4. Worst Case

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This chapter is dedicated to Clinton, with thanks again for your support on Patreon. Hope you're enjoying the story!



I didn't know what to do. There was water all over the floor, as well as splashes on Lindy's art desk, and on some of the piles of clothes that were scattered around the room. I tried not to panic, telling myself that I had to find a solution to my problem instead of just giving up. But I didn't know what I could do in this situation. I stopped, closed my eyes, and took a deep breath. Then I looked again, hoping that the nightmare could have been less serious than my first thoughts.

I had to take stock of the situation. There were bad things; puddles and water marks. But there were good things as well, once I forced myself to look for them. For one, Lindy was still asleep and didn't seem to have noticed my unexpected tumble. That girl could sleep through anything. Second, after a closer look on the desk, I saw that the water was mostly on the laminate surface. A few drops had splashed across a box of watercolours, but most of the paint was in little blocks that had individual plastic colours. And there were no drops I could see on any of the pictures, which gave me a great feeling of relief. Intruding in her room was a small misdemeanour, but spoiling a painting would have been a capital offence.

I carried the bowl back to the bathroom, emptied the rest of the water out, and returned it to my room. First task done; I didn't want it to be obvious what I'd attempted. But there would still be questions about the puddles on the floor. They might dry up before the morning, but there was no way I could be sure of that. I didn't think it was likely, especially the bigger ones. Well, I could wipe up the water on the desk, at least. I was about to step back into the bathroom for a towel when I noticed a better solution. There was already a towel in the room, scattered across the floor along with everything else my sister owned. I didn't know how she could move around in here without constantly tripping; I wasn't some kind of neat freak, but I at least kicked all my stuff under the edge of my bed at the end of the day. But a towel that was haphazardly placed on the floor was a blessing. I grabbed a corner and put it on one of the biggest puddles on the carpet. It would soak up more if I could leave it there until morning, and it was still damp from yesterday's shower so that wouldn't give her cause for suspicion.

It was a shame there was only one towel. But I could see another solution when I looked at the desk again, and when I turned to look around the room. There was a stuffed toy in the middle of the floor, looking up at me accusingly. I remembered from the days before the wall that they never stayed in Lindy's bed for long. Like her blankets the stuffies would be on her bed at the start of the night, but would often be thrown to the far corner of the room as she turned over and shifted position. More that once I'd been woken by a midnight flying gerbil, and she always claimed she had been fast asleep.

I picked up the toy, and placed it upside down on the desk. Then I took an old mug with the handle broken off, which had been sitting in the same place, and emptied it down the bathroom sink. There were couple of paint brushes standing in it; the cheap ones that she didn't care too much about damaging, and almost an inch of paint-stained water. Once it was empty I returned it to the desk, lying on its side with the brushes extending into the nearest part of my spill. My instant reading of the situation was that Lindy had thrown a toy out of bed again and it had knocked over the water cup that she'd carelessly failed to empty. That would explain the mark on the desk, now starting to turn pink with a couple of smears of paint from the edge of the mug, as well as any remaining damp patch on the floor below.

Sure I was in the clear now, I padded silently back to my own room and tried to sleep.

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