Daughter of Zeus ✔

20

Calm down. Calm down. Calm.

On the ride to the hospital, her mind played through several scenarios at once:

August waking up and not remembering her. August waking up and hating her. August never waking up. When the car finally announced, "You've reached your destination," she flew from the small space and into the building. The hospital was nice, a Prominent-run facility, and fully-equipped. Kressick had seen fit to take care of her husband, and she swallowed the tears that surfaced. Every so often, she glanced at her arm, verifying August's coordinates via Shylar's map.

Five meters from her goal, an attendant tried to bar her entrance into the long-term care ward.

"Can I help you, citizen?" The young man stepped in her path, blocking the particle screen.

"Move." She threw out a small spark, hitting him in the knee.

He went down with a yell, allowing her to override the security screen. He yelled for her to stop, to come back and submit to an eye scan. She waded on, the last stretch. She rounded the corner, expecting to see August's sleeping form hooked to various tubes, but the bed was empty.

Slamming footsteps caught up to her, and the attendant stood behind her, threatening to call security.

"Where is he?" she asked.

"Who?" he panted.

She tweaked him slightly, just so he would be more accommodating.

He gurgled, sneezed, and a glazed hood went over his eyes. "This patient died nearly an hour ago. His body has been moved to the crematorium, in the sub-level."

"How did he," she wheezed, the words barely making it out of her mouth, "how did he die?"

The attendant shrugged. "His heart stopped."

Worse than never waking up. Dead. A scenario she hadn't imagined after Shylar had sparked hope inside her.

She doubled over, hair hanging in her face, tears surfacing anew. Two simple sentences had punctured her gut. She couldn't breathe.

Ada grabbed the attendant to steady herself, and he did all he could to get her hands off of him without touching her too much.

"Ma'am, this isn't really appropriate."

"Fuck appropriate," she spat. "Take me to the crematorium."

~*~

The sub-level was dark, with a wet smell familiar to most basement areas. They went by several unmarked barriers embedded in the concrete hallway, until they came to the one titled CRM.

"He's in there," the attendant whispered.

"Thanks, you can go now."

She released the hold on him, and he whirled around, marching back to his station upstairs.

Easily, she unlocked the barrier to the crematorium, her eyes adjusting to the bright lighting inside. Lit panels lined the wall to the left, a large interface covered the wall, along with a chrome incinerator. One particle slab shimmered in the center of the room, a sheet hiding the burden it supported.

An arm dangled, uncovered, and Ada made out pink tapered nails. Definitely not August.

She scanned the panels individually, searching, searching, until panel 3256 lit up completely. At her request, the panel slid out, revealing a body.

"August," she sobbed, rushing to confirm her other worst fear.

Dark curling hair, thick eyebrows, chiseled mouth.

"August," she whispered, her voice thick with tears. Too late to even say a proper goodbye. Again. She would never get to see him wake up or sleep indefinitely. All of the hope Shylar's revelation caused died a bloody death within her, and she was crushed for a second time on behalf of her husband.

She ran her hands over his cold, naked body. She lightly kissed his forehead, his eyelids, his unyielding mouth. With every kiss, she told him she was sorry, so very sorry. The contact lasted for hours, or minutes. She wished she could stay, clinging his icy hands, but the non-crazy part of her warned her of limited time. An alien smell wafted up from the body, and she forced down rising bile. She could taste the smell on her mouth.

According to the room interface, he was scheduled for cremation in a few hours.

She hated waiting. Ada gave the machine new orders, and his body moved from the panel on particle tracks to the incinerator. Before he went through the open space, she kissed him one last time. Soon, the body was swallowed by flame, and she envisioned the features she loved melting away. She turned away from the incinerator, shaking violently.

When the procedure finished, a ceramic container eased from incinerator, with the lone initial A inscribed on the side. She gingerly handled the urn, expecting heat, but there came none. The grey stone was cool, enticing her to trace the A over and over. She searched the room for a smaller urn, an easier transport to take a small part of A in, and soon, she found an answer.

In one of the wall panels, smaller versions of the ceramic urn hung from silver chains, and she grabbed one. The top snapped off, and she poured as much of A into it as it could hold. Once full, she snapped the top back into place, donned the necklace, and pocketed the larger urn to take.

She patted the new piece of jewelry on her way out of the crematorium.

Close to me, always.

It would have to be enough.