Chapter Text
Despite the absolute need to know everything, immediately, right then, thank you very much, Mr. Benedict insisted that it was growing late and that discussion would wait until the following morning. Sam was shown to her room (she was unsurprised to see it populated with books, though not so overcrowded as other places in the house), as well as given a few sets of pajamas. They were slightly too big on her. Perhaps they belonged to Rhonda, at some point?
This smaller mystery was proving an ill distraction to the much larger, much more pressing mystery dropped on her just hours earlier. How on earth did they expect her to just go to sleep? She was tired, certainly, and her feet were sore, but her mind was fast awake and much too excited to fall asleep.
She didn’t have her backpack, or else she might have fiddled with her cards or taken out one of her books to read. Instead she got up and began to pace, a habit that had struck a long while ago and had never truly gone away. Her ankles protested after the day’s long events, but there was no way she could simply lie down at this point. She amused herself briefly by snooping on the bookshelves in her room, but they were all unfamiliar, and… Somewhat dry.
What I wouldn’t give for something from my own shelf, Sam thought, not for the first time that night. A good Terry Pratchett novel would do wonders for soothing her nerves, or even a reread of The Hobbit , or…
Oh, blast it all. As quietly as she could, Sam gathered her frayed nerves and crept silently out the door.
The halls outside were unfamiliar, though not entirely unwelcoming. She stuck close to them, noting the creaking floorboards and odd little sounds elderly houses liked to make. She was small enough to be near silent as she moved, though, even if she didn’t really know where she was going.
Her feet carried her to the kitchen without thinking, guided by the low light that could be seen filtering through the window. She felt safe in the dark. Even though there must have been a number of people in the house, and perhaps even some awake themselves, it was quiet now; she could pretend she was alone. Perhaps like a mouse, Sam thought, One who’s secretly taken up residence in a mysterious old home. And maybe I’ve ventured out in the night, perhaps for a snack or in search of a drink…
Her mouth prickled at the thought of a cool glass of water, but she was a guest here, wasn’t she? It was probably rude to just turn on the tap without a word, so instead she contented herself by leaning against the counter closest to the window overlooking the yard. There was a draft coming delicately from the edges of the pane as she did, and when she closed her eyes she could smell the cool air of the city outside. She breathed in deeply — the air tasted different here from her old place, leaning more on the edge of fishy than she was used to. The house must be a little closer to the sea, but Sam didn’t know Stonetown well enough to exactly place it.
She wasn’t sure how long she stood like that, eyes closed and almost dozing. But eventually, without really deciding to, she got up and walked back to her bed, falling quite asleep as she hit the pillow.
Sam rose again at what must have been five or six o’clock. Her eyes bleared, and she longed to sleep until at least the sun rose, but this was her habit and habits were hard to break. So instead she brushed her teeth, showered, and sat in the desk chair while she waited. It was safe to assume that she would be gathered at some point, and less safe to assume that she was just supposed to wander about before then.
The shower and rest had worked wonders. Her heart was calmer — and that was lovely enough on its own — and she just felt lighter, somehow. Maybe whatever situation she had wandered into was something she could handle, after all.
The sun was rising by the time there came a knock at the door. Sam started out of her daydreaming to the sound of Rhonda’s voice chiming through.
“C-coming,” Sam said, shoving her reawakened nerves aside.
“Awake already! Are you an early bird?” Rhonda asked as Sam stepped out. “Sometimes I feel like the only person in this house who can appreciate a good lie-in.”
The two made their way to the kitchen, Rhonda doing most of the talking (a rather lot for someone who just claimed to not be an early bird, Sam felt). She was grateful for the more boisterous presence, especially when she saw that both Number Two and Mr. Benedict were already seated. So many adults in one place was strange after having gone so long trying her best to avoid them when she could.
“I understand that you would like to know more of the situation,” Mr. Benedict began as she sat down, “But best not to take such things on an empty stomach. Rhonda, my dear, could you please pass the orange juice?”
Sam wasn’t feeling hungry at the moment, but forced a piece of toast into her mouth to avoid having to say anything at all. The whole scene was domestic, with Mr. Benedict between Rhonda and Number Two, talking like — well, like family. It made her stomach twist uncomfortably, so she was thankful when, without making a sound, Milligan appeared at the table. As much as she wanted to – knew she was supposed to – participate in the conversation, it was also the last thing on earth she wanted to do at that precise moment.
It is so, so too early for this, Sam thought, pushing her eggs around with her fork. Her mind swirled with questions, but she forced herself to push down her breakfast as best she could. When she had envisioned the morning’s first events, somehow the thought of a simple meal hadn’t even made it into her mind. Food was food, though, even if this was a jarring breakfast compared to her typical granola bar. At least those could be carried around with ease.
Her heart jumped at the reminder. She hoped she’d get her backpack again soon…
After an excruciatingly long breakfast conversation, of which she participated in as sparingly as she dared, Mr. Benedict began to speak.
This led to a number of… revelations.
“Mind control,” Sam said blankly. She stared at the TV in front of her as it droned on about some vague report, mind turning over the creepy monotonous messaging Number Two had tuned it to just moments before. “That is…”
“In a sense,” Mr. Benedict corrected. “As it is right now, the messages are subtle yet insidious — urges to ignore missing people, as you heard, are merely one aspect of these messages.”
More words were said, but Sam was struggling to listen. Unsettlement and anger warred in her stomach as she mulled over this new information. This did, she realized absently, explain the odd questions on the test concerning television and radio.
They are literally poisoning art with these messages, Sam thought, but said instead, “Why is it that you need a team of children to help with this? And do we know who’s sending them in the first place?”
The adults in the room (Milligan had left at some point, though for what reason Sam hadn’t a clue) exchanged a meaningful glance. She couldn’t decipher it, but she was sure there was something there.
“The Institute,” Benedict said. “‘The Learning Institute for the Very Enlightened.’ It is a school which operates on an island very close by, and which takes in a large amount of children. Any children, but most commonly orphans and runaways. The messages appear to be coming from there.”
“I’ve seen it advertised in the papers,” Sam said. Something dawned. “Oh. You want me to infiltrate it.”
Surprise graced Mr. Benedict’s face, even as he tapped his nose in what Sam thought was — approval.
“Not alone,” he said immediately. Number Two nodded strongly beside him. “If I cannot assemble a team, I will not simply throw you to the wolves. But as it stands we are in a dearth of information, and this is our likeliest hope of uncovering this issue. That is,” he said, “this is our only hope.”