Julia's point of view:
With my chest tangled in the world's most painful arrangement of knots, I pace my prison cell back and forth like a desperate traveler trying to find a destination. My head spins aimlessly with a million explanations of what could be wrong with Peter, what could have possibly happened to him this time, but I can only come back to one fact:
Yet again, Henley has managed to take Peter away from me.
I grasp the bars of my cell firmly and lean my head against them, swaying back and forth so I can keep thinking but continue to move.
The cold metal burns my skin, almost cruelly reminding me that I have no power here. I can't walk through the bars, can't influence the elements to break myself out, can't have an abnormally advanced mind to think my way out. Nothing.
It was easier, I think, the last time this happened. I was so sure Peter was dead that I hadn't allowed myself to think of anything else. It was an unspeakably devastating blow to the heart, of course, but at least I thought I knew what had happened to him. Now I have nothing but the torturous uncertainty.
I want to talk to someone, to demand some sort of understanding, but I have no avail to that. God knows Henley won't tell me anything, Steven will be too busy being a doctor/prisoner, and Felicity's not here right now. She's allowed thirty minutes of exercise two times a week, now being one of the times she's gone.
My grip on the bars goes slack and my hands fall to my sides, but my head still rests against them. The unknowing here kills me, makes me want to bash my head against these bars from time to time.
Not only that, but just the sight of the power removing gun that I've been holding on to is enough to cause me unholy fury lately. The dumb thing taunts me, for what could I possibly do with it now? Henley's always one step ahead, and her guards are always armed.
It's only worse for Peter. Even if by some miracle we could somehow escape, he'll never be able to really leave this place; he's never going to be the same. Even if we could go home, work with Cassia and give him his memories back, go back to the life we had before everything went to hell, he's never going to forget this. Theoretically he's more trapped than I am.
The sound of footsteps treading heavily down the hall brings me out of my thoughts, and I look up desperately for any sign of him.
"Peter?" I call out hopefully, but my spirits crash immediately when Henley's stupid golden eyes shine at me from the shadows.
She approaches me with two other guards, a normal kind of sly determination in her demeanor. However, it's different this time in an odd way; something's off about her now, something wrong.
"I swear if you think you're about to test me-" I begin, but she raises a hand to cut me off.
"Actually, the aforementioned boy is what I've come to collect you for. You see, I'm trying to get him back to the way he was when you first arrived here, but something went wrong last night when I tried to brainwash him again. I need you to try to fix him," she states.
"What do you mean 'something went wrong'? What did you do?" I demand, moving one of my hands to nervously twirl a lock of my hair.
"We put too many chemicals in him at once and it completely messed him up. Nothing we've tried has managed to repair his mind, so you're our last option. We want you to talk to him, maybe even try to heal him if you can get close enough," Henley informs me.
If I can get close enough? What did you do?
"Why do you want me to fix him? Didn't you want him dead not too long ago?" I bring up. "What changed?"
"Nothing changed at all. I still hate you both and still would prefer you to be dead, but I know better now. These tests don't work the same if you don't try, and in order to try, you need something to fight for. If you can fight for Peter, then the tests work. That's why I need him," she explains, and I have to bite my tongue to prevent myself from hurling terrible insults at her for this.
"So he's just a puppet master to make me dance for you?" I demand through gritted teeth as she unlocks my cell, the guards grabbing my arms and leading me out.
"Couldn't have said it better myself, Julia."
*************************
In a matter of moments, I find myself halted in front of a towering door with three different kinds of locks on it. The words "Special Case" are inscribed above it.
As one of the guards sets to work unlocking the door, Henley begins briefing me on what to do.
"We built this room for the prisoners that end up losing their mind, but it's had to be modified within the last 24 hours after sticking Peter in. He nearly broke the door down earlier," she begins, making my stomach lurch.
"The walls are built like an interrogation room, so we'll be next door observing everything. We can see the two of you, but what's most important is that Peter can't see us. He won't cooperate if he knows we're there, not that I'm fully expecting him to cooperate with you either," Henley says doubtfully, but quickly regains her composure.
"Just do your best to bring him back. Even if he ends up turning back into that imbecile you loved, we'll take it. I can work with him when he's like that. If anything goes wrong, I'll send in a guard to assist you and sedate him. Please do not use your powers to kill him. I can't afford to have either of you dead right now," Henley admits, a small hint of desperation ringing in her words.
By now my insides feel like a slushy mess, sweat beginning to bead on my forehead from fear.
The guard finishes unlocking the door and opens it, Henley grabbing my shoulder to usher me inside. I turn to face her as I enter, about to ask her what I'm supposed to do if it doesn't work, but the door is slammed in my face before I can get the question out.
The sound of the hinges clamping shut rings in the eerie quietness of the room, the dim light making everything appear sinister.
I can feel a pair of eyes on me, but I don't want to turn around yet. I don't want to see what they've done to him now.
My breath hitches when I hear the sound of chains scraping across the floor, and with my enhanced senses, I can feel Peter walking slowly towards me.
Closing my eyes, I can feel that he won't reach me from where I am though. His wrists and ankles are bound by chains that connect to the walls and floors, only a small amount of extra length in them giving him the ability to walk at all. He stops still quite a distance away from me, having pulled the chains as far as they will go before being halted, and my heart accelerates.
"Won't you turn around?"
I had the sound of Peter's voice memorized before we came here, knowing every quality to it like the back of my hand, but this...this was not the voice that belonged to him. What was astonishing was the raspy and broken sound of it, each syllable saturated with malice. He sounds eagerly angry, as if he's itching at the seams to exploit me somehow. And in a way, turning around and locking eyes with him would technically give him the chance to do so. After all, that's all it takes for his power: lock eyes with him and he'll know everything about you.
However, I'm here to help, not ignore him like this. And so, albeit fearfully, I turn to face him, the world seemingly measuring seconds in small eternities as everything around me seems to move in slow motion.
But as soon as my eyes find him, the world accelerates every detail at me at impossible speeds, making this all feel unreal and, more importantly, putting Peter in the light of something straight out of my nightmares.
He's wearing what looks like the remains of a black long sleeved shirt with a pair of sweatpants, but both have since been clawed at to the point of ruin. His wrists and ankles are insanely bloody from having probably struggled against the shackles all night, beads of the dark red substance cascading off of him into small pools on the floor. His hair is messy and unkempt, looking the same as it would as if he had just woken up from a fitful night with the mother of all night terrors. Even worse is his face, littered with cuts as if he had attempted to scratch his skin off on purpose. His cheeks are hollow and sunken, devoid of color. Bags hang like bruises under his eyes, his terrible scarlet eyes that now bore into my green ones with no inkling of humanity left.
He lifts the corner of his mouth up in what was supposed to be a wry, distorted smile, but it ends up looking more like an animalistic snarl.
I've never wanted to scream more in my life.
He raises one eyebrow mockingly, a smirk replacing the snarl on his face as he crosses his arms over his chest. "It's okay, I don't mind if you scream. I'm scary, aren't I? You should scream at what scares you."
Instead of giving in to the sound fighting its way up my throat, I swallow the fear and begin to walk toward him ever so slowly, approaching him more like he was an abused dog than a person.
"They sent you in here to fix me, to make me like you instead of the monster I am now," He states, watching me with suspicion as I take tiny steps in his direction. Out of reflex, I lift my hands shakily to make sure he knows that I have no intention of hurting him.
"Oh I know you don't want to hurt me, but I'm afraid the feeling's not mutual," Peter growls at me, but I'm still too far away for him to reach.
That's not gonna stop him from trying, however, and I can see it in his eyes right before he lunges for me, the chains pulling taut against the walls as he fights to get close enough to harm me. I don't flinch at his outburst, instead just watching him with pity and remorse.
Pain pinpricks in his demeanor after struggling like this for a few more seconds, and he eventually stops pulling against the chains to give his wrists and ankles some slack. He tries to rub them, but that only accomplishes smearing blood all over his hands.
"You're making this worse than it has to be. I want to heal you," I remind him, but my voice sounds weak and scared. My words make him twinge in annoyance as he ceases rubbing his wrists and ankles.
"You're only helping Henley by trying to heal me, Julia. I'm disposable, a toy meant to make you squirm. You don't want that; you're better off leaving me alone, that way nobody wins. We're all better left equally unhappy," He finishes, that terrible smirk settling back on his face.
With a huff of indignation I realize that he's right in a way, but that's not going to stop me from trying. I'd rather squirm than go about the rest of my days in this prison knowing Peter's become this thing.
"Since I can tell you're not going to listen to me, let me rephrase my previous statement in a way you might understand: if you get near me, I will rip you apart," he orders, sounding more malicious than ever.
But even as I stare at him now, I can see that he's just baiting me. He wants me to persist in my argument to heal him, wants me to get near him so he can tear me apart.
His red eyes twinkle with amusement when he sees me coming to this realization, reading my thoughts like a book.
"Stop evaluating me," I order him, getting annoyed with him playing with me.
"Oh but I'm not like you, Julia. I don't have fifteen powers that I can pick and choose from to use one at a time. My power is all that I have now," Peter informs me, picking at the scabs on his arms.
"I'm surprised you have the capability to remember my name after everything you've become," I admit, watching him scornfully.
"Then you're an imbecile," he growls at me, not even bothering to cease messing with his wounds. "The only reason I know your name is because I evaluate everyone I come in contact with now. I didn't know who I was or where I was after the incident last night that turned me into this until I evaluated Henley, and after evaluating you, I'm graced with much more information now. I know all of your memories, which by the way brings me to my next topic: this must break your little heart, watching someone you love so deeply treat you like this," Peter states, baiting me again.
"I can see the hurt practically inscribed in your mind. You just want to heal me, make me better so you can have the real me back again. You want to wrap your arms around me, bring back to reality and kiss me to remind me that you're still here," he says, a pitiful laugh accompanying this.
"Stop it," I warn him, but he's not finished.
"You want us both free of this place, to take us back home so you don't have to be alone anymore. You want to go back to our life of love and normality, the only life you knew of for the better part of the last three years," Peter persists, his laughs getting harder as he ridicules me further.
I can feel my face getting hot and my eyes beginning to sting, hands clenching into fists to see him take such pleasure in my hopeless desires.
"You want me to be there for you when you wake up in the middle of the night screaming for lost ones, to be the one comforting you and holding you until you can fall back asleep knowing that nightmares are just dreams and that everything's actually okay. Well Julia, you're a lot of things, but I refuse to think you're naive enough to think this is still possible. I mean, look at me!" He yells, lunging forward again and pulling the chains to where they squeak against their hold on the walls.
I've gotten closer since he started talking, so this time when he comes for me, he's only stopped a few inches away from my face.
"I can fix you!" I yell back at him, tears leaking out of my eyes and falling to the floor. They mix with his fallen drops of blood, physical representations of anguish and pain on the ground upon which we stand.
"That's it, Ms. Lancaster, get mad! It's much more appeasing to watch you fight back. And you know what? You've managed to entertain me, so I'll take you up on your claim. Besides, Henley wants to see some progress from behind that wall she thinks I don't know she's watching me from, so let's see if you actually can heal me," Peter taunts me, stepping back a few feet to give the chains some slack before kneeling on the ground in front of me.
But I'm not buying in to that, not yet.
"Even if I evaluated you while I healed you, it would only give me a split second notice before you attacked me. Besides, you want to rip me apart, so why should I?" I question him, and he gazes up at me with a look of maniacal delight at my suspicions.
"Oh, but that's where the fun of this comes from, the suspense at not knowing whether I'll attack you or not. I believe we've reached a stalemate, but the odds are infinitely more in my favor here. You see, I've got all the time in the world to play these little games with you, whereas you have other things you're needed for around here besides just interrogating me. So why don't you flirt with destiny a bit and just try. Maybe I attack you and maybe I don't, but won't it be fun to see what I decide?" He asks, all too happy with the turn of events.
I feel a knot form in my throat, hating this cunning monster he's become but also wanting him back so badly that it hurts.
Praying to the heavens above for safety, I slowly lower my hands to the sides of his head to begin the healing process, my heart beating heavily.
In a flash, Peter grabs my wrists in his hands and I yelp a little, but he only laughs in amusement at my outburst. He makes no move to hurt me like I expected him to though, only wanting to frighten me a little.
"You're too easy," he muses.
"And you're a son of a-" I begin to insult him, but his grip on my wrists suddenly gets tighter as he warns me to watch my language.
Swallowing my fear and anger, I take in the deepest breath possible and let all my energy flow out of my hands to seep through his scalp, the brilliant electric blue color that always follows the healing process lighting up the dim room.
Peter sighs in relief as the sensation washes over the cuts on his body, repairing the skin and erasing the bloodstains.
Alright, there's a start.
But when I try to focus on his mind, the healing suddenly ceases like it's hit a road block. Furrowing my eyebrows in confusion, I try again, but to no avail.
"Having some difficulty, Julia?" Peter muses, but I've started to become desperate. Again and again I try to heal his mind, but nothing works.
"You're not letting me in your head," I realize a few seconds later, becoming angry with him.
"Of course I'm not going to let you in my head, you fool," he huffs. "It's been tampered with enough, and I'd rather you kept your hands out of it."
"But how am I supposed to help you?" I demand.
"I was just placating you when I said I'd let you try to fix me. You're not getting in my head," Peter says defiantly, smirking up at me like he's just won the game.
Hot fury radiates through my body at this, and I have to physically grind my teeth together in order to keep my mouth shut.
"Oooo, somebody's getting angry," Peter taunts me, and then I finally snap.
"THAT'S IT!" I yell, kicking Peter in his stomach from his kneeling position on the ground so he falls sprawled out on his back.
"You little..." He begins angrily, his eyes flashing from scarlet to a red so bright that it's practically screaming murder at me, but I'm beyond caring.
I drag him forward by his legs until the chain runs out of room again, giving him no room to move elsewhere as he claws at my arms.
"Let go," I order him, flinging his hands away from my now scratched arms. Using the power of elements, I bring to life a substantially sized ball of fire in my palm, lowering myself to a sitting position on the ground next to him and pushing the flame close to his neck.
"I'm going to get through to you one way or another. If you touch me, I'll burn you," I inform him, meaning every word of it.
Peter says nothing, just staring at me with eyes so red they look like they're ablaze.
I let my free hand drift to his forehead and, using the power of control, I break the barrier he put up to keep himself from getting healed. I didn't want to ever come to the point where I would end up controlling Peter, but I'm absolutely desperate to have the real him back. I hate this version of Peter almost as much as I hate Henley, and that's truly saying something.
He groans in discomfort when the barrier breaks, but I waste no time by quickly switching to healing in place of the control. One of his hands tries to grasp at mine in an effort to stop me, but I just end up pressing the flame even closer to his neck to scare him off.
Trying to keep my focus on the task at hand, I try to ooze relief into his sick and twisted little mind, the healing powers exploring every crevice in his head. Peter's eyes flutter shut, his body beginning to twitch at the confusing relief that's hitting him.
For a moment I let out a breath I didn't know I was holding, thinking that maybe I'm doing it, maybe I'm actually healing him. Albeit it's what Henley wanted, but at least he won't be a monster anymore.
But as soon as I had hope, it quickly comes crashing down when I feel the healing beginning to fail, receding from his mind and back to my fingertips. After a moment of confusion, I realize that I can't heal him at all, mind barrier or not.
He can't be healed because he doesn't have any memories that are damaged, just information from evaluating others that can't be changed. He doesn't know anything other than what he's gathered from looking at people, therefore there's nothing I can fix about him. His humanity is gone, and I can't bring it back.
Choking back a sob, I quickly extinguish the flame and move to get away from Peter before he has the chance to attack me.
His eyes snap open when I get out of his reach, still red, murderous, but also still maniacally amused.
I drop my head in shame as he begins to laugh tauntingly at me, doubling over and clutching his side at the humor of the situation that only he can see.
"You actually...thought that...was going to work," he gets out when he's calmed down a bit from his hysteria, trying to catch his breath.
I say nothing instead, choosing to turn away from him and head for the door as my body begins to tremble. But before I reach the knob, I hear Peter suddenly release a choked sob from behind me, and I turn to face him out of instinct.
"Julia..." He begs pitifully, his eyes actually looking brown again.
In a fit of sheer shock I rush back towards him, reaching out for him before I realize too late that his eyes have turned back to red.
He catches my wrist in his right hand, playing with my fingers as I panic and try to wretch my arm away from him.
"Ah, what a shame. Trick of the lights, my dear," Peter muses, referencing his eyes.
I begin to try to turn transparent, but just before I can slip out of his grasp, Peter quickly twists my right wrist with a sickening pop.
I fall to the ground at his feet in a cry of pain, hearing the guards wrench open the door behind me to get me out of there.
Peter ignores them, leaning down to whisper in my ear, "You didn't honestly think you were getting out of here unscathed, did you?"
One of the guards lifts me gently off the ground to carry me out of the room, the other approaching Peter with a syringe filled with a liquid likely intended to knock him out for a few hours.
Peter waves goodbye to me, calling out that he enjoyed this little game and hopes I'll be back again to play. His sickening eyes are the last thing I see before the guard pulls the door shut, carrying me back to down the hall to my own enclosure.
Steven is waiting for me when we make it back to my cell, a bag of medical supplies in one hand to treat my wrist with.
The guard lowers me on my bed of springs and leaves Steven to tend to me, but I'm completely sobbing by that point. Steven tells me that the pain is only temporary, but my wrist is the least of what's hurting me right now.
This time, I know without a shadow of a doubt that I will never see Peter again, the real Peter. That thing that I just encountered was just a monster in Peter's body. Peter's gone, this time forever.
The monster was right: I should be able to scream at what scares me, and so I let one loose, cutting through the silent prison like a lowly howl in the dark night.