murderer' the second things take a turn? Toma's not like you. He's kind, and he's genuine. Not some deranged animal that should be held on a leash. Of course Ezekiel was going to shoot him if he hadn't stopped him. It was kill or be killed.
This inner dialogue continues back and forth for what seems like eternity, though in reality, it's closer to half of a second. In the end, when she looks into Toma's face, utterly devoid of hope, she's faced with a final question:
Guilty or innocent, can she still call him her friend?
And she knows the answer to that instantly.
"…I'm sorry. You're right."
With a final sigh, she faces the panther once more. "Toma. From now on, no matter what you think, you did this in self-defense. Do you understand?"
The dark cat shatters, dropping the gun in his hand, and sinks to his knees to land just below her eye level. The splatter crashes through the water, soaking into the serval's gown and filling the humid halls with ghostly splashing.
"I… I'm s-so scared…" Toma sobs. His eyes, wet with tears, plead at Hafsa as if she were God himself. "I don't wanna go back…"
Hafsa wraps her arms around his shoulders, resting her muzzle atop the panther's head. "It'll be okay. You'll be okay."
Her arms tighten around him, steadying his trembling frame and allowing him to bury his nose in the crook of her neck, where she can feel the dampness of his fur left by tears. He chokes out some more snivels, arms limp at his side, as Desmond approaches to offer some reassuring back rubs.
Suddenly, Hafsa's body tenses, prompting both males to recoil back into themselves. She lets go of the dark feline and positions herself to cover him from view, confronting the empty hallway leading to the stairwell. Both Toma and Desmond stay motionless, mostly out of confusion, until they finally pick up what Hafsa had heard long before: the hurried footsteps reverberating throughout the floor.
As the splashes of movement grow nearer and nearer, the trio braces themselves for a teacher or guard to stumble across the crime scene. But as the footsteps bend the corner, they're met with neither teacher nor guard.
It's Solomon.
His face laced with concern, slightly out of breath. His costume is missing the cape, mask, and bowtie, probably abandoned somewhere during the panic, and his white dress up shirt is dripping and dyed with a pink-to-red mesh of colors. His eyes meet Hafsa's, but instantly dip down to Ezekiel's body, then finally noticing the two other males behind her.
He doesn't speak up immediately. Fifty different emotions replay on his face as he struggles to absorb the inexplicable situation he came across. After an impossible long amount of time, he finally says something.
"What the hell is going on?"
Hafsa wastes no time and waddles up to him, hugging his neck. "Thank God you're okay!"
The caracal can't help but return the gesture, instinctively wrapping his arms around her waist, but as soon as their chests touch, Hafsa flinches.
"You're drenched! Even more than me!"
Solomon lowers his ears, embarrassed. "I may have slipped and fell. These shoes are not very good for running."
"Poor thing..." His girlfriend snakes a hand up to wipe her thumb across his cheek, but her senses soon overwhelm her. Covered in bloody water, he reeks of flesh, and despite wearing a muzzle, she'd rather not expose herself to the smell any more than the current situation demands. Scrunching her nose, she withdraws and allows Solomon to venture further in.
"I'm glad to see you're okay," He says, but pans down to the rhinoceros laying flat on his back. "But this is… a lot to take in."
He immediately looks at Toma, who averts his gaze without a word. Desmond steps in, strangely defensive. "It was self-defense. Ezekiel had a gun on Toma. You of all people should know what a danger that is."
"I have no doubt Ezekiel instigated. Not just this, but everything. And I know he would've fired. So I don't blame Toma."
Still, his expression darkens. "But you must know this won't end well."
All three of them gulp.
"S-self defense isn't murder!" Hafsa stammers, already preparing her case. "It wasn't his fault!"
"It's not murder but it's still jail time. And considering Toma already has a criminal record, it's unlikely the jury will be pulling any punches."
"Oh God…" Toma mutters into his hands.
"Not helping!" The serval snaps.
"I'm being realistic." Solomon counters. "I want to help as much as you do, but that can only happen once we're honest with ourselves. And that also means keeping our distance."
"Am I the only one who thinks we have a solid case?" Desmond protests. "Everyone in school knew Ezekiel's reputation. Not to speak ill of the… well… we know that DAVID is behind this. The gun is Ezekiel's, that should be easy enough to prove. And we have plenty of people to vouch for Toma's character. The issue is about getting the lightest possible sentence considering that we can prove it was self-defense."
"How many years of jail time is killing in self-defense?" Hafsa asks, prompting Toma to fish around in his pocket.
"Don't look that up!" Solomon barks, freezing the panther in place.
"Whatever it is, it's better than murder or predation." The Jacob sheep adds. "Let's just be honest and fight it the right way."
"I don't get it…" Toma rubs his eyes. "Are you guys really defending me? Even when I…?"
"You're a carnivore, Toma." Hafsa says with a firm voice. "But before that, you're a kind person, and my friend. I'm sick of second-guessing everything. I—"
She falters, before continuing. "This all happened because I couldn't be honest with myself. I made other people fight my battles."
"It was everyone's battles." Solomon interjects.
"And I was too selfish to pick a side. All for— all for what?I couldn't protect anyone." She scoffs, blinking away tears.
"You wanted everyone to get along." Desmond insists. "Everything you did was for the students of Noah's Arc. Anyone can see that."
"You're wrong." The serval sniffles. "It was all for my ego. I just wanted people to like me."
Toma stands up taller. "I'm no better than you, then. Agreeing to run for vice, starting CHAMP. It wasn't for any noble cause. I just… didn't want to be hated anymore. I just wanted friends."
Hafsa closes the distance between her and Toma once again, pressing her forehead against his broad chest. "You have me. And Desmond, and Solomon, and Brian, and everyone else. I won't turn my back on you anymore. We'll make this right together, okay?"
A fat teardrop falls into the pool of water below with aplishas Toma returns the hug. Desmond looks on with a tired smile. It's good to have Hafsa back, the real one. His eyes stray briefly and land on Solomon, who also stands by. His disposition, however, does not look as optimistic. His brows strain into a troubled knot that clearly reflects a racing mind.
The ram's reassured heart once again falls into turmoil.
AN: Thank you for reading! Pathetic update schedule aside, we carry on. Things are not looking very bright, but they've gotten out of worse! ...Right?
Take it easy and stay safe.