helena bertinelli | h u n t r e s s (imalreadygone) wrote in screams_threads, @ 2014-03-30 17:55:00 |
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Entry tags: | helena bertinelli : imalreadygone |
Who: Helena Bertinelli & Open
When: Arrival; Saturday Night
Where: Beach
What: Arriving
Rating: TBD
Still in shock, an armed guard escorted the mob boss’s daughter from room. The last sight, Oliver’s strange, but soft expression, and Helena, unable to meet his gaze looking away. The faintest smell of leather, possible cologne and he disappeared behind the corner of the doorway. Walking. Walking. It felt like an eternity of walking, hands secured in metal cuffs behind her back, and the eyes, watching as the last of the Bertinelli clan, her, was led to a holding cell. Trial? Helena didn’t know when it would be. In her mind and she figured in theirs, it would be sooner the better. The quicker they locked up the “huntress”, the quicker they could forget about her, the safer the city would be, right? One more criminal locked up. Helena kept her gaze averted, eyes straight ahead at her bleak destination behind cold, solid metal bars. All the bravado of the night. All the smirks. The crossbow. The anger. All of it had given way to pain, to sadness, to the overwhelming realization that her father’s death had done nothing to ease the ache in her heart. To heal the ever bleeding wound in her side. Instead, the action of his death brought out the harsh realization: Helena was alone and the two most important men in her life? They were ironically together. A sick and twisted messed up irony. It was the kind of irony Helena’s life was made of. The kind that caused this entire mess in the first place. In her undying lust to kill her father, in her thirst for his blood, she had taken away the last of herself. She’d lost it behind the mask of the vengeance seeking Huntress. Behind her deadly crossbow. Her murderous rampage.
Helena was very pale beneath the police station lights, skin near translucent, barely a contrast in color to the jail uniform she’d numbly changed into upon arrival at the hands of the police. Her dark hair, shimmering with highlights of deep violet, was the only color and it’s darkness made her appear like the walking dead. An accurate description. A step and she’d be locked up, curled on the flat mattress of her cell, awaiting the charges. All of which she could not deny. All of which she wouldn’t deny. She blinked, barely a second passed, and suddenly the world was blurring in front of her eyes. What was happening? The police station faded out and darkness crept from the edges of her gaze. The only sound Helena was aware of was her own breathing, heavy and quick in her ears. She opened her mouth, but nothing came out. The world disappeared into a black void. There was nothing and no one. Just her. Just silence. Was she dead? How? She’d felt no pain, no impact from a bullet or knife. Poison? Who? She hadn’t drank anything. Her mind pondered the answers. ”Helena…” Her father? No.
The first thing she noticed was the sound of the waves, crashing around her and the next was the soft, but damp sand pressed to her skin. Her eyes cracked open and saw no one. She was alone on what appeared to be a beach at night. A slight chill hung in the air, emphasizing how wet Helena was, the wind ruffling the leaves in the trees, but otherwise, everything was silent. Planting her hands, Helena pushed herself up, blinking in shock at the sight of her wrists free from the metal cuffs. What? Coughing, she rose to her feet and wrapped her arms around herself; a vain attempt to keep out the cool air. “Hello? Is anyone there? Hello?” Her voice echoed, but there was no response. She squinted into the impending darkness of the forest. All the trees seemed to be enemies in the warping blackness. “Hello?” She waited, but there was nothing. She was finally utterly alone. Taking a deep, shaking breath the dark haired woman started forward, stumbling over the uneven beach sands, feet sinking in unsteadily into the small, grainy mounds.