The Jacksons (completed): Book 2 - Percy Jackson Fanfiction

~ Chapter Eleven: NERO

Chapter Eleven

NERO

Esme was in front of me, standing in a billowing white cotton dress with long flowing blonde hair and eyes as green as fresh grass. She was surrounded by darkness in a huge forest, the grey trees faded against the creamy glow of her skin. Her eyes were wide and panicked as she stared at something behind me.

"Don't," she begged. "Please, don't!"

I reached out towards her. "Es..." I whispered. "Esme, I..."

She pointed a trembling finger ahead. "I've given you everything!" she screamed. "I cried crocodile tears to make them believe that you were a good man, even though you're not. I've poured my own blood into cauldrons of fire just to condemn you from the gods. I've shed my very flesh into every crack and crevice just to clear your goddamn name!"

Esme thrust her arm forwards and I saw the sickening rotting gap where the inside of her arm used to be. Snow-white bones, drenched scarlet, encircled by purply veins. I felt like gagging.

Her hysteria continued. "Stay back!" she shrieked. She turned and fled through the woods, darting like a nimble creature of the night. I followed in pursuit, knowing I could save her. Whatever was behind us, I'd protect her.

But then another figure stepped on the path, and she was exquisitely beautiful in an painfully evil way. Her hair trailed to her shoulders and was crimped and curled to the point of burning into a dark ochre colour. Her normally tanned face was flushed crimson as she stared at me with eyes of a matching colour. Her plump pink lips were dark as blood and pulled back into a vicious snarl, revealing a set of lethally-pointed teeth. Her glare was hungry and victorious. Unrecognisable. Undetectable.

Who was she? Did I know her? No. I was sure.

But I knew this. She had caught her prey. Won the hunt. Caught me.

"The girl is gone," she hissed through her fangs. Blood dripped from her entire body, sweeping down her arms and legs in rivulets. She licked her lips with a tongue as black as night. Her eyes gleamed ravenously.

"You've been chasing us," I thundered. "You scared Esme off!"

She laughed. "You cannot trust me, Nerovian Jackson," she growled. "You might think you can but this is my true form. Now. Die!"

She leapt forwards, and I barely registered the pain before jolting awake in a sweat.

I woke up, drenched in sweat. My heart was hammering fast inside my ice-cold chest. I felt like I was choking. It took me several minutes to calm down and breathe in the cool morning air. The nightmares were getting more and more vicious.

It was nine o' clock. I took the clean clothes that had been laid out for me - a blue stripy t-shirt, a grey sweater and baggy jeans with lace-up hiker boots - and changed quickly. I'd showered up last night.

This was the third day of my solitary confinement since the sedation. Yes. Solitary confinement. The door was locked, and food was passed to me on trays through the iron flap in the door. The flap was too small to squeeze through. All of the three windows were barred and then a metal gauze was placed over too. I was completely trapped.

And I was completely past the point of caring by now.

The first day, I'd totally flipped out. Leo had tried to reason with me, telling me he needed to keep me calm and sedated whilst he ran some tests, but I'd kicked him in the unmentionables and legged it. I'd barely gotten a metre out of the room before I was hauled back in and struck across the face by Drake. He could only get away with a slap, but that was still pretty powerful. Despite me hurting him, Leo looked deeply upset and ashamed every time Drake hit me - which happened a lot.

The room I lived, slept and ate in looked a bit like a surgery waiting room, with a rose-coloured carpet and canary-yellow walls. A single iron bed fastened to the floor rested beneath one of the barred windows, with a simple thin blanket and flat hard pillow and greying mattress. A rocking chair sat by a small iron coffee table, also drilled into the carpet, and the table was stacked with outdated magazines and a small plate of biscuits. A sink and toilet were in a secluded room, again with barred windows and nothing sharp. So far, I hadn't touched anything unless I had to. I didn't want to.

The second day was easier. I didn't attack anyone but Drake, and nobody but Drake attacked me. It was a simple routine we'd all learnt. I had become accustomed to Drake's gleeful grin of victory when he beat me, and he had accepted the annoying nonchalance I took to his smirk.

I walked to the sink and found my usual little plastic pot of pills. Three little ones, with red one end and white the other, filled with a sticky kind of goo. Then a larger golden one, that tasted nothing like the honey it appeared to be. Another four paracetamol. And then, two for heart risks. Like I needed all this.

Washing them down with water, I felt the hard lump against my throat. I checked myself out in the mirror; I was a mass of bruises. I'd been in the facility - what? A week? - and I had enough marks on my body as if I'd been beaten black and blue since the day I was born. My most recent was a deep scratch above my left eyebrow where Drake had flung at my face.

This was all supposed to be an adventure. Instead, I was in a living nightmare.

And I still hadn't seen Esme. Or Zarah. Or Dad. Or Mum.

I hadn't seen Mum since we arrived. Whenever that was.

I sunk back on my bed, and became accustomed to yet another day of hell.

Except, apparently, that wasn't happening today. The door unlocked. A kid walked in and looked me over. He had a scarlet baseball cap on backwards over scruffy jet-black hair, and he looked worried. Really worried.

"It's time," he said.

I stared at him. This was the first human contact I'd had apart from adults. And I had no idea what he was saying. He stood slouched over with his hands in the pockets of his baggy low-slung jeans. He wore a loose white t-shirt and he was staring down at his sneakers, not looking me in the eye.

"For what?" I asked.

He raised his head, and I was surprised to see a smirk. "You speak," he said, amusement in his tone. "I was told that you're about as sociable as a bear."

"There's no time for pleasantries when you're being beaten," I snapped.

The boy didn't seem fazed. "Why are you beaten?"

"Because I don't want to be here, mate. I want to be back at home. I don't want to be where I am. Drake finds that the only way to deal with my escapades is to hit me. He's not wrong, is he?"

The kid shrugged. "You tell me."

I paused. "Who are you?"

"I'm a Borne, like you."

"Funnily enough, I'd worked that one out."

He smirked. "Adam. Adam Grimshaw. I control weather and make weather. What's your power?"

"I can... well, like... visualise the past and present. Pretty handy skill."

Adam Grimshaw raised an eyebrow. "Awesome. Now, like I said, it's time."

"For what?"

Adam Grimshaw grimaced. "To see Esme."

My spirits lifted. "She's alive?"

"Oh, yeah! Well. Not for long."

"What do you mean by that?"

Adam took off his hat and ran his hand through his hair. "It's complicated. Come see."

***