The Art of Capture
I.
When Sarah woke her senses returned to her in strange sequence, bits and pieces of awareness filtering in like broken sunlight glimpsed through closed eyelids. Hair tickling her face, the sensation of another body a breath away from her own, a dampness clinging to the back of her skull. She felt the ghost of a hand that had gently stroked her hair from her face moments before. Then, when she finally opened her eyes, shadows crawling across the concrete beneath her. As she lifted her head to look around her the dark room spun, and the sight of a blue light glowing on the far wall sent a flash of pain streaking behind her eyes, which she closed again in defense.
She heard a voice whisper her name, wrapping it in a wary tenderness. The faint accent that dragged out each syllable revealed the speaker's identity, and suddenly fuzzy memories of how she'd come to be in her current position returned to Sarah. The pair of red-rimmed eyes that greeted her when she opened her own once more sent chills of recognition shivering along her spine as she recalled screaming her daughter's name in panic, finding them both crouched down in that narrow alley.
She could remember the yells that had erupted from her at the sight of Helena touching Kira, how she'd instantly regretted them as they broke the spell of stillness that seemed to have gathered in the air around the two. She could envision the vulnerability in Helena's face when she'd glanced up, how at the sight of Sarah's anger it had contorted into a feral look of hurt and desire.
Vaguely she remembered how Kira had smiled as the little girl had scrambled to her side. She recalled the slippery texture of her winter coat as she grasped it tightly, relief washing over her for one brief moment.
The next thing she could remember was Helena pouncing forward, pressing her to the wall by the neck.
How can she be your daughter, Helena had hissed in her ear, and Sarah had twisted her face against the rough bricks to find the child in question frozen with wide eyes in the falling snow. "Kira, run," she'd managed to bark forcefully. After that she'd tried to twist free of the hold, and then everything became a blur. Somehow she'd found herself on the wet ground, lungs reeling for air from a series of blows. She could hear Kira screaming for help somewhere in the distance.
"Helena, let me go," she remembered begging. "Please."
Fear and anger had swum in the blonde's eyes, and it was the former that had told Sarah she was in danger.
A man's voice had joined Kira's; they were approaching from the street. Sarah had scrambled to her elbows. A hand had knotted in her hair, strong arms yanking her backwards round the corner. Pain had exploded at her temple, radiated outward. Sarah could remember striking out blindly, desperate to free herself. The taste of iron had flooded her mouth, her teeth jolting into her tongue as her head met the wall again and again. The last thing she remembered were strong hands gripping her arms, dragging her through the snow into the night.
In the dark room Sarah's breathing quickened. She shifted in the chair, the movement producing a metallic rattling that lead her to the sobering discovery of a set of cuffs binding her wrists to her sides. Helena was staring at her without expression, and she felt herself return to the day they'd first met, her back pinned to the ground as the terrifyingly familiar stranger's eyes and hands roamed her face. Like in that moment, she now felt herself tremble with fear as adrenaline brought life to her weary limbs, dozens of frantic thoughts flickering through her cloudy mind.
"Helena." Sarah swallowed thickly against dried blood and spit, sore throat and torn tongue aching in protest. Where are we, she was going to ask, praying that there was some possibility of being found. But the creak of a heavy door opening somewhere behind her drew both women's attention. Helena glanced over Sarah's head, something like excitement in her eyes.
"See, I've brought her to you, Tomas. Like we said."
Sarah held her breath, her entire body going rigid. Footsteps echoed in the empty cabin and stopped. There was silence for a moment and the skin on the back of Sarah's neck prickled with goose bumps at the presence of someone behind her.
Suddenly fingers brushed through her hair. She flinched violently, the tension that had built in her nerves exploding at the man's rough touch. The movement worsened the throbbing in her head and she was forced to be still as his hands explored her scalp. "Easy," he warned in a flat, cold voice that reminded Sarah of an old foster parent. "Don't touch me," she rasped in reflex, only leading him to chuckle softly and continue. Helena was looking up at him searchingly. From the desperation in her face Sarah gathered that he was ignoring her.
Finally withdrawing his painful touch he stepped into view. His face was level with the harsh light on the wall and its features faded in and out of clarity as her vision swam under the brightness. She could vaguely see that they were downturned and bloated, garishly ugly like some kind of gargoyle. Sunken baggy eyes stared at her from beneath thick eyebrows with calculated concern. She tried to hold his gaze, to show some kind of strength despite her vulnerable position, but the light was too much and her eyes refused to focus.
"You've been rough with it, Helena. It's not as strong as you are."
It. Sarah's fingers curled into a fist. She felt sick and she wasn't sure if it was because of the light or the man in front of her. Her stomach churned with dread as he stripped away her humanity with that one word.
When Helena spoke her voice was void of the forceful, uncontrolled quality Sarah had grown to expect. She sounded like a child, timid and unsure. "She can help us, Tomas. She can be saved, I can see it."
Tomas continued to study Sarah, but this time she got the sense that he was staring through her, thinking hard about something. Sarah wanted to reason with him, but she couldn't think of anything that might give her an edge. She was nobody, she was already supposed to be dead. The perfect kidnapping victim.
Finally a resolute, inspired look came over Tomas' face and he answered his unfortunate disciple.
"Perhaps you're right. But you know that we can't help her until she wants us to. First she must be made to understand, just like you, in the beginning. Do you remember?" He looked to Helena as he spoke the question. She closed her eyes, a strange look that Sarah couldn't quite identify passing over her face.
Made to understand. Sarah didn't want to imagine what that statement entailed, what it meant for her… or for Helena. The sudden pity that flared in her at the sight of Tomas' hand moving to her counterpart's shoulder angered her- only hours ago this woman had threatened her daughter and tried to send her skull through a brick wall. Now she was chained to a chair, completely at the mercy of a man who believed she was an abomination, who had disposed of others like her and turned one of them into a murderer. She should have killed Helena in that apartment, should have put her out of her misery. But something had held her back and now she was paying for it, facing God knows what fate and unable to even blame her captor.
"Tomas led me to redemption, Sarah," Helena murmured, a flame of conviction warming her cold eyes. Tomas unexpectedly stepped out of sight, and Sarah heard the door squeak open and shut. "He showed me the light, and now we can show you, too."
Sarah recognized the opportunity. They were alone now. She had one chance.
"Helena, listen to me. We don't need Tomas, we don't need to be saved." She tried to keep her voice placating and steady, to hold back the unsteadiness creeping in. "You're right, there is a light in us. In all of us-
"No, I've seen the others, you're wrong."
"Okay, okay, but Helena, you've met Kira." Sarah's voice cracked as she remembered her daughter. She realized she had no idea what had happened to her after she'd lost consciousness.
"You held her hand, she was real, yeah? Tomas hasn't seen that, he doesn't understand. How can I be wrong, unnatural, if I made her?"
"She is an angel. You were chosen, to help us, for a higher purpose. She's a sign."
Sarah's pulse picked up speed in frustration as her words fell on deaf ears. She could see the blonde retreating, unwilling to let the walls of faith that Tomas had erected around her fall.
"If you let me go, I will find a way to help you, Helena. But I can't help you in this place. I won't." Her voice hardened, a dash of anger slipping through the sympathetic appeals. She needed the other woman to feel that whatever bond she had imagined was in danger. "You hurt me, you brought me here against my will. Our connection doesn't mean shit if you don't make that right."
Sarah paused to look into Helena's eyes. She tried to transmit all of her emotions through their locked gaze, tried to appeal to the empathy that she hoped still resided somewhere within the other woman.
"I want to trust you."
For a moment she thought it might have worked- Helena was rocking back and forth on her heels, eyes flickering from Sarah's face to the cuffs around her wrists. Sarah nodded at her encouragingly. The blonde ran a finger along the edge of the cuff in thought, her touch so light Sarah thought it might not be there. It was a disorienting contradiction: such gentleness coming from such a violent human being.
Just as Helena opened her mouth to speak, the creak of the door invaded both women's awareness.
"Helena, get away from her."
"We can help each other. Helena." Sarah heard the footsteps approach again, rapidly. Her panic rose. "He's not on your side, you can stop him, just-
Her pleas broke with a pained cry as Tomas gabbed her by her hair, jerking her head back abruptly. "What has she been telling you? That I'm wrong, that you should let her go, run away from me? You know better than that, Helena."
Sarah's blood was still burning with fear and anticipation, but her vision had clouded with dots of black and she could feel her body beginning to shake as the twisted position Tomas held her in strained her bruised ribs. She tried one last time, meeting Helena's unsure eyes, hoping the physical aggression might have forced her doubt to its climax.
"Tomas," Helena growled, reaching out to grab the hand still clenched in Sarah's hair. "Let go." Her body language had shifted, the obsequious head bowing and simmering appeals for attention replaced by the poised threat of a dog defending its master. There was a pause, and then a hard slap echoed through the room.
"You could forget Mariya so easily?"
The slap had been powerful, but Sarah saw that the words had stung much more sharply. Helena had been about to spring from where she'd fallen on the floor, enraged, but with the utterance of that name all of the fight seemed to leave her body.
"Mariya, who warned you for years of temptation. And now you're about to let yourself meet the same fate as her, for this sheep's devil words."
Helena's face melted. She pressed the heel of her palm to the space between her eyes. "You're right, Tomas. I'm sorry."
With those words Sarah felt all of the energy drain out of her. The door to her escape had slammed shut. Tomas released her and her head rolled forward, breath returning to her lungs in long shuddering gasps. Her captors continued to speak but their words flew past her ears without comprehension. She felt incredibly tired, exhaustion seeping through her like a drug. Vaguely she made out the hint of a smile playing on Tomas' flat purple lips as he crouched in front of her, having sent Helena from the room.
Sarah realized that he'd left them alone intentionally. To show her that there was no escape. That Helena was his and now she was too.
Her eyelids began to droop, though she tried to fight it. "Shh," she heard him murmur, his voice sounding far away. "Soon we'll get to know each other. But first, rest. We can't have you dying on us yet."
All along Sarah had thought that her most immediate threat had been Olivier and Neolutionism, or being uncovered by Art and the rest of the cops. But as Tomas pressed butterfly stitches to her forehead with much more force than was necessary, his hot breath inches from her face, she realized how wrong she'd been.