The Holders (7 page)

Jocelyn Ingle. My father.

It was him. It was really him. The same hair, the same eyes, even his stance was just as I remembered it. He began walking towards me slowly, the look on his face somewhere between curiosity and fear, as if he wasn’t sure what to say.

I knew the feeling.

When he was only a few steps from the couch, I stood, honestly having no idea what would come next.

“Can I help you get somewhere?” he asked.

“I was…” I cleared my throat, suddenly finding it hard to speak. “Th-the main staircase,” I stammered, not sure what to call the little rotunda and knowing I could find it on my own from the stairs. “I was supposed to meet Alex… I was there, but then I kept walking… and now I’m here…” I trailed off, wondering what the hell had come over me. I was stuttering like an idiot! Where was all my rage? My anger? Not only wasn’t I doing what I’d always promised myself to do when I met Jocelyn again, but now I couldn’t even bring myself to speak in full sentences!

“Oh, so you’ve met Alex?”

“Yes, he brought me… us. He brought us here.”

“Was there a tour for you today?” he asked, smiling warmly and motioning for me to walk with him.

“No, not that I know of. I haven’t had one, probably why I got lost.” I was rambling again, but at least this time I was making sense.

“Do you like it here?” he asked me after a few silent moments.

“Yes,” I said glancing over at him, “it’s really nice.”

“Good, I’m glad.”

“Though this is the second time today I’ve been lost.” For God’s sake, why did I keep saying that? He knew I was lost!

“Yes, that happens,” he chuckled. “It takes some getting used to, but you’ll get the hang of it.”

Never in my wildest dreams did I think this would happen. We were talking. Talking just like regular people. Sure, there was weirdness that obviously neither one of us wanted to address, but after ten years that was understandable. What was shocking to me was how good it felt to talk to him again. To see him again. Why on earth had I wanted to hide?

“Here we are,” he said as we reached the main staircase.

“Oh, wow. That wasn’t hard at all.”

“I’ve got to go, I’m expected,” he said, gesturing over his shoulder.

“Oh, yeah sure. No problem.”

“Well,” he held out his hand, “it was nice meeting you Miss…” He’d left the sentence unfinished, the way someone would do when they were waiting for the other person to fill in their name.

Nice meeting you.

“Right,” I breathed, staring blankly at his hand. “Of course that’s what we’re doing here. What was I thinking?”

He pulled his eyebrows together, confused. “I’m sorry?”

“No, I’m pretty sure you’re not,” I said, a bitter edge in my voice. Ignoring his still outstretched hand, I turned and headed towards the stairs.

“It was nice to meet you,” he said again, his tone making it clear that he was completely baffled by what had just happened.

I couldn’t take it. With my hands balled into fists at my sides, I turned to look at his retreating figure and said, with as much sarcasm and venom as I possessed, “Nice to meet you too… Dad.”

I saw him freeze dead in his tracks. Saw him turn back and look at me, understanding finally in his face. I met his eyes for a split second before turning and walking past the stairs and out the front door, without looking back.

 

8

 

I ran out of Lorcan and down the steps, barely seeing where I was going. Rounding the corner, I huffed off into the wooded park area alongside the building, muttering and cursing under my breath.

How could I have been so stupid?! Why the hell did I let myself think… Ugh!

Suppressing the urge to jump up and down screaming, I pushed on faster through the trees, not caring that I had no idea where I was going. However, with the dry fall branches ripping at my arms and face, and the hard, rocky ground grinding at my feet, it didn’t take long for my fuming stampede to dwindle to a frustrated stagger. Pushing my way through a particularly thick line of brush, I came out to find a sloping hill leading down to a small lake. I jogged down the hill to the water’s edge, loving the rush of the effortless speed provided by nothing more than gravity. Stopping at the bottom, I bent over and rested my hands on my knees to catch my breath. After a few minutes I’d succeeded in getting my lungs to stop burning, but I’d had no luck in bringing my blood pressure down. I ran my hands through my hair – dislodging some twigs and leaves in the process – and began pacing up and down the bank of the lake, biting my tongue in a last ditch effort not to cry.

I hadn’t cried over my father in almost a decade, and I damned well wasn’t about to start again now.

“Becca?”

I whirled around with a gasp to find Alex standing a few feet away.

“Sorry,” he said quickly, as I let out a shaky breath, “I didn’t mean to scare you, I saw you come out…” He hesitated a moment looking pensive.

You…” I breathed, still panting a bit. “You followed me?” I wasn’t sure whether to be flattered or annoyed.

“No, it was just that you looked upset, and I…” He stammered, his ears turning red.

“Wait, how did you get through…?” I looked him up and down then turned to look back up the hill at the line of brush I’d fought through, wondering how he still looked so put together while I looked like a survivalist.

“There’s a path,” he said, pointing up behind him.

“Of course there is,” I mumbled. That would figure.

“Are you all right?” he asked tentatively, as though he was afraid I might spring up and bite him.

Well let’s see, my brother wants nothing to do with me, and my father wouldn’t know me from a stranger in the street. “Yes,” I lied, “I’m fine.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah, I…” I looked up into his eyes and saw such honest concern, that it somehow made my mouth begin to work independently from my brain. “I just never thought…” I began pacing again as I rambled, digging my hands angrily through my mess of hair. “I’m over it! I’ve been over it! I’ve known for years how it was! And yet I still let myself get caught up… I was an idiot! If I had stuck to my guns like I always said I would, none of this would have happened! Mo ghile beag, you know that’s what he used to call me? My Little Darling! And now he doesn’t even…” I died off then tried again: “I mean I don’t care, I just didn’t expect…” I gave up with a sigh, blinking and biting my tongue again.

“What didn’t you expect?” he asked softly.

I stopped pacing and stood with my arms crossed in front of me facing the lake. “For him not to recognize me.” I said, resenting the crack in my voice.

“Jocelyn?” he asked, walking up behind me. “You saw him?”

I nodded. “I saw him, and he saw some random girl who had lost her tour group.”

I saw him wince out of the corner of my eye. “I’m sorry,” he said gently.

I waited for the defense. The, “well, you knew he wasn’t expecting to see you”, or “it has been ten years”, or even, “oh, I’m sure he did”, but nothing came. I turned to try and read him, but saw only sad concern in his eyes.

“Sorry,” I mumbled, looking down again. I shouldn’t have laid all my father issues on someone who was inexplicably one of the guy’s biggest fans.

“No, please,” he said shaking his head. After a few silent moments he asked, “Do you want to go back up? I can tell you about Ryla–”

“No,” I snapped, turning away, “I don’t want to talk about Ryland, or… any of it.” I could tell he was just trying to find me a distraction, but much as I didn’t want to talk about Jocelyn, hearing about Mr I’m-suddenly-too-cool-for-my-sister, wasn’t going to help my mood either.

“Right,” Alex said quietly, “I’m sorry, I’ll…”

When he didn’t finish his thought I turned around, only to find him walking away.

“No,” I called, jogging after him and catching his arm, “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean…” I looked up at him imploringly – and probably a bit desperately. “Please don’t go.”

Only when he went to leave did I realize how much I wanted him with me. I couldn’t explain it, but for some reason I felt better with him nearby. As much as I didn’t want to talk about Ryland right now, the thought of him leaving me alone was worse.

He slowly smiled, his eyes lighting up a bit before he turned and looked over his shoulder. “Here,” he said, “come.”

I followed him about a hundred yards or so around the perimeter of the lake until we reached a large willow tree, the branches of which were so long that most of them brushed the ground. As we got closer, I could see a circular stone bench wrapping all the way around the base of the trunk. There were wide steps leading from the foot of the bench down to the lake, though parts were overgrown with grass and moss and obviously hadn’t been used in a while.

“What is all this?” I asked.

“They used to hold biology classes out here before they moved the science building across campus,” he told me, holding aside a few of the low hanging branches so I could walk through. “I come down here a lot.”

We sat together on the bench and looked out over the lake. The steel-gray afternoon sky was reflected on the surface, turning the entire lake to liquid silver. I closed my eyes and took a long breath of the cool, misty air.

“It’s so beautiful here,” I sighed, leaning back against the trunk of the tree.

“Really?” he asked, sounding something between surprised and hopeful. “You think so?”

“Sure, don’t you?”

“I do.” He nodded. “I love it here. More than anywhere else I’ve ever been. But a lot of people think it’s gloomy.”

“No,” I said, looking out over the water. “It’s not gloomy. They just don’t get it.”

I glanced back over to find him looking at me with a goosebump-inducing look on his face. When I smiled, he looked away quickly and cleared his throat. “No,” he said, as if it were no big deal. “They don’t.”

We sat pleasantly for several minutes, not saying anything, each of us lost in our own thoughts. I was perfectly happy with this until my thoughts started to turn back to Jocelyn, at which point I decided conversation would probably be the best way to go. Better yet, this might also give me a chance to learn a little more about Alex.

I rested my head against the tree, turning to face him. “So, Alexander.”

“Yes, Rebecca?” he asked, mimicking my tone with a suspicious grin.

“What about you?”

“What about me?”

“I want to hear about you,” I said matter-of-factly, pulling my feet up onto the bench and lacing my hands together over my knees.

“What would you like to know?” he asked with a smile.

I shrugged. “I don’t know… Where were you born? How did you get here? What’s your middle name? Favorite movies, food, books – whatever. Take your pick.”

He hesitated as though what I’d asked him was far more important than a simple conversation starter. “Well,” he said, resting his head back against the trunk of the tree, “I didn’t grow up with many movies, but I have seen almost every animated Disney film that’s come out, so if I had to pick one of those I’d have to go with the Emperor’s New Groove.”

“That is a good one,” I laughed.

“My favorite food is macaroni and cheese, which, by the way, you will not find a good version anywhere in this country,” he said, glancing at me with amused irritation. “Let’s see, what else… I never learned how to swim, I love Sherlock Holmes novels, and I speak fluent Gaelic. Oh, and my middle name is Michael. Was that everything?” he asked, grinning at me.

“That about covers it, I guess. You’re a pasta-eating, Sherlock-loving, Irish wannabe, who would drown if I pushed you in the lake,” I giggled.

“Exactly,” he said.

“Or at least I’m assuming you’re only a wannabe. You weren’t actually born here were you?”

“No, though wannabe is a little harsh,” he said, feigning offence. “I’m not sure where I was born, but I grew up in Texas.”

“So, I should add ‘cowboy’ to the list?”

“No, definitely not,” he laughed.

This was so nice. Once again, Alex and I were totally alone, and yet, I couldn’t have felt more comfortable. There was no awkwardness, or tension, just an ease and companionship I would never have expected to feel with a person I’d met only a few days ago. Maybe our strange connection was due to the fact that we’d done so much together in such a short amount of time, though I couldn’t help wondering if it was more than that.

Just as I was about to ask another question, something he’d said a moment ago stuck out in my mind. “You don’t know where you were born? How is that possible?”

“I was adopted.”

“Oh,” I said, hoping I hadn’t hurt his feelings.

He must have heard the reluctance in my tone because he smiled. “Don’t worry, it’s fine.”

“How did you end up here? Did your parents send you?”

“Not so much, no,” he said, shifting in his seat. “When I was about six, I started to see things. Things that weren’t there. Of course, now I know that my ability was starting to develop, and I was beginning to cast, but at the time I was only a boy who would randomly see monkeys running around the house or a large hole in the wall that no one else could see. My parents were convinced there was something wrong with me, while I couldn’t understand why no one else could see the things I did. I was taken to doctors, and specialists – anyone my parents could find – but no one had any answers. Finally, one of the doctors referred us to a special facility that was said to offer unique programs and state of the art treatments for difficult cases.”

“Like a research facility?”

“No, a… mental facility,” he said, glancing down.

My eyes widened, but I didn’t comment.

“They took me there one morning for a series of tests that would last overnight. They checked me in, wished me luck, and told me they’d see me in the morning. That was the last time I saw them.”

I stared at him, not comprehending. “Did… did something happen to them?”

He smiled, though there was no humor in it. “That’s what we thought at first. The doctors and nurses tried to contact them, but they had filled out all my admission forms with false information. By the time they found our real address, my parents had moved. They had never intended to come back for me.”

“They just left you there?” I was outraged. “But there was nothing wrong with you!”

“They didn’t know that. Even I’d started to think I was crazy.” He paused for a moment while I sat there silently dumfounded. “As it turns out, it was a lucky break that I was considered mentally insane, as that meant I couldn’t be put into the foster system where I probably never would have been found. I lived there in the facility for seven years, until…” He hesitated, glancing up at me. “Until Jocelyn found me and got me out when I was fourteen. He brought me here, and I’ve been here ever since.”

“What do you mean, ‘found you’?”

“He was on a scouting trip and came across my file.” He saw the question in my eyes before I had a chance to voice it. “Scouting is what we call it when we go out and look for people who might be Holders and don’t realize it. For the past few years, Taron and I have done the scouting together. Most of the time we are looking for kids. Every so often we find an adult, but it’s rare. Rarer still for us to bring an adult back with us. If a Holder reaches adulthood with no pronounced issues, it’s usually because his ability is too diluted to be noticed. In those cases, it’s best to leave well enough alone. Anonymity is very important to us, and the fewer people who know about us the better.”

“But you told me?”

“Yes, but your situation was different. I knew you weren’t going to do anything to endanger us, particularly when it would also have put Ryland at risk.”

“But what about parents? You didn’t want my mom to know, but don’t they eventually have to find out?”

“Eventually yes, but we never tell them unless it can’t be avoided. We’ve always believed that it is each Holder’s right to be the one who tells their loved ones, and only when they’re ready. Some do, but a lot of others don’t. They come in, learn about their ability, how to control it, then leave, happy to live the rest of their lives as if there is nothing different about them at all. Whether they realize it or not, most people don’t want to be different. Telling loved ones about something like this should be a choice, not a requirement. Besides,” he paused with a sad smile, “it’s only the lucky ones who have to make that choice at all. When we came to your house to get Ryland, and had the chance to meet with your mother… well, it’s not usually like that. More often the kids we find are from hospitals, mental institutions, or sometimes prisons.”

“They put kids in jail for being different? Aren’t there laws against that?” I asked, my anger growing by the minute.

“In some countries, yes, but we find kids all over the world, and some cultures aren’t so understanding,” he answered sadly.

“But hospitals and institutions must have tons of sick kids. How can you tell which ones are actually Holders?”

“Usually we can do it with their records alone. After a while you start to notice the typical red flags. But if there is still any doubt all it takes is a conversation with the child to know for sure.”

For several minutes I sat silently, going over it all in my mind. Everything he’d told me was so heartbreaking and at the same time so inspiring that I was at a loss for words. The one thing I was sure of, however, was that my respect for the man sitting next to me had grown tenfold over the last five minutes.