Project Pandora

by Aden Polydoros

  Most importantly, now he knew how she had ruined his life and stolen the future he was entitled to.

  Case Notes 27:

  Persephone

  Lying in bed in room 403, Elizabeth stared at the television screen on the wall, watching a comedy that wasn’t funny. She had spent the entire night in the hospital, and now she couldn’t wait to get home.

  A small beep caught her attention. She retrieved her cell phone from the rolling bedside table next to a tray containing a breakfast she had hardly touched. She checked the new notification and sighed. Just a Twitter update.

  There were many messages from her friends at school but none from Hades. Every text she sent to him went unanswered, and when she called his number, his phone went to voicemail.

  “Just one more time,” she told herself and dialed his number. She knew it by heart and didn’t have to refer to her contacts list anymore.

  As she listened to the phone ring, she thought about what she would say to Hades if he picked up. She wondered how she would ever be able to hear his voice again without visualizing how excited he had sounded after kicking Derek’s teeth in. Like he was thrilled by Derek’s pain.

  Would he enjoy hurting me? Elizabeth wondered and shivered. No, she didn’t think so. Just from the way Hades looked at her and how kindly he had treated her, she knew he wouldn’t hurt her.

  He was clearly fighting with his inner demons, but maybe she could be the one to heal the wrongness inside him.

  The ringing was replaced by the hiss of an open line. Someone breathed on the other side. Elizabeth straightened up, her heart racing as she searched for her voice.

  “Hades, it’s me,” she said, stammering like a broken CD player. “Elizabeth.”

  She expected him to respond in that low, teasing murmur of his. I know who you are, Ah-leis-uh-bith Ha-thurn.

  Instead, there was only the quiet sound of breathing. Was he angry at her? Had he misunderstood something she had said in one of her earlier messages?

  “I’m in the hospital, but I’m okay,” she said. “The doctor thinks I fainted because of stress. Not that it’s your fault. It’s not. I’m really grateful for what you did, defending me like that.”

  “I’m afraid he can’t talk now,” a man said in a thick accent, and Elizabeth felt her blood go cold.

  It was the same voice that had echoed in her head just before she had lost consciousness. Subject Two of Subset A has committed the grave offense of attempted desertion.

  “Wait, who are you?” she asked, dismayed to hear her voice crack with shrill terror. “Where’s Hades?”

  “Don’t call this number again,” the man said.

  “Wait, please—”

  “It won’t do you any good,” the man said and then hung up.

  Chilled, Elizabeth redialed the number. It didn’t even ring.

  “Hades—”

  “We’re sorry, but the number you have dialed is no longer in service,” a robotic voice said.

  She sat there, listening to the recording repeat itself over and over again. Finally, she lowered her phone and sank against her mattress, staring at the ceiling.

  No longer in service.

  She thought about the man’s voice. Was it really the same? Where had she heard it before?

  This is what happens to deserters.

  Elizabeth rolled onto her side and reached a hand behind her back. As she slipped her hand into the opening of her hospital gown, she thought about the deep, brutal scars on Hades’s back.

  He hadn’t gained them in an accident, she decided. They had come from an event far more traumatic, one she sensed she was linked to in some way.

  Closing her eyes, she tried to summon the flashback she had experienced in the seconds before she had passed out. Only tactical sensations drifted down to her—restraining hands on her shoulders, burning tears in her eyes, the odors of burned cloves and pine-scented floor wax.

  She felt so close to a memory, within a hand’s reach of it. All she needed to do was reach out and grasp it, and then she sensed that all these aimless, wandering puzzle pieces would come together. Hades, the scars, the man on the phone—these were all pieces of a jigsaw picture she must assemble.

  “Hey, you can’t go in there,” a woman cried from the hallway, and the door to Elizabeth’s room swung open.

  She lurched into a sitting position, feeling her heartbeat accelerate. Could it be Hades?

  At the sight of the strawberry-blond girl standing in the doorway, disappointment crashed down on Elizabeth and she sank into the mattress again.

  “It’s fine,” she said to the nurse who followed on Rachelle’s heels. “She’s a friend.”

  “More like a best friend,” Rachelle declared, stepping inside. She shut the door behind her and regarded Elizabeth with her hands on her hips. “No offense, but you look like crap.”

  “Thanks,” she said drily, in no mood for chitchat.

  “I’m just kidding,” Rachelle said.

  “I know.”

  “So you’re okay, right?”

  “I’m not going to die just yet.” Elizabeth picked at a loose thread on her blanket. A heaviness hung in the air like the static tension before a lightning strike. She sensed that the moment she asked the question weighing heavily on her mind, nothing would ever be the same.

  “What happened to Adam and Derek?” she asked finally and glanced up to see Rachelle’s reaction.

  Rachelle winced as if she had been slapped. “I’m not supposed to talk to you about that.”

  “I’m going to find out eventually,” she pointed out.

  Rachelle took a deep breath. “Adam’s a wreck, Elizabeth. He broke his arm, his nose, his ankle, and a few of his ribs. He’s got a concussion, too.”

  “Oh my God.”

  “I don’t really know what’s up with Derek, but I’ve heard it’s even worse. Like internal bleeding or a fractured spine or something. Apparently, they had to put him into a drug coma.”

  “I tried to stop them,” Elizabeth said weakly. “I should have done something.”

  “I can’t believe your boyfriend did all this.”

  “Hades was just trying to protect me.” She swallowed down the heavy lump that formed in the back of her throat. “It’s not like he started it, and it was three against one, so it’s not his fault.”

  “Girl, I’m not the one you should be convincing,” Rachelle said. “It’s the cops who’re interested in him.”

  “Did they arrest him?”

  “Um, no, not that I know of. But the police have been asking around about him.”

  “He was just trying to protect me,” Elizabeth repeated softly, trying not to think about how Hades had laughed at Adam’s suffering.

  “Anyway, I just wanted to see how you were doing,” Rachelle said and stood. She smoothed out her skirt and glanced toward the door, shifting from foot to foot.

  With a jolt, Elizabeth realized Rachelle was uncomfortable being around her.

  “Is something wrong?” she demanded.

  “What?” Rachelle asked, widening her eyes.

  “Why are you looking at me like that?”

  “Like what?”

  “Like you think there’s something wrong with me.”

  “That’s not it at all,” Rachelle said, then bit her lip. “It’s just, like, you should’ve listened to me.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “About your boyfriend and all. Like I said, hot mess. Hashtag told you so.”

  That was the last straw. Something inside her snapped, and she found herself leaning forward, clenching the blanket in her fists. “You want to know something, Rachelle? I hate when you do that! Hashtag this, hashtag that. It’s so fucking stupid, and I’m so sick of those duck lip selfies you put on Instagram and listening to you go all ‘YOLO’ and ‘LOL’ like none of this is real.”

  Rachelle stared at her in blank amazement, mouth agape.

  “I’m sick of being around fake, stupid people like
you,” Elizabeth continued, “and I’m so sick, so just leave, get the hell out of here, and go to hell.”

  “Okay, I’m not going to get into this with you,” Rachelle said, taking a deep breath. “You’re obviously under a lot of stress, Elizabeth, and have got some personal problems you need to work out, so I’m going to pretend you didn’t just tell me to go to hell.”

  “Hashtag go eat shit,” Elizabeth snarled.

  Rachelle’s face went white. “El—”

  “Go!”

  As the door slammed shut behind Rachelle, Elizabeth leaned against the pillows again, picking at the strip of tape that attached the IV tube to her elbow. Her bitter satisfaction at finally speaking her mind faded into weariness.

  The door opened, and her parents walked in, followed by the nurse from earlier.

  “Ready to go home, sweetheart?” the nurse asked, going to her bedside.

  “Am I ever,” she said and winced as the nurse removed the IV.

  “Get dressed,” her father said brusquely, setting a shopping bag on the foot of her bed. “We’ll be out in the hall.”

  Once they had shut the door to give her some privacy, she slid out from under the covers. She opened the bag and sighed at the sight of the outfit inside. A black skirt and white shirt. Dress shoes instead of sneakers. If it wasn’t Sunday, she would have thought they were going to church. Couldn’t they have brought her pajamas instead?

  She changed into the clothes and joined her parents in the hall.

  “Oh dear,” her mom said, pursing her lips in concern. “Your hair’s an oily mess.”

  Elizabeth favored her mother with a chilly look. “I’m so sorry that you’re worried about my hair, Mom.”

  “Don’t speak to your mother in that tone,” her father snapped, then took a deep breath and ran a hand through his hair. “Let’s go. We can talk in the car.”

  “I didn’t mean to offend you,” her mom said. “I was just pointing it out, Elizabeth.”

  Each time her mother called her by her name, she wanted to scream. Those four syllables were grating on her nerves for no reason at all, and it frightened her. Why did her name sound so wrong now?

  She sat in the backseat while her father drove. She repeatedly checked her phone, hoping that Hades had texted her. Each time the empty notifications tab confronted her, her nervousness edged a little closer to terror. She couldn’t stop thinking about Hades or what might have happened to him.

  Soon enough, she realized they weren’t heading in the direction of the Virginian suburb her family called home, but instead they were driving north into the District.

  “Wait, where are we going?” she asked as they passed a sign advertising the nearby Georgetown University.

  “It’s time for a change of scenery,” her mother said. “Somewhere nice and new.”

  “But I have a project due in French class on Monday. It’s almost half my grade, Mom. I need to work on it.”

  “Exactly how much do you remember?” her father asked in that same cold, distant voice he had used with her ever since she had woken in the hospital.

  “What?”

  “About the Academy.” The way he said it made it seem like the Academy was a title, not just a basic place.

  A shiver crept down her spine at those last two words. The Academy. Why did that sound so familiar?

  “Do you mean Manderley Prep?” she asked.

  Her father didn’t answer.

  They entered a residential area. Luxurious mansions lined the street on either side, properties that made the Hawthorne home look like a slum by comparison. At the end of the street, they arrived at a tall stone wall ensnared with ivy.

  Her father stopped at the wrought-iron gate, rolled down the car window, and leaned out. The wind blew rainwater in.

  “Senator Lawrence Hawthorne,” he said, pressing a button on the keypad mounted in front. The soft hiss of an open intercom line reached through the window.

  After a moment, the gate rolled open, allowing them entry. As the gate closed behind them, she felt the first stirrings of dread, and worse than that, a sense that she had been in this house before. And that something horrible had happened to her here.

  She unbuckled her seat belt and tried opening the car door.

  The handle refused to budge. Her parents had engaged the child safety lock.

  They were met at the pillared colonnade by two men. Even before the car had rolled to a complete stop, Elizabeth recognized the man holding a black umbrella as Dr. Kosta. The other man, who had white hair and a cold, blockish face, was unfamiliar but at the same time terribly familiar.

  At the sight of the white-haired man, her intestines liquefied and she began shaking. She wasn’t close enough to discern his eye color, let alone smell him, but somehow she knew he would reek of cloves from the cigarettes he favored.

  Petrified with terror, she remained in her seat even as her mother and father got out of the vehicle. Her legs had turned to water beneath her, and try as she might, she could not move. If her father hadn’t taken the keys from the ignition, she might have lunged over the center console and tried to ram the car through the wrought-iron gate.

  “Get out of the car,” her father said, opening the door. When she didn’t move, he reached inside the car and seized her wrist with one slippery hand. He pulled her out with such cruelty, a bolt of pain shot up her arm and she cried out. Her shoes slipped across the wet stones.

  “Welcome back,” the white-haired man said in that thickly accented, familiar voice. As he stepped forward, the watery daylight gleamed off the belt buckle he wore—an oval medallion inlaid with onyx, with scalloped edges that looked so sharp to her. Sharp enough to cut skin.

  Her mouth went dry.

  I went to you and told you about what Two intended to do. You promised leniency. You told me you wouldn’t hurt him. You lied.

  Her thoughts felt detached from herself, belonging to someone else, but the panic she felt was her own. Before she fully realized what she was doing, she tore free from her father’s grasp and started running.

  Instinct drove her to the right, along the side of the house. She wouldn’t be able to open the gate, and its sharp spearpoints prevented her from scaling it. Maybe there was another exit, or maybe she could find an area where the wall was low enough to climb over.

  Her heels clattered against the wet bricks. Splashing through deep puddles, she reached the end of the driveway and turned onto trimmed grass. As she followed the wall, one shoe threatened to fly off, flapping loosely upon her foot.

  The property was larger than it had appeared from the street. She dashed past a fountain, scrambled through a decorative hedge, and emerged to find herself confronted by the largest pair of Rottweilers she had ever seen.

  Barking furiously, the dogs edged toward her. They were killing machines, all muscle and bared teeth. Mud flecked their sodden coats. As one of the Rottweilers lowered itself, preparing to pounce, arms grabbed her from behind and pulled her against a firm, unmoving body.

  “Nein, lass es!” a man said sternly, and the dogs backed away.

  As the man released her, Elizabeth swiveled around—and froze at the sight of him.

  “Hello, Nine,” Hades said, and as he smiled down at her, she felt pierced by his striking blue eyes, pinned down like a butterfly to corkboard.

  There was no kindness in those eyes now. There was nothing at all.

  As they regarded each other, their silence was disrupted by approaching footsteps and alarmed voices.

  She turned to flee and barely made it two steps before he seized her by the wrist and dragged her back. His other hand closed around her upper arm.

  “Don’t fight me,” he said and used his grip on her forearm and shoulder to lock her arm at the elbow joint and force her onto her knees. Muddy water soaked her legs, chilling her.

  “Let go of me!” She tried to pull her arm free, but his fingers tightened. For a terrible moment, she feared he would break her wrist ju
st as he had broken Adam’s. Instead, he simply held her, refusing to budge as her father and Dr. Kosta appeared from around the corner.

  “Good job, Hades,” Dr. Kosta said, uncapping the syringe he held.

  “Get away from me!” she yelled, struggling to no avail.

  When Dr. Kosta tested the plunger, a thin spray of liquid shot from the needle’s tip. “Hold her steady,” he said, walking toward her.

  Elizabeth tried to rise off her knees, only to be stopped by the pain rushing down her arm. In her panic, she barely felt the needle pierce her skin.

  “Get off me! Get…oh…”

  Her limbs went slack, held by a force even stronger than Hades’s fingers. Darkness opened like a maw before her, and for a long time after, there was nothing else.

  Case Notes 28:

  Artemis

  Shannon thrust the knife forward, aiming for Tyler’s stomach. A single hard swing was all it would take to disembowel him, and then it would only be a matter of finishing him off.

  As the knife soared toward him, his hand shot out and seized her wrist. Growling in anger, she tried to pull away. He held on to her with a viselike grip, forcing her arm away from him and angling the blade toward the wall.

  When she reached for Tyler—no, Apollo—with her other hand, he secured that arm at her side as well. She struggled to free herself, grunting furiously.

  “Hey, stop!” he shouted. “What do you think you’re doing?”

  “Die, Apollo!” Her words left her in a snarl as she kicked out at him. Her bare foot glanced off his knee, hard enough to make him wince.

  “Don’t do this.”

  “Let go of me!”

  “Snap out of it, Shannon,” he said. “You’re a human being. A living, breathing, feeling human being. You have free will. You have a mind, a soul. Remember who you are.”

  The desperation in his voice pierced through her numbness like a blade of sunlight through heavy storm clouds. For the first time since opening the door, she recognized him for who he truly was.

  Tyler and Apollo were one and the same.