Chapter 7: 8. Guess Who

Pak

(After the Incident)

 

I’ve been in the same dormitory room for decades. Students normally share, but the extra bed in mine sits empty, except for the dust on the beige blanket. I’ve never had a roommate. I assume the authorities won’t allow it. Either that, or nobody wants to live with me. I can’t blame them either way.

Plain white paint covers the walls, graying with time. Splatters and drips decorate the cheap wooden baseboard. Cabbage likes to camp by the hole in the corner that leads to a mouse nest, and he’s gifted me with their corpses more than once. Before I summoned him, I pushed the table up against the hole to try to block them out, but they just chewed through the wooden leg. It teeters when you set anything on it. I haven’t asked for a replacement.

I’ve drawn a target on the wall across from my bed, a large “X” in red chalk. I summon the knife to my hand and hook my finger in the hole in its center. Greenish-silver veins spiral around the dark wooden handle and snake down the blade. Its weight is perfect for throwing, and I’ve been practicing for some time. The blade never seems to dull, no matter how many gashes I leave in the wall. Summoning it used to nauseate me, but I haven’t felt that for a while.

I aim for the target’s center, where the two lines cross, and throw the weapon. It sticks in the northern quadrant. It disappears. Pip. Reappears in my hand. Pip. I throw it again, and it sticks halfway down the northeastern line. Much closer. It disappears, reappears. Pip. Pip. Cabbage perches on my desk, watching my practice with intent. His eyes follow the knife every time it cuts through the air, and every time it disappears, he gives a surprised little head tilt.

I throw it again, but I let go too soon. It sticks a good foot or so above the target. I grunt. Pip. Cabbage teeters to the space below the gashes in the wall, looking up, sniffing. He’s on his toes, legs tense and ready to pounce, as if he wants to catch it.

“No,” I say, bending forward to shoo him away. He grumbles and flutters back to the desk, shooting me a glare. “I don’t want to hurt you…”

He turns away, sticks his leg up, and licks his toes.

I inhale deeply, close my bad eye, and line up the shot. I keep my wrist loose, and let my fingers decide when they want to let go. As the last trace of breath leaves my lungs, I launch the weapon, and it sticks in the inner corner of the western quadrant. Very close.

Someone knocks on the door.

The knife disappears. Cabbage perks up, then flees to his dimension, disappearing through a pocket of punctured air. The door creaks open, and a tall white elf steps into my room, wearing layered gray robes that match his bland, unwrinkled expression.

“Your new roommate,” he says, turning to the side. From behind him shuffles in the lanky figure of the half-human boy I met in the courtyard. He keeps his head ducked, blood-red hair hiding his eyes and ears.

“Kano?” I can’t hide the incredulity in my voice.

The robed man’s eyebrow quirks. “So you do know each other,” he says, glancing between us.

“Told you,” Kano mutters. He drops a bag on the spare bed and plops down beside it, sending up a plume of dust. The frame groans under his weight.

“I don’t want a roommate,” I grumble, dropping my gaze.

“Well, it’s too late for that, I’m afraid,” the man says – then freezes, noticing the target. He clears his throat, maintaining a stoic face. “The papers have already been filed—”

“Then un-file them,” I say through gritted teeth, wincing at my demanding tenor. I don’t mean to sound that way. It’s just how the words come out. Neither of them respond. I peek towards the door. The man meets my eyes, and a static shock pops in my mind, forcing me to look away. Kano fiddles with his bag, making a terrible rustling sound. The tension in the air thickens. I twitch.

“Well,” the man says, smoothing his robes, “as residential director, the Principal has tasked me with conducting random inspections of the students’ quarters, so… be sure to keep your things in order.”

“Yes, sir,” Kano says meekly. I remain silent.

“My office is located in the east wing. Please do not hesitate to bring any questions or concerns to my attention.” He rests his gaze on Kano’s fidgeting form.

“Yes, sir,” he says again. I bristle.

“…Right,” the man says. “Carry on, gentlemen.” He exits the room and gently closes the door.

Kano empties his bag, thumping and shuffling wordlessly. I stare at the floor. He paces to the window, holding a small tin box, his belongings haphazardly strewn across his bed.

“Pak, right?” he says, as if he wasn’t sure.

“Yes.”

He unlatches the window and lets it swing open wide, then opens the tin and plucks out a stick.

“Smoke?” He offers me the box. I hesitate. He flicks his wrist slightly, and the sticks tumble and settle inside, soliciting my attention. I take one. It’s a paper tube, filled with a sweet-smelling herb. He closes the box and pockets it.

“Where did you get these?”

“Market.”

He snaps his fingers in front of his face, producing a small flame, then brings it in close, setting the end on fire. The lit end glows orange as he sucks in his cheeks. A wisp begins to escape his lips, but he breathes it back in.

“There’s a crack in the east wall,” he says, his voice strained. Tiny puffs of smoke flee his mouth with every word, and then he exhales a hearty cloud into the open air. “It’s easy to climb through.”

The smell sends a shiver down my spine, raising chill bumps on my arms. I bring the stick to my lips and inhale it, unlit, tasting its scent.

“Fire?”

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Before I can respond, he snaps his finger just inches from my face.

“No!”

White-hot terror compels my body to move. The memory of that day screeches in my ear—

 

Hey, kid,

 

—and strobes behind my eyes. It’s happening again. I jerk away, toppling off of my bed, and slam my back into the wall—

 

Want to play a game?

 

—but I still feel the child’s clammy palms pressing into my eyes. I barely find my footing before my rear hits the floor, arms braced against the wall to keep myself upright—

 

Answer him!

 

—and no matter how much I beg for them to stop, the devil’s voice still crows the name of that horrible, horrible game…

 

Guess who!

 

“Woah! Hey!” Kano stumbles back, and the flame vanishes. I pant, staring, baring my teeth, like a dog ready to bite.

“I’m sorry – I wasn’t thinking – we’re cool, okay? I’m not going to hurt you—”

“Shut. Up.”

As the adrenaline drains, my legs give in, and I sink down the wall. I squeeze my eyes shut and try to pretend he’s not here, but the smoke smell makes it impossible. I try to disappear, to will my cells into a fine powder and drift away on the wind, but it doesn’t work. It never works.

“Hey.”

He takes a few steps closer. I glance up to find an odd expression on his face, one I don’t recognize: brows turned up, eyes soft and half-closed. He bites his bottom lip.

“I’m sorry,” he says. “Let me help you up.”

He sticks out his hand. I look away and stand up on my own.

“Okay, well… at least smoke this.” He offers me his cigarette, the one he’d already lit. “It’ll help, I swear.”

I hesitate. I saw him smoke it, so it can’t be a trap…

I take it gingerly, bring it to my lips, and pull in the smoke, just as he did. It hovers in my mouth. I inhale, sharply, just as he did, and it fills up my lungs—

I succumb to a violent fit of hacking, until my abdomen aches from the strain. Puffs of smoke break free of my mouth with each convulsion, burning my throat, my nose, my eyes. Kano laughs until he snorts.

“Virgin lungs?” he jeers.

As the coughing fit wanes, a pleasant vibration descends from my crown. The pain in my chest fizzles away, leaving behind a lovely burn. My muscles surrender, and as my lungs settle, I embrace the tingling in my fingers and toes.

“Shut up,” I grunt, then take another drag.

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