Author's Note: So, inspiration has struck and I've written a bunch of chapters for this story last night and this morning rather than doing school work like I should be doing. Oops. Anyway, I wouldn't get too used to having often updates, though. I'm bad to get writer's block or get distracted by another story.
Also, I want to apologize for the horrible typos the last chapter. That's what you get when you post things in the wee hours of the morning! The tense changes and grammatical errors make me cringe, so I know they probably make at least a few of y'all cringe, too. Sorry. I'll try to do better!
In this chapter, you get to meet Jace, albeit briefly, but Clary doesn't know his name is Jace. OR she does know his name is Jace, she just can't remember it...
Cue the Twilight Zone theme music!
Enjoy and review, please! (:
Chapter Two
I stare at my hair. It used to be a vibrant, coppery color. Now, it seems dull, and my once bouncy curls seem flatter than they used to be. My large green eyes look distant even as I inspect myself in the reflection of the mirror. I'm frail looking. I look breakable.
Maybe I'm already broken.
"Pretty, pretty boy," Aline murmurs under her breath, nodding. "Boy with golden hair like an angel's, and eyes like the devil's."
It's rare I pay much attention to Aline's ramblings, but today, her words give a chill down my spine. I perk up and glance over to her. She rocks back and forth, her legs drawn up to her chest and her eyes fixed distantly on the floor. Her black hair is standing at odd angles from where she took the gardening sheers from the grounds' keeper and gave herself a haircut three days ago.
"Full moon eyes," Aline says.
"She's crazy," Simon explodes suddenly, jerking his leg up and down at a rapid pace. He's sitting across from her at our table, his hair standing out in every direction like he's gotten an electric shock. One of his eyes twitch, and he flutters his hands around. "Loony! Certifiable! NUTZO!"
"Not crazy," Aline defends before getting a dreamy look on her face and smiling. "I've seen him. He's very pretty. I want to take some of his hair and make a stuffed animal out of it."
Simon blinks rapidly, his whole body vibrating. "See! That's crazy! No sane person wants someone's hair for a teddy bear. I'm crazy, and I know that! But see, I'm not really crazy. It's everyone else that's crazy, yep, uh-huh, because you see, this is all some diabolical plot by the government." Simon finds no interest from Aline so he turns to me, his hands motioning wildly as he gets more and more animated. "It's so simple. You guys are just stupid. Stupid, stupid, stupid!" He punctuates each stupid with a vicious smack to his head.
An orderly glances over and warns, "Simon."
"Yep, sorry," he mutters back quickly, his eyes still on me. He's almost crawling across the table towards me. "We're all just a bunch of lab rats—didn't know that, did ya? We're all a lil' off you know, a little touched. I mean, take her for example—the old drooling lady over there. She's so doped up she doesn't know which way is up. She might not really be crazy. Or maybe she is—lunatic, stark raving mad! But we'll never know, will we? Because it's all part of the plan—the master plan. We're all lab rats, mice working their way through a maze to find the cheese—like Flowers For Algernon! Flowers! But there's no cheese, people! NO CHEESE!"
Simon is screaming now, and the orderlies come over, picking him up and dragging him away as he kicks and cries out, his speech turning into something so bizarre that I can't even slightly comprehend what he's trying to say.
I sigh sadly as I watch him get pulled away before I look back at Aline, who seems relatively unaffected by it all. It's rare that Simon doesn't set off a chain reaction. He gets too excited, and then Aline will, and then the whole common room becomes a circus of insanity—quite literally.
The only other person that can get the hospital in such an uproar is myself—although I never remember it when it happens.
"Who's the boy you're talking about?" I whisper to Aline.
She smiles down at her lap. "He's tall. Forever tall with smoke coming out his nose, and eyes that shine like the sun but love the moon."
My skin prickles, and I don't know why. "Where've you seen him?"
Aline looks up at me, her eyes suddenly very lucid for a moment, unhindered by the haze of drugs they have her own. "He's in the halls. He's looking for you, Clary." Then she blinks, and she's gone again.
I frown and watch as Aline gets up and drifts over to the old woman Simon mentioned earlier. Aline begins trying to braid the white puffs of hair the woman has left, and the woman continues to stare into nothingness.
My heart clenches, a heavy stone in my chest.
I'm not so far gone that I don't pity these people, the way that some of them live. I want to help them, but I can't. Of course I can't. I can't even help myself.
I gasp when I feel someone sit next to me. It's visiting time now, time when your family can visit. That's why I always sit in the common room on Tuesdays—just in case my family might come.
They never do, though.
When I feel heat and smell something spicy, I know it isn't my Aunt Maryse or Uncle Robert that's come. My head turns, my eyes widening and breath catching.
The man that is half sprawled in the chair is unnaturally beautiful—light golden skin, golden messy curls, a perfect jaw and nose and mouth. His beauty is all warm colors and raw power, and his eyes are the color of brandy, liquid and moving.
He smiles a half smile at me that's full of recognition. He arches his brows, as if waiting for something, and when I continue to stare—not just at his lovely features but also at the nagging familiarity hidden within them—he leans forward towards me and says, "Well, I see you've gone and got yourself thrown in the nuthouse."
My mouth pops open in shock.
He leans back again, his eyes tracing down my body before moving back up and meeting my eyes. "You look awful."
"Do I know you?" I demand suddenly, his insult making my voice come out sharp.
The boy looks briefly taken aback before he leans in suddenly, grabs the sides of my chair, and scoots me so close that our legs crunch together.
I'm so shocked I can't move.
"You're taking our usual cat-and-mouse game to the extreme, don't you think?" he asks, his face right in mine. His breath is hot against my cheeks. "Playing up the crazy act, getting yourself put in this hellhole. What's your plan?"
"My p-plan?" I echo, feeling my head spin.
"Doesn't matter." The boy shrugs and drops a devastating grin—a grin that brings back feelings of fear and evil. "You're gonna lose the game this time, sweetheart."
"Let go of my chair," I whisper, my lips beginning to tremble.
Wrong, wrong, wrong.
Evil.
Hair like an angel's, and eyes like the devil's.
"You actually look pitiful," the boy, murmurs, cocking his head at me in the most predatory way, not one ounce of pity or empathy in his eyes—only curious amusement. "You look like you really are scared."
Fear shoots down my spine, into my leg, and it swings up, kneeing him right between the legs. The movement is so sudden and so viciously powerful that I can't believe it's mine. And it doesn't feel like mine. It feels like something else.
The boy doubles over, groaning. And then he starts laughing, a painful wheeze of laughter that chills my bones. "There's my girl," he mumbles.
"Clarissa!" the orderlies are shouting now because they've seen me hurt the boy.
No, I try to tell them. No, he's not nice. He's evil—that's why I hit him! Not because I'm mean. I'm not mean.
They don't listen, though.
They grab me, and I start panicking because the boy is standing up, now, recovered from his hit. He's tall, forever tall like Sylvie said, and he's dangerous. Even such a simple move as standing looks graceful and fierce, unnatural.
Half his mouth pulls up into a grin as the orderlies haul me up, and his brandy eyes are swirling, changing until they are almost yellow gold. They glow.
A flash of a memory assaults me, a memory of fangs and biting and snarling and pain.
I'm screaming now because I'm terrified.
The orderlies are having a hard time controlling me.
"I'll be back for you, sweetheart," the boy yells over to me as the orderlies drag me across the floor. He jerks his chin up at me and drops a wink, his eyes becoming human once more.
But I still scream, the memory of his yellow eyes still flashing behind my eyelids every time I blink.
And then I feel a sting in my arm, and my world becomes my nightmares.