Cursed

Chapter Twenty Three

Arrow didn't confide in anyone. Especially his work colleagues, with the exception of Cale Greyson, there was nobody. He had nobody. There was Julian, a friend, he supposed. But could he trust him?

Was Julian really on Arrow's side? On the side that seeks nothing but justice for his fellow shifters, the fae, the vampires. Heck, even those hot-headed witches.

Because nobody should have to endure what Ivar Sidbrooke and his merry band of friends believe, that these sick, twisted experiments of their kind were warranted.

That it was okay to poke, to prod. To cut holes people and watch them bleed for the sake of their science.

Arrow was every bit human. Awfully, painfully human despite his shapeshifting abilities. His power, his gift, his curse; it didn't make him any less human.

"And who, might that be, Mr. Prescott?" Ivar entered the room. Every hair on Arrow's skin had risen. He felt cold. Arrow knew he was screwed.

He had been caught, red-handed.

"I suggest you put those files down and back away from my laptop, Mr. Prescott. I don't take too kindly to my employees snooping around my personal space." Ivar stood tall. He was a muscular man in his late forties to early fifties.

His hair in a buzz cut, grey stubble dressing his almost perfect face. The man appeared so ancient and yet so young. Ivar was wearing his chief uniform– black trousers, black long-sleeved shirt paired with black boots– it was the exact same as everyone else in the building, only Ivar wore a small decoration on the front, covering his left was a small lily flower embroidered into the fabric.

He wore a badge with his name, photograph and ranking clipped to his trouser pocket.

Arrow frowned. "My bad, Sir it's just that–"

"I don't want to hear it, Prescott. You're a fool. But go ahead, boy. Ask me what it is you're so clearly wanting answers for by snooping around my office–not once, but twice now have I seen you in here." Ivar dropped his phone and a black binder on his desk with a thud.

He removed the black and slate grey pinstripe blazer he had been wearing over his shirt and draped it over the back of his chair.

And then he lit a cigarette.

"Tell me," He took the first drag. Exhaling the smoke at Arrow, who was now sitting opposite the man in a fraying brown tub chair.

"You're not supposed to be smoking in here, Sir." Arrow kept a straight poker face. Arrow was no fool. Ivar had that right. He knew enough, and in return, Ivar seemed to know everything if not all.

"Drop the act Prescott."

"Sir–"

"I shall address the elephant in the room, then."

"I like to think of myself more of a man but I suppose if you–" Ivar reached over the table, thudding both his hands down on the wooden desk. Ivar had had enough of this now.

"You were in here. You were snooping around my things, once again. Tell me Mr. Prescott, have you spoken with the scooby gang as of late?," Ivar stubbed his cigarette out on the desk, waiting a moment before flicking it out the open window–the window Arrow had used to sneak in here undetected (so he had believed at the time.)

"Which one am I?" Arrow had forgotten all about his friends, just for a split second.

Ivar belted out a laugh. "I'm going to let you in on a little secret, and when I am finished telling you, when I am done with every detail, you are going to get into my car with me. You will come back to my easte with me and you will do what I say, because if you don't, if you step out of line, well, I think your body would look quite dashing, spiked to the wall above my fireplace, shifter..."

***

Cale didn't know how long he and Rosalie had been there. He didn't know how many hours, how many days had passed with his newfound habit of passing out. He had barely been able to stay awake. Barely seen Rosalie, who spent most of her time huddled into a corner, unspoken and teary eyed.

His head hurt, his eyes sore and bleary. He had yet to cry, the only time he felt close to doing such a thing had been earlier today–perhaps yesterday now, maybe, when they had come in here bragging about Elora and a crashed cadillac.

They. Them. The men dressed in black suits looking like something out of men in black. Guns at their sides. Bloodied fists with scars, tongues that speak with such hate, such disgust.

"Cale..." he flinched. He couldn't believe it, couldn't believe the first word she, Rosalie, had spoken to him in a long while had been his name. God, he loved it when said his name and any time he would have shrugged it off, hid the effect the woman clearly had on him now but today, now, this very moment; he did not, would enjoy it like he had many times before.

For her voice had been laced, dipped thoroughly and embedded with pain, fear. Rosalie was scared, terrified.

"Are you awake?" she whispered, shuffling herself across the floor towards him. Cale sat upright, he ran his fingers through his dishevelled hair.

"I heard them talking," she whispered, she threw her arms around him. To anyone looking on the camera, they would just see Rosalie hugging Cale. She whispered in his ear, her breath fanning his skin, the goosebumps infected him like a virus.

"I think, I think they have Arrow..." he barely heard her. His gut twisted in all sorts of ways. His anxiety, his fear becoming stupidly known to him. If they had Arrow, this was his fault.

He had outed him, unintentionally. Cale had talked about him so openly, so freely without registering the full reality of his containment.

"I heard them." She whispered, her hands refused to stop shaking.

Cale placed his hands on hers, he did his best to calm her with gentle circles on her skin.

"They said...they said he just walked right in with Ivar. Cale, I think Arrow's switched sides." No. No, he wouldn't. Arrow wouldn't do that, not when he knew what I knew.

He knew about the lab. He knew about the experiments on anyone with an ounce of power surging through them, he knew about the prisoners, the testing. The murders.

His parents, Cale's own parents, had been in on this. They had worked there at that lab, they had taken part in these experiments. Willingly, might he add. He believed that. Cale had no supporting evidence that they had worked so cruelly against their will.

Everything Cale had found out, through word of mouth, through his own sneaky investigations, his own snooping, all arrows pointed to the fact that his parents had been just as bad as the rest of them.

Just as bad as Ivar Sidbrooke with their games, their poking and their proding. Their sick way of gaining information, research.

"No, he wouldn't betray us, Rosalie."

"It seems so, Cale" she had said his name with such anger that time.

"He wouldn't. He, he– Ros, Arrow wouldn't betray anyone, least of all me. He's my best friend. I'm the only person in this world that knows his secret, I'm the only friend he has. I'm the only person that sees him for who he is. He is a brother, Ros. Blood or not, the man is my brother and I refuse to believe he would be so quick to throw us to the wolves."

Rosalie sighed. Exhaustion was gaining on her, snapping at her heels. It was just so tiring to just exist for her, being here, it was a fight to stay sane. To be brave, to have hope that they would leave here alive.

"If you truly believe that," she started, rubbing her eyes. "Then okay. We can hold onto that small thread of hope. We can hold out for the possibility that Arrow has a plan. We can pray Elora is still safe. But just think, Cale, there is a possibility. A possibility that this might very well be our end," her hands fell into her lap.

Rosalie shook her head, as if discarding everything she just said and she returned to her cold, damp corner of the small basement room.

Cale wanted to go over there and give her comfort, to assure her, to promise her that everything would be okay, that they would get out here. They would see their friends again. That Arrow wouldn't betray them but...Cale didn't know what to think anymore, and that scared him more than anything else right now, for he didn't know the stability of his own mind anymore.