Percy Jackson

Fun fact: if you're considered a missing person and an Amtrak employee notices, they're required to take you and your entire party to the closest police station.

In our case, that was the Albuquerque Police Department in New Mexico.

What an introduction to New Mexico, right?

You'd think that being called New Mexico and being in the south and, oh I don't know, a state that borders Mexico, I wouldn't get as many weird looks as I did in places like Indianapolis when we stopped there for gas or even in Denver when Grover, Annabeth, and I had been there.

But no, actually. I heard one of the officers call me a slur while we were stuck waiting at the precinct.

If we weren't surrounded by cameras and a dozen police officers, we'd just leave, but... It's not always easy to do that.

Plus, then that means we'd actually committed a crime, and I'm not trying to get my parents called right now.

I just told them they didn't have to worry.

Against my expectations, they took the six of us back there together to be questioned initially, which I assumed wasn't legal, but wasn't sure if it was worth questioning.

It was a big room they brought us into— there were two couches and a few other chairs in the room with a table in the middle. If I didn't know better, I honestly would've assumed it was some sort of break room, but the double sided mirror gave it away as an interrogation room.

Not that I'm an expert on interrogation rooms or anything but... They're also not a foreign concept to me.

"Sorry for the wait— crime doesn't stop, even around Christmas time." The shorter of the two officers that walked in with us said, motioning to the couches. "Please, take a seat. My partner and I just have some questions for you kids, okay? You're not in trouble."

"We're not?" Bianca asked, making me want to ring her neck out because everyone knows that you don't tell cops anything.

They're not your friends, trust me.

"Not unless you've done something wrong." The officer confirmed what I'm sure was a lie. I sat down at the end of a couch, Grover to my right, Bianca at the end beside him. On the other couch Thalia sat nearest to me, Zoë and Phoebe next to them.

Also important to note is that Grover and I sat together, but we were making no indication that we were together. If these officers might be racist (which, one of their coworkers are), I'm sure they're also homophobic.

After all, there's a reason you never see the police at KKK rallies.

"Our first question, which may be obvious, is what a group of students from the east coast are doing all the way in Albuquerque, New Mexico, headed for San Francisco only a few days before Christmas? Where are your parents? They must be worried sick about you. Don't you think they're besides themselves right now, looking for you six?"

"That's three questions." Zoë told the officer. "not one."

The officer bit back a retort, forcing a smile.

"Apologies, young lady, but a half dozen unaccompanied children on a train heading towards California naturally creates many questions. Why don't we start with the oldest."

He turned to Thalia, his bald spot reflecting the florescent lighting in the room.

"Tell me, dear, what's your name? How old are you? You look like you're almost old enough to be done with school."

Thalia crossed her arms, leaning away from the officer.

"Go to hell."

The officer next to him scoffed. He was a bit skinnier, with brown hair that actually covered his entire scalp.

"Interesting attitude from a girl who's been missing and presumably on the run, oh, what, ten years now?" He piped in, which naturally had everyone's attention. "what, you thought we didn't have your IDs? We couldn't question you without them— sorry that our facial recognition took so long to find all six of you."

He leaned forward.

"How've you been, Thalia Grace?" The rat bastard of a man questioned with a cruel smile on his face. "Going to visit your mom's grave? Look for your little brother? Or do you already know where he is— you went missing very close to one another, after all. Your poor mother drank herself to death and Hollywood watched her the whole way. Tristan McLean ended up paying for her funeral because there was no family to do it— how awful."

Thalia bit back a comment.

"What? Did that strike a nerve? You abandoned your mother after she lost her son—"

"Don't talk like you knew who the fuck my mother was."

"Woah, girl, we don't need the attitude," the same officer went on as if he wasn't purposefully antagonizing Thalia. "Do you—"

There was a knock on the door.

"Excuse me, officers, sorry for interrupting your interrogation." A woman in a white coat apologized. "Would I be able to borrow Perseus Jackson? Our records currently state he is not cleared for questioning yet."

Why am I not cleared for questioning but the others are?

Furthermore, why bring me back here if that's the case?

"Oh, uh, yes, apologies. We weren't informed of that. You can take him now."

Now, did I want to go with the strange lady? Not at all.

But when she locked her sights on me, it was painfully obvious that I didn't have a choice but to go with her.

Could she be a monster?

"Hello, Perseus," she said in a tone that was too nice for somebody who works in a police station. "My name is Dr. Hernandez. Please, come with me, I just have a few, private things to ask you."

Reluctant, I followed the woman out of the room and down the hall to another room that was more obviously an interrogation room. An officer stood in the corner of the room.

"Please, take a seat," she began, sitting herself on the far side of the table from the door. She sensed my hesitation, though. "Don't worry, Mr. Jackson, all of your friends will get pulled aside to be questioned individually. You were simply the first person they were able to identify, so you were first on the list, okay?"

I crossed my arms, sitting down across from her.

It's not like I've never been questioned by police before, but this lady wasn't a cop. But I could see that I was being recorded, meaning she has connections to the cops.

"Now, as I'm sure you've figured out by now— you're a smart kid, after all, but I'm not a police officer of any variety." She confirmed for me. "I am a crisis counselor that works with teens and young adults, and one or the officers called me in to talk to you before they question you. Do you have any idea why?"

I looked at the recording device in the middle of the table.

"If you're not a police officer then why is this conversation being recorded?"

"Hm? Oh!" She said, taking notice of it as well before looking to the officer who stood near the doorway, behind me. "Officer, would you be able to turn the recording device off for the time being? You can turn it back on when you begin questioning, but according to HIPAA, my consultation with any patient is not to be recorded if that recording is to be stored outside of the hospitals database."

Not saying anything, the officer turned off the recording device and then proceeded to throw it in the garbage, which felt excessive, but I guess eliminated any suspicions we'd had that it was still going.

"Sorry about that, Perseus, it was off earlier, so I assumed it still would be." The doctor apologized to me with a smile that I didn't believe. "Can I ask when the last time you spoke to your parents was?"

But with a cop still in the room, I didn't want to answer anything.

Once again, she looked to the officer, who took a moment to respond before stepping out of the room.

"Last night."

"Both parents or just one?"

"B... Well, my mom and step dad— my bio dad and I aren't on speaking terms."

And as it does with any adult I talk to, this had the doctors interest. She leaned forward.

"You're not? Why?"

I shrugged, looking down.

"Because I was a mistake." I began, knowing that sounded awful. "more or less. Unplanned, I guess. Him and my mom were only together for a short while before he left and he was never around when I was a kid. It's why I call my step dad my dad. I didn't meet my sperm donor until I was 12 and we've only spoken once. I don't want him in my life. I never have."

"You don't? Simply because he wasn't around? You were never curious?"

"I mean he's also just made my life a lot harder since he became involved," I added on. "but I was never that curious because I like, already had my dad. I didn't care that he's not blood related because he was literally there when I was born. Sure, not everything has been perfect, but... At least he was there."

"I see." She responded. "Well I'm sorry that that relationship with your biological father has caused strain in your life. Now, Perseus—"

"Percy." I interrupted her. "Never Perseus."

"O— oh. I see. My apologies, Percy." The counselor went on. "Anyways, once again, I'm sorry about your father. But I have to ask about something that happened recently that was a concern for me when it was brought to my attention."

"O...Kay?"

Sliding over a manilla envelope, she opened it for me to see a few photos of the group at Westover Hall— specifically when Grover fell and I pinned Dr. Thorn to the wall. The first photo was me running to him, the second me pinning him to the wall.

"According to the security personnel, nobody spotted or reported the incident, but after Dr. Thorn didn't return for his duties that night and Nico and Bianca di Angelo went missing, they decided to check the cameras." Dr. Hernandez explained as I held my breath, waiting to hear her assumption before I reacted. "Now, we're unable to hear what was said between Dr. Thorn and your group before you pinned him against the wall— we can only see that your friend here seemed to fall before you approached him."

Waiting for a question, I remained silent.

"Now, some people may chalk it up to teenage aggression— sometimes outbursts like this happen." She continued. "And while you do have a considerable record already, along with a parole officer assigned to you at such a young age, I couldn't help but notice something else that popped up on your other record."

"What other record?"

She smiled.

"Your medical record." And maybe I should've seen it coming, but the moment she mentioned my medical record, I wanted to crawl into a hole and die. "If I may ask, Percy— did you try to end your life or seriously harm yourself with the potential outcome of ending your life earlier this month?"

I looked down.

"If you have access to my medical files, you should know that already."

There was a beat of silence.

"I just want to make sure I didn't pull the files for the wrong Percy Jackson," and while I understand that, it didn't make me any less uncomfortable. "If what I read is correct, the same file tells me that you were sent home from a mental health facility, where you stayed for over two weeks, the day before this incident."

I simply nodded.

"So what were you doing in Maine?"

"It's a long story."

"Did you mean to lash out and attack Dr. Thorn? Or was it more like an impulse that you couldn't control?"

"It..." I started, trying to regulate my breathing. "he attacked my boyfriend, so I stopped him. Sure, I was mad, but I wasn't... I'm depressed, not psychotic."

"Your records state other concerns about that." She said, as if I needed the reminder that everyone had thought of me as being clinically insane throughout my entire life. "there's many notes, including one made during your most recent hospitalization, that state concerns over your rampant imagination."

I exhaled, trying my best to stay sane.

Ironic, I know, but it wasn't going very well.

"What? So you also think I'm crazy?" I asked, which sounded awful, but it was an awful accusation. "I just told you that I'm not psychotic or schizophrenic or anything like that. You want the full truth? My dad, my biological father, is a god. We're going to California right now because we're on a quest. We have two demigods and a goddess to rescue, which is why there's so many of us, and I don't think they'd appreciate it if they get stuck being prisoners or hostages or whatever for hours or days more because we got stuck in Albuquerque, New Mexico."

And because claiming that your father is a god when there are worries that you're schizophrenic in your medical file, this claim had the crisis counselors attention.

"Oh!" She responded, sitting up a little straighter. "okay, I see. May I ask which Pantheon?"

"Pan... Oh, Greek." I answered, wondering if that meant there were more than just the Greek and Roman gods out there. Somewhere. "my sperm donor is Poseidon. The di Angelo's are children of Hades, Grover— the one that fell, he's a satyr. Thalia is Zeus' kid. And then the blonde with us in the group, Annabeth, is the daughter of Athena."

"And Dr. Thorn?"

"A monster in disguise." I told her simply. "The uh, ne... Nemean, Nemaen Lion? However you say it, I'm not great with names and stuff. I usually learn as I uh, end up having to fight them."

Softly, Dr. Hernandez nodded.

"And what did he do to Grover to cause him to fall?"

"Poisoned him with his scorpion tail."

Once again, she nodded.

Does she just think I'm crazy for having this many details?

"I see." The counselor responded, pulling the file closer to her to look at something under the photos— what looked to be my actual record. "Hmph. Interesting— that would explain a couple of these reports, though not all."

I shrugged.

"I'm still depressed and can be easily angered with little regard for my own life."

She smiled.

"I'm glad that you're aware." Dr. Hernandez insisted, closing the envelope. "Then, with that explained, I just have one major question for you: why are you on a quest so soon after being released from treatment?"

"Why?" I repeated back.

"Yes, why." She confirmed. "Also, if you wouldn't mind telling me who your trainer is, I'd be interested in speaking with them on their decision to send you on a quest."

I smiled, but it was not a happy smile. It was a nervous smile.

"I... Wasn't issued on the quest." I told the doctor. "Well, not formally, but I'm the only person who's having dreams and visions about what's going on, so... That sort of elected me for the quest regardless. So if you want to lecture them about sending me on a quest during a crisis, go for it, but use my first quest as an example, not this one."

"And... Who is sending you these visions?"

"We think it's Atlas, but it could be Kronos."

The doctor hummed, writing something down that I couldn't read even if it wasn't upside down from my perspective.

"Well that is a bit of a doozy," she admitted. "Atlas and Kronos are very powerful titans."

Going quiet, I wondered what the counselor would do. One on hand, she seemed to believe me, but on the other hand, it's her job to make me feel like I'm not crazy.

"Would you be willing to tell this to one of my coworkers who works in California?" She asked me, which was a... Weird question. "I can't guarantee that I can send your friends with you, but I can send you right to the Bay Area."

"Tell who about what exactly?"

"Just a fellow coworker of mine— we worked together before I moved out here, you see." She explained to me. "Very nice man, he specializes in all things... divine, I suppose you'd call it. He'd be able to help you on your quest."

But the way she worded it solidified my suspicions of what was really going on.

She's trying to send me back to a facility.

"We don't need help."

"But you need help, Percy. We will determine if your friends also—"

"I have a therapist." I snapped at the crisis counselor. "And as long as we don't get stopped like this again, I will get to see her and talk to her next week, and then again the week after that. I don't need your help. I have my medication, I have my friends, I just want to finish this job and go home, okay?"

"And my friend—"

"If you're trying to send me to a mental health facility you could just say that." I went on, which caught her by surprise. I'm sure not everyone realizes that what she's putting on is an act to make me feel comfortable. "I was released from the facility I was just at for a reason, and that reason was because they knew that I could handle going back home. I'm not schizophrenic, and I guess I don't blame you for not believing me when I just answered all of your questions, but you have to believe me when I say that. Call my therapist or my regular doctor and tell them your concerns— they're the ones who can make a final verdict and diagnose me if they want. But if all you're going to do is ask me questions that try and corner me into saying something that could technically get me sent to an Institute, I'm done answering your questions."

Leaning back, I crossed my arms and remained silent as she asked me a couple other questions before giving up and calling the officer back in, who escorted me back to the group.

Well, the group minus Thalia.

Where's Thalia? I asked Grover over the mental link as I sat down next to him.

Talking to a lawyer. Grover told me as the officer that escorted me spoke with the other two that were still in here. I think he has a plan.

You think?

It's hard to talk when there's two police officers sitting right there, sweets.

Okay, true.

"Officers, I don't know how else to explain it to you," Bianca told the two of them. "There is no family for you to contact of mine— I've been trapped in time for the last 70 years. Even if my cousins or aunties were alive, they wouldn't be able to take care of me. That's all there is to is."

"Young lady, I don't know what kind of dreams you've been having in that little head of yours, but you can't just be trapped in time." The bald officer responded. "This is the real world, missy, not one of those YA brain washing books you kids love to read now a days. I need to know—"

The door to the interrogation room swung open once again, this time Thalia walking in with who appeared to be a lawyer and then the questioning officer that would've gone with her.

"Let's go, losers," Thalia said, holding a pair of car keys. "We have friends to see and paparazzi to avoid."