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There is nothing. No staff, no Paris, no furniture, nothing.
“What the fuck is with this place?” Eros says behind me.
“When was the last time you guys were here?” I ask.
The fixtures all have a thick layer of dust, and when I try a light switch, nothing happens. Thankfully, all the window dressings have been removed, so there is enough light.
“It’s been a while. Paris usually comes to us. His mother doesn’t like company,” Heph says, taking a few more steps in.
A creaking comes from above us, and the hair on my arms rises, sending shivers down my spine. “Which one of you strong sexy men are brave enough to go see what that was?”
“Not it.” All three of them say at the same time.
“Pussies,” I say under my breath, rolling my eyes as I make my way up the stairs.
The upstairs hallway is in the same dusty, barren condition. Dust motes float in the few beams of sunlight intruding from outside. All the doors are open, the rooms all empty except for the last one at the end of the hallway. That door is closed, with light peeking out from underneath and a constant creaking coming from the other side of the door. All kinds of gruesome images flash through my mind as I think of what could be in there.
Decaying animals and a crazy person chained to a radiator.
Pet demon pacing in a trap.
Serial killer having already taken care of Paris, just waiting for us to look for him.
The ghost of my dead mother coming to haunt us for what happened last night.
Paris’s body hanging from the light fixture with a note saying this was my fault.
When I reach for the door, my hand is shaking. I grip it and pull, it swings open and inside is a woman in her mid to late fifties smoking a cigarette wearing a satin housecoat that is so old it has lost its luster and is threadbare in many places. Her silver hair is in curlers, and she is sitting in a rocking chair watching reruns of Dark Shadows on a TV that looks old enough to have aired the black-and-white show when it premiered.
“Oh, hello. You must be a friend of my son,” she says, smiling at me. She looks a little off, her skin a slight graying hue, and her eyes don’t quite focus.
“Yes, ma’am. I’m Athena Godwin. It’s a pleasure to meet you. I’m actually looking for Paris. Have you seen him?”
“Oh, him.” She waves her hand in the air, the long ash on the cigarette falling in a pile of ash on the floor. “He came home all in a tizzy last night. Something about the goddess of war all up on her throne casting down hellfire.”
This woman is bat-shit crazy.
“But goddesses are known for their tempers. He went away to the cabin in the woods. It’s important for men to do that, you know. Have a place to go to think. There is so much pressure to be a god that they must work and work and work, and it’s so much stress. Sometimes, they need to go back to the old ways. Back to the cabin in the woods, back to living off the land. Like his father taught him before he left. Left for his new life, for his new family. My husband was supposed to be loyal. He was not. He lied.”
The woman is rambling, and I am having a really hard time following what she is saying.
“That boy of mine. I love him, I do, but sometimes he is too much like his father,” she rattles more, rocking in her chair. “He forgot about me. Like his father. He brings my breakfast every morning, but not this morning. My breakfast and my medication. It makes me strong, it makes me clear. Clear as water, clear as air. It makes the world clear.”
Looking around, I can see several orange pill bottles, some empty on the floor, knocked over on the counter, and one that appears as if it has a few in it.
Okay, we need to get this woman some food and then get her medicated. Maybe then I can get some answers. I peek back out the door. The three men are all standing there staring wide-eyed.
“I’m going to stay here and try to figure out what is happening. Can you please run and grab some food for Paris’s mom?”
Heph nods, and he and Eros head out.
Perseus enters the room. “Hello, ma’am.”
She ignores him.
“Is there anything particular you would like for breakfast?” I ask, thinking I can text Eros and Heph.
“Who are you? Why are you in my house?” she shrieks, gripping her housecoat to her chest. Note to self: keep her engaged.
“I’m Athena, a friend of—”
“Oh! Athena, the woman who is marrying my son. Yes, of course he has told me all about the golden angel who will bring this family back to its rightful status. Yes, yes, yes, sit dear. I am Ellen, but you may call me Mother. Now, where is my son?”
