Dionysus (Greek God Romance Book 1) (5 page)

Nothing out of the ordinary there.

She let out a big sigh and put her face in her hands, sobbing a little.

It was all unbelievably sad to her. This place was the best apartment she had ever stumbled upon—aside from the color—and she couldn’t stay, she had to go.

Rebecca sprang up from the fridge, wiped any stray tears from her face, sprinted back to the bedroom, realized she had no belongings here besides what was on her person and ran for the front door.

She opened it and slammed into a brick wall, or rather, Hermes, again.

OLYMPUS. . . WHERE CAR ACCIDENTS ARE NOT ACCIDENTS

She groaned and put her hand over her forehead, staring at the red ceiling once again. A stray “damn it” ran through her mind. It appeared as though she could not escape the apartment or the color red. She said still staring at the ceiling, assuming a god or goddess or thing of myth and legend was beside her, “Any chance this is just an odd and painstakingly long dream?”

A voice replied, “Afraid not.”

She sighed but with a pinch of relief; she recognized the voice as Hermes’. “I figured as much.”

He pointed to her nightstand. “You should eat that.”

She looked at him then where his finger pointed, seeing the Ambrosia Bar. “That’s still there, huh?”

“It is.”

Rebecca stared at it menacingly. It had kept its form and preserved itself against the heat, against the odds, while she found herself laid up and bent out of shape. A thought came to mind, she had been fighting this place and finding herself laid up,
maybe
, the answer was to succumb, to roll with it. She nodded at the bar.
Sage advice, my friend.
She unwrapped it and ate as he stared at her.

Ambrosia Bars, much like ambrosia, were the most resilient protein/nutritional bar. It is said that an Ambrosia Bar can escape a black hole and survive through a supernova. The Chuck Norris sayings that swept America during the early 2000s were because Kratos was relating Chuck Norris to an Ambrosia Bar. Kratos, the god of strength and power, was a huge fan.

She said in-between mouthfuls, “Do you mind?”

“Not at all.”

Rebecca simply shook her head, seeing that this god, or possibly the gods, did not understand privacy.

He cleared his throat. “Your shift starts soon.”

“Why did you hit me?”

“Because you were going to leave.”

“You
did
hit me?” It had been an unusual guess, but seeing as she was in the company of gods, the impossible was seemingly more and more commonplace.

“Oh. . .” He said, moving his hand past his helmet. “Human tricks always get me.”

She finished the bar and reeled her head back.
Amazing.
She felt astounding. refreshed like a breezy summer day with a cool popsicle in her mouth.

“Good stuff, huh?”

She clasped her hands together and looked up at the red ceiling. Took a deep breath—

“Are you praying?”

“No. . . I am thinking.”

“Weird way to think.”

Rebecca put her hands in her face, laughed hysterically then draped them over her mouth as she said, “Why? Why? Why me?”

He grinned. “You may be surprised to hear this. . . But I’ve done this before.”

“Oh. . .?”

“It takes a special soul to find Olympus.”

“Exit 290C.”

He nodded.

“With the gold sign.”

He nodded.

“I should’ve known.”

He nodded once more then said, “You are meant to be here. Some stay. Some go. But your purpose has not been fulfilled yet.”

“And you know?”

“I have an idea.”

“So you wrecked my car and knocked me out. . . um, to keep me here?”

“The latter was an accident.”

She cackled. “Olympus. . . where car accidents are not accidents.”

“When in Olympus.”

“Huh?”

“I thought we were doing a thing. The Romans stole that saying.”

Rebecca scratched at her eyebrow with her finger, covering a frown she reserved for herself. She wanted to pause but then thought it pointless. It was clear, beyond uncertainty, that she was among the supernatural—and quite possibly, the mythical and heavenly. “What do I do now?”

“You carry on. Your shift starts in a few hours. I wouldn’t venture around town until you’re more comfortable. I’ll guide you back to the bar. We’ll stop by Heph’s shop after. I asked him to make you something that’ll get you around but keep you in Olympus.”

“Thanks. . . What are we supposed to do now?”

He grinned a devilish one, a mischievous one. Rebecca remembered that Hermes was a cunning god and had a premonition of trouble. “Come along.”

She followed him to the living room where he sat down.

“Uh—?”

He grabbed the remote and the wall above the fireplace flipped and a monster TV came out; she guessed it to be around the ninety inch range.

It was actually 105 inches and said to be the clearest picture on planet Earth—none had the pleasure of enjoying it until now.

“I hope you can explain some shows to me.” He saw the look of worry that crossed her face and reassured her. “Just a few minutes. . . Before we go.”

THIS IS A PROBLEM, ISN’T IT?

A simple definition of addiction by Merriam-Webster’s Dictionary as follows:

a strong and harmful need to regularly have something or do something

Rebecca had an uncanny ability of spotting a developing addict. The term “uncanny” should be used loosely, as her father was addicted to porn—she once found him in a closet when she was nine playing hide-and-go-seek. When she questioned why the people on his laptop were moaning and playing together, he simply said, “They are performing for me.”

Her mother was addicted to knowing the unknowable. What that meant was she sought guidance in horoscopes, fortune tellers, tarot card readers, ghost whispers and that sort of lot. Rebecca’s home had been a flood of mystical merchants coming to and fro who helped raise her as a young child—her father at work, or away in a closet. . . somewhere.

Both addictions were left untamed through their mutual agreement that Rebecca could only infer at. And since such addictions were kept unchecked, they grew into behemoths, uncontrollable beasts that her parents paid more attention to than her, or themselves, for that matter.

They ended up divorced and broken and to such an extent that Rebecca did not have a relationship with either—she merely identified them with their respective addictions. She did not perceive them as parents and called them by their names, Amena and Charles. Nothing else. No love. No respect. Relationships doomed by the power of staying silent.

Hermes had the signs of an addict. The glassy look, the shushing, the desire for more and more and more. The minutes that turned into hours and the hours that turned into days, a thirst that could never be quenched.

He was fascinated particularly with the Bravo reality TV shows—Housewives of this and that.

“You going to be okay?”

“I am a god, of course, I will be okay.”

“Have you ever been addicted to something?”

He glanced at her then back at the TV. “It is impossible for me to get addicted to something.”

“Why’s that?”

“Because I said it’s impossible.”

“So that makes it true?”

“The Greeks thought so.”

“Well, I don’t.”

He snorted.

“What happens when I come back and you’re still watching?”

“Then I will be watching.”

“And if I try to leave again?”

“Someone will stop you.”

“Isn’t that your job?”

“Hmmm”—he thought for a moment—“this character seems to lack morality, how peculiar in a mortal.”

She sighed. “Is this your first time watching TV?”

He nodded absently. “No one would let me.”

“No one would let you?”

“Messages. Tasks. Commerce. Places to be. The old man said I couldn’t be distracted.”

“But you are being distracted.”

He nodded.

“This is a problem, isn’t it?”

He nodded again.

“Is this my task?”

He said distantly, “One never knows.”

Exasperated, she went to the kitchen and opened the fridge. A beam of light gushed from it.

Apollo’s voice boomed through, “Your shift starts now.”

Startled but finding her voice, she answered, “I don’t know how to get there.”

“Step inside.”

“Step inside the fridge?”

“Step inside.”

She took a deep breath. A god sat on her couch eyes glazed over, watching TV, while another commanded her to step inside a refrigerator. With no where else to go, her car smashed and Hermes incapacitated. . . There didn’t seem to be any place safer than the refrigerator.

I WONDER WHO WILL SHOW UP

Rebecca arrived at the bar through the walk-in refrigerator in the kitchen. She felt an icy sensation run through her body, but overall, a mundane experience for walking into one fridge and out another.

Apollo, the god of light, is able to travel between two light sources. For inexplicable reasons known only to himself, he liked to mainly travel between refrigerators.

She walked from the kitchen out into the bar and was greeted by no one. None were at the bar. The lighting was noticeably dimmer without Apollo around; however, not being blinded by his light, she could make out more details of the bar like the murky mirror that was long overdue for a cleaning and the liquor bottles lining the shelves in back, mostly Greek. Ironically, the glassware was pristine. The only thing not caked in a layer of grime.

This was because Apollo liked to be seen as “busy” when at The Old Watering Hole. Any request made of him by another god or goddess was replied, “I have glasses to clean.” He despised doing things for others.

Apollo left a note by the register:

Hear ye, hear ye

 
wait you shall

to find a pal

many are of the night

don’t look Medusa in the eye

bye, bye.

-Apollo

That more than anything, more than traveling between refrigerators mere moments ago, confirmed they were old and gods to Rebecca. She was of the generation where signing something clearly from the sender was a habitual trait of the elderly. This made Apollo, in her mind, much older than his twenty-five year old appearance—or rather, from what she could gleam behind the intense light that encapsulated him. He was like the sun, she could not stare directly at him.

Rebecca scoffed and pocketed the note. She went to the register and opened it up to find gold coins with the face of a bearded man with curly hair and a wreath over his head.
Must be Zeus.

She was correct. Zeus was unbelievably vain. If she had been paying closer attention, she would have noticed he stamped his face on everything in Olympus.

She fingered the coin in her hand.
Gold, it has to be.
She grabbed a knife and started to try and cut into it.
Nothing.
She looked at the register drawer in awe. She could start a whole new life with what was in the till—if she could get out of Olympus with it. She sighed, with no ride, no where to go, and unsure how to get back to her new place, it appeared to be a hopeless crime. She flicked the coin back in the register, grabbed a bar stool from around the counter, sat down and kicked up her legs.

I wonder who will show up.

ALL WOMEN HAVE DEADLY EYES

Dionysus walked up to The Old Watering Hole.

He threw his hands at the doorway and the doors blew open. He said, “Good. I made just in time.”

The crowd of mythological monsters parted like Moses’ Red Sea and made a clear path to the god’s favorite stool.

Dionysus had meant to make that statement as he walked in when Rebecca’s shift started and no one was there. He knew, as all the gods knew, that Zeus had given the monsters free reign of Olympus at night. He had choice words for Apollo for sticking Rebecca on the night shift, but Apollo shrugged and retorted, “I’ve never been a night person.” That had ended the conversation to Dionysus’ ire.

He had overslept, and admitting nothing, walked up to his stool and sat down as if that had been his intention all along.

 Rebecca smirked, wiping down a spot on the counter that a Cyclops had drooled on. “You’re late.”

“Did you not hear me? I made it just in time.”