Volunteer Madman (ch3)

Seeing as I failed to check my email, and subsequently didn’t post, I will make this one interesting. Hope you like it.

Disclaimer: I own nothing.

Volunteer Madman

Chapter Three: By Appointment Only

Carpets were obviously not made to stand up to this kind of abuse.

The one covering the locker-room floor was nearly threadbare, with a beige strand here and there, making it look even older than it already was. According to school legend, it was forty-eight years old, almost as old as the school, but nobody could be sure. There wasn’t anyone still around who would remember- most graduates of this particular high school tended to move as far away as possible, and lost all contact with anyone or anything associated with it. The school was that bad.

However, some of the looser panels of carpeting could be removed, and used as storing places for various illegal substances. As far as the teachers knew, everybody just really liked the showers, or something. Gaara leaned down, and, stepping on the opposite corner, lifted the edge of one square, flung it aside, and pulled out the small plastic bag of questionable orange powder. Holding it up to the light, he checked for impurities, then threw it into his bag, satisfied with its quality.

His entire plan hinged on these little bags, full of drugs, hallucinogens, aphrodisiacs, and other banned substances, which carried a penalty of rehab, jail, or fine, all of which were equally squalid and disgusting.

A rare smile crept quickly across Gaara’s face, disappearing instantly when the locker room door creaked open on its ancient hinges.

“Hey man, you there?”

Gaara cursed inwardly and jumped backwards into the shadows between the lockers, watching the intruder carefully for any signs of recognition. Thankfully, the blundering idiot had no idea he was there.

His eyes narrowed, and with a quiet spilling sound, sand flowed like quicksilver, dangerous, tainted, and deadly, towards the junkie stumbling unaware across the path of a very impatient Gaara.

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The red-haired receptionist was exceedingly bored.

Having no reason to pay attention to the people walking by, she filed her nails, wondering how long it was until lunch. She jumped when a hand slammed down on her desk, demanding attention.

“Uh….” She hid her nail file behind her back, hoping nobody would notice, and smiled tensely at the man glaring at her. “Can I help you?”

He scowled. “Yes. Is there a doctor I could talk to about a possible psychopath that I’m concerned about? I want to know if it’s possible to do anything about him…”

The woman pulled out her date book and flipped through it. Tracing a line across the page to the appropriate time, she studied it for a moment before snapping it closed. “There is one doctor currently available. He won’t be too happy about being bothered, but I think it’ll be all right.” She grimaced, imagining the flak she would catch later when he found out what had happened, but it couldn’t be helped. Pointing down the hallway, she crooked a finger to indicate a particular door. “Just go right in, he’s just reading right now.” Remembering suddenly, she looked up at the man. “And who will I say came by?”

“Gaara.”

“What, no last name?”

The pissed-off teen looked accusingly at her. “No, no last name.” He stalked off.

The poor girl looked worriedly at his back, wondering why he was so agitated. Shrugging, she picked up her file and went back to work.

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Several hours later, Gaara was relaxing in his own room, a personal refuge. There was no way he was going home to his stupid parents; they wouldn’t even notice he was gone, so that wouldn’t be a problem. Shifting against the white cloth wall, he closed his eyes, thinking about how the afternoon had gone- the psychologist was fairly calm about his presence, at least until Gaara was asked who the person in question was. Showing no emotion at all whatsoever, he replied that he was, indeed, the psychopath of concern. The stringy man had leapt up, clutching his notepad to his chest, and hyperventilated until he passed out, at which point Gaara rolled his eyes and pressed the security intercom button under the desk. After he explained what had happened, he asked the guard to come take care of the unconscious man.

Gaara saw him later, dashing out of the office he had just gone into, running at full tilt to the bathroom. Apparently, he had seen the body, mutilated and twisted, and had been sickened. The redheaded teen grinned. It was perfect- just the excuse he needed. After a while, the security put two and two together, figured out that Gaara had killed him, stuck him in a cell, and left him there. At least the central heating was working.

He turned his head to look at the peaceful figure lying on the floor next to him, asleep. Her thin frame looked delicate, but she could defend herself; Gaara had learned that the hard way, and earned several shallow wounds in the process. Contrary to popular belief, madmen are quite social, and love company. His new roommate had been so happy; she hugged him, not letting go even when he threatened her with death. He had scowled and waited until she let him go, at which point he sat down. She had asked him his name.

“Gaara. You?”

She smirked. “Haku.” She leaned back against the wall, shifting her hips until she was facing him. “Why’re you here, anyway?”

Gaara grinned openly, exposing canines that seemed slightly longer than normal, lending him a strange ambiance. “Killing. Too much fun for my own good, I suppose…”

Haku studied his face intently. “Is that so…” She pulled her legs up and folded them in a more comfortable position. Her eyebrows inched downwards and she frowned, deep in thought. Gaara waved a hand in front of her face, and her head snapped up to meet his eyes. They stayed that way for a long time, just looking at each other, gauging the other’s strength, how far they could go before they broke. The redheaded insomniac scowled. There was no way he could figure her out; she was too strong for her own good. How long would she last? Looking at her again, he saw that she was staring through him, not really seeing him. Gaara wondered what she was thinking about.

Her lips had moved. She was talking to someone who wasn’t there, almost as if he wasn’t there at all. A tear fell from her jaw and landed on her hand, then another, but she didn’t seem to notice.

It made him wonder… what was she remembering?

He shook his head, and stared at her incredulously. She looked so delicate, but his arms and fingers remembered how strong she was, and he winced.

Why was she so happy to have company?

And what the hell was she doing in a maximum-security insane asylum?

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Are you still paying attention? taps on glass Sorry for the touchy-feely moment- but in case you’re wondering, she’s not schizophrenic; she’s there for something else.

And no, I’m not going to tell you who she’s thinking about. I’ll give you a hint: it’s not Zabuza!