I'm ba-ack! Sorry—so sorry—for taking so long. I just couldn't get myself to open this and write.
I DO NOT OWN.
Not as Insane, Maybe
Sally Jackson's POV
Sally Jackson was sitting in her favorite rocking chair again, waiting, hoping, even praying for her son's return. It was his eighth birthday, and she was desperate for him to return, because she hadn't seen him since he left back in the beginning of April, when he got expelled. Her hands fidgeted with the small, wrapped box in her hands as she rocked and rocked and rocked.
Where was he?
Then, after many hours of waiting since the strike of midnight, she remembered that her son had said that he only may be home for his birthday. It hurt, to think that he wouldn't return—maybe ever again.
Sally mentally slapped herself and stood up to grab the ringing phone. She grumbled to herself, "This better be quick if it isn't Percy." Because maybe it was Percy; she had no idea.
She snatched it up at the last ring, saying, "This is the Jackson residence. How may I help you?" She silently cursed herself for sounding so annoyingly happy even though she was anything but.
"Hello, Ms. Jackson. This is Mr. Pattery from—well, I'll just get to the point. I'm here with your son at an insane asylum." There was rattling at the other end and some very colorful words that sounded like they came from a very young child.
Sally was quiet for a while, and then she asked a question that her own son would scold her for: "What?" Yep, she could already imagine him—"Mom, there's only one real reason to ask that, and that's when you actually didn't understand what someone said, not when you just don't like it."
"I said," Mr. Pattery began, "that your son is here with me at an insane asylum. Now, I would like you to come here and sign him in so it's legal or bring him home." He punctuated every word, as if she were an idiot—which wasn't far from true, considering the fact she was acting like a stupefied buffoon.
"O—okay. Yes, I'll—I'll be there. As soon as I can." She was about to hang up when Mr. Pattery interrupted her, telling her the directions that she very much needed.
Then she was off, driving to an insane asylum, the same one her son had been brought to without her consent just under a year ago.
Sally knew this wasn't going to end well.
XxXx
Sally pulled up into the parking lot of the asylum. Rushing out of Gabe's Camaro—because she didn't have the time to wait for a taxi—she barged through the front doors of the *Willard Asylum for the Insane. "Where's my son?" she demanded, slamming her hand on the front counter.
"Excuse me?" the lady asked, flicking her manicured nails in her hair.
"Where. Is. My. Son?"
"Can I have a name?" The woman—her name tag said Molly—began twirling her short brown hair as she smacked her gum.
"Perseus. Perseus Jackson," Sally told Molly.
Molly's eyes widened. "Oh, the new comer. Yes… Hmmm… Just down the hall to the left." Sally started turning so she could leave when Molly spoke up again: "Oh, and, bring a guard or something. I heard that the kid's dangerous." Molly slapped a VISITOR sticker on Sally's hand, and she was off.
Sally sped down the hall, taking a sharp left, and in front of her was a single door, blocked by five burly guards. "I'm here to see Perseus Jackson, my son," she said, trying to slip past the men. When they wouldn't move, she stepped back and demanded, "Let me see my son." Her foot began tapping in the way only impatient mother's knew how to. Slipping an arm through their wall, she tried to shove them away. "Move."
A man stuck is arm out to block her. "You say you're Perseus Jackson's mother, correct?" His voice wasn't cold per say, but it was emotionless, minus that small curious tone at the last word.
She sighed loudly through her nose. "Yes." She crossed her arms with a huff. "He is my son."
The man scanned her over once, and then he opened the door a crack, waving Sally along. "Be careful, Ms. Jackson. Your son is very dangerous."
That time she heard all the mystery of her son she ever needed for a lifetime.
And all the warning about him.
Sally stepped into the white, plush, cubical of a room warily.
Her eyes widened comically at the sight before her. Perseus Jackson was lying on a small, white bed, his feet dangling over one end as his head hovered just barely over the ground. His sunglasses were slipping up over his eyes, his chain clanged as it hit the floor, and his beanie had slid up, revealing his jet black hair.
That, however, wasn't the strange part.
The strange part was that he was talking—
—to no one.
Percy was talking and talking, as if someone were right next to him, but no one was. At first Sally thought—hoped—it was because he was blind and someone had crept away without telling him, but that dream was shot down by the look the man sent her. The look that showed sympathy and worry and dread all wrapped up in one. She knew that look; Sally had gotten it all the time right after she died: It was the look that screamed that there was an insane person in the room.
The insane person was a child. His name was Perseus Jackson.
Of course, Sally had never listened to those looks. Percy was just depressed. Scarred. But not insane.
Now she was listening though.
The man spoke: "He won't speak to us until he finishes his conversation. He's probably talking to Penny. He, uh, argues with her. A lot."
"Oh." She gulped. How much is a lot?
He continued, "Actually, I don't really think he's that dangerous unless you get on his bad side. He's—he's a good boy. Just slightly insane. Now that I think about it, he isn't even checked in. Mr. Pattery saw him on the streets and took him in, gave him a place to stay. No one even acknowledged your son talking to air crazy until he started shouting a bit. I guess it was a good thing though"—Sally shot him a sharp glance—"because it was only then that we got your number. It's definitely not good that we know he is insane," the bulky man amended.
Percy fell off the bed. "Hey, Mr. Goodwin!" he shouted happily, sauntering over. He began talking animatedly with Mr. Goodwin about his latest argument with Penny; apparently, she wanted to throw pies at the guard.
She sighed and plopped down on the floor, figuring she might as well learn as much about her son as she could. Sally Jackson didn't even know her son knew she was in the room until he suddenly turned to her and said, "Mr. Goodwin is the nicest guy here, Mom. He's the only one who really doesn't treat me like a freak, unless the other guys are around. But that's only because he doesn't want to lose his job."
Percy grinned slightly, slowly calming down. Sally's jaw dropped. "Mom? Hel-lo-o? Mom, are you okay?" She saw him shift and bend down to her, as if he wanted a better look. The tough façade she usually saw Percy wear was forming on his angular face. "Mom, speak," he ordered quietly, and it was like a stick was poked in her back, forcing her up.
"Percy!" she cried, pulling him into an enormous hug. "Oh my Percy! Where have you been? I was so worried!" Sally pushed him back. "Never scare me like that again, okay? Never."
"Yes, ma'am," Percy chuckled, the softest of smiles gracing his lips.
"Let's go home."
XxXx
For the next week, Sally fell into a pattern. Wake up. Cook. Go to work. Come home. Look for a school for Percy. The news, strangely, had surprised her greatly. Percy wanted to go to school. Well, he didn't want to go to school, but he would for her.
And that meant he would stay home. Or at least in a spot where she knew where he was.
"Okay, Percy," she called to him, "do you want to help pick out the school or am I going to by myself?"
Her son suddenly materialized beside her. "I'm going to help. I want to know what I'm getting myself into."
She jumped slightly, eyeing the smirk that stretched across his face; Percy knew she didn't like it when he suddenly appeared out of nowhere—giving her a fright—but he always replied with a shrug, saying, "I can't help it, Mom. I learned how to keep quiet a long time ago, and I plan on keeping quiet."
Now, Sally knew her son wasn't the most graceful of people, so she always had to wonder exactly what he meant.
She smiled tightly, glancing at the little stick propped against the wall that she bought for Percy. No matter how many times he stumbled and knocked into things, it seemed he was bent on not having any help. "And what do you think you are getting yourself into?" she asked her son, who was carefully yet confidently making his way to their small kitchen table.
He turned to her, light bouncing off his sunglasses like how it used to bounce off his eyes. "A new place where imbeciles roam freely." He shrugged, his lips neither formed in a frown nor smile; he was simply blank-faced.
The way he hid his emotions so well scared Sally, but she asked anyway: "What does that mean?"
Percy cocked his head to the side, flicking through his list of answers mentally. He sighed. "People are cruel, Mom, you know that." She thought she saw him motioning slightly to the living room, where Gabriel was playing poker, but he couldn't have. Right? Percy was still just a child. "Students and teachers alike will look down on me because I'm different, because I have disabilities." He practically spat out the last word, and the bitter expression he wore worried Sally, but just as sudden as it had come, it disappeared, leaving a blank slate. "But that's okay. I'll be fine." He paused, swaying on his feet, like he was dizzy. "Besides, it's not like I'll be at this school for long. They'll think I'm crazy in no time."
Sally was silent, and they let the subject be, not speaking of it again. Instead, they went through the schools together, like every other day, and attempted to act somewhat like they would have in the past. Well, Sally did. Percy would smile his lop-sided smile at just the right moments, and Sally would stare at him openly, sensing that his goofy smile never quite reached his eyes. That he wasn't actually smiling inside.
She wanted him to smile. Even if only because he was talking to imaginary people.
XxXx
The next week, Percy was getting ready to head to his new school. Even though school had started a few days prior, it had taken much persuasion and Percy promising not to cause too much trouble for the school to allow him. But he was, and now, as Sally watched him drag his backpack—being too lazy to put it over his shoulder—to the front door, she noticed something was a bit… off.
Percy's head was turned to the side as he walked, mouth moving, speaking nearly silent words. He seemed as if he was glaring at someone, but no one was there.
"Um, Percy, honey," Sally said meekly, realizing that she had seen this look, seen him speak to air, before, just never acknowledged what was going on.
Percy's head snapped up. "Yes?"
"It's, um, time—time to go," she stuttered, motioning to the door uselessly, since he was blind.
"Okay," he chirped—chirped. Percy Jackson chirping—happily? Sally may have been the type of person to try to find the best in everyone, but her son wasn't exactly the peppiest of people; more quiet and dark, until he gets angry—then there's a fight. Sally pondered what could have possibly made him so—so happy, like he used to be, when Percy whirled around to face her before he stepped through the front door.
"We should take Gabe's car," he stated confidently, like he had been thinking about this for a long time. "There won't be any taxis for us to catch, and he's still sleepin'. Well, he's sleeping now, but he'll be up in about—" he pursed his lips—"a minute and a half. We shouldn't waste that time, though: he'll be angry for sure, since you forgot to put the casserole in the oven this morning."
With that, her son began down the hallway, trailing his fingers against the wall, counting the doors he passed and the steps he took.
It was all too much. Her son was too much. Sally loved him—oh, she loved him so much—but he was too much. With him, there was always a small sense of dread in the pit of her stomach. She didn't know if it was because there could be a monster attack at any given moment… or because Percy was simply… different. Changed. She missed the old days—the days where there were always smiles and laughs, the days where there was no mystery, no dreadful secrets.
The days where there was no fear—fear of her son—and what he was capable of.
Because she knew that he could do much, much more than he let on.
Because she knew in that head of his there was a world-full of knowledge from experiences that no one should have to face.
Because she knew there was a heart full of hate—hate at the people who labeled him insane, a murderer. Hate at the people who said she was deceased, gone, dead.
Because she knew her son had all the reasons to be a hero.
Or a villain.
And that was what scared her the most, really. Her son, Perseus Jackson, could do whatever he wanted, whatever his heart said was right, and his heart had all the reason to hate the world, to want to destroy it.
But instead of becoming purely evil, instead of becoming purely good, her son turned cold, frozen; Percy became unable to choose.
She remembered the words in her dream:
Olympus to raze or save
Perseus Jackson, her son, had all the reasons to want to destroy the gods one day, to rip Olympus apart brick by brick.
Yeah, that's definitely what scared her the most.
"Mom?" Sally heard a call from down the hall by the stairs, and it snapped her out of her musings.
"Coming!" she called right back, and then she shuffled out right as she heard Gabe awaken.
She really didn't want to be in Gabe's presence when he found out that she forgot to bake the casserole.
Because Percy was right.
He seemed to always be right these days.
XxXx
Sally was waiting in her favorite rocking chair for her son, rocking back and forth, back and forth, and she couldn't help but remember the first time she had waited for his return—how she was so frightened and anxious, how her hope had faded with every second that ticked away at the clock. How her heart was screaming for his little note to be true, that her son would return, but her mind was screaming that it was highly unlikely, if not impossible.
How everything had changed so utterly and completely.
Ignoring the pang in her chest, Sally went to check if her son was home by peeking through the front door. No sign of him. She sighed heavily and listened to Gabriel's moaning as he packed to go spend Christmas with his niece, as he did every year. It was the only break she ever got from him, and she never argued that he should stay—Gabe and Percy butted heads, and, with Percy's obvious attitude, things would turn ugly.
Sally leaned against the front door, banging her head gently, listening to the thump, thump, thump as it made contact with the wood.
Gabe came lumbering in to the room, gazing longingly at the kitchen and table set up in front of the TV. Grumbling, he shoved Sally away from the door and left without a good-bye.
Not that she cared.
The clock continued to tick, counting off the seconds Percy wasn't home. Tick, tick, tick. He should be home by now, she thought as she once again rocked in her favorite rocking chair. That was when she noticed the wind blowing wildly outside—and the large, puffy white flakes that floated to the ground.
Perseus Jackson was going to get hypothermia if he didn't come inside, but, of course, Sally knew he would not.
Just like last time.
Déjà vu overcoming her, Sally Jackson made her way toward the stairs, first taking them slow and one at a time, then flying down, not able to stand the anxiousness that filled her. "Percy!" she called breathless. "Percy!" She pushed open the lobby door, and, sure enough, there was her son, squatting down on the sidewalk, tracing his index finger through the snow.
He was wearing nearly the same attire as the last time she caught him outside: faded blue jeans, these with large rips as well; ratty tennis shoes; a green shirt; a thin, zip-up gray jacket he refused to zip; and his gray knit beanie. This time, though, she also saw the shiny metal chain he wore for reasons unknown to her and the sunglasses.
She hated those sunglasses. And she hated even more whatever caused her son to go blind.
But he wouldn't tell her, so she just learned to live with it.
"Percy, come here." Sally bent down and hugged her son, feeling his cold skin against hers and wondering how in the world he didn't seem the least bit uncomfortable.
"Hey, Mom," Percy mumbled, turning around and giving her a hug as well. He snickered. "You didn't really let me go to you."
"Oh, hush," she scolded lightly, but a smile was stretched widely across her face. Standing up, Sally pulled Percy to his feet. "We should go inside. I don't want you getting hypothermia, now. Not when it's almost Christmas."
Percy nodded mutely, glancing—or, what she considered glancing, since he was blind—longingly at the snow one last time before he was tugged inside.
Once inside the warm lobby, Percy immediately went to the counter where the manager was. "Hey, buddy," he drawled, pulling himself up so he could sit atop the granite. "Did ya get my pack'ge?"
The man immediately looked up—probably because Percy had blackmailed him only a little under a year before. "Hey, kiddo"—he gulped—"the pack—package? Yeah, I got it right here." The man—Mister Bullard—shook his head, as if scolding himself for his stuttering. Pulling out an awfully wrapped in brown paper box, Mr. Bullard shoved it in Percy's awaiting hands.
"Thank you very much, kind sir," Percy said sweetly, flicking a green… coin the man's way.
Furrowing his eyebrows in suspicion, Mr. Bullard took the coin and pulled at a little corner of the paper that surrounded it. Pop! A twenty dollar bill landed on his desk, and he stared at it in awe.
"Later." Percy waved and plopped back down on the ground, holding the box like it was treasure. "C'mon, Mom."
And then they were heading up the stairs, Sally trying—but epically failing—to keep up with her son. Percy was up first, as per usual, and was walking in. Sally frowned slightly and checked for her key; she still had it, so… She would ask him later.
There was nothing that could possibly ruin this Christmas.
XxXx
Sally stretched tiredly. Christmas morning, she thought, as she flipped a blue pancake. Usually her son would be up by now, but last night, he was busy… talking—arguing? Speaking roughly with?—one—or many?—of his friends. Sally didn't really like the thought of her son speaking to people who aren't really there—who aren't real—but she had called the asylum that Percy had stayed in, told them his situation, and they had guessed he only talked to them because he could see them.
"Percy can't see anybody, so he subconsciously made a set of friends that he could see," Mr. Pattery had said.
Sally Jackson had to agree, but she thought it was a bit more than that. From what she had pried out of Percy, his "shadow friends" as he had called them, seemed a lot like her, who seemed to have many personalities. There was one who was crazy and loud and loved getting in trouble; another who was quiet and could gather information; a tween who was nice until enemies (or enemy; Sally was not quite sure) came along; and then one who loved to prove that she could—could do anything.
She had had a bit of all of those in her, so of course Percy had made many friends to fit all of her personalities.
Sally sighed as she wiped tears from her eyes. She had to move on, for Percy. She had to stop thinking she would ever be found—because, if she did, Percy might, too.
Sally was so deep in thought, she did not hear the crash of Percy falling out of bed. "Mom!" her son yelled, pulling on her hand. "It's Christmas! It's time to open the presents!"
At least that didn't change. And, hopefully, it never would.
"I'm coming, I'm coming," Sally chuckled, wiping her hands clean.
They ended up sitting in front of the Christmas tree, both siting crisscross-apple-sauce, with their few gifts sitting in front of them. There were not as many gifts as Sally had hoped there would be, but Gabe—ugh, Gabe—didn'tagree in spending too much money for the holidays; besides, it wasn't like there was that much money to spend in the first place. So, Sally had to settle on the cheap, personal items that she had gathered from around the house. "You go first," she told Percy, pushing toward him three carefully wrapped gifts—two flat and one tall cylinder.
Percy nodded, quickly ripping the paper off the first gift, one of the flat presents, wrapped in shiny blue paper covered in red and green polka-dots. He furrowed his brows as he pulled it out, and Sally felt her heart drop. What if he did not like it? "Is this a… a picture?"
She nodded then cleared her throat, recalling that Percy could not see. "Yes. Of… of snow. I took it during the first blizzard around here. Maybe one day you'll be able to see it."
Percy looked shocked. "Yeah… thanks, Mom."
Sally knew he didn't have that much hope that he would be able to see, but… that was the big surprise. She pushed the next gift over, the other flat one, delicately wrapped in a flaming orange paper. "This one is more for…sentimental reasons," stated Sally, watching as, once again, her son ripped apart the paper with vigor.
When he had opened it, she said, "It's the painting she made—of the flower she said she would create for the sun."
She knew he didn't really need to see it, because Percy had probably memorized it, but Sally was not worried about that—she was worried that she had just opened up an enormous wound.
See, when she was young, she had quite the obsession with flowers. Pick them, press them, paint them. Percy would always help her, and together the two had made a large collection. After a while when new flowers were difficult to come by, she had picked up her paintbrush and painted a flower, large and delicate, a mixture and flaming reds and orange hues. Sunspot, she had called it. Sally didn't exactly know how she knew what a sunspot was, but Sally did know where the idea had come from; she probably looked up the sun and the internet to find a name.
The idea came from moon lace, the flower from Greek mythology. (Sally had to get them to know their origin somehow.) She had said, almost like she was offended for Apollo, "Why does the moon have a flower? Why can't the sun have one, too?" Of course, she had ended with, "I mean, both are awesome. Why treat one like it's better?"
Strange. But that was how she began her painting for the sun.
"Sunspot?" Percy asked, swallowing hard. Sally watched as he traced her barely legible scrawl of the name in the bottom left hand corner (she mixed up her left and right).
"Yes," Sally replied, biting her bottom lip. Please be worth it, she prayed in her mind.
"Th—thanks. I really appreciate this. Seriously, you have no idea." Percy's hand shook slightly as he placed the painting next to him.
"And the last one," Sally whispered as she pushed the tall cylinder present toward her son; the dull sea-green wrapping paper crinkled as he pulled it toward him.
Rip. Rip. Riiippp. Clank! "What… is it?" Percy asked, rubbing his hands along the sides of the glass jar. "Well, maybe I should ask what it's for."
Sally sucked in a deep breath of air. "I was reading some site on the internet when I found out about some doctor nearby that has done surgeries on blind people," she said slowly, meaningfully. "This jar will be the savings jar. Every penny or dollar we can spare, we put in here."
Percy sat on his knees, still like a statue; then his ADHD got the better of him. Her son lunged forward, embracing Sally in a hug. She immediately hugged him back, reveling in the feeling of having her son initiate a hug. That was a rare thing. Something that had not happened since… well, probably since the first time he left.
After not even a minute—a time too short for Sally Jackson—Percy pulled back. "I only got one thing for you," he mumbled, his face turning a faint pink color, "but I hope you love it." Shoving it forward hastily, he sat back on his knees.
Taking the brown paper box, the same one her son had asked the manager to give to him, Sally slowly undid the tape and slid out the object. It was a book, The Adventures of Tom Sawyer, to be exact. Sally raised her eyebrows; she already had a copy of this book, and Percy knew it because it was her favorite book.
"I know you have a copy," Percy began hastily, as if he had read her mind, "but look at the first page."
Furrowing her brows, Sally did as she was told, and she nearly dropped the book in surprise.
There, written in dark, thick black ink, was Mark Twain's signature. The M almost looked like a W, the top of the T almost spread the length of the name, and there was a little squiggly underline underneath.
Somehow, someway, her son had managed to get a signed copy of The Adventures of Tom Sawyer.
"But… how…?"
Percy held up a hand. "Let's just say, it took a lot of planning and bribing."
Her son always managed to surprise her.
Maybe she should get used to it.
0o0o0o0o0o
Sally was in her rocking chair again, listening to the creak, creak it made as she moved. Percy had left again. It had broken her heart, seeing that little note and delicate blue flower, but she should have seen it coming.
He was so upset, so… broken, hopeless, when she said she was planning the funeral for her. It had sent him over the edge all over again, and that crazed gleam she could see behind those wretched glasses sent shivers up her spine.
Perseus Jackson was so positive she was still alive, that, even though he had seen her—seen her hurt and bloody in that alley that fateful day—he still believed she was breathing, that she was somewhere, hidden.
It was like he knew.
And, most of the time, it seemed he did know.
But not this time.
Not while he was "seeing" things he shouldn't see, talking to those things.
Not while he was believing what he shouldn't believe.
Not while he was so insane, it was becoming normal.
No, this time, Sally Jackson had to be right, because there was no way.
There was just no way.
Sally fingered the blue rose, reading over the note another time:
I swear I will be back.
Maybe not soon, but I will.
Maybe not for my birthday, but I hope.
Maybe I will come back better.
Not as insane, where I talk to people who don't exist.
But I doubt it, and I know you do, too.
I've grown used to it, though, and, maybe, so will you.
Maybe.
Your son,
Percy Jackson.
Maybe.
With her son, there was always a maybe.
And there probably always will.
Wow. Long. Is the tittle weird? I couldn't think of anything. Anyway, I've gotten a few questions, and my answer is, all in due time.
Review, favorite, follow.
Peace and all that other stuff.
~XxxXGreek GeekXxxX
