Killing Hope

Chapter Two

Sipping at the strong sweet tea Bret had brought her Hope closed her eyes as she was swamped with memories. The pomegranate necklace had triggered an opening of the doorways of her mind, making her see things she had forgotten long ago. Limbo, the place of her original birth and her parents were the clearest memory she could see at the moment; the Reaper who guarded over Limbo, ruling it as its king in all but name and her mother, Persephone, Queen of the Dead. She knew that the necklace belonged to her mother, could see her face as clearly as she could see her own when she closed her eyes. When she lost consciousness at the museum she saw her father, heard his deep voice talking to her urgently but she had fought to escape him, fought to return to the land of the living and to Bret. With a shaking hand she replaced her cup on the side and looked across at her fiancé who was sitting in the chair beside the bed observing her through anxious eyes. But when she looked at him she saw someone else, she saw him in a black leather jacket with a visor over his eyes, a scowl on his face. She saw a man who she passionately loved but who intimidated her in a way that she didn't think Bret ever had. Bret treated her like his queen, but she would admit that she never did anything to challenge him; she never needed to. They seemed to always be on the same page and if they weren't she was happy to submit to his will.

"Are you ok now?" Bret asked.

"I think I just got too hot in there," she replied, evasively. Bret looked at her and his eyes narrowed a little, as if he didn't quite believe her, but he didn't challenge her. She yawned sleepily and settled back on the pillows. "I'm so tired, Bret. Do you mind if I sleep?"

"Of course not," he said immediately. "You sleep and if you need anything shout." He had never seen her pass out before; when he thought about it she had never had so much as a cold in all the time he had known her. That was probably why this had unnerved him so much; Hope was not given to being poorly or weak and seeing her now laid up in bed white as a sheet was unnerving. She nodded and smiled at him as she closed her eyes.

As Hope's eyes closed, her memories opened and she found herself back in Limbo in a place that made her feel sick with anxiety. She was in the Fire Pit, kneeling at the side of a client who intimidated her. In her head she knew that she had tried to escape this man before by running here but he had tracked her down and now he was here to claim her. His dark eyes were filled with humour, as if her attempt to escape him was some kind of a joke in his mind, but the hand that suddenly gripped her ponytail was strong and harsh. As he tipped her back she felt pain in her head and her back, wishing he would release her, but even as she thought this she knew he never would. Their eyes met and she saw him behind the cruel facade of the Hitman; she saw Bret. With a cry of fear she sat up in her bed and Bret was beside her in an instant.

"Are you ok?" he asked and she brought a hand to her head, looking at him warily.

"Hitman," she said, softly. Bret gave her a confused look.

"My nickname?" he asked,thinking of the boys on his hockey team who had given him the moniker. Trembling she shook her head and then closed her eyes again, sinking back into the pillows. Over the next couple of days Hope drifted in and out of consciousness, dreaming vividly of a life she had forgotten; a life when she had been held in Limbo as the captive of the Hitman. She saw him tie her with pink thread, she felt his rough hands slap her and hold her in a grasp that left bruises, she saw the effect his quick pace had on her feet and her body,she felt the cut of his belt on her ass and the anxiety his every word brought her. She saw him shut her away in a room alone, even after he promised he wouldn't and felt a shudder of terror go through her. Even in this life she carried with her the fear of enclosed spaces and being shut away. When she woke she struggled to see Bret as he came in and out  of the room, checking on her with increasing anxiety; instead she saw Hitman, heard his harsher tones in every word Bret spoke and gradually her reaction to him began to frustrate her fiancé.