Chapter Text
My father is an idiot.
I’ve known this since I was young. Unlike other children, I was never naive enough to think my parents were some sort of all-knowing all-good saints. Oh, they wanted me to think that, but like most of their schemes, anyone with half a brain could see right through it.
I distinctly remember an incident from my childhood. My father was arguing with a customer about the quality of his beer, saying all sorts of nonsense about different colored fermentations, and how he was able to bargain his way to some high quality brew. What my father didn’t realize was that the customer was himself a brewer, who proceeded to call my father out on his fibs in front of the few other customers that were there. My father, flustered and embarrassed, silently walked away.
The fool.
But I am a fair man, and I give credit where credit is due. Though my father is an idiot, born with half, or rather one-fourth, or no, one-tenth, of a brain, he at the very least knows when he is outwitted. Unlike most idiots I’ve met, when my father encounters someone even a little bit clever, he knows to take advantage of his own idiocy as much as possible. He’ll let the clever ones talk and talk and talk, all the while making himself appear more of a fool than he already is.
Which is how he came by the “family fortune,” a story that he simply loves to tell people any chance he gets. He’s told patrons, clients, my professors, and even swears it’s the reason my mother and he got together. Not the fact that they were absolute dolts who had both recently come into a lot of money, no! It was the story.
As if.
And what a story it is. Danger! Excitement! A reign of terror that would grip England for months on end! And a villain that had to be seen to be believed! Or not seen, that is. I suppose you’ll want to hear that story, right? I mean, it’s clearly relevant to the situation at hand. Alright, I’ll try to be brief.
This is the tale of The Invisible Man.
His name was Griffin. No, it’s his last name. I don’t know his first name! I think it might be Jack or John or something like that. Anyways, Griffin was a megalomaniac. Wicked and depraved to the core. Like a bad parent, he always set out to hurt those around him in any way possible. My father used to show people his bruises to give some legitimacy to his story, you know, before they healed.
But insane and evil as he was, Griffin was nonetheless a genius. He had discovered a certain formula from pigments that would lower the light index of an object, specifically white objects, since white ligh- oh, um, yes, you are correct. I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised you would know some basic optical science. Regardless, he had discovered what is likely the most miraculous potion of the century: invisibility!
And then he went and made himself invisible!
Hahaha! Oh, I can’t believe it. What a fool, am I right? To turn himself invisible without experimenting with it first. I mean, as a man of science yourself I’m sure you can think of the potential side effects and ramifications. How would one even see if light just passes through your eyes? Ridiculous!
Why yes, I am aware of the hypocrisy. But no, my situation is completely different.
In any case, permanently stuck as an invisible man, I suppose his megalomania just, you know, increased ten-fold! He started going around killing people, stealing money, and generally making real morons of the police.
This is where my father comes in. He likes to say that ol’ Griffin, ahem, “needed someone with a lot of muscle and a little brain,” that halfwit. I know, I get that a lot. In fact, my mother used to love it when I did his voice. She likes to say that I inherited her tenacity and my father’s charm, whatever that means.
Where was I? Oh yes, see Griffin forced my father to collect his notebooks for him, since he had left them behind somewhere. However, in what is likely the most exaggerated part of his story, my father, ahem, “couldn’t let that invisible devil continue running amok anymore. So I did what any saint would do, and I ran!” That’s an exact quote, you know. You would not believe the amount of times I heard that story growing up. God, I could recite it in my sleep.
So my father ran, and Griffin chased, and what do you know, my father got away! Kept the notes too! Hid them away from the prying eyes of scientists and thieves. One of the few smart choices he made in his life, well, deliberately made.
And Griffin? Mobbed to death. Indeed, what a way to go. So much for that reign of terror, huh? In my opinion, they should’a arrested him, you know? Picked his brain while he was in prison or something. Hell, maybe he could’ve found a cure while he was there. Then maybe I wouldn’t be here.
After my father learned about his death, he stayed in Port Stowe. Opened up the “Invisible Man Inn,” yeah I know, great name. Maybe he should’a called it the “Innvisible Man,” huh? Hehehe. Come on, you can at least laugh at how bad it is. Oh fine.
Let’s see. A few years later he met my mom, who has a story all to her own. And a few years after that, I was born. Raised under that story all my life. You know, I actually didn’t believe a lot of it growing up. I mean, I always thought it was just a gimmick my father came up with to get people to come by and have a drink.
Then one day, a guy came by the inn. No, this was after I came back from university. I don’t remember his name either. Hemp, I think? Kemp! No, you’re right, his name was Kemp. He started getting all angry with my father, accusing him of hiding secrets from the scientific community. And it was a surprisingly busy day too, so the place was pretty full. But they knew each other, you now? I don’t know how I missed it, but apparently this guy had been coming by for years, looking for the notebooks.
Things started getting rowdy when Kemp pointed fingers at my father. Literally, I mean. He seemed like a real finger-pointing sort of person. My father in turn pointed fingers right back. Again, literally. Pointed fingers turned into closed fists, and well, things escalated.
What did I do? I did what any sober person would do in a bar brawl, leave. My mother was in the back room, so I went there to wait it out.
When the commotion had died out, my father stormed into the back room, bloody nose and all. He seemed real pissed, more than I had ever seen him. He started ranting, talking about scientists being greedy and what not. Then he saw I was there, and I could tell he was making a decision. His nose is shaped like a can, and it would get all wrinkled as he tried to use what little brain he had. His wiry hair would stick up a little too. After a few seconds, he took me to his office. He told my mother to stand guard, which she did without a word, which was odd. Then he unlocked a cupboard, and then a box that was inside that cupboard, and a drawer that was in that box. From there, he took out three leather bound volumes.
Yes, those were the notebooks. Filled with Griffin’s secrets. And my father was giving them to me. Another of his few smart decisions.
And, well, looking at me, I suppose you can guess what happened next, eh doctor?