Chapter Text
How good it would be, if guiding lights led only to success. Hers had brought her to ruin.
No. The light had shone true. It was she who allowed her vision to be consumed by its depths, blinding her to all else.
With every step Lauren took, she'd borne the weight of his memory in mind – whether it was to uncover the truth about what happened to him, or save others from a fate like his. Or so she'd thought. But in reality, his memory had become so much a part of her, that the thought of letting go only exposed the gaping chasm that would remain in its absence.
"You sought information, didn't you?" Redcliff taunted from his safe position beyond the bars. Even careful layers of makeup and the dim, flickering light couldn't completely disguise the tell-tale stains of bruises on his cheeks. "That's why you and your Lune partner, the Purple Hyacinth, tried to track me down. Well, here I am. And I have so much to tell you."
The chasm loomed before her. If she were to be abandoned in the darkness, she'd be stripped down to her failures and guilt – which the light had never managed to dispel.
"Rafael told me you used to have a friend. A gardener's son."
Lauren barely dared to breathe, for fear it would drown out all sound. She needed to hear this. She had to know the truth.
Yet, she hoped she would hear a lie. She wished she could believe the lie.
His gleeful tone was warning enough that what came next would break her spirit. But, still as a frozen lake, she listened to Dylan's story. Dylan, who had survived the ATST after all, only to face a worse fate – his life eventually reduced to being the shackles binding the Purple Hyacinth.
What hurt most, though, was the realisation that she'd known for a while now. Fearing the end of her driving purpose, she'd ignored the signs around her. I owe Kieran an apology. How difficult had it been for him, when she asked about the kidnapped children?
"And now the same fate has fallen to you." Redcliff's smirk could've curdled milk. It certainly curdled her stomach.
"We'll see about that," Lauren spat, voice hoarse from lack of water. It triggered a coughing fit. But she trembled all the more fearfully as she pictured Kieran, forced to commit atrocities while she lay here, a helpless burden. "They will come after you." Inexorably, she was drawn back into the loop of thoughts that plagued her ever since she woke up here, in captivity. "They haven't had anything to blackmail me with in years. And if they get you, it will work."
And it wasn't just him. Uncle Tristan and Dakan… Lauren could easily be used as a bargaining chip against them in the parley.
In the meantime, Lauren's own attempts to bargain with reality had clearly caught up to her. It crashed unceremoniously over her head, scattering into inescapable shards at her (proverbial) feet.
Her physical feet had to contend with other things, though. Grit and grime. Cold and damp. A tragic game of poker on her second day here had claimed her boots. And although she did occasionally win them back, that somehow never lasted long.
Well, at least she had plenty of free time on her hands, now. If Lauren had the energy, she would've rasped a wry laugh at the thought. The cold, abrasive cuffs on her wrists, weighed by a thick chain between them, were a solid reminder that she wasn't free to do as she pleased. The iron bars too, just barely revealed by their dull sheen in the grim light of her cell, were her inescapable companions.
A small grate, high above the wall behind her, served as her only method of keeping time. The late morning to early afternoon sun spilt through on several occasions – marking several days. While the beams poured in, Lauren passed time deducing, from their angle, the cardinal direction her cell faced.
Once the light faded, she was left to mark the seconds with the rhythmic drop of water from a leaking pipe somewhere.
Surprisingly, Lauren hadn't been treated with nearly as much harshness as she initially braced herself for. While she ached all over with bruises and cuts from rough handling – including the wound on the back of her head from when she was knocked out – she was still pretty much intact. Almost.
Shifting slightly, she winced and resisted the urge to clasp her stinging abdomen. With a breath hissed through clenched teeth, she tilted her head back. The tangled, messy knot of her hair did little to cushion her against the moss-lined, grime-caked brick. She could still feel the ickiness of it on her scalp – not that she had the luxury of fussing about it, though. Nor about the stained and muddy concrete floor, on which she now sat.
It was still concerning, though – her injuries might develop an infection. Would they take action if that happened? If her life was in danger, they would be forced to. Lauren clearly wasn't brought here simply to die. Several times, when she had pushed too far in her quest to gather information from the guards, they decided to resorted to violence to silence her, but it was clear even then; they had orders not to do any lasting damage.
So, physically, at least, they hadn't outright tortured her – unless she counted the disgusting fair they tried to feed her once in a while. I survived just fine on a blueberry for over two seasons, anyway. I'd rather starve than eat that garbage.
However, Lauren couldn't even take comfort in the fact that her fate wasn't figuratively rock bottom, even if literally, it was.
After all, she knew the ultimate price. The thought bugged her more than the creepy-crawlies in the straw mattress of her cell.
With what confidence had she reassured Kieran that things would be fine? While so busily clinging to a rope hanging by its last thread, she'd failed to see all the other ropes dangling beside her, just waiting for her to reach out. Was it too late to grab on now? Lauren clenched her jaw. It couldn't be. She refused to let it be. There had to be some way out of here. And she had to believe her friends, her partner, would help her find it.
Visitors were not uncommon. There were the guards who shoved her meals beneath the bars, of course, but they didn’t count. The ones worthy of note were the Pantheon members. “Relax, we’re just here to keep you company,” Morpheus said, during one such instance. His fingers deftly shuffled a deck of cards. “I promise not to hypnotise you.”
Lauren fixed a blank stare on him. Although there was no lie in the latter statement, she would never be at ease around him. Who knew if his promises were even worth much? And besides, there was something disconcerting about his innocent appearance, so at odds with his deep involvement with the PS. "Couldn't you just give my boots back?"
"Now where'd be the fun in that?" Athena piped up.
At the very least, these games served as practice on recognising the limitations of her ability, as well as exercising it without tipping off the others in the room. The reality was that Lauren could've won with sweeping stakes, but that wouldn't have kept them coming back for more. She did suffer from cold feet – both literal and figurative – every time she lost her boots, but there was little else she could achieve while in captivity.
After all, this also served as a method of gathering information. Such as the fact that she was currently held on one of Redcliff's properties – an unassuming townhouse in the 9th District. Or hints at his plans for the ball, and the parley.
As yet, Lauren found nothing that she could use to formulate an escape plan, but patience was an easy investment.
And not too many days passed before it paid off.
"I feel sorry for Will," Lauren said. "The worst thing you could've done to him is show up like this."
Rafael sometimes came to watch over her. But unlike Morpheus and Athena, he stayed aloof, a statue outside the bars.
"If you were going to abandon him," she spat, "you shouldn't have stuck around to cause trouble."
Other than the twitch of an eyebrow, he remained stoic, as usual. Regardless of the provocation she threw at him.
Someone whistled from the doorway. Lauren craned her neck, but the person was out of view. Whoever they were, Rafael coldly told them to leave.
“Can't I come in? I have much to say to our dear guest.”
That voice! Smooth and light, but carrying a poisonous edge. She would never mistake it. But how did she escape? For it was none other than Belladonna Davenport, who, last Lauren knew, had been rotting in jail.
She stepped into the dungeon, flashing a knife’s-edge smile at Lauren, then Rafael in turn. Lauren's blood ran cold.
“There was a reason you weren't assigned guard duties,” said Rafael.
Bella chuckled. “Aww, do you really think I'll kill our precious hostage? Her boyfriend killed my girl, but that's not something I'd hold against her.”
Lauren sucked in a sharp breath. There was only one victim of the Purple Hyacinth that was not actually dead.
Neyra's strange calmness in front of a PH assassin. "He isn't the first Phantom assassin I've encountered," she'd said. It all clicked into place. Except… How does Belladonna know the death was faked?
The immediate conclusion chilled Lauren's blood – that the ploy had been discovered, and Kieran punished. But in that case, Bella would have no need to pretend it actually happened.
Lauren schooled her expression. Just then, Bella glanced through the bars. “Nevertheless,” she continued, a cold, indecipherable glint in her eyes, “I have to repay the favour somehow.”
Could it be? Lauren was cautious of entertaining false hopes. Especially hopes centred on a vicious, unrepentant murderer. Yet what other explanation could there be?
Rafael was evidently still contemplating whether to believe her, when Bella burst into a peal of tinkling laughter. “Such a stick in the mud. It's just a joke. I promise not to do anything too bad. If you don't let me have a word with her, I'll…” She leaned in, whispering something.
Eyes widening, he hesitated only a second before marching out. He shot some words and looks of caution at Bella, and then the door clicked shut behind him.
The two woman eyed each other warily. Lauren couldn't help but flinch as, with the click of a lock, the cell opened to admit the assassin. The unearthly screech of the hinges seemed to echo the tortured cries of inmates long past.
“Lauren Sinclair. I'm sure you recognise me.”
“You were arrested. How did you escape?” Lauren gritted out.
“Oh, dear. I don't think you have the luxury of worrying about that.” Bella stepped lithely forward. Something thin and pointed glinted between her fingers. Lauren barely had a chance to flinch back before she found the tip buried in the floor, between her fingers. “Why don't you worry about your own escape, instead?”
Lauren raised her defiant gaze.
“Not that you can.” Bella's countenance remained unchanged, but something about the directness of her gaze gave Lauren the distinct impression that she knew about the lie detention ability. “Especially not with me here. This needle is laced with a slow-acting poison. You could be gone in five hours and nobody would suspect me.”
Lauren sucked in a breath, mind racing. But she managed to squeeze out, in a passably panicked voice, “You can't harm me. Redcliff needs me in one piece.”
“Yes. Unfortunately. And I am loyal to him. But you will eventually outlive your use. Catch you later!” Abruptly, she straightened, heels clicking as she made her way out. "The next time we meet, you won't be this fortunate."
The needle. She'd left it behind. Before Rafael's return, Lauren slipped it into her sleeve.
'Unfortunately'? Pick a lane, dammit! But of course, it was clear that Bella had no care for her – was simply cooperating with Kieran, supposedly. Lauren mulled over the conversation for the next while, trying to discern any possible signs of trickery.