Unforgiven.

[Ciel]

(Scout Pfeiffer continued from Die Anywhere Else.)

Scout had to press the weight of her body against the door to make sure that it stayed shut. There was no lock on the doorknob so this was the only appropriate alternative to dragging one of the bodies that littered the closet. Used the body to block the door. Like the chair in the cabin; just an object to be used. Scout was surely going to hell but there was just some sins she would not commit to.

Scout lifted her hoodie. She checked her would and cursed. It was bleeding again, although not as heavily as she feared. Scout took a tumble as she was rounding the corner, a combination of bad footing and lightheartedness. Scout must have unknowingly scattered drops of her own blood along the floor as she crawled into the storage closet.

Yeah no. She wasn't going to wait for help. She had to fix this herself.

Scout took out the first aid. She could tell just from the cut alone that the blade Isabel used was smooth. Scout was thankful. Could have been worse. The knife could have had jagged teeth-like edges. That would have fucked her shit right up. The fact remained that the wound wasn't fatal but it sure as hell looked like one hell of a tear. It was a shock that none of the blood seeped through the hoodie.

It was also a shock that there was no thread or needle or whatever so she could close the wound. Because that's what she thought you were supposed to do with stab wounds. She grunted as she fumbled with a pair of gloves. She lifted her head and noticed the body to the far left.

She recognized the boy's corpse, she'd seen him before but his name escaped her.  She considered using his hunter jacket, then decided against it. Not absorbent enough, she reckoned.

Her eyes met with the other bodies in the room. Two, three, four, five. Five courpses. Nobody she recognized, of course. Smelled like fucking rotten meat though.

"Don't mind me," Scout said to her fellow students, "I'll only be a moment, keep... doing what you're doing."

Her fellow students did not respond. Because they were dead. She took their mutual silence as consent and she put on her gloves.

She could not close the wound, but she could stop the bleeding. Gloves on, Scout took a pad of sterile gauze and pressed it against the cut. She cringed. The would was hot and smart as all hell but she sucked it up. It took two pads of gauze but she stopped the bleeding. Scout let out a relieved sigh. Yeah, definitely did not hit an artery.

As she reached inside the first aid kit again, her eyes caught the literal pile of bodies that surrounded her in the enclosed room. The room itself was not as small as Scout imagined. It felt claustrophobic though, and she could see bodies through the opening in the metal shelves, and one in particular pressed up against a wall.

Hell of a thing, killing someone. You take everything they ever had, everything they could have had.

She didn't feel bad for Alvaro because fuck him, that's why. Same for Ramirez. She was glad they were dead, she hoped they burned in hell... Of course, she didn't really mean that. Oh yeah, it was easy to say that now that they can't talk back. Scout wasn't glad they were dead. She was just mad and she was taking it out on them, because Scout didn't know what else to do with herself.

Get mad at the game, not the players, right?

Well. Scout was a player now.

A stupid player too by the looks of it. She actually thought pouring the saline directly onto her wound was a good idea. Like, seriously.

Scout regretted her decision immediately. She reflexively dropped the bottle and clenched her fist, holy fuck, oh fuck, okay, bad idea, that was a terrible fucking idea. Her hand snatched the bottle from the floor, thankful that it didn't fall on its side and spill all over. Not waiting for the pain to subside, she searched around and found some cotton balls. She was a lot more dainty cleaning out the wound.

She probably deserved that. For being stupid.

... What the fuck would she even do if she made it back home? Any potential career paths were cut off from her the second she popped Alvaro in the back. Would Debbie disown her? Fuck, she hoped not. Sometimes she really hated her but if Scout's own mother disowned her... Could she even move back to Brooklyn? No, no way. Even if Lane took her back the whole fucking city would know who she was. NYC was a strange town; the people living there did not give a fuck if you were a celebrity or not. If you're a celebrity and a murderer though? They would give a fuck. They'd give a dozen, in fact. And Gary was out of the question. Like hell Gary would accept her over his own daughter...

Scout gasped, "Clarice."

No, Scout did not forget about Clarice. But she did not hear her name once during the announcements, live or dead, and some part of her brain pushed Clarice out of the picture. Probably the part of her brain that convinced Scout that, no, shooting Ramirez was not the best idea, why not go in and hack at her with your bonesaw. Scout made sure to listen intently to each and every single announcement. She was absolutely certain she would have heard Clarice's name at some point.

The pessimist in Scout said that Clarice was dead meat. Clarice was a ferocious, all-powerful teddy bear and she had the biggest target on her back. If she wasn't dead already, it would not take much longer. And besides, how could she know for sure that Clarice was here? What proof was there? Scout's pessimism told her to just drop it. Worry about yourself, get your head in the game, that bullshit.

But Clarice could be here. That was the big sticking point, the thing that nagged at Scout more than the stab wound. And if Clarice was here, she was still alive. And if she was still alive, well, fuck, Scout underestimated her stepsister.

Scout swallowed. She felt guilty. Maybe she should go look for her.

Or maybe she should worry about herself for now.

Yeah. Nothing she could do about that now.

Scout bound up the wound, carefully, with the gauze and provided tape, her plans formulating in her mind. How many people were left? Scout had a feeling the numbers were dwindling. The list was volatile, she realized. It worked for the long-term, kind of. But she needed short-term plans.

She was finished. The bandaging looked stable enough. She would have to change them, give her wound to breathe. She did a good job though, for a rookie.

Scout's lightheadedness had lessened. She needed to eat and drink but not in there, not in the closet. Too many bad memories. She put all of her stuff away save for the hand sanitizer. Then she lifted herself up to her feet and pulled the door open.

Sawlaska Thunderfuck 5000 was just beyond the threshold.

Scout picked her up.  She looked back into the open closet. Then she left.

(Scout Pfeiffer continued in Gran Torino.)