Only a Game (Olympus Drive Chronicles)

Chapter 51: Darkest Night

Thief

I can hear the woman sobbing. That's why I go. I'm not afraid. Nothing can catch me.

The woman isn't really there. Just sort of. She's in a pretty white dress. And she's sobbing as she looks at the dark of the maze.

"Are---are---are you lost?" I ask, stuffing my hands in my pockets.

"I'm looking for my son," she whispers, "But he can't hear me. I think I'm dead."

"I---I---I think---I think---I think so," I say, blushing a little.

"What are you doing here? You're so small---he could hurt you," she says, coming over to me.

I shake my head no, "Who---who is y----who---who is your son?"

"He's here—he was here. He's lost. He can't hear me anymore. I wanted to find him. And tell him I'm sorry. And say goodbye," she says, wiping tears from her face, "I'm so sorry I failed him."

I hold out a hand.

"You shouldn't be here," she says.

I shrug.

"Where's your mother? Isn't she worried that you're---wherever this is," she says, taking my hand. I take her back down into the dark place. We stand on the shore of the river.

"Where are we?" she asks.

I shrug.

"Please—just go home to your mother. She misses you," she says, "I would do anything to have my boy home safe. I couldn't protect him. And I failed him. Please promise you'll go home? It's dark here. You shouldn't be here."

I nod, slowly.

"Here you are, found someone did you child?" Charon hops off his skiff.

"Who are you?" the woman asks, taking a step back and nearly tripping on the bones we're standing on.

"I'm just a ferryman. Come on love, let's get you someplace nice now," Charon says, holding out a hand for her.

"I have to go, don't I?" she asks, her voice shaking.

"Pretty much, love. That's all there is now," he says.

"My son---and my daughter. They're both back there—I was the only one who was trying to protect them. Now I've failed them both," she says, starting to cry.

"Look, I'll find you someplace nice you can wait for them, yeah?" Charon says, holding out an arm to help her into the skiff, "Doesn't do them any good; you hanging on."

"But I want to hold onto them," she whispers.

"Kids are tough, in my experience," Charon says, "Look at that little on there. Died a million awful deaths, still running about painting naughty things on my skiff, in't he?"

"He's tiny," she says, looking at me, "My son should be his age, I think."

"Yeah, good age for kids. Come along now, they know when you're hanging about, not leaving 'em. Doesn't do 'em any good, now, or you," Charon says.

"Can I know---I just hope someone takes care of my boy," she says, tears trickling down her face.

"Here, you'll be waiting for him if they don't eh? Good work," Charon nods to me, "Run along then. I'll take her from here."

I nod, smiling a little. It's nice putting things where they should be for a change.