Deze afbeelding leeft onze inhoudsrichtlijnen niet na. Verwijder de afbeelding of upload een andere om verder te gaan met publiceren.
We spent two days on the train and traveled west through mountains, over rivers, past amber-yellow grain fields. We weren't attacked once, but I remained tense. I felt like I was traveling in a glass case, being watched from above and perhaps from below, while something was waiting for the right opportunity.
We tried to keep in the background as Percy's name and picture appeared in several East Coast newspapers. The Trenton Register-News ran a photo taken by a tourist as we jumped off the bus. Percy looked around with a wild expression. His sword was a metallic glint in his hands. It could have been a baseball bat or a lacrosse stick. Below the picture was written:
12-year-old Percy Jackson, wanted in connection with his mother's disappearance two weeks ago on Long Island, is seen here fleeing the bus where he molested several elderly passengers. The bus exploded on the side of the road in eastern New Jersey just as Jackson disappeared. Based on eyewitness accounts, police believe the boy may have been traveling with three accomplices of the same age. His stepfather, Gabe Ugliano, has offered a sum of money for any information leading to his arrest.
"Don't worry," Annabeth said. "Mortal police will never, ever find us." But she didn't sound quite convinced. I spent the rest of the day either pacing back and forth on the train (because I found it hard to sit still), looking out the window or planning with Annie what to do next.
The money for Gladiola only took us as far as Denver. There were no more free seats in the sleeping car, so we nodded off in our seats. I got a stiffy at the neck, but I cured it in the blink of an eye. Percy sat next to me. Grover was snoring and grumbling. At one point he scratched his hooves and lost a shoe. We had to put it back on quickly before the other passengers noticed, so Annie sat next to Grover to look after him.
"So," I asked Percy, "who needs your help?" "What do you mean?" "In your sleep, you mumbled, 'I'm not helping you. Who were you dreaming about?"
So he told me about an evil voice in the pit that kept haunting him in his dreams. I thought about it for a long time. "That doesn't sound like Hades. He always sits on a black throne and never laughs." "He offered me my mother in exchange. Who else could do that?" "It's hard to say ... Maybe he meant: 'Help raise me from the underworld! Because he wants war with the Olympians. But why would he ask you for the master bolt when he already has it?" "Percy, you can't bargain with Hades. You know that, right? He's treacherous, heartless and greedy. I don't care if the well-meaning weren't so aggressive this time ..." "This time?" he asked. "Are you saying they've crossed your path before?" I lifted my hand to my collar and touched a glazed white bead with a spruce painted on it, the pearl from my first year.
"Let's just say I don't exactly love the Lord of Death. You can't make a deal for your mother, you have to think of something else." "What would you do if it was for your mother?" "Simple," she said, "let her rot." "You're not serious, are you?" I looked seriously into his sea-green eyes. So it was time for this story. "My mother has rejected me since I was born, Percy," I began, "She didn't want a child at all. When I was born, my mother had to give up her dreams and abandon her studies." "Studies?" "She had a scholarship at Juliet, where she met my father. But when I arrived, she didn't have time, so it was starving but living her dream or go back to Washington. And that's what she did. When I was five, she brought men home to, well, have fun. They weren't the kind of men you see in movies, they drank, and I mostly avoided them."
