Daughter of Aphrodite

Chapter Four: Sorry?

Three days later, my father launched the missile prototype.

The office phone interrupted Mr. Masters, my English teacher, who was very passionately ranting about Ophelia's death in Hamlet. He grumbled as he picked up the phone. "Yes?" Skeptical glance around the room. "I'll send her right down." He hung up the phone and looked right at me. "Charlotte, your father is here to pick you up. Please take your things and head down to the office."

Eyes turned to me and my cheeks began to flush. I was comfortable when I was aware I was to have an audience, but when people unexpectedly called me to the center of attention, I was a lost cause. I was only able to nod, throwing Hamlet in my bag and standing abruptly. I made it out of English in record time, marching down the hall to the green decorated office where my dad was waiting with a pink slip of paper. "Come on, Char," he said with a kind smile.

My father was not the most handsome man, but with his brown close cropped hair and striking blue eyes, it was easy to ignore the singes he got on his eyebrows from working so hard on all his projects. His sturdy build made me wonder why he never went into a sport like wrestling, but he assured me that metal works were his true calling, and that I would find my calling one day.

When we got into the car, I had to move a bouquet of metal made flowers out of the way. "What're these for, dad? Got a hot date?"

He laughed, shaking his head. "No, I just need you to run an errand for me." When he had all my attention, his expression turned somber. "The prototype set a cabin in the woods on fire, and there was someone inside the house when it happened."

"Are they okay?" I asked, genuine panic freezing me up.

"I-I don't know," he sighed, running a hand through his hair, "and I wish I had time to check up on the person, but I have to get back to work to look at the stats of the launch, so-"

"I'd love to go in your place, Dad," I said enthusiastically, "but can we go get some real flowers? Not that yours are bad, but the copper would look awesome with some morning glory's." At least I hoped it would. Percy had put a similar bouquet together for me a few years ago at a beauty pageant and it had looked good then.

My dad chuckled, rubbing my head. "This is why I called you out, you're so much better at these things than I am."

After the brief stop at the supermarket, I was dropped at Olympica Medical Center and shown to the room of the patient, currently going by John Doe. He was quite handsome, with dirty blond hair falling onto his forehead. He was quietly sleeping, so I left the flowers on his bedside table and meandered to the end of the bed, plucking up the clipboard that held a doctor's report. I wanted to formally apologize to him, might as well read up on what damage he'd sustained.

He had fallen into a coma before the EMT had shown up, according to the report I read by his bedside. There were also pictures included in the report, and I matched up descriptions on the report to pictures. House and mile surrounding ablaze. A picture of a small cabin in the woods on fire. Only one inhabitant inside. Firefighters rescuing one boy. A boy with burns on his face and arms being hauled into an ambulance. Brief meeting on how to proceed with facial reconstruction: begins at 1 pm. I glanced up at the clock; it was 2 pm. Were they able to do all that in one hour? I was marveling at the amazement of the speed of the hospital by studying his face and arms. They were only slightly pink, as if they were only first degree burns. Was that how reconstruction happened? I was about to call and ask Paris when the figure in bed groaned, shifting in bed and sitting up. His green eyes flitted around the room before he made an ugly face, as if smelling something retched. He looked towards the flowers, then over at me. He let out a small screech of shock and stared at me from his bed, his mouth gaping like a fish out of water.

I gave him a polite smile. "Um, hi. My name's Charlie, and I think my dad's missile prototype kind of... well, hit your house. So I just wanted to visit to see if you're okay, and to apologize on my dad's behalf."

There was a system to how I worked: I would give a heartfelt apology and the recipient would chuckle, or blush and say something along the lines of, "No problems, what's done is done."

Which is exactly why my smile faltered when the boy sneered at me and said "I'm Jonah, and I don't buy that."

I was flabbergasted, really. "Um, yes. He really feels bad about it."

"Then why didn't your old man come himself?"

I bristled. "He's busy calibrating the  missile so that an accident like this doesn't happen again."

The boy's laugh was so venomous. "Right, right..." He poked at the IV in his arm, then took a deep breath. "So, do you think you could get me out of here?"

I raised a brow. "Shouldn't you wait until your parents come for you?"

He shook his head. "Please, Charlie was it? I really need to leave here. There are... Ugh, you know what, screw talking to you." He pulled the IV out of his arm and got out of the bed. "Can you give me a place to stay? I have some uh, business to do here, and I'd rather be under the radar. I shouldn't have squatted at that place as long as I did."

I could've said no. What would my father think of me letting a stranger in the house? But where else could he go? I weighed the options in my head. Dad was never home, so it would be so easy to let him stay. Where else did he have to go?

So I shrugged. "Uh, yeah, but we're gonna have to do something about," I gestured to his appearance, "that."

He looked at the hospital dress, than groaned. "Typical daughter of a-" he took a deep breath out and forced out a smile. "Sounds like a blast."

I nearly squealed. Today was gonna be great.