A Touch of Ruin (Hades & Persephone 2)

She started down the adjoining hallway when the man called to her.

“If you need help, I can get you out of here.”

Persephone was skeptical. “How, exactly?”

The corners of his lips lifted, but it was like he had forgotten how to smile.

“You’re not going to like it.”

CHAPTER III - A TOUCH OF INJUSTICE

He was right. She hated it.

“I’m not getting in that thing.”

‘That thing’ was a tilt truck full of garbage.

She was wrong when she said she didn’t want the smell of oil and piss. She’d take it, so long as it didn’t mean bathing in rancid trash.

The janitor led her to the basement, a trek that had her feeling uneasy and clutching her apartment keys tight. This is how people are murdered, she thought, and then quickly reminded herself that she watched too much true crime.

The basement was full of various things—extra furniture and artwork, a laundry room, an industrial kitchen, and a maintenance room where she stood now, staring at her ‘get-away vehicle’, as the man had started to refer to it.

He seemed pretty amused now.

“It’s either this or you walk out the door,” he said. “Your choice.”

“How do I know you won’t wheel me into that waiting crowd?”

“Look, you don’t have to get in the cart. I just thought you might like to go home sometime tonight. As for me outing you, I’m not really interested in seeing anyone get hurt for their association with the gods.”

There was something in the way he spoke that made her think he’d been wronged by them, but she didn’t press. She stared at him for a moment, biting her lip.

“Okay fine,” she grumbled finally.

The man helped her into the cart, and she settled into the space he’d created for her.

Holding a bag of trash aloft, he looked at her questioningly.

“Ready?”

“As ready as I’ll ever be,” Persephone said.

He arranged the bags over her, and suddenly she was in the dark and the cart was moving. The rustle of plastic grated against her ears and she held her breath so she didn’t have to smell rot and mold. The contents of the bags dug into her back, and each time the wheels hit a crack in the floor, the cart jostled, and the plastic grazed her like snake’s skin. She wanted to vomit but held it together.

“This is your stop,” she heard the janitor say, lifting the bags he used to hide her. Persephone was greeted by a blast of fresh air as she rose from the dark pit.

The man helped her out, awkwardly grasping her waist to set her on her feet. The contact made her cringe, and she stepped away, unsteady on her feet.

He had taken her to the end of an alleyway that let out onto Pegasus Street, from here she could get to her apartment in about twenty minutes.

“Thank you…” she said. “Um…what was your name?”

“Pirithous,” he supplied and held out his hand.

“Pirithous,” she took his hand. “I’m Persephone...I guess you already knew that.”

He ignored her comment and just said, “It’s nice to meet you, Persephone.”