Temere Mortis

Chapter Thirty-nine

Waking up in the white walls of the hospital reminded Isla of when the boys had rescued her from the clinic, merely days ago. This time however, Isla's heaven was as bright and white as she had expected, but she knew that she wasn't dead. If she was dead, the crushing pain in her right shoulder wouldn't be all-consuming. Isla imagined the afterlife to be more peaceful than this searing agony.

Isla didn't know how long she had been out of it, but she knew it had been a while. Her throat had taken on the tickle of disuse, much like when she'd awoken in the Waiting Room, and her legs felt stiff and unresponsive. All this paled in comparison to the hurt in her head as she tried to recall the events that had led her there.

"You're awake," an ominous voice observed to her left and Isla blinked in response, letting the cloud of thought dissipate from her mind. "From what I understand, you're quite chatty Isla. Don't hold out on me now."

Isla knew that voice but couldn't place it exactly. It was high and noble, like they'd learned how to speak English from a period drama on television. Without warning she knew; Isla knew exactly who was speaking. Dread rushed into her chest, cold and uneasy.

"Hello again, Madeleine," Isla greeted the woman who had sent her to the clinic – or maybe it was her sister, Isla didn't know who anyone was anymore. Madeleine chuckled. It wasn't shrill like she had imagined her laugh would be or maniacal like she half expected; it was smooth and dark, like jazz. Isla found it drawing her in, like she was being led by the pied piper.

"Glad to see you remember me," Madeline commented, and Isla knew it was the same woman before her as it had been in her world. She knew it deep in her bones.

"Where are they?" Isla asked her, unsettled at the realization that her friends weren't around her. "How did I get here?" Madeleine tutted patronizingly.

"You've caused quite the stir, Isla Daniels," she told Isla with a wink. The way she watched Isla was like a predator stalking their prey and her eyes glinted dangerously. She wore a similar outfit to the day she had sent Isla away and told everyone she was dead; a pencil skirt and blouse. At least her fashion sense was the same in both worlds; both intimidating and powerful.

"It's really quite extraordinary how it all turned out," Madeleine mused, not waiting for Isla to reply. "I have a large portion of the rebel alliance in police custody without even lifting a finger." Isla balked visibly.

"What?" Isla croaked. "No, no, no." Her throat hurt under the strain of emotion. They had been captured. It was all her fault.

Madeleine smiled, but it wasn't kind.

"Oh, yes," she admonished her, her lips still quirked upwards. "Now, I'm not sure how you were injured, but somehow Isla – the other one I mean – your dearest Alex, Henry, your brother, Danny and a few others that I doubt you even know risked incarceration to get you medical assistance. It's extraordinary."

Isla noticed the lack of Jack and Isobel's name being mentioned. Even though he had shot her, Isla was disappointed that despite what they had been through together, Jack hadn't tried to save her life. Clearly, he had ran, deciding that he didn't care that much about her anyway. For some reason that stung. She had only been a replacement to him after all, a new Isla that he could pretend was the one he wanted. She didn't know why she was surprised at his actions. He was a good actor after all, luring her towards him with his dark and delicious deception.

"I didn't know my sister was there," Isla replied simply, attempting to keep her breathing strong and steady. She wouldn't let Madeline's torturous words affect her. Madeleine smirked.

"Ahh yes, your sister went to extreme lengths to stop you from recovering the memories she took from you," Madeleine told her coldly, watching as Isla's face twisted into a look of absolute confusion.