Chapter Text
I. PEOPLE LIKE TO EAT OTHER PEOPLE. I SPENT SO MANY YEARS FORGETTING I HAD TEETH, TOO.
Do you hear it? That insistent ringing, the echoing of his voice.
“I told you we had a job to do, but we’re not done yet, not by a long shot.”
Do you feel it? Your brain being flayed by his despicable hand, the needle that held the promises to take you to a place you’d feel at peace in. Where you’d give everything up.
Is he there with you?
Do you feel this pain? Or is it perhaps an insatiable hunger, the lack of nourishment. Is it from him, or you?
“Bell, I need you to focus and relax.”
She's heaving, her chest rising up and down rapidly. Her wrists strain, burning against the leather bindings– her hands gripping the air, begging to clench onto something. Her neck stretches so far out it's as if it were trying to detach from her shoulders. Or, maybe, she hoped she could beckon a kiss, a bite; to put her down instantly like a prey caught by predator, who bites hard to puncture that single artery. Good hunting.
My mind is going.
“Shit, someone come hold Bell down!”
Adler is looking at her, his face blank; his eyes– his vulnerability– are covered by the shades he’d dawned, no matter what situation occurred. The ones that, when he did take off, refused to look Bell in the eye with. He’d always have them pointed down, or to an imaginary figure in the distance, anything to avoid those dark eyes. Round and ignorant.
He’s sweating as equally as she is now, and those dark eyes had rolled to the back of her head, only seeing the scleras of her eyes and the foam in her mouth, her face and neck imbued in grime and gore.
Bitten by the wrong predator.
The entire cot is rattling now; Bell’s convulsing body trying to break free from the bindings, her unbound legs being held down by Park and Sims, their voices drowned out by Adler’s commands.
“Bell, forget about the lab, tell me what Perseus said!”
Adler..Adler, will you stop?
“Bell!”
His hands are on her face now, forcing her head towards his own, ignoring the blood that would soon taint his skin. As if his touch were magic, Bell’s irises return to their natural state, those doe eyes; heavy lidded, red and glossy. His lips form a thin line, thumbs pressed into the soft flesh of her cheek. It was carnal, the way his thumb dipped into her cheek, how he’d wish to sink his teeth into it.
Adler had already eaten most of her anyway, and he was reaching bare bones.
“She’s stable..for now.”
Adler doesn’t respond, solely focused on her eyes, barely being able to stay open, trying to break through the barrier of glass and memory metal. Breaking through that door he had tried himself to bust open several times before, held back by the phantom he’d been dedicated to chasing after for thirteen years.
That's what all this is about, his own lust to take down Perseus.
But Bell? She was just collateral damage. His ace in the hole– he just had to tenderize her a bit. So he could easily tear her apart.
He could make her bleed without touching her, she could hypnotize him with those spellbound orbs, in the end it didn’t matter. His hands would find her neck, hers his wrists, one way or another, someone was going to be put down.
An impounded stray would be gawked at, receiving awes of crestfallen bystanders who’d pass by that impenetrable barrier; and when no one wanted you and you were used for what you had, did you still have a job to do? But there would be that one familiar passer by, that would stalk and, when you’d catch him, would walk away like nothing had happened, no vulnerability to tell if he had even known you knew what he was up to. Who was more ignorant; the stray or the passerby? Dogs will wag their tail and whimper happily when you speak to them in that high pitched voice, even if what you said had been the most vile thought to be verbalized. Adler would say, “We’ve got a job to do.” And Bell will wag her tail and follow like a puppy on a leash, being walked to the pound a block from here. His vile words were her sweet nothings.
And here I thought you were a cat person.
Park is beside Bell now, holding her hand and wiping away the spit, sweat, and blood from her face and neck. Her eyebrows are furrowed in frustration from Adler’s persistence.
“We’ve lost Bell. We’re completely off script.”
Park grips Bell's hand more firmly, but not tight enough to hurt her.
“Bell’s been through a lot of trauma, both real and imagined.”
“We have no leads left. We’ll push until we get what we need, or Bell dies.”
You're the key to stopping Perseus... you always have been.
Heads or tails?
The epilogue is here, the door has grounded itself into the Earth, becoming one, implanted eternally. Go on, open the door. He’s got you exactly where he wants.
Heads.
You can blow your head off, swallow that grenade, scream and cry until you go into shock and die.
“Sure Bell you committed suicide, then what happened?”
Tails.
You’ll have to open up eventually.
You just have to submit, and hold on a little longer.
I’m counting on you again..Bell.
Do you still hear it?
НЕ ДОВЕРЯТЬ НИКОМУ
Keep listening.
ВЫ ДОЛЖНЫ БОРЬБА
I'm a long way from home.
“Whatcha got there, kid?”
She found the bullet in a plastic bag, flattened and a jaundiced color. While reviewing evidence from the board, it was what caught her attention the most. Family feud. The bullet was from Arash Kadivar’s victim in Turkey, which she wasn't present for. When Bell tried to remember where she was during this, her ears would ring and her vision would pulse, straining hard enough to trigger a nosebleed.
“I was reviewing evidence from the archives, it’s a..bullet, from one of your missions?”
His face remained placid, his lips pressed; a natural quirk he had. He walks up to her, so close that he could feel the warmth radiate from Bell’s body, compared to his cold leather.
“That's not important, focus on the newest evidence. This,” Adler takes the baggy from her hands, “isn't relevant.”
He bagged it himself.
His hand, like a cat swiping its paw with its claws unsheathed, felt as if he had sliced Bell’s hand open, that phantom hurt of sharp having stung her hand. No matter how hard she tried to ignore it, it persisted more.
“What did you try to ignore?”
Everything.
Bell feels like she's gonna die.
Что они с тобой делают?
Everything is washing over her like boiling water. The lies and truth amalgamated into one stone carved statue of a face that was Adler's. She was drowning. She felt like she was getting waterboarded.
Other forms of interrogation didn’t work.
She feels like a husk, she’d been scooped clean and left as an empty vessel, to be filled with falsehood.
A fake baptism with fake holy water.
Erasing the mind is a difficult and painful process.
Bell wants to be a baby again. She wants to return to clutching her knees to her chest, to be a bundle of cells– a zygote. She wants to crawl back to where she came from, and stay there for good. She gets on her hands and knees, crawling towards that door, dry heaving and panting heavily. Bell falls to her stomach, but keeps crawling, her wrist bent towards herself and fingers sprawled out. Between them is dirt and blood. But it's not really there.
That red door isn't there, neither is the ground beneath her. You're not here.
Mother stands for comfort.
Do you remember your mother, Bell? Is that who you try to remember the most? How many times have you called for her in your sleep?
And I know that in the morning I will wake up in the shivering cold.
“Crawl just a little further, come on baby, that's it. Now try to lift yourself up, use your legs.”
The human eye can see more shades of green than any other color.
“That's it! You’re doing it!”
Mother will hide the murderer.
You’ve remembered that flash from the camera the first time you stood and walked, before falling back to your knees to crawl again. You remember that flash from the pearly whites of a maternal smile, beckoning him to come and see what he missed.
Did he miss that flash in her eyes? If he stared too long to catch it again, he wouldn’t be able to take his eyes off her.
That's what the glasses are for.
Mother hides the mad man.
Sometimes, when Bell is asleep, she thinks that Adler is the boogeyman, because when she tosses and turns, she can feel him on her, trying to eat her alive. Licking and sucking and gnawing at the flesh. And Bell lets him.
“Really, Bell? You’re telling us you were eaten by zombies?”
Make me do this, make me do that. Am I the cat that takes the bird?
“You’re dissociated, Bell.”
She stands for comfort.
A circle, a hole, an anomaly. It shines over Bell, then settles into the atmosphere. Her eyeballs are gonna squeeze and deflate if she keeps looking into the light.
As the light hits you.
“She’s coming to.”
Sims.
Bell remembers seeing the photo she took of Adler and Sims on the evidence board. Shared joy, shared suffering. She can’t believe Adler kept it for so long. Or maybe it was Sims.
You always bring out the best in each other.
It was the first time she’d handled a camera before. The picture came out nice, and Adler told her she should keep up on it. Bell started taking more pictures from there, which were soon lost to time, Adler told her.
“That’s alright, you’ll be taking more anyway. Sims has specially ordered you an early model of the Tessina. I think you’ll like it.”
It's you and me Bell, let's do this!
Bell wouldn't stop taking pictures when it arrived. It's as if the sound of the shutter were addicting to her. She took photos of Adler, when he wasn’t aware, and of Park, Lazar, Sims, and Woods.
“Hope you got my good side.”
Bell was lucky Woods was so photogenic, his wide wolfish smile always present in the film. He called her shutterbug.
She didn’t catch any of Mason, but one time, while passing by the dark room, he stood next to her looking at the developed photos she took.
“Did you know that Frank doesn’t have a chin under his beard?”
Bell looked up at him, puzzled, and inquired about said statement.
“It's because,” Mason lifted his clenched hand, “underneath his beard is another fist.”
And they laughed together.
Bell realized that she didn’t need a camera to take pictures, but that her eyes were like shutters that took pictures for her. Her dilating irises like camera lenses.
So even if she didn’t have a photo of Mason physically, she had one of him mentally.
Bell will remember Alex’s smile forever.
“Bell, no more fucking around! What did Perseus say, where is he?”
Adler has his hand on the collar of her dirtied tank top, his face mere inches from hers. She doesn’t recognize him. No. She knows who he is; but how she perceives him has changed. Before, he was Russell Adler, MACV-SOG. She was his protege .
We bled together, fought together in Vietnam.
Now, he looks like—
“Who is Perseus?”
Adler’s eyebrows furrow, his face morphing into an aggravated canvas of shapes and lines, blurred and smeared.
“Who is Perseus?! You tell us Bell, thats what this whole fucking thing is about!” He pushed her back, frustrated as he threw his hand up.
“Bell, you were one of Perseus’ agents. His associate, Arash Kadivar, turned on you at the airstrip in Turkey. Left you for dead.”
It is possible the victim was an unaffiliated third party..
You don’t wanna hurt me.
I’m surprised, I didn’t think they’d recover so fast.
But see how deep the bullet lies.
“Fuck this.”
“I don’t think so, you’re still holding back on us! And we are gonna get it out of you!” He grabs Bell's face once more, his fingers gripping her chin as he leans down.
“We got a job to do.”
Bell stifles a scream and writhes, her vision being flooded by the memories they had implemented into her, the times Adler had uttered the horrific phrase, her eyes dilating at the lights' increased exposure. The phrase echoes in her mind, and she makes another attempt to pull at the bindings.
“The trigger phrase kept you in line, but it didn’t give us everything we needed.”
Они хотят убить тебя.
“I’ve got a joke.”
Mason and Woods look at each other with mutual curiosity.
“Why did the picture go to jail?”
They look at each other again, telepathically communicating with one another on deciding who was going to answer first. Mason decided he’d be the one to bite.
“Why?”
Bell smirks, fiddling with her fingers nervously.
“Because he was framed.”
Bell couldn’t tell if he was faking or not, but the boisterous laugh Woods had released felt as if he had been holding it in for decades. He punched her shoulder playfully, nearly sending Bell into the wall. Mason chuckled heartily, but it was overcome by the thousand decibel holler of Woods. Bell swore she’d seen Adler peek through the blinds at the disruption.
“That's a good one, shutterbug.”
“Yeah, Bell, who taught you your comedy?”
Bell still couldn’t tell if they were busting her balls or not, so she kept the jokes coming.
“What do you call a fish without eyes?”
Woods raised his eyebrows, followed along with his partner.
“A fsh!”
Again, another roar. At this point, she decided that ignorance is bliss.
When Bell would lay down at night, knotted into the sheets with her hands over her ears, hoping to block out the ringing, she would remember all the corny jokes she told Woods, and his laugh conquered all white noise.
Bell will remember Frank’s laugh forever.
“Your innermost secrets were always locked behind a door.”
Bell is clutching her head again, laying against the door of her room. Tears were running down her face, her cheeks red and cherubic, the tears seeping into the wrinkles of her distressed features. A gentle knock is what broke her of her trance. Shuffling away alarmingly, she yelps as she envisions the knocking as banging. Heavy fists against the door, a muffled voice.
Go through the door!
As you shift along the floor.
“Bell, is everything alright?”
Park.
The sweet British voice compared to the sickly contrast of the persisting American one. One she knew vividly, but couldn’t put her finger on.
Park was always looking out for Bell; providing her food, drink, and covering her with a blanket when she’d fallen asleep by the terminal, working hard to produce results in furthering the search for Perseus. Unbeknownst to Bell, Park was adamant about Bell’s mental and physical health more than drugging her up constantly, ignoring Adler’s insistence.
To be frank, he's not the most... pleasant person I’ve worked with. Give him a wide berth.
“Can I come in, Bell?” She spoke kindly, Bell could tell she was genuinely concerned, but she couldn’t muster up a response. All Bell could do was let out a shaky whimper, and as soon as she’d given her the green light Park slowly opened the door. Her eyes softened as she looked at the cowering figure below her, as if a cornered dog who’d been whimpering from injury. She took notice of Bell's hands.
“Bell? Are you hurt?” She crouched down from her position, hoping to inch closer as Bell eased up.
“I can hear it..it won’t stop..” Her voice was quieter than a whisper.
Park moved closer, analyzing her body language for any signs of discomfort.
“Hear what, Bell?”
“The ringing.. the… the pounding against the red door. He’s screaming at me..”
“Who, Bell? Who is?”
A little closer and Park can see clearly the fear in Bell's eyes and a sheen layer of perspiration coating her forehead.
“I..I don’t know. Please, make it stop..”
MACH, DASS ES AUFHÖRT.
Bell remembers falling asleep in Park’s lap, her head resting on her thighs as she held tightly onto her. Park smoothed Bell’s damp hair, breathing softly so as to not wake her up again. Lazar and Adler were the ones to find the two like this, and it was Adler who showed his disdain.
“I want her dosages upped. This is a risk we can’t afford.”
As he walked away, brooding, Lazar sighed softly.
“Your medical supplies will be in the back.”
Mother will stay mum.
Bell will remember Helen’s embrace forever.
“Bell, I realize you probably hate us right now.”
She wasn’t listening, she was too focused on not having another seizure. She couldn’t think straight; nor could she hold her own head up. Bell’s mouth was gaping, her eyes attempting to retreat to the back of her head. Everything Adler was saying was that of a habitual ringing.
They say that when someone talks about you behind your back, your ears ring.
“So tell me. Where is Perseus?”
He brings his hand to the back of her head, gripping at the loose hair that had become disheveled. Finally, Bell is able to look him in the eyes, and for the first time, sees them clearly through the lenses.
From the safety of Solovetsky..
These hired guns will be arriving in Duga..
“This is your chance to show us who you really are. Tell me. Where is Perseus?”
Bell does not recognize the man she had gone to war with; the man that saved her, the man that sang shamelessly to Van Morrison in front of the other soldiers at Camp Haskins. Their hell away from home.
Our little oasis in the godforsaken shit storm.
She was seeing him for the first time. The very first time.
Is there so much hate for the ones we love?
“Bell?”
Bell blinks, at last regaining her senses. She sees him in all his clarity. Park isn’t in the room anymore.
“Solovetsky.”
“Solovetsky… Sims, get Washington on the line.”
Adler reaches over Bell to undo the strapping on her wrists, then puts his hand on her back to help her sit up. She examines her bruised wrists, then brings one of her hands to her chest, lightly grazing the bullet wound.
Bell wants to take her whole body and throw herself into him, to eat him alive, to bite into his neck and borough her heart into his.
Instead, she takes his hand.
“You made the right choice, Bell. C’mon, you’re still one of us.”
As he goes to walk away, she stops him by not letting go of his hand. He gives her a questioning look.
“Bell?”
She swallows dryly.
“I was the victim.”
Wasn't I?