The Shell of Casper

- 6 - Those of Bethel

𓁿

The storage room's faded plate glimmered with every sweep of the alarm systems red lights. It illuminated it like a beacon, flashing the engraved title tauntingly.

"Turning now." Rosie whispered into Casper's ear as she crept to the side. His body was tensed, out of fear or quiet concentration, she wasn't sure. The door let out a neglected whimper, exhausted hinges snapping back and forth day after day.

They entered, and Rosie's lungs filled with the rich smell of chemicals and mildew. She wanted to shy away from the disregarded and unneeded headsets, previous owners no longer around to be kept between their proverbial teeth. They were like smooth, metal jaws that could lock themselves to a head once placed, blocking the user's vision. Their eyes, most importantly. The only way to release the jaws was with a pair of keys. It had been too easy for Rosie to get a hold of a pair a couple days ago as she had chatted comfortably with her boss, sneaking her fingers into the small pocket of his pencil organizer. Her precious cameras told her all, letting her weasel valuable secrets into her palms.

    Overall, with the angle she had access to in the storage room, she had seen janitors and management enter with the keys jangling at their hips, and leaving without them soon after. It was where they put them that she didn't exactly know. She released Casper's hand and began rifling through the shelves, pawing through tin containers, sifting through the rejected headsets while ignoring the revulsion clenching in her stomach at the sight of the horrid devices.

    "What's happening?" Casper whispered, his voice low. "Rosie?"

"I'm right here." She murmured from behind him. He jerked and turned to her.

"Sorry, just looking for the keys." Whispering, Rosie dumped out a cardboard box. In it were stacks on stacks of tests with pencil-scribbled answers. A picture of a young face was paperclipped to each booklet. Rosie bit her lip and carried on. She didn't want to stumble upon Casper's. To see the brightness that used to be in his blue eyes. His confident smile. The tiny dimples in his cheeks. Or maybe she did want to find it, since she didn't know when she'd see his full face again.

    Impulsively, Rosie flipped the box and the papers spewed out onto the floor. Casper flinched back as they slid into his boots.

"It's okay." Rosie hissed, pushing her curly black hair from her eyes. "I'm just—checking for the keys." Casper nodded softly and reached out his hand hesitantly to grasp the edge of a shelf. He steadied himself and fisted the cloth of his uniform jacket.

    It was there. Her breath hitched as she found his among several familiar faces. Maisie from her sociology course, Sylvia from her Spanish, Ahmed from her art class.

"Did you find them?" Casper's voice was heart-breakingly hopeful.

"No," She cleared her throat as she pocketed the square photo, leaving one annotated test without an owner.

    Moving to another heavily stocked shelf, Rosie angrily tore out drawer after drawer, scrabbling the contents around, no key in sight.

"Rosie?" Casper breathed out from behind the shelf over. It was deadly quiet, almost just an auditory hallucination. She hissed through her teeth, sliding down the row and wreaking havoc upon the already poorly-organized hoard of rejects and spare parts.

"Rose?" His voice cut through the room once more, his tone serious considering he called her by her real name.

"What—" Rosie's reply was cut short as something cool and sharp pressed against her throat. Sour breath wafted over her shoulder as someone brought their lips to her ears. She couldn't stop the startled cry that escaped her mouth.

"Little miss Rose Lowery." A deep gravelly voice dryly laughed. "Whatever could you be doing in Storage room B?"

    Rosie didn't recognize the voice. Thick fingers pressed against her neck to hold the sharp object to her. Trapping her.

"Knives are not approved weapons to be carried here." Rosie choked out, her dark skin paling. Each movement, each word she spoke made the blade seem to press harder.

"Reapers are unapproved weapons by law," The gritty voice snapped back at her. "Much more dangerous than a pocket knife. So I can carry whatever damn weapon I want."

"Let me go." She managed to order, her tone much less threatening than she had hoped.

"Answer my question."

    Rosie's knees seemed to turn to jelly, but the fear of slipping an inch and bleeding out held her up.

"I didn't do anything wrong." She begged, playing the victim. "You can't just grab whoever you find in the hall and then hold them at knife-point."

"If you don't answer me in three seconds—"

"A janitor! I was looking for a janitor, okay? The new employee threw up in security and I don't have the stomach to mop it up myself."

"So it was a janitor you were looking for in those cardboard boxes?" He growled, his hand stiffening. "Have any luck finding him in the headset bin? Maybe I'll see if he's curled up in a confidential filing cabinet?" His hand reached into her pocket and ripped out the picture of Casper's smiling face. His breathy chuckle hit her cheek, and he tossed it to the ground with a spat.

    Rosie started to cry. She didn't want to crumble. She didn't want to end like this.

"You thought you could lie to me." The breath was putrid, making Rosie want to revolt away with every cell in her body.

"Let her go." Casper came around the shelf, his hand on his blindfold bandaged around his face, and a hammer in the other.