The first thing I hear is a h0rrific scream, cutting through the air and fog with an intensity that swallows the silence, only leaving the nameless dread in my heart.
“Mona!” Someone is by my side, shaking my shoulders. My hands shake, nails digging into my attacker’s body. A deep, strangled noise brings me to full consciousness, and my eyes fly open.
“Griffin?” As the figure before me comes into focus, I remember my circumstances and release my grip. A strange wheezing noise follows, and the red-head clutches his throat. “What happened?” I ask, alarmed. He doesn’t answer immediately, still gasping a little bit before removing his hands from his neck.
“Well, all I know is that one minute I am asleep, the next you are screaming your head off and trying to strangle me,” He mutters, shaking his hands. “I will say, you have a pretty good grip.”
“I’m sorry.” I stare at him, then at my own hands. “I don’t know what came over me.” So, that was my scream.
“Well, good thing you got out of it before you killed me,” Griffin laughs, a dry, hoarse sound that shocks me. He notices as well, and gathers some water in his hand. As the liquid trickles into his mouth, I start to recall the vivid pictures that had been dancing throughout my head.
“I had a very vivid dream,” I start talking, mainly to myself. “But even though it was so crystal clear at the time, now I can hardly make sense of anything. I think it had to do with where we are, and what we are supposed to do now that we are here.” I twist in my position. “I think it had something to do with rain.”
There is silence for a while, Griffin scrubbing his shoe and I raking through fractured memories.
“I wish I had dreams like that,” he finally says, “I only dream about sheep and bunny rabbits and flowers. Or nothing at all.” Griffin tilts his head towards the sky, and I do the same. The sky is near impossible to see with the fog lying just above the well, but there is a strange beauty in it—watching the mist swirl around the round opening, as if performing a dance just for us.
“I wonder if they will ever find us,” I murmur absently while counting the bricks lining the top of the well.
Griffin turns his head to stare at me. “They?” He probes, and I look back at him.
“Yeah, you know… Yi, Danae, Xavier… I was escaping from them when I bumped into you,” I explain, “I wonder if they would even look.” The mist seems to intensify as I speak, almost opaque in appearance. I doubt anyone would be able to spot the well from here, and we can’t make any signals because we are about twenty-five feet from the surface.
“Why in the world would you try to escape?” He asks in alarm. Instantly my mind flashes to past events, and I mentally slap myself in the face. It wasn’t very strategic to flee from them, now that I look back in hindsight; I think what most propelled me to do so in the first place was Xavier and the discomfort his presence made me feel.
“I’m not sure,” I avoid Griffin’s piercing gaze, “I think the most important reason why is because I like it better when I am alone.”
I try to ignore the trembles that are erupting deep within my heart.
“Mona,” He says softly, “Xavier will always come and look for you. I mean, he broke into Headquarters like a mad man to stop the ritual.” Frustration sizzles between us, reverberating around the well.
“What the crap is the Sharuken ritual?!” I bark, tired once and for all of hearing this nonsense. “Why am I the one being left out here?” I barely notice the tear budding at the corner of my eye until it runs down my face. Scolding myself for acting like an emotional idi0t, I lie back against the wall again and close my eyes. Crying over such a matter is silly. Crying over anything is silly.
“It’s… nothing, Mona. Nothing you should worry about,” Griffin answers, his eyes shifting upwards again.
“No, Griffin.” I turn and place my hand on his shoulder. “I need to know, so I may understand.” My hand shakes as I realize my immediate familiarity with this man, and the easiness with which I touched him. This behavior cannot be explained or excused unless I can have this last piece of the puzzle.
I remove my hand as he sits and stares, probably trying to figure out how to phrase his next words. The cold of the endless night wraps around my form, chilling me to the bone.
“I will,” he finally agrees, “but you have to tell me something else first.” Hesitantly he inches over until his shoulder almost touches mine. I can feel his closeness all too well, and the shivers begin again. He notices, and reaches over to cover my hand with his own. The warmth pulsates from his skin into mine, and everything, if only for a second, just feels right.
“Tell me everything.” His intoxicating whisper dances into my ears, disarming my senses. “Tell me all that has happened to you since I left you at that horrible orphanage.”
It is with these words that the past comes to life, scorching my consciousness with burning brands. The dark room. The loneliness. The arrogance.
The hopelessness.
“W-why?” I choke, swallowing deeply. My throat scratches, burning with thirst.
“Because just as much as you do… I want to understand.”
And just like that, I begin the story. I start, and then the story takes hold of both me and my words. It twists and weaves, pulling out phrases like notes in a single melody. The melody is larger than me, larger than life, stretching over countless minutes and hours. Hours, minutes… who dares to try and measure at times like this? Time is of no substance here, for the emotions and feelings should not be restrained by such a factor.
There is a moment when the heart is raw, scrubbed bare of the layers that restrict it. It could last a second, it could last an eternity. And in that moment, whether you will it or not, anyone and everyone is able to view your innermost soul in all its innocence. There is no defense. The slightest movement can knock you to your knees, deal the final, crushing blow.
A single droplet lands on my forehead, dripping down my face and knocking me out of my stupor.
Wordlessly I lift a single finger to touch the water, and then bring it back to eye level.
“Mona, what is it?” A dark voice shocks me, and I jump nearly ten feet out of my skin. Griffin. I had forgotten that he was here with me.
“Oh! Oh, nothing. It’s just—did you feel that?” I feel the walls building just as quickly as they fell; the shaking starts, the jumping nerves. How could I ever let myself crumble so easily?
“Feel what?” He looks at me, and then at the sky. His eyes are dark, scarily so, with his face clouded in some sort of depression. “I think there may be a small rain shower coming our way.”
It hurts.
“No, no,” I mutter, “well, yes. Rain. But that isn’t what I’m talking about.”
It pounds at my head, my sanity.
“Mona, please just tell me.”
“It’s the… the voices! Don’t tell me you don’t hear them.” I try to close my ears, but it bursts through anyways, scaring me with its ferocity. “It is so loud.”
“It’s just us in here,” Griffin tries to soothe me, “there are no voices besides yours and mine.”
My eyesight blurs, but I can vaguely make out spheres of light bouncing around the well. They seem to be the source of the noise. Even more bizarre, the crushing noise I hear is of my own voice—spinning my story, my web of secrets—echoed back to me in the most chilling way possible.
He catches me as I collapse, my mind overwhelmed by the voices. “Mona, hang in there,” he tries to comfort me. The voices only grow louder in intensity.
“I knew it,” he mutters, “This is all my fault. I need to get her out of here, get here some food.” I can barely hear him, but at the words my stomach clenches in pain. My throat yearns for liquid.
I can hear Griffin’s shouts, though distant, ringing around the area. The droplets of water multiply, but I can barely feel them running down my skin, soaking my hair. It is really raining now—raining bullets of burning fire that are doubling by the second. The cold grows worse, but also numbing, slightly alleviating the ceaseless murmurs.
I gather the strength to look up, my eyes cleared up slightly. There they are again, the spheres of light barely larger than a dime but spellbinding in its brightness. The roar of the storm seems to add to my sanity, though the very fact that I am seeing such things takes away from it. When will things ever be normal? If Fate has determined to kill me, let it happen now so that all this can just be over. Nothing has been resolved, and Griffin has not fulfilled his side of the bargain, but nothing would make me happier than to have some shred of stability. Even if that stability is death.
And then the impossible happens.
“Griffin! It’s… it’s a Shifter! Right above our heads!” I scream, clutching at his arm. Although later the scream almost seems unwarranted, with the way it just peers over the edge of the well, silent and unmoving. Its beady eyes pulsate a dying red, devoid of ferocity or strength.
“I sense it,” Griffin says in a low, throaty whisper. I do not look at him, scared to break my contact with the Shifter above. The Shifter has the power to kill us both, for we are trapped like goldfish in a bowl.
The wind blows more and fiercely, the rain falling almost to the point where one drop is imperceptible from the other, a continuous stream of water pouring from above. It soaks our clothing, our bodies, and the bottom of the well to the point where it feels like we will never be dry again.
My hand curls around an arrow, silver and with a point so sharp that it could split a hair. The accompanying bow starts to materialize by my side, slowed by the chills echoing in my body. It takes me a moment to remember that my left arm is broken, so that I would not be able to shoot the arrow anyways. I wonder if I would even have the strength, for in addition to my physical weakness, something in my heart keeps protesting at the use of such weapons. Something keeps telling me this isn’t the answer.
It continues to stare at me, but something about its red eyes does not seem as threatening as it should. The feeling reminds me of when I encountered a Shifter resting against a tree not very long ago. It looks almost helpless, almost like the victim, especially when its eyes are not burning with hate.
I watch in wonder as the small spheres of light start to rise, the voices growing louder but even still being drowned out by the rain. It is magical, the way it proceeds towards the Shifter. It is impossible not to wonder what the spheres are, and what the Shifter plans to do with it.
It is difficult to see, with the rain slapping my face, but I see the spheres hover before the Shifter. The Shifter shifts its attention to the spheres, and when its eyes move the spheres instantly move as well, as if gravitated to its gaze. Bewilderment is the only emotion crossing my mind as the spheres simply disappear, as if entering the Shifter through its eyes.
“Mona, are you okay?” Griffin asks with worry. “What are you staring at? What is it doing?”
I don’t answer him for a minute, rubbing my eyes to smear away the rainwater. When I look back up, its just the Shifter again. It is staring straight at me.
The eyes now are brighter, but not bright with the emotions I am so familiar with. They seem filled with sorrow and pain, the same feelings that the voices were expressing. Did… the Shifter just swallow my voice and feelings?
I wonder if this is a manifestation of my own insanity or the fact that I am seeing with more clarity than ever before.
“Look at the bottom of the well. If this rain doesn’t stop soon, we might be…” Griffin’s words snap me out of contact with the Shifter and I instantly realize the source of his worries.
“What are we going to do?” The water is at our knees, and quickly rising. It starts to swallow the bottom of our thin jackets, and I snap to my feet in response. The chills are even greater, swallowing me entirely.
Griffin stands up as well, his arms shaking almost as much as mine. I can see his knee about to give out, so I run over to support him. We are inches away, but his presence does not comfort me as much as it probably should.
“I will try to use one of my Spiers,” I offer, a dagger starting to appear in my scratched hands. “We can use it to get out of here.”
“Mona, the only person able to see your Spier is you,” Griffin replies, “I wouldn’t be able to use it. I think it doesn’t work on physical objects anyway.”
I mentally slap myself in the face as my hand reaches with the dagger to try and stab the walls. Of course, it doesn’t work, my hand banging into the smooth bricks instead. “If only there was something to grab onto,” I mutter, scanning the sides again and again for a ledge of some sort. For anything.
But of course, with our luck, we are being held prison in a very well-made well.
“Mona, I just want to tell you that I am sorry,” He looks me right in the eye, his face bent with darkness and remorse.
“And I don’t accept your apology,” I reply absently, scanning the floor and the rapidly rising water. I spare a glance to the top of the well, where surprisingly the Shifter has disappeared, leaving us to die in its wake. I mean, it’s not like I expected it to save us, but at the same the fact that it just left without doing anything at all leaves me feeling rather empty inside. At least it could have tried to attack us, because then there would be something. Something besides this.
“You should. It would make me feel a lot better about our imminent deaths,” Griffin mutters, to my amusement.
“Who said we were going to die?” I laugh through the cold. “You shouldn’t be sorry, for none of this is your fault.”
“But it is.” He rubs his head in dismay. “From what you have just told me… if only I had realized before now…”
“Realized what?” I ask with concern. He looks really stressed out, and his attitude is bringing me back to reality as well. There isn’t going to be a prince with his white horse who is going to magically save us. This will really be our last words.
“I never knew that-” A thunderclap erupts in the night, stinging our ears with its ferocity. We stop and look at each other, instantly alarmed.
“Lightning,” I murmur breathlessly. Instantly a bright light floods our vision for less than a millisecond, as if to echo my observation. The water is up to our waists, and rising higher. It feels like I am in a swimming pool, with the walls so high that I cannot escape it. And this storm is only going to get worse.
“Griffin,” I take his arm, “we must die laughing. So tell me a joke.” I throw aside my lack of memories and questioning of our relationship.
Death experience? I laugh inwardly. It should be called the bonding experience. I feel like I’ve known Griffin now for an entire lifetime.
“What?” He seems confused, so I punch his shoulder in joviality.
“Tell me a joke! I want to hear one!” I urge him.
“But I’m the worst joke teller in this universe.”
“No, I’m pretty sure I am. So you go first.”
“Well, what happens if a wolf falls in the washing machine?”
“Uh, I have no clue.”
“He becomes a wash and werewolf.” He then makes a BA-DUM-CHA sound with his mouth and breaks out into a wide smile. He must know he made the worst joke ever known to mankind, otherwise he wouldn’t be so proud.
Even though it’s stupid, I find myself laughing anyway. Laughing until the tears fall, falling like the rainwater washing my face and arms. Crying until it is impossible to stop, impossible to forget about what’s in store for us.
Griffin’s soaking hands surround my body—while choking up with either tears or laughter himself—although he’d probably admit to neither. Laughing or crying, to me there is no difference at all. They both result from that small part of your heart that produces the deepest of your emotions, that makes you human and separates you from the animals. There is such magnificence and attraction in the manifestation of those feelings, but vulnerability accompanies its fragile beauty.
I embrace the beauty, reveling in it as the tears turn into diamonds before our eyes, rich with despair and utter hopelessness. As the diamonds splash into our own personal death capsule, it seems to make everything seem even more bleak, yet even more beautiful. I don’t understand why, or even how.
The water is up to our waists, and the real panic intensifies to a whole new level. I am constantly shifting between giggling and bawling in a cr@zy way that probably shouldn’t ever be tried at home.
“Griffin, I hope you know how to swim,” I whisper genially, trying to rub my hand up and down his arm to generate warmth. Nothing happens, unfortunately.
“I’m sorry,” he mumbles, “I don’t know if I can with this leg. It’s killing me.”
“It… it was a joke, Griffin. Well, it would be good if you could, but-”
“Luckily for you two, I can,” A deep, commanding voice erupts from above, shocking us out of our weird embrace. It takes me a second to gather myself, and then with a stony expression, I finally look up.
No. Freaking. Way.
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