Twenty-five Moves That'll Drive Him Wild! Seven Signs To Look For When a Man Is In Love With You!
"Bullshit," Logan said, thumbing through the magazine. He kept reading. Number One: Slip a Donut Around His Penis and Eat It Off. "What the fuck…" he whispered.
"Mr. Black?"
He closed the worn Cosmo issue abruptly, hoping that the doctor didn't catch what he was reading. He cleared his throat. "Good afternoon, Dr. Murphy."
"Afternoon. Come on in," she said, a friendly smile on her face.
He sat in the leather chair reserved for patients, tapped his fingers against his knee. She sat across from him, cheerful and gentle, and he wasn't sure what to do with that.
"So," she said.
He cleared his throat again. "So."
"I understand that you're here because you've been experiencing panic attacks."
His eyes darted around the office. She had her medical degree from the University of Michigan framed, and a bookshelf full of obscure titles and authors. Her desk was a dark mahogany, similar to his, and he found his thoughts immediately beginning to run hot with images of Stella. He shut his eyes tightly, shook his head.
"Mr. Black, are you alright?"
"No." He pinched the bridge of his nose. "I mean, yes. I'm—I'm fine right now."
"But you're not always fine."
"No."
Behind Dr. Murphy sat Thanatos, perched on the windowsill, with his wiry arms crossed. Logan could see Than's black wings folded tightly behind his back. He looked annoyed. "Truth is, I'm a real mess, Doctor."
"Let's explore that," she said, leaning closer. He looked down at his knee, which was bouncing up and down of its own accord. He willed it to stop.
"I'm having hallucinations."
"What kind of hallucinations—aural, visual—"
"Everything. Entire people that don't exist, conversations, reliving memories…" He trailed off, stared at the wall for a long moment.
"Mr. Black?"
"A lot of these memories," he continued, shaking his head, "they feel like they're mine—but I know they can't be. One of them's this battle. An ancient battle, with swords and shields. I'm fighting, but it's with a spear. I can feel the blood when it hits my face, the heat of the bodies burning around me. Something stabs me through the back, through the bronze armor I'm wearing. I know I'm dying, even though—even though, I'm not supposed to die."
"Not supposed to die?"
"Because I'm a god." He swallowed, trying and failing to cover a nervous laugh. "But between then and now, I think I've died over a thousand times."
"Fifteen hundred, to be exact," quipped Thanatos. He was now reading the same Cosmo mag that Logan hastily closed in the waiting room. Prick, Logan thought.
"Fifteen hundred," Logan corrected. Dr. Murphy was looking at him, but she didn't seem freaked out, and he wasn't sure if that was a good sign or not.
"What is it you do, Mr. Black?"
"I'm in the construction business."
Her bespectacled eyes narrowed, but only slightly. He flexed his fingers, really wishing that he could light up a cigarette. He popped a piece of nicorette gum into his mouth instead.
"Did you begin hallucinating around the same time as you began having panic attacks?"
"Yes. One precipitates the other."
"I see. And how long has this been going on?"
"Around a month or so."
"Long time to be dealing with something this serious, Mr. Black."
"Tried toughing it out as long as I could. My, ah, employees...they need strong leadership, or else they'll turn on me. Can't have that."
"The employees in your construction business."
"That's right."
She didn't seem convinced. She was staring at him, sizing him up, it seemed. "You aren't my first wise guy, you know."
"That obvious, huh."
"Just don't say anything I'll be obligated to report."
He grinned. "Wouldn't dream of it, Doctor."
"What finally made you come in?"
He clenched his fist. "I saw my father this weekend."
Sunday. The day after the whole...thing, happened with Stella. He couldn't stop thinking about her. He dreamt of her, and she was a queen—his queen. She stood next to an oversized pomegranate tree and smiled at him, like she had been expecting him. He walked towards her on unsteady legs, shame and doubt threatening to steal his breath and stop his heart.
He could hear the shouts of every person he killed, each one begging for their life; each one, becoming easier and easier to snuff out with callous grace. He thought of the Furies, how Alecto said he had smelled fouler than usual. Oh, how right she'd been…
He collapsed to his knees in front of Persephone. He couldn't look up at her.
"My love, please stand."
"I can't." Hot tears ran down his cheeks, unabated. Lost, lost , lost—he felt so lost. "I've dishonored you greatly."
The gentle, soft touch of her fingers running through his hair made him shudder. She pulled him closer, so that his cheek was pressed against her navel. "You have only dishonored yourself, my love. I wish it were not so, but please do not give up."
He cried harder, wrapping his arms around her waist as she held him.
He woke to the sound of heavy knocking against his office door. The room smelled like sex and her perfume.
"Boss, you awake?"
The Ambrosia wasn't on the coffee table anymore. Fuck, fuck, fuck. "Boss?"
"I'll be out in a minute, Johnny," Logan said, pulling on his discarded shirt and slacks. God, even his clothes smelled like her. He could feel the ghost of her lips kissing his throat. He wondered, briefly, if this is how his brothers Will and Pete felt all the time. Evidently there was a gigantic hole within his heart that he needed to fill; his lip curled in disgust. He decided not to think about it.
He opened his door. "What is it, Johnny?"
"Uh," Johnny sputtered, shifting his weight from foot to foot. "Your old man is here."
Logan blinked once, twice. He couldn't have heard him correctly. "Viejo is dead."
"No," Johnny said, shaking his head vigorously. Logan's grip on his door handle tightened. "Not the Old Man, Boss. Your old man. Your pops. He's sitting at the VIP bar—Boss, wait!"
Logan stalked down the hallway to his bar, and lo and behold, the son of a bitch was sitting there, not looking a day past forty.
"Hello, son."
"The hell are you doin' here?"
"What's with that limp? You sprain your ankle or something?"
"None of your fuckin' business."
"Wait—" The voice of Dr. Murphy pulled Logan from his memory. She looked nervously down at his clenched fists. "Before you continue, I just want to reiterate that if you talk about any intent to harm your father, I will have to report it."
"Nothing like that happened, doc, though I was right pissed to see him after all these years."
"I take it your relationship is...strained."
Logan laughed. "My father is probably the meanest son of a bitch who ever set foot on this earth. You ever hear about the Astarita family in South Carolina?"
"Yes, of course, but what does that—oh. Oh no." Her eyebrows shot up.
"Yeah. You know that story. He kept my siblings and I locked in a basement for over a year, and when I tried to escape, he beat me within an inch of my life and tried to fuckin' eat me. Only reason he didn't kill me is because the shock of seeing him tryin' to take a bite outta my face sent my momma into labor and he had the good sense to call emergency services, or risk her dyin'."
"I watched the trial on the news years ago. That little boy was you…"
"Yeah." Logan shut his eyes: he was twelve years old again, being forced to testify against his father, Horatio Astarita. Sofie was there, holding onto her stuffed Piglet toy. Peter and Will had already been adopted by the Fitzgeralds, so they didn't come to the trial on account of it being needlessly traumatic for them. The Fitzgeralds really wanted Sofie, too.
They didn't want him, though: Logan had shown too much aggression at school; he was constantly getting into fights, and he had trouble focusing in class. One of his teachers said he was cursed like his daddy and wouldn't amount to anything, so he attacked the teacher and got suspended for three weeks. That was the incident that made him completely un-adoptable in the Fitzgeralds' eyes. He was ruined and feral as far as they were concerned. By contrast, Will and Pete were nice and docile children; hell, Will had been raised by the Fitzgeralds basically since his birth, and Pete really didn't remember much of his time in the basement. But Sofie did remember, and she wouldn't abandon him—at least, not yet.
So he and his sister would both spend days testifying as best they could. They were living with their third foster family, the Blacks. The Black family was good; one of the few good foster families around. The mother was a registered travel nurse, and the father was a retired Marine Master Sergeant. Logan remembered him as being a kind man, and a good teacher. Logan learned a lot from him: how to fish; how to catch a baseball; how to keep a house clean, and how to iron his clothes. He'd watch how the two treated each other—he didn't remember ever seeing them fight, or if they did, it wasn't for very long—and they just seemed so in love. It was such a stark contrast to how his father and mother behaved. The Blacks wouldn't adopt him or his sister either, but living with them would come to be one of the few happy memories of his childhood.
Logan saw his father glaring at him as he took to the witness stand, and he wanted to run like a coward. He had always been such a coward. Logan clenched his jaw, felt the pressure of his molars grinding together. "He was supposed to be in the can for thirty years. He got twenty and time served, and I reckon he got out earlier because of 'good behavior,' the fucker. You know what his defense was?"
"Insanity," Dr. Murphy.
"Yeah. Said he was having visions, said he thought I was gonna kill him. A fuckin' seven-year-old—" The image of gold blood flying through the air flashed before his eyes, the electric shock of an ancient memory, and Logan shuddered. "What a crock, right?"
"Is it a crock, or are you afraid that maybe you're going through the same thing your father went through—are you afraid he was actually telling the truth?"
"Bullshit he was telling the truth!" He was close to yelling, he realized. He crossed his arms and sank back into his chair, ashamed. At least Dr. Murphy didn't seem too rattled by his outburst. He supposed that was a good sign.
"Let me ask you something else. You said you were a god. Which one?"
"The Greek God of the Dead."
"You mean Ha—"
"Yes." He nodded. "Please don't say it. Just hearing the name gives me a migraine for the rest of the day."
"Really? That's interesting. Have you always had that reaction to hearing it?"
He rubbed his temples. He could still feel a migraine coming on, even though she hadn't finished saying the name. "Just about."
"And you're aware that Cronus ate his children in the myths, except for Zeus."
Those two names sent sharp icepicks through his eyes and into his skull. He groaned. "Yeah, doc."
"So what happened with your father at the club? Your Cronus."
There was a lot Logan wanted to have had happen. He was a man now; had been one for many years, and was blooded several times over. He was a made man, too—and not just a prince, but a boss. The Boss of Empire City. And yet he looked at his father, who hadn't aged a day, and he felt like a scared little boy again.
"You look like shit," Horatio said. "Heard that you were made a few years ago, back when I was still in the can. Couldn't believe it. My kid? Then I heard you were Boss in Empire, and I really couldn't believe it. Had to see it for myself. Finally lost the baby-face at least."
Logan thought about what he could do. He had a number of options. He could brain his old man against the marble countertop of the bar. And Eddie was there; Eddie could shoot him, quick and easy. Logan eyed his father's thick neck—maybe he could strangle him with his bare hands. That would be satisfying.
Logan couldn't move, though. Couldn't bark out his orders to his men, either. All he saw before him was his father, shining and terrible, a titan. And the longer Logan looked at his father, the less courage he had. He was terrified.
"What, are you mute now, boy?"
Logan didn't respond, instead choosing to pivot on his heel and head back into his office, where he promptly shut the door and slid to the floor, holding his chest. His heart was racing and he couldn't catch his breath.
"Another panic attack, then," Dr. Murphy said.
"Yeah."
"When was the last time you saw your father?"
"Not since his sentencing. Twenty years ago, now that I think about it. Fucker came all the way to New England to find me and sit at my bar, like he owned the place. And the worst part was that I couldn't do a damn thing."
"And you think that without these hallucinations, you probably would have."
"I don't know what he's planning, but I can't be paralyzed like that again."
"Gods above, he's just distracting you," Thanatos said. He closed his copy of Cosmo with a loud thud, and the sound made Dr. Murphy visibly jump. "You're a king, Hades. Not the boss of a crime syndicate. I'm glad you've finally decided to talk to a shrink, but now is not the time."
"Leave me alone," Logan said.
"Mr. Black, who are you talking to?"
"Death."
Thanatos stood in front of Dr. Murphy and loomed over Logan's seat. "You know, your son has been trying to see you. It's not easy for him to come up here."
"Because he's not real."
"Argh, what is it with you? You see one woman whom you obsess over and pine after like no one else, and you don't think that's strange? You don't think having vivid memories of her sitting next to you on your throne, of all the lives you've had trying to get her back—none of that seems weird to you?"
"Mr. Black—"
Logan ignored Dr. Murphy. "Sure it does. Means I'm crazy."
"My lord, you love her, and are in love with her, and have been since you saw her in that garden. Gods above, she has a piece of your soul! You are the Lord of the Dead and she is your wife, and you need to stop wasting time!"
"What would you have me do, Than? Tell her that I'm Hades, and she's Persephone, and that we're married and have been for thousands of years, and we have a son together, who shouldn't be alive, but somehow is?"
"Yes!"
"...You're nuts. Besides, she doesn't want anything to do with me." Dr. Murphy was writing down notes quickly. Logan hoped he was being entertaining enough for her.
"Because in your infinite wisdom, you chose the life-path of a criminal. But she's not free from the burden of your marriage, either. A part of her soul rests entwined with yours."
His heart skipped a beat. "What?"
"You heard me just fine. Why do you think you moved to New England?"
"Change of pace—"
"No. You knew she was here. Demeter tried to keep her hidden, perhaps even without realizing it, but you always find her. And she always finds you. Such is the burden of marrying in the old way of the titans." Than's pale gray eyes roiled like storm clouds. He was being serious. "I need you two to figure this out already. Remember who you are and come back to us."
"No."
"Fates, you are impossible." And just like that, Thanatos disappeared, like he had never been in the office to begin with. Logan's gaze shifted back to Dr. Murphy, whose eyebrows were raised high above her glasses. Her fingers were pressed together like an a-frame tent. "My apologies, Doc."
"Is this woman real?"
"What woman?"
"Your Persephone."
Logan shut his eyes. He could feel her fingers running through his hair, could feel the smooth skin of her shoulder against his lips. He popped in another nicorette gum. "She's very real. College student. ECU."
"And why doesn't she want anything to do with you, in your estimation?"
"She's a smart woman."
"And your son?"
"Don't have one."
"I see...Okay, Mr. Black. I'm going to write a couple of scripts for you. Prozac and lithium. We'll meet the same time next week to see how you're doing."
And that was that. She sent him on his way, and he went home. He laid in bed, in sheets that still smelled like her no matter how many times he washed them, or wholesale replaced them, and felt himself grow hard instantly. He groaned, miserable. "This is ridiculous."
He had zero control over himself: his mind was fractured, and his body did whatever it wanted, like he was a damn teenager. And it didn't help that Than's words kept repeating themselves in his head. Her soul rests entwined with yours. Of course, that only added to the throbbing sensation of his cock.
"Go away," he said, frustrated. Maybe if he took an ice cold shower—no, then he'd be naked and it would just be easier to jack off. Was he just going to think about her at every waking moment for the rest of his life? She left him on the ground, for fuck's sake! She didn't want him, and it only made sense that she shouldn't—but she was all he wanted. Was this the torture he earned, to forever yearn for a woman he could never be with? He opened his nightstand and pulled out one of his many burners, along with her number.
He dialed her number slowly and purposefully, dreading the press of each subsequent digit. He hoped that she wouldn't answer, but she picked up almost immediately. Just as quickly, she agreed to meet him at the Iron Mask Restaurant for dinner the next day.
He stared up at his ceiling, giddy and nervous. Oh man, he thought. What the hell am I doing?
