AN: Hello dear readers! I know it's been way too long in between updates, but Ive had a lot on my plate: finals, my sister's graduating, tennis season, and I'm starting a new story. It's PJO, AU, and very different from what I've posted before. I'm working out all the kinks now, so it's not fit for public consumption. My lovely beta HopelessDove has been with me all the way. Keep an eye out for that soon (once it's up, the update's will fly, I have a ton written already). Also, enjoy the new chapter of Trust Me!
Chapter Thirty Seven
Annabeth
After a moment Grover opens his eyes and stares at us. There's a beat of silence before we all rush to the body. Forcing myself not to think too hard about it, I push her stringy black hair out of the way and press my fingers to the side of her neck. Thankfully, her pulse thumps away steadily. I look up at Grover and Percy, both of whom look horrified.
"She'll wake up." I breathe; both boys sigh and their shoulders slump with relief. Shaking, I swallow and pull her veil over the front of her marred face. I wonder what my mother thought when she saw it the first time. In my head, my mother had always been built up to be some saint, but I guess even saints have pasts. Some twisted part of me isn't surprise that this sort of thing is in my blood. Revenge is not a new desire, and though I've never destroyed someone, I'm not surprised there's a part of me that's capable it.
"We have to help her." Percy looks right at me as he says it, as if expecting my reaction. Which he should because it's not exactly like he should anticipate anything else.
"Are you high? That woman tried to lock us in and torture us!" I burst up from my crouched position and step over the snoozing witch.
"She clearly needs help Annabeth." He looks at me with this gentle yet exasperated expression, like a TV dad explaining to the six year old that the moon isn't made of cheese.
"Not from us, I don't care what you think; trying to attack a couple kids for something their parents did is not exactly a way to ask for help." Personally, I'd be fine with it if the hag rotted away on her own floor, but Percy always has to be perfect.
"Are you kidding me? I thought you were less dense than that. She had a mental break or something; she thought we were our parents!" He eloquently argued: not. I don't care who he is, I don't care about anything, I will not be called stupid.
"I'm dense? Come on Seaweed Brain, I know it's hard but you have got to try and clean some of the crud out of the gears and think. Her thinking that I'm a psychopath and you're her long lost lover is not a reason to stick around." I snap, stepping closer to Percy purely so that I can glare at him easier. Grover looks like he's about to say something, but Seaweed Brain jumps in.
"I think we should call the cops and explain what happened. We can't just let her continue to live like this." He gestures to the freaky statues and the crumpled body.
"That will get us arrested for delinquency and assault. Did you not realize smashing someone's head with a lunch tray was a crime?" I can't stand this; how can one boy be so naïve?
"Guys, I think" Grover starts, sidling closer, but Percy cuts him off again.
"It was self defense!" He shouts.
"Not when it's your second strike. Did you not listen to a word we've said? The cops are not our friends, and whatever cutesy delusion you've worked up in your head is wrong. The world is not out to give you helping hand." The idiot clearly hasn't been paying attention, this kind; compassionate act is clearly just a game to him.
"Did you even listen to me, or were you too self absorbed to realize that I haven't had it easy either? Do you even realize how many schools I've been expelled from?" He snaps back, his ears turning red as he barks out the words.
"Poor baby, got kicked out of New York City's private schools, cry me a river. Tell me Percy have you ever lived on the streets for six months and then been dragged into a freakin' interrogation room?"If he wants to play the 'compare the sob stories' game I will win, hands down.
"Guys! You two can have your Battle-Royale later; can please just do something about her." Grover interrupted, gesturing towards Aunty Em vaguely with a look of disgust you'd expect from someone referring to a large pile of moldy manure.
"Fine, if Seaweed Brain wants to be a freakin' Boy Scout about it, there's a way we can do this." I sighed, this would not be easy.
Percy
Annabeth slammed her way through Auntie Em's kitchen, barking orders as she went.
"Grover, I want you to take this dish towel and scrubbing everything we touched, put all of our straws and trash in a plastic bag. We'll take it with us. Make sure you get the tray." She instructs and Grover scurries off, clearly he's afraid of her, but I refuse to be.
She peers out the window, and smiles to herself when she sees the payphone outside the gas station next store. I have to wonder if she's insane, because the chance that the payphone will work even though the gas station is closed is miniscule at best. I follow her anyways, trailing after her like I always do.
She takes the phone off of the hook and smiles to herself before dialing three numbers and waiting. Frankly, I'm just amazed the thing works. It's a green and yellow box, with cigarette ads that have to be from the 40's at least. The gas station itself is pitiful. Two pumps, so worn down that the prices and directions aren't even visible anymore and the desolate shack of a convenience store are all that's left.
"What are we doing?" She ignores me, gesturing for me to shut up, and speaking into the phone with the worst southern accent I've ever heard.
"Hello? Oh thank you, I've had an awful fright. I was taking a stroll, and I must have taken a wrong turn, but now I'm on this strange street, I have no idea where I am." She gestured as she spoke, as if the poor operator could see her. "I'm callin' ya on this grimy old gas station pay phone, who knows what foreign diseases I'm pickin' up from it." I give her a look but she waves me off and keeps talking. I went to school with some girls from Kentucky once, and they sounded absolutely nothing like Annabeth's horrible impression.
"Oh gosh, I've gotten mighty off topic, I saw a woman in this store, and it seemed like she had some kind of episode, if you'd believe it. Talkin' ta thin aih and smashin' statuas, I've never seen anythin' like it in my life." Annabeth continues, and I'm afraid she's going to start twirling her hair around her finger to keep the image.
"It's says on the sign it's some-sorta garden shop, now I'm afraid I can't stick 'round, I have flight to catch in a hour. I'll leave it in your capable hands." I can hear the poor lady on the other end of the line protesting profusely, but Annabeth hangs up soundly.
"What, exactly was you're reference for a southern accent?"
"The Notebook." She states unblinkingly, and uses the bottom of her shirt to wipe the phone and the numbers of prints and turns to me with a smug expression. "Now, can we get out of here, or do you want to do some other stupid thing first?"