The Stolen Caduceus
PREFACE
If Jonathan was anything, he was fast. He loved the feeling of how the wind licked his skin. The sense of danger gave him an unbelievable thrill. His brain started to go on auto pilot as he ran, all his senses going on overdrive.
Left, right, breathe, left, right, breathe, left, turn, right.
His pursuers chased after him. Their steps too loud to go unnoticed.
He skipped agilely around the corner, jumping once more onto a huge dumpster. He then grabbed a houses gutter, feeling the dirty wet autumn leaves in the process, and hauled himself up. He then rolled until he found a skylight, a window that was popped out of the roof. He slid against left side of the wall, breathing heavily. His back shrunk into it when heard his pursuers beneath him.
2, 4 , 6, 8... 10? 10 footsteps, 5 are after me. He listened. 2 must be coming around the front, while the others are up ahead. Silence. A long silence.
"I think the runt went that way."
He stayed frozen, waiting until there footsteps faded into the distance. He sighed in relief, clutching a bag to his chest.
What did they want to steal this for anyway? He pushed his curiosity away. Who cares...If it gets me money...
He was on strict orders not to look inside. And she would find out if he didn't obey. At least he wasn't the one to steal it this time. They called him to pick it up from the former thief. Jonathan was just passing the valuable along.
He slipped off his leather jacket and curled into a ball, placing it on top of him, trying to get every part of exposed skin under it's warmth.
And that's where he woke, on top of a roof, dirt and cuts everywhere, saved by a window. In other words it was a pretty normal day.
He dropped the little brown bag on the table.
"There," he said.
"Good," the fiery red haired women said, otherwise known as his Mistress. "You have done well... once again."
He smirked, and nodded once. She then gave him a sack of golden drachmas and 300 dollars.
He took the money, nodding once again, and headed out.
1. Jonathan
It was snowing today. Jonathan was in his best mood when it was snowing, but it wasn't enough to make him less then miserable. He walked around camp, having no particular spot in mind. He ended up at Thailia's tree. He sighed. Once. Twice. Three times. He started toying with the snow. With his cold fingers he sculpted a snowman who had a horrifying glare with a scowl on his face.
He scowled with it. His personality could be reasonably compared to a block of ice. Jonathan is cold, impersonal, and dangerous. He didn't like it. In a fit of rage, Jonathan smashed the snowman into the ground.
Ugly piece of filth, he thought. That's what you are!
He groaned, slamming his head against the trunks tree.
"Ouch..." he muttered, rubbing the back of his head.
He heard the conch shell blow.
He sighed. Time for lunch. Yay...
He went inside the pavilion, sitting at the Hermes table.
"Hey, Jonathan," Max said. "How's it going."
"Fine," Jonathan muttered, his eyes annoyed.
"That's good..." he murmured, distracted. "Hey, Philip!"
"Hi, how's it going? Got any rats?"
Automatically, a rat appeared on his plate.
They started laughing hysterically.
"You gotta love George!" Max said.
"Yeah, he's amazing," Phillip agreed, looking distastefully at the rodent, before going to get a different plate.
Jonathan sighed. Why can't you claim me already? I'm stuck with these morons.
Jonathan stared at his empty plate, thinking about mandarin Chinese. There it was, laying on his plate, a cream soda beside it.
He then took his plate and got up to give the gods a burnt offering.
Who do I not hate today? He thought optimistically, trying to make a decision.
It wasn't until it was his turn that he decided.
"To Lady Hestia," he murmured, swiping some rice and meat off his plate, "Keeper of the Sacred Hearth."
He gave up on asking about his mom about month ago.
He sat at the table, which was crowded with about a dozen kids. He played with the food for a bit, before actually eating. Once he was done, he pushed the plate away, and crossed his arms on the table making a pillow for his head to rest on.
Something poked him in the back.
He waited.
Again it happened.
He growled.
Poke.
Calm down, he thought. 1, 2, 3, 4—
Poke!
He sat up, turning around, glaring at a member of Ares cabin.
"Stop," he ordered, his voice icy, sharp.
Caleb just laughed, poking him with a stick once again. "My, my, this is a rare specimen indeed. The lone soldier boy who has no claim."
"Stop," He repeated, trying to keep a cool head.
"Yes, a very, very rare creature. Though not important enough to be saved, much less claimed."
"I'm warning you..." he said, his fist clenched.
"You could say he's as dumb as—"
"Leave him alone, Caleb."
"No way, the brats to fun to pick on."
"He can beat the snot out of you and you know it."
"He can not!"
She scoffed. "Remember Three Teeth Wonder? You can become That Weird Guy With The One Missing Arm."
Jonathan watched, gaping at this girl. Who is she?
Caleb growled, but started walking away.
"I'll get you later," he promised her, making the I'm-watching-you sign.
The girl turned to him. She had long, light brown hair that waved until you got to her middle of her back where they made giant swirls stopping at her waist, her almond shaped, soft blue eyes looked quizzically at him.
"I'm sorry about Caleb. He's a real jerk," she said.
"Yeah. Classic jerk."
She smiled. It was infectious. He had his first real smile in only the gods know how long.
"My names Danielle."
"Jonathan."
"Nice to officially meet you, Jonathan."
"You too, Miss Danielle"
She laughed. He smiled again.
That night, Jonathan had trouble going to sleep. When he had been talking to Danielle, he had been so opened. He had to get a grip on himself.
You can't be happy, he ordered himself. Everyone you love dies. You can't grow fond of her. You haven't been fond of anyone in years. Get a grip!
His breathing staggered. You're pathetic.
He buried his head in his pillow and screamed.
Just a girl... just a girl...
He managed to fall into a troubling sleep.
In his dreams he saw a big palace... white and grand. There was a statue of a satyr, a boy with sea green eye, and a girl wearing a ponytail, under it said in Greek "The Heroes" by Annabeth Chase.
Annabeth Chase... Annabeth Chase... Where had he heard that name before? Oh! The architect of Olympus. I'm in Olympus?
"They're missing!" Someone roared. "You must let me give the Half-Blood's a quest! George and Martha... Oh my poor snakes..."
"Not yet," the voice sounded with authority. "Wait."
Finally, he was in the room. He saw 20 foot being sitting on their thrones. One had salt and pepper hair and looked athletic, the other had misty blue eyes and grim, but handsome face. They both looked about middle aged.
"But how long! I know who did it. I need to stop him! I need my snakes!"
"Hermes!" the grim one yelled.
Hermes was quiet, his head bowed down in grief.
"We will discuss this later," the misty eyed one said. "End of discussion." And he faded into mist.
Jonathan stared at them.
God of thieves? George and Martha? Wait, didn't I hear Max talking about George? Who's George and Martha?
Hermes started muttering to himself. "First Luke and now this? Oh my poor, poor snakes."
He continued to mumble until everything dissolved.
There was a bright flash, and Jonathan appeared by an ocean edge. He jump, fear capturing him as he backed away.
Come back, little hero, a soothing deep voice called. I won't hurt you...
Jonathan took one step forward, until retreating again.
Join me... you will find what your looking for.
Jonathan stumbled backwards in shock.
Join me... you will... be...
Jonathan woke up in cold sweat. He bolted out of bed, hitting his head on the upper bunk.
"Ouch..."
He sighed in relief to see him in the Hermes cabin. That was a first. He took out his frozen blue iPod and pressed shuffle.
He sighed. Time for a walk.
He put the buds in his ears as he walked out of the cabin. Once he was in the forest, he knew it was safe to be himself, to not have hide anymore. He turned it up to max and let the music take charge of his emotions.
And I feel like I'm living the worst day over and over again
And I feel like the summer is leaving again
And I feel like your gone
Because you are gone
And everyday is the worst day ever
Yesterday was the worst day ever
And tomorrow won't be better
It's history repeating on and on
Jonathan scowled, punching the nearest tree. Why did you have to die? Why you leave me alone? Why didn't you quit your stupid job before it was too late.
Summer time is gone forever
I traded them for dishpan water
And everyday is never ending
I need to work on own spending
He switched songs. A much sadder song taking it's place.
Making my way down town
walking fast
faces pass and I'm home bound
Staring blankly ahead
Just making my way
Making a way
Through the crowd
And I need you
And I miss you
Suddenly, Jonathan wasn't in the woods anymore. He was 13, his aunt dragging him into the bank.
"Okay, you sit over there. I'll be back as soon as I can," she said, walking to the clerk at the desk.
"Okay," he replied, rolling his eyes. "Whatever."
No! No! Dummy, stop it from happening, Jonathan screamed.
Jonathan grabbed his iPhone out of his pocket and started playing angry birds.
"Everyone, put your hands up where I can see them!"
There were gasps. Someone screamed.
A figure emerged from the darkness, a man with a crazy glint in his eyes, and curly, unruly brown hair.
Don't surrender! Fight him! Jonathan screamed desperately.
Jonathan looked at his hand who had mixed emotions in her eyes, first shock, terror, and then a mask of emptiness, as she started to get out her phone sneakily.
Oh crap! Oh crap! Oh crap! Don't just stand there! Do something!
Boom!
Younger Jonathan jumped up in surprise by the nose. Everything seemed to go so slowly after that. Life left his aunts eyes, as blood gushed out of her forehead.
"Aunt Jessie! Aunt Jessie!" Jonathan screamed in alarm, running to his Aunt.
"Put your hands up where I can see them!" A different voice yelled, not the crazy killer.
"Aunt Jessie! Aunt Jessie! Come back. I love you!"
There was another gun shot, and Jonathan saw the killer fall down to the ground, clutching his chest.
He jolted back into the present and started punching the nearest tree relentlessly. Not caring that his knuckles were starting to bleed; not caring that he was going to have to make up an excuse for it later. He punched and punched. Trying to get all the ugly feelings out, until all his hatred left him only leaving grief and despair in it's mist. His body started to shut down making him collapse on the floor. Tears started to run down his face, as he let the misery swallow him whole
When you're gone
The pieces of my heart are missing you
When you're gone
The face I came to know is missing too
When you're gone
The words I need to hear to always get me through the day and make it ok
I miss you...