Page 165 of Evil Hearts

Shadows.

Heat.

Payment.

Crossing.

I’m in the Underworld. I’m standing on the bank of the River Styx talking to the Ferryman of Souls.

And I have no payment.

“An obol,” he supplies gently. “To cross the River Styx, a soul must pay the Ferryman.”

My heart sinks as I look around helplessly. I don’t have anything with me except the clothes on my back. For fuck’s sake, I don’t even have shoes. “We don’t, uhm, we don’t use obols anymore. I’m sorry. I don’t have anything.”

“If no payment is supplied, the soul must attempt to cross through the Maze and into the Grove.” He drops my hand and motions toward the water’s edge, where a small skiff materializes in a swirl of dark shadows. “You are not destined for the Elysium Fields, but you are in Limbo for a time.”

I follow him onto the rickety boat, clutching the tall pillar of wood at the stern in a white-knuckled grip. “What does that mean?”

He pushes from the shore with his oar and guides the vessel down the waterway with the ease of someone intimately familiar with the passage. “It means that your soul will remain here until your body decides if it wants to heal or die.”

“I’m dead?” I croak out and drop to my knees, rocking the boat ever so slightly. My limbs tingle with numbness as my mind races to remember anything that happened to me within the last twenty-four hours, but I can’t remember anything before I woke up on the beach.

The skeletal creature drops down beside me and pulls me into the swirling darkness of his cloak. “You are not, little one.” The energy around us changes as I tremble in his embrace. The charge has my hair standing on end and my skin prickling. His arms tighten around me as he pulls me deeper into his cloak.

My body automatically relaxes into the embrace, the sense of familiarity stronger now that I’m in his arms. I can’t explain the sensation, but it’s like my soul knows this creature. Like I’ve known him for centuries and being with him is like finally coming home.

He stands so abruptly that he almost capsizes the skiff. “My apologies,” he grumbles and adjusts his cloak so that only his skull is visible again. “You just feel… familiar.”

“I know,” I respond breathlessly, trying to regain my balance after the sudden loss of his magnetic pull. “It feels like I know you. Or my soul knows you, at least.” I turn away from him, letting my eyes wander across the desolate landscape of the Underworld as the River guides us toward the Maze. “It feels like the dream of a dream,” I mutter and wrap my arms around myself, feeling vulnerable all of a sudden. “One that I desperately want to remember but can’t quite reach.”

I blink rapidly against the bright, fluorescent lights, tears blurring my vision as I regain my bearings. The constant beeping of a heart monitor pounds into my skull with each mechanical beep. I draw in a deep breath, and my lungs burn like I’m pulling in oxygen for the first time after nearly drowning. My mind reels, and I hear the beeping escalate as the room around me spins out of control, and black spots dance across my vision.

“Helena,” a clinical voice calls, but it sounds distorted and far away. “Helena, relax. You’re okay. You’re okay. Breathe.” The voice becomes clearer, and I feel a pressure on my shoulders, guiding me back until I’m lying against the pillow in the hospital bed.

A marble vault appears in my mind’s eye, taunting me with the secrets I know are hidden inside, but all I can unlock are fragmented images of skulls and rivers and unquenchable heat. I let the calmness wash over me as the doctors push asedative through my IV line, trying to piece together the dreams. Knowing that there is something important hidden there.

“You were in an accident, Ms Trotter,” a medical voice says softly. “You sustained multiple injuries, but we believe the worst of it has passed. We’re confident that you should make a full recovery.”

I nod weakly, not really listening to the voices around me. I’m too focused on the one that keeps echoing through my mind like a whisper on the faintest wind. The words coil around the vault until small fissures begin to form in the stone. Three words that I have no memory of ever learning, but know all the same.

Thymísou me.

Parakaló.

Remember me.

Please.

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