STRINGS // KATSUKI BAKUGO [2]

Chapter 18 // Mad

You were surprised you didn't feel uncomfortable upon stepping into the metal institution.

The bare and minimalistic interior didn't bore you. The almost lifeless patients being led around did shake your demeanor. The occasional screams of protest from those stuck in their rooms didn't spike your anxiety. It almost worried you how comfortable you were with the environment.

Aizawa checked in with the front desk, and, before you knew it, the two of you were being led to wherever your father was being held by a middle aged woman dressed in all white.

"One person allowed in at a time," the employee stated upon arriving at the room your father was being contained in. "I have to be here to monitor, but I can turn off the mic inside if you want."

"It's fine," you said, grasping the handle of the door firmly. "I've got nothing to hide."

This statement was not true. You had your deteriorating health to hide, but there was also a deeper reasoning behind your willingness to let anyone and everyone hear your conversation with your deranged father.

You weren't sure when your memory was going to start collapsing. You could forget this conversation by tomorrow, and then all information would be gone. It'd be beneficial to have multiple sets of ears present.

Stepping inside the room, you were able to see just how bad your father's health was. He looked how you felt on the inside. However, he didn't have any energy left to hide it like you did.

He laid on the much too small bed shoved in the far corner of the room, staring at the ceiling. His hair was tussled, uncared for, and his skin was paler than you remembered. His limbs were unmoving, and his eyes were practically lifeless. They were a duller shade of the bright color you once stared into with admiration. His lips were chapped, and his breaths were shallow.

"Hey, Dad," you began quietly, almost whispering. How else were you supposed to start this conversation?

Your father did react. He didn't move. He didn't even blink. He simply continued mindlessly staring upward.

You didn't know what he was feeling. You've had some moments of dissociation, but you didn't know what it was like to be in his state. You've endured so much trauma that shutting down all of your fictions wasn't an option. You just lived with it. However, your father never had to witness the things you do daily. Now he has, and the effects were burdening for him.

"I'm sorry I wasn't there," you felt the need to apologize, "but I'm here now, and I'm staying. I'm going to find mom, but I need help to do it. You can help, but I need you to talk to me."

He remained still, silent.

"Dad," you continued, not speaking too loud to avoid your voice cracking, "you saw what happened. I need you to tell me what you saw."

He didn't move, didn't speak.

You strode over to his bed before leaning over his body, staring into his dull eyes with the hope that your appearance would do something, dilate his pupils, quirk a smile, anything.

Still, he remained motionless. He made no attempt to move or speak. He made no attempt to focus his attention on you. He made no attempt to do anything. He didn't do anything.

You turned toward the window separating you from Aizawa and the employee overseeing the situation and requested, "turn off the mic."

The two shared a glance before the employee fiddled with a small panel on the wall behind her. She then flashed you a thumbs up.

You looked back at your father, licking your lips in preparation for what you were about to admit.

"I'm dying, Dad," you began with a small exhale. "Cognitive brain dysfunction. I'm going to start forgetting things, so I need to find mom before I forget her, but I can't do that if you don't tell me what you saw."

For a moment, his behavior stayed the same. He didn't move, speak, or look at you.

Puff.

A small breath of air, a deliberate exhale, was released. His eyes remained unfocused on you, but his lips parted, and something slipped out.

You leaned down and positioned your ear above his mouth, focusing all of your attention on hearing what he was trying to say.

"You fancy me mad."

That was all.

His breath returned to being inaudible, and you leaned back before taking a few steps away from his bed to gather your bearings.

The Tell-Heart by Edgar Allen Poe.

The story revolved around a man who killed his neighbor and buried him beneath the floorboards. When the police came to investigate, the murderer swore he could hear his victim's heart beating beneath him, so he assumed the police could too, and he confessed to his crimes only to realize that it was his own heart pounding in his chest that he had been hearing.

In the beginning, the narrator, the murder says, "you fancy me mad" before explaining the proceedings of his crime.

Only people with high intelligence or who have a passion for old literature would know this. Your father, despite his forsaken state, knew you'd decipher his words immediately.

You bolted out of the room and grabbed Aizawa's sleeve, pulling him along with you as you hurriedly made your way toward the front doors.

"[L/N]," Aizawa gritted out, yet he made no attempt to slow you down, "did he talk?"

"Some," you stated shortly. "It was enough."

"What did he say?" he questioned as the two of you reached the parking lot.

You skidded to a stop, taking a moment to calm yourself before turning to Aizawa, your once sorrowful expression now showing determination.

"You fancy me mad," you replied. "It's an A Tell-Tale Heart quote, the story by Edgar Allen Poe. It about a guy who kills his neighbor and buries him beneath the floorboards."

Aizawa observed your expression with uncertainty, eventually saying, "you think something's buried beneath your house?"

"What else could he have meant?" you wondered aloud.

"Why wouldn't he just tell you to look under the floorboards if that's what he meant?" Aizawa questioned.

"He's paranoid," you pointed out. "Maybe he was worried the League was listening, and he wanted to help me without giving out any information that would make him a target."

"I seriously doubt the League is targeting your father," the hero stated, and you crossed your arms over your chest.

"No one thought they'd kidnap my mother," you retaliated, which earned a sigh from the man. "We don't have any other leads," you continued. "If we check, and there's nothing, there's nothing, but, if we check, and there's something, that's something, maybe everything."

"You don't have to keep convincing me," Aizawa began, pulling out his car keys. "This is your mission. It always has been."

Part of you wanted to find something beneath the floorboards because it would be something. It would be a lead. The other part of you didn't want to find something because that something could be your mother's body.

[EDITED]