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Chapter 3: Confessions
Mr. Gold is delighted with his son's response. He has reluctantly agreed to meet him, despite his strong initial protests. Mr. Gold had not given in and with success. He will meet Brant tomorrow evening in a hotel near the college town. Belle is confused as she hears him whistling a song. So far, Mr. Gold had been pleasant, very unpleasant and downright nasty, but never happy; he had certainly not been caught whistling. She wonders if she should remark on it.
When she serves his food—he always eats in the stately dining room, a lone soul behind a long table—she carefully mentions it. "Did you have a good day at the office?" He looks up at her, slightly confused. "Why do you want to know?" "Just making conversation, and, well, I heard you earlier…" "Oh, that," he laughs. "Well, if you must know, I'm seeing my son tomorrow and, since it has been a while, I'm quite looking forward to it." "I didn't know you had a" Belle begins, "He's a sophomore in college, so we don't spend that much time together," he answers. "But, as you're asking questions, let me ask one in return. Do you have children?" "No," she stammers. "Why not?" he inquires. When she doesn't reply immediately, he continues, "See, it's not that nice to answer nosy questions, is it? You're lucky I'm in a good mood today, so I won't make you answer mine." He smirks at her. "I didn't mean to pry," Belle says indignantly. "Well, you had me fooled," he responds. Belle flees for the kitchen: a plate with the remains of the first course clutched in both hands.
The next day, after Mr. Gold has left to meet his son, Belle decides to take a peek in the forbidden room. She is still a bit put out by yesterday's comments. She simply tried to get to know the man, but he was so darned difficult to talk to. Belle had trouble reading his moods and they were very fickle. He seemed to be full of distrust and didn't open up easily. Or when he finally did, he would retaliate, like he had done yesterday. She wants to strike back and so she ventures into the room. It has a lock on it, of course, but Gus had taught her how to pick them. It was a trick he had shown her when they were locked out of their house once, but she realized he was fairly good at it and that had told her something about him and his ways. Still, it's coming in quite handy at the moment. She wiggles a bit, and after a few long and breath-taking seconds the heavy door creaks open. Curiously Belle enters the chamber, tiptoeing silently.
Mr. Gold is renting a car at the airport. In just an hour or two, he will meet his son again. It had been months since their last encounter. At a cousin's wedding, to be precise, and they had barely spoken to each other on that occasion. So his last meaningful conversation with his son had really been ages. He accepts the car keys and continues his journey. The dullness of the road trip will not put his mind at ease. The long rows and rows of corn and crops will only encourage contemplation. Mr. Gold is still unsure why his son had such a sudden change of heart a few years ago. He'd forgiven his mother and became angry at him instead, his father, but heaven knows why? Mr. Gold had asked him, but the reply had been along the lines of "if you can't figure it out yourself…" So he had held his tongue, bitten it even. And now this, out of the blue, his son does want him. Or needs him at least.
The room isn't all that impressive. The dark wooden panels are similar to the rest of the house. Stuffed cupboards and cabinets fill the dark room. Belle is slightly disappointed. She really expected there to be some big reveal about her employer locked away in this chamber. But it is just a room. Full with an assortment of things, Mr. Gold's weird stuff, basically just like some of the other rooms. Belle sees some potions and jars filled with beads, or stones. One of the jars is filled with sparkling fluid and another with smoke, or gas maybe. He did say some objects might be highly inflammable. She walks around a bit, mindful not to touch anything, and is about to leave again, when she sees a spinning wheel. It's old but beautiful and she come closer to admire the wonderful craftsmanship. As she takes a closer look, Belle notices something odd. The thread seems to alter, both the color and structure changed. When she touches it, she suddenly becomes aware that she is touching gold. She is holding actual gold. Belle freaks out a little. What is this thing? What is he doing in here? She quickly leaves the room and fervently hopes her employer will never find out that she entered it.
Mr. Gold is sitting in the lobby waiting for his son. The hotel is impersonal and dreary. Soulless chandeliers fail to provide the desired result of grandeur and splendidness. A few randomly placed tables, chairs, and couches don't enhance the atmosphere either. Perhaps it's his refined taste that's the real problem though, or maybe just the sad reason for his own presence here. He would have preferred the hotel bar for a meeting, but his son hasn't reached the right age yet. Because Brant texted he'd be late, he did have a drink at the bar earlier, and had gotten unwanted attention from a scantily dressed woman as well as curious questions about his life from the barman: bartenders being the cheap and secular equivalent of shrinks and priests alike. Mr. Gold lets out a sigh. Why where people always so adamant to put their noses into other people's business? He never did that. He really couldn't be bothered and didn't think people, or their secrets and problems, were all that interesting in the first place. Even his maid had been on a fishing trip into his thoughts.
She had expected him to be more interested in her at the interview. But he wasn't, well, not then he wasn't. She had grown on him though, these last few weeks. He finally seemed to have found a decent maid in Belle French, albeit a nosy one. His son's voice gets him out of his contemplations. "Brant!" He greets him, wanting to add "looking good man," but he doesn't, since Brant doesn't look so well. He looks weary and strangely pale. "My boy, my boy," he says instead. "Please, don't dad. I'm alright." Brant quickly ducks from the hug his father wants to give him. An awkward silence follows.
They decided to take a room in order to talk in private. Brant had gotten some concerned looks at reception. He was very pale, indeed. Now, they are seated across each other in the suite. "Ok, can you tell me, from the start, how you got into this pickle?" "It started with a joke, a bet. One of my team mates said that it gave a real boost and helped with performance in sports. So I tried it out and it really did work. My achievements got better and better so I kept using it." "So, it's amphetamines we're talking about…" Mr. Gold states the obvious, since his son had already mentioned it earlier. "Yes, but that's not the only problem, though. The other is that my coach knows about it. He found out about it a couple of days ago." "What, you didn't tell me that!" his father shouts frustrated. "Any solutions there might have been, would have been in secrecy, in absolutely no one knowing about all of this. Has he kicked you off the team?" "No, he has not. I made a deal with him, and some of the other guys use the stuff as well, so…" "A deal? What kind of a deal?" Mr. Gold asks, shocked by these revelations.
