Chapter 18

18

I press my ear to the door a little harder, straining to hear. My cheeks are still flaming from all the moans and groans and yelling. Roger, on the other hand, has a glass pressed to the door and is grinning gleefully.

I can vaguely make out the words, but the intent is unmistakeable. Smiling in satisfaction, I raise my hand, and Roger high-fives my palm.

"Smashing effort!" I step back and congratulate Roger. "Phase one complete."

"I think it was Morgan and Ellis putting in all the effort by the sounds of it." Roger smirks. "Who would have thought the little cinnamon roll was so vocal!"

"Yes, well." I clear my throat. "I believe we can let them take it from here tonight. We'll check in on their progress tomorrow."

I glance down at John the Maid, who is on his hands and knees a few feet down the corridor from us and scrubbing the carpet while muttering to himself.

"What do you fancy a spot of to pass the time?" I ask Roger. "We could go and hide all of Mr Pennington's pens again? Or we could rearrange all of Aggie's kitchen cabinets."

He wrinkles his nose and shakes his head. "No, as fun as that was, Aggie gets awfully shrill. And that accent of hers! When she works up a full head of steam, I can't understand a word she says." He pauses and thinks for a moment, tapping his finger against his jaw. "You know, we could?—"

He breaks off suddenly and we turn at the sound of raised voices at the end of the corridor. We watch as Skid strides past, waving his arms and speaking loudly and animatedly, while Stanley follows, listening intently and somehow still managing to write something on his clipboard while walking.

Roger hums. "I do like a man who can multitask."

"Bloody hell." I scurry down the hall and round the corner where the two of them disappeared.

"So I said fuck you!" Skid's dulcet tones reach me and I grimace. "It's all the government's plan, you see. It's about control. I do what I want, when I want, and fuck them all. Nothing's changed now I'm dead. I refuse to bow to The Man. I ain't no mindless slave to the establishment. Fuck the establishment!"

"I see," Stanley says mildly as his pen scribbles across the page. "Fuck the est-ab-lish-ment," he murmurs as he writes. "So, would you say you are anti authority of any kind? Or do you have your own set of morals that you adhere to?" He waves his pen. "Um, a personal code if you will." He pauses, pen poised, as he stares at Skid.

"It's simple karma, mate. If you're a cunt, bad things'll happen to ya."

"I see." Stanley hums a bit and mouths, C-U-N-T , and the pen starts off scribbling once more.

"Good lord." I hustle forward to intervene, but before I can utter a word, Skid is off again.

"I like you, Stan." Skid points at Stanley. "You're a cheeky little fella, but you seem decent. You got a job to do, and I respect that, I do. But make no mistake, your bureau don't have no authority here. You're forgetting the most basic right of the human soul."

"Please do enlighten me." Stanley looks up from his clipboard.

"Free will," Skid says simply. "It was bad enough in life. We had governing bodies and institutions set up by petty, small-minded men who were looking for control. We ain't gotta put up with it in death too. We were created with free will, to live out our lives to the fullest and in the best way we can according to our own consciences. You don't have the right to come in here and tell us how to think or what we can and can't do. You may not approve of us, but we're a family. We care about each other and this place. We've never hurt a living being, and none of us ever would. Any fleshies who walk through those doors are safe." He breaks off thoughtfully for a moment. "Well, safe from us, at least. Maybe not safe from their own stupidity, of which the Prof is proof. But Bertie"—he nods in my direction—"she looks out for everyone here. She's decent, and it's not for you to judge her or the way we choose to pass out eternity in our home."

"Well." Stanley tucks his clip board under his arm. "Thank you for your time, Mr Skid." He holds out his hand, and I don't think I'm mistaken when I identify the look in his eyes as grudging admiration.

"Stan." Skid nods and shakes his hand. "Don't forget to check out Penis Envy by Crass. It was their third studio album, and its influence on the punk scene is often underrated. It touches on Freud's ideals concerning sexuality, but it also addresses feminist issues and attacks the sexual repression of the system."

"I can't wait," Stanley says with a straight face. "Good evening," he says to Skid by way of farewell. His gaze tracks over to me and lingers for a second longer on Roger, who is now standing beside me. Then Stanley disappears.

"Skid," I say, ridiculously touched at his words, "thank you. That was jolly nice of you."

He winks at me. "No worries. I got your back, old girl. Never doubt it." He grins widely and shoots us a two-fingered mock salute. "I need a beer. Laters."