Chapter Text
There was nothing different about her cell – there never was. The same four glass walls, simultaneously boxing her in and putting her on show. The same dark, drab building that shattered the illusion of freedom the glass may have otherwise provided. The same slight chill in the still air, small enough to be ignored but persistent enough to leave a person unwell.
Despite the monotony, when Frances woke up that day, she was sick to her stomach with grief.
As usual, that sorry excuse for a psychiatrist was already watching her when she sat up. Dr Kafka held the usual one-side conversation in that taunting, sadistic way of hers. She saturated her voice with mock-sympathy, dripping sickly sweet into Frances's ears and making her blood boil.
Today she was far worse than usual. The woman was like a shark – she could smell the blood in the water. Today would be pure agony for Frances, and Dr Kafka was going to prod at that weakness until it broke her.
The execution was scheduled to take place at 7pm. As much as Frances tried not to remember the time, it loomed ever closer.
"Oh, is it past midday already?" Kafka said to nobody in particular. As if she didn’t already know that, having just come back from her lunch break.
Usually Frances would type back a response full of vitriol, sharp even when restrained to short sentences in a robotic voice. Today, it was all she could do not to break down.
It had been more than two decades in this fucking box and she hadn't yet cried in front of Dr Kafka. She wasn't about to start now.
Most days, the first thing Frances did was check her soulmark. It was the only connection to anything positive in the world that she had left, a small golden spark in the dark.
Frances had been through hell long before she got here. She had been beaten, tormented, and abused – but she'd never been alone.
Her soulmark, a brief glimpse into her soulmate's life, getting an idea of what he would be doing that day, was the only real company she had. Frances clung to that bond with desperate, scrabbling hands.
But today, Frances could hardly bring herself to look. She already knew what she would find written on her arm – Kafka had delighted in making sure of that.
Today would be the day that Cletus died.
These twenty-six years separated had been unbearable. When Cletus was first caught and imprisoned, she’d raged, beating the soundproof glass and screaming until her hands were bloody and her throat was on fire. Now, she could hardly summon the will to move.
It wasn't fair. She had spent her whole life trapped.
First her mutation was too much for her parents to deal with – she was dangerous, what if she hurt her siblings?
Then she was too much for St Estes to deal with - what if she hurt the other kids? Because they cared so much about the kids, even though they locked them in grimy cells, starved them, beat them.
Then she was too much for the whole damn world to deal with, and they put her here, in a cell. Six feet under the ground. Frances hadn't seen the sun in decades, hadn't heard another voice that wasn't corrupted by tinny speakers and malice.
She and Cletus, they were too dangerous. They had to be locked away, threatened, tormented, or they might wreak havoc on the world. And now Cletus was going to be killed for it, put down like some feral animal.
It was for the greater good. Society was better off if Frances and Cletus were both buried.
And never, not once in her whole life, had anyone stopped to consider what would be better for Frances.
Her thumb stroked over her ring. Made of nothing but string and devotion, a symbol of a promise that would never come to fruition.
At the moment her soulmark was pressed against the bed, firmly out of sight. Awareness of it burned in the back of her mind anyway.
What happens to your soulmark when your soulmate dies?
The thought gripped her by the throat.
Would this be the last day Frances could ever see it?
Painful as it would be, nothing could be worse than missing this one last chance to hold a little part of Cletus with her.
Heart in her throat, Frances turned her arm around and laid eyes on the cursive writing that meant so much to her, shining bright white against dark skin.
She froze.
Frances wasn't sure exactly what it would say. Today, Cletus will be executed seemed most likely. Leave us or pass away, if the soulmarks wanted to sugar-coat it. Maybe just, Today, Cletus will die, brutal and to the point.
Instead, she saw something that didn't even seem possible.
Today, Cletus will meet his soulmate.
***
Frances tried not to let her excitement show, tried to act as grief-stricken and furious as she should be. But her heart was filled with a light so pure it couldn't quite be snuffed out.
Finally, years of yearning, the agony of separation too much to bear, were coming to an end.
Before the clock reached midnight, this nightmare would be over.
Finally, finally.
Cletus was coming for her.
Dr Kafka was beginning to look suspicious, when her blatantly fake tapping of the watch stopped bothering Frances.
7 o'clock, the time of the execution, came and went. Cletus must have escaped by now, which meant he was already on his way.
Part of her was terrified – what if he hadn't escaped? What if he'd been executed, right on schedule? What if her soulmark was wrong?
But soulmarks were never wrong. It was the one thing she knew she would always be honest with her, besides Cletus himself.
Bizarrely, Frances found herself jittery. She'd never been nervous around Cletus, but it had been so long.
When Dr Kafka informed her that Cletus had "done a Houdini act", the butterflies exploded into motion. She already knew that but somehow hearing it out loud made it that much more real.
"Oh, don't get excited. He's not gonna find you," Dr Kafka crooned.
Frances couldn’t resist the chance to rub it in her face, a first bit of revenge for everything that had been done to her.
THAT'S WHAT YOU THINK, she replied.
"Oh Frances,” Kafka pouted. “He couldn't find you before he had half the police force looking for him. Now, it won't be long before he's recaptured and put to death like he deserves." She paused. "Don't go getting your hopes up, you'll only be disappointed. He's not going to find you. Our security is absolute." She smiled, a steely glint in her eye. "You're never getting out of here, Frances. No one does."
Frances couldn't wait to wipe that smug smile off her face. She would just love to make her bleed, make her pay.
What better way to celebrate their reunion than some good old-fashioned carnage?
Soon.
For now, Frances had to settle for vibrating in place, choking with rage and anticipation.
Only a few more hours. By midnight, she'd be free.
***
It was long past lights out, but Frances wouldn't sleep. She sat on her bed, facing the door, forearm laid across her lap.
At first, she could only stare at her soulmark, thumb stroking over the promise of rescue.
But as the time went on, her gaze focused on the clock, counting down.
Half an hour to midnight.
Of course Cletus would show up at the last possible minute, he always had a flair for the dramatic.
Twenty minutes to midnight. Ten.
He was really cutting it fine. But Kafka was right about one thing, the security of this place was rigorous. Of course it would take time to get through it all.
Five minutes to midnight. Three. Two.
Where was Cletus?
One.
Now! This was the moment he'd appear, the universe decreed it.
Midnight.
***
Frances didn't bother to watch as her soulmark dissolved and resolidified into a new prediction for a new day. What would be the point?
Her soulmark had lied.
Dr Kafka was right. Cletus wasn't coming.
Exhausted, defeated, Frances let herself fall onto her side. She curled up, and cried herself to sleep.