Chapter Four: King Morgan, Denizen of the Vents
Dinner time rolled around. Morgan had had little progress with his new Make Some Friends Project. Everyone he talked to either seemed to hold a deep-seated personal hatred for him or were only interested in talking to themselves. And throughout all of it, he couldn’t help but keep thinking about the strange guy. He was so… mysterious. Morgan wasn’t used to being so intrigued by anyone, and especially not by anyone so incredibly bizarre.
Speak of the devil. Or think, in this case, as it were.
Morgan squeezed in between the mysterious blonde boy and some artificial redhead girl he hadn’t really noticed before.
“Hi,” Morgan said to the odd guy, “I think we’ve been getting off on all the wrong foot. All the wrong feet? Doesn’t matter. Let’s start over. I’m Morgan,” he introduced himself, extending his hand.
The guy stared at him for a moment, his face blank. Morgan wasn’t sure whether he was being analyzed meticulously or looked over as if he were invisible. Eventually, though, the dim blue eyes dropped to Morgan’s outstretched hand.
“Sven,” he said dully. He didn’t take Morgan’s hand. “And I’m leaving now.” And then he did. Leave, that is. Morgan stared after him, a bewildered expression on his face.
Well… at least he’d gotten some sort of response out of the boy—Sven—right? Morgan sighed. Why did it even matter so much? He wasn’t the sort of person to put forth this effort in getting to know someone. Perhaps he should just let it go…
It was just the memory of that scream that kept him at it. Since then, Morgan hadn’t seen even a glimpse of emotion from Sven. Not once. But last night, he’d been vulnerable. He’d been terrified. And he’d wanted the help. He wouldn’t admit it now, but he’d wanted someone to come find him. Now Morgan just had to find out why.
“Is he always like this?” Morgan grumbled to the girl beside him.
“The fuck should I know?”
“Chill out, homegirl; no need to get catty,” Morgan said defensively.
She rolled her eyes. “Fuck off.”
Morgan made a face. “The hell’s your problem?”
“I’m crazy, remember. Wasn’t aware I needed one.”
“Crazy’s seeing ballerina hippos and talking to the lights,” Morgan said, poking a fork at what Sven had left on his plate. “I don’t think you’re batshit crazy. At least not enough to excuse poor manners.”
“Thanks, cupcake. Your opinion on how crazy I am totally means the world to me.”
“Of course it does. I’m your fucking god.”
“Allow me to bow down before you then, my sire. King of the Crazies. What a fucking liberty,” she remarked, but she sounded amused.
“Pleasure to meet you, milady,” Morgan said, mocking an overdramatic bow. “Allow me to introduce myself. Morgan Leicester, King of the Kingdom of the Habersham Institute, spanning from… about that wall to this one.”
“Cerri Evans, at your service.”
“Ooh, I like her,” Xaphan interjected, his voice holding a touch of excitement.
“Not the time, Xaphan,” Morgan mumbled.
“You’re undermining my crazy,” Cerri said. “And it doesn’t mean much coming from you that I’m ‘normal’ if you’re going to talk to yourself half a minute later.”
“Never claimed you were normal,” Morgan said, leaning back in his chair. He cast his eyes around the room. Guards were stationed at every door. That was weird… If they were guarding all the exits, where had Sven gone?
Continuing to scan the walls, Morgan crossed his arms over his chest. So they were being held here with nowhere else to go; that was reassuring.
No, Morgan discovered, there actually were two doors that were left unguarded. But they didn’t seem to lead much of anywhere; they were doors to the restrooms. Well, if Sven thought that was a good escape plan, he was wrong, and Morgan planned to set him right.
“Alright,” Morgan said, standing, “I’ve got to make a trip to the little boys’ room.”
“Have a blast.”
“Oh, I plan on it.”
Morgan weaved his way through the tables. A couple of the guards gave him odd looks, but he ignored them in favor of slipping into the men’s bathroom.
It was tiny and cramped, but Morgan supposed it did its job; there were three stalls crammed in the small room, along with two sinks.
A gagging sound was coming from one of the stalls, coincidentally the only stall that was occupied. Was Sven choking?
“Sven,” Morgan said, knocking on the door, “Are you okay?”
“Go away.” The voice was hoarse, but it still didn’t seem to have much life behind it.
“Let me in.”
“No,” Sven said immediately.
“Alright,” Morgan sighed. He didn’t want to have to fit two teenage boys in one little stall, but that was how it was going to be, wasn’t it? He stepped into the next stall over and looked from the toilet to the walls. This was going to be interesting.
One hand bracing him against the wall, Morgan climbed onto the porcelain throne. He peered over the top of the stall to see Sven hunched over the bowl, apparently unaware of Morgan’s plans. Well, wasn’t he a bit naïve to think someone like Morgan would just leave it at that? Yeah, not going to happen, Morgan thought wryly.
He curled his fingers around the top of the wall and hoisted himself up, swinging a leg over with an “oof!”
“Wh-what are you doing?” Sven asked.
“You do have emotions!” Morgan exclaimed, swinging over his other leg and dropping onto the top of the toilet.
“Get the hell out!”
“No,” Morgan said simply. He glanced down at the bowl in front of him. That was… disgusting, to say the least. He glanced back up to Sven. Wait… “Sven, are you…?”
“Am I what?” he asked, standing shakily.
“Bulimic?”
“Don’t be ridiculous.” That said, he unlatched the door and headed to the sinks.
“But that looked a hell of a lot like bulimia to me,” Morgan argued, following him.
“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” Sven said, turning on the tap. Morgan watched as he splashed some water onto his face then reached for a paper towel. “You should mind your own business.” Throwing away the damp paper towel, he brushed past Morgan on his way to the exit.
Morgan watched for a moment, debating whether or not to follow. There really wasn’t a whole lot else to do…
And then Morgan’s eyes lighted on a large vent above the sinks. Well, he’d seen people do it in movies…
“Really?” Xaphan asked, clearly amused. “That’s your justification?”
“Shut up. Do you have a better idea?”
Morgan heaved himself up onto the sink that Sven hadn’t been using, resting for a second in the basin as he stared up at the vent. He wasn’t sure how he was going to do this…
He stood in the basin of the sink and reached up to the vent. The cover was held in place by four rusted bolts screwed into the wall. He dug his fingernails under the edge of the metal and tried to pry it off, but of course, that was to no avail. It wasn’t steady, though; it moved a little. Switching tactics, Morgan stuck his fingers through the slats and wiggled it. There was definitely a lot of give to that. Wiggling it, he started to pull. Apparently whatever drywall this consisted of wasn’t in good shape; although it took a minute, the cover came off without much effort.
Morgan tossed the cover to the floor, where it clattered noisily against the tiles. He was sure this was a bad idea on his part, but he’d been full of them lately.
He hoisted himself up, the upper half of his body in the vent while his lower half dangled out helplessly. His feet scrambled at the wall to push the rest of himself in as he heaved himself forward with one huge grunt.
And then he was in. Wasn’t much to turning back now, as he barely fit in the vent as it were. It was like being in boot camp, crawling through the vent on his stomach. He wiggled along, feeling more and more like a snake, for what seemed like hours but was probably little more than a few minutes.
At last, there was another outlet. Morgan wriggled over to it, peering out between the metal slats. It looked like he was in the reception area. It was past visiting hours, though, and so it was completely deserted. Morgan grinned to himself; this was going to be good.
He used much the same trick he had earlier, jiggling the vent cover until it fell to the ground. He waited for a moment, but no one seemed to be around, so it looked like he was in the clear. In a move that could only be described as bumbling and idiotic, he plopped onto the ground.
“Fuck,” he hissed, curling in on himself. That had been unexpected. He’d thought he’d land gracefully. And less on his stomach.
“You’re not in one of those espionage movies,” Xaphan laughed.
“I hate you…” Groaning, Morgan pushed himself to his feet and examined his surroundings. These were the desks behind the scenes… No one would be here until morning. He headed out of that room and to the front desk.
The front desk kept a master key for each wing of the institution to allow visitors in to see patients during the morning hours.
“Let’s see,” Morgan said to himself. “Wing A… that will be this floor then. Wing B’s probably for those cutter kids.” Then he paused. Sven was in Wing B.
Morgan wondered if he screamed like that every night. Well, he’d find out come nightfall. He took the Wing B key as well as the one to his wing, Wing D, and hid them both in the waistband of his pants. He was going to wreak some havoc tonight.
He headed back to the vent he’d come from. It occurred to him now that perhaps he should hide all the evidence he’d left lying about, namely the deposited vent covers. He picked up this one and wheeled a desk chair over to the wall. How was he going to do this…?
Well, there was no way he was going to be able to put the cover back and still head back up the vent. That was out of the question. He could hardly squirm forward up there, let alone turn around to secure the vent cover.
Instead, he shimmied the cover behind one of the filing cabinets. Unless they decided to rearrange all the furniture, they wouldn’t find it.
Satisfied, Morgan nodded to himself and climbed onto the chair. This climbing business was starting to get old. Nonetheless, he heaved himself halfway into the vent, kicked the chair away from the wall, and scrambled inside.
Now, there was nothing to do but wait for curfew.
