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The fluorescent lights hummed and flickered to the beat of the music, and Bellamy Blake blinked open his eyes. He went to move his hands and feet, but they were strapped down tight, too tight. He grunted against his restraints, recognizing the room he was in. The same room where they’d killed Dahlia. Where…Clarke. And there she was, the girl who’d stabbed him in the neck and presumably tied him to the chair. And she was dancing. Her head was bobbing as her fingers flickered through sheets of paper, mumbling the foreign words as she read. Her eyes skimming over lines, before darting up at his movements.
“Morning sunshine.” A girl that sounded like Clarke sang. She strode through the room like she owned the place, a grin full of secrets on her lips. Clarke’s lips. Her jeans were pitch-black, her long-sleeved shirt a dark red. Bellamy attempted to tear his arms free, but he was as helpless as Brooke was in the video. “Paralytic wore off it seems.”
“W-what did you do to Clarke?” he sputtered.
The girl gave him a silly smile, turning off a switch causing the music to die. “You already know the answer to that.” She gestured to the log in screen on the lab’s computer. “You saw for yourself what happened yesterday.”
He shook his head, denying it. “No, no. Clarke’s not dead, she’s still in there.” She must be. He’d been concerned the other night when she never arrived to let her tent fly away, to let her sin of leaving him behind in Pollis soar away with it. He’d assumed she’d preferred to spend her night with the doctor instead, a blow that had stung more than he’d admit. I should’ve tried to find her. The girl shrugged, uninterested in his denial. Josephine Lightbourn. “You’re not going to get away with this.” He threatened, words his only weapon now.
“I know you’re refusing to notice, but I already have.” The girl wrung her hands, cracking her knuckles as she studied the table of papers, then the vials, needles, and beakers. “Now, thanks to your friend John, I know Clarke wasn’t born a nightblood. Love the name by the way.” She smirked again. “She was created this way, now we just have to do that again.” Those once caring ocean eyes gave him a merciless stare.
“Even if I knew how I wouldn’t tell you.” He growled.
“Doubtless.” The girl rolled up her sleeve, picking up a syringe and gently placing it on her arm.
“What are doing?” he struggled again, not wanting her to harm herself, to harm Clarke. The girl hardly winced as she dug the needle deeper, filling the plastic tube with deep black liquid. Taking it out she studied the cylinder a moment and then sighed.
“I guess the first thing to learn, is if there are any differences between her artificial nightblood and those who are born with it.” Taking the needle, she pushed her blood into another glass tube, putting it down and brushing a soft white ball of cotton on her tiny wound. “If I can’t figure it out myself, I suppose I’ll have to get Clarke’s strung out mother to help.”
“She won’t help you, not after…” he struggled with the words.
“Took over her daughter’s body?” she finished for him. “She doesn’t need to know about that just yet.”
“She’ll notice, they all will, you won’t be able to fool them.” Josephine offered Bellamy a long look, eyes glinting beside that all-too-knowing smile.
She walked in front of the table and leaned back on it, crossing her arms as she studied him. “You did figure it out rather quickly.”
“H-how long? How long have you been her?”
She shrugged, still grinning. “Just the day, and you were so quick to catch on, my first two words gave you pause. Clarke’s not one to chill out I take it?” Bellamy could only glare, heart in his throat. She can’t be dead; she must still be in there. Yet even as he searched her eyes, he could see nothing of the girl he’d known in them. “Not the worst way to go out, get laid, get killed, quite the night for your friend.”
Bellamy struggled against the straps; his determination lit ablaze from his anger. The girl came closer, tilting her head like a scientist studying a newfound specimen. “and which part of that sentence pisses you off so much?” she asked, “The part where she slept with Cillian or the part where she got murdered? Because in case you were doubting the former, I’ve hickies in places ladies aren’t supposed to talk about.”
He was seething in his seat; the same seat Brooke and Delilah had died on. The same table Clarke…no. “She’s not dead.”
She gave him a bored glance. “Ah, so it’s the latter you’re doubting. To be expected I suppose.” She walked around his chair, twirling her hair around a finger as she pondered him. “Happiness looks good on you. That’s what you said wasn’t it? I’ll practice my serious face then, sounds as if Clarke was depressed. John did say she tried to kill herself during the Eclipse.”
“W-what?”
Josephine quirked an eyebrow, “He never mentioned it? It’s not unheard for people to inflict self-harm during the Eclipse, but only when they’ve had suicidal tendencies in the past. Sounds like my parents gave Clarke exactly what she wanted it.”
“Shut up!”
“What? you didn’t notice how miserable she was, or perhaps you just didn’t care?” The girl wearing Clarke’s face shrugged again. “No more pain, and no more suffering. Remember that much.” She sighed as she went back to her table, eyeing her notes. “So, was Madi born a nightblood or did Abby do that too?” Bellamy’s stomach turned to ice. She knows.
“If you lay a hand on her I-”
“You’ll what?” She cut him off. “Kid’s a little old to be Clarkes.” She raised her hands in defense. “Not that I judge. You two slip up when you were younger?” Bellamy shook his head, bemused for the moment by what she was suggesting. “Guess not.”
“Clarke.” Blue eyes met his, uninterested. “I know you’re still in there, I know you can hear me.” He hated how desperate he sounded.
“Really?” The girl took a few strides toward him. “Go on.” She gave him an inviting hand. “Try and appeal to your friend, see if she answers.”
“Clarke listen to me. This isn’t you. You remember me, you know me, you hated me when we met but then you saw me. You saw me for who I could be. And I see you. Who we were to survive isn’t who we are, remember?” The girl only smirked, making him feel sick and desperate. “You called me every day for six years and left me to die in the fighting pits!”
“Six years?” the girl stepped back, tears brimming in Bellamy’s own eyes. “Sounds like our girl was really carrying a torch.” She laughed, skipping back to her table. “I’d say you are too, despite the fact you have a girlfriend. Echooo.” She raised her voice and the name bounced off the walls. “I’ve been working on learning all the little details of your lives.”
“To keep pretending to be her?” he challenged.
“Not for much longer.” she promised. He shook his head. Clarke's not dead, there’s always hope, as long as they were both breathing. And she’s still breathing.
“You’re nothing like her, everyone else will see it too.” Bellamy pushed the tears from his eyes. “We’ve faced a lot worse than the likes of you.”
Josephine grinned wickedly; her voice honey sweet. “You’ve no idea the likes of me.” And then she flicked the music back on.