Clary sat across from Jonathan at the grand dining table. His dark eyes were scrutinizing her appearance, making sure she looked just how he had requested. She was wearing the light blue sundress and heels that had been delivered to her room by one of Jonathan's maids. Her hair fell past her shoulders in soft curls, and she only had on enough make up to cover the fading bruises on her face. It was the way Jonathan preferred for her to look.
Jonathan smiled at her, seemingly pleased with her. "Thank you for joining me for dinner, Clarissa," he said.
She smiled back at him. "Of course, Jonathan. I would never miss the chance to dine with you."
It had been about a month since the basement incident. Jonathan had promised he would break her, and she had let him believe he had succeeded. It had been a long con, but Clary had done it. She had gradually stopped defying him, making him think she was finally "coming to her senses." The truth was, she was no closer to being on his side than she had been before. It was all about survival for her now.
For the first few days in the White Room, Jonathan had refused to feed her until she admitted she was a Morgenstern. She had refused to at first, but then quickly realized her defiance was getting her nowhere. Once she had finally given in, Jonathan had given her food. He continued to give her little tests like that, and each time she did what he wanted, she gained more privileges. A week ago, she had finally been put back in her original room. When she failed his tests, he punished her physically, which is where all the bruises came from. She hadn't failed his tests in a while, and most of the bruises were gone now. She had been doing so well that Jonathan promised her free reign of the mansion soon.
The hardest thing she had done so far was participate in Jonathan's interrogations in the basement. She hadn't severely hurt anyone yet. She was mainly tasked with doing the actual questioning. It was still hard to look into a stranger's face as they cried out in pain. She could barely handle it, but her own survival and freedom were on the line. She knew it was selfish, but she was so focused on getting out somehow. If she could escape, she could find Luke and tell him where Jonathan was hiding out.
Jonathan continued to tell her that Luke was out to get her now, but she didn't believe that. She believed that Jace wanted her in cuffs and behind bars, but she knew Luke wasn't like that. Luke knew her better than anybody else, and he would never think she had willingly gone with Jonathan.
She was careful to make sure Jonathan didn't know this, though. She had told him on multiple occasions that her change of heart had come from the realization that, as her brother, he was all she had left now. This had made him extremely happy, and, more importantly, had made him trust her a little more. He wasn't going to trust her solely on her word, though. Now, she had to act like he was all that she had left and prove her allegiance to him. It all was going to start with that night's dinner.
"You look lovely tonight," Jonathan said as a maid set bowls of soup in front of them.
"Thank you," she replied, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. She looked down at the silverware in front of her, unsure of which spoon to use.
Jonathan let out a sigh. "The soup spoon is the big one on the right."
Clary bit her lip and looked up at him. "Thanks. I'm just not used to this much cutlery."
Her brother rolled his eyes. "Jocelyn really did fail you, Clarissa. You are a Morgenstern and deserve the finer things in life, such as fine dining."
"She rejected the Morgenstern name and brainwashed me into denying my true identity, brother. Did you really expect anything different?" she asked as she picked up the proper spoon.
He chuckled under his breath. "I am so glad you have finally come to accept who you are, dear sister. We are destined to do great things together."
"I can't wait to see what we accomplish."
As they were finishing dessert, Raphael suddenly entered the dining room. He walked briskly over to Jonathan and whispered something into his ear. Jonathan's lips curved upward at whatever was being shared with him. He grabbed his wine glass and downed the liquid that remained in it.
"Let everyone else to know to head out, " he said to Raphael.
Raphael nodded. "Yes, boss." He pulled out his phone and stepped into a corner of the room.
Jonathan wiped the edges of his mouth with a napkin and stood up. "How would you like to go for a trip, little sister?"
Her brow furrowed. "What do you mean?"
"We finally got information of that kid. He told us exactly when and where their next shipment is coming in, and we have just enough time to make it. I would like it for you to join us."
Her eyes widened. "Oh. Sh-Should I go change?"
He shook his head. "Not enough time. Follow me."
She also quickly downed the rest of her wine and stood from the table. She caught up to Jonathan with Raphael trailing her. She had a feeling he was making sure she wouldn't run off.
Jonathan lead her down multiple hallways before going through a door that lead to a garage. A large black SUV was parked in the garage, and he walked to the back door, opening the door for her. She climbed onto the cold leather seats and buckled her self in. Jonathan put himself in the passenger seat, and Raphael took the driver's seat.
"Where are we going?" Clary asked as Raphael started down the long, winding driveway.
Jonathan turned around and looked at her. "Don't worry about it, Clarissa. Just enjoy the ride."
Once he turned back around, she narrowed her eyes at the back of his seat. Why did he not want to tell her where they were going. She felt like she had a right to know. Plus, who would she even tell? She didn't have any access to the outside world. Ever since getting kidnapped, her only social interactions had been with Jonathan, Raphael, and their prisoners.
She leaned back in her seat and looked out the window. Between the tinted windows and the dark night, she had no idea where she was or where they were going. She would just have to wait to find out.
A hand gently shaking her and a voice calling her name roused her form sleep. She opened her eyes and saw Jonathan looking at her. She hadn't even known she had fallen asleep.
"We're here," Jonathan said. "Raphael and some of our guys are setting up a perimeter. All we have to do is wait for the shipment to come in."
Clary nodded and looked out the windshield. It was still dark outside, but there were dim streetlights that helped reveal their location. They were in some kind of shipping yard off the ocean. Clary could see stacks of metal shipping crates and she could smell the salty seawater wafting through the vents.
Gunshots suddenly rang out through the air and Jonathan cursed under his breath. He pulled a pistol out from the glove box and quickly loaded it before pulling a radio out of the center console.
"What's going on?" he asked, waiting for a response to come through the static.
"It's not good, boss," Raphael's voice said through the speaker. "They knew we were coming. We need help." The sound of more gunshots came through the radio.
Jonathan let out another stream of expletives. He turned around and stared Clary in the eyes. "Wait here," he ordered.
She swallowed and nodded. "O-Okay."
Jonathan got out of the car and started running to the other side of the shipping yard. Clary waited until he was far enough away to open her own door, and she took off in the opposite direction. The heels on her feet were making it difficult to run, so she quickly kicked them off, deciding to carry on barefooted.
She ran across the asphalt before coming to a tall chain link fence. Behind the fence was a heavily wooded area. She looked to her left and right, seeing the fence continue on in both directions. Not knowing how long she had to get out, she decided to climb it. The metal bit into her feet, but she ignored it. She was too focused on escaping.
When she reached the top, she hooked her right leg over to the other side and straddled the fence. She was trying to figure out the best way to continue, when she heard her name being called in the distance. She quickly threw her other leg over and went to climb down, but her dress got caught on the top. When she tried to pull it free, she lost her balance and fell, the dress ripping.
Clary landed on a patch of packed dirt and the breath was knocked out of her. She wanted to just lie there and recover, but she heard her voice being called again. Jonathan was closer now. She clambered to her feet and took off into the woods. She felt rocks cut at her bare feet and branches scratch her exposed arms and legs, but she kept running. This was her only chance to escape, and she had to take it.
She didn't know how long she had ran for, but she finally saw a break in the trees. Running toward it, she almost cried tears of relief when she found a paved road. The road had to lead somewhere, and she followed it in what she hoped was the opposite direction of the shipping yard. She stayed close to the woods, though, and ducked behind trees every time she heard a car coming. She didn't know what kind of car Jonathan's goons were driving and didn't want any of them to spot her.
She followed the road until the sun starting to rise on the horizon, which surprised her. It felt like she had been on the move for a while, but there was no way it had been that long. They had left Jonathan's house around eight, and sunrise was around five. How could they have possible been gone for nine hours already?
Her legs felt like giving out, and she was absolutely exhausted. She needed to find help. If she didn't, her body was either going to give up or Jonathan was going to be able to find her in broad daylight. She was about to give up and just sit on the side of the road when she saw the trees on the other side of the road stop and give away to farmland. Not too far away, she saw a small farmhouse, and for the first time in over a month, hope fluttered in her stomach.
She forced herself to sprint the short distance to the house. She ran across the road, hopped over a short wooden fence, and forced her legs to carry her through the grassy field to the house. She clambered up a small set of rickety wooden stairs and frantically knocked on the front door of the house.
An older woman opened the door, looking slightly alarmed. Her graying hair was pulled up into a bun, and her soft blue eyes were wide. "Oh, dear," she murmured.
"You've got to help me!" Clary cried out. "Th-There's someone after and I-I need to get back home." She knew she must have looked crazy with her torn dress and bloodied feet.
The woman looked around Clary, probably making sure this wasn't some ploy and that there wasn't an intruder waiting to attack. "Come on in, dear," she said, stepping inside the house and opening in the door wider for Clary.
Clary felt hot tears leak from her eyes as she profusely thanked the kind stranger. The woman led her to a couch and told her to sit down before grabbing a blanket and wrapping it around her shoulders. Clary hadn't even realized she was shivering.
The woman sat down in an armchair across from her. "What's your name?"
"Cl-Clary."
She smiled kindly at her. "Well, Clary, I'm Imogen. Do you want me to call the police?"
"No!" Clary yelled out. Imogen looked startled, and she decided to elaborate. "H-He has a lot of hold on all the cops in New York."
Imogen's brow furrowed. "New York? Honey, you're a long way from home. This is Portland, Maine."
Clary dropped her head into her hands. "Oh, God."
"Is there anyone you want to call, sweetie?"
Clary nodded. "Please."
Imogen got up and walked off somewhere in the house. She came back a few moments later with a landline phone in her hand and gave it to Clary. Clary thanked her and immediately dialed a familiar number. Her stomach was in knots as the line rang.
"Chief Garroway," Luke answered. Clary started sobbing at the sound of his gruff voice.
"L-Luke, it's Clary," she cried into the phone.
She heard him shuffle around followed by the sound of a door closing. "Where are you?" he asked. "Are you okay?"
"I-I'm somewhere in Maine. Jonathan was intercepting someone's drug shipment and then gunshots starting going off and he left me alone in the car and I just ran for it and I found this farmhouse and this woman named Imogen let me in and now I'm calling you."
"Clary, slow down. I barely caught a word of that. Did you say Maine?"
"Yeah, Portland. I don't know the address, though."
"That's fine, Clare. I can trace this phone number. Just stay where you are, and I'll come get you. I'll be there as soon as I possibly can, I promise."