tartarus and back ⇩

13. You know what, I actually do need a new mattress.

The four of us walked to the water, not having a clue what to do now that we were here.

"What now?" Annabeth asked

The Pacific was turning gold from the setting sun. It reminded me of all the times I sat at the beach, alone, while my mom was entertaining her boyfriend.

Out of nowhere, Percy stepped into the surf.

"Sharkboy? Whatcha doin'?" I asked him.

He just ignored me. By now he was chest deep.

Annabeth called after him. "You know how polluted that water is? There're all kinds of toxic-"

His head went under.

Annabeth and I stared at each other blankly, wondering what just happened. We decided it would be best to wait a little, and then if he took to long we would go get him somehow.

After about five minutes, Percy resurfaced. He was completely dry, and one of his hands was in a fist as if he was holding something small.

After explaining that he had met with a Nereid, he held out his palm and showed us three pearls.

Annabeth grimaced. "No gift comes without a price."

"They were free."

"No." She shook her head. "'There is no such thing as a free lunch.' That's an ancient Greek saying that translated pretty well into American. There will be a price. You wait."

With some spare change from Ares's backpack, we took the bus into West Hollywood. Percy showed the driver the Underworld address slip I'd taken from Aunty Em's Garden Gnome Emporium, but he'd never heard of DOA Recording Studios.

"You remind me of somebody I saw on TV," The driver told Percy. "You a child actor or something?"

"Uh ... I'm a stunt double ... for a lot of child actors."

"Oh! That explains it."

We thanked him and got off quickly at the next stop.We wandered for miles on foot, looking for DOA. Nobody seemed to know where it was. It didn't appear in the phone book. Twice, we ducked into alleys to avoid cop cars.

As we passed an appliance store, Percy froze. Before I could ask him what was wrong, he turned to the TV. On it was a fat, ugly man, talking to Barbara Walters, a news anchor. She was interviewing him in an apartment, in the middle of a poker game, and there was a young blond lady sitting next to him, patting his hand. A fake tear glistened on his cheek.

He was saying, "Honest, Ms. Walters, if it wasn't for Sugar here, my grief counselor, I'd be a wreck. My stepson took everything I cared about. My wife... my Camaro... I-I'm sorry. I have trouble talking about it."

"There you have it, America." Barbara Walters turned to the camera. "A man torn apart. An adolescent boy with serious issues. Let me show you, again, the last known photo of this troubled young fugitive, taken a week ago in Denver."

The screen cut to a grainy shot of me, Annabeth, Percy, and Grover standing outside the Colorado diner, talking to Ares.

"Who are the other children in this photo?" Barbara Walters asked dramatically. "Who is the man with them? Is Percy Jackson a delinquent, a terrorist, or perhaps the brainwashed victim of a frightening new cult? When we come back, we chat with a leading child psychologist. Stay tuned, America."

Grover had to haul Percy away from the store. I was afraid Percy would've smashed one of the screens in if he hadn't.

L.A. had a creepy vibe. I felt like I was wandering around IKEA, where each turn you made took you to a whole new place. Everything was spread apart, making our walk even longer. It was extremely hard to navigate, and we ended up going in circles a couple times. We passed a disturbingly large amount of the homeless, muggers, possible serial killers and pigeons.