PHOCT 6: Redemption, 4

    Drac hardly listened to her. He was looking at Persephone.

    She stopped and followed his gaze. “Now what’re you looking at her for?”

    “I want more information,” said Drac, which AJ knew was a cover for “I don’t know how to talk about this.”

    AJ frowned. Then she put her backpack on again—wincing when the free strap brushed her bad arm—and walked over to Persephone. “So. Lady of the Dead. What did you mean before? About Drac?” She knew Ron was listening, but she wasn’t sure that it mattered. She still didn’t know what she wanted or what was right, so she needed more cards in her hand. Then she could pick one and call it good.

At least that was what she told herself. She'd experienced more doubt here in the underworld than she'd ever felt in her life, but she still didn't know how to handle it. 

    Persephone lifted her head. “Both of you have been infected with the White Bull virus,” she said, her voice flat. “That virus was created by the power of the gods, so it created abilities that call back to that power—like his connection to death—and it also…” She frowned. “Even with the antidotes, the two of you feel almost like demigods to me. I can sense that you once had our power running through you, and that that power could run through you again.”

    AJ looked at her blankly. “Wait. You’re saying that we could be gods?”

    Persephone nodded, her expression neutral. “If my husband is killed, that power has to go somewhere. Either of you would be an excellent repository.”

    AJ turned away, rubbing her forehead. “Oh, Jesus, this is getting surreal.” She looked to Drac and was startled by his expression—dark, focused. “You’re… you’re seriously thinking about this, aren’t you?”

    He blinked, like a man coming out of a trance. “Of course not,” he said, but she wasn’t convinced.

    “Drac,” said AJ, touching his arm. “There’s a difference between trying to make good with somebody and—and taking the whole goddamn underworld into your hands, Jesus, I am terrible at giving advice.” She turned away, rubbing her temples.

    Drac touched her good elbow, which made her start. “Don’t be stupid,” he said, his voice very quiet. “I couldn’t leave you.”

    She didn’t like the look in his eyes, but before she could say anything, the great doors creaked open.

*** 

    The doors creaked open a second time. Ron trained his gun on the crack appearing between them. He didn’t plan to fire, but he wanted to be ready.

    Then he realized it wasn’t Hades behind the door and nearly dropped the gun.

    “Ron!” Rin cried, bouncing from foot to foot beside the door. AJ and Drac exchanged another of those questionable glances, but Ron hardly noticed.

    He tried to keep his gun trained on the door, in case this was some kind of trick or some god was waiting for a chance to sneak inside, but it was like all the strength had gone out of his arms. He forced them back up all the same, but he couldn’t tear his eyes away from Rin.

    She gestured eagerly at someone outside the doors, and they opened further. Ron’s lips parted when he saw what lay on the steps of Hades—the great dragon Tiamat. On her back rode Izanami. They were surrounded by what looked like hundreds of the nameless dead.

    Izanami stepped from the dragon’s back, as sedate as any queen, and strode into the room. She nodded at Persephone, then looked to Ron. He quickly trained his gun back on Persephone, in case she did anything. “Such a greeting, Mr. Merrit. Do you not see I have brought you a gift?”

    “Uh,” said Ron. “Don’t really know what any of you are doing here.” The Ghost pressed hard at the back of his mind—as though he needed another reminder he was in trouble.

    Izanami sighed. “You two explain it to him. I shall be outside, conversing with Tiamat. The two of us have much to do. We shall remain hidden until something happens.”

    Rin didn’t have to be told twice. She and Jesse pushed the great doors shut. Then she tore across the room, stopping a few feet away from Ron. “Ron! Guess what Izanami did!”

    Ron focused on keeping his aim on Persephone. It was difficult when his hands were shaking and all the strength seemed to have gone out of his arms. Rin looked at him like nothing had happened, like nothing would ever change what had happened between them.

    How could she be so naive?

    Rin spoke as though she didn’t see how hard Ron was working to maintain his facade. “We went to Lady Izanami, and she agreed to help you deal with the Benefactor! And then we went to the Slums to try and find you, but we found Arya instead!”

    Ron’s eyes narrowed. “You mean her body.”

    Rin shook her head. “No! She’s not actually dead! An alien healed her or something—I didn’t really get the details.” Ron looked at her blankly. Rin hit Jesse. “Jesse, show him!”

    Jesse produced a FLEET tablet and swiped at something. A video played—a live feed, judging by the counter in the corner. Arya Godkiller stood among the nameless dead, giving some kind of speech.

    Ron’s mind went blank for a moment. “No, that can’t—I killed her.”

    “Apparently she’s really hard to kill,” said Rin, shrugging. She took a step toward him. “What’s the matter with you? This is good news!”

    He swallowed hard. Why was it so hard to speak, all of a sudden? Why was tearing his eyes away from Rin’s face so hard? “That doesn’t matter,” he managed.

    Rin put her hands on her hips. “How does it not matter? You don’t have to feel bad about yourself anymore.”

    “The consequences of your actions have been fixed,” said Jesse. “You can do better now.”

    It was getting to be too much. Ron bit his lip hard enough to draw blood, trying to ground himself. “It doesn’t matter.”

    “Why not?” Rin demanded. She walked up to his side, reaching for his arm. Ron knocked her back without even thinking about it. She drew in a sharp breath; Ron realized he had the gun trained on her heart and quickly tried to jerk back to aiming at Persephone, but his hands were shaking too much.

    Rin was at his side again, closing her hands around the gun. “Ron, what’s the matter with you? We helped you—"

    “You can’t help me!” Ron shouted, his voice cracking. Rin jerked back, surprised by the ferocity in his voice. Ron advanced on her, unable to stop the words. “You can’t. You think you know me? You don’t. This is me. I’m a killer. I’m a person who ruins lives. You think I was doing it for the right reasons, but you’re wrong. There’s nothing good about me!”

***

    When the two new people arrived, AJ and Drac both tensed, but the new arrivals didn’t so much look at them. Not a threat, at least as long as she and Drac stayed out of the way. AJ put a hand on Drac’s arm, and the two of them slipped behind one of the columns—not hidden, but less noticeable.

    “What’s this guy’s deal?” AJ murmured, watching as the new girl confronted him. She seemed overjoyed; he looked at her like he’d seen a ghost. AJ had had him pegged as a military sort, some good guy at the end of his rope. That she could deal with. The girl and their relationship was another question.

    She expected Drac to shrug, but he was watching the scene intently, his eyes narrowed. AJ frowned at him. “What’s your deal?”

    “I want to hear this,” said Drac, leaning against the column, his eyes narrowed.

    AJ frowned, but she decided against asking. Certainly she would see in a minute or two.

    The girl and her friend tried to convince the man—Ron, his name was Ron—that he was a good man, that there was nothing wrong with him. Drac’s eyes narrowed the longer the conversation went on.

    And AJ got it. “You want to help this guy, don’t you?”

    Drac opened his mouth, then closed it, his eyes falling to the floor.

    AJ leaned against the column. “You don’t have to tell me twice.” He looked at her in surprise. “I said I’d back you up.” She glanced up at the ceiling. “Besides, this dude apparently has access to a shit-ton of C4, and I am all over that. We’re gonna need all the help we can get.”

    Drac looked at her for a moment. Then he nodded, tersely, and looked back to the conversation.

    Finally the girl stood at the man’s side, waiting for an answer from him.

    Drac’s hands clenched into fists. He started to step forward, but AJ touched his shoulder. “What’s the thinking, Thane?”

   "I don't have to touch him to know what to say." He stepped out of her hold and out from around the column. “You can’t make him listen to you,” said Drac, his voice just loud enough to carry down the room.

    Three pairs of eyes snapped to him. The girl looked fierce, despite her tears, and Ron’s hand tensed on his weapon. AJ scowled, wishing she had a gun, too. She despised them, but a ranged weapon would be useful as hell right now.

    “Like hell I can’t!” the girl snapped. Ron’s eyes narrowed, but he didn’t lift his weapon, so that was all right. His eyes flicked to AJ, clearly studying her for signs of a trick.

    A man after her own heart after all. AJ smirked, leaning against the column, and raised one hand in a wave, displaying that both were empty.

    Drac took another step forward. “You can’t,” Drac repeated, and in his voice was the kind of heaviness AJ remembered from her last moments in her living body. “No one can make someone else forgive themselves.”

    “It’s not that!” Ron snapped. His hands clenched into fists. “You’ve never met me in your life! You don’t know me!”

    “I don’t,” said Drac. “I don’t know what’s causing you so much pain. But I don’t need to. I’m in the same place.”

    Ron lifted his gun. AJ tensed. She didn’t think he intended to shoot, but he was in a bad way, and people in bad ways fired by accident all the time. Drac didn’t wear a helmet. And despite Ron’s tension, his sights on Drac were perfect. AJ narrowed her eyes. “Better not fuck this up, Thane."

    “I’ve done things I can’t wash away,” said Drac, apparently unbothered by the gun. Of course he was. Bastard. “They kept me awake at night. But now I can sleep.”

    “Stop talking,” said Ron. Despite his hard expression, his hands were shaking. “You’re in my way.”

    “I can sleep because I realized something.” Drac took another step.

    “Don’t come any closer!”

    Another step. “I can’t change what I did in the past, but I can change what I will do in the future. And what I’m going to do is make this place right.”

    Another step. Ron clenched his teeth, his finger almost all the way down on the trigger. Drac’s voice was still even and calm. “You should help us, Ron. It won’t erase whatever keeps you up at night. But it will put you back on the right path, and that’s all any of us can hope for. I know that now.”

    Drac stood calmly, waiting for Ron’s verdict.

    ***

    Ron gritted his teeth. Slowly, he lowered his gun. He wasn’t going to shoot Drac. He’d known that the moment he pointed his weapon. But it was a defense, a way to keep the kid from getting any closer, a way to maybe shut him up.

    It hadn’t worked. And now his words—and Rin’s and Jesse’s—were beating against Ron’s head like prisoners against the walls of their cells.

    Was this kid right? Was there really a way out? Could there be something after killing Hades?

    Rin and Jesse said they had solved his problems. It couldn’t be true. Who would go to so much trouble for him, especially here in this afterlife?

    “You’re wrong,” he said, though his voice sounded weak even to his own ears. “I can’t help anyone.”

    “That’s not true!” Rin cried. Her eyes filled with tears now. “You helped me! You helped me so much!”

    “Me, too,” said Jesse softly. “I’d still be wandering around trying to face down my own demons if you hadn’t shown me how.”

    Ron kept his eyes away from both of them, biting his lip so hard he tasted blood. They couldn’t know better. Both of them were only children. He was the only adult here, the only one who knew what life was really like. It was empty and hard and cruel, and no one ever got what they wanted.

    Rin looked at the ground for a moment. Then she wiped the tears from her face, scowling, and drew her sword.

    Ron’s eyes snapped to her. “What are you doing?”

    “If you helped me, and you’re wrong, then I must be wrong, too.” Her voice was flat and dead. She held the sword out horizontally, one hand on the hilt and one hand carefully grasping the far dull edge. She raised her knee to the sword, experimentally, and lowered it again. “And if I am wrong, then I’m not worthy of this sword. And if I’m not worthy of this sword, then—”

    “Rin, what are you saying?” He turned to her, unconsciously, his own problems forgotten. “You can’t do that.”

    Rin was crying again. She dropped the sword with one hand to wipe at her tears. “I have to! If I can’t help you, then I don’t have anything worth fighting for anymore!”

    “Rin, that’s not true. You’re—” He swallowed hard. “Of course there’s still something worth fighting for. My problems have nothing to do with you. Don’t—don’t blame yourself.”

    “I have to!” she shouted. “I have to because I can’t make you accept my help!” She scrubbed at her face. “And what good am I then? If I can’t return what you did for me?”

    Ron’s lips parted. He reached over and touched her shoulder. Rin dropped her sword and grabbed his shirt, burying her face in his chest. “What good am I?” she repeated, her voice a broken whisper.

    He put his arms around her, barely conscious of it. “No,” he whispered. “No, don’t say that. Of course you’re worth something.” Something inside him crumbled and turned to ash. What had he ever done to make himself worthy of such loyalty?

    “Then so are you, you big jerk,” she said, both hands clutching his vest. “Now shut up and let us help you."

    He took in short, shallow breaths as his mind slowly rearranged itself, as it diverted from the idea from his certain death. He couldn’t do that to Rin—not on purpose, at least. He had to live for her, just like he’d had to die for Paige. “I guess I have to, don’t I?” He tried to make it a joke, but his voice cracked.