FLOOD [Pokémon]

Chapter 49

MARJORIE

Thursday, April 12, 2018

Is she drunk?

If she was, it wasn't on beer or moonshine — Marj couldn't smell any alcohol of any kind on the girl's breath, but she couldn't think of another explanation for Cora's red cheeks or dilated pupils.

Or occasional misstep — the pale-haired girl actually tripped over the last step at the top of the stairs, and would've pancaked her face if Marj hadn't dug her nails into her arm.

"My thanks," Cora said, looking highly embarrassed. "And apologies — it would appear that I'm not one for heels." As she righted herself, she wiped at her sweaty brow. Very sweaty brow. Strange — it was damn near close to absolute zero in the Armstrong Building's empty halls, yet she was leaking like a broken faucet. It was weird enough for an obligatory inquiry to form at the tip of Marj's tongue. But she killed it — Helena told me to take her to the bathroom. I'm not her nanny.

So she just led the girl around the bend, until they reached the restrooms. Cora looked relieved. "Thank you," she said again. "Will ye wait for me? I'll not be a moment."

Marj pursed her lips. Can't you find your own way back? "Make it quick," she said.

"Aye!" Cora said, and turned to go through the door. Marj lashed out, seized her arm again.

"That's the boy's bathroom," she said, pointing to the sign. Cora turned and squinted at the words, and looked mortified.

"Mercy," she muttered. "I'm off my head today, aren't I?"

Marj watched her disappear into the other door, feeling annoyed and at the same time weirdly curious. It wasn't the alcohol-free drunk state she seemed to be in — it was the girl in general. 'Lena had okayed her and the old man's sudden appearances, but... Was she the only one who thought there was something off about her? It wasn't her very archaic accent, not really... It wasn't her very intense focus on the film, a film that had bored Marj to tears the first time she'd seen it, not really... It wasn't the stark contrast between her, pale of hair and porcelain of skin, and Darwin Blakesley, who was brown as a chocolate chip cookie... What was it?

What do you care? Get back to being happy that you aren't at home right now.

Her lips folded in on themselves again. True, but only for another half hour, at best... But there was hope: Ms. Laurent had mentioned coming over tonight. Maybe she could convince her to stay for a late meal...

She continued down along that path, thinking about an enticing spread to lay out for the woman — taco salad maybe? Or meatballs, hadn't she bought two packs of them this weekend? — and didn't notice that something like ten minutes had passed until something landed at the window opposite the wall she leaned against: a Wingull, one peering through the glass right at her, wearing a very angry look on its face. Is that a collar around its neck?

The flying-type Pokémon shifted its glower over to the bathroom, and Marj remembered: Didn't a drunk girl go in there ten minutes ago? Why was it taking her so long to whizz and wash her face?

She stepped into the girl's bathroom. "Cora?" she called. Her voice was clipped, borderline impatient. "Cora?"

At first, no answer. Then a noise, one just like those she sometimes heard at the house at night. Not similar in the actual sound...but in the breath it took out of her, in the way it sent fear crawling along her spine, spreading from inside her chest like cancerous roots. She felt her eyes swell in their sockets as they cast a stupefied gaze around the bathroom, ready to encounter something horrifying.