Holden's Mate

by Meg Ripley

  Jason chose a different route. Instead of going directly to his father after graduation, he took a job at a rival, albeit much smaller, firm. He took his mother’s maiden name and found a tiny apartment on the West Side, determined to rise through the ranks on his own. He imagined himself building an empire to rival his father’s and then his old man would finally be forced to respect him—to regard him as an equal.

  Reality was a cold slap in the face six months later when his father’s firm bought his employer. The message was clear and rather than pushing back, Jason settled into his new job, did his work, and kept his head down.

  His hard work paid off, and three years after his forced employment with the firm, he was on the cusp of a huge promotion—one he was certain he earned. The only person who knew his true identity was his father, and his father’s input was not necessary for this next step. The only thing that could thwart his aspirations was a giant, Ferris-wheel shaped blot on his record. A failure at this pivotal time could change the committee’s mind, delaying the promotion, or worse, tabling it indefinitely.

  "Maybe he doesn’t want me to get the promotion. Maybe he’s still mad I snubbed him five years ago. Maybe he wants to teach me a lesson."

  "What lesson is that?"

  Jason accepted the second shot of whiskey from Mia and gulped it down, tingling from his nose to his toes. "That I’ll never be able to escape his hold. I’ll work where he wants me to work and I’ll do it on his terms at his pace and there’s not a damned thing I can do about it."

  Vincent swirled his drink over his ice cubes and took a long swallow. "Maybe you should teach him a lesson."

  "What do you mean?"

  "If this is about controlling you, show the old man that it’s going to take a lot more than this, frankly transparent, attempt at professional sabotage."

  Vincent flipped through the images and financial statements again, his eyes narrowing thoughtfully. Mia appeared at Jason's side again, this time presenting him with a slim, black folder.

  "What? No more whiskey?"

  "You need to keep your wits about you," she said before returning to the shadows behind the bar.

  Jason looked down at the folder, his fingers gliding over the embossed image of a medieval dragon, powerful and bulky, its wings like leather-encased wrought iron cages. Depictions of dragons from other cultures always amazed him with their willowy, serpentine bodies and squared, almost dog-like heads. There were rumors that those dragons still existed, but if so, they were deep in hiding, as encased in secrecy as Jason himself.

  Jason opened the folder and looked at the paper inside. He scoffed and pulled it out of the folder, tossing it onto the table in front of him.

  "The old man?" Vincent asked.

  "Who else?" Jason craved another drink but Mia was right. He did need to keep his wits about him. “I just got away from him two hours ago, and he can't even wait until Monday to rub this in my face."

  "Maybe he’ll tell you this was just a joke and give you the real file."

  "Maybe." Jason stood and reached for the folder. "I don't know, though. He might have a pretty twisted sense of humor, but he's also the consummate businessman."

  "He’s also a bit of a jackass."

  "You said it, not me." Jason tucked the folder under his arm and marched to the black velvet curtain, nodding at the stern men who flanked it. Others would have had to show special identification or a written invitation, but for Jason, they pulled the braided gold ropes that parted the curtain without a word.

  The echo from his steps reverberated off the stone walls as he wound his way up the curved staircase. He could no longer hear the sounds from the lounge and the curtains were long and thick enough that no light filtered through or around them to illuminate the stairwell. Instead, the white marble reflected the glow from candles set on heavy iron sconces embedded in the walls.

  So few were permitted to even see the private sanctuary, yet, it was kept in pristine condition—the candles burning continuously; the sconces free from dust. As a child, Jason thought it must have been elves who worked so hard to keep the stairwell so perfectly.

  At the top, Jason followed a mirrored hallway with a floor of the same highly polished white marble toward a pair of massive wooden doors. An infinite number of flames danced around him, countless reflections of light bouncing off the polished marble and right into his eyes.

  When he finally reached the doors, he rested his hand on the handle and waited. Despite the specific invitation, Jason would never dream of entering until the voice bid him forward. Knocking was unnecessary. Jason only had to touch the handle, and someone on the other side would call out to him; a moment later, the doors would open as if by magic.

  Jason had never seen anyone open the doors. Perhaps it was another elf who disappeared in a flash once Jason stepped inside. There were many mysteries about the Club that Jason had pondered as a child; most of which he’d solved as he matured, but this was one that he didn't want to resolve.

  As Jason had grown out of his young childhood and his family mourned the loss of his mother, his father had spent more and more time secluding himself away at the Club, hiding away among the other members of the Darkblood Society, trying to make it all disappear. During those difficult years, he only saw his father when he was invited to the big double doors and the unknown voice from the other side would welcome him inside. The voice was warm. Friendly. Even kind. Like his father used to be. He wanted to preserve that, to keep that feeling without knowing all of the details of it.

  Even now, with the tinge of anger in his mind, Jason waited for the voice to come through the doors; he waited to see his father in a context that was so completely different from their daily, professional interactions.

  "Come."

  The doors opened, revealing Damian in his huge leather armchair, an ankle resting casually on his knee, a glass of sherry in his hand. Despite the warmth of the late summer evening, a fire raged in the fireplace, casting a glow over his father’s aquiline features while long shadows climbed the walls.

  "Why didn’t you come downstairs and say hello to everyone?" Jason asked as the doors whispered closed behind him.

  Damian chuckled softly and took a sip from his drink, amused in his way by his son’s joke. Jason took his customary place across from his father and dropped the folder on the small table between them. When Jason visited as a child, the table always held a chess board. Now they played a different game, but Jason didn’t know all the rules.

  "Do you carry your work everywhere you go?" Damian asked. "This might be why you haven’t had much luck with the ladies."

  Jason ignored the barb. "I was actually in the middle of some important research. I already have a lead on an investor."

  "Is that right?" His eyebrows knitted together for a moment and then thinned; a gesture so small, so quick, that anyone else might have missed it. "I’m glad to hear it, son. The sooner you put this one to bed, the sooner we will be celebrating your promotion."

  "Well, I’ll drink to that," Jason said, rising to walk to the wet bar, his mouth suddenly dry. His father was up to something. Jason’s old-man-sense was tingling, and he ignored the chill down his spine at his own risk. "Tell me, how did you come to find such an interesting account?"

  "Interesting?"

  "It doesn’t meet your usual high standards," Jason said dryly. There was no way the old man who ran Adventure Isle could afford to hire an intern at Griffon Investments, much less have the money necessary to catch his father’s eye. And yet, Damian had all but hand-delivered the folder to him, and though none of the forecasts or preliminary work bore his father’s name, Jason recognized the man’s work.

  "Kelsey is an old friend of the family’s. He asked me for a favor. He could have asked me for the money and I would have given it to him, but instead he wants to know if I have an investor. Someone who will help him fix his dream."

  "Who is this man, that you owe him a favor?"

  "I told
you. He’s an old friend. You probably think I’m trying to sabotage your career, but the truth is, I don’t trust anyone else with his account." Damian leaned forward to pick up the folder. "Go to the park. Meet the owner. You won’t find what you need to know in here."

  Jason slowly drank the sherry, letting his father’s words sink in as the alcohol warmed his face.

  "Besides," Damian continued, "I thought you would be thrilled to get this account."

  "Thrilled? What are you talking about? Who will want to invest in a dilapidated park a half dozen miles from the nearest freeway? I mean, I enjoy a challenge, but I’m not a masochist."

  "You don’t remember?"

  "Remember what?"

  "Maybe you were too young," Damian muttered, like he was talking to himself and not addressing Jason at all. "Could you have been so young?"

  "Dad. What are you talking about?"

  "You haven’t gone through the whole file, have you? Come here."

  Jason obeyed automatically, leaning over the chair’s arm to study the picture his father held. After a moment, Jason plucked it away, bringing it closer to his face. "That’s Mom. What is she wearing?"

  "Her uniform. She was running the roller coaster when I met her." The corner of Damian’s mouth lifted. "I could hear her laughing from the top of the ride. Like bells ringing in the air. I knew right then that I loved that girl."

  "Wow. I’m genuinely surprised. I didn’t know you were capable of such...sentimentality."

  "Well, when it comes to your mother, I’m still a sentimental fool." He took the handkerchief from his pocket, and Jason turned back to the bar, making two more drinks and giving his father a moment of privacy. No matter how distant the two of them were now, Jason knew his father had a heart. Once. Now it was buried with his wife.

  "I’ll do my best," Jason said, handing over a full glass. It was the most, and the least, he could do. The only thing he could promise.

  "I know you will. I wouldn’t accept anything less." Damian took a long sip of his drink and Jason knew the conversation was over. He finished his own drink, gathered up the folder, and excused himself. He walked out of the den, the words that his father had spoken to him swirling through his mind as he tried to stitch them together.

  He bypassed the comfort of the Club for his small apartment, collapsing on his couch with the photo of his mother in one hand, and Adventure Isle’s dismal financial forecast in the other.

  2

  Jason woke before the sun burned off the morning fog, groggy and distracted by dreams of roller coasters that felt more like memories. He used his phone to pull up the quickest route to Adventure Isle, waking up gradually as he drove. Halfway through the long and winding journey, he entered what felt like a permanent sense of déjà vu. He recognized landmarks and yet had no memory of ever traveling on that road before. He also had no idea how long it would take to reach his destination. The GPS became spotty as his phone reception went in and out.

  Just as he was starting to worry he’d missed a turn somewhere, a rickety billboard reassured him that his "adventure is only a mile away!"

  "I don't think that 'isle' was really the best name for this place," Jason muttered as he followed another sign down a narrow, dirt road. "Unless they want to remind you that you’re stranded in the middle of nowhere. With no reception. And no help for miles."

  The empty parking lot had been all but lost to the creep of the surrounding woods, the lines completely obscured by weeds, vines, dead leaves, and trash. Ancient light poles looked as out of place as the streetlight in Narnia, and Jason was sure that no matter where he parked, he would be stepping in broken glass.

  His earlier impression that the park was more like a set from a horror movie only increased when he saw the front gates. The left had only one hinge and swung back and forth with every gust of wind. The right one was still tight, but its red paint had been weathered away, leaving only patches of what, at first glance, looked like blood. A massive dragon’s head hung over the gates, its red tongue still remarkably vibrant, despite the broken and missing teeth in its gaping jaw. Its eyes once lit up, but the left globe was completely busted out, and the right was hanging from a tendon-like cord.

  There were a few other cars in the parking lot, and since they were mostly clean and no weeds grew from beneath the hoods, Jason assumed they weren’t just abandoned there. Gathering up his courage and hoping this wasn’t all just an elaborate joke—or a weird trap—he stepped out of the car and picked a careful path towards the gate.

  The man standing in the cylindrical ticket booth at the front of the gate was so small and so gray that Jason almost didn’t see him at all. He approached the window in time to see the old man shuffle a deck of cards and start dealing out a game of solitaire. He worked with the speed and precision of a Vegas dealer, and Jason couldn’t help but be a little impressed.

  "Excuse me? Mr. Kelsey?"

  The man looked up at him with a small frown of confusion that quickly morphed into a radiant smile.

  "Jason!" The man’s voice was as warm as his smile, and the card game was abandoned immediately. He made the exclamation as if he had known Jason his entire life. Jason was slightly taken aback. He wasn't accustomed to a new client referring to him by his first name right from the first moment of meeting, but something about the older man told Jason that this was simply the type of person Mr. Kelsey was, and it wouldn't occur to him to be anything else.

  "Hello," Jason said. "Thank you for letting me come by and see the park."

  "Of course!" Mr. Kelsey said, putting the deck of cards down on the counter. "I'll be right out."

  The older man scurried through a door at the back of the small ticket booth, and a moment later, he emerged through another door at the back of the cylindrical building. He came toward Jason with his hand already extended toward him. Jason took it and Mr. Kelsey shook it enthusiastically.

  "I'm thrilled to have you here," Mr. Kelsey said, still holding onto Jason's hand. "I can't wait to bring this park back to its former glory." Finally, he released Jason's hand, but continued to smile at him broadly. "My great-grandfather opened this place, you know. Of course, it was just a picnic ground and a swing back then. My granddaddy built it up a little more, and then my daddy after him, and then me. It's floundered a little bit in the last few years, but I know that we can make it amazing again."

  Jason felt himself smile. Hearing that Mr. Kelsey's great-grandfather had started the park just like his own great-grandfather had opened the firm softened Jason's heart. Not only did it mean that the sparkle in Mr. Kelsey's eye when he talked about the park was the sparkle of the generations that came before him and the hope and faith that had trickled through his family, but it also meant that that park had actually been around longer than the firm hired in hopes of finding an investor to save it.

  "Can you show me around? Maybe tell me a bit about what you hope to achieve for the park once we find an investor for you?"

  Jason followed Mr. Kelsey through the turnstiles a few yards behind the ticket booth and onto the main road of the tiny park. He could hear the voices of the few patrons around them, the occasional laugh or scream telling him that the people who had come out to the park were at least enjoying themselves.

  As they walked, Jason tried to pay attention to everything that he saw. Buildings that likely once held small shops and restaurants were dark and boarded. A few shells of staging areas showed what was left of rides that had been removed but never replaced. At the far end of the main street was a Ferris wheel that spun lazily, three of the cars inhabited by families that gazed down at the rest of the park.

  He looked to one side and noticed the roller coaster that he’d seen from the parking lot hadn't moved since he’d been there. They turned a corner and Jason realized that the ride was closed. The skeleton rose against the sky, pieces of the wood missing and the cars that had once soared along the tracks sat under the abandoned rails, grass and ivy trying to reclaim them.
<
br />   "Why isn't the rollercoaster running?" Jason asked.

  Mr. Kelsey stopped walking and looked at the still, silent ride. He sighed and Jason saw the sparkle in his eyes fade.

  "That one's been down for a few years now. I always wanted to fix it up and give it a new theme, but I was just never able to do it."

  "Having a coaster would really bring in the crowds."

  "Maybe we can make that happen." He took a slightly shuddering breath, trying to retain the smile on his face. "We have to, Jason. This is all I have. This is all I have ever been."

  Jason felt a twinge of sadness in the way that Mr. Kelsey said "we." Even though it was Jason's job to find someone who would make these things happen for him, he suddenly felt a sense of camaraderie toward this man and his dream.

  3

  Jason stepped out into the garden behind the Club and drew in a breath of the heavily scented air, enjoying the combination of flowers, herbs and the green, earthy scent of the tremendous hedges that spread in a complex maze ahead of him. It was the smell of the earth, so rarely enjoyed in the heart of the city. A white stone path wound around hedges to sprawling flower gardens, an orchard next to the section of river captured within the tremendous walls of the grounds, and directly in front to the huge labyrinth that many of the members used as a sanctuary for quiet thought.

  He needed that sanctuary now. He could already feel the change occurring within him. Sometimes, the shift happened very suddenly, but when he had the opportunity to control his emotions and guide his body through the often stressful transition, he could shift gradually, giving himself the chance to acclimate so he wouldn’t suffer.