“Save him” the blood soaked ghost cried out to her and she stuffed a pillow over her hair in attempt to block the ghost out.
“Shut up” She groaned annoyed at the ghost. She thought Nico was the only one that could get ghosts, but yet here she was. Being annoyed by a persistent horrific ghost, how Nico could deal with them she will never know.
“Save him” The ghost repeated and Hazel groaned exasperated. Who was she talking about anyway? Only Hades would know…or Pluto…Damn Greeks…their corrupting me…oh well their awesome.
“Save who?” Hazel finally asked the ghost but she kept on going with the same two infuriating words. Hazel sighed and stared at the ghost. She seemed around fifteen years old, with curly black hair and blue eyes. Hazel knew she would have been pretty in real life, but dead well she was covered in blood for starters. She seems to have been shot in the chest and the blood dried up on her pyjamas.
Hazel sighed pulling the covers over head hoping to go to sleep. Who was this ghost anyway? She is annoying.
I walked down into the kitchen with a killing headache, I had to take some painkillers later on, in the kitchen I found everyone watching Hazel who squirmed under everyone’s gaze. I turned away and rummaged through the fridge.
“Hey Will can you come over?” Percy called over to me whilst I was grabbing yoghurt then I put it back. I don’t want stuff with bits in it. I grabbed the juice.
“No I am busy” I called back and there was silence so I sighed to myself and elaborated “I am eating, and that is my priority. I am hungry. So I shall eat.”
I went over anyway and sat down in one of the chairs, they stared at me for a few seconds and I yawned at them. Annabeth sighed and Percy just turned away rolling his eyes.
“Ron.” Annabeth asked me and I sighed knowing this was going to appear sometime. I stared at the ceiling a bit tired. I should take my medicine. My head hurts.
“I knew when I was younger, we’re not related to each other but he was close enough I called him uncle” I yawned leaning back onto the chair the others glanced at each other, surprised. So of course they asked the obvious.
“And you don’t know George Darkwood?” Annabeth pressed and I rolled my eyes at her, she already knew that. Told her in the mansion.
“Nope, never met him in my life” Said to them and they all sighed, I watched them and asked “As I said in the mansion, do you all have a memory problem?”
“No, but it is possible that your lying Will” Annabeth pointed out, her grey eyes looking a bit suspicious but more curious than anything. The others were openly suspicious of me, but I had no interest for that, I was innocent, I do not like George Darkwood in the slightest, so if I am innocent then the truth will eventually come out.
“I swear to the river Styx that I have never met a guy named George Darkwood” I said to them rolling my eyes, they glanced at each other and they seemed to accept this when I swear.
“Will…who’s your father?” Annabeth’s question stopped me; I had never said a word to them about my father except the day I had arrived in camp. I did not like the lie I said back then, saying that I was glad my father was dead, I hated it.
“My father is Harrison Cliff, I have proof of that” I snapped at them and stood up “Now excuse me but I am going somewhere away from you lot, don’t bother trying to find me as you won’t”
I walked out of the room closing the door behind me, I sighed in relief as I had just gotten out of a looming interrogation, they didn’t know how I know George Darkwood but I don’t know him at the same time. I know how ruthless he is, I do not underestimate him. Not like they do.
I walked deeper into the apartment, not bothering to remember the way I go to my room. But I found a hall with a grand piano pushed to the middle; it was dark and small, not as big as the other music hall more closely to the rooms, much smaller actually. But it was peaceful and isolated, like I wanted it to be.
I sat down in front of the piano, opening the lid to skim fingers over the ivory keys, the piano was well kept as if someone comes in to clean it once every hour, but it was most likely that the Gods had made it automatically clean. What a shame.
After a few minutes of gazing at the beautiful instrument, I began to play, letting the conversation of my father flow into the piece. The photo in the mansion, the attack. It went on and on and as I played alone and isolated. Like always.
I closed my eyes as I got deeper into the song, my fingers barely touching the piano as I played, my father’s voice filling my ears when he taught me how to play, it seemed so long ago when he taught me.