Chapter 36
To say the car ride was intense was an understatement.
All of the things left unsaid formed a tangible friction I was certain would boil to a head if left unchecked. Even in the back seat, I could feel the tension rolling off Todd, just as he could see the very tactile concern, and care, from Jack.
Hands stroked my hair, my cheek, my back, until Jack’s sense of duty was resurrected—which resulted in a number of phone calls.
The first of which was to Rochan’s office, apprising her of the situation, how I’d been found, and that we were headed to a safehouse for debrief.
At Todd’s suggestion, Fawzy and Thruppy were updated as well, their paths corrected, as they were given more details about their real target, Three.
And though, I still had not as of yet shared her name, I did share what she was wearing.
What she looked like. Where she was last seen. The works.
A thrumming hive of activity and obligation, Jack really should have taken his own car, rather than subjecting us to the all too familiar role of unwitting listeners.
When he’d assured us he’d have his car collected at a later time, so we didn’t have to separate, we hadn’t been anticipating Todd’s sedan becoming a meeting room on wheels.
As Jack continued to handle various matters, I fixed my gaze out the window and watched as city transformed into towns, and towns into long stretches of country road.
I’d been underground, and further south, when the seasons changed, so it was strange to see the world awash with burnt orange, butter yellows, and a smattering of crimson.
Taking in the beauty, I knew I should have asked where we were, but I found I was enjoying the view and the magic of being in a place between places—somewhere that didn’t have a name.
Soon, the towering trees were replaced by a small town, which appeared to consist of a single stretch of road butted up alongside an underused railroad track.
Veering left, Todd steered us towards what I could only describe as an old stone castle with a brown and green gatehouse, complete with a gate arm.
Todd rolled down both sets of windows as we pulled up to the gatehouse, where a grumpy-walrus-sort-of-man requested our names, address, and our reason for entry.
Until he saw Jack, at which point he tipped his formal hat and waved us in, the gate arm lifting without another word or a single one of the walrus-man’s questions being answered.
Which I found rather befuddling, as we proceeded through the security checkpoint and down a looping tree-lined drive. The houses here were all out of sight from the road, which was dotted every now and then with a long driveway that drifted off to nowhere.
No, not nowhere. Rounding a sloped bend in the road, I caught a glimpse through the trees. We were driving along the hillside above a serene lake. Sucking in a breath, I caught a glimpse of the residences on either side of the shoreline.
They weren’t houses, no, but mansions.
Holy crap.
Driving through the estates I was pretty sure inspired The Great Gatsby, I could practically smell the money on the air.
Neither Jack nor Todd appeared phased by our surroundings, like driving through mansion riddled country-side was nothing out of the ordinary, while I on the other hand, got the overwhelming feeling this was a place I didn’t belong.
Either way, I was glued to my window, absorbing the view. It wasn’t every day I got access to a gated community, so I might as well enjoy it while it lasted.
After a series of loops and whorls along the hillside, the car came to a crawl as we pulled down one of the long and winding driveways.
Given our first accommodations in Monongahela, my expectations were low.
Despite our surroundings, I was more than half expecting the long, forested, drive to take us to a dreary little fishing cabin with an outhouse and no running water.
I was wrong.
It was a castle. A literal fucking castle.
A strange assortment of sounds emanated from my chest as we approached the castle’s fieldstone exterior.
Three, maybe four, stories high, I didn’t need to be an expert to know this was an impressive showcase of design.
Symmetrical, with stone moldings around each of the arched windows, an identical pair of turrets surrounding the main entrance, it felt like someone copy and pasted a palace from France, right down to the precision-trimmed topiary.
The car coming to a stop on the pebbled gravel next to a fountain that wouldn’t have fit in my apartment, both Jack and Todd stepped out into the fading afternoon sun.
It was surreal. And after the fever dreams I’d had, I wasn’t leaving the car until I was sure what I was seeing wasn’t a product of my imagination.
“What the hell are we doing here?”
Todd inspecting the property and surrounding forest, Jack rounded the car and helped me to my feet. “Keeping you somewhere safe until we can figure out our next move.”
Jack ensured I was steady on my feet, before inputting a number into the keypad of a six-car garage and disappearing inside. Soon, Jack reappeared with a key in hand, and headed to unlock the front door.
Making note of the heavy lion-headed brass knockers adorning the double door, Todd was suddenly at my side as I fell into line behind Jack. “So, this is a safehouse?”
“Something like that.” The door unlocked with a thick thud before Jack led us inside.
To be honest, I’d been expecting a front. For the castle to be a shell, with nothing but cardboard for walls, but no. This was the real deal. And the amount of wealth it would have required was unfathomable.
Jesus Christ.
From what I could gather from the entryway, the floor was white marble, leading to similarly marbled grand staircase with metal filigree curving up and out of sight. Whitewashed walls, at least twice my height, hung portraits and paintings I was confident should have been in a museum.
Walking the stretch of entryway towards the stairs, I was held captive by the collection of hand-painted imagery, including a rather impressive assortment of sharp-dressed couples with stern-looking faces.
In the midst of admiring a larger-than-life oil portrait of a well-to-do family, Jack was talking. Probably to me. Something about “security” and how he “wished he had somewhere else he could have brought us”, as he typed a code into the wall-mounted security system and switched on the lights.
Illuminated, the portrait before me came to life. Mother and father, both looking rather dour, held the shoulders of a young boy who was stuffed into the clothes of an old rich man.
Poor kid was wearing a wool vest, white shirt, tie, and flat cap, and in spite of the rosiness painted onto his cheeks, was not having a good time of it.
I didn’t blame him.
Though I was dead on my feet—and the brushstrokes lent a fuzziness to the family’s features—I felt a recognizable pull towards the boy.
Like I’d seen him somewhere before. Like I needed to take him into my arms and tell him everything was going to be alright.
That he could go out and play games, and get into trouble, and that pizza was an acceptable food group.
Because whoever I was looking at did not have a pleasant childhood.
My curiosity getting the better of me, I dropped my attention to the engraved plaque bolted to the frame: Hessinger family portrait. Eleanor, Jack sr. and Jack jr.
I read it through, once, twice, three times.
I looked at the boy. Back at the name. Back at the boy.
No fucking way.
“…Jack?” He stopped whatever he was doing as I gestured to the portrait. “Care to explain this?”
Sharing a knowing glance with Todd, he took measured steps towards me, hands raised. “It’s not what it looks like.”
Not what it looks like? Standing next to the painting there was no doubt in my mind that Jack and the child shared the same genetic make-up. “Why does this child look like you?”
Blush crept into his cheeks, as he rubbed at the nape of his neck. “I thought they would have taken it down.”
“Taken it down?” He was dancing around my question, and I wasn’t in the mood to play games or decipher any riddles. “Jack, who is this a painting of?”
Drawing a deep breath and holding it, he released his confession in two agonizing bursts. “My parents.” He drew his fingers through his hair. “And me.”
My pulse thudded in my ears as I pointed to the plaque. “Your last name is Hessinger?”
Jack slid his hand back to the base of his neck. “Was…” Oh my god. “I had it shortened.”
The world wobbled. “Shortened.” Then a sudden smack of realization. The castle. The stair cases. “This is your family’s home?” I looked out the windows opposite us. “You’ve got a courtyard?”
“My parents come from old money,” he said as if it would explain everything.
“They live here?!”
“Not quite.” I don’t know what I was expecting, but he went on to say, “This is… this is their, um… summer house.”
My jaw nearly hit the floor. When Jack had said my passenger wouldn’t want for anything took on a whole new meaning. And the random roofy-expositioned fact that his parents had wanted an heir. They wanted someone to inherit an absurd fortune.
Dizzy with shock, I sturdied myself by grabbing a hold of the wall, and took deep successive breaths. “What. The. Actual. Hell.”
“I know this is a shock. I can explain. I—”
I made the ‘zip-it motion’. I couldn’t handle more words, more explanation as the weight of the castle pressed upon my chest. I was having enough trouble adjusting to things as it was, and this, this was just an addition to all the chaos.
Yes, having money was generally a good problem to have, but people with this amount of money…
Any other time, any other person may have thought this a miracle.
But my cup was already spilling over the brim and I didn’t know how many more revelations I could take.
Needing something steady and reassuring, I spun to Mr. Grumpy. “Is Galt short for anything?”
“Just Galt.”