"Cheer up Jason, I'm sure you'll have fun!" Jason Wilkerson scowled at his father's comment. Funwas the last idea on his mind when he was told that he would be spending his summer at his grandfather's house. Most teens his age would be partying on the beach or traveling abroad, but not him. He would be spending "bonding" time with an old man he hadn't met since he was seven. Wasn't that counted as pedophilia? Forcing someone who was decades younger than you to get closer than what was socially accepted was something child molesters would do, wasn't it?
Either way he was sick and tired of hearing how the old man had "fought for 'murrica' " during the Cold War. He had listened to his father for the last eight and a half hours as he droned on and on about his grandfather's overstated position fighting the communists in Vietnam. Jason's mouth thinned at his father obliviousness to his frustration; he wasn't only was he sick of the war stories he considered soldiers to be stupid.
Suddenly the heavily forested land thinned out as the car turned into the gated driveway an old-fashioned house. The building was bordered by trees around the unpaved road (a beautiful perk to living in the rural areas of North Carolina) and it was a quaint looking three story building with eight solemn-looking windows to each of floors with the exception of the attic. Despite Jason's sour mood, he had to admit the scenery was beautiful, and coupled with the bright sunshine and clear skies it was just breathtaking...not that a cool guy like him would say anything of course.
Sighing rather audibly, Jason trudged towards his grandfather's house, large suitcase in hand. Knocking on the large door, he heard the engine of his father's car quickly pulling away. Jason's grandfather opened up the door, welcoming his sixteen year-old grandson. He had steel gray hair peppered with the snow white that often came with age. The wrinkles and age spots on his face seemed to contrast sharply with his clear coal eyes; eyes that always held more than they would tell. Jason watched as the old man's stare quickly wandered over to the driveway in hopes of seeing Jason's father. Unable to locate his son, his grandfather's shoulders slumped,
disappointed by the false hope of forgiveness. Not surprising considering the animosity between his father and grandfather. His grandpa, Grant Wilkerson, turned towards him smiling in anticipation; anticipation which would always spell bad for him.
"Well Jason, m'boy!" Grant said, "I haven't seen ya since you was a kid!" Jason winced at the thick southern twang, he found it was rather embarrassing that people in his family actually spoke like that.
Returning with a weak smile, he replied "Yeah Grandpa, and I haven't seen you..." Grant's smile slightly tightened, slightly reminding Jason that the reason he hadn't visited with his grandfather was because of the bitter relationship between him and his father. Despite the constant barrage of Grant's war stories that his father loved to tell, Grant's secret life had created a deep wedge between father and son.
The awkward silence hung rather thickly in the air, stretching out to what seemed like eternity. The tension was broken as Grant decided to lead the teenager up to his room, amiably chatting about his past life as a government aide.
"So, there we were, me and Alfred, hands on our holsters, sitting right across them Soviets who were doing the exact same thing!" Grant droned. Jason had stopped listening, instead choosing to focus on the house itself. He wasn't all into interior designing but he could tell the place was very well furnished and looked incredibly expensive, if a little too expensive really. If his father was to be trusted, this house was paid for by the government, as a final luxury to one of their more secretive agents. As they walked up the long flight of stairs, Jason trailed his hand on the polished banister, admiring the careful woodwork.
"Right Jason?" Jason jumped at hearing his name. Embarrassed, ears turning red, he turned to face his grandfather.
"Er, I didn't exactly catch you there grandpa." He mumbled.
Grant sighed and shook his head, "Nev'r mind son, just get your stuff unpacked," sighing once more he added "We'll just go fishing later."
Jason felt himself frowning deeply. Fishing? Who would want to stay in a wet, bacteria filled pond trying to catch an aquamarine animal with a stick and string? Who would do that, seriously? Pushing the thought back he forced a small smile towards his grandfather. "M'kay grandpa," he said "Sure can't wait..."
One of Grant's eyebrows shot up showing his disbelief, he hadn't expected his grandson to actually want come. Smiling he nodded, "I'll have to go get some stuff for the trip," Grant said "It'll take me a couple o' hours but'll be right back."
Jason watched his grandfather walk down the stairs. Turning back to his room, he groaned deeply. A month. That was how long he had to endure his grandfather's idiotic antics and stupid war stories. Lying down on the sky blue bed he buried his head underneath the thick pillows. Eight hours of driving had left him completely spent. Yawning he closed his heavy eyes. He would unpack his bags later, right now he could finally catch up on his sleep...
Jason cracked opened his sleep encrusted eyes. Stifling a yawn, he looked outside the dark window. Wait, dark? Looking in panic outside the window he noticed the shady daytime trees has morphed into dark twisting shadows.
Rubbing his eyes he stumbled down the stars. He had probably slept through their planned fishing trip. It might've not mattered to him but he really didn't want to depress the old man.
"Grandpa! Grandpa! I'm awake!" Silence met Jason's words, the large house slightly echoing his words. A dark feeling crept up into his chest hard and heavy as he repeated himself. "Grandpa? Are you there?" Silence. Unable to locate his grandfather and stuck in a large house in the middle of the woods, Jason started to feel frantic. Fumbling across the room he searched for light switch wondering where his grandfather had gone.
Jason honestly shouldn't have been worried considering his grandfather was a war veteran and ex-government agent. But nonetheless Grant Wilkerson was an old man and wasn't as fit as he used to be. For all Jason knew he could be in a ditch somewhere laying in a pool of his own blood...no...he was probably over reacting anyways. How bad could it possibly be?
"Yeah Mattie, I'm just going to see an old friend, that's all." Leaning on the table Alfred rolled his eyes. "Yeah, yeah, I'll be careful." Smiling he shook his head Matthew could be such a worrywart sometimes. " Sheesh Matt, your more of an old man than Arthur, my economy might be bad but that doesn't mean I can't take care of myself." The was a small pause as he listened, "Yeah, you to bro."
Shutting the phone, Alfred walked towards the door, grabbing his coffee and burger on the way out. He had planned on meeting up with his old aide before swinging by the world meeting in Charlotte. It had been a long time since he had seen Grant. He had been meaning to talk to him sometime during 2001 but considering 9-11 and the Financial Crisis...he had gotten a little side tracked. But now that things seemed to be patching up and getting better, it seemed like a good idea to check up on his former war buddy and body guard (not that he really needed one.)
Turning into a narrow road, Alfred crumpled his burger wrapper as he searched for the old large mansion in the shroud of thick white mulberry trees. Spotting the scenic house, Alfred turned into the driveway and climbed out of the car. Grinning wildly, he prepared to greet his friend as he knocked on the door loudly. He was met with no response. Alfred knocked again, this time with more urgency. The door remained closed. Turning the door knob, he watched the door swing open effortlessly welcoming him into a home that didn't seem to have its resident. A disturbing feeling wormed its way into his gut; Grant never left his door open. After Vietnam and the Cold War...it just didn't happen. Something wasn't right here...and it looked like it was up to the hero to find out what.
Jason was nearly berserk. He had searched through every room in the house, furiously digging through his grandfather's furniture and clothes. He was stubbornly clinging onto the pathetic hope that the old man had just gone senile and was hiding somewhere like some crazy sociopath man child. Every time he finished searching a room without finding any trace of Grant his panic only worsened. He knew his grandfather had told him his supply trip would take a few hours but Jason was sure that at this time of the night, a sixty-one year old man should be back by now. Eventually, he had only one more room to check– the attic.
Grabbing an emergency flashlight from the kitchen cupboard, Jason trudged up the stairs towards the dusty and dark attic, occasionally swatting away a cobweb. Swinging his flashlight around, he searched through the messy room for any clues of his grandfather. The stuffy place was filled with relics from Grant's government shrouded past. Piles of pictures, artifacts, and even old guns littered the floor. Walking through the mess, Jason's curiosity got the better of him. Brushing away a bit of the clutter he knelt down to examine some of the pictures. In one photo, it pictured a small toddler in the hands of a younger looking Grant, the caption underneath read: LUKE AND ME. Luke was his father's first name, it was a bit surprising that after their strained relationship with each other he still kept it.
Picking up another photo, he noticed it must have been a military picture. It showed a group of men together in military uniforms, smiling broadly. The caption listed the names of the soldiers from top to bottom and left to right. Locating his grandfather he not only spotted the strangeness of his grandfather's then naive eyes but he also noticed the people standing beside him. To his right was a dark-haired man with a quirky smile and a cool look, similar to the stare of present-day Grant. The young man to his left was a completely different story. He had lighter hair and bright eyes which were rimmed by wire frame glasses. A single cowlick popped up from his hair which seemed to strangely go well with his broad grin. According to the captions they were Lieutenant Rogers and Sergeant Jones.
Putting down the photo, Jason reached for another particular object. It was a plain brown box held with frayed twine. It really didn't seem like much until you noticed the massive slasher looking "X" on the top. Tucking the flashlight under his arm, Jason fumbled with the twine before undoing the knot. Gently removing the top, he blew off any clinging and persistent dust.
It was only a rock. The object was a dull black rock with a few jagged edges and some odd looking scuff and scratch marks. It wasn't anything special or memorable at all, at least to Jason. It didn't seem to have any notes that came with it and it sure wouldn't help him find his grandfather. Holding the flashlight to the rock he tried to observe anything that made it deserve to go into such a particular box. Nothing.
Suddenly, Jason heard a loud clattering sound. Swinging his flashlight towards the noise, he froze. Slightly trembling, he looked into a face that should have been wizened and wrinkled. A face that didn't belong here but instead forty years back in time. The face stared back at him with equal shock and slight horror in his eyes . The blue eyes fell upon the rock he was holding and paled.
"Put it down." His voice was hoarse, strained even but Jason couldn't move. Jason Wilkerson was staring at the teenaged face of Sergeant Jones.