As of yet unbetaed. English isn´t my mother language, therefore there may be some mistakes.
I tried to research as much as possible. Because it has been some time since I last saw Suits, please excuse any discrepancy between my story and the series.
The only light that illuminated the tiny cell came from the light bulb on the ceiling.
It wasn't much. A sickly yellow light that didn't even reach the corners of the cell and thus only made everything feel even more restricted. Sometimes the light flickered and turned the whole room into darkness.
That were the moments the prisoner feared the most. When there was nothing but blackness and he couldn't even see his own hand in front of his eyes. When it felt as if he couldn't breathe because the darkness was suffocating him; the sudden pressure that seemed to carve in his chest every time.
The cell´s walls were made of concrete – grey, lifeless and cold. It must have been ages since the last time the room had seen any kind of maintenance for many cracks disrupted the once smooth surface. Sometimes when the prisoner looked long enough he thought that he could make out some kind of patterns. He tried to bring some kind of order into it, because if he did nothing he would turn insane.
There was a tiny bed attached to the wall. It was nothing more than a wooden board with a blanket that had so many holes in it that it wouldn't do much to conserve any warmth underneath it. The prisoner hadn't slept on it. He feared that in the moment he would close his eyes the darkness would come and claim him; that he wouldn't wake up once he had given himself to the sweet temptation that was sleep. He knew that this was a fight that he couldn't hope to win but it was one he fought nevertheless. Because it was one of the few choices he still had left: sleep or no sleep.
The prisoner laughed. It was an ugly sound. More cough than a laugh – hollow – with no warmth, no emotion. A dead laugh.
How far he had fallen that this was one of the only choices he had still left. Every other choice had been taken away from him. Every choice but one – but he refused to even contemplate it. He still had so much to fight for – so much to lose – and he wouldn't give it all up. He would continue living.
The prisoner didn't know how long he had already been imprisoned here. It could have been days, weeks or months. There was nothing in his cell that indicated the passing of time. He was pretty sure that the meagre meals he was given were given him in irregular intervals in order to make it impossible for him to discern the length of his imprisonment from it.
He wondered if his friends were still searching for him or if they had already given up on ever finding him. Were they already continuing their lives, sad that they had lost him but moving on nevertheless? Or were they still searching the streets asking around for his whereabouts – only that they would never find him. This place wasn't accessible for them.
Before the prisoner could continue contemplating the steel door to his cell opened with a loud crack and two guards walked in. The prisoner had to avert his gaze, for the light that suddenly flashed through the door was too bright for his eyes that had been accustomed to the weak cell lighting. Still a little bit dazed the he couldn't put up much resistance when the two guards suddenly heaved him from the ground and dragged him out of the cell.
When the prisoner looked around he could see that they were in a hallway from which countless other cells branched off. Maybe this was some prisoner tract? Before he could observe any more the guards walked him through the door at the end of the hallway.
What followed was one corridor after another – indiscernible from each other – so that the prisoner gave up on trying to remember the way after a short while. Sometimes they met other guards but the silence that penetrated the whole complex was never broken by something as plain as a greeting.
The prisoner knew that this was the way of these people. Not that he knew much about them, but even as prisoner you noticed some things. And knowledge after all was power.
After a while – the prisoner didn't know how long – they stopped in front of a door. It was made of pale wood with silver engravings in a script the prisoner had never encountered before. It was elegant and smooth – timeless you could say – and had no edges, no endings which would disrupt the display of pure sophistication. In the middle of the font a silver tree was engraved on the door.
Before the prisoner could take in further details the door swung open and the three walked through it. The room behind was round and austere. There was nothing on the stone walls; no paintings, no windows, nothing. The only thing within was a pedestal in the middle of the room as austere as its surrounding. On top of it was a bowl of silver filled with a clear undefinable liquid.
There was a woman standing behind the pedestal. She was tall – as tall as the prisoner – and excluded an aura of uttermost authority and sophistication. Her long blond hair hung loose and ended above her waist. It looked like threads of gold, framing a face that looked angelic in its beauty. Bright green eyes that seemed to glow from within looked at the prisoner; high cheekbones accenting the small nose and bright red lips that would look sinful on any other woman but on her it looked perfect. Her figure was slim, shrouded in silk so white that it reflected the light from above.
But there was one thing that betrayed the woman´s non-human origin: the pointed ears.
"You can leave," the woman ordered the two guards. If there was one thing that matched the woman´s beauty than it was the coldness in both her voice and in her gaze that seemed to penetrate the prisoner´s mind and looked down on him like he was nothing more that dirt beneath her feet.
The guards left, closing the door and leaving behind only the prisoner and the woman.
"Now we meet again at the same place like the last time," the woman commented.
"And like the last time I was dragged here by one of your goons," the prisoner replied, his voice hoarse from the long time of disuse.
"I must say," he continued, "that your true from definitely looks better than your human disguise. Although some things always seem to stay the same: You´re still an absolute bitch, Katrina." The woman – Katrina – just smiled.
"Glad to see that you haven't lost your edge, Mike," she said. "I couldn't have lived without your smart-mouthed quips." Mike snorted.
"I could have lived without you pretty well," he quipped at her. "But let´s stop with these courtesies. We both know that we hate each other."
"I don't hate you," Katrina replied. "I never have. It is you that insists on this childish fits of emotions. If you just could overcome the confinements of your human mind you would see that everything I did was for the greater good of every magical being on this world." At this words pure hatred filled Mike´s eyes.
"'The greater good'?!" he spat. "Everything you did; you did for yourself alone! So don't come with this bullshit about how altruistic every of your motives are!" Katrina just looked at him in disappointment.
"You still don't see it, do you?" she asked. "With every moment we do nothing humanity is one step further along on its path to completely destroy everything magical on this earth. They have enslaved your race, nearly destroyed mine and annihilated countless others. If we do not resist now it will be too late. My people won´t see the dawn of this new age, but we will fight so that others may have the chance to."
"You won´t reach your goal with your methods," Mike replied. "Hate only breeds hate, you should know that. With every action you take you provoke an even more severe counter-action. There won´t be any winners left if you continue on this path. Our only chance is to change the system from within."
"Like Harvey did?" Katrina countered.
"Don't you dare to say his name!" Mike shouted and was about to launch himself at her, but one gesture of Katrina froze him on the spot.
"Don´t you dare," he repeated weakly as some tears trailed down his cheeks.
"So you´re still not willing to work with me?" Katrina asked.
"After you killed Harvey?" Mike spat at her. "Of course not!"
Three months ago…
Mike looked at Harvey, completely stunned.
"Wait, what?" he uttered after a while. He must have misheard, didn't he? No sane person in the States would hire an unregistered magician. Prejudice, fear and hate were to dominate in society to allow something like that. Besides, it was punishable with several years of federal prison because it counted as crime against the state.
"I said I´ll hire you," Harvey repeated. "You´re sure you aren't mentally deficient? Because I thought that I said it clear enough the first time."
"I´m not mentally deficient!" Mike exclaimed. "I´m just a little bit thrown off that you would hire someone who – according to the official authorities – has 'no control over his abilities and should therefore be taken into protective custody until such a time where his or her abilities can be controlled and used to support the United States and its citizens.'" Harvey snorted.
"So you read those stupid flyers as well?" he asked.
"Of course I do," Mike said. "I can´t just simply walk blind in this country, without knowing what the government is up to. But you are deflecting" – Harvey grinned when Mike noticed – "so would you please answer my question?"
"Unlike my fellow citizen," Harvey started. "I´m not believing this bullshit the government feeds us about uncontrollable magicians and the great danger every one of them not under federal control represents to society. For me, you are just people with very useful talents – talents which are unavailable to me.
One thing to know about me?" he continued. "I like winning. One thing I hate? Losing. So if there is something that prevents me from losing a case – even if its magic – then I will use it. Not so difficult to get, isn´t it?"
"So you just want to use me for something I´ve been born with?" Mike asked further.
"Of course that's one of the reasons," Harvey replied. "But not the only one. I thought about hiring you before your little display, because you were still better than nearly every of these Harvard clones out there, but the fights and stress with my boss and the other partners would have cost me too much of my time. Your…talent was just the bit that tipped the balance into your direction."
"That can´t be all," Mike was still sceptical.
"There is more," Harvey admitted. "But for that you would have to take an Oath of Secrecy." Mike´s jaw dropped. To demand an Oath of Secrecy was something you only did in the direst of situations. It bound a persons' magic and life to the secret itself and would not allow that said secret would be disclosed to anyone, no matter the circumstances. Mike had heard terrible stories about people who tried to circumvent an Oath. Their very magic had devoured them from within; none of their deaths had been pleasant.
"You aren't serious, are you?" Mike retorted. "How do you even know what an Oath of Secrecy is? That isn´t something that is propagandised on the government leaflets."
"The answer to that would fall under that oath as well," Harvey replied. "If you don't take it, I´ll simply have to let you work for my until I think you are trustworthy enough. But that will probably take some time."
Mike knew that he should take him up on that offer. Simply work for Harvey, forget all about the last part of the conversation and if he would be let in on the secret later on he would be pleasantly surprised. Simply let sleeping dogs lie. But Mike wouldn't be Mike without the drive to want to know everything he could get his hands on. And Harvey was practically dangling it in front of his face waiting for him to catch it.
"What would that Oath entail?" he heard himself asking and he didn't know if that little smile on Harvey´s face was real or just in his imagination.
"You´re really sure you want to take one?" Harvey asked.
"First you practically shove it in my face that you know something that is worth taking an oath for and now you´re suddenly asking me if I was sure?" Mike snapped at the man.
"Just wanted to make sure that you knew all the facts," Harvey responded. "And about the oath: pretty standard actually. Everything you see, hear or feel from the moment you take it you may never relay to a third party – be they living or undead, intelligent or beast – in direct or indirect form." Mike frowned. That undead part sounded ridiculous. There was no such thing as necromancy – as far as he knew; the same thing with other superstitious notions such as vampires or zombies. The beast part he could understand, there actually were some psychics that could talk with animals.
"You´ll understand," Harvey added. Mike decided to trust the man and took a deep breath.
"I, Michael James Ross, do hereby swear on my magic that I shall never disclose anything I hear, see or feel from this moment on to a third party – be they living or undead, intelligent or beast – lest my magic consume myself," he swore. He could feel the magic lacing every of his words with ancient power. It shifted underneath his skin, coiling and falling apart, until it settled again.
When he was finished Mike looked at Harvey and raised an eyebrow at him.
"Now, are you gonna tell me what this secret of yours is?" Mike asked cheekily.
"You asked me why I decided to hire you after your little show of magic," Harvey started, "and I gave you part of my reasons. But you won´t believe me if I told you the other one, instead" – he held his hand up, forestalling Mike interrupting him – "I will show you." And with that he led Mike out of the room.
"Donna," he shouted to the red-haired woman, "I have my associate. Send these Harvard clones home."
"Where are you going?" Donna shouted after him.
"Undertow," Harvey shouted back and then they were already out of the room. Mike followed Harvey out of the hotel and through the crowded streets of New York. He nearly lost the man a few times because nothing was more vicious than New York pedestrians or taxi drivers when you got in their way.
Finally, Harvey came to a halt in a secluded side alley. Garbage cans stood in front of graffiti decorated walls and fire ladders fixed on the walls threw their shadows on the ground.
"I hope you didn't just lead me here to murder me," Mike half-joked. "A lot of people saw me leaving with you. You´d be caught within three days at most." Harvey didn't pay attention to him instead walking to what seems to be a homeless person sitting in front of the only part of the wall that wasn't painted with graffiti. The person wore an old coat which probably had been black once but now was in a muddy grey. His or her face was obscured under a hood.
"What do you want?" the homeless asked with a voice that sounded like he had swallowed gravel and grinded it in his throat.
"Entry, sentinel," Harvey answered. At this point Mike was ready to storm out of the alley and leave those two crazies to themselves but then the man simply knocked at the wall and suddenly the bricks began to rearrange themselves. Mike just stood there – jaw dropped – and watched as an impressive archway formed itself in front of him.
"Close your mouth, it´s unbecoming, rookie" Harvey said as the stones stopped shifting. "Follow me." Mike did and followed Harvey into the corridor. After ten meters or so he heard a rumbling. He turned around only to observe the brick wall shifting itself back to its original state. With one last rumble the exit was barred and the hallway descended into darkness.
It only lasted for a short while, though, then the walls itself started to glow in a warm blue light which allowed Mike to see Harvey´s form a few meters in front of him.
"You did good," the man said. "Most people run back and start screaming that they want to be let out." Then he turned around and walked on, leaving Mike with no choice but to follow him. The corridor seemed endless. And the further they went ahead the more prominent the magic around them became. Mike hadn't noticed at first, too distracted by everything that had happened, but now he could feel it all around him. It was like a blanket that had wrapped itself around him and kept him warm. He didn't feel threatened or terrified. He felt…calm and secure. Magic was there and she would protect her children.
Their silent walk gave Mike some time to evaluate everything that had happened. Obviously Harvey wasn't just a lawyer, but he wasn't magical either; Mike would have felt it. So how was it, that a mundane seemed to know so much more about magic than he, who had it since birth? And for what did Harvey need him? It had to do something with his magic – Harvey had admitted that right from the start – but in what capacity? Mike knew how to use his magic but he didn't know much about it. He didn't know rituals, he didn't know its history and the most important thing he didn't know anything about the spiritual side of it.
Mike could affect the physical plain of existence with his magic, but nothing beyond. He couldn't do the feats that the magicians of old were able to like illusions or mind magic, branches of magic that the governments all over the world had been very throughout in eradicating. So, what did Harvey need him for?
Mike was torn out of his reverie when he bumped into Harvey´s back. He rubbed his head and then looked around the man only to see that there was a canal right in front of them. It wasn't a sewage drain; it didn't smell and the water was too clear for it. It left Mike dumbfounded because as far as he knew there were no underground rivers in – or rather – under New York.
"What are we doing here?" he whispered to Harvey, somehow feeling uneasy at the prospect of speaking at normal level.
"Just wait," Harvey answered. He hadn't even finished speaking when a gondola appeared out of the darkness from which the canal came. Slowly it floated towards them, making no noise, something that made a cold shiver run down Mike´s spin. He looked to the place where the gondolier should be standing and found himself staring at a little boy.
The kid couldn't be more than six. He was of black skin; his eyes brown and his cheeks still chubby as you expected it from a child that age. He wore a white nightgown that went down to his naked feet.
Mike looked to Harvey – his face probably an expression of uttermost confusion – but the man simply fumbled with something in his pocket. When he found what he had been searching for he threw it to the boy who caught it with trained ease. Mike couldn't see what it was, but it had sounded like something metal – coins maybe?
"Come on, Mike," Harvey said and stepped on the boat.
"Ehm, Harvey," Mike started, "that whole thing here reminds me a little bit of ancient Greek saga. You are sure that you don't led us straight in the underworld? I´m too young to end up in Tartarus." The boy smiled at that and it made Mike shift uncomfortably with how eerie that whole picture looked.
"I promise you that I won´t lead you into the underworld," Harvey deadpanned and indicated for Mike to simply step on the boat, which he did. "And it worries me how you assume that you would land in Tartarus if it were so." Again, the boat moved without making a sound.
"So," Mike began, "When are you gonna tell me where we are going?"
"You´ll see it soon," was all that Harvey said and by the big grin sporting on his face Mike had the feeling that he loved to give the impression of mysterious Dumbledore. Not being able to stand the silence that descended soon afterwards Mike turned to the boy who was steering the gondola with ease.
"So…," he started awkwardly. "Who are you – and are there more of you?" The boy turned to him, still the serene smile on his face and Mike just wanted to take it back because it was just too creepy.
"We are the orphans of this city," the boy explained, the smile never leaving his face. "We have been lost and forgotten by all the dwellers above. We wandered these realms until we came here and now we make sure that no one else will ever be lost and forgotten like we were." Mike took a few steps back. That was not what he had expected. He was about to comment on the child´s disturbing answer when he heard a faint noise in the distance which became louder by the second. It sounded familiar to Mike.
"That´s gonna be fun, rookie," Harvey said. "It´s the best part of the journey." And then Mike suddenly knew where he heard that noise before. It was from a documentary about the Niagara Falls.
"You´re kidding me, aren't you?" Mike panicked. Harvey just stood there and smiled. The noise became louder and now Mike could see the waterfall.
"We have to turn around!" Mike exclaimed. "I´m too young to die. I just got a job!" Harvey´s smile just grew wider and then the gondola had reached the edge of the waterfall. Mike closed his eyes.
A few moments later he was still alive, so Mike decided to open his eyes. To his surprise the gondola hadn't plunged them all into certain death. No, it was simply floating forwards as if the waterfall wasn't even there. Mike looked back and saw the water cascading down to the ground he couldn't see.
They were in a gigantic cave. The canal from which they had come was nothing but a tiny hole in a wall of black rock that stretched so high that Mike could see neither the ceiling nor the ground. The gondola was just floating in the darkness, slowly creeping forwards, steered by the child that turned a knowing look at Mike.
"You´re looking in the wrong direction," Harvey commented. Mike turned around and the sight he was met with filled him with wonder and awe. A city stretched out in front of him. It looked like the skyline of New York only that the buildings were all looking like they were made of alabaster. They glowed from within and repelled the darkness that was otherwise predominant within the gigantic cave they were in. Mike could see a building akin to the Empire State Building only that on its top a pulsating ball of golden light was floating from which a gigantic sphere – encompassing the whole city – sprung forth. Every window was lit and helped to illuminate the whole city. All around him Mike could see other gondolas slowly floating towards the city, each steered by a child in white nightgown.
Mike looked at Harvey and could see the same awe and wonder mirrored in his eyes.
"Welcome to Undertow."
So, this is the continuation of my One-Shot "Follow Your Story". In case you didn´t know, every instalment and chapter of my 'Imaginarum' series is named after a song from the two Nightwish albums 'Imaginaerum' and 'Imaginaerum - The Score'. The perfect music to write fantasy to.
I don´t know how long this will be and I don´t know when and how often I´ll update. If there is no real interest, I´ll take it down again.
The story will take place in Undertow with its magical plot and in New York - especially Pearson & Hardman - with its mundane plot (both of which I still have to flash out *shrugs*).
Comments are love 3