A/N: Wow! So many reviews *is chuffed and almost crying with overwhelming joy :D* Thanks SO much! And Sethoz, for everyone's benefit, I order you to update :P Hehehehe... I'm dying of angst-poisoning here, and yes that is a condition. I just made it up, and made it official. Thanks for all the support. I'm glad you like all the evilness, angst and such, and there is more to come ;) Enjoy!
The vampire woman used her otherworldly senses to guide her, as the other members of the League trailed in her wake, trusting her in whatever she was doing to track their missing companions. Jekyll, elixir ready in his pocket should danger threaten, walked at the rear of the group. He wasn't so keen to be out in public... or lack thereof now that midnight had passed.
The feelings from Hyde churning inside of him were making him feel sick, and he wished for nothing more than to be able to slip away unnoticed and vomit in a side alley. He felt like Hyde was trying to tear him apart from within.
Harker suddenly turned a corner after a moment of silent consideration. "They came this way... Tom first and then Delacroix. They were following something."
Nemo and Skinner were right behind her, but something inside Henry made him want to turn and run whilst he was out of sight. And yet, swallowing his doubts, he followed them in. There were the unmistakable smatterings of blood against the far wall and floor.
Harker crouched to investigate. "It is a werewolf. They were wounded, but that will not have stopped them."
"What do you mean? That they're impervious to harm?" Skinner blurted in question, dark glasses turning on the woman to accompany his inquiry.
"They are able to regenerate, Mr Skinner, yes," Harker replied without acknowledging him with her eyes. They were staring intently down the alley, and before long she had taken off at a brisk pace in that direction. "They are like myself in that aspect."
"And like Dorian Gray."
Mina looked at Skinner then, the hurt at the mention of a lost love clear on her beautiful face. It was gone again after a second as she remembered their latest dilemma. "They went this way," she told them, and they followed as she moved, silent and swift like a cat on the hunt.
Henry, the feeling of nausea from Hyde's urges rising up in him again, pressed on in pursuit.
The utter feeling of failure and defeat did not dissipate over time, nor did the throbbing in his shoulder, though it numbed somewhat. He recalled seeing people watching him as he was led to his current position, faces of all colours and nationalities. He remembered passing a large hall where two figures had appeared to be sparring, striking at each with fists and feet, before becoming more bestial in their attacks and finally launching at one another with growls and fangs.
Closing his eyes, he let his head thud back against the solid wall behind him. He was sat on the floor of a large cell, its bars looming all around him, going right up to the ceiling, the intervals between them quite narrow. His knees were drawn up slightly, his feet rested firmly on the floor before him. His elbows rested on his knees lazily, his arms draping over his legs.
Hanging from the manacles locked tightly about his wrists were chains that ran across the floor, and then wound back behind him. They originated from the wall, firmly in place, showing no signs of loosening. Not that he had tried.
Tom Sawyer felt like an idiot, a gullible one at that. He recalled quite vividly his arguments with Mina and how she had tried to insist to him that Anise could not be trusted. If he had listened to her for a minute, questioned the Frenchwoman's origins more than he had -which hadn't been very much at all-, then he might have been able to realise the danger.
He just found it hard to believe Anise was working for Evans and his werewolves. She had seemed genuinely frightened of them. But then, she had seemed genuinely affectionate towards Tom as well.
It was all a trick, his mind noted uselessly.
Beside him lay the pathetic rag that had been intended for a blanket, stained with blood now. He had used it when he had been left alone to stem the flow of blood from his nose after Evans had struck him. It had taken some time, but Tom had eventually been able to bring the material away from his face, the blood flow stopped. He had tried to tend to the cut on his shoulder, but without being able to see it properly, his efforts had been less than successful.
So he just sat, slouched back against the wall of his cell, the chains clattering quietly at his slightest movement. He sighed heavily, and closed his eyes again. He let his thoughts wander.
When the sound of a door opening on the far side of the room was heard, he slowly opened his eyes, and was in disbelief as to who strode towards the cell, a key in her hand.
He let his eyes fall on the floor in front of him, and did not divert his gaze, even as she entered the cage and came up in front of him. She offered something down to him, but without looking up, he couldn't really tell what it was. He didn't care.
She stood there for a long time, unwavering, holding whatever it was down to him in an offer, before her patience failed. She reached down, took his hand and placed the object in it.
It was a cup, filled with water.
Anise turned and walked away, obviously realising she was going to get nothing even similar to a response out of Tom.
At least not a calm one.
Tom threw the cup towards her retreating form with all the strength he had in his right arm, mildly annoyed when it missed and slammed against the bars of the cage to her right. The contents spilled, and the cup clattered to the floor noisily.
He stared her in the face as she turned back to him. She looked hurt, but he ignored her expression. She didn't deserve the right to gather sympathy or apology from him. Not after what she had done.
"Tom..." she began, but he had already diverted his attention back on the floor.
She moved over to him.
Anise followed her feet, despite her brain telling her to simply leave him be. He was angry and hurt, she could tell that much at least. It was clear on his face, readable like the words in the pages of an open book.
She crouched down in front of him, and tried to look in his eyes, which simply stared unseeing at the floor off behind her. It was as though he was looking right through her, as if she were not there.
It pained her to see him like this. She didn't know what to do, so she obeyed the only urge in her that took precedence.
She leaned forward suddenly and kissed him.
He had shoved her back violently before she could react against it, and she stumbled.
Something inside of her churned, and she launched at him, unable to stop herself.
She was on top of him before he knew how to stop her, and she had slammed him down powerfully to the floor, pinning him immediately. One of her hands clutched his right wrist painfully against the floor, his other arm trapped beneath her shoulder against the wall. Her knees kept the rest of him from moving more than an inch.
Her other hand was around his throat, gripping but not squeezing as if reluctant to suffocate.
Anise's eyes were changing, her teeth bared as they elongated slowly.
Tom stared at her in horror, and struggled against her. His left hand was freed as she wavered on him only slightly, but instead of using his partial freedom to loosen her grip, he used it to clench her hand around his throat. The only pressure he applied to it was in her favour.
"Do it," he said to her breathlessly, the throbbing in his wounded shoulder bordering on unbearable now. He thought he felt it bleeding again. It bothered him very little. His concentration was firmly on Anise now, his eyes locked intently with hers as she growled down at him.
"What?" she hissed. It was as though she were staring down at an opponent she had successfully overpowered. She looked hungry for the kill.
"Do it," Tom repeated, applying more pressure to her hand around his throat. He was having a little trouble breathing now. "Kill me. You know you want to."
Her bestial urges waned slightly, and she saw what she was doing for the first time since her temper had taken over. Her eyes took in the slowly suffocating form of Tom Sawyer below her, completely pinned save for his left hand, which it seemed he was using to help her.
Horrified with herself, she threw her body away from his, and scrambled to a safe distance, breathing hard and rapidly as if in shock. She couldn't believe what she had almost done. Disgust filled her.
She heard his coughing, and the rattling of his chains as he climbed to his knees, the rasping of his deep breathing barely audible over her own strained attempts to calm herself.
"Why am I here, Anise?"
The words did little to rouse her from her astonishment, and she merely half-lay on the floor some ten feet from him, her heart racing in her chest, the feral urges calming inside of her.
"Anise," he repeated, harder and more determined as his breathing eased, "why did Evans bring me here? What does he want with me?" He looked over to her with green eyes, and took in her shaking form.
There was a mumble of a response that he couldn't pick out, and he brought himself to his feet shakily, taking a moment to steady his body so he did not fall back down. He leaned against the wall for support, and stared at her.
As if she realised he had not heard her, she said slowly and quietly, "He means to use you."
"Use me how?" Tom asked, though he wasn't so sure he wanted the answer from her. Maybe a part of him already knew it, but was determined not to believe it.
Anise did not look at him intentionally as she rose to a sitting position, her chocolate hair tumbling all around her attractive face. "He means to use you against your country, as he has me against mine."
Tom narrowed his eyes in confusion. "What are you saying? How has he used you?" He cursed himself for the concern that ebbed into his voice.
"Two years ago I was attacked whilst on a mission," came the sound of her strained voice, "it was Jacques. He brutally assailed me, and did more damage than any gun or knife could ever do."
Their eyes met briefly as she continued, "He made me what I am today, and his employer, a Charles Evans from England, saw it as an oppurtunity. He used me against others like myself."
Tom felt his heart beat a little faster as the story started to make sense. He did not stop her in her explanation however; simply let her continue.
"Over the months to follow, I was used against operatives from other countries so they could be tricked and added to our ranks. After I was turned, I saw no other choice but to join Evans, for he would keep me safe and protected against the brutality of my government if they realised what I had become. In return, I gave him my country's secrets, my knowledge of France and her weapons and power."
"You betrayed your country." The words had passed from Tom before he could stop them, and he saw her gaze meet his and lock there firmly. She was crying now.
"And he intends for you to do the same, as all have before you. As I did."
Tom's breath caught in his throat, and he stared silently for a long time as utter realisation set in. "He wants to make me like you... like Jacques."
Anise nodded, and sobbed into her tresses of hair.
"I won't let him do that," Tom said quietly, shaking his head. It wasn't as though he could stop it, but he had to believe he could try, that he could resist. "I won't let him use me against America."
"You won't have a choice!" she yelled at him sorrowfully. "If you do not tell him what you know, what this country has hidden, then he would cast you out and reveal you for what you are. He would let you be killed, or worse, experimented on by your own government. Would you rather this happened to you?"
"I know I'd rather die than be one of you!"
Anise's eyes flashed again, but she held back her anger this time, and whimpered, "I would rather die myself than go on with this existence, Tom, you should know that. I wish I could stop him from doing the same to you."
"You can," Tom said to her, walking away from the wall, aware of his manacled wrists once again when they prevented him from striding right up beside her. They pulled taught, and he could go no further. "You can stop it... you know you can."
She looked to him in horror, realising what he meant.
Tom wasn't sure why he was suggesting it; he just knew it to be true. He would rather die than become one of the creatures that had murdered six innocent people the night before. He would rather she killed him than go through anything that pitifully resembled an existence as a monster.
"I won't do that, Tom."
"Why not? You said so yourself you wished you could stop it... you said you wished you were dead... don't make me go through all that."
She sobbed again, and shook her head. "No, I couldn't."
"Please," Tom pleaded, straining against the chains locking him back. "If anything you ever told me was true, then you can do it."
"I won't be responsible for your death!"
Tom glared. "So everything... everything that you said to me since we met was a lie."
"No," she replied at once and there was a conviction in her tone that surprised him, "some things were true. I meant what I said about hating Evans... he is a monster in his own right. I meant what I said about wanting to stay on the Nautilus with you..." she paused, looking him right in the eye, "I meant what I said about loving you."
She loved him? Tom faltered in his composure for a moment, and the chains fell slack behind him as he paced away a little. When had she said she loved him?
"And I wish more than anything that I could help you," Anise continued, voice barely more than a whisper, "I just know I cannot."
Tom let his gaze fall to the floor. She meant what she said. She wasn't going to help him, not in any way. She had resigned him to his fate already, and expected him to follow suit.
"You can do one thing," he mumbled, moving back over to the wall, and leaning his aching head against it. He could feel the trickling of blood from the shoulder wound again, but he ignored it, pretended as though it didn't exist.
He felt her staring at his back, waiting for him to elaborate.
"You can get out."
"Tom..."
"Just leave me alone if you're not going to help," Tom practically growled angrily and sadly, eyes closed as he rested lethargically against the wall, "don't come near me again. I don't want to look at you..."
He heard her get to her feet, and for a moment thought she was approaching him. Then he heard the clang of metal on metal as the door to his cell closed and locked, followed by her eventual exit from the room.
He was left in silence, his head and shoulder aching more than he knew possible, as he turned his back to the wall, slumped against it, and sank to the floor once again, at a complete loss for what he could do to save himself.