Chapter 16

(Hope)

"I repeat— who the hell are you?" Clarke asked her, gun still raised.

"My name is Hope," she said carefully, raising her hands in surrender. "Believe it or not, we know each other. We're..."

Hope paused— What should she say? She had no idea how to classify their relationship.

"Yes?" he asked impatiently.

"Friends," she said finally.

He laughed bitterly.

"I don't have friends," he said, placing emphasis on the word. "And even if I did, I sure as hell wouldn't let them riffle through my personal things."

She looked behind her at the notebook still lying open on the desk.

Oops.

"That's my bad," she said. "But maybe we can just…talk?" she asked hopefully, backing up into the desk, feeling a sudden pain.

"Ow!" she said, turning to find that she had scraped her arm on the sharp edge of the glass desktop. To her horror, she saw that she was bleeding. Actually bleeding. Whatever this dimension was, she could get hurt in it.

And Clarke had a gun…

"What did you do?" Clarke snapped. He had rolled up his sleeve and was studying his arm.

"I felt your pain, but there's nothing there…" he said, clearly perplexed.

"Clarke," she said hesitantly, "I don't know how to explain this, but we're connected somehow. And whatever this place is—it isn't real ."

Clarke raised his gun again, although he left his finger off the trigger.

"What did you do to me— What are you? " he asked.

"Um, that's complicated," she answered with a nervous laugh. "But trust me, I'm not here to hurt you. We're sort of—partners. We're stuck in Malivore's pit together…"

His expression changed in an instant; she watched his eyes grow wide as the color drained from his face, leaving his complexion ashen.

"You're lying," he said resolutely. "If we were in the pit, none of this would exist. There would be nothingness, darkness, isolation — " his voice broke off on the word.

Hope played anxiously with the pendant around her neck. She couldn't think of a single thing to say that would make the situation better.

Even worse, she could feel echoes of his pain, radiating off of him in waves. Whatever that dog-like creature had done to him, it hadn't severed their physical or emotional connection.

"That's what I thought," he said, taking her silence as confirmation. She swallowed thickly as she watched him move his finger back to the trigger once more.

"I know you don't believe me," she said. "I know how much your father hurt you, but I need you to trust me. "

"You know about my father?" he asked, his tone growing quiet.

"Yes," she said. "Ryan, trust me, please."

"What did you call me?" he asked softly. Surprise played across his features, replacing the torment that had been there just moments earlier.

Oh.

"Well, we're friends, remember?" she asked, suddenly feeling flushed. "You, um, told me to call you that," she said.

"That seems unlikely," he replied, stone faced.

"Well, I was a wolf about to murder you," she said, laughing unsteadily.

"You're a werewolf," he said in confirmation.

"Yes. Well, in part," she said. "Could you…put the gun down now?" she asked.

"If we're really, 'friends,' then how did we end up in Malivore's dimension together?" he asked. "The only ones who end up there are on Triad's orders."

Shit. If she told Clarke the truth, he'd never trust her. But what else could she do? He'd get back his memories back eventually—right?

"I'll tell you," she said. "As long as you put the gun down first," she said firmly, crossing her arms across her chest.

He just stared at her for a moment, standing his ground. She jutted out her chin in defiance. If he could be stubborn, so could she.

Surprisingly, he obliged, holstering his weapon at his side. He gestured for her to continue.

Satisfied, Hope took a deep breath, preparing herself for whatever fallout might result from what she had to say.

"Well, you see, I sort of…dragged you in with me," she said quickly, not daring to look him in the eyes.

"You what? " he asked, voice turning icy.

"It's complicated!" she snapped. "You were being an asshole and I really just wanted to make sure that you weren't running around causing havoc while I was trying to save the world—"

"Stop!" he snapped, interrupting her rambling. "We're quite obviously not friends, Hope ," he said.

Something about the way he said her name made her tremble.

"I don't trust you," he continued. "And if you were smart, you shouldn't trust me either," he said, moving towards her.

There was something predatory in his gait. He had said something similar when they first arrived in Malivore—she may have been letting her guard down too much around him lately.

"What are you going to do?" she asked, readying herself to use magic if necessary.

He moved his jacket aside, revealing a pair of silver handcuffs attached to his belt.

"Are you kidding me?" she asked in disbelief. "Triad actually equips their thugs with handcuffs?"

Clarke ignored her.

"Or maybe you're just a cop wannabe?" she asked. He was glaring daggers, but he didn't say a word as he unclipped the handcuffs from his belt.

"No?" she asked. "So you're just a kinky bastard then?" she spat.

He raised an eyebrow at that, but she didn't care. She was angry, and more than a little frustrated.

"If that were the case," he said, pausing as he closed the space between them, "I certainly wouldn't be wasting them on a little snoop like you," he whispered in her ear.

Hope shivered as she felt a surge of heat flood her cheeks.

He really was a cocky son of a bitch.

He reached out and grabbed her by the shoulder, spinning her around. She could feel the familiar warmth of their connection, but something was a bit off, fuzzy almost.

"Do you feel that?" she asked as he pulled her arms behind her back.

"I don't know what you're talking about," he said, somewhat unconvincingly. "I—," he was cut off as the doorbell rang. She glanced over her shoulder at him, noting conflict in his eyes.

"Hide," he said quietly.

"Aren't you going to handcuff me?" she asked, raising an eyebrow at his sudden change in demeanor.

"I said, hide," he snapped. He nervously looked over his shoulder, smoothing back his hair with a trembling hand.

"Fine. Where?" she asked, glancing around the living room.

"My bedroom. That way," he said, pointing down an adjacent hallway.

Whoever was at the door must have been impatient, because the bell rang twice more, making them both jump.

"Who is that?" she whispered, hesitating to let him out of her sight.

"Just go!" he whispered hoarsely, sending another nervous glance over his shoulder.

He was definitely afraid of something. The thought made Hope uncomfortable, but she obeyed his order and headed towards the door that presumably led to his bedroom.

She turned to Clarke for confirmation, but he had already went to answer the door. She shifted anxiously from foot to foot before finally opening the door, then pulling it quietly shut behind her.

The first thing she noticed was the pleasant woodsy scent that seemed to fill the room. It was somehow familiar, but she couldn't place it.

Everything seemed extremely well organized, minus a sizeable stack of books piled precariously next to the bed. However, the bed itself was neatly made, complete with a silky, black duvet.

What a drama king.

At the foot of the bed, was a large cedar chest, fastened with sturdy looking brass latches.

Before she could get closer to investigate, she began hearing muffled voices coming from the living room. She knelt down by the door, pressing her ear to the crack under the door.

"Where have you been, Agent Clarke?" a woman's voice asked.

"Busy," she heard him answer.

"Too busy to check in with Triad?" she asked. "You know, the institution you work for," she added sarcastically.

"Tell me more, Agent Owens," he responded dryly.

"I've looked into you file, Clarke," she began. "You're a ghost. Of course there's a paper trail, but it's fake. Only an idiot would believe those documents were real."

"I don't know what you're talking about," Clarke answered. Hope could sense his unease, even though she wasn't near him.

"And then someone left some loose ends," the woman added. "Someone named Agent Phillips disappeared."

"What does that have to do with me?" he asked sharply.

"That's what I'm trying to find out. She obviously found her way into the pit, but someone erased the security camera footage. Too bad they forgot to check the records room, which I cross check, regularly."

Hope could feel another spike of panic in Clarke's energy signature. Whoever this Agent Owens was, she clearly had it out for Clarke.

"Wait!" she heard Clarke say.

Then, she heard a click, not unlike what she had heard earlier.

She was going to kill him.

"I don't care who you are Agent, Clarke," she said bitterly. "You've clearly been in the pit before, because no one seems to know where you came from. And now you've weaseled your way into Triad."

"Put the gun down, Agent Owens," he said tightly.

"How did it feel, pushing someone into the pit knowing its horrors?" she asked. "Did it feel good pushing Agent Phillips in, Clarke?"

"You can't prove it was me," he answered.

"Ah. That's all the confirmation I need," she said, clearly satisfied.

"Don't do this, Owens,"

"From what I read, she worked with you. She partnered with you. Is that how you treat all your partners?" she asked.

How he treats all his partners?

Hope suddenly felt a chill run down her spine. Why would he have done that to his partner?

Someone who trusted him…

"You're going to die a coward," she said smugly.

Hope couldn't take it— she burst from Clarke's bedroom and ran into the living room. She saw Agent Clarke backed against the same desk she had been earlier, held at gunpoint by a tall, blonde woman in a dark pantsuit.

"Get away from him!" she commanded.

"Who the hell are you?" she asked, turning the gun in Hope's direction.

"Dissulta!" Hope yelled, sending a shockwave of energy towards Agent Owens, causing her to fly backwards into the bookshelves.

A cascade of tomes came tumbling down on her, rendering her momentarily unconscious.

"You're a witch too?" Clarke asked her, face pale with shock.

"Clearly," she said, turning to face him.

"You know, most of those books were really expensive…" he said, narrowing his eyes at her.

"Are you freaking kidding me?" she asked. "I just saved your ass, let's go!"

She began heading towards the door, but he caught her wrist.

"I need to get something first," he said, turning back towards his bedroom hallway.

She followed him reluctantly, taking another quick glance at Agent Owens, still passed out on the floor.

When she entered his room, he was digging through the cedar chest at the foot of his bed that she had noticed earlier.

"What are you looking for?" she asked nervously. If they waited too long, Agent Owens was going to have them cornered again.

"This," he said, holding out a small, clay talisman shaped like a person.

"What's that?" she asked, drawing closer.

"A memento, of sorts," he answered cryptically.

She reached out to touch it, brushing his fingers as she did so.

Suddenly, the world spun out of control again and she felt reality being ripped away from her.

"Clarke!" she shouted, but it was too late.

By the time she opened her eyes, she was somewhere else—somewhere outside.

She looked around, it was a mountainous area with little vegetation.

"Where am I?" she asked aloud, struggling to make out landmarks or signs.

Nothing.

"Clarke?" she called.

Suddenly, she heard voices coming from around a large pile of rocks.

She gasped—Clarke was there, but he wasn't alone. He was with a large creature, not unlike the little clay figure Clarke had been holding in his bedroom.

"You've always been a disappointment," the creature boomed. "A waste of time and energy…"

"Please, father, I can do better!" Clarke said, voice trembling.

That was Clarke's father? That was Malivore? She suddenly felt sick to her stomach.

"Worthless!" Malivore shouted, using the back of his hand to slap Clarke straight across the face. The force of the blow sent him flying into rocks behind him.

His neck had snapped.

Hope covered her mouth with her hand in an effort to keep from screaming. This was so cruel…

A heartbeat later, Clarke rose from the spot where he had landed, snapping his neck back into place.

"That's the only good thing about you," Malivore said. "But until I sire the perfect creation, you all remain worthless."

Clarke just stared back at him, an emptiness behind his eyes. She felt his sadness as a dull ache. It was deep and familiar—a pain that had existed for a long, long time.

She had reached her limit, she moved out from her hiding spot. She had to do something.

But as soon as she stood, the world began to twist again, falling away beneath her.

"No!" she screamed. She just caught a glimpse of Clarke looking in her direction before the entire world went black.

She opened her eyes and found herself floating in a dark void. The nothingness stretched around her into infinity, dark, silent and cold.

"Hello?" She called into the darkness. "Is anyone there?" But there was no answer. Her own words seemed to echo endlessly, reverberating off of invisible walls.

"Clarke?" She asked, more softly. She strained to feel his presence. Any hint that he may be here with her. This was his nightmare after all, wasn't it?

But there was no answer. No sign that he was anywhere close, or even with her at all. Hope felt an overwhelming sense of panic setting in.

Was this the void that Clarke had been trapped in when he first came to Malivore?

She tried to steady her breathing, like she did before her transformations—But it wasn't working. The darkness seemed to have a presence all of its own.

Although the isolation and silence were absolute, there was a chilling feeling that something was watching her.

Watching and enjoying her suffer.

She felt her heartbeat quicken, she was so anxious. It reminded her of the times she had succumbed to panic in the months following her parents' deaths. It was the kind of dread that wormed its way into your mind, consuming every peaceful thought until there was nothing left.

She let out a scream of frustration, only to hear it echo back.

The last times, Clarke had been there. It was a matter of working their way out of his mind, she was sure of it.

But how could she do that if she couldn't even find him?

Suddenly, she felt something, a noticeable tugging sensation at her wrist. She looked down to find a red silk ribbon, the same one she had tied around her wrist in Clarke's apartment.

It was still tied snuggly, but had somehow become impossibly long— one end seemed to stretch out into the darkness so far she couldn't see its end.

How had she not noticed that earlier?

She tugged on the ribbon, finding herself compelled to follow wherever it led.

Faster and faster she pulled at the ribbon, finding herself floating along, urged on by a strange, magnetic force.

The ribbon seemed to stretch forever! She feared she may never reach the end… Perhaps this was some cosmic joke and somewhere someone was watching her struggling in vain, chasing false hope.

But then, up ahead, she could make out a figure floating in the darkness.

It was Clarke , she was sure of it. Their connection confirmed what her eyes could not yet see.

"Clarke!" She called, not bothering to hide the excitement in her voice.

"I'm here!" She yelled out, pulling on the ribbon with renewed fervor.

But he didn't turn—he just floated there, motionless.

Finally, she reached him, finding his eyes closed as if he were sleeping. A quick glance told her that he wasn't injured— at least not visibly.

And sure enough, the other end of the red ribbon was tied securely around his wrist.

"Clarke?" She asked tentatively. "Can you hear me?"

He remained unresponsive, although there was a distinct look of pain on his face. It was the most forlorn she had ever seen him.

She reached out a trembling hand to touch his cheek—causing his eyes to snap open.

"Hope?" He asked quietly—it was barely more than a whisper.

"It's me," she confirmed, as she felt him lean into her touch.

"Are you real?" He asked, just as softly as the first time he had spoken. His eyes were glistening with some emotion she couldn't read.

"I am," she confirmed with a small smile.

He laughed at that—although the sound was joyful, it was also erratic. Almost as if he had forgotten how to laugh a long time ago.

"I don't believe you, but at least I will have my hallucinations to keep me company," he said with a grin.

"Clarke, I am real," she said earnestly. "I'm here to save you from your nightmares!"

"Yes, I do believe that ," he said softly. He reached out to take her hand gently in his own.

She could only watch as he pressed his lips lightly to the sensitive skin of her wrist, just above where the ribbon was tied. She felt her breath hitch—the kiss was so light and delicate, yet it set her whole body on fire.

"Clarke?" She asked in a shaking voice.

"Yes, beautiful illusion?" he replied.

He really didn't believe that she was real. But he was being open with her, so honest it made her heart ache.

"I think you have to believe me—in order for us to get out of here," she said quietly.

"Is that so?" He asked, clearly still not in his right mind.

What could she do to wake him up?

"Agent Clarke," she began firmly, "If you don't believe me I'll cast another mimic spell and drag your ass out of here myself!"

At that, his eyes grew wide.

"Hope?" He asked again, clearly bewildered. "It really is you," he said in amazement.

"I told you," she said, trying to sound annoyed, but she was pretty sure she sounded as relieved as he did.

As if a spell had been broken, she felt the world fall away once more. She reached out and grasped his arm, ensuring wherever she went, he did too.

She could only hope that when she opened her eyes, she would be back in the rainy cliffs of Malivore once more.

"The Red Thread of Fate, also referred to as the Red Thread of Marriage, and other variants, is an East Asian belief originating from Chinese legend. According to this myth, the gods tie an invisible red cord around the Finger of those that are destined to meet one another in a certain situation as they are 'their true love.'"