Innocence ch. 3
There are only a couple words in my entire vernacular that could describe how I felt when I saw Darrian again. One was 'bittersweet', but, barring words that I couldn't name on a whim which would describe it better, the other was 'damning'. I had to settle myself; the angry part of me that rose up when Marcus' lack of knowledge regarding my situation became known had begun to flare upon seeing his smug, pointed features.
But I knew there were only a couple ways to handle this without completely blowing it. This one had to be slowly, and with tact.
"You?" I started the conversation that would doubtlessly ensue rather cluelessly. "Why are you here?"
"Oh?" The fox snooted with a subtle grin, yet one powerful enough in its amusement to be seen even from my height. "I have my reasons. Though why I'm here isn't what should be concerning you--I am, after all, merely curious." He took to pacing, which only boiled my anticipation. In the background I could barely notice more armed men dribbling into the room, one by one. "Tell me what's the matter--and do try not to pout. I'd much rather you do your job than make things difficult."
I shifted slightly. I didn't want to show discomfort, but that's easier said than done. From the way this guy spoke all the way to his very obvious lack of fear despite my presence, I couldn't help feeling the slightest powerless. Somewhat nervously my eyes flicked to the armed wardens; one's fingers drummed over his metal baton in anticipation, the clawed end of which crackling with subdued military force.
"The 'matter' is that I'm getting the feeling that I'm being lied to," I said quite frankly, turning my attention straight to Darrian. "Marcus here says he didn't know I'm supposed to get a cure." The mouse's head suddenly shot to me, but I ignored it.
"And that is an issue to you because?"
"Because I figured my situation was a little more cohesive than that! Don't you think it makes more sense for most everyone here to have an idea of what's going on with me and why I'm here?"
"They do know why you're here," Darrian replied with a visible and audible snoot. "They know what your purpose here is, and that's all that needs to matter. It needlessly complicates things if everyone considers your life their business, doesn't it?"
I began to huff. Staying calm was proving difficult. "Something tells me that isn't your real reason," I chided. I was losing a good fraction of what little trust I had in him. "And--wait, wait, that's beside the point! Me being here and killing people on death row isn't a permanent thing; you said it yourself. And I should be the only one doing it!"
"Not if you refuse," Darrian rattled in conclusion, waving a set of bony fingers through the air. "What needs to get done will get done, one way or another. Barring the fact that people here deserve what they get, the last thing I want to do is watch you wither away, Clarice."
No way. No goddamn way, my temper whispered into my ears. My brow wrinkled as my cross-legged sitting grew uncomfortable, and I opted to kneeling. Darrian's ears splaying at the sound of stone resisting my weight dropping against it again, my legs folded against themselves, supporting me entirely with my curled toes and heavy knees.
This was all getting almost nowhere. Darrian wasn't giving me the answers I needed and it looked like whatever my suspicions were, he was going to neither confirm nor deny them. But who was I, really? As upset and determined as I was right then, I was just a normal girl, I couldn't make that different. I didn't have any power. What then? What could I do?
I... well, a thought hit me. A thought that raised my head and cast soft, fickle rays onto my dampened spirits. It was that I could prove I was more than that. Just baby steps at first--but I could do something. Maybe I was the only one making my position so bad. I wasn't normal anymore, things weren't going to be normal. And it was time I started acting like things had changed--because they had, and so would I!
"So..." I began slowly, eying him and only him. "You get to circumvent your own rules for no other reason than you said so?" I bared teeth, those pleasant pearly whites that no doubt showcased what remained of my own innocence. A pattern was beginning to bloom right before my eyes.
"I never made rules," Darrian said with a putrid shrug. "I simply said what was going to happen." He scoffed under his breath as he turned to Marcus, if half-heartedly, before cocking his head to me. "You're the way you are. I have a way to accommodate you in the most optimal way, because that is the least I could do. You did, after all, take wing under my operation."
I growled, utilizing that still-flowering rage that I had to try to stuff away. Something was beginning to piece itself together and his evasive act was beginning to crack. "You did this on purpose," I accused without breath. "You did this to me! I can't believe it!" If I had assumed wrongly he'd stop me right there, or so my enraged mind went--so I kept going. "You think you can get away with twisting me and feeding me people for whatever sick reason?" My fists balled themselves and my knees raised my upper body to loom ever higher over the pathetic fox, a vaguely canid shadow enveloping the similar darkness of the floor and crashing atop his form. "I'll fucking kill you!" I snarled.
He was confident, and pretentiously so, only bothering to huff up at me. "Is that so? I've been watching, Clarice. You wouldn't dare do anything to me, the one who's letting you live the way you are. In a home, being fed... where, thanks to what you are," he continued with a drooping harsh tone, "Nobody else would take you." He shook his head with a chuckle oozing with bitter sureness reverberating off his teeth. "It's a much colder world out there than it is in here, Clarice. You'd do well to learn that." He began to turn away, coat disapprovingly fluttering behind him; he didn't believe me, not a word. He was almost right.
Darrian assumed I was compliant. I strode through the first week because I thought it would all end eventually, and I felt trapped--optionless. For some reason, he assumed that I was either mindless or coded. But what he didn't get, the thing that could have been his undoing right then and there, was that I couldn't take it anymore.
My blood and brain were teaming up against me, raging at me to get this over with, utilizing this new, angry part of me that I didn't bother to question. They told me to kill Darrian, to get this all over with, to make me satisfied--because if nothing else, I was beginning to realize that he truly was horrible.
Unlike before, his disgusting voice ringing in my splayed ears, I listened to them now, despite the whispering of my common sense telling me it may well be a terrible idea.
With a hideous growl, I lashed out for Darrian like a hawk snatching a fish straight out of the water, too suddenly and quickly for any kind of reaction on his part. Before I could even register it logically, Darrian was within my enclosed fist. My breathing was heavy and harsh, each breath directed to wash over him. I could feel his tiny chest pounding against my fingers, so weak and fragile...
"You asked for this," I barked roughly, "you brought it on yourself!" I was involuntarily squeezing him; nothing lethal, but when crickle-crackle became crunch it was clear that I wasn't against causing him pain at all--not someone who in my head deserved it.
I can really do it! a passerby thought coerced as a vile smirk began its first stages of growth. I can stop all this so easily! And it was true. I possessed incredible power, and now more than ever before was I truly realizing it. I'd restricted myself to shoving smaller things in my mouth because that's what I was told to do, but now I was getting something I wanted--I was getting revenge, and that's why I felt such a rush. Endorphins and adrenaline intertwined and became a sick current of joy, flowing freely and river-like through me--only exemplified shortly afterward when I heard the telltale snap of bone somewhere within the fox, and a pathetic, hoarse cry of anguish escaped him.
Darrian's eyes bulging, they directed as far as they could behind him, but he couldn't bring himself to utter anything more than a squeak. You would not believe the sorts of victory I felt. But then following it, I felt a sort of tingle, and my peripheral vision caught that the five men from before weren't where they were five minutes ago.
Suddenly the tingle became a sharp pain in both my knees as their clawed weapons dug into my skin, tearing open fresh wounds with a single spreading motion. I flinched and growled, ready to swat away the bugs and finish the job. They were nothing to me, I was the strong one here! They wouldn't stop me from finishing the job. Nothing would.
And right then, as I gazed down and felt the very first pulse of activation escape their bayonet-fitted devices, I had the sad, painful realization that I'd grown overconfident with my revolution.
Vaguely visible shockwaves rang from each weapon, rippling through the air and piercing my ears with a pitch apparently too high for them. I crumpled lower, grasping tighter and tighter with each passing second. The gleaming claws of the bayonets plunged into my knees, forcing me to muffle out a cry as I curled my head into my chest--then, the pain started. The docile bugbites shortly became insurmountable agony coursing through every part of my body. Gigawatts replaced the blood in my veins and I was left shaking and screeching, howling for the pain to stop with unintelligible pleas.
I had dropped Darrian.
My anger and zeal became pitiful fear, quick as the lightning blazing through me. The crippled figure of Darrian received aid from two of my assailants to help him stand as I continued blubbering, quivering, wallowing in the aftershocks as the charged bayonets finally yanked out from the tears in my legs. I fell numb, and at last my side met the ground; I could no longer keep myself straight.
I had been taken down, and so quickly too.
...Who the hell was I? That's right--a stupid, scared little girl. My circumstances had changed, but the subject of those circumstances, myself, had not. Who was I to try and force myself to change? To become someone stronger, someone who really had power in a situation like this?
An idiot. A fucking idiot.
You remember that before today, I was too scared to try anything at all. This is why. Not all learning experiences are lessons; some are simply reminders. This time, I was being reminded of the fact that I don't win fights.
Darrian, with a single leg broken and no doubt breathing as harshly as he was glaring, started up again. My breath hung itself with a noose; my heartbeat synced with Darrian's footsteps as he drew closer, my fearful brain intently focused on him. He was positively furious and walked with a distinctly limped gait.
"Get up." I remember the only sound able to escape me being a pathetic whimper, the sound of hideous pain and anger being suppressed by weakness and renewed terror. What would he do to me now? What was going to happen? The thoughts belonged to a cornered animal. "Now, Clarice." I did so, but made no sudden movements.
"W-what?" I said, acting as though I hadn't just been electrocuted. The fact that I was now too scared to talk properly sort of broke the facade. I kicked my feet, trying to slither farther and farther away from him until my back hit the wall.
Some part of me was still positively enraged--it wasn't gone, only suppressed. That angry part forced upon me a stupid, unachievable goal that couldn't be fulfilled without violence--if it could be solved at all. If there's anything I have learned, it is that such a feeling really is nothing but vain and useless. Especially if violence can't solve the issue at hand.
However, while weighing my advantages, I had to ask myself--where would I go afterwards? Even if I escaped without getting recaptured or killed shortly thereafter, it's not like I had anybody that would be on my side. I had one or two friends and a family that sold me out; none of them would want to provide for me.
Then, I realized with widened eyes, I really was alone. And it hurt.
Logic and reason returned. It was all I could do to prevent myself from trying to smash him right where he stood, or even something as small as growling; nothing here could lead to anything pleasant. So, with that in mind, my brain switched from "fury" back to "infantile anxiety" and I let the embers in my eyes dim. Or at least I would have if they weren't already misty and damp.
"Good. Now sit, and calm yourself. We don't want anybody else sticking their noses where they don't belong, do we? We are the only ones who will refrain from killing you where you stand for such outbursts." Darrian let his snout wave left and right disapprovingly, one hand scratching inside a pocket of his coat like an itchy trigger finger. "However, if you lose control and do not listen to me, I won't have a choice."
My arms tucked themselves close, like a straightjacket holding me back miles from action. I knew how to control myself, and I was far too startled by the immediate backlash anyway. Darrian took a deep breath; even though I'd broken a single leg and he was in clear need of medical assistance after he'd said his piece, he wasn't willing to push his anger.
"You're a good girl, Clarice. You really are." He shook his head. "Your heart is in the right place. You know what you're doing is difficult, but you also know it's the right thing to do. I only show force because you are as much of a threat as the fools that get sent in here --but you can be tamed. I don't have to hurt you. And the last thing I'd want to do is put down someone with a heart as good as yours."
I could finally bring myself to look at him and speak. "You want me to s-sit back and accept your compliment... is t-that it?" I knew the answer was yes. But that was hard--and I don't just mean because I was still tripping over my words thanks to the aftershocks of the electrical weapons. It was like he was painting himself as genuine, and he was really trying to convince me that he was on my side.
Let me just interject and say, bullshit.
I gave up trying to pick apart the truth from the bones; give a man the freedom to act as he pleases and his true colors fly. He did just that when he thought he could control me effortlessly, before I lashed out. "Okay. I'll play along."
"Hmph." It was an incredibly dry chuckle that followed. "If there's anything you need, Valicia here would be happy to have a bit of one-on-one--"
"No," I interrupted, utilizing the only bit of animosity I could sneak in. The border collie had entered shortly after my electrocution, and hadn't seen much of the aftermath. But the part of me that went unspoken was asking, Would she? Doesn't she care about me? "No more questions. Just..." I began gritting my teeth; they needed something to chew on. "Just bring him in."
Darrian put a hand to his chin and nodded, appeased. The guards just stood around like the doofuses they are, while Valicia's ears were perked and tail wagging at what I said.
"Excellent!" she chirped. "A will to eat is always good news. I was beginning to think your body may not be able to handle a diet consisting mostly of raw meat, but you surely would have shown signs of rejecting your food by now if that were the case. Good, very good!" The obnoxious sound of lead being jabbed against coarse paper over a slab of cardboard went on for longer than it should. "Right, right. We'll leave you be then!"
"S-shut up and leave," I quipped at her, though not without one last stammer. In all sincerity I'm pretty glad that Darrian didn't take me seriously due to it, instead laughing it off.
It became clear that the collie cared more about her research and findings related to me than she did about me. Was that what it was? Could there be any other reason for her to say what she just said? All that friendliness, that chipper attitude; my 'spark in the dark' was nothing more than a phantasm, and the fact that she kept that attitude here only proved it. If Valicia really was to be my only friend in this hellhole... well, I didn't want it.
I don't need friends here, I thought as the door clunked shut. I couldn't wait to dig my teeth into something; more than I needed something to eat, I needed catharsis. As abjectly bitter and startling as it might seem, when I saw the next one supposedly deserving death enter the room, all I could think about was making the best of my situation. And you know what? I did just that.
As I sat there not twenty minutes later, alone and cold with his brutalized remains making buddy-buddy with my anger and guilt in the pit of my stomach, I knew I was changing. But I was not becoming a bigger and stronger person who could stand up for herself, like I wanted and like I--for that brief set of minutes--thought I could. Instead I was beginning a transformation into a ruthless and angry shell, forced to abandon sympathy and trade it for sanity--because I knew I couldn't keep both.
What hit me the most was that causing such a mental embargo might very well have not been a particular oversight by the people in charge of me. And right then, eyes dilating with images of Valicia's face flickering before them, though not terribly surprised, I knew what the border collie's second question meant on that first day thanks to that thought.
"Extreme bouts of anger or excitement." Primal anger, primal satisfaction--this was all intended. She expected these reactions from me. The illusion of her friendliness suddenly shattered, and I was left blankly staring into the grey bleakness of the steel drawbridge before me.
Something truly sinister was going on, I managed to think while winning my staring contest with the somehow intricate grooves of the wall. No, something sinister had already happened; to me. But I was too tired to want to try anything more against it. Too crushed.
And possibly too late.
****
The next two days rolled by. Everything, every death of every man and woman, and the severe backlash from my failed attempt at killing Darrian, was still fresh in my brain. I was scared and afraid, lying there on the cold floor. That's the one emotion that describes the whole situation, because everything I felt could be boiled down to "scared". Sometimes my eyes would find the camera and swing back to the ground to pretend it wasn't there, but the truth was that I was being watched, plain and simple. Even though Darrian never showed himself in my cell ever again, fact of the matter was that he knew much better than to do so.
As close as I got to killing him, I couldn't snatch away the satisfaction of potentially leaving him crippled, a feeling that hung above me like a carrot on a stick. That close to the edge only created a gap that I could never cross--Darrian was now prudent to never again put himself in that sort of danger, armed with the knowledge that I was not as he expected me to be, compliant and accepting of his motives. But even in a situation like the one I was in, where pressures built upon me over my time as executioner beyond mortal and physical comprehension bore down on my whole body like the devil himself had me in his enclosed fist, I could not bring myself to cry. I was either too weak or too strong; at this point, I'm really not sure.
But excuse me, I don't want to sidetrack myself--I'm really sorry if I do. I'll do my best to catch myself. I'll move a little further because the next two days were completely uninteresting and forced me back into the macabre routine of 'kill and eat'. And I'm sure you've had enough of that for a time, huh?
In the dead of night in the vestigial wing, you get used to being blind. There are no windows and the lights get killed at about ten. I'd mostly recovered from the initial--pardon me--shock from two days prior, but I couldn't get to sleep just yet. I was sunk deep in the rough and the most I could do was lay on my side and finger invisible drawings into the dirt. A brief beep emitted from the camera nearby, still watching--the very concept that maybe it was malfunctioning sparked a bit of hope for a time, as I blissfully ignored its continued whirring that must have signified otherwise. Then the sound stopped.
I forced my eyes shut tight. Sleep was difficult. Evasive. Painful to even attempt chasing. I'd been able to drift in and out of restless dreaming, but I just kept waking up. I was so messed up, too upset to stay in that state. "God..." I whispered, hoping my words wouldn't get caught even by camera, then rolled onto my back as if daydreaming. I didn't bother opening my eyes despite my continued inert state, since the result would be no different in this hue of black.
"Something has to change... but I can't fucking do anything." I don't care for cursing, but in some select situations, I do think that it can be rather excusable. I turned on my side again and pounded the dirt with a weak, unmotivated fist, thereafter letting the fallen arm serve as a benumbed pillow.
Suddenly, there was a sound. There was never a sound in this room save during the day--it was that of steel against itself as a loud clang. The door opened and shut--someone was in here with me.
I jolted upright and looked around, only to realize that there was still nothing to see. I asked the first three stupid questions: "W-who are you? Where? What are you doing in here?" Answers to those stupid and incomplete questions didn't come immediately, though. Least, not all of them at once as I would have liked. "I-I bet you taste good, don't you try anything!"
Yeah. Real charming, I know, but let's get past that.
"C-calm down!" a male voice hissed. "Just give me a second, I'm not you're enemy!"
Trusting was a little difficult, but at the very least he made a conscious attempt. Anybody else might have just remained quiet--so, at his will, I remained still. Soon I felt a light touch against my crossed ankle, and I damn near spazzed.
"Who are you?" I asked again.
Like a smooth waterfall, his voice, though miniscule, washed over me once again. "Don't be afraid, Clarice--and don't jerk around so much, I'm nearby!" Then the nobleness pretty much completely fell apart. At his words I slumped back into a sitting position and huddled my arched knees, wanting anything but to accidentally hurt the newcomer. I was doing my best to stifle a shy and reasonably nervous laugh, though. "I know you're scared, and I know what you've been through. I've been watching this ridiculousness since day one--and it's not been a pleasure to watch idly."
I shook my head, heart suddenly racing at the thought that this was all being recorded. "Wait, don't you know what you're doing? Can't you see...." Suddenly, I realized I couldn't even motion toward the camera, not that it would do much. The green light of a tiny dome on its head was completely gone.
"I know," the disembodied voice replied coolly. "Don't worry. I managed to cut off the mic; the cameras don't have any form of night vision, we're fine," he said hurriedly, as though trying to calm me down. "Nobody can hear us or see us."
My eyebrow raised and my head whipped in the general direction of his voice. "Then why?"
I know, I know, I was asking way too many questions for all the sheer divinity of the circumstance, but to hell with it--I was confused.
"Because I was there for what happened to you on Tuesday. And..." earnest, he continued, "I'm ashamed to say I was a part of it."
"So that means you're one of the wardens?" I asked. He didn't readily answer, so I picked up for him. His name really was nowhere near the confines of my interest. "It's hard..." I began to trail off, but grabbed the cliff of my sentence before I could fall like him. "Everything's hard to believe right now. Who's to say who you are? I'm not, I can't even see you or put a face to you," I said, shaking my invisible head.
"I understand. After what you've been through it's not hard to see why you don't want to take chances. But I'm not going to give up." I could almost feel my ears perk. He had my full attention now. "Clarice--what if I told you that Darrian has tried this before?"
That struck a macabre chord somewhere within me.
"He has? You have to be lying!" I nearly barked.
"Not from what I discovered. I looked further into the matter of your... well, transformation. 3-Step was not Darrian's foray into experimental science, medical or otherwise." The voice paused. "I don't know the details well enough to make any more claims than that."
As bold as those claims were... there was no point in disbelieving him. I had a chance now, and I sure as hell wasn't gonna turn him down, even if he didn't know quite everything.
"So what does that all mean for me? Are you saying he has something in mind?"
The voice was solemn, but stern. "I can only assume it. Clarice, I really do want to be here for you--I don't know what 3-Step has in mind, but there's nothing I can directly do against it. All I know is that my better sense can't let me sit back and watch you eat people for whatever it is they've done. It's sick and... well, I can't tug strings yet, but I want to help."
Profound, I had to think. I couldn't rightly believe it all at once. A part of me was screaming at me to accept it, but I still didn't know what to think.
"So, I know you're going to ask me just what that means," he continued, leaving my open mouth hanging. He caught on rather quickly to all the dumb questions I'd been spitting out. "It means I'm going to do anything I can to figure out more. Darrian openly admitted that he did something to you--and I have no idea why, but it's clear that it can't be good, right?" I nodded, only realizing shortly thereafter that it still couldn't be seen.
"Right. I can do all I want to try and justify myself when it comes to what I had to do, but it doesn't change the fact that I feel completely awful about it. Thing is, it's just--what I'd learned within those first three days was that I had to find some way to stuff all this guilt into the back of my head, or else it would drive me fucking insane." I sighed. "So that's just what I did. Or tried to do."
The shadow made a nervous, yet somehow reassured sound. "No, you're not to blame. It's fine." There was a bit of a pause again; him probably trying to filter through what was left to be said.
During that time, I could only mentally refute him--it took me all this time to fight back, after all. I could have done more to change things earlier. Well... maybe not a whole lot, but the attempt could have been there, right?
"Either way," he then continued, "I'm not completely comfortable. Just wanted to let you know as much, and that you aren't boxing shadows, alright?"
"Yeah, and I swear I can't thank you enough," I said with the most confidence I'd had in weeks. "Are we... going to keep in touch, then?" I asked, somewhat shyly.
"Oh now... as often as possible. Only at night, though. I can't afford to get caught snooping about. I ought to let you have your sleep, but when I come visit, you can talk to me about anything." His voice simply dripped with honesty. Frankly, what he said could easily have sounded strange, but with the way he did and given how much I goddamn needed it, it didn't cross me at all. "And if we happen to learn more that way, then all the better."
I nodded again, just to sate myself. "T-that's great. Thank you very much!" Those words could not have summed up how I felt, but they would have to do. My legs were practically shaking.
"'Night. I'll try to make it again tomorrow. If you still don't believe me, I've left something for you--it might mean something to you, it might not. But it does to me." Then, with the somewhat softened clunk of the steel door, I was once again alone.
But I didn't feel like I was. Rest was suddenly much less elusive; I nodded off before my mind could even tear itself from the very idea that I had an ally.
When I awoke, my mind immediately shot to my visitor's last words before he left. Taking a quick survey of the room, I quickly noticed something different about it. Something in my cell made it brighter, perhaps with a semblance of life. It was a light violet hue that sprouted from the ground--my curiosity piqued, I focused harder on it without moving.
It was so strange to recognize. A sprig of lavender, that purple flower that inspired my birth name laid there on the rough, rocky floor, between the occasional rivulets of dried red. Something so innocent and common and well-known--so much so that it should not have plowed a tanker truck of emotions straight into my chest. It happened to do so anyway.
I had an ally here, and that was the truth. The first truth since I'd arrived. Maybe it was because of that, or maybe it was because my frustration had finally caught up with me, that, as I was filled with confused relief and overwhelmed by the calling card, I found myself trying to fight back tears.
But, it's like I said: I don't win fights. So, finally, I let my feelings take their course and allowed myself to shakily weep, uncaring of who could see me now.