Project Prometheus by Aden Polydoros

Author:Aden Polydoros
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Teen and Young Adult Fantasy and Supernatural Mystery eBooks; Teen and Young Adult Sci-Fi Mystery eBooks; Teen and Young Adult Spy Story eBooks; Teen and Young Adult Thrillers and Suspense; Teen and Young Adult Mysteries and Thrillers eBooks; Teen and Young Adult Science Fiction and Fantasy eBooks; Teen and Young Adult Sci-Fi Action and Adventure eBooks; Teen and Young Adult Science Fiction eBooks; Teen and Young Adult Dystopian eBooks; Teen and Young Adult Action and Adventure eBooks; Teen and Young Adult Survival Stories eBooks; Teen and Young Adult Politics and Government Fiction eBooks; Teen and Young Adult Science and Technology Fiction eBooks; Teen and Young Adult Friendship Fiction eBooks; Teen and Young Adult Violence Fiction eBooks; Teen and Young Adult Death Issues Fiction eBooks; Teen and Young Adult New Experience Fiction eBooks; Teen and Young Adult Runaways Fiction eBooks;first love;first kiss;best friends;spies;brainwashing;science fiction;Greek mythology;death;guns;violence;high school;mystery;drinking
Publisher: Entangled Publishing, LLC
Published: 2018-06-23T00:00:00+00:00

Case Notes 20:

Hades

Deeper into Colorado, a dry storm. Each time there was a burst of lightning, the pine trees popped out like teeth against the sky. The wind clawed at the motorcycle’s wheels, and underneath his jacket and unstrapped Kevlar vest, his shirt was drenched in sweat. The fabric chafed his skin, and though he had applied antibiotic ointment to the sunburn on the back of his neck, it ached as if scalded.

The pain tethered Hades to his body, and yet, at the same time, he felt as though he were floating above himself. Riding on a high of sleep deprivation, fever, and caffeine overload, he felt at the edge of a holy experience. A great epiphany.

Though he was using a clear visor, his vision acquired an eerie depth as the lightning faded. In the glow of the motorcycle headlight, the entire world appeared to be drowned in an oily black-green ichor, as if he were nestled inside a vast amniotic sac. The air was wet and heavy, thick with the vinegary scent of ozone.

His gunshot wound throbbed, and it felt as though a hand had reached into him and grabbed him, held him, tugged at something deep inside him. He could almost believe that the hole was an umbilical cord connecting him to her. The pain was his labor. Birth spasms. He was getting closer. So close.

“Mom,” he murmured, and took his hand off the handlebar long enough to slip it under his shirt and touch the slick, muddy bandages, the surgical tape detached from his skin. The collection jar had fallen off somewhere back at the farmhouse, and bloodied discharge oozed down the waistband of his jeans.

With a long, breathless sigh, he traced the groove of his abdominal muscles and followed it down to the damp denim, around to smooth leather, the steel butt of the revolver. The other gun waited in the tail bag, disassembled, silencer unscrewed, but ready to be put to use. Maybe soon. Soon he would find out. Were her eyes like his own? Did she have his face? Share his mind?

What would it be like to have her embrace him and call him her son? Would she weep and ask for his forgiveness?

Something was going to happen to him. Once he reached her, he would know his purpose in life. He would know what he had to do next.

An idea suddenly occurred to him, and he knew at once that it was true: what if she had been forced to relinquish him? Yes, that must be it. They must have forced her to do it, and when she finally met him, her only child, her son, her very flesh and blood, she would dissolve into tears. He could even imagine the words she would say as she hugged him: I’m sorry, I’m so sorry. I should have protected you from them. I had no choice. You’re my only child, the most important thing to me in the world, and I love you, and I’ll never let them touch you again.

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