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"That’s not a prediction, that’s a spoiler.”
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(Scout Pfeiffer continued from Never Known Questions.)

It was several hours before Scout Pfeiffer took any active steps in her decision to play the game. Murder is serious business.

She mulled it over. Had been, ever since she woke up. Hit all three corners of the island and she was still mulling it over. Scout had a plan, she was certain it could work, but she was being wishy-washy, her own words. There was no one around to tell her to hurry up. Under that logic, she had all the time in the world. Wasn't like she could die at any moment or anything.

Peaceful Meadows, huh? More like Distressed Meadows. Place looked like shit; it became obvious that this place had been abandoned a long time ago and the Chapel's condition proved as much. She had to step around plantlife just to stare out of the stain-glass window at far end of the chapel. Mold, mildew, the whole nine yards, stained the walls and corners. She saw an especially large mushroom when she was outside. Damn near made her gag. But she sucked it up. That's what she was going to have to do. With the shit that's guaranteed to go down, gross-looking mushrooms were going to be tame by comparison.

Scout wanted to say that the island was some sort of hospital grounds, possibly an asylum, but she wasn't one-hundred percent sure on that. Not that it mattered. As long as she knew where everything was. Thinking about it, she was thankful for the condition of the chapel. Meant no one could sneak up on her. More importantly, it meant the positions of the cameras were odd, unlike all of the other. Clearly the people behind those cameras considered cleanliness leagues away from godliness.

The cameras. She took note of every single one she came across. There was one placed above the stained glass window, pointed directly at her. Or maybe at her general direction. Semantics. With the overgrowth practically swallowing up the chapel, the cameras were positioned in strange locations. There was one at the other end of the hallway. Scout's back was to that one. So, really, there was only one camera that had a good enough shot. Would her mother be watching?

... She sighed. Jesus, really? Of all the times to be worried about what that bitch was going to think.

Scout unzipped her dufflebag and reached inside. She pulled out her cigarettes.

Marlboro. The aftertaste was shit, but it did gangbusters whenever her anxiety started to rake up her spine. She knew it was wrong. Her super-ego wanted to slap her id. But it was a hell of a lot more convenient than weed, and at least her brain wouldn't turn to puddy.

The carton was bruised and crushed a little. The cigs were in fine shape, fine enough anyway. Scout took one out. She placed the butt between her lips and fumbled with the lighter she found from the first-aid kit. Her hand was shaking. Stop that. Christ. She covered the cig with one hand and light it with the other. She inhaled...

... Exhaled.

She pocketed the lighter, dropped the carton back into the bag. She held the cigarette between her index and middle finger. Then she promptly shut her brain off, if only for a few moments.

... One might think that smoking in a place of worship was a sign of disrespect. Desecrating The Lord's home. Scout used to believe in that shit, when she was a kid. Her father's side of the family was religious as all hell. Went every Sunday as a matter of fact. Scout never questioned it. It was, after all, the only time she could reliably see her father. Even when she was in middle school, when she doubted, she swallowed her pride just to make her father happy. Once the divorce happened, Scout let it go. Her mother wasn't particularly religious, and Scout had no patience to practice that hocus pocus make-believe bullshit, so why pretend?

Hmm. That made her wonder. Did Gary or Clarice believe in a god? Scout wasn't particularly knowledgeable about Native American religion. She had meant to ask Clarice about it but she never got the chance...

... Something occurred to her, a brief notion, short but strong, one that she did not want to recognize.

No. No way was Clarice on this island too. No way in hell.

She could not throw away the possibility though. The thought never occurred to her. No. No, don't worry about it. She's fine, she's home. She's taking a different science course, she's a senior, she's not here. Thinking this way, it made her feel weak, like a pussy. Scout was far from a pussy.

There was a sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach though. She could not shake it.

See? This is what happens when you turn your brain off Scout. You start thinking with your heart instead of your brain and you'll get yourself killed. Can't get sentimental, buck up, put your big girl panties on.

Scout composed herself. She put the cigarette back to her lips. Inhale, exhale...

"... I hope she's okay."
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Two Mules for Sister Sara. · Crematorium Chapel