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The ride across the Thames is silent, save for the sound of the boat’s motor propelling them forward.
Big Luke— whose name is actually Clive, Flora knows now— doesn’t need to steer the boat with any kind of wheel or control panel. Where the two of them sit, all Flora can see are three or four buttons on Clive’s side, none of which he’s monitoring. Maybe the boat has a predetermined route set within its navigation system. She wonders exactly how it works. The way Flora’s eyes go over the boat’s controls, it reminds her of the way she would stare over Bruno’s shoulder back home, trying to figure out how the robots around St. Mystere operated while he tinkered with one’s circuit boards.
The two of them are sailing right for the lighthouse across the river. There’s probably something there that Clive needs. Maybe something like an escape pod, since his scheme has been found out. Or it’ll be something like the detective novels Flora has read, where the big bad guy activates a secret laser they’ve had the whole time— in this case, maybe it shoots out from the top of the lighthouse. He didn’t really tell the Professor anything when he ran off with her in tow, and he certainly isn’t explaining himself now, so all Flora can do is imagine what Clive’s end goal is.
The whole time, Clive has his grip on her arm, tight like a vice. Flora tries shifting slightly, but his hold tightens in warning. A silent warning that tells her she just needs to sit there and shut up so he can get whatever it is he needs to do done.
Of course this is how things play out. Why would he need to tell her anything? He wasn’t running away with her for any other reason than that she would be good bait for the Professor. Though, the Professor was bold enough that even if she hadn’t been snatched away, he would probably still chase after Clive. That’s just his nature— the big bad guy has the secret laser, and the heroic detective uses his wit to stop it. Flora is just window dressing for the scene. She isn’t important.
Maybe she should be mad, getting dragged into something bigger than herself. Maybe she should try to fight back, shove Clive out of the boat as hard as she can. Maybe she should scream and cry at him until he gets so annoyed he decides to take her back to shore. Maybe, maybe, maybe. Flora can think all of this, but she has no idea what to actually do.
The silence is the worst part. It truly is the worst, especially for someone like Flora, who feels the urge to talk when she’s nervous. Maybe if she had had more friends in St. Mystere, she would have learned how to socialize normally. Instead, the occasional jabs she gets from Luke about how she can talk a stranger’s ear off embarrass her to no end with how true they are.
But she really can’t help it. The silence is mind numbing, and Flora’s stomach is in knots. All she wants to do is say something, anything to make the situation less heavy or relieve some of the words threatening to pour out of her lips.
She lets out a small sigh, and Clive says nothing. He isn’t even looking her way. That’s at least a relief, having his eyes off of her.
Right, she’s window dressing. It doesn’t matter if she makes a small bit of noise. It doesn’t matter, she doesn’t matter, so she lets out another small sigh and parts her lips.
“…Y-You know,” Flora finds herself talking. The realization strikes that her voice is hoarse from the stress of the last couple of minutes, and she coughs before continuing. “T-The two of them. The Professor and Luke, they do try their best.”
Clive doesn’t respond, but one of the nails that was digging into her arm lets up, so he must be listening. Flora continues, now even more aware of Clive’s grip than before. “The Professor is… Um, he lets me stay with him without asking for anything in return. When he’s around at home, even though I’m not the best at it, he’ll eat my cooking. And little Luke is adorable, and going through so much with his parents…”
She’s babbling. They’re good people. He definitely already knows this himself, or he wouldn’t have invited the two of them over to the “future” to begin with. She nervously chuckles to herself, an involuntary reflex. “They’re very nice. But they still… They still do things sometimes that make it hard for me.”
Her gaze decides to land on the side of the boat, watching the murky water rush by. The river water was nearly stagnant before they had rode off, with just the smallest simulation of movement. There must be something moving it to maintain the illusion of a flowing river, but whatever filters they’re using need to be cleaned out. It’s simply too dirty.
Even when she’s being held captive, Flora’s mind goes to wondering how things work… She wonders if Bruno is doing okay back home.
“…The two of them go traveling together a lot without me, even when I beg them to take me with them,” Flora stares at the side of the boat as if her eyes can pierce through it. “…Sometimes I’ll be alone for days and days without them even picking up the phone to check in. If the Professor needs something, he’ll always ask Luke for assistance, not me. And, um… Luke is a little boy, so he doesn’t mean anything bad by it, but the way he brushes me off sometimes or insists I get in the way really hurts my feelings.”
She keeps talking before her brain can catch up with everything she’s saying, eyes glued to the murky water lapping up at the side of the boat. The filters should really be changed. She really wonders how this boat runs. There are words tumbling from Flora’s lips like a nightmare where your teeth start falling out. “So when I arrived here, and you didn’t brush me off, and you offered to take me down the pagoda’s exit… Y-You were thinking of me, and being kind to me, and you didn’t leave me behind because you thought I was a nuisance…”
When Flora tries to speak again, she feels like a lump is stuck in her throat.
“I should have known that you weren’t the real Luke, because you were so nice to me,” Flora’s voice strains.
When the words leave her lips, a sick feeling coils around Flora’s gut, like she’s gone upside down on a roller coaster for the very first time. Honestly, she doesn’t mean what she says. At least, she doesn’t think she does. The real Luke is nice to her. The Professor is nice to her, too. Meeting the two of them was the best thing that’s happened to her in recent years.
But she would be lying if she said that her life at home is great. It’s good— far better than being pretty much the only human in St. Mystere— but it isn’t great. Her father had designed a test for Flora to be taken in by someone who was worthy, and though the Professor was worthy enough to solve it, he also doesn’t know much about caring for children. He’s smart, but he also marches at the beat of his own drum. He can acknowledge that Flora feels alone, and he can see that Luke can be a bit pointed with her at times, but he just moves right along to whatever he considers to be a more important matter.
(Of course, some attention is better than no attention. And some human attention is truly amazing.)
So when Big Luke had taken the time to acknowledge her, to chide Luke for being a little bit rude to her, to just be with her, it was a bit surprising. And sure, Flora’s attention was usually on the Professor during these times, but his attitude didn’t go unnoticed. If anything, it made Flora feel relieved, deep down. Relieved that Luke would grow up into a nice young gentleman, and that there was at least one person who was thinking of her during this unbelievable scenario.
Even if the Professor and Luke couldn’t be bothered to wonder why they had yet to see Flora’s future counterpart, at least Big Luke immediately offered to accompany her down the pagoda’s scary staircase. Even if Luke got short with her and got all of the Professor’s attention instead of it being split 50/50, at least Big Luke accompanied her back to the hotel. Even if she had only gotten onto this adventure because she chased after the Professor after he ran away from her, at least Big Luke was kind enough to not do that to her.
And then, Big Luke turned out to be Clive, and the puzzle pieces clicked together— he’s not even Luke, he’s a stranger— and his treatment of her made more sense, rather than less.
Flora’s mouth aches for some reason. Her stomach is doing that fluttery feeling she always gets when she knows she’s prattled on for far too long, but she never stops. She’s too nervous. She can’t control herself. She’s in a scary situation with a stranger who was nicer to her up until 10 minutes ago than her adoptive family has been in at least a few days. If only she had more friends at St. Mystere, if only there were more people there and not robots, if only Flora could have figured out how to not be a nuisance before someone solved her father’s puzzle, if only the filters in the fake river Thames were cleaned—
“…I-I guess I just wanted to say that,” Flora concludes her thoughts with another nervous chuckle. “Maybe if I thought a little harder—“ Maybe if I stopped pretending that the two of them just tolerate me, and that’s it, nothing more, “…I would have figured out your identity before the Professor. That would have been quite the reveal. I could have upstaged him!”
Like something out of a detective book. What a twist that would have been. And then the Professor would have been the one kidnapped, and Flora would have to save him! And she would do so flawlessly, and the Professor would regret leaving her behind so often!
Flora opens her mouth again to say something, to babble about the scenario in her mind, but the feeling of Clive’s hold on her arm softens. Dramatically so.
Then, he lets go of her altogether. He puts his arm down to his side.
“…Sorry.”
That’s all Clive replies after all of that, voice dark with an emotion Flora can’t place.
Her gaze goes over to the side of Clive’s face that she can see, but he isn’t looking at her, too busy staring directly at the lighthouse ahead. Flora’s only experience with someone doing something evil is with Don Paolo— and whenever he was scheming, he was the happiest person alive, always cackling to himself. Clive should be the same. He should be ecstatic about the current situation. His plan is coming to fruition, regardless of if he’s been found out as a fake or not.
But he doesn’t look anything close to that. He doesn’t even look happy. It’s a pained, solemn expression, like he’s off to a funeral. The creases on his forehead and under his eyes as he stares down the lighthouse look fitting for him, like he’s had them for many years.
It’s jarring enough that Flora bites back saying No, you aren’t.
They arrive at the lighthouse not very long after that. Flora nervously eyes the rickety dock in front of them as Clive shuts their boat off, then glances up at the building itself— it’s dingy on the outside, just like the rest of the town. There’s not a giant laser at the very top as far as she can see, but that’s only a small relief. With hesitance, she takes a quick glance back in the direction they came from, but she doesn’t see any vessel speeding to catch up with them. Maybe the Professor is taking his time. He’ll stop Clive, that much is certain, but his bait is just Flora, after all—
“Please, come with me.”
While Flora was taking in their surroundings, Clive had risen from beside her and extended his hand down. His palm is now outstretched in front of her face, seemingly expecting her to take it.
She stares at it, hesitation running deep. Offering her his hand is certainly better than being forcibly dragged inside, but she still doesn’t like why she’s here in the first place. And why not just drag her inside anyways? Why is he being courteous now, saying “please” like he’s not the reason she’s here? It’s almost more frustrating to have her make the conscious choice to reach out to him.
“It'll be much safer in the lighthouse than it’ll be out of it,” Clive tells her when she opts to remain silent. The words are the same, but his tone and inflection are more calculated, more stiff. Like he isn’t used to casually speaking with someone. It’s less gentleman-like and instead just awkward. He shakes his hand at her for a second, trying to get her to take it. “At least that’s a small consolation, for getting you caught up in this.”
Oh, it’s pity, Flora realizes. Of course it’s pity. Flora only exists to be pitied. By everyone in St. Mystere, by the Professor, and now by Clive. He dragged her into this, she said some things she shouldn’t have, and now he’s being nicer to her because he realized what a sad individual she is. Like he didn’t kidnap her in the first place. Like he wasn’t pretending to care about her and got her hopes up for nothing.
…
…But it is attention. Flora is getting human attention. He could simply choose to leave her behind now that his goal of baiting the Professor is complete, but he’s asking to take her inside for her own safety. Whatever that means. Flora is window dressing to a story much bigger than her— a story she was going to be left out of until she had scrambled her way inside, because she’s not important to anyone, and she hasn’t been truly important to anyone ever since her father made his ridiculous riddle and died— but Clive is still something of a gentleman when the mask is off.
It makes her skin crawl, the realization that this is what it takes to get someone to look her way. That whenever the Professor does show up, he’ll save her, and for a moment or two, she’ll get the same treatment. And it’ll be amazing for that moment, and then things will go back to normal.
She feels something in her brain breaking, like a gear cracking and falling out of place. Window dressing. Pitiful window dressing. It’s ridiculous. She’s ridiculous.
She’s ridiculous, but if she just stays there in silence, then this is going to end. And if it’s potentially dangerous, like Clive has implied, then she has an excuse to want his attention rather than being left behind.
Flora takes Clive’s hand. His fingertips are cold.
She pretends they’re warm and grips him harder, trying to delude herself into enjoying the last bits of interaction with another human while she’s able to.