Hermes realizes he's shaking. Just slightly.
He walks quickly in his casual jogger's outfit. Not that anyone would see him here, though.
Before he knows it, he's at the porch of the house.
Just knock. Just knock.
Drawing his fist up, he falters.
How is he going to do this?
He forces his knuckles against the wood. And once more.
Footsteps on the other side. The door flies open.
'Hermes.'
And then her lips are on his, and for a second the messenger god forgets everything else. His pain, his duties, the woman he's been courting.
May has always made him feel like this.
'May.'
The beautiful woman looks up at him, her eyes bright and wondrous, her smile infectious.
'Come on in,' she says, and Hermes follows her into the living room.
She's so full of life now. What changed?
'The spirit, the voice is gone, Hermes! A few days ago, it just stopped. I woke up and I've been thinking clearly and feeling so ... free.' She says, drawing two plates from the shelves and laying them out on the dining table.
Despite himself, he smiles. After so long, she's finally free.
She looks up at him once more, 'Tell Luke to come home, Hermes. I'm safe now. I would like to apologize for everything - '
His heart stops, 'May - '
'No, let me finish. I destroyed his childhood Hermes, because of one mistake, and even if he doesn't want to see me again, I just want the chance to say sorry. I thought about going up to the camp you told me about, he'd be there right? I just didn't want to surprise him like that, but - '
'He's not at the camp, May.' The sentence comes out stiffly, each word forced out.
How can he tell her?
'Well, where is he? He's safe, right? Hermes, tell me my son is safe.' She's staring at him straight in the eye, her voice growing louder with each word.
He's shaking again. It's from grief this time, the grief he's tried to contain the last few days.
He opens his mouth to speak.
And then shuts it.
'Hermes...' May starts to shake as well, 'Hermes, please.'
'He's gone, May.'
'No. No-no-no-no-no-no-no-no-no-NO!' May falls to the ground, her shoulders heaving. No longer screaming, but sobbing.
Hermes feels a lump in his throat thickening.
He's not a god. Not an immortal. Not the charmer of dozens of women and the father of heroes.
He's a man who's failed his son.
They stay that way. May on the ground, him standing, shaking, staring at the walls, drowning in the inevitable truth.
Luke is dead.
Hermes stays there that night. May stops crying after one and half hours. She cooks instead. Soup.
They each take a spoon or two each.
'Luke hated soup' May says quietly, and Hermes nods.
They're like zombies now. Unfeeling. Cold. Broken.
Luke hated zombies.
Luke hated his parents.
'I'm not leaving tonight,' He tells May.
She nods, 'I know.'
She's always known.
Hermes doesn't just stay over that night.
A few centuries ago, Hermes would have kidded himself into thinking that he stayed with May for May, but now he knows it's for him. He needs May now.
She, however, starts off at the crack of dawn, cleaning the house.
He knows that burying yourself in work is one way to handle grief.
Just when she was getting all right, he had to tell her this. That their baby was gone. And yet, didn't she get better because he has gone? Because the prophecy was finally fulfilled?
He hopes she doesn't make the connection.
May does everything that day, cleans every inch of the kitchen, the bathroom.
She mows the lawn, cuts the weeds.
The next day she starts with the bedrooms. She doesn't look at Luke's.
She hasn't eaten, probably hasn't slept either.
This isn't just a way to handle grief. But what else could it be?
Hermes finally stops her on the third night.
'What are you doing May?'
'Cleaning.'
'Why?'
She doesn't answer.
'May, you need to eat.'
'May.'
No answer.
'Are you planning on killing yourself too?' He doesn't know where the words come from, but the look she gives him stops him in his tracks. This is what he secretly feared.
May puts the rag down, 'I'm tired, Hermes.'
'You can't be serious.'
'What do I have to live for Hermes? I ruined Luke's life -'
'Don't.'
'It's true. He's gone. You're going to go as well. And don't say you won't. I never asked you to stop being a god.'
She places a loving hand on his cheek. She planned this all along. From the time he told her.
He hates himself more now.
'May, please.' But what can he say?
'I want the house to be clean when I go. I have been here for so long after all. I owe it a goodbye.'
'Is there anything I could do for you?' He asks.
'Well, I was hoping you could give me a peaceful sort of death, maybe. And, there is one other thing, yes.'
They clean Luke's room together. Just the general dusting and washing. They don't touch his peeling posters or old guitar. No rearranging, just reviving.
It would have been impossible for her to do the cleaning alone. A room that screams of Luke? But together, they give each other strength and support. They pick up each toy that belonged to him. Hermes smiles as May tells him about all of Luke's quirks, every single story she can remember. Everything he missed out on.
He delivers on the death part too. He hates it, but there's a potion that will give her a quick, peaceful end. She deserves peace.
She dies in her own bedroom, with Hermes holding her.
They kiss once, tenderly, and then she smiles at him.
'I love you.'
'So do I, more than you'll ever know.'
'You cheesy, cheesy man. What were they thinking making you a god?'
He's chuckling when she quietly sighs, and slips away.
The children call the house haunted.
Always clean, but no one lives there.
They expect the ghost to be a vengeful creature, tortured, and bent on torturing.
A man smiles to himself, and walks on, in his casual jogger's outfit.
How disappointed the children would be to find out the truth.
But it's a story Luke would have loved.