Chloe picks up her coffee. Finally. She takes a long sip, the steam pouring out around her lips. “He asked me to kill his father.”
I’m right to hold my breath. I’m afraid to move. I wish I could snap my fingers and make this whole encounter go away. Make Chloe normal again. I think I should have let her die on the creek side.
“So I did.”
“No, Chloe, you didn’t.”
“Yeah, I did.” She says it as calmly as if she’s telling me about a lecture she fell asleep in. Like she couldn’t care less.
“No.” I breathe it out. Chloe can’t be a murderer. I know what happens to murderers in Hell. Not that Randy’s father wouldn’t deserve death. If he did make it to the Underworld, I’d place him in the chamber with Aeacus and Tantalus and Pirithous. I’d strip the skin from his body and then set him to burn for eternity. I’d feed his eyes to Tantalus and cut his hands off so he could never hit anyone again. And I’d visit him every week to make sure things hadn’t become too bearable for him.
“Yes,” Chloe says.
I shake my head. “Please tell me you’re lying, Chloe. Please. Just tell me you’re lying.” Persephone passes judgment on murderers. I know what will happen. I have designed those punishments myself.
Chloe laughs. “Don’t worry. No one will ever know.”
I’ll know. And that’s worse than anyone else.
“You didn’t do it.”
But Chloe nods, and whether she did or didn’t, she believes she did which is almost as bad. “Randy asked me to. He told me how to do it. It’s why I’m still here, Piper.”
“What do you mean, why you’re still here?” Her words are like crazy words spinning around in my head. How can everything have changed so much in such a short time?
Chloe shrugs. “It’s why I didn’t die. I needed to do this. It’s why Thanatos didn’t take me.”
She says the name Thanatos, assuming I know who she’s talking about. I do. He’s the winged man who collects souls and brings them to the banks of the River Acheron. But I pretend I don’t know. “Who?”
“Death. I saw him there. That day by the creek. But he left me, and I knew there was a reason. And killing Randy’s father was the reason. Don’t you see that, Piper? God, it makes such sense now.”
She saw Death, but she acted like she didn’t? Or did she only remember him afterward?
“I think you need some sleep, Chloe.”
Chloe sets down her coffee cup, now halfway empty and still steaming. “Yeah. You’re right.” She stands up and heads for the stairs, leaving me there at the table. “But I just thought you’d want to know.”
I watch her leave. I do want to know. And I don’t want to know. And I know whatever else I do in life, I cannot let Chloe end up with an eternity in Tartarus because of my selfishness. No matter what.
Chapter 38
Choices
The more I think about Chloe, the more certain I am she didn’t do it. She did not kill Randy Conner’s father. He may be an abusive monster, and he may deserve to die a slow, painful death and suffer an eternity in Tartarus, but Chloe did not kill him.
It turns out I am wrong—partly. When I get to school Monday morning, the word is out. Randy’s father is dead. One of the terrorist groups made good on its threat. They planted a bomb under the steel struts of a downtown dome and then blew it up. Hundreds of people had died in the explosion and in the fires that came afterward, and Randy’s father had been one of them. And now they’re threatening to blow up more if the city doesn’t dismantle all the disperser missiles.
It was a terrorist casualty. Chloe could not have been responsible. She didn’t do it.
The humidity from the day before has doubled, and smoke from the fires mixes with it. It feels like we’re living in a giant brick oven. It feels like every bit of rain that poured down during the hurricane has lifted into the air and hangs there smothering the city of Austin. Normally, I’d text my mom to see what the city council plans to do in response to the terrorist threat, but today is not a normal day, and my life is far from normal.
I head to first period, trying to do the things I’m expected to do, but how can I when everything has changed? I’m not even the person I thought I was. My life to this point has been some kind of fabrication.
The tube is already on when I get to class. That kid from our school is being interviewed, the sophomore who claimed he could predict when the next heat bubble was coming. He’s sitting by a table with a giant piece of equipment on it that looks like some kind of satellite dish connected to a coffee maker. I have to wonder where he got the materials to make it.
The camera zooms out, and I recognize the city council chambers. It’s a full room except for my mom and, of course, Councilman Rendon. Wherever my mom is, she’s even missing the council meeting.
“So what you’re saying is that you were approached by one of these terrorist organizations?” the acting councilman asks the kid. My mom had mentioned Councilman Morse taking over in the interim until elections were complete, but this seems way early for her to be having news conferences. Is she power hungry just like Rendon was?
The kid, whose name—Toby Garcia—flashes below him on the screen, nods. “That’s right. They came to my house Friday night when everyone was sleeping. They grabbed me from my bed and started asking me all sorts of questions.”
“What kind of questions?” Morse asks.
Toby pats the equipment beside him. “Well, they wanted to know all about the HB Predictor.”
The words
Morse nods to encourage him to continue.
“So I told them about it. Told them how it can predict the bubbles.”
“But it didn’t work this week, did it?” Morse asks, and the way she annunciates it, it’s like she’s almost happy the HB predictor is flawed.
“Something else happened,” Toby says. “Something happened to change the weather. Because a bubble was coming; I guarantee it.”
Morse looks down at her notes and nods. “Yes. Fine. So tell us, after that what happened?”
“They told me they wanted me to work for them. They wanted me to predict the bubbles so they could cause extra destruction when the bubbles were coming.”
This just feels off. Terrorist groups normally do the things they do because they think it will help their cause, even if it normally ends up happening in a destructive sort of way. I glance around the council chamber again and wonder where my mom is. Why isn’t she watching this, too?
“What did you tell them?” Morse says.
Toby Garcia looks directly in the cameras, and not an inch of fear shows in his eyes. “I told them to get screwed. That I’d never help their psycho organization.”
When the show cuts to commercial, I get a bathroom pass and leave. I can’t take it anymore. All people are going to do is talk about the terrorist attack anyway. I need answers. My mom’s not home, but I don’t want to hear her lies anyway. Our relationship is built on lies. My blood boils when I think of her. What I need is to find my dad.
I walk out to the breezeway, and when the heat and smoke hit me, I embrace them, letting them soak into me. The heat of the earth is not enough to bother me. I’ve dared the fires of the River Phlegethon and the torments of Tartarus. But it’s still laughable. I don’t know who I am. How can Piper be Persephone?
I head to the concrete bleachers around the soccer field, and even though there’s plenty of shade covering them, I find a spot out in the sun. It burns my legs when I sit, but I force myself to tolerate it. Down below, there’s a man in a baseball cap spreading chalk on the fake grass. Mr. Kaiser’s talked about how fields used to be made from real grass before the Global Heating Crisis, but now they’d never waste water for such an unnecessary purpose.
