Yora

I was never a person who defended myself quite often.

The way John acted when I told him that I would probably die—was something that I should’ve seen coming, especially from him. He always looked so determined and cautious, and I think he failed to realize how protective he appeared sometimes towards people, including himself.

That tenacity was quite convincing for me, as if it was possible for me to stand up for myself and for others as well, at the same time.

But I knew John had come far too late to teach me about all of this. If I’d had that tenacity a few months back, perhaps I would’ve seen the damage I’d made to this family sooner.

I shouldn’t have blamed myself entirely for inventing things that killed plenty of people each year.

I couldn’t.

Because if I did . . .

Distracting me, John’s brown eyes caught mine as he beckoned me with a finger to walk slowly along the edge of the manor. We were near the back, where the garages were located. It was equally as dark outside, what with the large apple trees obscuring the moonlight. And it smelled of the ocean from nearby, along with something else that felt out of place—

There was the unpleasant smell of motor exhaust fumes surrounding us, making it so that I almost thought we were near the main road, but that would’ve been impossible. The cars in the garage all must’ve been turned on, but why? Unless that was all a part of the class we had to complete?

John caught onto this before I could even speak up. We’d arrived at the driveway to the garages, where the sounds of roaring engines grew stronger. The cars were definitely on, but it was completely dark. It was impossible to see anything clearly.

Frederic stayed close to the tree line, holding his injured hand. We should have let him stay in the room, to recuperate, but I hadn’t wanted to leave him alone. He was far too frightened to stand still.

My own roommate, giving Frederic a short glance, stopped to whisper something near me, “Yora . . .” He said, “I have a feeling he’s going to be in there.” He directed my focus to the garage, where I knew many cars were sitting dormant.

I walked to where he’d indicated, carefully up the driveway where the sounds of motors created more tension in the air. Anyone in there would die from those fumes.

Running past me to kneel on the floor in front of one the garages, John tried to lift the door up, to release the trapped fumes inside. It was locked.

“Is h-he . . . ?” Frederic was right behind us. “Oh my gosh—”

“Stay out here.” John ordered, more to Frederic than to me.

I tried the garage door as well, along with the other remaining doors, but none of them were budging. We were definitely in the correct place. Otherwise, why would the cars be turned on? Frederic was right about being scared. If any more time passed, then Pippin would die.

Distressed, but composed, John put his hands on the garage door, deeply thinking. I could quite literally see the gears in his head turning.

His focus was disrupted when something banged against that same door, making us all jump back in alarm. From the slit atop the door, a pair of tied hands pounded at the glass, screams muffled by the loud engines.

There was someone in there.

“Pippin!” Frederic called, desperately.

It could’ve been Pippin, or it could’ve been someone else. We didn’t know quite yet.

John stood when the old white speaker perched on top of the far left garage began to crack, like someone had picked up the receiver on the other end, “Students . . .” The professor said, loud enough for us to hear.

All three of us waited closely, impatiently, as the panicked bangs from behind the doors ceased. The noises were an indication that the person inside was still alive.

“Before your friend can tell you about the next class, he must first pass this quiz.” The professor went on, “This is for Yew dorm. Science . . .”

I looked at John, and we nodded in unison.

We were also in the Yew dorm, technically. Which meant that we had to do everything we could to help the people around us. I felt relief knowing he was there, even if we couldn’t figure it all out.

Weak knocking began to replace the banging as the professor continued, “When coolant leaks into the combustion chamber and gets vaporized during the process of combustion, what happens? And also . . . what is the cause of this?”

My eyes fell to the floor, where metal padlocks ensured the doors stayed closed. We needed a combination to open them. John must have figured out that it couldn’t be a personal number combination, it had to be a random set of numbers. This was science. No emotions would come into play during this class.

“Pippin is the only one who can answer this.” The professor ordered sharply. “If he does, I will give you the numbers to unlock your reward.”

With that, the voice faded away, leaving us alone again.

I kicked the lock closest to me, angry. John paced, tracing his fingers along the garage as I heard tapping from the other side. Pippin must have heard the professor too. He was thinking, just like us.

After a minute passed, John knocked on the garage, “Pippin, I’m not sure any of us out here really knows how to answer these questions.” His voice could be heard over the roar of those engines inside, but it was still surprisingly gentle, as if he didn’t want to frighten Pippin.

John could claim he was logical during investigations, but his appearance and manners said otherwise sometimes. I watched him take care of others during difficult situations, including myself. It was exactly what I’d thought of on our way to the garages.

It made me wonder what John saw of me, and of the actions I performed without fully realizing. “Pippin—” I began, but Frederic interrupted me.

Raising his voice, Frederic spoke to Pippin, “We have little time . . . !”

John agreed, “This assignment relates back to you, Pippin.” He reminded us all, “You deal with Westley Motors, therefore the answer lies in your occupation.”

A faint voice spoke from behind the garage, but we could not hear it.

Pippin was a soft-spoken person, and barely said much. He would have to gather his courage in order to complete this test.

John put his ear to the door, listening.

“Can you hear him?” I questioned.

“His voice is faint, but I can hear him slightly.” John sounded concerned. “We can’t let him inhale more of those fumes.”

I blinked, remembering now that those fumes were what Pippin and I created for Westley Motors. Our creations were . . .

Well, they were the reason why Pippin was in the garage in the first place. A long time ago, when we’d just been starting out in our careers as adults, Pippin had asked me for a favor. A favor to create a gasoline and a motor oil with chemicals that would help his vehicles run for longer, without long term damage to the internal systems of the cars.

The Darling Flower was the only thing I’d created that Westley used often for our cigarettes, so the request that Pippin had asked of me seemed almost small in comparison. Despite his shyness, he was bright, and he’d gone out of his way to seek me out, to ask me for help.

And our products worked in the end, I’d created something without having to rely on the Darling Flower for once, and it truly made me feel like I was capable of creating more things. Of course, the chemicals in those products were almost equally as damaging to the environment and to us, but at least they were different.

I looked down at my hands. At any moment, I knew they would probably start shaking at the memories. I was remembering too much, all at once, and if that happened, then . . . then I would . . .

Stepping back when I heard another bang from behind the garage door, I faltered where I stood.

Pippin had risen among his peers at work, and even among his own family members, because of what we’d created together. He had pitched the idea, and I had been the chemist, as I always was for people. I knew he didn’t know exactly what was in the motor oil and gasoline, but that was fine. These people had to turn a blind eye towards reality in order to sleep at night. Just like me—

A pang of guilt hit me as I tried to brush away those thoughts. It was impossible.

My close friend, practically family, Pippin . . . had become the top man at Westley Motors, and now he was inside that garage, dying from the fumes of our creation.

Just like everyone else in the world—

Just like everyone else dying from what I made.

My creations.

And now John would die . . .

And Pippin, he would die, too. Because of me.

“Yora!”

I looked up, taken aback by the strong voice.

──────⊹⊱✫⊰⊹──────

John

He was shaking. Yora was stiff, shivering from something. Was it the cold? But his face was pale, like he’d seen a ghost, or possibly remembered something unpleasant.

I’d seen him take away those cigarettes from the room, but as a result, maybe those memories he’d been trying to forget were coming back.

Was it . . . my fault?

His eyes widened at how I’d called out to him. I had just wanted to wake him up from his thoughts.

“Stay with me, Yora.” I said to him. It was an order. With my finger pointed to the garage, I also made it a point to order Frederic as well, “Frederic, listen to the answers that Pippin gives us.”

Frederic obeyed without hesitation, and pressed his ear to the garage door, repeating what Pippin was telling him from the other side.

I focused my attention to Yora, who had tried to return to his naturally neutral state. He was still pale, and he appeared anxious. I didn’t want him to have a panic attack. I had to help calm him down.

There were many triggers happening around us, and it seemed that Yora had realized this whilst I had not been paying attention to him. I should’ve been more observant.

“J-John . . .” He said, trying to smile. “I’m fine—”

I couldn’t touch him, but I wanted to at least pat him on the shoulder and keep him grounded. I couldn’t do that. I had to calm him with words.

“Just take breaths with me, Yora.” I said, voice quieter.

Yora was hesitant as his dark green eyes darted from the garage to me.

“Pippin is going to live.” I assured him.

Closing our distance, I searched his face, watching him relax. He was eyeing my chest, mimicking my breathing.

This was the first challenge, the first ‘class’, technically. And since my revelation during our stroll through the ballroom, I’d managed to remember the fact that Yora had been responsible for all of this.

Watching his friends and family suffer was evidently hurting him, unless he was lying about it. He could’ve been lying about feeling guilty, but as he stood before me, gloved hands trembling and lips failing to smile mischievously as he always did—

I was having a hard time believing he would kill anyone face to face, when he’d done so inadvertently all of his life.

“You’re not going to kill him,” I’d said softly. I hardly thought he could hear me.

But he did. And when he did, he stared at me, brows creased together, searching my face just like I had done so to him moments ago.

And we stayed there like that, until I saw the tremble in his hands cease, until I saw the darkness in his eyes subside a little, until I could see them become clearer and clearer, like he was escaping the memories that were clouding his vision in smoke.

I breathed out slowly, and so did he.

“John . . .” Yora said.

“The cylinders in the car located in the third garage are worn out!” Frederic yelled from behind us. “That’s what’s making the hissing noise—!”

We both turned to look at Frederic in shock. He was making no sense, but why would it make sense to us? We didn’t know much about mechanics.

Frederic grabbed me by the shoulders hurriedly, “That’s the answer!” He said, “Pippin can hear it!”

I took his shoulders too and pushed him to the side, kneeling to grab the padlock on the third garage door.

It took a solid minute for the old speaker above us to emit that familiar voice of the professor. It was getting harder to hear him, what with the loudness of the engines. The sounds were getting to me, like everything was screaming into my ears.

“Pippin’s birthdate.” Was all the professor said, before his voice disappeared again.

Frustrated, I eyed Frederic, who was racking his brain for the answer. I could hardly recall the birthdays of any of my own cousins, so it was no surprise that Frederic couldn’t remember either. We had to ask Pippin, quickly—

Just as I was about to do so, a voice near my ear interrupted me, “June 21st, 1935.”

It was Yora.

He had kneeled down, too. Right beside me.

“Thank you . . .” I said.

Frederic got on the floor with us, while I tried the numbers.

Thankfully, the lock clicked open, and when I threw it behind us and lifted the door with Frederic and Yora, I moved out of the way when a smaller man fell to his knees next to me, coughing excessively.

The man’s wrists were bound with rope, tight, and his hands had been stuffed into a bag, to prevent him from opening or grabbing onto anything. There was no sign of blood on him, so that seemed to exclude my suspicions that the bloody handkerchief belonged to him.

I stayed where I was as Frederic helped Pippin from the floor, raising the man’s head so that he could catch his breath. I got down to their level and tried my best with the ropes, but they were so strong that it took me a few long minutes to unravel them.

His wrists were almost raw, like he’d tried desperately to get them off himself.

He’d almost died . . .

When I remembered the fact that the cars were still on, I perked up, only to find Yora walking over to each one, turning them off one by one and taking the keys, stuffing them into his pockets. There was probably no more fuel in those cars, which meant that we couldn’t drive away. The professor had most likely brought gasoline at one point, to complete this class.

“I’m sorry,” Frederic said to Pippin, “I told Warren I’d take care of you, but—”

Pippin shook his head, words coming out shakily, “N-Not your—” He coughed into his sleeve, “Not your fault, F-Frederic . . .”

I took Pippin’s forearm, “Just relax for now.” I instructed him. “My name is John. I work for Riley Ledders. Currently, I’m Yora’s roommate.” I figured I had to introduce myself first, so that he wouldn’t be more scared than he already was. “I’m going to do my best to get you all out of here.”

The man only nodded at me, and then continued to cough profusely.

He didn’t have to speak. Not right now.

I had to question them later. These two would have to be subjected to my intense interrogations, because this could have been prevented.

These men knew the house layout more than I did, obviously. But they also must’ve been keeping secrets from one another, which must have been the weakness that the professor took advantage of over them.

Still on my knees, I crawled over to one of the closed garages and leaned back, letting my head knock against the cool metal door.

The moon was beautiful, and Pippin was alive.

But it still smelled like exhaust fumes.

I hated it.