Disclaimer: I don't own Percy Jackson. Sorry to disappoint you.

Rating: T; swearing

Quote: BrainyQuote website

Image: Google images

Chapter Five

The Leap of Faith

Faith is taking the first step even when you don't see the whole staircase.

-Martin Luther King

~Emery~

It was official.

I, Emery, lord of the sea, had finally hit bottom. Before last night, I had thought that there was no possible way for me to sink any lower. I was the prince of a kingdom whose subjects hated me. How much lower could you get after that? How much closer could you get before you reached rock-bottom? Previously, I had thought that I already had reached rock bottom. It was only after my idiotic tirade that I realised that I was very far from rock bottom.

Now, however, I was fairly certain that unless I suddenly decided to get a pickaxe and start mining through the rock, I had finally hit bottom. 'And I hope you are all properly ashamed.' I had actually said those words. To the entire. Aristocratic. Population. I had completely embarrassed myself in front of hundreds of people, and, putting aside the rather formidable issue of my public humiliation, I still had my mother to deal with. Once Amphitrite came to shout at be about what I had done… well, it wouldn't be pretty. I was just going to leave it at that.

Since I had also hit rock-bottom, there were two other issues at hand. There was the issue of the girl- the girl that I had just bought, sickeningly enough. Then there was the issue that my mother, somewhere along the progression of the night, had figured out my 'And I hope you are all properly ashamed' rant and locked me in my room.

I didn't really appreciate that, needless to say. Operation: Mission Lockdown on Emery was not exactly high on my To-Do list today. There were things that needed to be resolved. For instance, I needed to get to that girl before my mother sent her straight back from where she came from. My mother- while kind and sweet at times- could also be extraordinarily brutal. I preferred not to think of her and what might happen once she saw the girl. Most likely, the slave would just be sent back to Lord Myron and his lot, but I didn't want that to happen. Regardless of how my actions of buying a girl had spoken volumes for my moral compass, which was clearly pointing very far south, I didn't want her to go back to the life that she had been living. It was my firm belief that every slave had a story. Nobody in Atlantis was just born a slave.

Sighing, my fingers rubbed the medallion at my neck- the one that I had worn since birth, I had been told. My hands found the black crystal medallion, and instantly a bit of tension went out of my shoulders. The medallion was what enabled me to breathe underwater. Somewhere, along the lines of my family genealogy, the ability to manipulate, control, and breathe water had been lost. It irked me sometimes to think that the girl- petty as she was, just a slave, for gods' sakes, with a story or without- had more power in one of her fingertips than I had in my whole body combined.

I groaned, scrubbing my face with my hands. My rambling thoughts weren't helping anything at present, and there were things to be done. Namely, the girl. The sick feeling in my stomach alerted me to the fact that I had truly just bought a girl, whatever my intentions were. Now, I had to deal with the aftermath. What was the girl going to think of me? Would she be grateful? Contrite? I couldn't even imagine what I would think if I were in her shoes.

I didn't even know the girl's name. All I saw was her face: the gaunt, pale one, with a spattering of freckles across the bridge of her nose and her bright, luminous green eyes that tended to go along with ocean powers. They were much different than my slate-gray ones, a fact of which I was all too aware. I resisted the urge to bang my head against the wall. I couldn't do anything here, and I didn't want my mother to send her back to Lord Myron. Something told me that the aristocratic family wouldn't be too pleased with her when she arrived back at the house. My mother might just give the girl her death sentence if I wasn't careful.

It was early in the morning, as much as I figured. I still probably had some time before my mother discovered the whereabouts of the girl- she would be too busy making a public apology to the aristocratic family that I had shamed the previous night. My thoughts began to whirl as I slowly made a plan.

I wasn't the brightest of people, but my cognitive skills were certainly above-par. My family had often reckoned that I was much too smart for my own good, though I would trade my intelligence for sea powers in a heartbeat. Sometimes it seemed that I didn't have any truly good qualities, in this cryptic underwater world. I did have to admit that my brain had its moments in which it was incredibly helpful- such as now. My mind began thinking at about a thousand miles per hour, the cogs and gears all whirring quickly.

I lived in an extraordinarily old castle. Old castles tended to have secret passageways, and though I knew that I didn't even know half of the passages, I did know most of the passages in my room. There were a few that lead to other areas in the castle, but even if I did get out, there would still be more issues. For one, I couldn't let anyone see me, and unfortunately, I wasn't a son of Hecate. I couldn't manipulate the Mist very well. That meant that I was going to have to rely on my stealth skills, which left something to be desired. Then, of course, there was the fact that I had absolutely no idea where the girl was being kept.

How on earth I managed to get myself in these situations was beyond me. I seemed to have a talent for trouble.

I smoothed down my doublet, shooting a furtive glance over to the window and wondering if I could throw myself out of it. It wouldn't be the conventional answer to my situation, certainly, but it did have its perks at that particular moment.

Finally, I made my decision. Walking swiftly over to the door, I rapped quickly. "Hello?" I said, my accent carrying easily through the wall. I was counting on the guards being outside of the door, barring the way in case I decided to use my pickpocket skills for evil.

There was a rustling, but no answer. I rolled my eyes. "Come, now. Don't be stodgy. I just want to have a conversation. I mean, you've got to be terribly bored out there, just standing and guarding the prince. How is that fair? You're supposed to be the brave soldiers of the kingdom, not babysitters." I thanked the gods that I knew which buttons to push for the guards. This wasn't the first time that I had gotten into trouble.

There was a grumbling outside the door. I could practically sense their willpowers weakening. It was really quite sad, actually, how easy this made my job. I leaned against the doorframe, examining my fingernails. "Oh, bother. Don't tell me that you enjoy this? I'm certainly enjoying our time together," I said mockingly. "I mean, what quality friendships we're making here! That of the guard and the troublesome prince. Don't worry, you're making a wonderful nanny." I grinned wickedly, wishing that they could see my face.

That last comment finally got a rise out of them. "Shut up," one of the guards growled. "Neither of us want to be in this position, but you brought your own punishment on both of us." He seemed to clamp his mouth shut then, realising just who he was talking to.

I smirked. "My own punishment, is it? So what? You let people boss you around into looking after the little prince? You don't like being here? For shame! And I thought we were becoming such good friends, too!"

"I said shut up," the guard said forcefully.

A grin edged its way onto my face. Honestly, it was so easy to bother these old stodges. They didn't like me anyway, which just made it even more fun to bother them. It was almost too bad that I had an agenda behind all of my wicked words. "Now, now. Is that any way to talk to a prince?" I said loftily.

That seemed to really strike a nerve. "You don't deserve to be a prince," the guard spat. "Lowlife. Don't even have any sea powers. Haven't you heard the rumor, princie? You're likely not even Poseidon's son. You're the sire of some poor mortal and your mummy, the consort. You're not royal blood. Has Poseidon ever actually even spoken with you, hmm?"

The accusation hit me in the chest. I tried my best to shake it off, but the guard's words rang in my ear. Taking a dose of your own medicine, Emery. Don't like it when it's your turn to be taunted, now do you? I thought to myself. Still, the words hit me harder than they should have. I knew in all reality that it was probably correct, what the guard said. My father probably wasn't Poseidon. My father was likely some mortal.

"No, he hasn't," I said, my words barely controlled. "But regardless of whether or not I'm the bastard that you think me to be, I am still the alleged prince of Atlantis. And what are you? A guard? A peasant, perhaps? Get down off your bloody high horse. You're no better than me. I just got the good lot in life."

Well, perhaps that was meaner than it had to be. I wasn't going to get anywhere with the guard out there. There was no way that after that taunt he would even respond. Fantastic: I had made another person really hate me now. It was a very good thing that I was a bastard. I had no place actually making decisions for the legion of sea people under the ocean surface.

The guard let out a breath. "What the hell do you want, little boy? You've got three seconds before I get your mommy and tell her all the nasty things that you've been up to." He cracked his knuckles angrily. "One… two…"

"Look, neither of us like this arrangement," I said quickly. I paused, waiting to see if the guard was listening. He didn't make any sound of disagreement, which I figured was probably a pretty good sign. "Neither of us want to be here. I have a way out of this predicament." I held my breath. Here it was: the moment of truth. The life of a girl was in this guard's hands. If he said no to my proposition, my mother would find the girl, bring her back to her master, and Myron would kill her. If he said yes, than I had a chance to hide her- to get her away from the mess that we were in.

The guard shifted. I crossed my fingers. Finally, he spoke. "I'm listening," he said in his gruff, deep voice. I let out an exhale of relief. Thank the gods. The girl still had a chance to live.

"You'll get fired from your job if you let me go, right?" I said. The guard snorted his assent, and I took that as a sign that I shouldn't give up just yet. "Well… I have a way to get out. But of course, you would have no idea that I was getting out. You would have no way to know that I was escaping through the secret tunnels in my room. Why, no one would even have to know, because you would still be guarding my door. You were simply doing your duty."

I could practically picture the guard rubbing his chin thoughtfully. "Keep going," he said. I clasped my hands in a silent prayer to all of the gods in Olympus, the Underworld, Tartarus, or wherever they wanted to be. Thank you, I thought.

"However, to escape and finish the errand I desperately need to complete, I would need… a certain… well, location. Of a certain girl in question. A slave girl, as a matter of fact, which I recently bought at a party." I winced. That sounded even worse when I said it.

There was a long silence. Come on, guard, I thought. You can do it. Please, please, don't let her die. I know you realise the situation perfectly well. The girl's life is in your hands. In reality, it probably wasn't fair to pin that kind of pressure on the guard. It was my fault that the girl's life was in danger in the first place. I had thought that I was so bloody clever, with my winning smile, my high horse, and my prince loftiness. That girl was going to die if I didn't get there soon enough, and the fault would not be on the guard. It would be on me. I would be responsible for the murder of a girl. It almost made it even worse that I meant well: it just showed that I shouldn't interfere in things that I knew nothing about.

The guard huffed a long sigh. "Third floor. Main corridor. Fifth door on the right." My heart leapt. Third floor. Main corridor. Fifth door on the right. Oh, thank the gods. He listened to me. He actually listened. "And, just so we're clear, I had nothing to do with assisting you in the wonderful task of being rid of you for the rest of the day. Correct?"

"Oh, absolutely," I said, though I was already in motion. The girl didn't have to die. I practically sprinted over to my wall, tossing a hasty "Thank you!" behind my back. Faintly, I heard the guard mutter profanities under his breath.

When I reached the wall, my eyes quickly scanned for the loose brick that would open up a swinging stone door. Searching with my hands, scraping my soft palms on the rough sea stone, I finally found the crumbling edge of the brick. My excitement growing, I pulled it loose, leaping backward just in time to avoid the stone door that came back. Quickly, I dived inside the passageway, taking the heavy door with me.

Once inside the passageway, I squinted. There never seemed to be any light in any of the secret corridors within the walls of the castle, and, unfortunately, I wasn't glow-in-the-dark. Holding my arms out in the narrow hallway, I traced the stone with my hands, walking forward. I had walked this way many times before since I had discovered it when I was eleven. This wasn't the first time that Operation: Mission Lockdown on Emery had been in action; it was just the first time that someone's life was at stake when I was in my room.

Third floor. Main corridor. Fifth door on the right. That meant that I had to go down two floors, which would be no easy task whilst avoiding anyone who wanted to lock me up. I could, of course, take the servants' staircase, but servants were a chattering bunch. My whereabouts would be around in the castle in about three seconds flat.

I paused for a moment, tapping my fingers on the bricks. Mentally, I could hear the clock ticking. There wasn't an excess of time in which to figure out what to do. Finally, I figured, just as I resumed walking, that the main staircase would be the best. No one would expect me to be that stupid. The plan wasn't foolproof, but it would have to do.

My fingers found the crevice that I needed to find in the wall. A stone door, like the one in my room, opened into a set of empty guest chambers. Quickly, I shouldered it closed, rubbing my dislocated shoulder sorely. I was a skinny boy, often called scrawny, and I didn't have the strength or physical fitness to be doing this. Already, my breath was coming in pants from exertion.

My feet thudded against the floor as I hurried over, swinging the door open, into the main third floor corridor. Turning my head down quickly and flicking up the collar of my doublet, I sent a silent prayer to the gods for my safe passage. It killed me to resort to a quick walk, but with my head turned down like it was, I looked conspicuous enough.

Time was ticking against me. A girl's life was in danger because of me. There were others beside me in the kingdom who were fine with becoming murders. They saw it as a common thing for the slaves in the underwater kingdom. It was true enough that I did not know this girl. I didn't know her story. I had no idea where she came from, who her family was, or who missed her at home. I didn't want the conscious of a murder on my shoulders. There was no way that I was going to be responsible for her murder. My high horse needed to be taken down a few notches, and I didn't want the price to be paid by an innocent bystander.

As I pounded down the stairs, some people sending me odd glances, I thought again and again of the words that the guard had said to me just before I left. Third floor. Main corridor. Fifth door on the right. I was racing against time. There was no telling where my mother was, but she couldn't find that girl. I didn't care how she punished me; whether it was a two-week grounding or two-year grounding, but I couldn't have the murder of an innocent girl on my shoulders.

I descended the second flight of stairs, arriving at last on the third floor. The entire place was deserted, alerting me to be careful. I walked forward cautiously, passing the doorways one by one. First door on the right, second door on the right, third door on the right, fourth door on the right… and fifth door on the right. It was a modest looking door, and I prayed that the guard had told me the right information.

My fingers closed around the handle, and I was unsurprised to find it locked. Swearing profanities under my breath, I brought out a sharp wire from my pocket. The celestial bronze gleamed in the light, and, shooting furtive glances around me, I crouched and began the monotonous, tedious job of picking the lock.

As the gears all began to unlock, one by one, my thoughts went to the girl inside the room. What was she thinking, right at this very minute? What was she feeling? What did she think of me? Was she afraid, knowing that her death could be very close? Did she miss her family, or have a family at all?

Everyone had a story. They all had their own book, and though some books were more interesting than others, what made me the angriest about the slaves in the kingdom was this: every single slave had a story. Every single slave had a story behind their polite, cool façade. And, every once in a while, those stories could end up being important. That girl behind the door could end up changing every single life in the world, given the chance. Being a slave meant taking away that chance.

With all of my high horses and my faults, I at least wanted to give that chance back to somebody.

The gears unlocked, and, my heart thrumming in my chest, I closed my eyes. This was it. This was the girl that I had saved- or killed, depending on how the next few hours went. This was it. This was the end of the line. And gods, if that wasn't terrifying, then I didn't know what was.

With a deep breath, I finally took a step into the room. It looked like any other room in the castle, with weathered sea stone bricks stacked up in a square. The room was completely empty except for a chair fashioned out of driftwood, a celestial bronze chain and cuff connected to the back of the room to a wrist, and, of course, the girl, who was clutching the cuffed wrist.

Staring at the girl, I couldn't help but feel that she was familiar somehow, though I had never seen her- nor anyone like her- in my life from memory. She was incredibly pale, almost like a sheet, with gaunt hollows in her cheeks and sloping cheekbones. Matted tangles of blonde curls long escaped from her careful arrangement spiraled down in unruly tendrils along her face, and her lips were pulled down in a permanent scowl. She had her arms crossed at me, her green eyes intensely bright. Though she was short- only about five two, at the very most- she looked to be about three years older than me.

I swallowed. The girl did not look happy.

Closing the door behind me, I took a few steps forward. My words seemed to lodge in my throat. "Er," I said slowly, wringing my hands. "Hello." The girl said nothing; she simply sat there in her chair, her arms crossed. I smiled, trying for pleasantries. "It's nice to meet you. I was the one who- er- got you last night," I said, purposely avoiding the word 'bought'. Swallowing, I continued. "So, yeah. I'm- er- sorry about this predicament. If you'd like, I could pick that lock for you," I said, gesturing to her handcuff. Still no response. Finally, I sighed. "My name's-"

"Oh, I know who you are," the girl snapped, the first sound I had gotten out of her. It seemed as if she wasn't done quite yet, either. "Prince Emery, the high and mighty jackass on a throne." The girl leaned forward, her green eyes sparkling with anger. "Don't expect me to be thankful. It wasn't a kindness, what you did. It was an ego war." She glared at me venomously. "There's the door. I suggest you haul yourself through it in the next three seconds."

I stared at her. Well, I certainly hadn't been expecting that. "Gods," was all I could finally think to say. Then my thoughts kicked in. "Who do you think you are, talking to a prince like that? I saved you from a rather nasty beating, too. I think the least you can do is say thank you. I do expect you to be thankful, actually."

The girl threw back her head and laughed, unexpected, considering she was still probably aching from the lashes in her back. "A prince? Hardly." A cruel smile tugged at the corner of her lips. "You're a bastard, not a prince. A bastard son of a consort." Her expression darkened. "A consort that ruined my life, by the way. Any son of Amphitrite is an enemy of mine. I talk to a bastard like he deserves it." She glowered. "I've been beaten before. I can handle myself, thank you very much."

"Oh, so you're one to talk, then," I said, shooting daggers at her. "Your ego- or pride- is at least as big as mine. And I'm not a bastard, actually. My father is Poseidon." The words didn't come out very convincing, and the girl sent me a telltale smirk. I growled in frustration. "You can't handle yourself. You were screaming your lungs out. They just hurt you the more that you struggle, you know."

The girl launched herself out of her chair. "Oh, and I suppose you would know, wouldn't you? You grew up having everything handed to you on a silver platter. I became a slave when I was your age. How old are you? Thirteen? That was about the time that Myron bought me. I have no love for your family, little boy. Don't talk about what you don't know about. You have no idea what it's like to be beaten. You don't know the pain. So go ahead and shut up, alright?"

"I'm trying to help you, for gods' sakes!" I shouted. Lowering my voice, I continued. "My mother is going to come for you soon. If you really have no lost love for my family, then you don't want to meet Amphitrite, alright? Zeus. I'm just trying to help."

"Oh, I've met Amphitrite," she said mirthlessly. "It's not an encounter that I'd soon forget." Her eyes narrowed at me. "Your mother is the reason that I'm here in the first place. She's the reason that I'm not back in Quincy, at St. Gabriel's." The words meant nothing to me, but they still hit me with all the force of a blow. "And trust me, little boy, I'm a bit more valuable than you think. I'm far more valuable than you'll ever be."

My eyes slitted. "What are you talking about? I hate to break this to your inflated ego, but I happen to be a prince. You're a slave. I'd think about our positions again, and then consider revising your last statement."

"Oh, little boy," the girl said, laughing manically. She took a step forward, but the chain on her wrist prevented her from taking a step forward. "Maybe you wouldn't know who I was if I told you my name. Maybe you wouldn't know how important I was. Maybe you wouldn't know that my family is trapped somewhere in this coffin of a castle that you call home. Maybe that's true." Her eyes glittered. "But I promise you, my name is important. And I'm done taking shit. I don't need more of it from you."

"Oh, is that so?" I challenged, crossing my arms. "Because, quite honestly, I don't see an alternative where my mother would care so much to lock your family up in a castle. If your name is important, then you can go ahead and tell me." I grinned winningly. "So what exactly is your name?" I cupped my ear mockingly.

The girl smiled, sitting back down in the chair and crossing her ankles nonchalantly. "I've had a tough life. I've had some experiences you wouldn't believe. But trust me when I tell you that the mention of my name to your mother will make her want to rip this castle apart, brick-by brick." She took a deep breath, and when she opened her eyes, they were surprisingly bright.

"My name," she said quietly, "is Marilyn. Marilyn Elise Jackson, to be precise."

~Janice~

Sleep.

It was an escape. Something to run to when you were tired, crying, or just wanted a quiet place of solace. Unfortunately, it wasn't always easy to get there. Sometimes, you laid in your bed for hours, just looking up at your ceiling and thinking about all the mistakes you'd ever made in your life. For me, I usually thought of my brother, and all of the things that I could have done to make him stay. In my heart, I knew that nothing I could ever do would ever be enough.

It was two o' clock in the morning, and I was lying in my bed, not even attempting to sleep. I was burrowed into the covers in our large, sprawling house in Quincy, Massachusetts. The lights in my room were on, and though I should have been tired, I had never felt more awake in my whole life. Sometimes, there were nights that you just wanted to think. This wasn't one of those nights. This was one of those nights where you wanted nothing more than to fall asleep and escape.

A knock came at my door. I sat up, hugging the covers to my chest. "Come in," I said quietly, praying that it was just Jenny. I didn't know if I could handle it if it was my younger brother, Reid, or my younger sister, Audrey. I loved them both, and I would never leave them- not like Will or Caroline did- but just then, I wasn't feeling particularly up for a story.

Thankfully, I didn't have to. It was, in fact, Jenny. Her gray-brown hair was hanging around her face in tendrils, and she was wearing pajama pants and an old nightshirt. She didn't normally sleep in our house, but, seeing as how my mother was off visiting our grandfather and my father was on yet another business trip, Jenny had jumped at the chance to get paid a little extra money. Jenny blinked at me groggily, her eyes darting over to the clock.

"Janie, it's two o' clock in the morning," she whispered. "What are you doing? You've got school tomorrow." Jenny's eyes studied me carefully, as if dissecting my mind. At that moment, that was something that I wouldn't have truly minded. I would have liked a bit of sense right about then.

"I couldn't sleep," I told her, in normal volume. Jenny sighed, shutting the door softly behind her and sitting down on my bed. She pushed a stray strand of dark hair behind my ear, looking at me concernedly.

"Why?" she asked, her voice at normal volume as well.

"Just… things to think about," I said. I hugged a pillow to my chest. "Jenny? Will you tell me a story?" It had been a while since I had asked her to do that. Jenny had started working for us about two and a half years ago, right before Audrey was born. My Uncle Leo and Aunt Calypso Valdez had helped out a little, but it had been decided that we needed constant monitoring, and our old, eighteen year-old nanny with a nose ring wasn't exactly the best baby caretaker. I hadn't asked her to tell me a story since right after Audrey was born.

Jenny sighed. "It's late," she said, warning in her voice. I tried my best to give her puppy-dog eyes. "Fine." She moved into my queen bed next to me, laying back against the headboard. "What do you want me to tell you about?"

"Tell me about the girl you used to babysit for. Lynnie." I didn't know why I had asked to hear about Lynnie. It wasn't a fascination that I had with her, or anything like that, but I did want to know about her.

"Lynnie? Why do you want to hear a story about her?" Jenny said, clearly surprised. "Janie, I was a nanny for her a long time ago. Three years, actually. Why do you want to hear about her?"

I shrugged. "I don't know. I just… she sounds familiar," I said, surprising myself with my honesty. Jenny furrowed her eyebrows at me, and I rushed to explain. "My brother used to talk about this girl, around three years ago, before he… left. She sounds like the girl that Will used to talk about."

Jenny stared at me, and then exhaled slowly through her mouth. "I'll tell you one story. One story only, though. After that one story, you have to promise that you'll turn out the lights and try and get some rest. Your last day of school is tomorrow, and you don't want to fall over halfway through the day. Deal?"

"Deal," I said without hesitation. I leaned forward, eager to hear the story. Jenny seemed to be sorting through her memories, as if debating on what to tell me. Finally, she seemed to finalize on one.

In her soft, melodic, storyteller voice, Jenny began telling me the story of Lynnie. She began haltingly, as if she were hesitant.

"I first came to babysit for Lynnie thirteen years ago. She was my first nanny job. Of course, I didn't ever think that I would become a nanny. My husband had supported us both, but, a few months before I came to nanny Lynnie, my husband died. He had been on a weekend excursion from his job, and he went out to the Long Island Sound. My husband never came back. I'm not sure if he died or not, but I filed a Missing Persons report, and, at least in the United States, he is proclaimed dead.

"When I came to nanny for Lynnie, I was going through a tough time. I had just put away my black dress, putting it in the back of the closet. I cried a lot, but money was running out. My husband and I weren't rich people. I had never been rich, actually. My family came from Ireland- we were all immigrants. Of course, I was born in the United States- my grandmother was the one who immigrated. My mother used to nanny, and I decided to expend on her department. She earned decent money, and I figured that I could support myself if I decided to get a job.

"So I put on a brave face, and I went to the interview. Now, the house that I went to was the most disgusting dump of a place that you've ever seen in your life. The shingles were falling off the roof, a window shutter was hanging crookedly from where it should have been adjusted, the landscaping was a mess, and that was just the outside. The inside was a complete pigsty. My first reaction had been that of shock. How could anyone ever live here? Who was living here?

"As it turned out, there was a man living there. He looked to be around forty with all of the stress lines that were on his face, but in reality, he was only twenty-five. He would have been handsome if not for how bedraggled he looked. Green eyes, thick black hair, a strong jawline- he wasn't ugly, I'll just leave it at that. There was also a little girl living there. She was three years old, and just about the most brilliant girl that you'd ever seen. She had this mop of curly blonde hair, these pretty green eyes, and the cutest smile. She looked almost nothing like her father, except for the eyes. And, as it turned out, there was a reason that the man, the house, and the daughter all looked like a dump. The man's wife had just died. For the ten years that I worked in that house, I never found out how the wife died until the day the man left to go get back his daughter. He never returned."

"He never returned? Are you sure?" I asked, interrupting the story. A pit had settled in my stomach. I was almost positive that I knew exactly who this girl was, and I didn't like it. Not one bit.

Jenny smiled at me sadly. "I'm sure. I walked away with that house with the mind that I was never coming back but, the truth is, I've been back often. Less often in the past year or so, but I've still been back there. The mortgage was never paid, and the house closed. Slowly, over the course of a few months, it slowly deteriorated. The ivy vine reattached itself to the house-"

"Reattached itself to the house?" I echoed, looking dubiously at Jenny.

"That's a long story," Jenny said, waving a hand. "But, anyways, back to the story that I'm telling. The ivy vine reattached itself to the house, the furniture all got donated to a local Goodwill, and, well, the owner of the house is, officially, dead. There was never a funeral for him or anything. He didn't have too many friends. There were only three people that really visited the house: the man's mother, stepfather, and Lynnie's best friend, a little, sassy redhead named Reese. Reese moved away, and, well, I'm not exactly sure what happened to Lynnie's grandparents.

"Around a year ago, somebody bought the house. It was this couple in their thirties with a newborn baby and big hopes. They took down the ivy vine, painted the shutters a different color, decorated the mailbox, and put a new wreath on the front door. The woman that lives there now planted a bunch of flowers. The place is almost completely different, but every now and then, I'll drive back there.

"You can try forgetting your past, but the thing is, you'll never really forget it. Your past is what makes you who you are. Maybe in a hundred years, we'll have time machines, and we can go back in time and see the Vikings and meet Queen Mary of Scotland, but for now, we're stuck with what happened in the past. The events that happened before this second don't always change us for the better, but they do change us. And unless you want to change your identity, you're stuck with what you've got.

"This was something that took me six months to figure out. I finished just in the nick of time, too, because right about then, your mom and dad were looking for a new nanny. So I put on my good-girl face again. I got the job, and now I'm the nanny for three wonderful children.

"Lynnie is a part of my past. She's not something that I want to forget, but at the same time, she's not something that I want to remember. She's like Will. You don't ever want to forget your brother, but remembering him is painful. You're not the same person you were three years ago, Janie. You're different than that girl. Probably a bit more matured, and a little sadder. You were put in a life-changing situation soon in life. Too soon, if I have my honest opinion about it.

"I'm going to tell you something right now, though, and I want you to listen. Lynnie and her father didn't always get along. They both loved each other, but they were too thickheaded to actually express their feelings to each other. Because of it, Lynnie is now most likely dead. If she wasn't dead, then she and her father would be back in that house, and you would have a different nanny.

"I know that you don't always like your parents, Janie. I know that something big happened a while ago. Your parents just told me that your sister Caroline and brother Will went to a camp three years ago with no intentions of ever coming back. And I'm sorry about that. I know that Will was the person that you looked up to."

"Since when did this become about me?" I said crossly.

Jenny sighed. "Fair enough." She looked at me sadly. "My grandmother was the one that I always used to look up to. She used to tell me these stories about the Old World, and the magnificent Finn MacCool. She died, a long time ago. We're different, though, Janie. You and Lynnie and I aren't the same. Lynnie took a leap of faith, and now she's dead. She took the wrong leap. I didn't take any leaps, and I ended up a widow. I could have saved Lynnie's life, but I didn't. And you? You've yet to take your leap of faith. You've yet to put your trust in something and see where your mind takes you.

"Just remember this, Janice: when you take your leap of faith, make sure that it's something you're ready to lose for."

"'Lose for'?" I said incredulously. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"That's your decision to make. You decide just how much you're willing to lose, and then you take your leap. I wasn't willing to lose my job, and now Lynnie is dead, and her father may be as well. Now, I'd give anything to go back in time, but the past is the past." She kissed my forehead. "Choose wisely."

With that, she stood up from the bed, clicking off my light. "Good night, Janie," she whispered, and then she was gone, the door closing behind her.

I stared after her. "Oh, you have got to be kidding me," I muttered to myself. How on earth a story had turned into a soul-searching conversation, I wasn't sure, but it wasn't exactly what I needed to get to sleep. Jenny might have had plenty of talents, but telling a goodnight story wasn't one of them.

Will used to tell me this one story when I was trying to get to sleep when I was younger. It was the stupidest story, and Will even admitted later, when I was in second grade, that he stole it straight out of a movie that Caroline made him watch. Still, even though it was nonsensical, stolen, and stupid, I liked to remember it.

The story went a little something like this:

There was once this huge lake. It was the biggest, most beautiful lake you'd ever seen. The water was this beautiful green color. Fishermen would come from all around just to have the pleasure of fishing in this lake, because there was the best fish selection in the entire world in this lake. In fall one year, this whole flock of ducks flew into the lake to rest there. That night, they all fell asleep on the lake. In the morning, they tried to fly away, but found that they couldn't: the lake was frozen solid, and their legs were stuck in it. The frost had set in that night, and the ducks were about to freeze to death. One duck in particular had an idea, however. That duck instructed all of the other ducks in the lake to fly away, breaking free of the ice. The lead duck told them that if they all tried at the same time, they could break the ice. So, the rest of the ducks did as the leader instructed. Thankfully, it wasn't much of a problem: soon, they were all airborne. The only minor complication? The ducks hadn't broken the ice. They took the ice with them; the entire lake. The leader was confused, and, in chaos, all of the ducks flew away, taking the lake with them. The lake was never seen again.

It was more than a little stupid, but I never tired of hearing it. The story was one of the tales that helped you get to sleep, no matter what was on your mind, or how much you were trying not to cry.

I thought back to what Jenny had said, about the leap of faith. Frankly, I didn't find much sense in what she said. Lynnie had taken the leap of faith, and look at where she ended up: right in the Underworld. Her father had taken the leap of faith, and he was likely dead as well, unless he was who I thought he was. Then I knew exactly who and where he was.

I shook the thoughts away like water being shaken from a dog. If I was going to take a leap of faith, it would be for my brother, and, as he clearly didn't want me around, I would stick to having my feet firmly grounded on the soil.

I had a story of my own:

Once upon a time, there was a little girl named Janice Nora Grace.

And her brother broke her heart.

A/N: Okay, I'm ridiculously late with this chapter. *sighs* There isn't really any excuse aside from the world's worst/most stressful vacation, my addiction to How I Met Your Mother (and my seeing the finale... which sucked. Royally.), and my massive writer's block. Sorry for the slightly-shorter chapter, as well.

Yeesh. I'm a mess.

Anyway, I hope that you all enjoyed this chapter, regardless of the VERY VERY late update.

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