Olympus Drive Book 3: According to Plan

Chapter 42

Erin

"See? It's not that hard."

"No, but I don't like it," I say, backing away from the person we've been---torturing. But I do feel better. But not at the expense of someone else. But I feel so much better. All that pain is gone.

"It gets better each time," the other girl says.

"That's what we do? Down here?" It's not where I'm supposed to be. I have a date. I have a date. I don't know where. I know the boy with the golden hair. I had a date.

"We do other things for the Executioner. Or we exist. It's nice."

"I don't know if I want to," I say, backing away from them both. They have been nice.

"It isn't easy the first time."

"Why don't you go for a walk?"

"I think I will," I say, and then I turn and I run down the abandoned dark halls, not knowing my way out at all. Or how I came in. or when. I just know I had a date. I was supposed to see someone. Why does that stick with me? And why do I want to hold it so badly?

I realize I'm crying by the time I find my way to the main hall and doors. I'm crying for a missed date. And things I know I can't remember. And wanting to remember them, yet knowing remembering would be worse. Take a walk where? All roads lead back here don't they? I'm quite sure I'm trapped. I want to go—home. I want to go home. I just don't know where home is. I push out the doors and into the damp cobblestone street.

"Hi. We had a date?"

I spin around so quickly I nearly fall. Standing behind me is the boy with the golden hair, all messy on his head. Freckles splattering his soft face, his skin almost glows in the darkness here. He's wearing a green army jacket and yellow hoodie, and jeans. His hands are stuffed in his pockets like he's embarrassed to be standing here asking me. His shoes are dirty. And on his back he wears a silver bow and quiver full of arrows.

"Yes---yes we did," I say, my voice catching.

"Do you remember me?"

"You—play the piano. And guitar, and violin, and cello, and drums. And we had a date tonight," I say, quietly, "What's your name?"

"Sol. Do you know why you're here?"

"I know I haven't always been here. but I can't remember otherwise."

"Your name is Erin. You died yesterday. And I'm here to take you home, if you'll let me," he says, holding out his hand.

"You will?" I want to cry again. I do want to go home.

"Yes," he says, smiling now, a sweet sunny, shy grin like he doesn't do it often enough. I take his hand.

"Come on," he takes off at a quick pace down the street, "We need to hurry."

"Why?" the street starts collapsing into darkness one cobble stone at a time. Soon we're running to keep up with it.

"Because we aren't supposed to do this, hold my waist," He says, drawing his bow and notching an arrow. I do grab his waist just before the ground falls out from under me. I cling to him just in time as it crumbles away. His arrow rings true through the darkness, and he catches hold of a rope from it, swinging us up and into a building.

A hotel with nothing but red rooms and spirits lurking the halls.

"We have to run!!!" he says, taking my hand as we take off down the hall. The spirits turn on us, growling, and start ripping at our clothes. He saves his arrows and instead tugs me into the elevator shaft and we fall and fall.

And fall.

And fall.

Until we hit the dark forest floor. I hear a growling.

"Don't look—RUN!!!!"

We run together but I hear footsteps behind us.

"Sing something—"

"What?" I ask, as we run, I hear a great plodding. Things are chasing us. Many things.

"I can't—it doesn't work if I do it, sing whatever you know as loud as you can," he says, "Then we'll stop."

I start singing, I don't even know what just vocalizing notes from. From practice. From band practice that I was supposed to go to. When I was hit by that car. And sent here. after arguing with my mom. I died. I died. This is me being dead. And Sol came to hell to get me.

He pulls us to a stop and turns. His body glows with a weird warm light, but his eyes, they smolder and grow pitched black, as all the light in the world pours through him.

Then the notes I'm singing get unbearably louder----louder and louder until there is a bang.

And the footsteps and all noises of the monsters stop.

"Excellent—sorry I'll explain everything—come on," he says, taking my hand again as the light fades from his skin and his eyes slowly clear.

"Who---are you?" little Sol Rhea from band. Who never has a girlfriend and can play any instrument. This doesn't seem real.

"I'll explain I promise, we need to hurry before---"

"Before what?"

I stop dead in my tracks and so does he. The eerie voice was directly behind us.

Sol whips around, glowing again, but this time he's cut short as a man in a solid black suit, vest and tie and all, walks up, casually picking Sol up by the scruff of his shirt. The man isn't particularly taller than Sol, but he still lifts him off the ground far too easily, then regards us casually.

"Let me go," Sol kicks, his eyes smolder but don't fully turn now. Like the man is stopping him.

"Who are you?" I ask, backing away from both of them.

"It's all right little one. You're safe at home here," the man says, smoothly, and as he says it I am reassured.

"I want to take her home!! Let me have her!! She doesn't belong here—"

"You're under Helen's spell Sol---wake up! You recognize that boiling feeling in your brain? You don't love this girl. My sister mind controlled you into coming to get her," the man scoffs.

"What?" He didn't come because he care about me?

"No let me—" Sol says as he falls to the ground, "At least let me say goodbye."

"Go home, Sol," the man says, a little kindly, before looking at me, "You need to go home as well."

"This isn't my home," I whisper.

"Yes it is," He says. Then I'm gone again.