The Boy Who killed Percy Jackson

I am an ordinary person like most people, and you would normally pass me by on the street without even looking at me or thinking of me later. You could know me very well; I could be your Facebook buddy or someone you may have said hello to in the park as we walked by each other or held the lift for. I could be your best friend, and last night we could have partied together or talked about who loves who in school. We could be lovers. But there is something you should know about me.

I am going to kill Percy Jackson.

I don't fully understand how I came to such a bold and unpredicted conclusion but I have no doubt it will happen. He's not a bad person, far better than many I have had the misfortune to come across, but this does not mean I will have any qualms about killing him nor feel remorse afterwards. I have planned out exactly how I will accomplish such a feat, imagining several scenarios and outcomes to prepare myself, as only and idiot would fail to plan an assassination. You see, my Dad's a cop, and being a cop, he owns this gun; a smith and Wesson .38 snubnose, which he keeps in the draw next to his side of the bed. It is an ugly little object, with its brown handle and dark black body, and suitably so, as it is an ugly device for an ugly purpose. The gun is small and easily concealed, so there will be no problems with smuggling it into wherever Percy resides.

At the moment, he is on one of those quests again, slaying demons and slowly making his way across the states. News travels fast here, and the last I heard of him he was only 20 miles away, where a freak tidal wave destroyed some house. The kids on my block were talking about how it seemed to float in an orb ever so briefly in the air before crashing down on this poor lady's home. I am no demigod; human through and through, but I can tell you now that no old lady lived in that house. No old lady keeps cows that would appear horrifically mutilated in the morning, blood and bones spread all over the place like someone had decided feed these animals through a woodchipper. Authorities put it down to wild predators, which wouldn't be unsusual, except we don't have any predators in these parts, at least not ones that are capable of that.

Anyway, with the attention he'll be attracting to himself from the beast world, I figure him and his partners - most likely Annabeth and Grover, will want to hole up at some place preferably quiet and out of the way. They won't want to stay anywhere near the scene of their last escapade, and all the establishments for 20 miles are far too fancy and close together for three teenagers not to go unnoticed. There's a sleazy motel across the street that goes by the name of Gil's rest stop, and if there is anywhere they are going to stay within those 20 miles, it's going to be there. I glanced through the doorway yesterday and decided I would rather sleep in a paper bag; there'd be less fleas. Old, yellow paint is peeling off the wall and every corner is coated in grime. A fat, balding man in a vest whom I assumed to be Gil despite the neon sign's inability to fully spell his name was sitting at the reception, and judging by the dark patches under his arms the air conditioning, if any, doesn't seem to work very well. He had his eyes down reading a newspaper and chewing a fat, unlit stogie between his caffeine-stained teeth, and from this brief glance I could tell that this was his daily routine.

Percy will briefly pay a visit to the hospitality of Gil's rest stop, but it will even briefer than he expected. He doesn't realise that this is his fate; every step he takes leads him closer to me and to his death, but I'm not really one for philosophising. He and his friends will make it there late tonight, where they will check in, exhausted and weakened by their journey. I know this because I will be watching, and waiting, all day if I have to. I'm not easily bored, and I could stay at my post all day if I have to, scouting from my bedroom window, kept entertained by the adrenaline of my imminent act.

The reason it'll take them so long to get here is because they won't risk a car and they'll probably stay off the main roads, so they're going to walk. Now I'm no mathematician, but I know that even for demigods, 20 miles on foot is a heck of a long way to go, so seeing as it's late morning here, they'll arrive late at night, like I said. And the moment when I see Percy Jackson walk into that motel is the cue for me to spring into action.

I often imagined myself positioned at the window with my Dad's hunting rifle with a telescopic sight which he keeps in the garage; it is a much more stylish gun than that Glock, all black and sleek. I don't know the name of it, but then again I've never really been that big on guns, I only know that Glock because my Dad talks about it so much. I would stay at my window until morning, imagining Percy showing his face between those crosshairs before pulling the trigger.

Click.

The gun would be empty, so I would fire empty rounds all night, imagining.

Click, click, click.

Then Percy has woken up and is all prepared for his next adventure, be it returning some stolen pearls of Aphrodite, trying to stop an uprising of Titans or even just some minor quarrel with the Gods. He has packed his bags, takes a deep breath in preparation for the day, and steps outside. For a moment he will pause with that smile on his face, gazing into some unseen world that he has imagined where he will emerge victorious as the hero of his quest.

Then, from a window, there will be a flash...

BANG!

Goodbye Percy.

But that would be too cheap, not to mention dangerous. My dad often comes home from work telling us stories of how he and his colleagues caught the bad guy. They could find out the exact angle and location of the shooting, and they could pair up the bullet with the chamber of the gun, and sometimes the bullet would leave traces of gunpowder on the criminal's clothes. He would laugh and say how the baddie was almost always caught unawares, watching TV or taking a dump, because they were so sure they had got away scot free. He told us how the reaction was always the same; pure shock, followed by confusion, because they couldn't figure out how they had been caught, and they remained this way all the way to the station, still trying to figure out what mistakes they had made. They were so shocked and lost in thought that they don't even bother to deny their crime nor ask what they had done wrong officer.

They could easily trace the bullet back to me, and I could hardly deny it; not many people have that make of a hunting rifle in our neighbourhood, but we have quite a few cops, who all carry that service-issued .38 Glock. Theoretically, it would be safer to kill him with a knife, but I doubt I would be able to beat him in such close combat, and especially if he is with his friends.

No, I am not going to go for neither the sniper nor the knife option; I'd rather stick with my Glock thank you very much.

Anyway, back to reality. When Percy arrives I'll wait 5 minutes, to give him time to check in and unload his luggage, if he has any. If he is with Grover and Annabeth then I will have to kill them too, which is a shame as they are not on my agenda, but it will not be any skin off my nose should I have to. My dad is off-duty today, so he won't be carrying his gun with him, meaning it will be in the drawer as expected. Once those 5 minutes are up I'll sneak into my Parent's bedroom whilst they are sleeping and take the gun from dad's drawer. Making sure there is no one outside (it will be late at night anyway) I'll quietly walk out the back door so as not wake my Parents.

Once on the street, I'll make sure I have all I need. Leather jacket over pyjamas: check. Leather gloves and baseball cap: check, check. Thin screwdriver, pipe cleaner and sunglasses. Check, check, check.

Gun: check.

I'll walk quickly down to the seedy motel, but not quickly enough to be noticed, should anyone see me. As I approach the Gil's rest stop I'll put on my purple sunglasses and my cap on backwards so it looks more of a fashion statement than protection from the sun, which would look pretty suspicious at night. I'll enter the reception and stand in front of old Gil, who'll still be reading that newspaper and his teeth still clamped on that cigar. I'll make my voice sound a bit more high pitched, which is very different to my own, as I have been practising it in front of my bedroom mirror for some time now. I'll tell him that my friend (or friends if Percy is not alone) just arrived, and is expecting me. Either Gil will look up and judge me briefly before deciding I'm just some young punk looking for his pals before giving me the room number, or he'll keep his eyes down on that newspaper and mumble something about not being able to give away confidential information. If he chooses the latter, I'll offer to have him accompany me to the room where they're staying and prove they know me. Hopefully this prospect of physical exercise will scare him into giving me the number.

Either way, I'll get the number and slowly make my way up the stairs to their room. It is at that point when I must fully cock the gun and put it in my pocket for fast withdrawal, as well as put on my leather gloves to avoid fingerprints. I'll take off my sunglasses-I won't need them now-and remove the cap. Seeing as he's on the run, he won't be opening the door to just anyone, so I have to sell my story. I knock on the door, and someone on the other side asks who it is, and I know they can see me through the peephole. Still using my high-pitched voice, I tell them that I was sent by a man called Mr D to give them a parcel. According to my sources this information will strike a chord with them, though I have no idea why. When delivering this information my voice will be calm and unwavering.

The door will be opened and I'll step in, to be confronted by either Percy alone or with his two companions, all standing together. It won't make much difference. This is the crucial moment where I must absolutely not mess up, tremble or have second thoughts. He'll look at me quizzically as I reach into my jacket pocket to retrieve this so called letter. My finger will curl around the trigger, and quick as a flash it'll be out of my pocket and pointing right at his face no more than 10 feet away. I have practiced this move many times to get it right. For the split second as my finger squeezes the trigger there will be a look of realisation on his face...

BANG!

What is left of his head will be a large stain on the wall, and if Annabeth is with him she will see that his brains aren't made of seaweed but of flesh and matter just like any other mortal. I sincerely hope I don't tremble or catch him somewhere else due to the recoil, like the bullet flying into his throat and striking his jugular. I don't want that to happen because he'll die a lot more slowly and painfully, choking on his own blood, and I wouldn't wish that death for him; it's not what he deserves.

If Percy is accompanied by Annabeth and Grover then I shall go for Annabeth next, who will be either staring at Percy's headless corpse in shock or drawing her knife.

BAMM!

I will shoot her in the chest, but in case she is wearing some sort of strange armour I will probably shoot her in the head instead, blood splattering on the bed and carpet, though I couldn't care less If I shot her in the gut and she bled to death in pain.

Finally I will go for Grover, who poses the least threat to me. All he has is those panpipes, and what's he going to do with them, throw then at me?

BANG!

I'll shoot him in the chest, as he rarely wears a shirt and it is highly unlikely that he'll be wearing magical armour. There will be a large blood spurt that will signify the end of Grover's life, but I will not be close enough to any of them to be showered in large splatters of evidence.

And so it will be that Percy Jackson, son of Poseidon, who defeated Kronos, stopped the Gods from destroying Earth, was shot dead in Gil's rest stop.

This will be accomplished within 3 seconds.

Having walked past the motel before, I know there is a window for each room upstairs. It is low enough to jump out of unhurt, but if it is locked I won't have time to get the key or shoot it open. I'll grab one of the pillows and run downstairs, where I'll either meet Gil on the way down or see him at the desk about to call 911. I'll shove my Glock into the pillow and fire it into his fat chest. The pillow will muffle the gunfire from outside, but the shots upstairs are bound to attract attention.

I'll run outside now and take a detour through the alleyways until I get to the river, upon which I will dump my glasses, cap and leather jacket into it. Using the screwdriver, I will make several indentations on the inside of the gun barrel, as the cops can match up the bullet with the gun by lining up the markings on the bullet with the markings on the inside of the barrel. I will then use the pipe cleaner to clear out any gunpowder and metal filing residue. I doubt it will ever come to the cops checking my Dad's gun, but it's better to be safe than sorry. I will also dump the screwdriver and pipe cleaner in the river. My Dad won't notice the missing screwdriver from his toolkit; he never uses it. I'll then eject the empty shells and load the spare bullets I kept with me into the chamber.

I'll then run back home and quietly creep in through the back door, heart pounding, before sneaking ever so silently into my parent's bedroom, who will still be sleeping, as the motel is too far away for them to have been woken by the gunshots. All of which will have been done in less than 10 minutes.

Then I will go back to my bed and have sweet dreams.

The cops will search for the killer, examining every inch of the motel room and doing door-to-door enquiries, which will produce no result, as nobody will have seen anything. They'll get a few crank calls from several 'killers' all of which will waste their time. My dad will be questioned, to which he will shockingly deny every statement. No officer, me and my wife were sound asleep that night, no, my gun hasn't been fired recently , we haven't seen anyone suspicious recently, what do you mean you want to question my son, you think he had something to do with it? Of course not sir, strictly procedures, even though I know that he is thinking the complete opposite behind that thin smile.

The cops, if they're lucky, will fish out a leather jacket and baseball cap several miles downstream, but any fingerprints will have been long washed off. Eventually they'll decide that the killer ran off and they will search the nearby states to no avail. Thank you for your time sir.

And I will grow old, have a family, live an honest and blameless life before dying and going to Heaven.