The Dark Side of the Moon Series: Taken (Book 1)
Part 1: Lieutenant of the Shattered
Chapter 10: Cemetery Drive
The Underworld, the banks of the Lethe River
October 8th, 1:21 p.m.
Nico di Angelo, Son of Hades, Head Councilor of the Hades Cabin, the Ghost King
I kicked another small rock far off into the distance as I continued on my walk along the rough shores of the infamous Lethe River.
Everyone was where they should have been; no souls that needed to be kept at close distance so as to watch them better were out of place, whether they belonged in Punishment or Tartarus. So the likelihood that the Titans or someone equally as horrible as that lot was on the loose was now a considerably less likely possibility. Unless they had somehow broken out of their other various prisons around the globe, in which case dad would have to contact some of the other Olympians... no, Olympus was under lock down. He'd have to call someone else then. I bet not all of the minor gods were actually up on Olympus.
My headphones blasted into my consciousness something loud and disruptive, making it impossible to follow that train of thought, probably telling me to stop thinking about all that serious, depressing stuff.
Iris, the rainbow goddess and creator of I.M'ing, was almost definitely not on Olympus. She hardly ever came when called; I'd run into her a few times over the years in all sorts of odd places, and she was a pretty chill chick. Melinoe, the goddess of ghosts, had been to Olympus a grand total of twice, and she lived in a cave not far from here, so she definitely was not up in the home of the Olympians. Artemis wasn't on Olympus, obviously. Apollo may or not have been. Hestia... I don't know about her; there was a chance she wasn't. The last time I'd spoken with her was a couple of months ago, though it seemed much longer to my mortal mind. Tantalus was never on Olympus; he was much too busy with his job of guarding the Doors of Death, as always. He's actually a really easy-going guy; I stop by when I'm making my rounds to chat with him sometimes. The twins, Deimos and Phobos hardly dared to set foot near the Empire State Building; they loved terrorizing the human world too much. Hecate was probably attending to her many stores. And Persephone was still here too. Damn it.
I sent another dark rock flying away from me with my boot clad foot. It skimmed across the banks with it's dirty, rough sand and hopped into the roaring river.
But who would have even thought of committing an act such as this? Who would have actually gone through with that crazy thought and done something like this? Hey, maybe it was just a practical joke on Olympus or something. Maybe one of the gods was taking revenge on Artemis or Apollo or Zeus or something like that. But no, of course not, that's just ridiculous; I'm just grasping for the surface of the ocean now. They wouldn't be making this big fiasco if that were the case anyway. Olympus was under lock down... Hmm... And with the Underworld closed, I just couldn't forget about all those souls. We definitely could not store them all in the lobby for long, all those wandering, lost souls... What about Camp Half-Blood? Were they shut down too because of this? Or were they the only ones left around this wasted Earth who might be able to something about this, be that last desperate hope?
The song switched once more. "The Pretender" by the Foo Fighters. Gods, this could be my theme song. It was too much of what I stood for, who I was for me to bare it in times like this, too fitting for the scene of my dark, lonely figure hunched over and padding along silently by the cool of the deep, dark river with the power to wipe away every last memory you possess. I forwarded the song until I came to another head banging, eardrum smashing piece that promised to never relent it's assault on my excellent hearing.
I wonder what the Hunt's up to now, now that their leader had been snatched away from them. Seriously, without Artemis they were practically just a bunch of rogue teenage girls, and that was a bloody (stop with the British, di Angelo!) nightmare if you ask me, in all complete honesty. But would they even be immortal anymore, retain that glow about them? Would they still maintain their precise and accurate skills with a bow and arrow? I needed to speak with Thalia. Yeah, I'll do that soon. Not right now though. She probably had a lot of shit to deal with as of the moment (even if we all did), so I decided I'd be nice and leave her alone. Besides, my brain was still fried thinking of other things. War was coming. I could feel it down to my bones, see it all around, feel it in the air; it was inevitable. Ares should be happy. That makes one of us in all this chaos. I swear, he's a freaking sadist, but never mind my scatterbrained thoughts.
Another rock gone sailing through the air like a bullet, or more accurately a missile, a nuke, something to have any sane person running for cover... Yeah, something along those melancholy lines.
Questions without their much craved answers, answers that could possibly help us win, win whatever this was. Wars without their proud generals, standing tall and brave above the masses, directing everyone and calming the chaos. So many secrets without the tales and stories of old to back them up. Nothing made sense anymore. Not like it ever did really. Something always has to go wrong. Always. Because apparently the Fates were dead set on me leading a miserable life, and, let me just say, they were doing a damn fine job of it. It seems like as soon as I had found out about this whole impossible world it was suddenly just all up in my face, clouding my mind and beating against the inside walls of my skull. Hey, Kronos is back. Sound the fucking alarm and grab a godsdamn sword because it doesn't matter if you're just a kid, he wants to kill you too, he wants to kill everyone and you gotta stop him because if no one does that's it, game over, world destruction, you lose. You don't get a break, even after all the shit you went through. No. There's just more fucking shit for you to deal with. Here, I'll serve you a fresh batch of pain and misery and all that horrible shit on a silver platter.
Just keep walking, Nico. Breathe.
Keep walking.
Walking right along the uneven shoreline of the River Lethe. The river that will wipe all your memories clean with a single drop, just one solitary drop. The river that had the power to relieve all the pain, take it all away like it never even existed in the first place. All the misery and hopelessness and fear and anger and hatred and heartbreak and unfairness and blood and death and ghosts and all of the rest of the shit that world had to offer up to it's poor, lowly inhabitants. Ghosts, the lot of us. Just walking. Walking with no direction never going anywhere but never stopping. Lost souls. Ghosts.
"And I will never be set free as long as I'm a ghost you can't see."
"And you're gone, gone, gone. I watched you disappear, and all that's left is a ghost of you."
"I'm just a ghost so I can't hurt you anymore."
"And all the wounds that are ever gonna scar me. For all the ghosts that are never gonna catch me... if I fall."
Why are ghosts such a popular topic in songs? In poetry? In literature? In life? Ha! That's ironic. People waste their entire lives worrying about death, about becoming a wandering ghost for all eternity when, and here's the punchline, they already fucking are! Or they're just too afraid that they will just cease to exist after death and so dread it with every living breath they take. Hello! You're still alive; act like! But no, we really were all just doomed to the life and death, or rather nonexistence, weren't we? Of course, I, of all people, knew better. Death and ghosts. Two things that were all far too common in my life.
Kick another rock. Listen to another song. Skip another song that just makes it all too real. Take another deep breath. And walk another step further.
Was I really just that desperate enough to be rid of all my horrible memories and everything that went on around me as to walk into the Lethe River, cleanse my mind in it's mysterious, dark depths? Did I even have the guts to do it, the nerve, the recklessness, the insanity? Did I honestly have the heart to do that to everyone? But who would miss me, really? I'm not really needed here. We'll all lose eventually. Heroes often fail. And if they can't do it, how was I supposed to? Why? What's the point in starting a battle when you already know what the outcome of the war will be, who will rise victorious over the dark dawn.
It would be easy. It would be just oh so, so easy. It should have been easy. Just one drop would do me in forever, for eternity. It only took one. Just one, single, final step into oblivion.
I shook my head, sighing heavily as My Chemical Romance's "Famous Last Words" came on.
Just keep walking, Nico.
And just this one time, this early morning in hell, this journey through my own mind, this terrible day, though the song was such a painful reminder of all that was happening around me, fitting it all so perfectly, I did not skip ahead to a different one. I turned it up.
It took forever but at the same time only minutes before my IPod came to the end of my playlist and I dully took the ear-buds out of my ears before slowly wrapping them up around the shiny metal of the Apple product. I slid it into my back pocket, shoving my hands deep into the front ones. I glanced disdainfully at the rushing water at my feet, lapping at my leather bound boots. I pursed my lips slightly before shaking my head, my bangs flying around my face before I could blow them back. I stared at the river for a good while before shrugging to myself, the understatement of the millennium, and marching off to patrol some other part of this underworld or underworlds, this semi-imaginary abyss in darker than the deepest pits of Tartarus.
No, not the Lethe, I thought with a hard set jaw and a sort of grim determination firing through my body, carrying me on my feet steadily further still. But I still needed something, some solution. But what else could offer that, I mean really, truly solve this? That's right, nothing.
Another step. A sigh. And a slightly daring, mostly grave smile adorning my features, one that had not possessed my mouth for some time now, since I felt the need to do something, since I felt purpose, since I felt like I could do it, since I felt important, since I felt like... a would be, once upon a time vigilante.
Heroes often fail. One of my earlier points.
Well then, it's a damn fine thing I'm not one. To the Styx it is.