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And Rika’s.
It seemed he now tolerated her presence for the sake of the children, and for Rika, but there was still a grudge there that hadn’t disappeared since I was last in town, apparently.
I sat down as Alex climbed into the back, and I fastened my seatbelt, spotting Michael trying to get my attention from the window of his Jag.
I cut him off. “Just follow me!” I told him.
Not giving him a chance to argue, I sped off in his G-Class with the supplies, and with Alex and Damon, whil
e Michael and Rika followed in his other car.
It didn’t take us long to reach the warehouse, which was usually dormant the rest of the year, but now alive with activity as the famed Coldfield.
As it was otherwise known in October when it was transformed into a haunted theme park.
This was where we partied in high school, the abandoned factory a playground for kids who wanted some shelter from the weather for them and three hundred of their closest friends and a few kegs of beer.
This was where Misha came to write his songs and lose himself when the pain of Annie’s death was too much to bear.
This was where Damon, Kai, and I beat up Emmy’s brother, getting drunk and making my knuckles bleed until I couldn’t feel anything else that night.
This was where I found out I had something to bring to the table. Something worth a damn to our future.
“What are we doing here?” Michael asked as we walked past the lines of patrons waiting to get inside.
Howls and creaky sound effects filled the air as fog hovered above the ground and “Pumped Up Kicks” by 3TEETH blasted over the speakers. The smell of hot dogs and popcorn drifted up my nostrils, and squeals went off behind me as the actors jumped up on a group of girls. Men and women in masks stood around, all creepy and frozen and shit, staring at people in the distance and trying to scare the crap out of them.
Kai and Banks jogged to catch up to us, and I looked past the gate, seeing Rory and Micah standing near the beverage cart.
I didn’t stop. Heading into the warehouse, tarp and walls constructed to create various chambers hung around, creating a tunnel, and Micah and Rory fell in line, following.
The cold, wet dark hung everywhere, and we jetted past patrons laughing and screaming at the actors hanging in the rafters above and trying to grab for them.
I stepped into a room and dug a ring of fifteen-thousand keys out of my bag, finding the one that accessed the doors in the Mad Scientist section of the park. Passing the boiling vats of body parts and lava lamps of eyeballs, I fit the key into the door, opened it, and ushered everyone inside.
Michael stood back, his eyes narrowed on me. “You own Coldfield? You?”
I gave him a tight smile.
I paid for it. I helped design it. But I hired managers to handle everything else. I took part in it when I wanted to, but I knew I wasn’t fit to deal with the business side there for a while, so I installed a seasonal team that would.
And good thing too, since I was gone for a long time.
We entered the hallway, and I locked the door behind us, opening up another one and turning on the light inside.
Rock walls and steps, like the catacombs, burrowed into the ground, darkness consuming what lay beneath.
“What is this?” Rika asked me.
I half-smiled. “This is Coldfield.”
The real one.
Leading the way, I momentarily regretted not calling Misha for this, as I knew he’d love it, but I didn’t want him involved. Not for this.
I descended the stairs, winding through the tunnels as electric-powered lanterns lit our way, and the rush of the river and the sea hit the walls all around us.
A track laid ahead, and I threw my bag into one of the cars with the containers of gasoline I’d had put here yesterday in one of the many calls I’d made.
