Percy Jackson, Son of Chaos

Blood, Tears, and Love

~Sally~

It was around midnight when I woke up. It was just a sort of feeling I got sometimes. A feeling that something was wrong.

Unwrapping myself from my sheets, I walked out of the room, careful not to disturb Paul when I shut the door. He barely got any sleep anymore, ever sense he started working a late night shift at an office. I had offered to get a job so he wouldn't have to, but he insisted he work the job. It wasn't well paying, but with both jobs it was enough to support the two of us.

I wasn't exactly sure what I was going to do. Just walk around and wait for whatever bad thing might happen? No. Definitely not an option.

I ended up grabbing the old baseball bat Percy used to always keep around. I wasn't exactly sure why he kept it, considering he never played baseball, nor really liked the sport, but I supposed it was in good use for moments like these.

Silence stretched on, and within minutes I was doubting exactly what feeling I may have actually gotten.

I decided to gulp down a cup of water, before finally coming to the conclusion that I had simply been wrong about the feeling, and should go back to bed. After all, sleep was something I almost never got enough of, and doing this wasn't helping.

I began to walk down our small hallway, when something stopped me quite abruptly. The door to mine and Paul's room was open, even if only a about two inches so. I was sure I had closed it.

At least I hadn't put the bat back yet.

I held to piece of polished wood in front of me, suddenly wondering what good it would to against any really intruder. What if he had a gun? He could simply shoot me before I got anywhere near swinging range.

My thoughts were interrupted, as the door began to creak open a bit. I couldn't see who was opening it, and for a moment, I had a flash back to one of those horror movies were a ghost would suddenly appear in hopes of killing you. By all means, I would have much prefered that over whatever mythical creature could be in that room.

A familiar face appeared in the door way, and immediately I relaxed. Paul stood in the doorway, his eyes staring into mine. Perhaps I hadn't been careful enough as to not wake him up.

But the feeling of unease never left me. There was something odd about the way he simply stared at me, his eyes showing no emotion... and the silence. It was unbearable.

I took a step forward, about to ask him what he had been doing up, when a movement caught my eye.

I stared in utter shock and horror at what I had seen. A drop of some sort of substance had fallen onto the white carpet of the apartment. Its color was unmistakably next to the contrasting color of white. Crimson.

It was blood.

At that moment, Paul opened his mouth, showing the same dark liquid that inhabited his mouth. It began to drip, as he sputtered one word that would strike panic in the heart of anyone who had heard it.

"R-run..."

Paul suddenly fell forward, landing face down on the carpet. An object was lodged in his back, the hilt showing off worn leather. Paul had been stabbed through the back with a knife.

A figure suddenly stepped out from the shadows, as it calmly walked over to the body of my dead husband, and retrieved its knife.

I identified him as a man, tall and slender, as he turned his attention to me. I lifted up my arms, expecting to feel the weight of the bat I had carried with me. It was a shock and horror when I realized the bat was no longer in my hands, but rather on the floor. In all my shock, I hadn't even realized I had dropped the bat.

Even as I lunged for the bat, I knew I wouldn't make it in time.

Sure enough, a moment later, a sharp pain slice through the side of my chest. The knife had found its mark, reaching past my ribcage, and puncturing my lung. The metallic taste of fresh blood filled my mouth, as I felt the life draining out of me, with every drop of blood spilt.

I was finding it increasingly hard to breath, as the man came over to me, and retrieved his knife. It was obvious he had thrown it, and with such accuracy, it was almost certain he wasn't human.

I dragged myself to the side, desperate to reach the bat. Unfortunately, the man had seen this, and with one swift move, his foot crunching into the bones of my fingers.

The man was definitely not human. His strength was incredible, as I heard and more importantly felt, the cracking of my many finger bones. I screamed, a high pitch shriek, as my hand was completely crushed. Even if I had the bat, it would be of no use to me now.

I began to gasp for breath, as more blood filled my mouth and lungs. I began to cough little splatters of blood, when something occurred to me. I had never even seen the man's face.

He turned down the hall, taking his foot off of my broken hand. I didn't dare glance at the work he had done.

Using the last of my strength, rolled myself to the side. Squinting in the dark, I struggled to make out the face of my soon-to-be killer.

The only thing I managed to make out was a white sort of suit, before the man disappeared.

My soul was already practically leaving my body. I felt no pain any longer. I didn't even feel attached to my body, as I used whatever strength I had left to crawl over to Paul.

Paul was long past dead, and as I saw his empty eyes, I couldn't stop the tears that sprung to my eyes. At least we could be together in the end...

I lay next to Paul, intertwining my now bloody hand with his. The silence stretched on, and with it, came the darkness of death.

I allowed the wave of darkness to engulf me. To once again reunite me with my dead husband. I left with it that day, the story retold...

In the blood and tears that stained the carpet.

That even death could not do them part.