The Hades Throne

Chapter 2 - Justice

I walk non-chalantly down my street, enjoying the pure bliss of being questionless.

Don't get me wrong. On the inside, my mind is a flurry of disbelief. Every rational inch of me is insisting that what I just experienced was a dream. I must have hit my head and imagined the whole scene.

But on the other hand, I trust myself, my senses and my instincts, enough to convince the rational part of me that that was real. I truly had felt the beautiful surge of magic as I transported to the Other Side, listened to the dead's murmurs as they experienced the afterlife, and saw the crystal clear lake. The landscape spread before me like the whole of space in front of an astronaut, and I actually find it hard to believe that I wasn't there.

It seems that I spend most of the night in the Other Side, despite the sun never setting while I was there. Now, though, the sun is sculpting the sky into a marvel of colour. Bright yellow stretches horizontally across the sky, fading into various shades of pink and blue.

That's when I hear the screech of the tires. I am so entrenched in my thoughts that I nearly miss it, but it is hard to skip over the crunching off rubber and the groan of a car's framework as it shifts to accommodate speed. And, of course, it is nearly impossible to stop one's head turning when you hear the unmistakable sound of police sirens wailing like a hurt child.

They speed by me, crashing over the curb and riding on the sidewalk in order to make the turn. I do a double take. They have made the turn... onto my street.

"Oh god." I whisper.

My body shakes into a run.

Even before I have followed the example of the police cars by rounding the bend and onto my road, I know two things without a doubt.

One: Those police cars are headed to my house.

Two: The rest of what I thought I knew is about to be turned upside down.

My knees buckle as I make the corner, and I grab onto a bus bench to keep myself from falling. Determined, I rise unsteadily and continue to run.

By now, I can see my burgundy capped house, with its characteristic arching roof and wide picture windows. But I am not focused on the finer details of my abode. I am focused on the half dozen police vehicles that are parked on and around my driveway.

A crowd has gathered around the cars, spilling out onto the road and spreading down the sidewalks. Nosey neighbours, curious news crews and observant onlookers alike are held back by a line of police tape.

It feels as if each second that passes takes hours and every step has to cross a thousand miles.

I reach the large mob, pushing through the people in a vain attempt to get to the front. Everyone is straining to see what is going on as well, so I am swept along. I have something, though, that no one else has: fear. I am almost afraid to make it to the front, terrified of what I might see.

The door to my house opens, and a police officer steps out. And then...

My mother.

Hands behind her back, face to the ground, she walks solemnly out of the house we have shared for sixteen years. I hate that she looks this way; even with her face down, I can see the tears forming in her eyes, and the small, soured line of her mouth. Two more officers are behind her, and I can see them gesturing toward a squad car with an open door.

I breach the crowd, coming through so that I am only separated from my mother by a feeble line of tape. I can now hear that the first of the police are speaking.