The sharp buzz of a phone alarm jolted Clarke Griffin awake. She groaned, half-buried under a tangle of blankets, and slapped her hand blindly across the nightstand until she found the snooze button. Five more minutes wouldn't make a difference, she told herself. Except it would. And she knew it.
She pushed herself up, squinting at the grey light leaking through the blinds. Her head throbbed slightly—probably from the three-dollar wine she'd downed the night before—and the clock read 6:47 AM. Rent was due. Well, it had been due a week ago, but close enough.
Clarke ran her fingers through her blonde hair, yanking out a few knots as she surveyed her apartment. Clothes were strewn across the floor, a couple of takeout containers sat abandoned on the counter, and her backpack lay slumped by the door, contents half-spilled out from her last hasty exit. No time to clean up. Not today.
She was going to have to face him.
Mr. Bailey, her landlord, was a man who embodied pettiness in a way Clarke found almost artistic. He seemed to take pleasure in making tenants' lives miserable, and for months, Clarke had barely scraped by with late fees and empty promises. But she was out of excuses—and out of time.
She slipped on a pair of boots, grabbed her jacket, and made her way downstairs, preparing herself for the inevitable confrontation. The hallway smelled of damp, and the flickering light bulb at the end buzzed in a way that made her grit her teeth. There was nothing to enjoy about her current accommodation and she was reluctant to pay anything for the privilege of staying in such a dive.
Sure enough, Bailey was waiting for her by the front entrance, leaning against the wall with a scowl etched onto his features. He was a short man with greasy hair and his personality matched his dull outfit.
"Griffin," he barked as soon as she was in sight, following her into the adjoining alley as she attempted to bypass the confrontation. "You think you're gonna slink out of here again without paying what you owe?"
Clarke plastered on a smile, tight and sarcastic as she reluctantly faced his arrogance. "Good morning Bailey. What a lovely surprise this is."
"Cut the crap," he snapped, kicking a piece of rubbish with a booted foot to send it skittering down the alley. "You're two weeks late. I'm done with your excuses. You got the money or not?"
Clarke met his glare head-on, refusing to flinch. "Relax, Bailey. You'll get it. Things are just a little tight right now, okay?"
In truth, she could have paid him last week but she had better people to spend her money on and it was a secret enjoyment of hers to see the veins popping out of his thick forehead every time he raged at her.
Bailey stepped closer, eyes narrowing as he saw the truth written across her face. "Thought so," he sneered. "I'm done with this back-and-forth, Griffin. You've got until the end of the week, or your stuff's out on the curb."
He shoved her hard against the brick wall. The rough surface scraped against her back, and she gasped, more in shock than pain. "Get it together," he hissed. "I'm not running a charity."
Clarke watched him storm away and considered running after him for a second, the urge to show him exactly what she thought of his crude attitude rising in her chest. She was not beyond retaliation but knew when to pick a fight.
Instead she took a deep breath and leaned back against the wall, brushing away the childish anger that was of her own creation. There was little reason for her to stay in this pit any longer, perhaps it was time to move on after all. Hell would freeze over before she gave that arse any more of her money.
It was as she was contemplating her future in the dim alley that everything seemed to happen all at once.
A rush of wind blasted through the narrow space, carrying with it a faint hum like the crackling of electricity. Clarke squinted in horror as a flash of blinding light erupted in front of her. She stumbled back, shielding her face from the searing brightness. The air rippled, crackling as if tearing itself apart, whipping Clarke's hair around her face as the sudden onslaught of energy seemed to resonate to her very core.
The light twisted and folded in on itself, gathering into a glowing rift in the air. Clarke could barely process what she was seeing when a figure tumbled out of the void, hitting the pavement with a thud.
The light vanished just as quickly as it had appeared, leaving only the dull, grey alley once more. But the figure remained—a woman, dressed in dark, ripped clothes, her face streaked with grime and blood. She groaned weakly, trying to push herself up but collapsed back onto the ground in defeat.
Clarke's breath caught in her throat. She hesitated, her mind overwhelmed with both fear and adrenaline as she was torn between running for her life and assisting the injured woman on the ground.
Without any doubt. her first instinct was to run. She wasn't stupid. But something in the woman's eyes —sharp, green, full of fierce determination despite her obvious pain—made her hesitate. This woman, whoever she was, looked half-dead. By some miracle, whatever fear she had was quickly overridden by concern.
Clarke dropped to her knees beside the stranger, hands hovering uncertainly as the woman muttered incomprehensible words in a harsh language. Her eyes, initially screwed shut in pain, flew open at the movement and their gazes locked.
"Hey, hey!" Clarke said, trying to keep her voice calm despite the panic rippling inside her. "You're hurt. Just—stay still, okay? I'm gonna help you."
The woman tried to speak again, but her words were slurred and jumbled. Clarke leaned in closer, catching only fragments of a language that she was not familiar with. She could only shake her in head in confusion when the woman's eyes rolled back and she fell unconscious.
Clarke's heart was beating rapidly as she looked around the alley, half-frozen in shock but her survival instinct soon kicked in as she realized that they needed to get out of sight. She had no choice but to gather the woman's weight in her arms and haul her upright, half dragging the unconscious woman into the private entrance of the building.
The faint sound of city traffic continued in the distance, a world at peace without knowledge of the chaos evolving in it's streets.
It was likely a poor decision on Clarke's part to involve herself in whatever madness was taking place here, but she was never once to shy away from trouble. Little did she know that her life was about to change forever.
Clarke paced back and forth across the length of her studio flat, her nerves buzzing like live wires. She shot a glance at the unconscious woman sprawled on her bed, half-wondering what kind of disaster she'd just invited into her life.
"What was I thinking?" she muttered to herself, running a hand through her hair. "I don't even know who she is—or what she is." The woman's clothes were half shredded from her perilous form of travel and the streaks of blood tracing patterns across the material didn't bear thinking about.
Clarke abandoned her pacing and edged closer, cautiously studying the stranger. Up close, she could properly appreciate the woman's features. She was by all appearances normal in complexion, a firm jawline and high cheekbones presenting a slim build to her body.
A shocked gasp escaped the blonde's lips when a strong hand grasped her wrist without warning and pulled her closer. Green eyes bore into hers with desperation as the stranger used what was left of her energy to voice a warning.
"It's coming."
The unexpected strength seemed to dissolve in a second and the woman slumped back onto the bed with an audible sigh.
"What are you talking about? Who's coming?" Clarke demanded harshly, but the woman was yet again slipping out of consciousness.
"Shit," she uttered, her stomach twisting as she stumbled back from the bed. She was way over head with this, and not for the first time regretted her involvement in the strange events. What the hell did that mean?
Regardless of what may or may not be heading her way, she knew what had to be done. Rushing back into the main room, she gathered what she could in the rucksack, hands shaking as she collected what little money and personal items she owned. It was as she hurriedly pulled the zipper shut when the pounding of footsteps could be heard ascending the nearby stairs.
Clarke felt a sense of dread of which she had never experienced with such intensity before and had no doubt that whatever was about to make an appearance was not here with good intentions. The footsteps continued to pound rapidly along the corridor until they stopped outside the door, followed by a a chilling silence.
Breath held in anticipation, the blonde woman felt the fear creeping into her body as her heart slammed against her ribs. She stood up slowly and inched towards the drawers behind her, wincing at the dragging of wood when it opened, breaking the silence that seemed to hold them all captive. With a sudden boom, something threw itself against the door with terrifying strength and Clarke abandoned her attempts at subtlety as she spun on her heel and frantically dug through the drawer to find the knife that she had hidden for protection.
Her fingers had barely clasped the handle of the knife as the violent attacks made the door frame shudder and eventually crack in several places with a terrible sound. A blur of movement from the corner of her eye caused Clarke to spin on her heels and she found herself face to face with the woman that she had rescued.
Dark circles were hollowed beneath the deep green eyes that Clarke could've sworn were glowing with a strange energy, although she was half-convinced that she was hallucinating the whole event by this point. Oddly enough, she found some reassurance in the power resonating from the woman and didn't resist as the knife was taken from her quivering hands. The unexpected calm was short lived when she glimpsed the latest arrival over the woman's shoulder and her heart turned to ice once more.
A tall, menacing figure was stood in the doorway surrounded by the mess of shattered wood that had been unable to withstand the horrifying force. There were no clear words to describe the unsettling darkness that seemed to emanate from the figure, an unspoken promise of violence and death that clung to the man like a cloak.
Before Clarke could even process what this meant, the woman in front of her moved with unnatural speed towards the unwanted intruder, the two meeting in a clash of bodies and guttural vocalizations as they fought for victory. In a blink it was possible to miss the exchange of blows that at one point had the defending woman pinned against the wall and in the next she spun low, sweeping the man's legs out from under him before driving her elbow into his chest with crushing force.
The sheer momentum with which they fought forced Clarke to crouch and turn herself away from the conflict, powerless to intercede or help in any way. A sudden collision sent shockwaves through the room and Clarke peered cautiously around the makeshift defense of her drawers to see the two figures lying motionless on the ground.
Alight with fear, she crept forwards, a sickening relief washing over her to see that her knife was protruding from the man's upper chest. The woman had won the fight, but to what consequence they did not yet know. Breath was barely being drawn from her chest as she lay sprawled near the dead intruder, the last of her energy fading away.
The horrifying scene did not escape Clarke's notice and she could only continue with her hasty escape plan, now even more vital as she prayed that the extent of noise would keep any nosy neighbors safely locked inside their apartments. There was a sense of isolation in this accommodation, a silent promise between its residents that no one wanted anything to do with anyone else's business and that's the way they liked it.
There was no time to think. Clarke knew she had to get them both out of here—fast. With trembling hands, she grabbed her now full backpack and cast one final eye over the apartment. It was trashed beyond recognition, not that she had any fond memories here to begin with. There was nothing to be done as she quickly moved her eyes away from the motionless body. They could only leave this place far behind and hope that the danger would not follow them.
With a grunt of effort, Clarke hauled the woman's limp body into her arms, staggering under the weight as she dragged her toward the door. Once they reached her car, Clarke heaved her into the passenger seat and slammed the door shut.
She started the engine hastily and tried to still her quaking hands on the wheel as she sped out of the parking lot. There was no direction to her driving, only an empty stare fixed on the road, blindly following it's twists and turns.
Her breathing only settled once they had left the accommodation and its run down town far behind them, only for the panic to catch up to her detached brain. Clarke swung the car off the road and let the cold, sickening fear drown her as she turned her head to watch the unconscious woman.
Clarke could've thrown her from the vehicle then, abandoned whatever misery and horror was drawn to the stranger. She owed her nothing, knew nothing about her and yet she could not bring herself to do so. The woman had saved her life after all, she didn't have to like it but the least she could do was return the favor.
The road stretched out before her, cold and uncertain as she continued to run from the horrors that had invaded her life. But for the first time in a long while, Clarke felt an odd sense of relief to be leaving her stale life behind, to be free from whatever responsibility had kept her trapped there. It was a tentative new beginning, one that she would've never imagined.
I hope you enjoyed the chapter! Let me know what you thought and the next chapter will be released soon. :)