II. Maw
Not bothering to leave her shoes at the door, Misaya threw her backpack off the moment she entered her room and closed the door. Knocking everything from her nightstand, she set the bottle atop it, then went across the hall into the bathroom to wash her face, when she happened to glance in the mirror first. Touching her hair, and running a hand down her cheek, her complexion was brighter, and she opened her mouth, inspecting her teeth, whiter than before, and, tonguing her canines again, noticed they were longer, just a bit, and, poking her finger, coming away with a dot of blood, sharper.
As she stood there, fixated on the colour—a beautiful shade of red—it was all the more reason to see what was in her father's basement, rubbing her fingers together and looking back to the mirror. Ransack it, if need be. Just then, a realisation hit her, and she hurried back to the bottle on her nightstand and picked it up, peering closely at the minuscule amount of red liquid inside. Had she been given blood? Carelessly letting it drop with a donk then, rolling beneath her bed, she cursed, retrieved it, then pulled off the cork. Holding it high, letting what little was left trickle onto her tongue, she swished it around before swallowing. It was sweet, like candy, and, rotating the now empty bottle on the stand, tongue moving every which way to catch any lingering taste, she continued wondering about what it could be as she tried to calm herself.
Right then, a cough tickled her throat and she went to get some more water and, after drinking her fill same as back in the school's infirmary, back in her room, glanced down at the finger she'd pricked. The broken skin was already completely healed. It hadn't even been a couple minutes yet, and, getting an idea, she grabbed a knife from the kitchen and braced herself, drawing the blade across her forearm, wincing, then stared in amazement as it already started to heal as soon as her blood began to pool from the cut, then in horror as it bubbled a bit, dropping the knife with a clang.
Holding her arm over the faucet, she ran cold water on it and blew, smacking it afterwards. To her surprise, it was completely healed, same as her finger, and she ran her hand over the spot. It was perfectly smooth. Fresh pink flesh, and, picking the knife from the floor, the blade was dull. That shouldn't be possible and, eaving the knife on the counter, rubbing her forearm as she retreated back to her room again, just what the hell was going on? Was all this the medicine's doing, too?
—§•φ•§—
Hands now folded over her stomach, head on her bed, body uncovered, pillow and blanket on the hardwood floor, Misaya stared at the ceiling, contemplating. The medicine had gotten rid of the neck pain, altered her appearance, and gave her body some kind of boost with the healing of her wounds. And, she thought, what of the invisible thing around their house? Could that mean, whatever she felt wasn't some superficial presence of her father's woes but actually… something else?
Coughing some more, she chuckled hoarsely at such a ridiculous idea—the medicine was enough suspension of belief for one evening—and stroked her throat muscles, still irritated, glancing over at the many crushed paper cups littering her floor. She was also getting increasingly more thirsty, but she couldn't figure out why other than another side effect of the medicine and she'd just have to deal. Now taking the piece of paper from her pocket, she stared at the hastily scribbled address. The woman didn't live that far away—she didn't know whether that was a blessing, or a curse, recalling the first she'd met her, cracking a tiny smile.
Before even making it into the classroom on her first day, Ms. Tsukuda had stopped her in the hallway, smelling of too much perfume in a futile attempt to conceal her unhealthy habit of one two many smokes before class. Teetering a bit, she was also fighting off a losing battle with a hangover, telling her to hold her chin up, and to quit making a face of resentment that even Lucifer would gawk at, as if the Devil himself couldn't compare, proceeding to go on about her lack of appropriate dress code. Not that she'd been exactly following regulation either, at the time. Which she still didn't bother to follow. Which neither of them still didn't bother to follow.
The tiny smile remained, as she slide it back into her pocket then, listening for any movement outside her room for the walls of the house were thin and easily susceptible to eavesdroppers. For her, this meant if her father was moving about or doing something else, an invasion of privacy that she very much needed, she would know about it. The best time to strike at night, when he would probably be asleep, and she looked over at her door, closed shut. If her trespassing was discovered...
She could feel the bruises already.
The rage in his clouded eyes, nothing penetrating the swamp that cast a mist over his mind, trapping his sense of restraint and rational in a sticky muck as her body was coloured black and blue. Her smile widened a fraction, as she imagined it would be the worst thrashing yet, letting out a bit of laughter.
Even so, if she found more of that medicine, it didn't matter how much she had to endure. Something like that, something that could extinguish the flame itching at her for as long as she could remember, any pain received was worth it. Any pain received would be a thousand times less severe than what she's had to endure until this morning. And, the added benefits weren't too shabby either, as her thoughts travelled to that dream she always had on a full moon, wondering if that nightmare was gone, as well, and, as evening turned to night, now was the time.
Swinging from her bed, making sure the planks didn't creak as she slunk her way to the door, cracking it open and peering into the darkness, she saw nothing. Closing her door gently and slipping into the hall, it was supposed to be pitch-black. Yet, she wasn't blinded. Waving a hand in front of her face, she could see it, and blinked rapidly, the hallway stretched out before her, clear as day. With no idea why this was, other than, again, another effect brought upon by the medicine still flowing through her system, she started down it, stepping lightly. As she navigated her way to the basement, gnawing at the back of her mind was the possibility of nothing actually being there, but, really smiling to herself, Misaya knew that doubt was just that, and soon, stood above the basement steps.
Gazing down into the gaping maw, she took a breath, reaching the bottom, and came before the door. Its finish was worn, the paint flaking as she turned the knob. It rattled, loose from years of poor maintenance, creaking open slowly, and taking another breath, holding steady, she glanced back, then looked straight ahead and nowhere else.
Bracing her body and soul, she let herself be swallowed whole.
—§•φ•§—
The first thing that struck was how small the room was, then an acrid smell so strong her eyes began to water, and she wiped them as her gaze travelled from the bookcase against the backwall, to the pipes overhead and running along the walls, to a table off to the right with various medical-looking instruments, before setting on the floor. On the left, was broken glass, and, brushing through them, she found evidence of the medicine: dark red stains.
As she was getting back to her feet, there was a series of scratching noises from behind the left wall. Rats, scurrying around. She heard something else, and figured it to be a heater of some sort, as rodents liked to be close to where it was most warm, and gave it no further thought. More filth was living here than just her father, it seemed.
Going over to the table now, cobwebs clinging to many of the instruments, it hadn't been touched in who knows how long, and, about to pick one of them up for a closer look, she reconsidered, drawing her hand back. Whatever the instruments on the table were being used for, or had once been, was something she didn't want to think of any further, too, as she gave them one last look before moving on to the bookcase.
Besides, whatever that was, she had no interest in finding out, anyway. Her only goal was the medicine. Though, if she did, and it turned out to be something vile, something sick, it only gave her more reason to be glad, when he finally died.
Inspecting the bookcase, two heads higher than herself, and waving away more cobwebs, she wrinkled her nose. The smell. Mangy, old tomes. Pulling one of them free, scattering dust and wiping off the cover, the words, they were foreign, and a peculiar uneasiness came over her, but, despite the upset stomach, she was tempted to see what was inside its pages, and then remembered her goal: the medicine. Whatever was written within was probably unreadable, too, anyway, and, burying her curiosity for another time, lips pursed, sliding it back in the row and casting her gaze around the basement for a second time, she tried to spot anything she might have missed, before looking up at the pipes.
Starting from the door and travelling along the wall and ceiling, they all converged to the left wall, opposite the table. Coming to it, she saw nothing that revealed the location of a door or other secret crevice or some such, and summarized the pipes must lead to the heater and nothing more, before looking around the basement a third time just in case.
The doubt in the back of her mind? It was a reality. Standing in the middle of the room, head bowed, fists clenched, nothing was here. No suitcase and no medicine. Though, the glass on the floor meant that somewhere else in the house her father had it hidden, and she told herself not to stop searching just because this one place didn't have it. But, then, where else could it be if not here?
And, as Misaya thought, there was the sound of something as it shattered, and she heard the strain of weight on wood, attention snapping to the door. Her father was coming down the stairs! She had to find a place to keep out of sight, fast! Slipping under the table and huddling together, knees against forehead, she tried to keep still as possible, holding her breath as the door opened. Whynow, of all times?!
Waiting for the moment when a hand would reach under the table and drag her out, she continued to wait as he stopped in front of the table, setting something down. A click, as he… opened… whatever it was, and… a clatter… Her eyes widened. The suitcase and bottles of medicine!
This was her chance!
As he mumbled to himself and turned toward the left wall, she scooted over to the table's edge as his mumbling grew in volume, speaking words she didn't know, dared to lean out, and raised her head just enough to see over it. With no time to think, she swiped one and dove back under. Heart pounding in her ears, she grinned. Whatever worked. Now all she had to do was make her exit.
Crawling towards it stealthily, she would then—something in the room shifted—and the temperature dropped rapidly, as, right then, some invisible force threw her against the wall and, with it, the movement of stone, a burly hand grabbing her leg, dragging her across the floor, over the glass, and hoisting her up in front of a giant rectangular hole where part of the left wall should have been.
"So, you took some of it already," her father said, glancing to the side before tossing her into the bookcase.
Needles of pain stitched up and down her spine as she gasped, a few books coming loose and striking her on the head, the bottle of medicine sent rolling, slumping against it. A bit dizzy, she saw her father press down on the bottle, and, gathering her senses, sprang forward with an inhuman speed, taking it before he could, her jaw taking the full force of his boot instead, throat caught in an iron grip as he held her dangling above the ground again, staring into her eyes with a haughty expression, constricting her lungs and making it hard to breathe.
"Let… go…!" Clawing at his hand, consciousness fading as his grip tightened, Misaya bared her teeth. Pulling something from his pocket, what looked to be a glass shard from the floor, and holding it up, she trembled. He wouldn't. As the shard came closer to her right eye, she struggled against his strength and desperately tried prying his hand from her throat. He would! Tip practically touching pupil, she closed the eye. But, it stopped just before, and, opening the eye, it was a piece of mirror. That shattering noise from before... he must have taken it from the bathroom...
"What do you see…?" He moved it back.
Staring at herself in its reflection, she grimaced. Her eye was… The pupil... It... It was red. Had the medicine done this too? Squirming, she gasped, as iron was once again pressed against the back of her neck. And it was starting to wear off…!
"Do you see it?" His grip tightened.
Clenching her teeth, she didn't know or care what the hell he was going on about, as the only thing that registered in her brain now was that the medicine's effects were waning, and that she had to take more, quickly, before she was no longer able to keep the pain at bay as she watched the red tint in her pupil start to turn grey around its edges.
Grabbing a hold of his wrist, she squeezed. "L... let... go...!" There was a crack, her father grunting and dropping the piece of mirror. He released her, holding a fractured wrist, glaring at her as she turned and ran, stealing a few more bottles on the way out, hearing his voice roaring after her.
"I made you what you are!"
She kicked out the back door of the house, flying through the backwoods in her haste to get away, before the pain finally took her and she tripped over tangled roots, smacking her forehead on a low hanging branch and tumbling into a tree, the bottles scattering every which way, one or two of them breaking. The bandage starting to soak, blood as it dripped from underneath the folds, she tried her damnedest to gather the others before it got any worse.
Using her shirt to carry the few remaining, she tried to stay awake, tried to keep going, get more distance between her and her father and the house, enough to take the medicine again without a looming threat hounding her, but it wasn't long before she collapsed and blacked out. Darkness, as it smothered her in its abyssal embrace.