Omega Series: Omega Part 16

The nothingness had retreated. The house had a backyard, complete with a picket fence, tree house and a sandbox. Toys were scattered across the yard, and if I leaned out the window, I'd see a small herb garden beneath the kitchen window, next to a ...

How do I know that? I didn't recall ever seeing Mrs. Nettles or the house or the backyard before. Why was I certain of the herb garden?

I was starting to remember.

"Mrs. Nettles! Can you find him?"

I whirled. A little girl around the age of six bolted into the room, faded and transparent, a ghost in every aspect. She was trailed by the ghostly version of Mrs. Nettles. They searched for someone or something before she crossed to the dresser and opened the bottom drawer. She pulled out a brilliant blue-green gem that glowed unnaturally before she hurried out the door.

My heart was starting to pound harder, and my instincts tingled. I touched the teal gem beneath my t-shirt and tugged it out. It was identical to the little girl's.

My Mrs. Nettles was waddling towards the door.

I followed her and reached the door in time to see the spectral girl race down the stairs. Sweeping Mrs. Nettles up, I hurried down the stairs, following her. She darted out the back door and towards the tree in the corner of the backyard. I watched her climb the ladder on the trunk to reach the tree house then disappear inside.

The sounds of men shouting from behind us made me reach for my knife. I slunk through the house to the front door just as it burst open, and I was overrun by men in black uniforms.

I cried out, startled, and stumbled back, slashing at the figures.

But these were ghosts, like the girl. After the brief heart attack, I realized they couldn't see or hear me at all and grew braver. I walked out front to see the world had grown once more. The house was one of many identical ones lining a street in the suburbs. The men originated from one of five black vans. Several were huddled around one van. I was about to go inside to see what happened to the little girl when I caught a flash of red in the moonlight.

I'd recognize Herakles' hair and size anywhere. I started towards him, wondering if he could see me. My step slowed as I waded through the spectral figures around him. This Herakles I'd only seen in old pictures.

Gorgeous, handsome, bearing none of the scars he did now, Herakles was twenty three, at the peak of his physical shape, dressed in black fatigues like the other men and issuing orders from the iPad in his hands.

"No parents!" someone cried from the door of the house.

"They're already dead," Herakles said without looking up. "Saw to it yesterday, after they revealed her location."

My breath caught. This isn't my Herakles. I'd never heard that tone or seen that expression on his face. I didn't like either. My Herakles was a gentle athlete, not ... this.

"We've got her! She's trapped in her tree house," a soldier said, hurrying towards them. "This way."

"Thank the G.o.ds. I'll be glad to get this over with," Herakles said.

"Quite a change from being the People's Champion," another man said beside him.

"Yeah. Master's orders."

Master? I didn't want to see what happened next. My Herakles didn't deserve to have his honor and goodness besmirched by this bizarre place. As far as I knew, he never had a master, unless he was talking about the benefactor who sponsored him at the Olympics.

"What in Olympus is that?" someone gasped.

They all looked up, and I did as well. A creature I never knew existed before last week soared overhead, its grey body blending in with the partially cloudy sky. Eyes glowed teal, and he pa.s.sed with the threat, silence and intensity of a thunderhead.

Grotesque. My heart quickened once more. The creature was headed towards the backyard. I watched it, unable to explain how my whole body seemed to come alive when I saw him. My heartbeat turned erratic and blood roared in my ears almost too loudly for me to hear. I was fevered, thrilled yet scared, curious and dreading all at once.

I raced through the house to the backyard, wishing I could warn the little girl it was coming, and stopped cold.

The grotesque was tearing into Herakles' men. His tail, fangs and claws shredded anyone that came near. I watched, somewhat disgusted, and uncertain whose side anyone was on. His agility, his feline speed and strength, were somehow ... familiar.

The four men were soon in pieces, torn limb from limb. The grotesque straightened and looked around, tail tapping the tree, before he lifted into the air effortlessly. He went to the opening of the tree house, and my breath caught.

I hurried forward instinctively. "Don't hurt her!" I cried at the ghost that couldn't see me.

To my surprise, the girl emerged cautiously from the house and smiled at the grotesque. It wrapped her in one arm and picked up Mrs. Nettles as well. She laughed as the creature lifted her into the air over her house. The monster wobbled in midair, as if unaccustomed to carrying others.

Herakles and two others raced around the side of the house. The men with him fired their weapons at the grotesque, which hovered closer to the rooftop. If he were hit by a bullet, he didn't show it.

"We need something bigger!" one of the attackers called.

The grotesque began to rise straight up into the sky.

"I got this." Without any sign of strain at all, Herakles wrenched a picket free from the fence, positioned himself as if throwing a javelin, and launched it straight up.

Even I doubted he'd get anywhere close to the grotesque flying twenty meters over the house.

But he did. The picket pierced one wing and pinned it to the side of the monster, running all the way through him to stick out of his other side.

A roar shook the windows of the house, and suddenly, the creature and girl were falling.

"No," I whispered, horrified.

The girl came free from the monster's arms as they tumbled out of the sky, screaming as she did.

One of the men cursed, but Herakles trotted a short distance, spread his legs wide and held out his arms.

Falling ... and Herakles caught me. I shook my head, suddenly dizzy, suddenly able to feel the air rushing through my hair as I fell once more ...

Down, from the night sky ...

Down, from the arms of the creature trying to rescue me ...

Down, into Herakles' arms.

I dropped to my knees, struggling to right myself. Mrs. Nettles tugged free and waddled away. Blinking, I forced my mind to focus here and now and not on the dream.

Herakles had the girl. The grotesque smashed through the roof then crashed through the first and second floors, sounding as if he landed on and crushed the kitchen table.

"It's okay." Herakles' voice was gruff.

The other men were panicking, one calling for an ambulance while another barked for someone to bring a first aid kit.

I climbed to my feet and approached, fearfully watching Herakles and the girl. She was shaking and scared, staring not at Herakles but into the air above his head.

"Is your name Alessandra?" he asked.

My heart dropped to my feet.

The girl nodded.

"My name is Herakles."

"Bad people," she whispered.

"Not bad. You're special, and we've been trying to find you."

"You're ... hurt." She was staring at the air above him. "Broken."

Herakles breath caught audibly. "What did you say?"

"The ribbons. They're broken."

I blinked. I'd done my best to cancel out the ribbons around everything to concentrate on what I was watching. I saw what she meant. Herakles had four ribbons, but the colors were tie-died rather than solid, the edges jagged instead of smooth. They appeared to have been st.i.tched together from other ribbons.

Frankenstein. He referred to himself as such on occasion. I thought it was because of his size. I saw the truth now, the confused Franken-ribbons unique to him.

"I can fix them." Baby Alessandra raised her hands and began to manipulate them, using her fingers to smooth and shift them.

Herakles staggered and dropped to his knees, releasing her. She rolled free of him with a grunt and then sat up, appearing irritated to have been disturbed before she finished. She continued to manipulate the ribbons until the edges smoothed out and the colors were uniform.

Herakles contorted on the ground as she worked. When she was finished, he fell still, panting and sweating.

"Now we have to save Mismatch," the girl said and stood.

"Mis ... what?" Herakles struggled to lift his head.

"My gargoyle." She started towards the house.

"Stop!" he called. "You can't ... it's dangerous." With some effort, Herakles pushed himself to his feet and staggered forward before regaining some part of his composure. "What did you do to me?"

"The ribbons." She pointed.

Herakles pa.s.sed a hand over his head as if to see what was there then brought his hand before his face. He stared at it before he looked down at his body. "This isn't me. This isn't who I am."

"Mismatch!" Alessandra cried.

I circled Herakles. The coldness was gone from his features, and he appeared ... aware where he was mechanical before. He had been broken or at least, not quite right, as little-me said. I didn't understand the source of his Franken-ribbons. Something terrible had happened to him, perhaps in the youth he refused to reveal to me.

"Herakles! The Supreme Magistrate is on the way. We need to get her to the House," someone called.

His face skewed in response, and he glanced towards the girl making her way up the stairs. Herakles s.n.a.t.c.hed her.

"But " she started to object.

"Quiet. The bad people are coming. We need to leave."

He took her out the back gate and disappeared into the night.

The scene faded. I was standing behind the house. The yard was gone, along with the men.

Realizing how tightly my chest was clenched, I bent over and took several deep, steadying breaths.

I was slow sometimes, but even I understood what I'd seen.

Me. Herakles. The forgotten events of the night that changed my life. But was it real?

Yes. I felt it just like I felt the gem at my chest belonged to me, like my grotesque had belonged to me.

Herakles killed my parents. He was going to turn me over to the people he hated most in the world. My protector, like everyone else in my life, wasn't who I thought he was. I ached inside. The man I never thought could disappoint me had turned out not to exist.

"Don't freak out, Lyssa," I whispered, sucking in air.

Aurora was lining the horizon. With no concept of how time worked here, I forced myself to straighten. Mrs. Nettles was standing in the doorway.

"So, were you ... mine?" I asked as I approached, straining to control the emotions.

She nodded. Mrs. Nettles. Turning, she pointed towards the kitchen.

Not at all certain I was ready to see what happened next, I went.

The grotesque lay in the center, a pool of dark blood beneath him. The ghost Mrs. Nettles was tugging the picket out of his side. I felt bad for her, wanting to tell her no one could survive such a wound except ...

I had seen him. I knew he did. Somehow.

Five ribbons floated around him, one of which was green.

The sun came up, albeit not as fast as it went down, and something even more incredible began to happen.

The monster became human. Its change was silent. Wings melted away, and the athletic, feline body turned from gray to olive-skinned. Dark hair grew on his head, and the talons withdrew into him.

"No!" I breathed. "It can't be!"

By daylight, the grotesque was Adonis.

"No, no, no!"

But, similar to Herakles, he wasn't the Adonis I knew. He was younger for one, in his teens. When he awoke, his expressions were open and aware instead of cold and withdrawn, his gorgeous eyes warm. He sobbed out of pain, and spoke gently to Mrs. Nettles.

"Is no one who they seem to be?" I whispered, stricken by the sight of anyone in pain. "He tried to rescue me."

He's yours. Mrs. Nettles' tiny voice said into my head.

"Mine." I didn't understand fully what that meant or how this man was the same who slaughtered people right and left, who kidnapped Herakles, destroyed my forest and was universally feared and hated by everyone. What changed? Why had he wanted to rescue me when I was a child and turn me over to the Sacred Triumvirate now?

Confusion was trumped only by helplessness at seeing him hurt. Whatever our past and present, I ached for him strongly enough that tears p.r.i.c.ked my eyes and I resisted the urge to weep. We were connected on a level I had no clue existed but which made his pain real to me.

I wiped my eyes. "Dream. Memories. Not real."