Author's Note: Hey, everyone! So, first of all: welcome to this story! If you've been long enough on FanFiction—like, five years approximately—you might've come across a similar story from a different account. If that's the case: don't worry, I'm not copying, that story is also mine. I was never able to finish it, because by the time I had the chance a lot of things had changed—including my writing style and way of thinking. Basically, I couldn't identify myself with my own stories anymore.

So, I'm starting over: new account, new stories. It's kind of sad starting over, but I know most of my audience from that account is probably gone, and I would feel guilty of not finishing what I started. Anyway, after clearing that out: please review if you can, so I can improve (English isn't my first language). Most importantly: enjoy!

Chapter 1

Beep. Beep. Beep.

What's that sound?

Beep. Beep. Beep.

If you listen carefully, it resembles the sound produced by those machines found in hospitals. Electrocardiogram, I think. But… that's impossible. Why would I be in a hospital? Last thing I remember is… is…

Okay, that's definitely scary. I can't remember what I did before waking up. I try opening my eyes to get a glimpse of my surroundings, but darkness is all I get. The harder I try, the faster the sound becomes. Either everything is turned off in the room, or my sight is gone. Hopefully it's just the first option.

"Hey, beauty queen," says a deep, masculine voice. Not sure if the compliment is directed to me, but I take it anyway. Who is this person? "How are you doing today?"

There's a moment of silence after this guy finishes talking. Is he expecting some kind of answer from me? Because my sight isn't the only thing gone. As much as I try to articulate a word, no sound leaves my mouth.

"Oh, Dr. Jackson, you're always talking to that patient as if she was alive," says a woman with a cheerful voice. A cold object is put inside my ear. Checking temperature, probably? Not sure. Everything's so confusing. Nothing of what I'm hearing makes sense. I am alive, after all.

"She is alive, nurse Patty," the man replies.

"Not so sure of that." The woman lowers her voice, apparently trying to whisper but talking loud anyway.

"I heard that. Look, I made a promise to her parents. We're keeping her alive. She's young, healthy and not to mention beautiful. I'm totally sure she will come out of the coma."

"I know. I'm sorry, Dr. Jackson. I just… feel that you've become emotionally attached to this girl. And we both know this profession doesn't allow us to get involved in people's lives."

"I understand your concern, but there's nothing to worry about. I'm fine. Now, I have other patients to check on, so I'll let you proceed to her bath."

As the man leaves, my mind goes over the conversation I just heard. The coma? What is he talking about? Then, it hits me: the last thing I remember is going to a party. Things got out of control. Thalia drank too much, and I let her drive anyway. The rain was falling hard, and this truck appeared out of nowhere. Then… nothing.

Suddenly, everything makes sense: the lack of voice, movement, sight. Everything. I'm trapped inside my mind, trying to recover. Holy shit.

I try to move once again, but it's useless. The only thing I accomplish is to increase my heart rate. Beep. Beep. Beep.

"Whoa, slow down," the nurse says. "This is not normal, what's going on with you? I should call Dr. Jackson."

Help, I try to shout, but it only sounds inside my head. Footsteps—the nurse's, probably—walk away hurriedly until it's impossible to hear them anymore. One more time, I make an effort to move. I channel all of my strength to the fingers on my right hand.

Nothing. My fingers remain as stiff as before. Sweat drops puddle upon my forehead, reflecting my attempt to move. At least that way I know I'm alive.

"Did you do something out of the ordinary?" asks the masculine voice from before, with a hint of concern.

"No, Dr. Jackson," the nurse replies. "I'm telling you: her heart rate increased out of nowhere. I decided to call you instead of doing something, since it's your special patient."

Dr. Jackson huffs, clearly annoyed by the nurse's accusations, but decides to stay quiet. "What's wrong with you?" he asks, his voice now located to my right.

A pair of fingers force my right eyelids to open. The only thing I can see is white. After a few seconds, my eyes adjust to the light, and everything is clear now. The first thing I see is green. Beautiful, green eyes look back at me. Not just any green, no; more sea-ish, if that's even possible in a person.

Please, help me, I try to shout one more time. Again, nothing.

"No way," Dr. Jackson says. "She… she's reacting to the light. Could it be…? No, there's no way."

Yes, I'm here, please help me. I use all of my strength to move the tip of one finger, at least. Then, it happens. Just like a car, after starting the engine: my whole body comes to life. I open my eyes willingly, and I take a huge gasp for air.

Dr. Jackson jumps backwards out of shock. "Holy shit!" His back bumps onto the nurse—a pudgy lady with fake, red hair. The latter loses her balance and lands on her ass, grunting.

They both stay immobile as I catch my breath. My limbs are numb but functional. And my voice… "I'm alive." My mouth feels extremely dry, but it works as well.

"Yes, you are," Dr. Jackson whispers, recovering from the shock. "Annabeth, you're awake."

"Yeah," I mutter. "I've been awake for a few minutes now. Who are you?"

"I'm Dr. Jackson. I've been in charge of your case for a while, and I'm also the son of Sally and Poseidon Jackson. You know, friends of your parents." He grabs a nearby chair and takes a seat next to me. "Wow. I always knew you'd wake up, but I wasn't prepared for that moment. You took me by surprise."

"Yeah, you weren't the only one surprised," whispers the nurse in her not-so-low tone of voice, but he ignores her.

"My parents," I say. "They need to know. Tell them I'm awake. Please."

Dr. Jackson turns to face the electrocardiogram, avoiding my eyes. "Yeah, you leave that to us. We… we'll handle it."

"What are you not telling me?" I ask, feeling weak but still curious. "I might've been in coma, but I'm not dumb. You're hiding something. What is it? How much time was I asleep?"

Silence. He acts interested in my heart rate, but I know he's avoiding my question. Then, he seems to return to his doctor role: he takes a deep breath and looks me in the eye.

"Annabeth, you've been gone for five years. Your parents… are no longer among us."