Not Aquaman

It was a little after two when I woke up. The shoes by the door and the blanket draped around Annabeth and me told me that Paul and my mom must have returned earlier in the night. I slid carefully off the couch, rearranging the woolly tartan blanket so Annabeth wouldn't wake up, then crept over to the kitchen to pour myself a cup of water for my burning throat. The images from the news were still burnt into my memory.

I'd told my girlfriend that I was fine, that I knew it wasn't my fault and that there was nothing I could do about Daniel Reeves.

I wasn't being completely honest. Guilt and anxiety still swirled around my head like water in one of those vortex thingies in a theme park. That wasn't a great metaphor, but you get it, right? Even though I knew, I knew, that really I wasn't to blame for anything that happened, for some reason my mind liked to taunt me. 

You could have helped him earlier, if you hadn't been so ready to fight someone.

You could've called the police.

You should've killed that mugger so he didn't cause any more trouble.

You should have known something was wrong.

The thoughts flooded my brain, a jackhammer of self-loathing pummelling the inside of my skull. Suddenly the apartment felt too small - too stuffy. I could feel the navy blue walls closing in on me, each piece of my mom's art seemed like daggers at the edges of my vision.

I had to get out.

Someone had removed my shoes whilst I was sleeping, so I had to fumble around in the dark for a minute like an idiot before I found my sneakers and pulled them on. The only jacket I could see was my mom's cream coloured trench coat; and while I'm sure it would have made a bold fashion statement I decided to skip it, and instead stepped out into the cold New York night with nothing but a thin hoodie over my shirt.

A crisp breeze ruffled my hair as I walked, biting at my cheeks and nose. I shoved my hands further into my pockets. The city was alive and bustling during the day - you couldn't walk one yard without bumping into someone. But at two in the morning it was like a ghost town. 

Derelict apartment buildings and fast-food joints stood boxed-in along the street, interjected by the occasional law firm and corner store. Missing persons leaflets and paper ads taped to flickering street lamps rustled eerily in the wind. Trash littered the sidewalk, and as always the thick smell of cigarettes and smog choked the air. Ah, New York.

I don't know why, or how, but for some reason I was subconsciously heading in the direction of that alley. Yeah, crazy right? Why would I want to go back to the place that been causing my mind so much grief? Who knows? (Not me.) But my legs carried me along anyway. Maybe I wanted to search for a clue, or replay the fight in my mind to prove to myself there was nothing more I could have done in the moment.

It took me maybe five minutes to reach my destination. And it was just as depressing as before - maybe more so in the dark. The same trash cans lined the street, still overflowing with take-out boxes and discarded paper grocery bags. The same white paint crumbled off the walls, the same dripping pipes, the same dirty jacket lay discarded in the corner-

Wait a second. The man's jacket. The one he'd lost in the struggle. He must not have collected it after he regained consciousness. 

I don't know what possessed me to pick it up out of the puddle of garbage juice it was lying in (gross), and rifle through the pockets but I did. 

 Four crumpled dollars, a half-empty pack of cigarettes and a used tissue (double gross) later, I was about to give up on my short-lived career as an amateur detective. But first I decided to check if there was one of those sneaky extra inside pockets that made me think of drug dealers each time I used one. Good thing I did, because there was. And the Fates must have been trying to make up to me the years of abuse they put me through because from it I pulled out a small, grease-stained envelope. (You're still not off the hook Fates, by the way. I haven't forgotten about being shoved in a toilet. Or the whole going to hell thing. Anyway.)

You might well be thinking, 'Wow. What an anticlimactic reveal. Thanks for nothing Percy.' And to that I say be patient oh ye of little faith. For it wasn't the envelope itself that caught me off guard, but the address scrawled in shockingly bad handwriting on the front of it. Seriously, it was worse than mine, and I'm dyslexic. 

I stared at it for a minute, mind racing over what to do. Sure, the smart thing would be to take this to the police, or my mom or Annabeth; but since when has anyone ever used the word 'smart' to describe Percy Jackson?

So instead I put the address into Google maps and started walking. (Thanks mortal technology!) It was only when I reached the pizza place/apartment building ten minutes later that it occurred to me that this address probably didn't belong to the guy I beat up. Duh. Who carries around mail to themselves? But it was too late to go back now. 

I pressed the buzzer for apartment 2B before I could stop myself. Then I pressed it again for good measure.
I waited a good five minutes with no reply before realizing it was nearly three in the morning. My guy was probably fast asleep. Unwilling to give up so easily, I looked around to make sure there were no witnesses, then pulled out the pen sitting comfortably in my back pocket. I unsheathed Riptide and slid it through the gap between the doorframe and through the lock as easily as a knife through butter.

I traipsed up the stairs as quietly as possible, finding 2B relatively easily. For some reason I decided that the best course of action was to bang aggressively on the door until a balding middle-aged man in a bathrobe appeared. The name on the letter was Jeremy Anderson, and Jeremy was clearly not happy about having his beauty sleep disturbed.

"Do you know what fucking time it is?!"

"I'm sorry Mr Anderson, but I...uh..." Rats, what should I say? I hadn't thought that far ahead. "I have something I urgently need to give you." I thrust the envelope out in front of me. Jeremy snatched it from my hand. quite impolitely, I might add. He didn't even bother to open it, just looked at it and sighed.

"The fuck's Neil done now?"

"Um... I'm not sure. I'm actually trying to find him at the moment. You... wouldn't happen to know where he's staying these days... would you?"

Jeremy looked at me suspiciously. "What do you need Neil for? Who even are you? You look about sixteen."

He wasn't far off, but still, I was offended.

"I'm twenty-three. And as a matter of fact Neil owes me money. Money which I really need right now. To... buy drugs."

Not my best lie, I'll admit. Shut up.

Jeremy still wasn't convinced. "How'd you get this if you haven't seen him recently?" He held up the letter.

"Well, he was supposed to pay me back like three days ago, but when we met up he was seriously tweaking, like he was on something, and he wouldn't stop going on about this job that would fix everything and before I could stop him he gave me this and told me to give it to you and that he'd get me my money soon but I need it like right now so if you could give me his address that'd be great please and thankyou."

There was a pause, and for a second I was sure my rambling had solidified me as freak in Jeremy's eyes, but then he was shutting the door and returning a minute later with a scrap of paper with an address on it. He shoved it into my hands.

"Tell Neil to stop fucking bothering me."

The conversation ended with him slamming the door in my face. Rude. But understandable. Plus I couldn't really care about that when I had the address of my mugger - Neil - in my hand. 

At this point in the story, you're probably wondering, "What in the name of Zeus are you doing you lunatic?! This has gone on plenty long enough!" And to that I say, firstly: fuck Zeus. And secondly, I've come to far to give up now. I owed it to Daniel Reeves to keep going. 

Adrenaline high, I raced through the city to the next address, and arrived at the corner of something and something out of breath. Who knew detective work would involve this much cardio? The Mystery Gang certainly made it look easier. 

When I reached the building, I was unsurprised to find it was just the kind of place you'd expect a crook like Neil Last Name Unknown to live. It was a tall, ugly piece of architecture, with rotting window panes and brick that looked like it was manufactured in the Middle Ages. I tried the handle. It was locked. Thankfully, I didn't care. I unsheathed Riptide for the second time that night and slashed the bolt as respectfully as one is able to slash things. 

Apparently, Neil lived in apartment number 406, and with the elevator looking like it had taken a hit from Festus the dragon, I started up the flights of crooked stairs instead.

His door was so plain I almost walked right past it. I took a deep breath, then knocked. I waited, fidgeting awkwardly. It was only then that some semblance of doubt and anxiety hit me. What was I thinking? I realized just how much I hadn't thought through - which was a lot. I was seriously considering turning around and leaving, when there was a grunt from inside which sounded like, "It's open."

Cautiously, I twisted the handle.

The pathetic excuse for a box apartment I stepped into nearly gave me a flashback to my own place back when me and my mom lived with Gabe. It was decorated with a style I liked to call 'beer can and pizza chic' and the smell of damp mould and questionable substances made my nose wrinkle. I was so distracted by the décor that I almost didn't notice the baseball bat swinging through the air towards my head. Luckily I did in fact notice, and at the last second ducked, and the bat collided with a tall lamp instead of my skull. Shame. It was admittedly a nice lamp.

Neil looked just as disgusting as he did in the alleyway, and as he recovered from his missed shot I saw that he sported an ugly purpling bruise on his chin, as well as a black eye. I couldn't help but smirk.

"Do you always try to murder your house guests?" I enquired politely.

Neil snarled at me, "I was told someone I owed money to was looking for me. I didn't expect you."

Damn it Jeremy, I thought we were friends. 

"Sorry to disappoint."

"What do you want?" He spat, a little too aggressively for someone who just got his ass handed to him like eight hours ago, in my opinion.

"Answers. About what happened to Daniel Reeves."

Neil laughed coldly.

"Fuck off kid. You already ruined that gig for me. I'm not telling you nothing."

The atrocious grammar was his first mistake. His second was leaving his throat exposed. Quicker than his mortal brain could register, I flew across the room, pinning his neck to the wall with my forearm. The baseball bat dropped to the floor as he struggled to remove the pressure on his windpipe. His eyes widened in fear. 

"You want to rethink your answer?"

A strangled sound escaped from him as I increased the pressure. "Okay! Okay!" He managed to gasp out.

I loosened my grip on him, not entirely but enough for him to breathe. He wheezed dramatically. 

"You fucking psychopath!"

"Says the attempted kidnapper."

He pushed against me, trying to get free, so I slammed him into the wall, maybe a little harder than necessary.

"You're going to tell me everything you know. Now."

I gave him another slam to emphasize my words.

"Okay! Okay! I will, just- fuckin- stop hurting me, please." He whined. 

I glared at him, a sign for him to start talking.

"I don't know who wanted the kid or why, all I know is some one slipped a fuck-ton of money under my door with instructions for the job and a promise of more money after it was done, that's all I know, honest!"

"What were the instructions?"

He hesitated. I punched the wall next to his head, leaving a dent and making him cry out. Was it a bit much? Possibly. But I couldn't find it in myself to care.

"Tell. Me. Now."

He groaned, "Fuuck, they're gonna kill me, man."

I raised my hand to punch again, but he stopped me.

"No! Okay! Fine. It said exactly what route the kid took on his way home, and told me to nab him and drag him to van which would be waiting a few blocks down, then drive with them to some old warehouse down by the docks where I'd get my money. That's it!"

A van. Titan's damn it I should have known to look around. I should have followed the kid to make sure he got home okay. I should have...

Suddenly I heard Annabeth's voice in my head: You couldn't have known, Percy. It wasn't your fault. 

Even imaginary Annabeth just had to always be right. I shook off my doubts and focused on the matter at hand.

"The warehouse. Where is it?"

...

All the addresses were starting to make my head hurt, but as soon as I reached the vague area Neil had given me I knew it was the place. The whole street looked straight up of out a movie. Dilapidated walls, tin rooves, graffiti; everything about it screamed criminal activity. I imagine realtors would describe the buildings as 'well-loved'. 

I was wondering how to go about finding the right warehouse, when a heavily armed man in a black suit appeared from the side of one of the shabby-looking constructs. I dove behind a wall, praying to the gods he didn't see me. At least now I knew where to look.

After a few minutes I crept along the wall and braved a glance at the depot. Several more guards were stationed outside the doors, all with guns, all looking incredibly bored. 

My mind immediately starting planning a strategy. Punch there, take him out first, kick, sweep, kick, break his arm, take the gun. 

I looked around for anything else I could use. As my eyes landed on a water tower, a small grin spread across my face. Perfect distraction. 

I took a shaky breath. Was I really ready to do this?

I stepped...

Then was pulled back by a yank on my shirt. My fight response kicked in, and I whirled. I swiped at thin air, and a kick to the knee knocked me to the floor. I was so stunned, it took me a second to recognize that particular surprise-attack pattern. 

I shifted my weight onto my back, so I was face-to-face with my assailant. Familiar eyes glared down at me.

"Hey babe."

Annabeth scowled, "Don't 'hey babe' me. What the fuck Percy?"