“It’s Lexa. They aren’t sure she’ll make it.”
Persephone felt like she’d just had the air sucked from her lungs. Her heart had never felt like this before—irregular and sick, poisoned by a terror so acute she thought it might have stopped.
Lexa’s in the hospital. They aren’t sure she’ll make it.
Suddenly she wondered if this was the start of Apollo’s revenge.
PART II
“The descent into Hell is easy.”
? Virgil, The Aeneid
CHAPTER XII - THE DESCENT INTO HELL
Persephone stayed calm and collected despite the anxiety eating away at the bottom of her stomach. Jaison’s voice echoed in her head, the words he’d spoken felt distant and untrue.
Lexa’s been in an accident. They aren’t sure she will make it.
He had to be mistaken. There was no way their Lexa—her Lexa—was fighting for her life.
“Persephone,” Jaison’s voice shook as he said her name, rooting her in the reality of what he’d just told her. She shook her head and said into the receiver,
“That can’t be true. I just saw her this morning.”
His voice sounded strangled, as if someone were pushing on this throat, stealing his air.
“It happened in front of the Alexandria Tower. She was on her way to work. They said she was crossing the street and someone hit her.”
She felt unsteady. Her body shook uncontrollably.
“I’ll be there as soon as possible.”
She was out of her chair before she hung up the phone, racing from the Acropolis.
Asclepius’ Community Hospital was a modern building made of mirrored glass, blending with the azure sky and dense, white clouds. Inside, the hospital looked more like a hotel than a medical facility. It was bright, clean, and beautiful, but nothing could hide the smell. It was what Persephone always thought of as the smell of sickness—it was the tang of chemicals, the metallic scent of stale water, and the bitter odor of latex. It filled her head and made her dizzy.
She found Jaison on the second floor in the waiting room. He sat in one of the stiff, wooden chairs, leaning forward with his head cradled in his hands, his face shielded by his hair.
“Jaison,” she said his name as she approached. He looked up; eyes wide. Persephone understood his expression because she shared it—they were shocked, helpless, confused.
“Persephone.”
Jaison stood and embraced her. She held him as tight as she could, like she thought he might disappear, too.
“Is she okay?”
It seemed like a ridiculous question given his earlier report, but Persephone wasn’t willing to imagine a world without Lexa, so she asked anyway.
He pulled away; face drawn.
“She’s in surgery. That’s all they’ll tell me. Her parents are on their way. We’ll know more then.”
“How did this happen?”
“She was crossing the street. The driver claims he didn’t see her. Guess he didn’t see that fucking red light either. He was probably texting.”
He sat down then, as if he could no longer stand under the weight of what happened to Lexa, and Persephone joined him. She wasn’t sure what to say because she couldn’t think straight. It was like her mind couldn’t decide how to assess the situation. Part of her wanted to prepare herself for the worst.