—1—
JUNE 24TH, 2005 / IRUSU, JAPAN
Voices were coming out of the drain.
Todoroki Shouto was in the Jack and Jill bathroom that connected his older brother Natsuo's bedroom to his own. He had been getting ready for bed, roughly seven or so hours after he had gone to the movies with Sero Hanta and Bakugo Katsuki. After his first date. He cringed, thinking about how his bad attempt at a joke had slipped out of his mouth before he could stop it. At least Bakugo hadn't reacted too badly.
It really had been his first date, though. Sort of. There had been three of them instead of the usual two, but Bakugo had paid their way in- and to a movie of all things- what was more date-like than that?
Then, afterward, there had been those kids who chased them... and they had spent the rest of the afternoon in the Barrens... and Midoriya Izuku- better known to Todoroki as "Deku"- had come down with another kid, he couldn't remember who, but he remembered the way Deku's warm, friendly, kind, eyes had rested on his for a moment, and the electric shock he had felt... the shock and a flush that seemed to warm his entire body.
He had thought all these things as he pulled on some grey cotton pajama pants and an old band T-shirt that had once belonged to Natsuo. Though Natsuo had outgrown it years ago, Todoroki could still catch the faintest whiff of axe body spray ("Ice Chill" to be specific, though Todoroki didn't exactly understand why they thought ice had that strong of a scent) thirteen-year-old Todoroki Natsuo used to bathe himself in- and what fifteen-year-old Todoroki Natsuo still occasionally soaked in after baseball practice.
Todoroki had felt both a sense of comfort and a twinge of sadness at the smell. Natsuo had finally returned home after his long leave of absence, two packs of cigarettes in his pockets (one the mint Marlboro's Todoroki preferred, the other a the peach flavored kind both Sero and Natsuo seemed to like so much) and a large box of takeout from the restaurant down on Main Street- Todoroki's favorite, restaurant to be specific- chock full of cold soba.
"To make up for pissing off without you."
"It's alright, you don't have to be sorry." Todoroki had responded through a mouth full of soba, giving his brother a small smile.
Natsuo's grey eyes fell to the bruise on Todoroki's collarbone, and hardened for a moment, before taking on a look that was almost haunting. At that moment, Todoroki Natsuo's eyes looked as if they belonged to someone much older than fifteen. To Todoroki Shouto, they looked like the eyes of an adult.
Natsuo let out an angry sigh and glared at the table. "Should of taken you with me. I was just so pissed- I wasn't thinking straight." He hit the table harshly with his fist, and Todoroki began to worry that Natsuo might cry- something he hated very much.
Fuyumi and Touya were the criers. That wasn't an insult- it was just the truth. Touya's tears had been more from anger than anything else- but they were still tears all the same. Fuyumi had cried the most out of all of them, but Todoroki had always assumed that that had come from her taking on the emotions of her other siblings- it was like she channeled them, as if she cried for all four of them instead of just for herself.
Natsuo didn't cry. Like Todoroki himself, he found it easier to bury everything inside- though he wasn't quite as good at it as Todoroki was, and it often all ended up coming out in angry outbursts pointed in their father's direction. They'd yell and scream at one another, sometimes the cops would be called and they'd be told to quiet down, other times Natsuo would storm out (sometimes with Todoroki in tow, sometimes not- it depended on how blindingly worked up he was at the time), and, on rare occasions, things would turn physical. Their father would pop him hard in the mouth, or kick him in the stomach, or something of that sort-
and Natsuo- Natsuo would hit him right back.
Natsuo, standing at a staggering 6'1 at fifteen years old, incredibly lean and toned due to two years of baseball, would punch, or kick, or whatever, their father right back- and each time, Todoroki Enji would blink in confusion, snarl out a threat or two, and that'd be the end of that.
When things got to that point, Todoroki began to get particularly scared for his older brother. He would get scared that one day, their father wouldn't just blink in confusion and walk off- that one day, he'd snap and kill Natsuo right there in their house while he watched, unable to do anything.
The thought of his brother's beaten and bruised body lying dead on the living room floor, blood pooling out everywhere, soaking into the wooden floorboards, made Todoroki feel incredibly nauseous. He pushed his soba away, and looked up at Natsuo, needing to confirm that he was still there, breathing, and glaring angrily down at the table once again.
"I should of taken you with me."
Todoroki sighed. "Where'd you go?"
Natsuo sighed. "To visit mom. Then to Touya's."
"Oh." Todoroki played with the chopsticks in his hands, rolling them in his palms. "How are they?"
"Mom's doing a lot better. She asked about you."
Todoroki perked up at that, his heart beginning to beat rapidly. "Really?"
Natsuo rubbed his eyes tiredly, but gave him an easy-going smile- the same type of smile often found on Sero Hanta's face, and Todoroki assumed that's what had drawn him to the ebony-haired boy in the first place- well, that and shit parent solidarity.
"Mhm. She asked how you were doing and such- typical mom stuff. She... She wants to see you when you're ready."
"I'm ready whenever." Todoroki blurted out, he was shaking- unable to handle the emotion flooding through him.
She wanted to see him.
Their mother, Rei, was a beautiful woman. She had been the one to contribute the white hair and grey eye Todoroki's right side shared with Natsuo. She had also been the one to give him the burn scar on the left side of his face.
Todoroki Rei, originally Michiko Rei, was a beautiful woman that ended up in a very bad situation. She and Todoroki Enji had met in their finale year at Irusu High School, and she had fallen fast. He had been the co-captain of the Irusu Wildcat's soccer team, slated to make it the pro-leagues. She had been a quiet girl with a bad home life and a desperate need to escape.
And he had brought her flowers.
They were married by 18, she had gotten pregnant with Touya four months earlier.
That first year of marriage had gone well. Their father had, in fact, ended up playing for a pro team- The Hokkaido Consadole, and the two of them had moved to Sapporo. Five months later, Touya was born. Three months after that, some guy on an opposing team broke Todoroki Enji's leg so badly, it ended his career before it could really begin.
Touya had always assumed that's when the drinking had started- and the weird obsession to make his children into sports stars. Out of the four of them, Todoroki had, apparently, showed the most promise- and at the young age of four, he was put on a rigorous training schedule so strict he wasn't even allowed to play with his own siblings.
For those two years, his mother had been his only companion, and the two of them had grown close. She would stand up for him, and their father would beat her, and Shouto would cry, and then their father would try and beat him, but she'd take that one too and it'd go on and on until Enji's anger subsided or he lost interest.
And then, one day when Todoroki was five years old, his mother snapped. She screamed at him and told him she hated him and then she had grabbed the kettle of boiling water off the stove and poured it on his face while he screamed and begged her to stop-
But she hadn't called him Shouto then. No, in her unfocused and terrified haze, she had called him Enji- and had poured the water directly onto the left half of his face- the red-headed, blue-eyed, side of his face. His father's, side of his face.
At some point, Fuyumi had come running into the kitchen- but her horrified shriek was the last thing he could remember. There was a gap in his memory. Five hours of aftermath total was missing. He didn't even remember their mother being shipped up to juniper hill, or Natsuo holding a cold rag to his face while Fuyumi frantically called Touya and sobbed to him to that he needed to drive them to the hospital- begging him not to tell their father what had happened. These were all things that he had been told over the years about those missing five hours- and he assumed they must have happened- but he couldn't for the life of him find them in his subconscious.
According to Natsuo, she'd had something called a "psychotic break"- and she had seen Todoroki as Enji, not her son.
"She would have done the same thing to me if I had been around." Touya had said once after Todoroki had had a particularly awful day of remembering. "Probably worst since I look the most like him. It- it wasn't you, Shouto- she loves you. She loves all of us, she's just- dad's done a number on her and she just- couldn't handle it anymore. She was trying to hurt him. Not you."
"I know." He had replied- and though he did, deep down he had always wondered if she really would have done the same to Touya.
After all, their father rarely hit his older siblings- because they were the "duds"- the failures. Natsuo and Touya might have gotten the occasional backhand or kick if he was drunk enough- but it wasn't like what happened to him. There was no need for their mother to take their beatings because it was a one and done deal with them- and it usually came out of nowhere.
So, the reason she had gone crazy, had ultimately been his fault. Because she took his beatings for him- which is what made her lose it.
So, would she of really gone after Touya if he had been there?
"I'll try to sneak you up there next weekend." Natsuo smiled, breaking Todoroki out of his thoughts.
Todoroki smiled at him and suddenly hugged him hard, causing Natsuo to fall back a few steps. "Thank you."
Natsuo laughed, and he once again sounded like he might cry as he ruffled his younger brother's multicolored hair. "No problem, kid."
—2—
"Help me..."
Todoroki stared wide-eyed at the sink, left hand outstretched, reaching for the light blue toothbrush in the metal holder suctioned cup to the bathroom mirror.
He shook his head a little as if to clear it, and then he bent over the counter and looked curiously at the metal stopper. The bathroom, along with his and Natsuo's bedrooms, were at the back of their large apartment. He could hear, faintly, some show going on the TV. When it was over, his father would probably switch over to a baseball game, or maybe some MMA, and then go to sleep in his easy chair.
The wallpaper in here was a very dated floral pattern that reminded Todoroki of a funeral home. It bulged and swayed over the lumpy plaster beneath. It was watermarked in some places, actually peeling away in others. The tub was rust marked, the toilet seat cracked. One naked 40-watt bulb jutted from a porcelain socket over the basin. Todoroki could remember-vaguely-that there had once been a light fixture, but it had been broken some years ago and never replaced. The floor was covered with tile from which the pattern had faded, except for a small patch under the sink.
Not a very cheery room, but Todoroki had used it so long that he no longer noticed what it looked like.
The seashell-shaped sink was also water-stained. The drain was covered by a removable brass stopper. There had once been a chrome facing, but that was also long gone. The drain-hole was pipe-dark, and as he leaned over it and removed the stopper, he noticed for the first time that there was a faint, unpleasant smell-a slightly fishy smell-coming from the drain. He wrinkled his nose a little in disgust.
"Help me-"
He let out a noiseless gasp. It was a voice. He had thought perhaps a rattle in the pipes... or maybe just his imagination... some holdover from those movies...
"Help me, Shouto..."
Alternate waves of coldness and warmth swept him. His fringe, a little longer than it usually was, hung over his eyes, swinging close to the drain hole. He could feel the roots trying to stiffen.
Unaware that he meant to speak, he bent over the cracking white counter again and half-whispered, "Hello? Is someone there?" The voice from the drain had been that of a very young child who had perhaps just learned to talk. And in spite of the gooseflesh on his arms, his mind searched for some rational explanation. It was an apartment building. The Todoroki's lived in the back apartment on the second floor. There were four other apartments. Maybe there was a kid in the building amusing himself by calling into the drain. And some trick of sound...
"Is someone there?" He asked the drain in the bathroom, louder this time. It suddenly occurred to him that if his father or Natsuo happened to come in just now they would think him crazy.
There was no answer from the drain, but that unpleasant smell seemed stronger. It made him think of the bamboo patch in the Barrens, and the dump beyond it; it called up images of slow, bitter smokes and black mud that wanted to suck the shoes off your feet.
There were no really little kids in the building, that was the thing. The Asui's directly beneath them had a girl who was three, and a boy who was around five- and they had had another daughter Todoroki's age, they had even been in the same class once or twice- but she had died sometime last winter. They had moved out of the apartment complex soon after and disappeared in Mr. Asui's rusty old Power-Flite Buick. There was Togata Mirio, who shared a bedroom wall with Natsuo, but Togata was thirteen.
"We all want to meet you, Shouto..."
His eyes widened in horror. For a moment... just for a moment... he believed that he had seen something moving down there. He was suddenly aware that his hair was now hanging close-very close-to that drain hole. Some clear instinct made him straighten up quick and get his hair away from there.
He looked around. The bathroom doors were firmly closed. He could hear the TV faintly, some drama protagonist warning the bad guy to put the gun down before someone got hurt. The muffled thumping of the heavy bass in Natsuo's music vibrated through the walls and made the brass toilet roll stand jiggle. He was alone. Except, of course, for that voice.
"Who are you?" He whispered into the drain, brushing his fringe back as best as he could.
"Shimano Katsuma." The voice answered. "The clown took me down here in the pipes and I died and pretty soon he'll come and take you, Shouto, and Sero Hanta, and Midoriya Izuku, and Kirishima-"
His eyes widened, widened, widened. He felt his body growing cold. Now the voice sounded choked and ancient... and still it crawled with corrupted glee.
"You'll float down here with your friends, Shouto, we all float down here, tell Izuku- I'm sorry- tell Deku, that Eri says hello, tell him that Eri misses him but he'll see her soon, tell him Eri will be in the closet some night with a piece of piano wire to stick in his eye, tell him-"
The voice broke up in a series of choking hiccups and suddenly, the hot water spout on the faucet shot backward and steaming, impossibly hot water began to pour- steaming and fogging up the mirror, causing the porcelain around the drain to crack- that horrid and gleeful voice choking up gurgled laughter all the while.
The sound of a screaming kettle rose up from the drain, echoing, rattling. Todoroki saw his mother's far-away stare in his mind's eye.
He shot out a shaking hand and wrestled with the hot water tap. It didn't budge. He grabbed on with both hands now, feeling the metal fixture beginning to heat up against his skin. The sound of the screaming kettle grew louder and louder- so loud that he thought his eardrums were going to explode- and finally, just when he thought he was about to be driven insane by the noise- the brass handle turned, and both the noise and the burning water ceased.
He was breathing a strangled sigh of relief when a bright red bubble backed up the drain and popped, spraying beads of blood on the distained porcelain.
The choking voice spoke rapidly now, and as it spoke it changed: now it was the young voice of the child that he had first heard, now it was a teenaged girl's voice, then a little girls voice (that, Todoroki would only realize much later, belonged to Toshinori Eri) now-horribly-it became the voice Asui Tsuyu, who used to live underneath him and had died last winter. And then it was another voice he recognized, the voice of Jirou Kyoka, who he had heard shouting out plays on the kickball field many times before, and finally, the third and finale voice he recognized- Hagakure Toru, who had been in his class in grade two, and had also been found dead recently.
"I'm Katsuma... I'm Nejire... I'm Eri... I'm Tsuyu... I'm Kyoka... I'm Toru... we're down here... down here with the clown... and the creature... and the severed heads... and the werewolf... and you, Shouto, we're down here with you, and we float, we change..."
A gout of blood suddenly belched from the drain, splattering the sink and the mirror and the wallpaper with its busy floral pattern. Shouto tried to scream, but it got caught in his throat, instead he slammed his back up against the door leading to Natsuo's room, feeling the heavy bass vibrating through him. Nothing more happened for several beats, until suddenly, there was a horrid rattling clanking noise and blood began to spew like a geyser out of the sink, drenching him and the narrow bathroom in its hot and sticky redness. He stared wide-eyed, not believing what he was seeing- and it was only when he began to notice it pooling around his feet that he was shocked into action. He clawed desperately at the door handle, his fingers to slick and bloody to get a grip. The iron scent flooded his airways, dropped into his eyes, and stung- and somewhere in the back of his mind he was reminded of "the blob" and it's icky texture and how Bakugo had called his disgust for it stupid- knowing now, for sure, that it wasn't a stupid fear, because if it felt anything like how the thick, iron-tasting blood felt clogging his airways, then it was terrifying as hell.
Finally, just as he had for most of Todoroki's life, Natsuo saved him.
He ripped open the door, a worried look on his face, it was only then that Todoroki noticed the music had stopped.
As soon as that door opened, the blood in the sink stopped exploding out- first falling down to a trickle that sort of reminded Todoroki of how water came out of a water spout, then to a couple of thick, gurgling, sputters, and then nothing. It was over. He looked up at Natsuo, not even beginning to know how to explain.
"What's wrong? Why are you on the ground clawing at my door?"
Todoroki blinked up at him, lips parted in disbelief. The bathroom was covered in blood. It coated the once white sink in crimson red, it ran down the black and white striped shower curtain in a thick, slimey, sludge. There was a shallow pool of it in the base of the tub that was starting to struggle down the drain. it had soaked through the rolls of toilet paper in the basket on the back of the commode, leaving them in a mushy, gooey, blood-clot-like state that made Todoroki's stomach churn. it dripped steadily from the ceiling from a spot directly over the sink. And both Todoroki and his older brother were in at least two inches of it- he could see it clinging and soaking through Natsuo's socks, turning them from a light blue to a rusty brown.
Not to mention, Todoroki was absolutely drenched in the stuff.
"What do you mean, why?"
Natsuo cocked his head in confusion, and reached out a hand to help him up. Todoroki took it hesitantly. "You feeling alright, kid?"
Todoroki did not answer. Instead, he stared at the now blood-stained right hand of his brother. He watched as Natsuo glided it through his snow-white locks, leaving behind a streak of coppery red.
He felt like he was going to be sick.
"Sho? You good? do you need to lay down or something?"
Yes. "No... No... I'm fine." He stared unblinking at Natsuo, waiting to see if he would crack and acknowledge the blood beginning to cake the walls.
Natsuo frowned. "You sure? you look pale- and like you're going to be sick." he reached out his hand, and pressed the back of it to his little brother's sticky forehead- he didn't react- didn't even blink- at the two round beads of crimson that splatted and ran down his forearm into his bomber jacket sleeve from Todoroki's ruined hair. "You don't have a fever..."
He really didn't see it- Natsuo really couldn't see -or feel, or smell- the blood everywhere. Todoroki felt like his world was unraveling, and for one horrifying moment he thought to himself 'is this what mom felt like?'
"The... The sink..." he mumbled pathetically, his vision was beginning to blur, and the sickly iron scent was giving him a headache.
"What about it?" Natsuo asked, moving past him and walking towards it, slushing through the thick pool of blood already beginning to soak in the light-colored tile grout.
"There..." he could still taste it in his mouth- sticking to the inside of his throat "um... was...a... spider?..."
Natsuo gave him an amused, but questioning look. "Since when are you scared of Spiders? Last I recall, you were the one bringing them inside all the time and begging Fuyumi not to kill them."
"Uh... this one was big?... really big... and crawled out of the drain while I was brushing my teeth... I just wasn't expecting it is all..."
Natsuo cocked his head again, and leaned against the sink, the blood began to soak through his military green jacket. "...Are you sure you're good?..."
"I'm sure." He gave Natsuo a weak smile. "Sorry for bothering you."
"You never bother me."
"Okay."
"I'm serious."
"I know."
Natsuo splish-splashed back through the lake of blood and poked Todoroki on the forehead. "Come get me if you need me, alright?"
"I will," Todoroki responded and stood on his tiptoes to poke Natsuo's forehead back. (Natsuo still had to lean down a little) Natsuo laughed, and reached for his door handle, before pausing and looking back at Todoroki, a soft smile on his face and a serious look in his eyes.
"I love you, Shouto."
"I love you too, Natsuo."
Natsuo's smile brightened and he disappeared into his room. A few minutes later, the wall was vibrating again.
With Natsuo gone, Todoroki became acutely aware that the blood was drying rapidly on his skin. His chest heaved, and suddenly his mind was screaming "Get it off! Get it off!"
He walked stiffly towards his small bedroom and began to rummage in his closet for a new change of clothes. His heartbeat rapidly as he looked over his shoulder, into the bathroom still dyed a disgusting crimson.
He thought: 'How can I ever go in there again? Fuck, Fuck, I'm sorry about all the bad thoughts I've had about my dad and the universe can punish me for it if it wants, I deserve to be punished, make me fall down and hurt myself or make me have the flu like last winter when I coughed so hard once I threw up but please, please, make the blood be gone in the morning, pretty please, whatever it is that's listening, okay? Okay?'
He heard his father bellow at Natsuo to turn the music off. There was a long moment where nothing changed, and Todoroki assumed Natsuo was trying to figure if it was worth it or not to pick a fight- apparently, it wasn't, as the music eventually stopped.
Todoroki quickly maneuvered out of his room and down the hall into what had used to be Touya's room and was now a sort of storage room for all their sports stuff. Enji's High School and Professional Soccer Jersey's, both number 02, were framed and hung on either side of a glass display shelf filled with a multitude of trophies ranging from simple "you participated" plastic, elementary school soccer awards, to the large, two-foot-tall bronze High School Championship 1st place Trophy, to the silver semi-finales Trophy his team had gotten the game before Enji had his career ended forever, and everything in between. The soccer ball that he had scored his first-ever professional goal with was displayed on the very top behind a plexiglass case. On the wall opposite to that, there was a similar setup, only this time it was filled with trophies Todoroki had won. One for little league baseball in grade three, another for basketball in grade two, and the most recent, his first soccer tournament win from grade four. A baseball he had hit a home run with was displayed in a very similar way to Todoroki Enji's soccer ball.
Natsuo, who hadn't really picked up sports until high school, didn't have anything like that- despite the fact that the Irusu High School baseball team had won the district tournament the year before.
Todoroki walked past all of this, to the attached on-suite bath. It wasn't nearly as large as the one in the master bedroom or the one he and Natsuo shared, but it had a shower, toilet, and sink that wasn't drenched in blood, and that was enough for him.
He reached into the small shower, hesitated, and turned it towards the cooler setting. He backed away, and nearly jumped out of his skin when he saw himself in the mirror.
Natsuo's old band t-shirt, which had started the night off as a pale yellow, was now a deep red- the words unreadable. His previously grey pajama pants were now black. Both fabrics were fused with his blood to his skin, which was also grotesquely crimson. Black, swollen, clots clung to him. Some dripping in slow motion, leaving behind light red snail trails. One of these morbid beads fell from the end of his hair, and down his scarred face, looking like a red tear.
But that wasn't the worst part.
No, the worst part, was the right side of his hair- which was usually a snow-white color that had been passed on from his mother- was now the exact same shade of red as the left side.
He really did look like his father.
—3—
JUNE 30TH, 2005 / IRUSU, JAPAN
Todoroki always woke up when the alarm went off in his father's bedroom. You had to be fast because the alarm no more than got started before his father banged it off. He dressed quickly while his father used the bathroom, Moving fast, not wanting him to be mad with him this morning (not wanting him to even notice him this morning), Todoroki pulled on a pair of jeans, a sports shirt with his father's old team's logo on it, and the Irusu High School varsity jacket Natsuo had given him after noticing how much he stared at it. And then, because it could no longer be put off, he left his room for the bathroom. He heard Natsuo's bedroom door open, and the sound of his footsteps retreating towards the front of the house. A few minutes later, he and his girlfriend were waving to Todoroki through the window of her pickup truck, before she revved its engine and shot off down the street going way to fast.
He stood in front of the closed bathroom door for a moment, trying to get his mind ready for what he might see inside. 'At least it's daytime,' he thought, and that brought some comfort. Not much, but some. He grasped the doorknob, turned it, and stepped inside.
—4—
That was a busy morning for Todoroki. He got his father his breakfast-orange juice, scrambled eggs, Todoroki Enji's version of toast (burnt so badly the fire alarm went off and you could barely call the result bread anymore). He sat at the table, eyes trained on the small TV mounted above their kitchen table, and ate it all while watching the local news.
"Where's the bacon?"
"Gone. We finished it yesterday."
"Cook me a hamburger."
"There's only a little bit of that left, t-"
His father grunted and turned to him. His blue stare fell on him like weight.
"What did you say?" he asked softly.
"Yes, sir."
He looked at him a moment longer. Then his eyes flickered back up towards the weather forecast.
Todoroki cooked him a hamburger, mashing the little bit of ground meat that was left in the icebox as hard as he could to make it look bigger. His father ate it, cursing under his breath about the possibility of rain next week, and Shouto made his lunch-a couple of peanut-butter-and-jelly sandwiches, a big piece of cake Fuyumi had brought during a visit the week before, and a Thermos of hot coffee heavily laced with sugar.
"You tell your brother I said to get this place cleaned up today," Enji said, taking his lunch bag. "It looks like a damn pigsty. I spend the whole day dealing with psycho's up on Juniper, I don't need to come home to a pigsty. You tell him that, Shouto."
"Okay. I will."
He left soon after that. As he always did, Shouto went to the window of his room and watched him walk down the wooden stairs, and out to his car, and watched him pull out of the complex. And as he always did, he felt a sense of relief when he turned the corner.
He did the dishes and then took the book he was reading out on the back steps for awhile. A little blonde boy from one of the apartment buildings around the corner, his short hair glowing with its own serene inner light, toddled over from the next building to show Shouto his new Tonka truck and the new scrapes on his knees. Shouto awe'd over both. Then the child's mother was calling him.
Around noon, Natsuo came back home. He kissed his girlfriend on the cheek, and the two of them spent a long time talking in the building's driveway. He eventually made it into the apartment, and together they changed both beds, washed the floors, and waxed the kitchen linoleum. Natsuo did the bathroom floors, for which Todoroki was profoundly grateful.
"Will you do the living-room windows, Soba?" He asked, coming back into the kitchen. He had changed into his baseball uniform. Despite School being out early, they were still playing games. "Ami'll be back in a minute or two."
"Yeah, I'll do them," Todoroki said. "Why were you two talking for so long in the driveway?"
"She was telling me about how that friend of your's mom was found High off her mind, stumbling down Taiko last night," Natsuo said grimly. "Poor kid, no wonder he has a nicotine problem."
Todoroki winced. Poor Sero, indeed.
"Once you get the windows washed and take the trash out, you can go and play awhile, if you want. It's dad's bowling night so you won't have to fix his dinner, but I want you in before dark. You know why."
"Okay, Natsuo."
"My God, you're growing up fast," Natsuo said, ruffling his hair. "I don't know what I'm going to do once you're married and have a place of your own."
"I'll be around for just about ever," Todoroki said, smiling... His brother hugged him briefly and kissed his forehead. "I love you, Soba."
Todoroki rolled his eyes at the nickname but smiled back. "I love you too, Natsuo." He stretched up and poked Natsuo's forehead. He laughed and poked his back.
"You make sure there aren't any streaks on those windows when you're done," he said, picking up his bag and going to the door. "If there are- well, you know."
"I'll be careful." As his brother opened the door to go out, Todoroki asked in a tone he hoped was casual: "did you see anything funny in our bathroom?"
Natsuo paused. "What? Like the spider?"
"Yeah." That told Todoroki everything he needed to know.
"Nope- Geez, that thing must have been huge if it spooked you this badly."
Todoroki only shrugged.
"Well... anyway-" Natsuo had that funny look on his face again as if he were trying to work out a puzzle. "Like I said, don't streak up the windows."
"I won't."
"And be in before dark."
"I will."
Natsuo left. Shouto went into his room again and watched Ami's truck round the corner and out of view, as he had his father. Then, when he was sure Natsuo was well on his way to his game, Shouto got the floor bucket, the Windex, and some rags from under the kitchen sink. He went into the living room and began to work on the windows. The apartment seemed too quiet. Each time the floor creaked or a door slammed, he jumped a little. When the Togata's toilet flushed through the wall on his right, he uttered a gasp that was nearly a scream.
And he kept looking toward the closed bathroom door.
At last, he walked down there and drew it open again and looked inside. Natsuo had cleaned in there this morning, and now the blood that had been on the floor was streaked morbidly across the tile, completely soaking the once-sparkly grout red. The same had happened to the blood in the bathtub-shower combo and the blood on the sink. It was still caked and stained into the shower curtain, wallpaper, and ceiling.
Todoroki looked at his pale reflection and realized with sudden, superstitious dread that the blood on the mirror made it seem as if his face was bleeding. He thought again: 'What am I going to do about this? Have I gone crazy? Am I imagining it? Is this how mom felt?'
The drain suddenly gave a burping chuckle.
Todoroki slammed the door and five minutes later his hands were still trembling so badly that he almost dropped the bottle of Windex as he washed the windows in the living room.
—5—
It was around three o'clock that afternoon, the apartment locked up and the extra key tucked snugly away in the pocket of his jeans, when Todoroki Shouto happened to turn down Ori Road, and come upon Sero Hanta, Kirishima Ejirou, and a boy who's name he didn't know, pitching coins.
"Hi, Shouto!" Kirishima called, flashing him a friendly grin. "You get any nightmares from those movies?"
"No." Todoroki said, squatting down to watch the game. "How'd you know about that?"
"Sero told me," Kirishima said, jerking a thumb at the skinny-boy, who was averting his gaze guiltily for no good reason that Todoroki could see-
Unless?...
Unless?... could it have to do with Kaminari Denki? He knew they were close, and he had suspected for quite a while that the small blonde boy had a crush on him. It wouldn't be outside the realm of possibility that Kaminari had told Sero about his crush- or even about that day under the bleachers back in December. Could he be feeling guilty for spending so much time with him one-on-one?
He tried to meet Sero's eyes again. Sero ran his fingers through his hair anxiously.
So, that was the case then. Todoroki found it to be strangely sweet.
Todoroki joined their game and won the next three rounds. Kirishima shook his head, laughing exasperatedly. "Geez, Sho... you could take pity on us every once and a while."
Todoroki felt a flush of embarrassment and looked down at the small hill of coins he had won. "Sorry." He hid his face a little behind the collar of Natsuo's jacket.
"Don't apologize, I was just kidding."
Another flash of embarrassment, this one much more intense. He could feel heat trying to flood his cheeks, and forced it down, hiding more behind the jacket's collar. "Sorry, I'm bad at... jokes..." he sighed Internally, he really wasn't good at the whole talking and having friends thing.
Kirishima patted his back sympathetically. "You apologize too much, man."
"...sorry?..."
Sero laughed a little behind his hand, now it was Todoroki's turn to look away.
They started a fourth-round soon after that, and though Todoroki tried to do what Kirishima had suggested and let one of the other's win, he ended up victorious anyway.
The other boy, a blonde with blue-ish grey eyes that Todoroki briefly recognized having been in his class at the start of the school year, let out a frustrated huff and got to his feet. "Cheater."
Todoroki blinked. "No."
"He didn't cheat, he's just good at this sorta thing." Sero sighed, rubbing his temples. He looked tired, and after the night he must have had with his mother, Todoroki didn't blame him.
"Yeah, you should know that by now." Kirishima shrugged.
"Whatever," Monoma muttered, kicking at the dirt. "Of course you all go and gang up on me... you all think you're so much better than everyone else."
"Dude, we literally call ourselves the loser's club." Sero deadpanned, and it was true. Ever since Bakugo Katsuki had said it sarcastically at some point last week, they'd coined the term officially.
"See? You even think you're apart of some exclusive club."
"The entire town is currently gossiping about how my mom embarrassed herself last night while high off her ass. Kirishima's mom thinks he's gonna drop dead any second, and Todoroki's dad's a grade-A asshole. Deku's got a dead sister, and I don't know enough about Iida and Bakugo yet to tell you what's fucked up about their lives but I'm sure there's something." Sero exclaimed, exasperatedly.
Monoma's face flushed, and he started to sputter. "S-Shut up-"
Sero started to speak again, but Todoroki stopped him by handing over the coins he had won from Monoma. "Here, you can have them back. I don't want them anyways." He tried.
Monoma's flush grew, and he backed away a little. "You think you're so much better than all of us, don't you, Todoroki?"
"No." He kept his handful of coins outstretched, waiting for Monoma to take them.
Tears of humiliation welled in Monoma's eyes. He struck the coins from Todoroki's hand and ran for Main Street. The others stood looking at him, open-mouthed. With safety within reach, Monoma turned around and shouted: "You're just a scar-faced bastard, that's all! Cheater! Cheater! Your mother's a whore"
Todoroki felt a fury so intense it made him dizzy. He moved to stand, but Kirishima, who looked like he was about to pass out from a lack of oxygen, pulled him back down. Todoroki rounded on him furiously, angry tears pinpricking behind his eyes, his face flushed a brilliant rage red.
Kirishima took a loud pump from his inhaler and caught his breath. "Not... Not worth it... Shouto..."
Todoroki opened his mouth to say something- possibly rude, he didn't really know- but instead, he had to turn away and bury his face into the varsity jacket's collar, a tear just managing to escape before he could force them all back. Kirishima took another blast from his inhaler and patted his back, Sero gave him an awkward side hug.
After a long bout of silence, Todoroki was able to regain his composure but kept his face hidden. He took a shaking breath, and spoke: "My mom wasn't a whore... " he mumbled, "...she- she was a waitress..."
"...oh?" There was a hitch in Sero's breath, and he coughed- it sounded like he had almost started laughing.
He looked up at Sero, who was indeed biting his hand to keep from laughing. He looked to his right and noticed Kirishima was in very much the same situation and felt his anger and sadness melt away in an instant.
Finally, Sero broke, and Kirishima followed soon after. Todoroki's face burned a little, embarrassed for the third time that day, but smiled with them none the less.
"A waitress!" Kirishima cackled. He had only the faintest idea of what a whore was, but something about this comparison struck him as delicious just the same. "Is that what she was!"
"Yes! Yes, she was!" Todoroki gasped, surprised to find himself on the verge of both laughing and crying at the same time.
Sero was laughing so hard he couldn't stand up. He sat heavily on a trashcan. Todoroki stood and helped him up, before doing the same with Kirishima- and the three of them found themselves heading towards Main Street.
—6—
They pooled their money (both from the game and what they had had on hand) and discovered they had 70¥- enough for two ice-cream frappes from the drugstore. Because Aizawa was a grouch and wouldn't let kids under twelve eat their stuff at the soda fountain, they took the frappes in two huge waxed containers up to Ukiyo Park and sat on the grass to drink them. Sero had coffee, Kirishima strawberry. Todoroki sat between the two boys with a straw, sampling each in turn like a bee at flowers. He felt okay again for the first time since the drain had coughed up its gout of blood the week before-washed out and emotionally exhausted, but okay, at peace with himself. For the time being, anyway.
However... he knew he had to talk about it eventually. So with a sigh, he started: "Can I tell you guys something?"
"Of course," Kirishima smiled, and Sero nodded encouragingly.
He sighed again, and brushed his hair out of his eyes. "I think I'm having a... psychotic break... or whatever it's called."
"What about a psychotic break?" Iida Tenya, who had just walked up after spotting them at the edge of the road, asked. He was wearing a dark blue button-up shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows tucked all the way around in a pair of khaki's, and his glasses glinted blindingly in the light- to Todoroki, he looked like a miniature adult.
'He won't say whatever he was going to say,' Kirishima thought, 'because Iida wasn't there when Monoma called his mother that name.'
But after a moment's hesitation, Todoroki did tell. Because somehow Iida was different from Monoma- he was there in a way Monoma had not been.
'Iida's one of us,' Todoroki thought and wondered why that should cause his arms to suddenly break out in bumps. 'I'm not doing any of them any favors by telling,' he thought. 'Not them, and not me, neither.'
But it was too late. He was already speaking. Iida sat down with them, his face still and grave. Kirishima offered him the last of the strawberry frappe and Iida only shook his head, his eyes never leaving Todoroki's face. None of the boys spoke.
He told them about the voices. About recognizing Jirou, Hagakure, and Asui's voices. He told them about the boiling water and then about the blood, and how his brother had not seen it or felt it, and how he didn't think his father would either.
When he finished, he looked around at their faces, afraid of what he might see there... but he saw no disbelief. Terror, but no disbelief.
Finally, Sero said, "Let's go look."
—7—
They went in by the back door, not just because that was the lock Todoroki's key fitted but because he said his father would kill him if a neighbor saw him going into the apartment with anyone that wasn't one of his siblings.
"Why?" Kirishima asked.
"That's not important right now," Iida muttered. He looked nervous, and very much like he didn't want to be breaking any rules. Kirishima patted his shoulder lightly.
The door gave on the kitchen, which was full of late-afternoon sun and summer silence. The breakfast dishes sparkled in the drainer. The four of them stood by the kitchen table, bunched up, and when a door slammed downstairs, they all jumped and then laughed nervously.
"Where is it?" Sero asked. He was whispering.
Todoroki's heart thudding in his temples, he led them down the little hall with Fuyumi's old bedroom on one side, and his and Natsuo's bedrooms on the other with the closed bathroom door in between, and Touya's old bedroom at the end of the hall. He pulled the bathroom door open, stepped quickly inside, and forced the brass stopper into the drain. Then he stepped back between Sero and Kirishima again. The blood had dried to maroon smears on the mirror and the basin and the wallpaper, floor, and ceiling. He looked at the blood because it was suddenly easier to look at that than at them.
In a small voice he could hardly recognize as his own, he asked: "do you see it? Do any of you see it? Is it there?"
Sero stepped forward, and Todoroki was struck by how delicately he moved. He touched one of the smears of blood; then a second; then a long drip on the mirror. "Here. Here. Here." His voice was flat and authoritative.
"It looks like a slaughterhouse in here," Iida said, softly awed. He pushed his glasses up his face delicately.
"It all came out of the drain?" Kirishima asked. The sight of the blood made him feel ill. His breath was shortening. He clutched at his aspirator.
Todoroki had to struggle to keep from bursting into tears. He didn't want to do that; he was afraid if he did they would dismiss him and leave him all alone in the bathroom full of blood. He had to clutch for the doorknob as relief washed through him in a wave of frightening strength. Until that moment he hadn't realized how sure he was that he was going crazy, having hallucinations, something.
"And your brother and dad never saw it?" Sero marveled. He touched a splotch of blood that had dried on the basin and then pulled his hand away and wiped it on the tail of his shirt. "Ugh-"
"My dad never comes in here, but... Natsuo... Natsuo came in here several times after it happened and didn't say anything- not even when I was covered in it myself- I... I... don't know how I can ever come in here again," Todoroki whispered. "Not to shower or brush my teeth or... you know."
"Well, why don't we clean it, then?" Iida asked suddenly.
Todoroki looked at him. "...Clean it?..."
"Sure. Maybe we couldn't get all of it off the wallpaper-it looks sorta on its last legs-but we could get the rest. Haven't you got some rags?"
"...Under the kitchen sink,..." Todoroki whispered, sounding somewhat awestruck. "But Natsuo'll wonder where they went if we use them."
"I've got 5¥." Iida said quietly. His eyes never left the blood that had spattered the area of the bathroom around the sink. "We'll clean up as good as we can, then take the rags down to that coin-op laundry place back the way we came. We'll wash them and dry them and they'll all be back under the sink before your brother or dad get home."
"My mother says you can't get blood out of cloth," Kirishima objected. "she says it sets in, or something."
Sero uttered a hysterical little giggle, though it sounded more crazed than humorous. "doesn't matter if it comes out of the rags or not," he said. "They can't see it."
No one had to ask him who he meant by "they."
"Alright," Todoroki said. "Let's try it."
—8—
For the next three hours, the four of them cleaned like grim elves, and as the blood disappeared from the walls and the mirror and the porcelain basin, Todoroki felt his heart grow lighter and lighter. Sero had found Natsuo's stereo and asked to play some music, and after Todoroki had said it was alright, a happy tune flooded through the house while they worked. Kirishima did the sink and mirror while Todoroki scrubbed the floor. Sero worked on the bathtub and shower curtain. Iida worked on the wallpaper and ceiling with studious care, using a rag that was almost dry. In the end, they got almost all of it. Kirishima finished by removing the light-bulb over the sink and replacing it with one from the box of bulbs in the pantry.
They used the floor bucket, Ajax, and plenty of hot water. (Which Todoroki let the other three handle while he went back over some of the pink stains left on the shower curtain) They dumped the water frequently because none of them liked to have their hands in it once it had turned pink.
At last, Iida backed away, looked at the bathroom with the critical eye of a boy in whom neatness and order are not simply ingrained but actually innate, and told them: "It's the best we can do, I think."
There were still faint traces of blood on the wallpaper to the left of the sink, where the paper was so thin and ragged that Iida had dared do no more than blot it gently. Yet even here the blood had been sapped of its former ominous strength; it was little more than a meaningless pastel smear.
Thank you," Todoroki breathed to all of them. He could not remember ever having meant thanks so deeply. "Thank you all."
"Of course." Kirishima grinned, "that's what friends are for, after all." Sero nodded, smiling softly in agreement. Iida clapped him on the back and pulled him into a hug.
Todoroki felt his heart swell. Friends. He had actual friends.
"Let's get these rags done," Iida said, pulling away from Todoroki. His face was set again, almost stern. And later Todoroki would think that perhaps only Iida realized that they had taken another step toward some unthinkable confrontation.
—9—
They measured out a cup of the Todoroki family's Tide detergent and put it in an empty mayonnaise jar. Todoroki found a paper shopping bag to put the bloody rags in, and the four of them went down to the Kleen-Kloze Washateria on the corner of Main and Machi. Two blocks farther up they could see the Canal gleaming a bright blue in the afternoon sun.
The Kleen-Kloze was empty except for a woman in a white nurse's uniform who was waiting for her dryer to stop. She glanced at the four kids distrustfully and then went back to her issue of 'Friday'
"Cold water," Sero said in a low voice. "Denki's mom told me to use cold water to get blood out."
They dumped the rags into the washer while Iida fished for the coin in his pocket. He clutched it and watched as Todoroki dumped the Tide over the rags and swung the washer's door closed. Then he plugged it into the coin-op slot and twisted the start knob.
Todoroki had chipped in most of the money he had won at pitch for the frappes, but he found four survivors deep down in the lefthand pocket of his jeans. He offered them to Iida, who waved him off.
"You sure?"
"I'm sure," Iida said, "We're friends, remember? I can afford to spend 5¥ on you."
The four of them went over to the line of plastic contour chairs against the Washateria's cinderblock wall and sat there, not talking. The Maytag with the rags in it chugged and sloshed. Fans of suds slobbered against the thick glass of its round porthole. At first, the suds were reddish. Looking at them made Todoroki feel a little sick, but he found it was hard to look away. The bloody foam had a gruesome sort of fascination. The lady in the nurse's uniform glanced at them more and more often over the top of her book. She had perhaps been afraid they would be rowdy; now their very silence seemed to unnerve her. When her dryer stopped she took her clothes out, folded them, put them into a blue plastic laundry-bag, and left, giving them one last puzzled look as she went out the door.
As soon as she was gone, Sero said abruptly, almost harshly: "You're not alone."
"What?" Todoroki asked.
"You're not alone," Sero repeated. "You see-"
He stopped and looked at Kirishima, who nodded. He looked at Iida, who looked unhappy... but who, after a moment, also nodded.
"What in the world are you talking about?" Todoroki asked. He was real tired of people saying inexplicable things to him today. He gripped Sero's upper arm, trying to stand mindful of his injury. "If you know something about this, tell me."
"Do you want to do it?" Sero asked Kirishima.
Kirishima shook his head. He took his aspirator out of his pocket and sucked in on it with a monstrous gasp.
Speaking slowly, picking his words, Sero told Todoroki how he had happened to meet Deku and Kirishima in the Barrens on the day school let out-that was almost two weeks ago, as hard as that was to believe. He told him about how they had built the dam in the Barrens the following day. He told Deku's story of how the school photograph of his dead sister had turned its head and winked. He told his own story of the clown with the face shield who had walked on the icy Canal in the dead heart of winter with balloons that floated against the wind and turned into severed heads. Todoroki listened to all this with growing horror. He could feel his eyes widening, his hands growing cold.
Sero stopped and looked at Kirishima. Kirishima took another wheezing pull on his aspirator and then told the story of the leper again, speaking as rapidly as Sero had slowly, his words tumbling over one another in their urgency to escape and be gone. He finished with a sucking little half-sob, but this time he didn't cry.
"And you?" Todoroki asked, looking at Iida Tenya.
"I-"
There was sudden silence, making them all start the way a sudden explosion might have done.
"The wash is done," Iida said.
They watched him get up- tall, economical, graceful-and open the washer. He pulled out the rags, which were stuck together in a clump, and examined them.
"There's a little stain left," he said, "but it's not too bad. Looks like it could be cranberry juice."
He showed them, and they all nodded gravely, as if over important documents. Todoroki felt a relief that was similar to the relief he had felt when the bathroom was clean again. He could stand the faded pastel smear on the peeling wallpaper in there, and he could stand the faint reddish stain on the cleaning rags. They had done something about it, that seemed to be the important thing. Maybe it hadn't worked completely, but he discovered it had worked well enough to give his heart peace, and boy, that was good enough for Todoroki Shouto.
Iida tossed them into one of the barrel-shaped dryers and put in another 5¥. Todoroki winced, he had forgotten about needing to dry them- his small offer from earlier seemed even more pathetic now. The dryer started to turn, and Iida came back and took his seat between Kirishima and Sero.
For a moment the four of them sat silent again, watching the rags turn and fall, turn and fall. The drone of the gas-fired dryer was soothing, almost soporific. A woman passed by the chocked-open door, wheeling a cart of groceries. She glanced in at them and passed on.
"I did see something," Iida said suddenly. "I didn't want to talk about it, because I wanted to think it was a dream or something. Maybe even a fit or- or..." he trailed off.
"What was it?" Todoroki asked, but he wasn't sure he really wanted to know. This was not like listening to ghost stories around a camp-fire while you ate wieners in toasted buns and cooked marshmallows over the flames until they were black and crinkly. Here they sat in this stifling laundromat and he could see great big dust bunnies under the washing machines, he could see dust-motes dancing in the hot shafts of sunlight which fell through the laundromat's dirty plate-glass window, he could see old magazines with their covers torn off. These were all normal things. Nice and normal and boring. But he was scared. Terribly scared. Because he sensed, none of these things were made-up stories, made-up monsters: Sero's heads, Kirishima's leper... either or both of them might be out tonight when the sun went down. Or Deku's sister, one-armed and implacable, cruising through the black drains under the city with silver coins for eyes or waiting for him in her closet with a piano wire to poke one of his eyes out.
Yet, when Iida did not answer immediately, he asked again: "What was it?"
Speaking carefully, Iida said: "I was over in that little park- not Ukiyo, but- but- where the Standpipe is-"
"Oh God, I don't like that place," Kirishima said dolefully. "If there's a haunted place in Irusu, that's it."
"What? Iida said sharply. "What did you say?" His glasses flashed a beam of sunlight off them as he turned, his eyes wide and panicky.
"Don't you know about that place?" Kirishima asked. "My mom wouldn't let me go near there even before the kids started getting killed. She... she takes real good care of me." He offered them an uneasy grin and held his aspirator tighter in his lap. "You see, some kids have been drowned in there. Three or four. They- Tenya? Tenya, are you all right?"
Iida Tenya's face had gone a leaden gray. His mouth worked soundlessly. His eyes rolled up until the others could only see the bottommost curves of his irises. One hand clutched weakly at empty air and then fell against his thigh.
Kirishima did the only thing he could think of. He leaned over, put one thin arm around Iida's broad, slumping, shoulders, jammed his aspirator into Iida's mouth, and triggered off a big blast.
Iida began to cough and choke and gag. He sat up straight, his eyes back in focus again. He coughed into his cupped hands, taking off his glasses to wipe strained tears from his eyes. At last, he uttered a huge gasp and slumped back against his chair."
"What was that?" he managed at last.
"My asthma medicine," Kirishima said apologetically.
"That... it's horrible."
Sero and Kirishima laughed at this, but it was nervous laughter. Todoroki assumed his small smile seemed nervous as well. The others were looking worriedly at Iida. Thin color now burned in his cheeks.
"It's pretty bad, all right," Kirishima said with some pride.
Iida looked at Kirishima intently. "Tell me what you know about the Standpipe," he said.
Kirishima started, but both Sero and Todoroki also contributed. The Irusu Standpipe stood on Kanazaki Drive, about a mile and a half west of downtown, near the southern edge of the Barrens. At one time, near the end of the previous century, it had supplied all of Irusu's water, holding one and three-quarter million gallons. Because the circular open-air gallery just below the Standpipe's roof offered a spectacular view of the town and the surrounding countryside, it had been a popular place until 1930 or so. Families would come out to tiny Memorial Park on a Saturday or Sunday forenoon when the weather was fine, climb the one hundred and sixty stairs inside the Standpipe to the gallery, and take in the view. More often than not they spread and ate a picnic lunch while they did so.
The stairs were between the Standpipe's outside, which was shingled a blinding white, and its inner sleeve, a great stainless-steel cylinder standing a hundred and six feet high. These stairs wound to the top in a narrow spiral.
Just below the gallery level, a thick wooden door in the Standpipe's inner jacket gave on a platform over the water itself-a black, gently lapping tarn lit by naked magnesium bulbs screwed into reflective tin hoods. The water was exactly one hundred feet deep when the supply was all the way up.
"Where did the water come from?" Sero asked.
Todoroki, Kirishima, and Iida looked at each other. None of them knew.
"Well, what about the kids that drowned, then?"
They were only a bit clearer on that. It seemed that in those days ('olden days," Sero called them solemnly, as he took up this part of the tale) the door leading to the platform over the water had always been left unlocked. One night a couple of kids... or maybe just one... or as many as three... had found the ground-level door also unlocked. They had gone up on a dare. They found their way out onto the platform over the water instead of onto the gallery by mistake. In the darkness, they had fallen over the edge before they quite knew where they were.
"I heard it from one of Natsuo's friends who said he heard it from his dad," Todoroki said, "so maybe it's true. Amari said his dad said that once they fell into the water they were as good as dead because there was nothing to hold onto. The platform was just out of reach. He said they paddled around in there, yelling for help, all night long, probably. Only no one heard them and they just got tireder and tireder until-"
He trailed off, feeling the horror of it sink into him. He could see those boys in his mind's eye, real or made-up, paddling around like drenched puppies. Going under, coming up sputtering. Splashing more and swimming less as panic set in. Soggy sneakers treading water. Fingers scrabbling uselessly for any kind of purchase on the smooth steel walls of the sleeve. He could taste the water they must have swallowed. He could hear the flat, echoing quality of their cries. How long? Fifteen minutes? Half an hour? How long before the cries had ceased and they had simply floated face-down, strange fish for the caretaker to find the next morning?
"God," Iida muttered dryly.
"I heard there was a woman who lost her baby, too," Kirishima said suddenly. "That was when they closed the place for good. At least, that's what I heard. They did use to let people go up, I know that. But then one time there was this lady and her baby. I don't know how old the baby was. But this platform, it's supposed to go right out over the water. And the lady went to the railing and she was, you know, holding the baby, and either she dropped it or maybe it just wriggled. I heard this guy tried to save it. Doing the hero bit, you know. He jumped right in, but the baby was gone. Maybe he was wearing a jacket or something. When your clothes get wet, they drag you down."
Kirishima abruptly put his hand into his pocket and brought out a small brown glass bottle. He opened it, took out two white pills, and swallowed them dry.
"What were those?" Todoroki asked.
"Aspirin. I've got a headache." He looked at him defensively, but Todoroki said nothing more.
Sero finished. After the incident of the baby (he himself, he said, had heard that it was actually a kid, a little girl of about three), the Town Council had voted to lock the Standpipe, both downstairs and up, and stop the day trips and picnics on the gallery. It had remained locked from then until now. Oh, the caretaker came and went, and the maintenance men once in a while, and once every season there were guided tours. Interested citizens could follow a lady from the Historical Society up the spiral of stairs to the gallery at the top, where they could ooh and aah over the view and snap photos to show their friends. But the door to the inner sleeve was always locked now.
"Is it still full of water?" Iida asked.
"I guess so," Sero said. "I've seen firetrucks filling up there during grassfire season. They hook a hose to the pipe at the bottom."
Iida was looking at the dryer again, watching the rags go around and Mound. He slid his glasses back on and watched as the clump broke up, some of them floating like parachutes.
"What did you see there?" Todoroki asked him gently as he could get his monotonous voice to be.
For a moment it seemed he would not answer at all. Then he drew a deep, shuddering breath and said something that at first struck them all as being far from the point. "They named it Memorial Park after World War II. There was a statute with the names of all the soldiers who had lived in Irusu and died in the war but... it blew down during a storm in the sixties. They didn't have money enough to fix the statue, so they put in a birdbath instead. A big stone birdbath. It's supposed to represent... something, but I can't remember it right now."
They were all looking at him. Iida swallowed. There was an audible click in his throat.
"I watch birds, you see. I have an album, a pair of Zeiss-Ikon binoculars, and everything." He looked at Kirishima. "do you have any more aspirins?"
Kirishima handed him the bottle. Iida took two, hesitated, then took another. He gave the bottle back and swallowed the pills, one after another, grimacing. Then he went on with his story.
"Dead kids."
"What?"
"I saw dead kids. They crawled out of the standpipe, all gooey and decomposing, and- and the smell-" Iida gagged a little, the mere memory causing warm bile to rise in his throat. "It was- it was terrible. I had- I had gone to see the birds at memorial park... because that birdbath attracts so many, you know? But..."
"But?..." Kirishima pressed, his eyes blown out in horror.
Something... drew me to the standpipe." Iida let out a shaky breath. "I don't know what, but... whatever it was, it got me. I went in, and- and I found myself on that little platform above the water that you guys were talking about... and a teenage boy's arm shot out of the water and grabbed at my clothes and tried to pull me in. I only got away because I-" he laughed a little, shaking his head, "I... started reciting the names of birds I know- to calm myself- thinking I was just having a nightmare and just needed to shock myself out it- and- and the one in front- the first one that had crawled out, lurched backward as if he were in pain. So, I started to yell the bird names- and all the kids lurched back- and I managed to force the door open and ran."
"...did you see... ya know... the buttons and the silver suit?..." Sero asked, eyes wide with horror.
Iida hesitated and then nodded. "Yes. The first kid to craw out. He had a silver hoodie on, but with orange puffy buttons instead of a zipper."
The dryer stopped turning with a loud 'clank!', causing all four of them to jump.
"Wow," Kirishima said at last. He let out his breath in a ragged, whistling sigh.
"It's true," Iida said in a low voice. "I swear it is."
"I believe you," Todoroki said. "After what happened at my house, I'd believe anything."
He got up suddenly, almost knocking over his chair, and went to the dryer. Todoroki began to pull out the rags one by one, folding them. His back was turned, but Sero could see his hands shaking.
"We gotta talk to Deku about this," Kirishima said. "Deku will know what to do."
"Do?" Iida said, turning to look at him. "What do you mean, do?
Kirishima looked at him, uncomfortable. "Well..."
"I don't- I don't think we should do anything," Iida said. He was looking at Kirishima with such a hard, fierce, parental stare that Kirishima squirmed in his chair. "This- This thing- isn't human. Its specialty is killing kids in horrific ways- this- this draw we all feel has to just be it luring us in."
"Maybe... but maybe not," Todoroki said quietly, turning around. "It's not just us. I heard Hagakure Toga, Jirou Kyoka, and Asui Tsuyu. And the little boy I heard first... I think maybe it was that Shimano kid. The one who disappeared off his bike."
Iida's eyes widened with terror, before they relented, and he laid his head in his hands. He rubbed his eyes behind his glasses, and let out a quiet, defeated, grunt.
"Ejirou's right," Iida finally said, looking up, his glasses pushed up towards his hairline. "We ought to talk to Deku. Then maybe go to the Police Chief-"
"Right," Sero said. If he was trying to sound sarcastic, it didn't work. His voice came out sounding only tired. "dead kids in the Standpipe, Blood that only kids can see, not grownups. Clowns walking on the Canal. Balloons that float against the wind and turn into severed heads. Some scary anime girl. Lepers under porches. Chief Okumura will laugh his ass off... and then stick us in Juniper."
"If we all went to him," Iida said, troubled. "If we all went together..."
"Sure," Kirishima said. "Right. He'll just say something mean like "Tell me more. Write me a book." He got up and went to the window, hands in pockets, he looked out, shoulders stiff and rejecting beneath his shirt. He fired off his inhalant a moment later, suddenly looking even more tired than Sero.
"Not a book," Sero said suddenly. There was a strange look on his face, unfocused, almost as if he wasn't entirely there. It reminded Todoroki to much of his mother, and he had to look away. "Manga. And Deku will write it."
Kirishima wheeled back, surprised, and the others looked at him. There was a shocked look on Sero Hanta's face as if he had suddenly and unexpectedly slapped himself.
"What was?-" Iida started
"-No idea," Sero whispered, looking deeply disturbed.
Todoroki folded the last of the rags.
"Birds," Kirishima said.
"What?" Sero and Todoroki said together.
Kirishima was looking at Iida. "You got out by yelling birds' names at them?"
"Maybe," Iida said reluctantly. "Or maybe the door was just stuck and finally popped open."
"Without you leaning on it?" Todoroki asked.
Iida shrugged. It was not a sullen shrug; it only said he didn't know.
"I think it was the birds you shouted at them," Kirishima said. "But why? In the movies, you hold up a cross..."
"... or say the Lord's Prayer... " Sero added.
"... or the Twenty-third Psalm," Iida put in.
"Birds," Kirishima said again. "Birds!" Then he glanced at Iida who was now looking moodily across the street at the Hydro office Deku's step-father, Toshinori Yagi, worked at.
"Deku will know what to do," Sero said suddenly as if finally agreeing with Kirishima. "Betcha anything. Betcha any amount of money."
"I really don't like this," Iida mumbled. "We'll talk to Deku, but... those things in the standpipe..."
"If you weren't afraid of something like that, you'd have to be crazy, Tenya," Todoroki said softly.
"Yeah, I was scared, but that's not the problem," Iida said reluctantly. "It's not even what I'm talking about. Don't you see-"
They were looking at him expectantly, their eyes both troubled and faintly hopeful, but Iida found he could not explain how he felt. The words had run out. There was a brick of feeling inside him, almost choking him, and he could not get it out of his throat. Neat as he was, sure as he was, he was still only an eleven-year-old boy who's grade 5 year had been cut short.
He wanted to tell them that there were worse things than being frightened. You could be frightened by things like almost having a car hit you while you were riding your bike or, before the Salk vaccine, getting polio. You could be frightened of that crazyman Khrushchev or of drowning if you went out over your head. You could be frightened of all those things and still function.
But those things in the Standpipe...
He wanted to tell them that those dead boys who had lurched and shambled their way down the spiral staircase had done something worse than frighten him: they had offended him.
Offended, yes. It was the only word he could think of, and if he used it they would laugh-they liked him, he knew that and they had accepted him as one of them, but they would still laugh. All the same, there were things that were not supposed to be. They offended any sane person's sense of order, they offended the central idea that something had given the earth a final tilt on its axis so that twilight would only last about twelve minutes at the equator and linger for an hour or more up where the Eskimos built their ice-cube houses, that something had done that something then had said, in effect: "Okay, if you can figure out the tilt, you can figure out anything thing you choose. Because even light has weight, and when the note of a trainwhistle suddenly drops it's the Doppler effect, and when an airplane breaks the sound barrier that bang isn't the applause of the angels or the screams of demons but only air collapsing back into place. I gave you the tilt and then I sat back about halfway up the auditorium to watch the show. I got nothing else to say, except that two and two makes four, the lights in the sky are stars if there's blood grownups can see it as well as kids, and dead boys stay dead." You can live with fear, I think,' Iida would have said if he could. 'Maybe not forever, but for a long, long time. It's an offense you maybe can't live with because it opens up a crack inside your thinking, and if you look down into it you see there are live things down there, and they have little yellow eyes that don't blink, and there's a stink down in that dark, and after a while, you think maybe there's a whole other universe down there, a universe where a square moon rises in the sky, and the stars laugh in cold voices, and some of the triangles have four sides, and some have five, and some of them have five raised to the fifth power of sides. In this universe, there might grow roses which sing. Everything leads to everything, he would have told them if he could. Go to your church and listen to your stories about Jesus walking on the water, but if I saw a guy doing that I'd scream and scream and scream. Because it wouldn't look like a miracle to me. It would look like an offense.
Because he could say none of these things, he just reiterated: "Being scared isn't the problem. I just don't want to be involved in something that will land me in the nuthatch."
"Will you at least go with us to talk to him?" Todoroki asked. "Listen to what he says?"
"Sure," Iida said, and then laughed. "Maybe I ought to bring my bird-book."
Three of them laughed then, Todoroki smiled, and it was a little easier.
—10—
Todoroki left them outside the Kleen-Kloze and took the rags back home by himself. The apartment was still empty. He put them under the kitchen sink and closed the cupboard. He stood up and looked down toward the bathroom.
'I'm not going down there,' he thought. I'm going to watch TV- or see if I can't learn how to do the Dog.
So he went into the living room and turned on the TV and five minutes later he turned it off while some infomercial was showing how much oil just one Stri-Dex medicated pad could take off the face of your average teenager ('If you think you can get clean with just soap and water," the man said, holding the dirty pad up to the glassy eye of the camera so that every teenager in Japan could get a good look, "you ought to take a good look at this.').
He went back to the kitchen cupboard over the sink, where his father kept his tools. Among them was a pocket tape, the kind that runs out a long yellow tongue of inches. He folded this into one cold hand and went down to the bathroom.
It was sparkling clean, silent. Somewhere, far distant, it seemed, he could hear the toddler that had shown him his truck's mother yelling for her boy to get in out of the road, right now.
He went to the bathroom basin and looked down into the dark eye of the drain.
He stood there for some time, his legs as cold as marble inside his jeans, his lips dead dry. He waited for the voices.
No voices came.
A little shuddery sigh came from him, and he began to feed the thin steel tape into the drain. It went down smoothly-like a sword into the gullet of a sideshow performer. Six inches, eight inches, ten. It stopped, bound up in the elbow-bend under the sink, Todoroki supposed. He wiggled it, pushing gently at the same time, and eventually, the tape began to feed into the drain again. Sixteen inches now, then two feet, then three.
He watched the yellow tape slipping out of the chromed-steel case, which had been worn black on the sides by his father's big hand. In his mind's eye, he saw it sliding through the black bore of the pipe, picking up some muck, scraping away flakes of rust. Down there where the sun never shines and the night never stops, he thought.
He imagined the head of the tape, with its small steel buttplate no bigger than a fingernail, sliding farther and farther into the darkness, and part of his mind screamed 'What are you doing?!' He did not ignore that voice... but he seemed helpless to heed it. He saw the end of the tape going straight down now, descending into the cellar. He saw it striking the sewage pipe... and even as he saw it, the tape bound up again.
He wiggled it again, and the tape, thin enough to be limber, made a faint eerie sound that reminded him a little bit of the way a saw sounds when you bend it back and forth across your legs.
He could see its tip wiggling against the bottom of this wider pipe, which would have a baked ceramic surface. He could see it bending... and then he was able to push it forward again.
He ran out six feet. Seven. Nine -
And suddenly the tape began to run through his hands by itself as if something down there was pulling the other end. Not just pulling it: running with it. He stared at the flowing tape, his eyes wide, his mouth an 'O' of fear-fear, yes, but no surprise. Hadn't he known? Hadn't he known something like this was going to happen?
The tape ran out to its final stop. Eighteen feet; an even six yards.
A soft chuckle came wafting out of the drain, followed by a low whisper that was almost reproachful: "Shouto, Shouto, Shouto... you can't fight us... you'll die if you try... die if you try... die if you try... Shouto... Shouto... Shoutoooooo."
Something clicked inside the tape measure's housing, and it suddenly began to run rapidly back into its case, the numbers and hashmarks blurring by. Near the end-the last five or six feet-the yellow became a dark, dripping red and he gasped and dropped it on the floor as if the tape had suddenly turned into a live snake.
Fresh blood trickled over the clean white porcelain of the basin and back down into the drain's wide eye. He bent, hyperventilating now, his fear a freezing weight in his stomach, and picked the tape up. He tweezed it between the thumb and first finger of his right hand and, holding it in front of him, took it into the kitchen. As he walked, blood dripped from the tape onto the oakwood floors of the hall.
He steadied himself by thinking of what his father would say to him- what he would do to him-if he found that he had gotten his measuring tape all bloody. Of course, he wouldn't be able to see the blood, but it helped to think that.
He took one of the clean rags-still as warm as fresh bread from the dryer-and went back into the bathroom. Before he began to clean, he put the brass plug in the drain, closing that eye. The blood was fresh, and it cleaned up easily. He went up his own trail, wiping away the dune-sized drops on the linoleum, then rinsing the rag, wringing it out, and putting it aside.
He got a second rag and used it to clean his father's measuring tape. The blood was thick, viscous. In two places there were clots of the stuff, black and spongy.
Although the blood only went back five or six feet, he cleaned the entire length of the tape, removing from it all traces of pipemuck. That done, he put it back into the cupboard over the sink and took the two stained rags out in the back of the apartment. The boy's mother was yelling again. Her voice was clear, almost bell-like in the still-hot late afternoon.
In the back lot, which was mostly barren, weeds, and clothes-lines, there was a rusty incinerator. Shouto threw the rags into it, then sat down on the back steps. Tears came suddenly, with surprising violence, and this time he made no effort to hold them back.
He put his arms on his knees, his head in his arms, and wept while the boy's mother called for him to come out of that road, did he want to get hit by a car and be killed?