Diabolic Clockwork

The late-morning sun was glistening through the large-pane windows and fanning across the floor, just warm enough on the chilly New York morning to warm my bared arms. My red sweatshirt was laying in my lap, but my hand free hand was playing with my hair while the other wrote meaningless notes in my notebook.

I glanced over to Rachel. She was sitting at the desk next to me, closest to the window. Her straight, crimson-red hair was pulled in a high pony-tail, her long bangs braided at her hairline, her tan still present from her trip Hoover Dam at the end of our school year last summer. She was wearing her glasses over her bright green eyes, which was a signal she either had a headache, she had a lot to thing about, or, on a rare occasion, a combination of the two.

She was the only person I knew that blew off the first week of school’s notes to focus closely on her drawing pad. I leaned over slightly and saw a face, turned sideways ever so slightly. She paused and continued to put her pencil down, then pick it up for the remainder of the class period.

Whoever told Rachel to focus hard on school must have not gotten through to her, because she had a glazed-over look the entire time. When the bell rang, she robotically picked up her books. “Alright, dreamy,” I said, clapping once in her face. “What’s on your mind? You’re hardly speaking.”

“I am speaking,” She insisted as we walked out into the animal-pit we call a hallway. “What do you want to talk about?”

I rolled my eyes as we both walked to our lockers, only a few feet away from each other. I threw my books inside and let the metal clang loudly just to annoy the jock that was blocking my view from Rachel. He scowled at me and then gave me a weird look when I growled at him. Y’know, just to freak him out a little.

“Crazy Twilight fan.” He muttered, walking away.

Rachel managed a giggle, but I just rolled my eyes and nudged her shoulder. We walked to the café, which, in my eyes, is where girls are throwing out their lunches in self-consciousness that somebody would think they were fat, while the male sex were stuffing as much food as they could down their windpipes. It was like night and day in here.

We resumed our positions in the same seat near the door after getting our lunches. She was hardly touching her food - but I couldn’t blame her. Chowing down on mystery meat wasn’t at the top of my list, either. She pulled out her sketch pad again, fiddled with her glasses, and pressed the pencil to the paper once more.

I didn’t protest, for the sake of wondering how she could continue with the picture. I leaned over the table and got a closer look. The face was lean and strong, a shine on his cheekbone that showed faintly he was sweating. His eyes were the only thing that were dabbed with color - a sea-green color. His shaggy hair was darkened by a charcoal black color.

“Who’s that?” I asked curiously.

“Someone I met at the Hoover Dam.” She said absently.

“And you… remember what he looks like?” I asked, sitting back down. “From like, last year?”

She paused, looking up finally from her drawing. “He left a… strong impression. And yes.”

“That strong,” I assumed, and I swore I saw her cheeks turn pink slightly. “Well, come on. Out with it. What’s his name?”

She paused again, fingers fiddling with the corners of the papers. “Percy Jackson. His name is Percy Jackson.” She finally said, seeming to suppress a smile when I let out a mix of a giggle and a snort.

“So, you meet a dude named Percy in the Hoover Dam and now you’re all starry-eyed and drawing pictures of said person.” I snort again and now she’s smiling with me. I grab the drawing pad from her quickly and stare the picture. “Well, he’s cute. I’ll give that to him. But do you even know him?”

“He’s our age, nearly fifteen.” I nodded and listened to Rachel. From what she was saying, he was only slightly younger than me. She stopped short and said, “He was… in a hurry. So he had to leave.”

I laughed. “In a hurry? It’s the Hoover Dam, what exactly what was he in a hurry from? Being chased by monsters?”

She choked on her water.

“Are you okay?” I asked, eyebrow raising.

She pounded her fist on her chest and coughed. “Yeah, uh. Fine.”

“Fine,” I repeated, staring at her questioningly.

“Will you stop looking at me like that?” She said sharply. “It’s not like I’m going to see him again. So drop it.”

I threw my lunch in the trash and replied, “Consider it dropped.”

It totally wasn’t dropped.

**

I walked into my over-sized house when school was over. But really, the house was way too big for only three people, plus a maid and a butler, to live. Who really needed these big-ass staircases? I didn’t get it. The house was empty half the time anyway.

I should probably mention. I lived in downtown Manhattan with my tycoon father, co-worker’s with Rachel’s dad. Our mothers spent half the day shopping in the extravagant stores, normally buying us something they urged us to wear. We’d take one day of the month to donate them to Goodwill. Might as well give the shut-ins something nice to wear, right?

As I walked up the grand staircase, I nodded and gave the maid a half-hug, just because I’m sure she’s been working her butt off all day while the house was empty to make it presentable for two people that hardly come home. Anything to get her check by the end of the week.

My dad still kept around a nanny, a sweet, old lady that kept me in check since I was a little tike. She always mentioned how mischievous I was, how many nannies I went through before she came along and set me straight. Which was a load of malarkey, because I could get away with whatever I wanted, I just wanted to cut her some slack since she covered for most of the crap I pulled.

Today, she took a personal day, so I was off the hook for the time being. I shut my bedroom door and threw my bag to the side. My room was wide with high ceilings. The walls were filled with pictures I had taken with my millions of cameras. Concrete sculptures made of pictures into a shape of something. Rachel’s drawings were also present throughout the room. I was the photographer and she was the artist. It was a give-and-take.

I glanced out the window as I sat on my queen-sized bed. The Manhattan skyline was always prettiest when it was nighttime, not at rush hour. So I tore my eyes away and picked up one of my many, many pointless books that lied scattered across my room. I picked up one that had to do with Greek mythology.

Now, I’m not gonna lie. I was interested in Greek mythology. I could obtain as much information I could before getting distracted by something minor. Or concentrating on the page so hard I gave myself a headache. If I stared too long, the words would start to grow wings and fly off the page. Then I would give up. I was pretty good at giving up.

Oh. Did I mention I had ADHD and dyslexia?

Yeah. It was a blast. Constantly fidgeting and taking forever to read one page in class, only to have the students giggle at you because you had the genetic obstacle of dyslexia pulling the words apart into a whole different language, while the tapping of a pencil would cause you to glance the other way or a flip of someone’s hair would take your mind of the subject at hand. Oh. That’s right. Read the page and not get laughed at.

The task normally failed.

I set down the book and crossed my legs, looking out the window. I didn’t want to tell anyone how much I disliked staying here, how there was something tugging in the back of my mind that told me something better was waiting, something that made this extravagant condo look like a janitor’s closet.

Which had me thinking of my family, a never ending ocean of questions, the waves slapping me in the face so hard I had to isolate myself in the bedroom every time my father cancelled a day he planned for the both of us to do something together. Every plan, every empty promise was always shot down. I stopped trusting him. If he kept me at arms length, I kept him at New York’s length. He was no father to me if he failed to realize his own daughter was causing trouble with the “trouble-making redhead.” (his nickname for Rachel.)

I drowned out the thoughts by pressing play on my Ipod speaker. Nirvana was the first band to play on the speakers. I turned up the bass and sat on my bed listening to nearly every song on my Ipod (and trust me, that’s a lot) while the skyline grew prettier every hour it turned darker. By the time I finished eating the dinner the butler brought up to me, I was satisfied to finally be resting in the darkness that enclosed my bedroom, the only lights coming from the buildings of New York city.

I normally stared the Empire State building longer than any other building. I had an entire photo album dedicated to the Empire State building, staying up late on Photoshop editing every picture in every way possible. Rachel did the same, except for with a, well, paint brush. We kind of had this unsaid bond about the building, though reasons why are still unknown.

I got up and stood in front of my mirror, flipping on a dim light near my bed. In the mirror, staring back at me was one of two girls -Me, Rachel- who still had her real nose and real, honest-to-goodness boobs. I wasn’t all that bad, but that was because my mom was beyond beautiful, though her personality was as cold as ice. I inherited my dad’s thick curly, midnight black hair that I let grow below my shoulders. My eyes were constantly praised for, though they were really nothing special. I got my mom’s dark blue eyes, right down to the little silver specs within them. Rachel said emphasized she loved drawing my eyes because they stood out on my pale skin, that I was her favorite model. But she was my favorite model, too. So, it was all good.

I pulled on my nighttime attire, a pair of jeans, my old Black Keys t-shirt and my equally old black zip-up hoodie. Also, just because they made me look tough, my fingerless black gloves. It wasn’t like I was traveling to far, but, better safe to look like I belonged rather than I didn’t. It was the only part in my life where I had to pretend like I fit in, without really trying. If that made sense.

I walked out the door silently and started down the sidewalk. People were still buzzing from a distance, despite the time. The city that never slept - ever. It certainly lived up to it’s name.

While I walked, I passed Rachel’s house and considered letting myself in. It wasn’t like she was asleep. As I reached for the door knob, a figure streaked by me, hitting me in the shoulder and sending me to the ground. He was yelling at something and running as fast as he could in the other direction.

“Hey!” I yelled, shooting upwards and running after him. I stopped dead in my tracks when an even larger figure stormed down the sidewalk and after him. The creature barked, sending a loud echo vibrating through the concrete and sending me to the ground again. He looked like a dog, but I was too much in a hurry to save myself before figuring out why exactly nobody on the street noticed a huge dog chasing a boy.

I decided to run after it, mostly because going home now and running away from it would be pointless. I forced the muscles in my legs to fire up and suddenly I was running in the direction of the dog. As I passed an alley, a hand flew out and grabbed me around the elbow, pulling me inwards, then upwards. “What the-” I started to yell, but a hand clamped over my mouth. I was being pulled up a fire escape.

“Don’t. Say. A. Word.” A young boy’s voice whispered. I looked up, and faintly in the light, I saw a short boy with dark hair, dark eyes and pale skin. His chest was heaving in and out. “What do you see.”

“What are you talking about?” I asked, trying to shove him off me.

“What do you see?” He asked in a furious whisper. “If you were anyone else, you’d be ignoring it. So you must see something. Tell me, or we’ll both be ripped to shreds no matter what it is.”

“Um,” I say, voice growing with panic. I leaned up and took a look at the animal again, now pointing his nose in the air and sniffing. “It’s a dog. It has three heads. It’s huge. And I guess it’s out to eat you?”

“Good enough.” He said, letting go of my hand.

“What’s going on?” I demanded.

“I don’t know any more than you do. What I know is that this is a Cerberus. He’s-”

“-a minion of Hades.” I answered automatically, my eyes growing wide as saucers. “Wait, they don’t exist!” My head was spinning and I heard my heartbeat thumping loudly in my hear. “Why is this thing in New York and chasing you? It’s the middle of the night! What’s your excuse?” My voice was sharp with judgment and harshness, but he didn’t look fazed until the sentence was over.

“My sister was killed,” He spat back, poison coating his voice. “And yours?”

I tried not to lose my composure, but he kind of beat me there. “Insomnia, and being manhandled by a ten year old running away from a dog with three heads!”

“I’m twelve,” He shot back. “And it’s only about to get worse. So, either you stick with me or take a trip to Hades. It’s your choice.”

We glared at each other, and everything seemed to fall into place like glass shattering in slow motion. I was standing on a fire escape with a twelve year old boy who was being chased by a minion of Hades that only I saw. My breath was visible in the night, now coming out in puffs until I was sure I was hyperventilating.

“I’m tired of waiting.” He grunted. “Just go back to wherever you came from and I’ll take this by myself.”

He started to climb down, and I followed him. “Give me something to hit him with!” I protest, punching him in the shoulder. He reached into his big bag and pulled out a blade.

“Stole these,” He said. “Grip the hilt and never let go. Or you might as well say good-bye to your hand.” He ran full-throttle to the dog and plunged his sword in the paw. It howled and it’s other paw lashed out at him. I got up enough courage - and a little bit of crazy lying around somewhere - and charged towards it the way he did. Blindly, I jabbed endlessly at the Cerberus.

The question that nagged at my mind was on constant replay, Why was the Cerberus even here? And then another, Where did the kid come from? And then even more, How could a nightly walk turn into the fight for my life? Until I lost track of the questions.

I felt the grip on my blade loosen. My ears started to ring with the yells of the people. My pulse was drumming with the screams and I was yelling each time I felt the pierce of the dog’s claws slash across my flesh.

Finally, I found tonight’s remedy to my insomnia: I blacked out.