The Library Book

#5 - The Phone Call

Chapter 5 - The Phone Call
published: Wednesday, 29 January 2020

Street lights were a blur as her feet pounded down the sidewalk. There weren't many people milling around at this time.

It was 8.13pm when Annabeth had received the phone call. Percy's name had flashed on the screen and she'd picked up in confusion.

At first, the lack of sound made her think it was a pocket dial. Why would he have reason to call her anyway? They hadn't spoken at all the entire day.

A few seconds later, there'd been a shuddering gasp, and that's when Annabeth's heart nearly stopped altogether.

She'd frantically shouted his name, but there hadn't been any answer. "Behind Walter's," had been all Percy managed to say before he'd hung up.

It was safe to say that Annabeth had raced out of her house without much thought, feeding her parents the lie that she was going out to get coffee and clear her mind about some school work.

And now as she came up to the small street that cut into the back alleyway behind Walter's, Annabeth pulled her sweater around her more tightly as she warily followed the path.

Terrifying articles about murder or rape cases in isolated places entered her mind. Annabeth pushed the away, not wanting to scare herself even more. She pulled out her phone torchlight from the back pocket of her jeans and shone it onto the cobblestone ground below her feet.

"Percy?" Annabeth whispered, her voice echoing between the walls.

Silence.

A second later, there was a soft answering groan from the left fork. Annabeth nearly collapsed against the wall in relief as she sprinted towards the sound. She found herself in the alleyway behind Walter's, where they took out the trash every few hours.

Her phone torchlight wavered as her trembling hand brought it up to shine on the silhouette huddled on the floor.

Annabeth inhaled sharply, as if someone had sucker-punched her in the gut.

Oh, Percy.

There were nasty cuts on his collarbone, and glass shards stuck out of his shoulder in a grotesque fashion. If Annabeth looked closer, she could see the dried blood matted in his brown hair.

"Sorry," he croaked.

Annabeth didn't reply. She placed her phone on the ground, the torchlight facing up so she could see what she was doing. Slowly, Annabeth pulled the hem of his t-shirt up and off his torso, careful not to budge any of the glass shards.

Thankfully, she'd expected something bad - though not nearly as horrible as this - and had tucked her mother's first aid kit into her shoulder bag.

She wordlessly picked out the small splinters of glass that had somehow found their way into his skin, disposing of them in a plastic bag. There was a nasty purple bruise already flowering across his shoulder, probably from where someone had hit him with a glass object. A bottle or a vase, she guessed.

"He was drunk," Percy said finally. His voice was small and strained.

A bottle, then.

Annabeth couldn't even meet his eye. He was hurt; bleeding. At the hands of his own stepfather. And he suffered like this to make sure his mother wouldn't receive the same treatment.

In that moment, Annabeth very much wanted to hit Gabe with a glass bottle too.

The cuts continued to Percy's chest, which meant Annabeth had to clean up the wound as well as wrap it in a bandage. The bruise would go away on its own, but the head injury was more worrying.