Aroma ~ A Percabeth Story (ongoing): Book 3 - Percy Jackson Fanfiction

Chapter Sixteen ~ ANNABETH

Chapter Sixteen
ANNABETH

Argus drove the minibus as far as Manhattan. "Thank you," Annabeth said as she clambered out of the car.

He grimly nodded, his hundred eyes blinking in unison, and he drove off, leaving Annabeth on the sidewalk. She then walked the few blocks until she arrived at the flat, and knocked on the door.

Of course, nobody answered. Sighing, Annabeth tried to think like her ex-husband. Immediately, she knew where he'd hide the key.

She looked under the doormat and was surprised to see it wasn't there.

"Okay," she muttered. "Maybe Percy has actually grown some brain cells since we divorced."

Then she tried the door handle, hoping to break it off, and the door swung open.

Percy had left his flat unlocked.

"His number of brain cells has actually depreciated," Annabeth decided, rolling her eyes. What kind of idiot left their flat unlocked?

A cold shiver ran through her. Maybe he wasn't the last person here.

Annabeth shook the feeling off. It was Percy, for crying out loud. He was hardly known for his intelligence.

Even so, Annabeth took a knife out of her bag. Not just any knife - her knife. Her shining golden knife. She tucked it into her belt where it would be quicker and easier to grab, and advanced into the flat.

The hallway was simplistic, with some boring paintings and a coffee table with a teal-coloured telephone. A little notepad was next to the phone, with Percy's messy scrawl: FEED NAK WHEN BACK.

"That's strange." Annabeth took a pause. "Nakamura?"

There was no bark, no pounding of soft paws along the floors. Something ate away at her - why would Percy leave himself a note telling him to feed his hellhound dog... when his hellhound dog clearly wasn't here?

Things really weren't adding up here.

Overall, the place was a lot neater than she had expected - most of the walls were blue, Percy's favourite colour, and virtually everywhere had a nice clean grey carpet. There was a small bowl in the living room on the side, full of loose change and keys and bolts and screws. The living room itself had a nice decor: cream walls; navy furniture; ocean-blue curtains. Everything was perfectly organised, like the bookcase with tidy stacks of alphabetically-sorted CDs and the cabinet with DVDs arranged by actor and genre.

Annabeth snooped in the kitchen - azure tiles; cream linoleum floor. The cupboards were wooden, as were the island and dining table, and once again everything had its own place and was simple enough to find.

Already, Annabeth was confused. Percy was such a slob, normally. Or he had been when they'd lived together.

Annabeth moved to the bedroom. The flat, despite being so well looked-after, was still cramped and unpleasant, with only five rooms in total. The bedroom was probably the smallest of the lot, no bigger than eleven feet wide, with grey walls and a near-black carpet, with very basic furniture. The bed was carefully made, but the curtains were shut, and one of the wooden wardrobe doors was slightly ajar.

Annabeth raised an eyebrow, but moved on.

The bathroom was clean.

The utility room was clean.

Annabeth found herself back where she'd started in the hallway. Sighing, she went into the kitchen and made herself a very strong coffee. Percy's milk was out of date by two days, but she decided to take the risk.

Food poisoning was the least of her worries.

She sat down on one of the blue leather stools next to the island and opened her briefcase. She rifled past the Chase Contracts contractual agreements that she had colour-coded and alphabetised, architectural Olympian designs on Ares' improved war statues and Aphrodite's new fashion mall, Andrew's financial bank statements, printed out emails about staff members... there.

Annabeth grabbed the sheet of paper and roughly pulled it from the case, scattering the other papers. She didn't care. There it was, in black and white.

MANHATTAN PROPERTY.
19 CRESCENT ST.
LAST REPORTED: 18th APRIL 2014, TWO INDIVIDUALS MATCHING THE DESCRIPTIONS OF ESME AND NEROVIAN JACKSON, LAST SPOTTED ON FEBRUARY 29th, SEEN LEAVING THE ABOVE PROPERTY LISTED AND ENTERING A BLACK SUV.
SUSPECT NAMED AS ADAM GRIMSHAW - ADDRESS: 67 MANLO LANE, MANHATTAN - INTERVIEWED ON THE FOLLOWING DAY IN CONNECTION TO THE JACKSON TWINS KIDNAPPING.
CASE TREATED AS SUSPICIOUS, FURTHER INQUIRIES TO BE MADE.

Annabeth looked at the address. 67 Manlo Lane, Manhattan. It was only a few blocks from Percy's flat.

There she'd find Adam Grimshaw, who had featured in her dreams. He was linked to Esme and Nero, somehow. He could lead her to them. And if not, at least to who took them. Who made them disappear.

She read the report again, and once more for good measure.

It was no coincidence that Percy was living at 19 Crescent St. - the property that, in the real universe, Esme and Nero were last spotted at. It couldn't be a coincidence at all, it was impossible.

Annabeth had done plenty of research before leaving the camp. She'd been refused a quest, of course, despite begging Chiron to let her get one and then confronting Rachel. She'd even tried to manipulate Rachel's guilt to make her produce a quest for her, to no avail.

So she'd pleaded with kind-hearted Argus - and then resorted to blackmail - to help fool Chiron into believing she was returning to San Francisco to marry Andrew in a fortnight.

And... she'd asked Leo to cover for her. She'd asked him to tell Percy the same story, that she was wedding Andrew soon. She didn't want Percy to worry about her.

She didn't want Percy to discover he was a father, because she wasn't sure how he'd deal with it. Annabeth was the strong, smart one - she was the one who needed to deal with this.

The first step was to visit Percy's flat - which was the last location her children were spotted at - and look for clues or anything suspicious. Even though she had a strange feeling here, there was nothing more to suggest anything was wrong.

Annabeth finished her coffee and left the flat. She called the local taxi company and sat on the curb outside of the flat.

She could see the yellow cab approaching when she heard a crash from behind her. Annabeth spun round. The flat's door was ajar.

Annabeth yanked free her knife and darted inside, slamming the door behind her. Another clatter sounded ahead, coming from the kitchen. Annabeth raced in and, after a count to three, shoved open the door and pounced in.

A boy was rattling through the cupboards. He jumped, turning round to face Annabeth. He wore a filthy grey t-shirt, littered with holes, and hugely baggy jeans with a dirty belt tied tightly around his skinny waist. His face was emaciated; a mass of scars, hollow and gaunt, covered in bruises and cuts. He had dirt-blonde hair.

His eyes were a dark, piercing, petrified green.

"Adam Grimshaw," Annabeth said, gulping. She shut the kitchen door behind her. "You better sit down."

The boy raised an eyebrow. "Who are you?"

"My name is Annabeth Chase. And you're robbing my husband's flat. Now, sit down."

***

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~ Lauren x