Prey and Mercy

XVIII. Well if you're Jack then I'm Micheal...Dean

E R N E S T 

I feel like crying. 

And not the good kind of crying that comes from seeing the sun for the first time in days or the one overcome by adoration from seeing a cute puppy either.

I feel like bawling. Like falling onto the floor and curling into a ball kind of thing. 

Only I can't because there's this unspoken rule between me and the other two gods in check that I'm suddenly the brave one. I mean, I'm in my element at last. To hear myself say it is crazy. Absolute bonkers. 

Gods. I know gods. The power wielding, all-mighty, strikingly beautiful sort. And they stand...with me. As useless as they are it's still amazing. 

I never thought I'd miss lung-clogging air pollution, gum ridden sidewalks, and the never ending sound of life that runs through the streets. Cement and asphalt, no greenery in sight.

Looking around, actually makes me want to start crying again. This world kinda sucks. 

The stairs from the shed released us into the back of a Korean restaurant in downtown Los Angeles. From there, I all but dragged the two out the front door, shouting words I knew they couldn't understand in order to evade an arrest.

An uber. That's all that really matters at this point. Sure, it sucks that I had to slam ten dollars cash onto the register so that the ahjumma would stop yelling but we have to do what we have to do in times of crisis. It just doesn't help that the two gods are clutching their heads, groaning, and looking at me with lethargic eyes. 

I'm guessing it hurts for them to cross over. It must be different. 

They lean on each other in the backseat of the Uber, eyes closed, sweat beading across their forhead, while I tell the driver to take us to the nearest, and cheapest, hotel, hoping all the while that it doesn't come off as me kidnapping to super attractive Vogue models. 

The old world still lingers on them, making the car smell of spring flowers and the kind of perfume that could make anyone want to repent all their sins. It's as intoxicating as the other realm had been and I have to stop myself from falling into a dreamy stupor, eyelids heavy.

We get dropped off at The Dixie Hollywood Hotel just in time for Mercy to declare she's going to hurl. 

"I've got her," Prey holds her around the waist with her free arm slung across his shoulders; he looks a bit green himself, "just get us a room." 

With the cash that I have on me it will be only that. One room. 

Bagless we take the stairs to the second floor. Our room sits at the very end of the hall next to a vending machine and the ice box. I end up sitting on the bed closest to do the door, unable to stop my feet from tapping, as the two take up the only bathroom. I'm nervous, I can't help it. I don't know what's happening, if they're going to live to see an LA sunrise. 

I can't handle two dead bodies. I just can't. 

In the world of Gods it was easy. I stayed at Prey's lake house, ate food fit for a monarch, saw strange versions of Bambi skipping in a forest that looked like it came straight out of Fragonard's The Swing, and bid my time by looking at relics used by Valkyries and titans. I felt like I was living a weird version of Percy Jackson at every constant moment. 

Only here, all I have to offer is a cheap hotel, Uber utilities, screaming old ladies, and possibly room service (which isn't all that bad to be honest). 

There, I could get drunk off of the sweet air. Here, I use Lysol to spray away the lingering stench of busted guts. 

"I think we just need to lay down," Prey isn't look to well as he emerges from the bathroom. He runs his hand through his greasy hair and flops onto the nearest couch, eyes closed.