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Will opened his eyes to the smell of freshly baked apple pie. He found himself sitting in his mother’s kitchen in Austin.
“Here’s your pie, sweetie. With extra cinnamon just the way you like it.” Naomi smiled and pushed a plate of apple pie to him. Her hands were pristine. No sign of flour or cinnamon. No callouses from her nearly thirty years of guitar playing.
He rumpled the hem of his shirt, the creases he created looks like shards of glass on his palm. He bit back the urge to vomit.
“Ma,” he breathed. “I think I'm dying.”
“Nonsense. You just got here,” She said. The sun glinting from the window made his mother look like an angel.
“I’m not supposed to be here.” He could feel tears pooling in his eyes.
“Yes, you are. Eat your pie, Will, or it will get cold and lose its flavour.” She kept her smile that used to bring warmth to his chest. It scares him now. She opened a drawer and pulled a fork and a knife out.
He reluctantly accepted the fork and the knife his mother handed him. The sight of his hands blurred along with the tears that slid down his cheeks.
“William,” Naomi said softly.
He looked up and drank the sight of his mother. She wore her usual ‘The Beatles’ t-shirt and pyjama pants. Her battered apron hung loosely on her motherly figure. Her hands were coated with blood. So much blood it dripped endlessly to the wooden floor.
“Do not think of things as what you want them to be.” Her tone was gentle, but Will couldn’t take his eyes off his mother’s hands.
“I don’t understand.” He shook his head harshly and shut his eyes tight.
“Of course you wouldn’t,” A new voice responded.
Will snapped his eyes open. He quickly brought his head up and the soft breeze of wind caressed his cheeks. The grass he was laying on tickled his arms. He vaguely remembered this place. It was still in Austin, two or three blocks away from his house. The abandoned playground looks so pathetic, he couldn't help but feel sad. Will pushes himself up with his elbows.
“What do you mean?” Will dared himself to ask. He looked to his left and saw Ollie—Oliver, his first best friend back in Texas.
“You remember Allison?” Oliver asks.
He paused. They used to play together as little kids, he, Oliver, and Allison, until she enrolled in a private boarding school. He nodded, “Yes.”
“She moved away yesterday. To Louisiana, I think. Said she’s sick of this town. Sick of her parents. She has got a lot on her mind lately.”
Will keeps his mouth shut. Oliver’s bright eyes dimmed as he stared straight forward. Seeing everything and nothing at the same time.
“Why are you telling me this?”
“So you won’t fall the same way that she did.” Oliver turned to look at Will and his eyes bore deep into Will’s soul.
“What do you mean? You haven’t answered my first question either.”
Oliver didn't respond. His silence was beyond unbearable.
“Ollie,” he breathed. “I think I’m dying.”
The sun shined brightly, just the way it always does in Austin.
“Stay still, Will. You're scaring the birds.” Beverly’s voice rang through his head.
Will lowered his bow and arrow. “Beverly,” he said slowly.
“What is it, Will?”
He gripped his bow tighter. The engraving on the bow will surely leave dents on his palm.
“You’re not going back, are you?” Will stared into Beverly’s green eyes. He will never meet Beverly again. This is the last time he will ever see her. Beverly, Beverly, Beverly—
Beverly laughed. Her laughter resonates in the empty archery range. Bows and arrows and blood were scattered everywhere. She smiles and ruffles Will’s hair. Beverly was tall. So much taller than she should be. So much taller than she would never be.
“I will come back, Will. Dad only needs me to retrieve an anklet. I doubt I will even leave New York,” She put her hands on Will’s shoulders and smiled.
Will didn’t smile back. Will couldn’t smile back.
“Beverly,” he breathed. “I think I'm dying.”
“Maybe,” she said. “But you'll get through.”
“How do you know?” Will stared at her. Blood started to trickle down her head, to her temple, her cheekbone, her chin. It dripped right to his barefoot. “You didn’t even make it.”
She threw her head back and laughed again, blood came pouring out of her mouth. Streaks of blood rolls down her neck like a spiderweb.
“Lee’s a very wonderful brother. He will be a good counsellor.”
Will stared in awe as Lee’s tapered fingers danced on the piano keys. Will didn't recognize the song, but he knew the original song wasn’t as beautiful as the one Lee was playing. The music room seems to shine brighter with Lee’s music.
When he finished, Lee pulled Will’s hand and invited him to sit beside him on the piano seat. Will pressed some keys. It sounds so sombre, the one you would hear at a funeral.
He hastily pulled his hand back, afraid that his awful attempt at playing the piano would create an unpleasant atmosphere in the music room. Lee chuckled and ruffled his hair affectionately.
It reminds Will of a much better time. Before… everything.
“Lee,” he breathed. “I think I’m dying.”
Lee traced his fingers on the keys. “What makes you think so?”
Lee’s eyes met Will’s. They were a beautiful shade of blue. Even more vibrant than his. More alive.
It was unsettling. Will shuddered.
“I don’t—I think—” The words died in his throat. “You’re not really here.”
Lee dragged his gaze back to the keys. Will hesitantly looked into Lee’s eyes. The sparkling blue slowly turned to a dull, dead, shade of grey.
“Neither are you.” Lee’s skin began to lose its colour.
“Do Apollo kids experience this often?” Will asks again. Will stared at Lee’s paperwhite hands. Lee’s bright orange camp shirt seems even more striking against his ghostly skin, it hurts his eyes to see.
“Perhaps. I’m not the most knowledgeable, Will. I have never experienced death.”
Lee’s colourless hands cracked. Blood flows from the back of his head to the nape of his neck.
Will watches Michael sharpening his dagger on one of the infirmary’s beds.
“I won a bet against Dominique, one of Athena’s,” Michael said triumphantly. “She gave me—well, I asked for—this dagger as a prize for winning.”
Will could smell Michael’s infamous chrysanthemum perfume from where he was seated. He always liked that smell.
“What were you guys betting on?” Will asked. He leaned forward, knees mere inches from Michael’s dagger.
“That I’m smarter than her,” He lifted the dagger towards the light and inspected it with narrowed eyes. It was very beautiful, the blade was made of pure silver, with a jewelled hilt that carved the birth of Aphrodite.
“What started it?”
“She made an offhanded comment about how her cabin is the cleverest and how we all are below her, y’know? Typical smug Athena kid,” Michael answered while twirling his dagger as if he had been practising with it his whole life. Michael had always been an archer, but who knows? He’s a walking killing machine.
Will laughed at that. “You always get so worked up.”
“Well, her mom is the goddess of wisdom and strategy, not knowledge. That title belongs to dad.”
He was met with silence.
“Dad could topple down Olympus,” Michael continued. “He’s stronger than all of them.”
More silence.
Michael looked at Will. “You remember Troy? Apollo picked a side to have fun. He didn’t care which side won, he just thought that it was weird and funny and probably a bit amusing how a guy could break a whole-ass family of ancient gods.” Michael continued to admire his new dagger.
“Even less, Eris started the war. Apollo didn’t give a fuck about her.”
Will opened his mouth to say something, but it feels like someone just cut off his windpipe.
Michael raised an eyebrow.
“Michael,” he breathed. “I think I’m dying.”
“You’re dying,” Michael repeated. It sounds more like a statement than a question.
Tears threatened to spill from Will’s eyes. He looked away. “I know. I don’t know what to do. Lee and Beverly don’t either.” He didn’t know why he mentioned Lee and Beverly. He just feels like he needs to.
“Then you should probably wake up,” Michael said. “I won’t be here forever, you know.”
Will stared down at his lap. A single tear fell and left a dark spot on his pants. “I know,” he said softly.
“Kayla, be careful, you’re gonna fall!” Austin yelled as he ran after his sister.
She jumped forward and held Thalia’s tree, a wide grin plastered on her tiny face. “Catch me if you can!” She singsonged.
“Kayla!”
Kayla laughed as she walked to Will, who waited in camp a bit further down the hill.
She side hugged Will who in return ruffled her hair, all with loud laughs and half-hearted insults. Austin, out of breath, caught up with them and joined the hug.
They walked to the amphitheatre and sat side-by-side. Austin fiddled with his camp necklace for a while before he turned to Will.
“Hey, man, you should really wake up.”
Will tensed and glanced at Kayla.
“You’re alright, Will. Wake up.” Kayla added, voice calm and collected. She held Austin’s hand with her left hand and Will’s with her right.
“We are all waiting for you.”
”Kayla, Austin—” his breath hitched. “I think I’m dying.”
“No, you’re not,” Kayla insisted.
Will stares at Hestia’s fire; or, the lack thereof.
“You don’t have to do this, you know,” Lou Ellen said to him. She sat at the end of one of the docks, had her feet ankle-deep in the canoe lake.
“Do what?”
Her gaze fell far to the other end of the lake, then she turned and stared right into his eyes.
“This.”
She faced the lake again and continued to scan the surface of the lake.
“Do you know why the number seven is sacred?” she asked.
Will shook his head, unsure of wherein she was going. Lou Ellen was rather odd. Good type of odd, but still too peculiar for his brain to process.
“No,” he answered. “Would you mind telling me why?”
“Seven denotes completeness and perfection. Eternal life. Seven represents the ancient gods that were once believed. Seven... is divine and heavenly; one of the most powerful numbers for magic.” She closed her eyes. The howling winds felt like music to their ears. “It’s a sacred number for your father. The number of your cabin. He gave life to the earth; through medicine, healing, sun, music. Art and dances. He protects the young, he protects nature, he protects our herds.”
“Lou—”
“Yet the number seven symbolised misfortune as well,” Lou Ellen continued. “Disaster, even. Just like your father. He could obliterate the whole world with a single arrow bewitched with plague and diseases, or he could simply negate the sun.”
Will didn’t continue what he wanted to say before. Lou pulled her legs up and sat crisscrossed, not caring that the water was seeping into the fabric of her jeans.
“Apollo is the one people should be afraid of,” She said.
That was a lot to take in.
He wanted to cry.
“Lou,” he breathed. “I think I’m dying.”
She let out a huff. “We all are.”
Will didn’t understand, but he nods.
“I’ve got something for you,” said Cecil. Will looked up from the paperwork he was doing.
“What is it?”
“I’m not saying. You have to open it by yourself.” Cecil grinned. He gave Will a little hand-painted black Ziploc. He opened the seal slowly, careful with whatever the Child of Hermes put inside.
He pulled out something that resembled a necklace with a lot of red beads. Ten beads, empty space, one bead, empty space, then ten beads again. It goes like that five times.
“Rosary? Dude, I’m not even a Catholic,” Will laughed. He inhaled the smell of roses from it. “Thanks a lot, but what makes you think to get me this?” He put the rosary around his neck.
“I see you’re stuck in the infirmary every day. Doing boring paperwork, tending stupid wounded demigods... Gods know you need a break. So I thought it probably wouldn’t hurt to try to pray to another pantheon, to get you out of your job, you know, since the gods ain’t shit?”
“Really? You want me to pray to Mother Mary?”
“It won’t hurt to try, Will. I mean, look at you, pale and scrawny.” Cecil pointed to his hand and shrugged.
He choked on the sight of his hands. Pale as a cotton, thin as a stick. Malnourished.
He can feel Cecil’s gaze getting colder. His breath becomes shallow, his heartbeat rate increases.
“Cecil,” he breathed. “I think I’m dying.”
“Look at your paper, Will,” said Cecil. He turned around and left.
Will blinked the tears away and quickly looked at the paper he was working on before Cecil entered.
Name: William A. Solace
It reads,
Time of death: 18:13.
“I am no longer ashamed of who I am.”
Will found himself staring right into Nico’s beautiful black eyes. Nico held a half-eaten ham sandwich, then he bit it without looking at Will.
The dining pavilion was bustling with campers getting ready for the day, but his usually full table was empty. His siblings were nowhere to be seen.
“I’m happy with who I am. I’m happy with you.” Nico continued. He bit his sandwich again. “Why aren’t you eating your breakfast, Will?” He tilted his head, staring at Will with pure adoration.
“Nico,” he breathed. “I think I’m dying.”
Nico stared at him with a melancholic look. “I’m very proud of you.”
Will closed his eyes. He can feel tears coming.
“I’ve learned to let go a long time ago. You’re free to go, Will. I’m not stopping you.”
I want you to stop me, he wanted to say.
“Where should I go?” He asked instead.
“On.”
Tears spilt from his eyes. He can feel every campers’ eyes on his back.
“My son,” a gentle voice said.
Will opened his eyes and caught himself sitting in his mother’s kitchen again. The sun still glints into the window, illuminating the kitchen with soft heavenly light.
“My beautiful son,” the voice said again.
Will looked up and saw a man was sitting across him, smiling softly in a way that doesn’t creep him out. The man radiates warmth that he had longed since forever.
“Dad,” he breathed. “I think I’m dying.”
Apollo shot him a sorrowful look.
“Why didn’t you end the world?” He asked his father.
“Not yet,” he said.
“Please end it.” Will doesn’t elaborate on what he means. He doesn’t even bother hiding his desperation. He’d do anything to go back. He doesn’t want to go on.
“If only I could.” Apollo looked away.
If only. The words echoed in his head.
“Your fare, child,” the cloaked man said.
“I don’t think I’m dying anymore.”
“Indeed.”
Will handed him two obols and jumped to his boat.
He goes on.