chapter twenty-nine: phantom wounds

Virginia has settled into spring with more force than necessary, and the weather's quickly getting warmer. With it, Percy has plunged back into work. His arm's pretty much healed, though it does twinge once in a while. Lucy makes it clear to him that he should ease back into work slowly, but Percy takes no notice. His injuries have healed up, so he needs to be working. Fixing cars is the one thing he's good at, and returning to it is helping him feel human again.

It's late evening, and he's working on getting a difficult job finished. It's a sleek, black sports car that was crashed by some reckless rich kid who blew in the side door and fucked up the engine. Percy's lying on a creeper tray under the car, wrench in hand as he identifies and fixes the issues with the undercarriage with methodical efficiency. Except he isn't being efficient; his body's protesting the labour, making things more difficult for him than they ought to be. Recently, his joints have become stiff and sore—moving his body hurts, which is pissing him off. He was used to dealing with pain when he lived in the trailer, but he's out of there now. There's nothing causing the pain, so shouldn't it have gone?

Percy figures everyone gets like this when they push themselves too hard. It would make sense; he pushes himself harder than most. Still, he has no point of reference. Maybe his body has always ached like this, and he just never noticed because he was usually in a worse, more urgent kind of pain. Or maybe this perpetual fatigue is nothing but an echo of what Gabe put him through, a lingering ghost of the damage—but that's impossible. Releasing a ragged sigh, he lets his head fall back onto the tray with a clank. It's a continual, conscious effort not to roll his aching shoulder. Distantly, he wonders if he's going crazy. There's nothing wrong with him. He knows there isn't. Closing his eyes, he thinks about how nice it would be to take a nap beneath the car's greasy underside.

Shaking off his stupor, he opens his eyes and forces himself to get back to work. He's stronger than this, stronger than his own fucking bones, tissues and ligaments that are freezing up and turning against him.

After his shift, he's ready to get back inside his empty, cold apartment and sleep the pain away until he has to get up for school tomorrow morning. But when he reaches his door, he does a double take. One of the social workers assigned to him is standing there, clutching a folder: Dianne Luce. She's wearing a long coat. Idly, she checks her watch—as though she's been waiting a while. Hearing him approach, she turns around to meet him with a grin. "Percy! Lovely to see you." She's British, and clips her words in a way that's incongruous to this part of the South. "Sorry it's so late, but I didn't want to tell you this over the phone."

Uncertain, Percy arches a brow. "Tell me what?"

"Well, there's no easy way to say this—but we've been looking into your case, and we uncovered something we think it's important for you to know about." She hesitates. "Could we go inside? I'd rather you be sitting down." Still confused, Percy fumbles for his key and unlocks the door.

Dianne turns the chair at his desk around and sits in it, facing his bed. She motions for him to take a seat on his bed. Complying, he asks, "What's this about? Why couldn't you tell me over the phone?"

She clasps her hands, leaning forward. "Now, Percy. How much do you know about your mother?"

"My mother?" he stutters. "Uh…Not much. Gabe never mentioned her."

"He didn't?"

Percy shakes his head slowly. "Whenever I asked, he always shut me down. I kinda assumed she was dead."

Dianne nods, like that's what she was expecting. "Well, she's alive. I expect the reason we didn't previously know about her is because she isn't in the mainstream system."

Blindsided, he gapes. "What?"

"Her name is Sally Jackson," she tells him, adjusting her glasses. She opens the file, offering him a piece of paper. A document.

Apprehensive, he takes it. There's an ID photo printed in the corner: a mugshot. Her hair's black and wavy, framing a face that's shaped similarly to his own. She's unsmiling, but the gentle crow's feet tugging at her eyes are reminiscent of past happiness. He lets out an involuntary gasp, holding the paper tighter with shaking hands. At the top of the page are the words Virginia Correctional Centre For Women. "She's in prison," he breathes. Head jerking up, he meets Dianne's eyes and repeats, "She's in prison. What the fuck? Why didn't I know about her?"

Lips pursed, her expression bleeds sympathy. "I'm sorry, Percy."

"What's she in there for? What did she do?" he half-shouts, choking back waves of frustration. The thought of having two fuck-up parents is somehow too much for him to bear. He scans the rest of the paper, but his fogged-up brain is unable to make out the legal jargon. Desperate for answers, he shoots Dianne a pleading look.

"Attempted murder," she tells him quietly. "She was taken to court by your stepfather. It's written in the records that during one of their arguments, she attacked him with an iron poker and almost killed him. At the time, you would've been only a few months old."

His mind whirls, struggling to make sense of the information. "She tried to kill Gabe? But…why? What happened?"

"Listen to me, Percy," she says urgently. "In light of your stepfather's trial, we have reason to believe that their court case may have come to an unfounded conclusion. During the case, she tried to claim self-defence. It's possible that he was violent towards her—in the same way he was towards you."

He drops his head into his hands, overwhelmed and suffocated. "This is so much. God, she's been in there since I was a kid? How much more time does she have left to serve?"

"A year and a half," Dianne responds. "There's no way we could upturn her sentence now, but it doesn't matter much. She'll be out soon, anyway."

"Can I…" He swallows. "Can I see her?"

"If you like. But, Percy, you need to remember that she doesn't know you. She might very well be hostile towards you, alright? She's a prisoner."

"I know that," he says hoarsely. "I just wanna speak to her. Do you think…?" He trails off. His shock's beginning to fade into exhaustion. He wants to sleep, but he knows he'll have to face this mess in the morning.

Dianne seems to pick up on his uncertainty. Leaving him the form, she closes the folder and stands up. "I've got to head off, but don't hesitate to call if you need anything. Are you available Saturday afternoon? We can arrange a trip to the prison for you. I believe visiting hours are open then."

He nods wordlessly. "Thanks, Dianne." Numbness has overtaken him, and he just wants to lie down. Leaving him with a warm smile, she closes the door behind her. Alone with his thoughts, Percy can't stop staring at the form in his hands. Sally Jackson. It's a strange thing, to suddenly know the face of the mother he never knew. There's no trace of her in his life, not even a distant memory. No evidence that she even existed, except for his last name—and this document. He wonders for a moment why Gabe never had it changed, but he knows it's stupid to wonder; he never saw Percy as a son. Why would he want to make it official?

Kicking his shoes off, he flops back onto his bed and lets the document slip onto the floor. He's almost thankful that the aching of his joints dampens his sprawling, messy thoughts. Wishing he had some ibuprofen, he closes his eyes. He'll have to sleep the pain away.


The next morning, he can't get back into his head. He zones in and out of Friday's lessons, only having the presence of mind to scribble a few lines of notes if he's prompted. Percy's used to getting like this sometimes—it's been happening for years—but never before has the vacancy been so all-encompassing. Annabeth definitely notices. She doesn't say anything, only attaches herself a little more firmly to his side at lunchtime and nudges him gently when someone's trying to get his attention.

He doesn't tell her about his mom. He can't, not when his own feelings are so confused and half-formed. He has no idea what she's like, if she'll even want to see him after so much time has passed. Anticipation churns in his stomach; he doesn't know whether he should be intrigued or terrified. The word self-defence clangs through him, scorching his synapses like a lightning strike. It's sickening to know that along with everything Gabe took from him, he might have also taken away his mother. When he gets home from his shift that night, he lies awake for hours. Exhaustion eventually overtakes him. As usual, nightmares find him in the dark.

Dianne picks him up from his apartment on Saturday afternoon, still wearing his mechanic clothes. He didn't have time to change. Even though he knows looking presentable in front of the mother he never knew is the least of his problems, fear still twists up his stomach. "How are you feeling about this?" she asks cautiously.

He didn't realise his inner turmoil was so obvious. "Fine," he lies, watching Virginia's countryside rush past the window. Drizzle trickles down the glass, distorting the outside world into a lucid watercolour painting. Picking at his torn cuticle, he concedes, "I don't know what I'm going to make of her."

"You don't need to make anything of her," Dianne reassures him. "Just show her that you're alive. Let her know your stepdad's no longer in your life, maybe. I've got no idea how she'll react, but I expect she'll want you to hear her out."

In his gut, Percy already knows that Gabe was the perpetrator in the fight the two of them had. Though he can't speak for what Gabe was like when Percy was a baby, he knows first-hand how little it takes to drive his stepdad to violence. He wishes with a fervent desperation that he could've found out about her earlier, if only so he knew there was someone out there. Still, he hates how easy it is to idealise the image of her. It's stupid to think that a woman who's been in prison for sixteen years will be anything more than tolerant towards him, but the dream of it still flutters in his chest. "Hey, Dianne?"

"Yeah?"

He hesitates, realising he's picked his cuticle raw; a tiny bead of blood blooms at the edge of it. Smoothing the blood away, he trains his eyes on the road ahead. "Is she even gonna want to speak to me?"

Dianne's glances at him. "We'll find out when we get there."

The prison is smaller than Percy was expecting, with brick walls and a tiled roof. His gaze catches on the blue sign at the entrance that reads Commonwealth of Virginia: Department of Corrections. They sign in at the lobby and are escorted by a prison guard into the visiting room. A few other visitors are in there, speaking to their incarcerated loved ones through the window cubbies. "She'll be at No.18," Dianne informs him. "You okay with speaking to her alone?"

Percy nods. Balling his hands into fists to stop them from shaking, he walks over to the eighteenth cubby and sits down, looking through the glass. His mom isn't here yet. He waits for a few minutes, heart pounding. At last, a woman sits down on the other side of the glass. She looks nothing like the ID photo. Her once long and wavy hair has been shorn into a frizzy bob and her face is comprised of tired lines, worn down by years of incarceration. She's a skeletal imitation of her former self. Percy reaches for the phone on his side a beat before she picks up her own, angling it against his ear and mouth.

Sally speaks first. "Percy," she says hoarsely. "They told me you were coming."

He has no idea what to say. "Uh…yeah. It's me."

"How are you?" she asks primly, expression under careful control. And if not for the slight tremor of her voice, he would've bought her mask of emotionlessness.

"I'm alright," he responds. Under her scrutiny, it takes a moment to gather the courage to say anything more. "What's it like here?"

"Well, it's not very exciting, that's for sure." Percy could've guessed that. Sally's scanning his face, like she's looking for something. "You look different than I'd have guessed," she says quietly, an echo of her subconsciousness.

He shifts, uncomfortable. "How's that?"

"You're tall. I never pictured you so tall."

Suddenly, he's irritated. "Well, I never pictured you as anything. I didn't even know you existed."

"You didn't?" she asks, brow furrowing for a moment. "I always thought you just didn't want to see me."

"Gabe never told me about you. About anything."

"I guess that makes sense," she says quietly.

Percy grips the phone tighter, fighting an illogical surge of anger. He grits out, "I would've wanted to know you."

At that, a genuine, hopeful smile tugs at her mouth. She's already given up, though; her surrender is clear in the slump of her hunched-up, small shoulders and the worry lines on her forehead. "Does Gabe know you're here?"

"No," he says, shaking his head. There's so much he wants to tell her, but so little time. "No, he doesn't. He's going to prison—I've got a restraining order against him."

At that, she sits up straight. "What? He hurt you?"

"Yeah. I figure he hurt you, too. But he doesn't matter anymore, okay?"

The practised veneer of emotionlessness has fallen away from her face, betraying horror and disgust. "I let this happen. I can't believe I let this happen."

"No, mom—"

"Don't call me that," she hisses. "I haven't done anything to deserve that."

Frustration prickles his throat. "I know, okay? But I want to forgive you. Now that Gabe's gone, maybe we can…" He trails off, uncertain. Get to know each other better? Build a relationship? He has no fucking idea how to clear out a space for her in his life, or if that's even what he wants to do.

She seems to hear the unspoken words. Steadily, she asks, "Are you doing okay? Are you living somewhere safe?"

Caught off guard, he stutters out, "Yeah. I live alone."

She nods, reassured. "Don't let him get near you again, okay? Promise me that."

"I wasn't going to let him," he says firmly. That annoys him, for some reason. Why would he ever give his stepfather the time of day? He's deathly fucking scared of him. "God. You don't have to tell me that."

Sally closes her eyes. "You're right. I'm sorry." Silence hangs between them for a moment, a living beast. "I don't know how to ask this," she mutters, "but what's your life like? What do you do for fun? Do you have a—a girlfriend, or somebody?"

This feels like unsafe ground. Still, he takes a risk and humours her. "I…" He hesitates. "I fix cars—I work in an auto shop. I like skateboarding. And, yeah, I have a girlfriend."

Sally's smile is warm and infectious. "You must be clever, if you're working somewhere specialised. What's your girlfriend's name?"

"Annabeth," he admits. "She's real nice. Blonde, smart as hell. I've known her since I was ten."

"Childhood sweethearts? I wish I could have been around to see that. To see you grow up." A heavy pause. "I'm sorry."

"It wasn't your fault."

She appraises him. "How do you know that? How do you know I really didn't try to kill him for no reason?"

Percy doesn't even have to think about his answer. "Because I know Gabe, and I know he's an ugly piece of work. It's not hard to believe he might have initiated the violence."

She scoffs. "You're one of the few who think that, then."

"Maybe," he says with a shrug. "Why, you reckon I'm being naive?"

"No," she responds, almost inaudibly. "I don't think you're being naive at all." Behind Percy, a guard lets them know that they have one minute of visitation time remaining.

Percy feels torn in half. He doesn't want to leave his mom—he's only just found her again. "Would it be okay if I came back here?" he asks her. "Next weekend, when visitation hours are open."

"I'd like that very much."

"And can you call me, whenever they give you the chance?"

"I can," she whispers. An uncertain, impossible kind of hope seems to unfold behind Sally's dark eyes. "Of course I can."


thanks for reading, let me know what you thought! the next chapter will be up on wednesday as usual. you can keep up with me on my tumblr, stolen-arts :)