I'm kneeling on the floor in remorseful silence.
Standing in front of me is a girl tapping her foot, her hair is dripping wet with a bath towel in hand.
Across the hall I can hear the steady tinkering of Chisaki's grandfather as he fixes the consumer unit.
“Hayden.”
“Y-Yes.” I sit up as if I had been prodded with a taser.
“Explain yourself, and choose your words very wisely.”
Cold sweat beads on my face.
“I... can't...”
“This is the third incident we've had this month, and above all you lied to me again!”
I can't lose my resolve. She's only acting scary to intimidate you. If only she knew what was really going on, just tell her already.
“...but I'm doing this for y-”
“NO!!!”
“...”
I'm cut speechless. She screamed at the top of her lungs.
“Just... Stop! Stop pitying me to justify this stupid game! You really think some University student is gonna discover the cure for a terminal illness in his basement? All you're doing is wasting time! You're wasting your own youth on a science-fiction illusion that will never happen! I don't wanna be the reason that you never accomplish anything! This isn't funny any more Hayden! You're not just hurting me, you're hurting yourself more than anything, and I can't take it any more!”
All I can do is stare with a pathetically baffled expression.
Even Chisaki seems taken aback by the compassionate motive behind her bottled aggression. Though her expression is grim, her cheeks glimmer pink as she gazes at the ground.
I notice my dim reflection in a crooked piece of sheet metal propped up behind her. My skin is so pale, my eyelids are grey. I lift a hand to my face and run it down my cheek. Cold.
“Y-You're right... maybe it's time... that I stopped...”
What have I done to myself? All this stress. Maybe it really was just a waste of time.
“I-I'm gonna go make dinner now...” Chisaki turns to the stairs after touching my shoulder, her face now more sorrowful than mad, “Remember to clean up the mess...”
The gentle shutting of the door leaves the room in solemn silence.
I take a deep breath, for what feels like the first time in years.
A few hours have passed.
The only sound that fills the basement is the monotone humming of my computer fan, occasionally interrupted by the rustling of glass shards as I sweep the floor. I shoot a distracted glare toward the soot-covered device sitting atop a scorched table in the centre of the room.
“Such a waste.”
Of what? Time? Money? Effort? It didn't matter. I'm packing this up once and for all.
It takes the combined strength of every malnourished muscle in my puny body to lift the contraption up from the table and load it into the storage room.
“Hnng! ...There.” I shove it between two other aborted devices from experiments long since past. Welcome to the scrapyard of my brain. Left to right, wall to wall, every shelf was littered with these stupid things. Useless piles of garbage, all they were good for now was gathering dust. It was a strange feeling, gazing up and down at the sheer size of your own failure.
“ACK!” I choke on the dust as it flies into my lungs.
Squinting hard to see through the darkness I shove the components aside to make more space, that's when it all went wrong. One after another I'm assaulted by the weight of numerous gadgets plummeting toward the ground. The result is a bruised leg and a pile of metal carnage.
“Ow! Ow! Ow!” That marks the second stunt of clumsiness from lack of sleep, why don't I ever learn? My teeth are grinding against the pain, but break into a gasp when I notice something irregular lying amongst the wreckage. Something brown. Something smooth. Fabric? No, leather.
I reach out and retrieve the rectangular object only to discover a large suitcase with traditional golden buckles. The kind of flashy accessory that a popular detective might use in a crime-thriller movie. The material is worn and tattered, revealing its age when I place it under the light of my desk lamp.
“What... is this?” I definitely do not recall ever owning a vintage briefcase, even I have a limit to how retro I'm willing to dress.
But for a case made of leather its surprisingly heavy, which only makes the contents seem more suspicious. The locks, too rusted to put up a fight, crumble away under the force of my curious prying. Scraps of leather peel away as I lift the lid.
The novelty smell of ageing paper erupts from within, so much that I momentarily find myself indulging in the sweet scent. But what really catches my attention is the jumbled collection of photographs crudely held together by rubber band. I don't even need to double check, they're of me and my father. At this point I'm assuming that the case belonged to him. Amongst the photos I find another oddity, a small metal key-chain in the shape of a Griffin. Its golden surface glistenes under the lamp, of course it's not real gold, just tinted steel. The mighty Griffin was a beast from... something or other...? It probably represents some superstitious nonsense. I'm not an expert on mythology, and besides the design is far too tacky for my taste anyway.
Yet strangest of all...
Lying dormant under all of this crap...
Was another suitcase.
This isn't a magic act, what's going on here? I carefully remove the second case with the steady hands of a surgeon. This one, unlike the first, was a sight to behold. Instead of crumbly old leather, it was made using hard, impervious steel. Talk about unnecessary security measures. While turning it around in my hands I realise that it's locked. Eight number wheels are lined up by the handle, obviously requiring an eight digit code to open. I twiddle the wheels in my boredom. Is this really important right now? But something about this lock is scratching my brain...
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Then it hit me like a knife to the head.
“AAAAAAAAAAAAH!”
My vision contorts into a rapid sea of turbulence.
Colours sink into shapes, shapes twist into images, images flicker like memories. People and places I don't recognise. Voices I've never heard. I'm going to vomit. I can't stand. Someone please help! My skull feels like its spinning on an axis, like my neck could snap at any moment and launch my head into space. My fingernails grate through skin and scalp as I desperately clutch my head, threatening to rip my hair from the roots. This is unbearable. What are these things I see? I remember...
But all it takes is a blink, and I return to the world. The suitcase falls to the floor with a sonorous clang. My hands are trembling as if I had Parkinson's disease. My breathing fluctuates in uncontrollable spasms to the rhythm of my heartbeat. I can't even begin to comprehend what just happened, yet somehow I know that I never want to see that suitcase again for as long as I live. Without even acknowledging my surroundings I scrabble for the infernal case and sling it into the storage room. It lands with a resounding thud against the rack of wire shelves. I don't care that the floor of the closet is littered, tidiness is the least of my concerns right now, I slam the door shut and hastily fasten the lock. If this were a cartoon then my character would promptly swallow the key, but this was real life. Not a cartoon, not a video game and not a movie.
Am I, scared? I didn't want to admit it. Perhaps my brain has finally cracked from over exhaustion, maybe that's all it is. Yeah. These were my final thoughts as I slung my carcass across the sofa. Springs dug into my skin from below the fabric, but I couldn't feel them at all. I just needed to sleep.
I just.
Needed.
To sleep.
...
.....
Peaceful morning...
The sunlight struggles its way through the tiny basement windows, clouded with mould and grime. I'm ushered awake once the rays finally reach my face. You'd think it was trying to blind me, I raise a trembling hand and squint against the light. Something feels off. Where am I? Birds are chirping from outside, their jovial tunes are an easygoing alarm compared to Chisaki's usual hollering.
Then I snap to my senses.
“Erk...!”
I'm sitting on the basement floor, slumped against the wall. My spine is in knots from being pressed up against the frigid stone bricks.
“Wha- OUCH!” Why am I down here? I swear that I fell asleep on the sofa. Did I sleepwalk? The questions don't stop coming. Finally I lift my head to look around-
And from that moment on... the questions would NEVER... stop coming.
On the opposite side of the room, sprawled across the wall, were markings. White markings to be exact, from back here they looked like chalk drawings. Furious inscriptions that had been scribbled down in a frantic haze of desperation and panic. Some resembled characters and text, while others depicted charts and diagrams. Upon closer inspection I can see equations and formulas, scientific notations, complex blueprints that I couldn't wrap my head around for the life of me.
“There's no way... W-What am I looking at?”
I scramble to my feet and shuffle my way over to the wall, tripping over my feet countless times in the process. My eyes are glued in place. Upon closer inspection, I notice some recurring words.
Brain.
Brain.
Brain.
“What does this mean!? HOW DID THIS GET HERE!?”
Did someone break in? Yeah sure, a burglar scientist who leaves knowledge on the walls of his victims. Oh shut up that doesn't make any sense at all.
Has this always been here and something caused the paint to dissolve? Listen to yourself, how would that even happen, use your brain you fucking moron.
But does this mean that...
Did...
Did I do this?
A pasty dust rubs onto my fingers as I stroke the wall in my daze, it has to be chalk, but I can't see the stick anywhere. Without another word I find myself instinctively reaching for my smartphone to take a photograph. My thumb is trembling over the button so much that I end up taking more pictures than intended. Ca-click! Ca-click! Ca-click! Along with three swift flashes of light. I stumble backwards into the table while clutching my hair. There's just no way. Even if sleepwalking (er... writing) was a possible explanation, I myself don't even understand what's written here. I've never seen this information before in my life, so there's no way I could have written it subconsciously! Panic ensues once again as I curl to my knees in a pathetic ball.
Then the door handle turns, “Hayden? Are you awake yet?”
CRAP! Chisaki can't see this, after all that was said last night-
Right... last night... the experiment, her outburst, and most significantly the suitcase. I had promised... to stop for good.
“Can I come in? Um... I need to talk with you...”
Without bearing a second thought I seize the jumbo sized whiteboard sitting next to me and practically throw it on the wall. Thankfully it hangs nicely over the flimsy nail and manages to conceal most of the chalk, albeit looking ever-so-slightly suspicious.
“Um-! Sure! One second-!”
After frantically adjusting the whiteboard in my paranoid frenzy of terror, I straighten my posture and turn around as if nothing had ever happened. To my surprise the basement door peels open more gently than usual, on the other side I can see Chisaki, a sorrowful expression plastered across her face. Her unusual change in demeanour throws me of guard for a second.
“Hey...”
“...Hey?...”
The air grows heavy, I can almost hear her breathing.
“A-About yesterday...”
“Oh! You mean last night?”
Her expression stiffens, “...yeah”
I literally cannot remember the last time I saw her this subdued, something was clearly troubling her. The best I can do is hear her out.
“Look, what you did was stupid... Like really stupid... But I think I overstepped the mark a little. I said some things that I regret, I know that you mean well and I wasn't prepared to listen. In the end I just ended up hurting you even more...”
“...”
My inner voice is begging me to reassure her 'Oh it's okay' 'Never mind, we all make mistakes'. But no, I axe the words before they can reach my mouth. This is something she feels she has to do, it would be insensitive to cut her off after she mustered the courage to come here.
“A-And I know that you're doing it for me, but that doesn't mean I don't worry about you.”
She's frowning now, and blushing? Make up your mind already, I really don't understand her most of the time.
“So... if you really want, and only if you're extra careful! I'll... let you continue your research...”
I wanted to smile. I wanted to feel relieved. But...
Thank you Chisaki.
But this was never your decision to make.
“You sure? There's no guarantee that I'll ever accomplish anything...”
“Quiet you! Seriously... you make me go through all that mushy crap and then still insist on doubting yourself? You're a self-deprecating idiot you know that?”
“Sorry...”
“And quit apologising so much too! Jeez, what kind of man are you... Anyway, what do you want for breakfast?”
And just like that she's back to her usual self, which somehow I find more relieving than anything else. I didn't hear her question.
“...Well once you've decided be sure to come through to eat. You know what they say, breakfast is the most important meal of the day- Oh! And don't forget to bring your paper for Professor Rutherford either!”
Her voice disappears into the kitchen, leaving an awkward emptiness behind.
Right... the paper...
I'm honestly surprised I haven't been kicked from the course yet, my hand-in rate for assignments isn't exactly great. The last thing I need right now is to lose my place at Uni, after all, no engineering club equals no funding for lab equipment. Fantastic, something else to worry about.
“...haah...”
And then there's this whole 'chalk wall' debacle. I heave a sigh as I lounge my hands into my pockets- When I feel something inside...
Is it my phone? No I forgot to take it yesterday.
Then what-
I pull out the object and unclench my fist.
In my hand, is a furiously worn stick of chalk.
White chalk.
My eyes widen in shock.
Is this where my pupils start shaking?