•Chapter 6•

Hi!

GUESS WHO HAD TO RUN A 10K MARATHON A FEW WEEKS AGO? Me! Just kidding. I walked the whole way XD

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Also, if you can, please check out my Mother's Day one-shot about Sally and Percy, called For Percy. That'd be greatly appreciated! :)

Happy reading!

2010

BOOM!

A clap of thunder resonated all around Manhattan as a crack of lightning zig-zagged across the sky. Rain pelted against my bedroom window, almost rhythmically. "Percy?" My mother appeared in my doorway, her wet hair in a towel-turban. "We leave in half an hour."

"To where?" I almost asked, but then I remembered:

Today was the day of my father's funeral.

"Your suit is in your closet," continued my mother. "Oh, and also bring something that you consider sentimental. It can be a picture of the two of you, or a gift your father gave you … anything, really. I'll be in the living room if you need any help."

"'Kay." I walked towards my closet and slid open the door. My new suit was there, amidst all my other suits and jeans, just as my mom said—not that I doubted her or anything. It was just a simple suit, nothing flashy or unique. Black pants, black tie, black dress shirt, black belt. But there was something else on the suit … something different. I stepped closer and picked the suit out of the closet, bringing it closer to my face. The shape of a small object was poking out of the fabric of the pocket. Reaching a hand into the black pocket, I wrapped my fingers around the object—I could now tell that it was a circular metallic object—and pulled it out.

I sucked in a breath. It was a ring.

I brought it closer to my eye-level and examined it. Suddenly, I realized why a ring, of all things, was doing in my suit. It was a family ring. I remembered, faintly, when I was younger, I asked my father about the ring on his fourth finger. "Daddy," I'd asked, "why are you wearing a ring? That's for girls."

Dad had knelt down to my level and slid the ring off his right hand. "No, it isn't, Percy," he'd said. Holding the ring between his thumb and index finger, he'd told me that one day, I would inherit the Jackson family ring, because I was the firstborn son. My dad's side of the family was sort of weird that way; the norm of having family rings died out a long time ago, yet they still held on to that tradition. "When I turn 50, you will get this ring, just like how your grandpa gave me this when he turned 50."

"What about Tyson?" I remembered asking. Tyson, only a baby then, was sitting nearby in the playpen and had clapped his hands together, excited, when he heard his name coming out of my mouth. "Does he get anything? Like another ring?"

"No. There is only one ring, Percy, and you are the one who will inherit it." Seeing my disappointed face, he had reassured me, "But don't worry, my boy. Your little brother will get something too. I promise."

A knock on my door brought me back to my body standing in front of my closet, coat hanger in hand. "You almost ready?" my mother called.

Cursing internally, I shouted, "Sorta!" and immediately shimmied into my suit.

I shoved the ring on the first finger I touched, not really caring which finger it was on. (Yup, apparently there were rules for that.) I could adjust it later. Sweeping my room with a glance, I settled on a sand dollar my father had given me after we went to the beach, just the two of us, for my birthday. Not sure how old I was then, but I distinctly remembered the feeling of joy when my father handed it over to me and said, "Keep it," and proceeded to tell me to use it whenever I felt appropriate.

I wondered whether or not my father would consider his own funeral an appropriate occasion to use this sand dollar.

"I'm sorry for your loss."

I nodded numbly as person after person repeated that same sentence, over and over to me. "Thank you," I kept saying, each time more emotionless than the last. Inside, each time they said that they were sorry, I wanted to ask them, Are you saying this because you truly are sorry or because you feel obligated to say so? Did you even know my father well? My father's influence impacted a lot of businesses here in Manhattan and changed it for the better. As a result, many wealthy businessmen despised him, for he exposed their schemes.

I walked out of the church, the funeral over. It was now time to bury my dad, and say good-bye to him one last time. Meeting my mother and brother at the front of the large, Victorian-style church, we walked to the black hearse containing the coffin Dad was in.

The ride was short, and before I knew it, the grass had been dug up and it was time for me to lay my sand dollar inside his coffin. I approached the open casket, letting my eyes linger one last time on my father's face. Tucking my father's gift into his pocket, I stepped back and watched as the workers at the funeral home closed the lid, and lowered the mahogany coffin to the ground.

They began to cover the hole—now containing coffin with my dad in it—with soil.

This was it.

My father was officially gone.

Adjusting to life after the funeral was harder than I expected. Some days, I'd forget that my father was dead, and it'd be a terrible jolt to reality when I remembered.

I hoped that I'd never endure this again. Going through it once was painful enough.

As the fire alarm rang from the PA system, I concentrated on reading Annabeth's letter. It was annoying enough that the letters on the page were moving around; the Brinnggg! from the sound system didn't help. "It's not a drill or a real alarm," Mrs. Leer had said. "Just go back on working on your letters."

Dear Percy.

Um … it's possible? And wow, really, you keep a list of that? A "Top 10 Worst Phrases To Hear" list?

Gosh, I don't know why or how they can. Why don't you ask your friends how they do it?

After what felt like an eternity, it stopped. Oh, thank goodness; it was getting quite annoying and certainly was not helping me concentrate.

… Oh, wait, that's because you don't have any.

Haha. Kidding.

Jockey, huh? Interesting. It isn't really common here in San Fran. As much as I'd love to ride a horse, I can't. I'm a bit scared by them. (Yep. You read that right. Big ol' tough Annabeth Chase is a bit scared of horses. *Gasp*) And my mom would probably have a heart attack if she found out I was on one. (She is TERRIFIED of horses. She's convinced they're evil beasts who will look for opportunities to throw you off and then trample you.)

Aren't you always hurt? I'm getting confused now. Are you a banana or a human? 'Cause right now, I think you're a banana, and last time I checked, bananas can't hold pencils.

Well, aren't you a load of sunshine and rainbows!

Sincerely,

Annabeth Chase

P.S. Okay, all insults aside and all, are you alright? I don't know how, but I sensed some sadness or something in your last letter. Is everything okay on your end?

"Mr. Jackson?" Mrs. Leer appeared in my peripheral vision. "I'd like to see you after class." She then turned around and left.

A thousand things ran through my head. Was I in trouble? Were my grades low? (Actually, they already were low, depending on who you'd ask. Rachel, I know for one, would say that they already were too low—Annabeth too, probably, if she saw last semester's report card.) Did the principal back at the elementary school I went to discover that I was actually the one who accidentally killed the class fish? (It was an accident, I swear!)

I shrugged. Whatever it was, I'd find out in half an hour or so.

Dear Annabeth,

WOW. Wow. Okay. I see it now. You're a bully. :(

What. How? Horses are the best. (They're better than most people, anyways.) Have you tried convincing your mom to be more open-minded and realize how awesome horses are? Yeah, there are a few rogue ones that are terrible, but that doesn't define all horses. Some are really gentle and sweet. Really.

Why are you scared of them? Just curious.

I'm a banana :) Good work, Detective Chase. You found out your penpal is a banana! A 5-foot-11-inch tall banana, to be exact.

I know I am, no need to remind me :)

Your Rainbow Boy,

Percy Jackson

P.S. Yeah, I'm okay … sort of. No need to worry, though. I thought you'd prefer me as subdued and quiet rather than annoying and obnoxious. ;)

2015

The call comes on Tuesday evening, around a week after I arrive back in the U.S. Seated in the Chase's dining room, I am helping the twins with their homework (more like making sure they don't goof off or start playing League or Skyrim or something), when the phone rings. I get up and cross the room to retrieve the battered-up house phone discarded somewhere on the couch. I fumble with the phone before finding the Answer button and hit said button, my back to the twins. "Hello?"

"Is this Mr. Frederick Chase?" asks an unfamiliar voice on the other end.

"Uh, no," I answer. "He's not at home right now. If you would like, I can take your message. May I ask who is calling?" Out of the corner of my eye, I see the twins perk up in interest. I wave the twins away, mouthing, Do your homework.

"This is Mr. Nicoll, regarding Ms. Annabeth Chase's transfer from the hospital." My heart speeds up. Annabeth.

"Perce?" I turn and see one of the twins—I'm 90% sure it's Matthew—at my side. "Who is it? And when's Mom and Dad gonna come home? I need to ask Dad something about the War of 1812."

At the mention of the word 'war,' I wince a little. That stupid three-letter word brings back a lot of unpleasant memories from my time overseas.

"It's for homework," adds the other twin.

"Oh, excuse me for a second. Sorry." I lift the phone away my face and shush the fifteen-year-old pair. "Guys, keep working on your homework. If you stay quiet and finish your homework by dinner, I'll bargain with your dad and see if he'll let you play Skyrim for an hour before you go to bed. Just this once. Okay?"

The twins pump their fists the air. "Deal," they say.

"Okay, I'm back," I say before realizing that the person on the other end is not a family member or friend, but a stranger. A stranger who is dealing with Annabeth's case right now, that is. I cough in an attempt to cover up my mistake. "Uh, I mean, yes? What about Ms. Chase's transfer?"

The man hesitates. "This is highly personal information," he finally says.

"I'm her fiancé," I try.

"The name written on the transfer paper is a Mr. Frederick Chase. I'm sorry."

"But I'm the one whose pen touched the paper!" I protest. "I was deployed overseas with her, and when she got shot, I contacted her parents and they permitted me to sign the transfer papers! It says 'Frederick Chase' on there be—"

Suddenly, I see the porch light turn on, then the familiar jingle of keys as one is inserted into the lock, then another, and I stop mid-sentence. A moment later, Mr. and Mrs. Chase walk through the front door, the latter folding up the damp umbrella and placing it back into the stand. I stare at the middle-aged couple. Even though I'm slightly miffed that Mr. Chase has to hear the news first, I'm glad that at least we'll get news of Annabeth's transfer much quicker, now that her father is here. I inform Mr. Nicoll that Annabeth's father had just come through the front door. "One second, please," I say, proceeding to walk over to the sandy-haired man. His expression takes on one of confusion as I shove the grey-and-black object into his hands. "Annabeth," I hiss before he can say anything.

Eyes widening, he snatches the phone up to his ear. "Hello? Yes, this is he …" He disappears into the adjoining kitchen.

I turn to Mrs. Chase. "Some Mr. Nicoll is calling to say that Annabeth is ready for transfer," I explain. I prepare to go back into the dining room to make sure the twins aren't playing Skyrim or something, when I remember something: the deal. "Oh, and Mrs. Chase?" I spin around on my heel and face her. "Don't be too surprised if the twins—"

At that moment, Bobby (I think) comes running around the corner. "Mom, can Matt and I play Skyrim for, like, an hour before we have to go to bed? Percy he—"

"Bobby, can we talk about this later? In five minures?"

He nods and turns to go back to where he came from. "Okay."

His mother faces me again. "Percy, you were saying?"

I mentally facepalm. "Never mind," I mutter. "Bobby was asking the same thing."

I hope the ending of this chapter wasn't that abrupt and awkward. I couldn't think of any other way to end it, so … yeah …

Reviews:

percabethbooklion: Yeah, poor Percy. Hope things brighten up soon, huh? Thanks!

Angelthegenderconfusedcat: LOL I have three friends named Kevin. I'm sure they appreciate having their name written eight times. :P (Yes, I counted.) Thanks!

DerpMuffinPJO (Chapters 5 and 6): New reviewer! What. I never even knew Octachel was a thing, haha. Ouch. The feels landed on your head? Sorry. I'll provide a band-aid next time. Or a pillow, even? :P Thanks!

Average Canadian: Thanks!

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-K