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Unfortunately, that was not the case.
He faded in and out of consciousness, just as he had when Typhon had taken over his body. But this was different. He felt Typhon’s confusion mirror his own. When Trivia—no, Pandora—had dragged him through the portal, he’d watched her stride up to the gates without a second glance at him.
Then, darkness had claimed him.
He thought that was it. He was dead. He would never see Mona again.
When he’d woken, the gates had been torn off their hinges, the metal bent at an odd angle. He was panting, covered in sweat, with dirt staining his hands and clothes.
He had no memory of what he’d done. But the evidence surrounding him indicated he’d ripped the gate doors off.
He’d run off, clinging to the small semblance of sanity while it lasted, trying to find help, to find a safe place to hide.
He managed to duck into an alley before the darkness had claimed him once again.
It went on like this for days. Sometimes his blackouts only lasted a few minutes, leaving him in the same spot he’d been before, with only minor changes. Other times, a longer stretch of time passed, and he would wake to find it was the middle of the night, or he was miles from where he’d started.
The most terrifying part of it all was the utter lack of control. At least when he’d shared his consciousness with Typhon, he had known who was in control. But this was maddening. Who was taking over his body?
And what were they doing?
Why wasn’t he dead yet?
He tried to be optimistic. Perhaps this was a way of prolonging his life, to allow him to find a way out of his predicament. A way back home and back to Mona.
But a dark dread seeped its way into his chest, making his very bones tremble.
He knew in his soul that something was very, very wrong. And it was only a matter of time before he awoke to find he’d killed someone.
During his wakeful moments, he had tried to go back through the portal. But he never made it. He was so far from the gate that he only made it a few minutes, a few steps, perhaps even an hour before he blacked out again. And when he woke, he was even farther from the gate than before. It was as if whatever possessed him knew he was trying to leave the realm and wanted him to stay.
That frightened him even more.
What darkness had claimed him? What did it want with him?
And what was it trying to accomplish by keeping him here?
Death would be better, he thought bitterly. There was no hope in this. He was a puppet being controlled by another.
His thoughts often turned to Mona. He clung to his memories of her, cherishing them, relishing them, preserving them for as long as he could. They gave him clarity and focus, allowing him to stay awake for longer.
The only thing that kept him sane was her melody pulsing through him. The song of her soul. It grounded him. He kept the tune in his head constantly, humming it, singing it to himself.
Somehow, just like in the Underworld, his connection to Mona gave him power and strength.
So, he held on to it. Everything about her—her scent, her voice, her laugh—flooded his mind. It was torture, remembering her, thinking of every beautiful piece of her he would never see again.
Yes, death would have been more merciful. So much better than dwelling on the love he could never have.
Even so, he pushed on, forcing his mind toward Mona.
One day, he managed to stay awake for three full hours. His feet were raw and throbbing, the soles of his shoes torn and tattered from his constant aimless walking. Sweat poured down his face and neck, and he was so filthy that he could barely see his pale skin beneath the layer of dirt coating his flesh.
In spite of all this—and the fact that he had gotten lost several times—he had found his way back to the broken gate that led to the portal.
Victory coursed through him, but it was short-lived.
The portal was closed. It was nothing more than a darkened archway. No magic emanated from it. No energy surrounded it.
