*DISCLAIMER DISCLAIMER*PJO belongs to Rick Riordan (otherwise I would not be on this site)
*I rated this story 'T' because I DO NOT WANT TO GET SUED
*This is the 2nd story I ever wrote so don't judge me
The man was on the run.
You couldn't tell he was on the run, of course. The man was in his mid-40's, and he looked like he was dressed for work, in his tie and polished shoes, with diamond-patterned socks. He wore wire-framed glasses that were always slipping down the bridge of his nose. He carried a briefcase, and he was constantly checking his watch. The man entered a bakery, and ordered a coffee and a donut. There was a girl wiping down the tables, observing the nervous-looking man from where she was cleaning. He looked a bit strange. Oh well, she thought. He wasn't anything special, she decided. This man was just another customer, picking up his breakfast and running late for work. He obviously wasn't of interest. Neither was she, of course. She was just another high-school girl working a weekend job. The girl, sensing that the rag was drying up, went to the back of the bakery to re-soak it. She went to one of the back sinks, where there were no employees, and stuck her towel under the running water. After she deemed that the rag was wet enough, she turned off the tap. The girl was wringing out the cloth when she heard the gunshot. It rang out in the bakery, the noise slightly muffled by the sound of shattering glass. Her eyes widened. She threw the towel into the sink and hurried to grab her backpack. She needed to call the police, and now. Her fingers fumbled for the zipper of her bag, trying to get her phone out . She heard footsteps, and more screams. A few more gunshots rang out. The girl's eyes widened even more. She needed to find a place to hide first, she realized. She threw the straps of her backpack over her shoulders and ran further back into the bakery. Suddenly, the floor creaked under her foot. She looked down for a moment. It was the loose floorboards. The loose floorboards, she realized, a hasty idea forming in her head. She pried them up, and looked down. There was a tiny space, barely big enough for her. The girl slid her backpack off her shoulders and hugged it tight as she squeezed herself into the tiny hiding hole. She then pulled the floorboards back down. Dust softly fell around her. She pinched her nose with one hand, willing herself not to sneeze. She heard rapid footsteps-coming closer. She closed her eyes tightly, tears silently falling down her face. I love you, Mom, Dad, Sammy, she thought. She heard shouting voices.
"Did you really believe you could get away with such valuable information?" said a rough voice. The girl can imagine a sneer upon whoever's face it is.
"I could hope." The girl's head jerked upward when she heard that voice. It's the man who was constantly looking at his watch, with the diamond-patterned socks, and the polished shoes and the work briefcase. Was he the whole reason for the gunshots? The girl's hands curled up into fists. She bit her lip, drawing blood.
"I'll make you a deal," the rough-voiced man said. "You help me, and I'll let you live."
"A life where I help you isn't any kind of life I would want to live in," said the man with the briefcase and spectacles that always slide down his nose. And although the man's voice wobbles, the girl heard the quiet fierceness and courage in his tone. "Project Olympus was supposed to bring good into the world, not used to help create your superhuman army!" The man raised his voice, and with of jolt, the girl realized that he knew she was down there hiding. That this man wanted her to escape, to tell someone this. She gulped.
"I refuse to help you, and your plan to take over-" The man was cut short as a gunshot sounded through the building. The girl heard a body thump against the floorboards she was hiding under. Blood dripped slowly through the cracks. She watched, horrified, as a droplet of blood landed on her hand. She bit back a shriek, and held her breath.
"What a waste of a life," she heard the man say. He then picked up something from the floor, dangerously close to the girl's hiding spot. She dared not breathe for a moment. The man walked away, whistling as he went. The girl listened closely. No other sound was heard in the bakery - no sounds of whimpering humans in fear, no sound of the rustle of bodies, no sound of breathing, except for her own shallow pants and the killer's pauses between his humming. The realization hit her hard:She was the only person left alive. She listened as the footsteps faded, and as the sound of sirens came closer. She slowly eased the floorboards up. She pushed gently, then harder and harder until the floorboards came up. The man's body slid off the floorboards. She shuddered, and turned away. She noticed that his briefcase was not there. That must have been what the murderer had been here for. She shook the thought from her head and slowly walked over to the police officers, clutching her backpack tightly to her chest. They caught sight of her, and they leveled their guns at her. Her knees knocked together, the memory of gunshots clouding her brain again. The policemen realize it's just her, a measly high-school girl who hid in a hole in the floor while people were murdered in cold blood.
"What are you doing here, sweetheart?" asked one of the policemen kindly. Other police officers crowd around her.
"I work here," She whispered, her hands trembling. She dropped her backpack, and she bent to pick it up. The policeman stares at her palm, stained with the drop of the man's blood.
"Why is there blood on your hand?" He asked, pointing the butt of his gun to the palm of her hand.
"The man's blood-it leaked through the floor, and..." Her voice cracked. she then straightened her spine. She would not be cowed by this. She gathered up her backpack and swung it onto her shoulders. The girl then walked toward her hiding spot, the policemen trialing her.
"There," she said, pointing her finger toward the removed floorboards. "That's where I was hiding. And the murderer was right there-" The girl swung her finger pointing a few feet away from her hidey-hole, "and he wanted something from-" Her voice cracked. "-from him." She finally pointed toward the dead man lying on the floor, motionless. His glasses were perched awkwardly on the bridge of his nose. A small red stain was on his neatly tucked-in shirt, right above where his heart was. The girl swallowed. "The man- the dead one- was saying something about Project Olympus. I think-" The girl lifted her head to met the policemen's stares, "that this man had information on Project Olympus... very important information. And the killer wants to use Project Olympus to make his own army." The policemen stared at her, unbelieving. But the girl held her chin high.
"I've never heard of any Project Olympus-" One of the policemen started, but right then, the girl's father and little brother ran into the store. "Carrie!" Her dad shouted. "CARRIE!"
"Daddy!" She screamed, and ran straight to him. He scooped her into a hug. And although the warmth of him was comforting, the words of the rough-voiced man chilled her blood.
A man with a Hawaiian patterned shirt and khaki shorts and sea-green eyes smiled sadly at a lady with black raven hair and soft brown eyes. She was cradling a newborn boy, with sea-green eyes and a few wisps of raven-black hair.
"Please don't leave," The lady begs the man for the millionth time.
"I have to," says the man for the millionth time. "It's not safe for you or the baby if I'm around. You saw what my father did to that man in the bakery. You know his intentions. Imagine what he will do to our son if he finds out that I am his father."
"And what shall I tell our little boy when we wonders where his father went?" says the lady.
"Tell him that his father is lost at sea." The man replies. He presses a kiss to the forehead of the lady, and then a kiss to the forehead of the little baby boy.
"I love you, Perseus Achilles Jackson."
So... did you like it? (probably not)
Sorry for the horrible writing... *sheepish smile*
Please review... I appreciate constructive criticism
THANKS for READING
Till next time... BYE!
