Clarice stared down at the lifeless body in her arms, too shocked to scream, too miserable to cry. She simply sat there, watching the body do nothing. Her body shook with the confusion of not knowing what to do, where to look, what to say. He gave up the fight just before the battle was won. How long had he been suffering before she got there?
The Hagraven stared at the body, her claws still positioned to work the portal she was trying so hard to achieve. Now, sadly, it seemed pointless. The air within the room filled with darkness as the Night Mother stared down at her beloved Keeper's corpse. Both women who considered Cicero the only man in the world who mattered more than anything sat there, staring at the motionless body in complete disbelief.
"Sithis," the Night Mother said, her voice low. "Please. Don't let him go."
"I've said this before," Sithis said. "A single soul in a pool of trillions. It's more difficult than it sounds. And by the time I find his soul, his body may have lost all warmth, rendering it irreplaceable."
"You can't just give up like that!" Clarice said, looking to the skeleton in the room. "You need to try. I can't just let him go."
"I need to be here for when the portal is made," Sithis remarked. Even the Dread Lord was becoming riled with the situation, mainly because of his "wife's" exasperation. "You may not be able to properly transport yourself without my guidance back to Tamriel. Otherwise, you could end up in Oblivion, or somewhere else entirely."
"I'm not leaving here without him!" he Night Mother shouted. The darkness in the room rippled with her infuriation.
The Hagraven bent over the swelling portal, pouring all of her energy into the bulging, purple and black light. Sithis, meanwhile, stood by, manipulating its destination. The skeleton head glanced few times towards the Night Mother, before looking back to the Portal. Clarice held the body tightly, trying to keep it warm while it waited for its soul.
"You've never cared this much about a Keeper before," Sithis said. "Is it because of your guilt from making him go insane?" he sighed and slowly shook the skeleton head. "If I don't find him within five minutes, I'm coming back and finishing that portal."
"Five minutes?!" Clarice shouted, widening her eyes. "That can't be enough time!"
"It's all the time I'm giving you." Sithis said, before disappearing in a fast-forming portal.
Clarice felt completely helpless, then. All she could do, was tightly hold the body in her arms. She felt a glimpse of hope within herself as she ran her fingers through Cicero's red, red hair. Something within her reminded her that this wasn't the end of him. She desperately watched the portal's formation, knowing now that it would take a bit longer to form it now that there wasn't help in guiding its destination.
It took far too long for anything to happen again. The sound of breathing, paired with the swirling sound of the forming portal, seemed to cut into the thick tension which was otherwise going to drown Clarice. She longed to hear the laughter of her beloved Cicero. She felt so absent without him, like something crucial had been torn from her body, such as her entire rib cage, and thrown far out of her reach, just after the thrower told her that she had a very slim chance of ever getting it back, and even though there was a chance, she felt as though it was too far out of her reach to ever really retrieve it. She was still in far too much agony to show any true emotion.
A part of her felt as though this was her fault. Sure, she didn't necessarily have a direct hand in the death of her beloved Cicero, but she felt responsible for it. She was his Listener. He insisted on this only the second time he had ever set foot within her office. She looked back to the times when he did embark into her office. The time when his hands were covered in oil and wax and she had been so terrified of him. The time when he seemed to lose himself in his own mind, and she was afraid of losing him forever. The time when they made love… She was not only his Listener, because, sure, she did listen to him. But she also cared about him so much. She was his Keeper, as well. She kept him sane and sound. She held him so closely, not only physically, but in all other senses as well. She was the only one there for him when he truly needed someone. She was his Listener and definitely his Keeper – and she failed so miserably at both those things.
"Listener," she heard the Night Mother's voice in her head. "Someone's coming."
"No," she said to herself. "Not yet."
The Hagraven turned her head to look at Clarice, frowning. "Is everything okay?"
Clarice gently laid Cicero's body onto the floor, sticky with his own blood, before rising onto her shaking legs. She carefully made her way towards the curtained window, afraid to look outside and see what she was wishing wouldn't be there. She pulled back the white drapes and inserted her fingers between the Venetian curtains before prying them apart carefully. Her eyes were blinded for a moment from the sudden intrusion of light, but once they adjusted, she looked down to the parking lot below, finding exactly what she was dreading – a pair of cop cars, each containing two police officers. It was too soon. She wasn't ready.
"We don't have much time," she said, before looking to her wristwatch. Sithis had said five minutes, and three had passed. In two minutes, he would be back with or without the soul of her madman. She looked upwards to the Hagraven, finding a still-opaque and too-small purple orb trapped within her claws. It was not forming fast enough.
"It took me years to perfect this portal," the Hagraven told her, looking back to the orb between her hands. "After a friend of mine, and fellow Hagraven, was killed by the Dark Brotherhood, I began working on it. I spent so long not exerting myself by any means, saving my Magicka so I could quickly form the portal on demand. When it was finally ready, I wrote all of it down to be certain, and then made a point of making a great many noises, flashing lights in the night, and other disturbances that the nearby village became weary of. Just as planned, the blacksmith spoke up, and performed the Black Sacrament in order to summon an assassin to try to kill me. Hagravens are malevolent beings by nature, and enjoy exacting revenge whenever we can. The death of that fresh Black Hand just wasn't enough, and I decided to employ the spell on which I had desperately worked for so long. It took a while to break into the sanctuary, but far too easy to find the back entrance, when I realised the black door would not yield to me. When I went in, I unleashed all the malevolence within me on all of those Black Hands. When I found the Night Mother, it seemed too perfect. I didn't know he was there… I didn't know the Keeper travelled with her."
"Why are you telling me this?" Clarice asked, watching the Hagraven.
"So if all this fails," the Hagraven said. "You know the real story, and how sorry I am. I didn't intend on all of this. One mistake led to another… This is the apex of a malicious plan gone horribly wrong. I'm so sorry."
Just as the confession concluded, there was a dramatic shift in the atmosphere. In the corner of the room, a cloud of darkness swelled until the embodiment of darkness Himself manifested in his comprehensible form. In his skeletal arms, Sithis held what looked like a wisp of white smoke, blue, opaque tendrils pulsing and swimming around it as though reaching in vain attempts to grasp onto something concrete. Clarice watched in awe as he held it tightly to keep it from swimming away.
Clarice instinctively stepped aside, allowing Sithis access to the corpse lying in his own blood on the floor. Sithis looked to it, then back to the white figure in his arms. It seemed formless, but Clarice knew full well what it was. Her heart was racing as she told herself that she would have her beloved Cicero back to her. For a moment, all her fears seemed superfluous, frivolous and unsuccessful in her attempts to deter her from hope. But when she looked to Sithis's skeletal face and found his expression (there wasn't really an expression, but she could feel his emotion within her) grave, she began to worry again.
"I'm not guaranteeing you this will work, mortal," Sithis told her. "It didn't take me long to find the soul, but the chances of it re-adhering to the body are slim. Sometimes, the body is so damaged, that it will reject the soul outright, refusing re-entry. This may very well happen here. His body has lost so much blood, and without a potion or alchemy reagent from my world, there may be nothing to rebuild him and give him back his lost blood."
"But there's no sense in not trying, right?" Clarice said, her voice shaking. She wiped more tears from her eyes. She needed to be strong.
Sithis looked back down to the soul solemnly, not replying. Clarice's heart fell as she looked back down to the corpse on the floor. Was he still gone from her, despite all her efforts? She heard a buzzing coming from the speaker on the door. That would be the police with their warrant. Such a silly piece of paper held so much weight – enough to tear this whole endeavour to shambles. She didn't have much time.
"Wait," the Hagraven stopped them. "In my satchel, I have something that might help. I was going to save it for myself if I needed it, but it is much needed elsewhere."
Clarice practically dove to the Hagraven's satchel hanging at her waist, and plunged her hand into it. After a while of shuffling, she managed to produce another vial. It was much smaller than the first one, and less round. She weighed it in her hands for a moment, before displaying it to the Hagraven, who immediately nodded.
"It's a potion of regenerating health," the Hagraven explained. "It isn't as potent as the Extreme Healing potion, but it will allow his body to regenerate much faster once his soul is within it. I didn't bother giving it to you before, since it wouldn't have had an effect – he was too wounded."
"It may not be enough," Sithis said.
"Stop being so damned pessimistic!" Clarice exclaimed. "Whatever it does, it's worth a try. Now put my Cicero's soul back into his body!"
Sithis looked to her for a moment, supressing the urge to remind her that he could be holding her soul in his hands as easily as snapping his fingers, but decided not to bother. Obviously, she was in distress, and now was the mortal's moment for "freaking out", as they called it. He hovered over to the dead body lying upon the floor, holding the soul above it for a long moment. He loved holding a soul over a dead body. Simply witnessing a dead body reminded him of his worth in the world as the Void. He felt the soul, now that it was close to its host body, vibrate and will itself towards it, aching to be replaced in the entity in which it belonged. He couldn't deny it any longer.
Clarice fell next to the body, and rolled him over so he was laying on his back, with his arms out on either side of him. His eyes were closed, keeping her from seeing the light they held, and his face betrayed so much age that she could hardly recognise him. She uncorked the bottle, inhaling the sweet smell of the red contents. It was not as enticing as the earlier potion, but she knew that now was the moment when it was desperately required, and nothing smelt sweeter.
Gently, the Dread Lord held the soul above the body. Slowly, he removed his arms from holding it, but the soul did not simply drop into the body like Clarice expected. Rather, it hovered there for a long moment, unmoving, simply pulsating. The tendrils which sprouted from it, like spuds on a potato, grasped desperately around itself, until finally touching the skin of the dead man. Without hesitation, many other tendrils jutted out from the wisp of white to touch the body below it. They seemed to adhere to the skin, even beneath his clothing, where they held on tightly. Gradually, they began to pull the main bulk of the soul downwards onto the body. Eventually, the soul sank into Cicero's skin until it completely disappeared from sight. There seemed to be a sudden darkness in the room as the light the soul emitted faded away and descended, with the soul, into Cicero.
Clarice stood by, holding the uncorked potion tightly in her hand, prepared at a moment's notice to pour its contents down Cicero's throat. Her eyes shifted upwards to look at the Dread Lord, who simply gave her an encouraging nod. She looked back down to the body, waiting in painful anticipation for any sign that the soul adhered to the body.
Inside, the soul sat, waiting, patiently, to fully understand what must be done. It seemed to scan the body in which it waited to see if it really was the body the soul knew. Upon his skin sat a great many scars, some as thin as paper, some thick and brutal, some the size of a werewolf's bite. The red, red hair which dappled his body was incredibly familiar. The heart, which also knew the sight of scars, sat, unmoving, in the dead ribcage. There, it would begin its quest. A tendril extended from the pit of the soul, and ventured, through the arteries and branching veins, to the motionless pump. It wrapped itself around the heart in a warm embrace, willing it to move. With some slight stimulation, the heart performed a single beat. The tendril squeezed the organ tightly, willing another beat. There was a distinct lack of blood within the body, which would prove to be an issue, but the few pumps the soul managed to activate allowed the remaining life force to shift through the otherwise still veins. The tendril squeezed the heart so tightly, until it eventually seemed to meld with it, and dissolve into it, activating it fully.
Outside, Clarice rested her head upon Cicero's chest, listening desperately for any sign of life. Soon, to her starving ears' delight, she heard a very faint, single thump. Even Sithis perked up at the sound, watching closely. Clarice pressed her ear firmly against his chest, and listened so desperately. If she listened any closer, she would probably break a rib. To her delight, she heard another thump. She took that as a sign to lift Cicero's head, tilt it backwards, and gently pour the contents of the bottle down his throat.
Inside, another tendril reached downwards to Cicero's stomach. With the heart now pumping, slowly and feebly, but pumping nonetheless, the blood coursed around the stomach, allowing the tendril to easily activate it. Just as the stomach produced a small gurgle in awakening, a red liquid flushed downwards, and drowned the tendril in red potion. The stomach's activation allowed for the reactivation of other digestive organs, which quickly went to work at recognizing, understanding, and utilising the potion which entered them. The tendrils willed the activation of the skin, to which the digestive system was already sending nutrients from the potion. The potion provided a sudden boost to the soul's tendrils, allowing them to work faster and harder to achieve the ultimate goal of reconstruction and regeneration. Tendrils, with the aid of the rebuilding system, began to stitch together broken organs and, eventually, broken skin.
Outside, the stab wound seemed to stitch together as branches of skin reached out to their neighbours across the way, and pulled the two sides of the wound together, hemming it tightly. Clarice's eyes blurred with tears as she watched the wound heal.
Inside, after the wound was healed and many organs activated, including the slight stimulation of the lungs, a few tendrils ventured to the upmost peak of the body – the brain. There, areas were already being activated, which controlled certain parts of the body that had come back to life. However, cognition was still indiscernible. Still with the aid of the potion, the tendrils worked hard to activate the frontal lobe, which stimulated the motion and emotion control, the hippocampus, which governed memories (which came flying back to the body), the cerebellum which was important to attention and even aspects of consciousness, and other parts of the brain which lied otherwise dormant. Sparks began to fly through the brain, as neurons were reactivated, sending signals throughout the body that the entity was coming back to life, so prepare for rebirth.
He was alive.
Outside, Cicero jumped awake with a gasp of fresh air. Clarice couldn't contain herself any longer, and choked on a sob while leaping forward and wrapping her arms around him. Cicero was taken aback with the suddenness of the motion, but smiled slowly, and wrapped his arms around her in return. He felt home again, yet he knew he was still so far from home.
"The portal is almost ready," the Hagraven remarked, apparently not fully aware of what had just happened (though she devoted all of her time to the portal in front of her). "Is everything okay back there?"
Sithis headed towards the Hagraven, before extending his hand to the portal, and exerting his own energy into it. Suddenly, with the motion, the portal within the Hagraven's hands swelled, formed into a concrete, swirling orb of masses of purple, black, and white light, and ejected off of her hands, as though giving it the powerful boost it required. Beside the Night Mother, there formed what looked like a black hole, a concave version of the portal Clarice had been so used to seeing. Cicero watched it, his eyes shining brightly.
"Home," he said, lowly.
"Yeah," the Hagraven said, taking a step towards it, smiling brightly. "Home."
"Ah, ah, ah," Sithis said, stopping the Hagraven. "I don't think that can be allowed, Hagraven."
"What?" the Hagraven said, her expression shifting to horror. She looked to Clarice. "But she told me I have immunity!"
"Immunity from the Dark Brotherhood," Sithis corrected her. "Not from me. Besides, I believe I deserve your soul after all you have put me through. Consider it… Collateral damage."
"No," the Hagraven pleaded. "No! You can't do this! Human!" the Hagraven looked to Clarice desperately. "Help me! Please, help me!"
Clarice watched, dumbstruck, in utter awe as sudden darkness seemed to consume the Hagraven. She heard a screeching scream emit from the complete darkness that covered the Hagraven's body. Eventually, the scream was choked off, and abruptly ended. There wasn't even a gurgling finish – it simply… stopped. Sithis stood beside the void, watching it with greedy eyes (or lack thereof). The darkness dissipated into nothingness. Sithis then turned his head to look at the pair of mortals.
"As for you two," he said, grinning. "Take your Mother home."
With that, the Dread Lord disappeared, leaving Cicero, Clarice, and the Night Mother alone with the gaping mouth of the portal back to Tamriel. Clarice sighed with the relief of the absence of the Dread Lord, but turned her head to look at Cicero. He nodded, and walked to the Night Mother's coffin. There, he pressed his body against it, in order to push it towards the portal. It seemed to float gently towards the portal, but stopped before entering it. He then looked to Clarice.
Suddenly, there came a loud pounding at the door to Cicero's apartment. Clarice gasped and turned her head towards the door. She heard the police officers on the other side demand entrance. She looked back to Cicero, who stood patiently at the mouth of the portal.
"C'mon, Clarice!" Cicero urged here. "We need to go!"
Clarice looked to him and smiled. "I can't."
Cicero furrowed his brow and walked to her, his expression urgent. "What are you talking about? You're Cicero's Listener! I need you back home with me!"
"Your real Listener is waiting there for you," Clarice smiled. "I have a life here."
"You could have a life with Cicero!" Cicero insisted.
Clarice's eyes flooded with tears, until they spilled relentlessly down her face. Oh, God, how she would miss her beloved Cicero.
"I can't," she said, her voice shaking. "I have clients here. Bills to pay, food to eat, family."
"Doesn't sound like much of a life to me," Cicero said. "Please come with me. You will have a better life with Cicero."
"Cicero, please," she said. A single sob escaped her lips. How was she going to survive without him? She cared about him so much. She loved him.
Cicero's face reddened. His eyes glistened with tears filling them. It felt as though she knew him better than anyone else, even though he had only known him for a few weeks. She gained him, then lost him, and brought him back. She was his Listener, and she listened to him. She was his Keeper, and she kept him. Now, it was time for him to return to where he belonged. She needed to let him go.
He thrust his finger forward, pointing to her. A tear fell from his eye as he seemed to be filled with a sudden, passionate rage.
"No," he said to her. "This is not ending here. I refuse to let this end here."
The pounding on the door was incessant. It sounded like the door was breaking, giving away under the constant pressure of the men on the other side.
"You need to go," Clarice said, her voice shaking as she sobbed.
Cicero glanced back to the portal for a moment, before looking back to her. He knew she was right. He needed to go, but he refused to leave without her.
"Listen to me," he said, taking her shoulders in his hands, and holding her tightly there. "I want you to say your goodbyes. Write some letters, make some phone calls, write a will. Then, I want you to take all your money, all your savings, except what you need to survive for the next little while, and turn it into gold." He looked deeply into her eyes. She had never seen him so intense, even when he was about to kill her. He was filled with so much passion for her, and she felt it in every fiber of her being. "I'm coming back for you," he promised. "I am not letting this end here. I refuse to let this end here!"
His voice shook as he held back his own sobs, but Clarice allowed hers to flow freely. He took her into a tight, passionate embrace. He held her so tightly, sniffing to hold back his pain, on her shoulder. He was not good with goodbyes. He parted from her, stared into her eyes for a long while, before closing his eyes and leaning forward. She felt his lips, so soft and gentle, press against hers. The kiss was incredibly intense, but so warm and passionate that it was far too perfect to ever end. Unfortunately, the police officers finally broke through the door to his apartment, cutting their passion short.
Clarice forced herself away from him. He looked to her for a short moment, though it felt like ages, before forcing himself to turn away from her, and head back towards the portal where his Mother waited. He looked back to her for a short moment, before offering a sad, though optimistic smile, and pushing the floating coffin, which had never touched the ground, back through the portal. Clarice watched as the two disappeared, and the portal closed its mouth.
Just as the portal disappeared, the police forced themselves through the door to the Night Mother's chamber.
"In here!" an officer yelled.
Another officer entered into the room, finding Dr. Clarice Stoker standing alone in the middle of a room. Both the she and room were covered in blood, oil, and the crust of wax. Her eyes were streaming with tears as she stood there alone, surrounded by dishevelment, but no life forms.
"Look around!" the officer yelled.
"Oh, you're not going to find him," Clarice said, her voice almost inaudible.
"Why not?" the officer demanded, as others began to look around the room. "Where is he?"
She smiled miserably. "He went home."