Fledgling: Jason Steed

  Ray smiled and nodded at the worried boy. “I was joking, Scott. I’ve been in the navy for nearly twenty years. It’s not my beer. It was probably my father’s. Because he died before either of you were born, I am not surprised it’s out of date. I would like you to destroy the cigarettes and promise me you won’t try them again,” he ordered.

  Together, both boys replied, “Yes, sir.”

  “Good. I’ll see you at dinnertime then.”

  As they left his study, Scott turned to Jason. “Your dad is cool. I would have been in deep trouble with my parents for that. Why did you tell him? You could have said we were just hanging out. Have you ever lied to your father?” Scott asked.

  “I did sort of lie once.”

  “What happened?”

  “Let’s just say hell will freeze over before I ever lie to him again,” Jason replied.

  “If you don’t mind me saying, Jase, you don’t seem very close to your dad. Why is that?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Do you like your dad?”

  “I love him.”

  “Damn, Jase, you didn’t even shake his hand, much less hug him. You haven’t seen him for months.”

  “I’d rather not talk about it, Scott. Come on. We better go and destroy the cigarettes and that nasty beer,” Jason said, running back out the front door, only to be called back by his father.

  “Yes, Dad?” Jason shouted back.

  “Show me the tennis machine and what you do with it,” Ray asked.

  Jason smiled and ran back into the house. He went to the cupboard under the stairs and pulled out a large black box. “Scott, grab the box of balls,” Jason ordered.

  The two boys set up the machine on the front lawn. It spat out tennis balls at speeds ranging from 30 to 90 miles per hour. Scott loaded the container and ran for cover to the front door with Ray.

  “Where’s his tennis racket?” Ray asked Scott.

  “He’s crazy. He doesn’t use a racket. Keep well back, Mr. Steed. You haven’t seen anything like this. I don’t know how he doesn’t get hurt.”

  Jason turned the machine on to 70 miles per hour and random. He kicked off his shoes, socks, and T-shirt. Then, he took some deep breaths and walked away from the machine. He was in the direct line of fire and stopped when he was fifteen feet away. He raised himself onto his toes and stood at an angle to the machine. He raised his hand. Scott held the remote control and switched it on.

  “What’s supposed to happen?” Ray asked.

  “Shhh,” Scott whispered. He had been told before not to make a sound, for Jason was concentrating.

  Bang! A ball flew out and launched directly at Jason’s face. Jason swung his left arm up and hit the ball with his fist, sending it in the direction of Scott, who ducked. Another and another ball spat out. He spun around, blocking the balls that fired at him at all heights and directions. For several minutes, he blocked ball after ball. Eventually, he missed a ball, and it hit him on his left ear and knocked him back. Jason dove to the grass. Scott turned it off and ran over to Jason who was rubbing his ear.

  “How fast did you have it?” Scott asked.

  “Seventy miles per hour,” Jason said, climbing to his feet and rubbing his ear, checking to see if he was bleeding.

  “Then, that serves you right for showing off. You have never done over sixty before. Are you all right?”

  “Yes, but it hurt like—” Jason paused when he saw his father approaching.

  Ray looked at Jason and Scott and then at the tennis balls surrounding the area. He squinted at Jason’s ear, now bright red, and then looked at his fists. Some of Jason’s knuckles were split and bleeding.

  “Why?” Ray asked.

  “It’s karate training, Dad. I want to get up to 90 miles per hour eventually. I can’t get really hurt—just bruised. I love it.” He was smiling and panting, dripping with sweat.

  “Okay, but only use it when Scott is here.” Ray patted his son on the shoulder and then walked back into the house without another word, shaking his head.

  Chapter Seven

  Ray took the boys to a very expensive London restaurant called Daphne’s.

  “Holy crap. I have seen this place on the TV. Mick Jagger, Elton John, and loads of pop stars use it,” Scott whispered, grabbing Jason’s arm.

  They were shown to a table by a French waiter.

  “Merci, monsieur,” Jason thanked him. He and the waiter then spoke a little in French. The waiter looked at Jason’s father and posed a question.

  After he had taken the order, Ray asked, “What did he ask about me?”

  “He asked if we were being taken out by our grandfather.”

  “Bloody cheek. What did you tell him?” Ray asked.

  “I congratulated him on how observant he was,” Jason replied, and for a few seconds, he managed to keep a straight face.

  “Jason, what’s the first thing French children are taught in school?” Scott asked.

  “I dunno.”

  “How to say ‘I surrender’ in various languages,” he said and grinned.

  Jason laughed and then watched Scott as he placed the napkin over his lap. When he saw his father do the same, he copied them. Ray suddenly realized he had never taken Jason to a place like this before. He hadn’t instructed him about manners since they’d visited Buckingham Palace. A wave of guilt washed over him.

  Scott’s head was twisting from side to side, trying to spot a celebrity.

  “I want to join the Sea Cadets, Dad. There is a group not too far from the house,” Jason announced to his father.

  “That’s a good idea, but you have to wait six months until you are eleven. Will you also be joining, Scott?” Ray asked.

  “No way,” came Scott’s rapid reply.

  “You will have to get your hair cut, Jason. You can’t join with hair over your eyes,” he told his son.

  “I have an idea about that. I will go next week and find out about joining.”

  “You’re not eleven,” Scott interrupted.

  Jason gave a smile and shrugged his shoulders.

  “Jase, how do you stop a French tank?” Scott asked.

  “Don’t know. I give up.”

  “Just say boo,” Scott finished.

  Jason rolled his eyes.

  ***

  As a typical November night in London, it was raining quite heavily when they finished eating.

  “There is no point to us all getting wet. I’ll get the car,” Ray said. He ran out into the night down the dark alley, his feet splashing in the rain. He was fumbling for his keys when from out of nowhere, he was struck on the head with a metal pipe, which knocked him to the ground. Pain shook through his body. He felt dazed, and for a moment, he had blurred vision.

  “Quick, get the bloody keys, Ron,” a male voice hissed in the darkness. Ray lifted himself up and could see the silhouettes of two men. They picked up his keys and tried shoving them into the door.

  “Got it, Harry,” the other one whispered as he unlocked the door. At this point, Ray was back on his feet, although he was still holding his wounded head. He ran over and pushed the man into his car. As the mugger fought back, both he and Ray fell. The second man, Harry, was now at the driver’s side and kicked at Ray, catching his back. Pain fired through Ray’s body, and he released his grip on the mugger. Then, he heard the scraping noise of the metal pipe as Harry picked it up from the wet ground. Ray quickly stood to defend himself, and the man swung the pipe at him. Ray caught it and wrestled with Harry.

  Suddenly, a flashlight beam caught the three men fighting. It was one of the restaurant staff. The waiter ran back inside.

  “Call the police. A man is being mugged behind the building!” he shouted.

  Jason took to his heels, pushing the waiter out of his way. He ran down the dark street and around the corner. As he approached the men, he could just make out what was happening. His father was being struck again with the metal pipe. He slumped to the ground but was still co
nscious.

  “Kid, piss off if you know what’s good for you,” Harry told Jason.

  Ray looked up and saw his son running toward him.

  “Jason, go back, go back!” he cried.

  Jason’s mind went blank, and his rage took over. As he approached, Harry swung at him with the metal pipe. Ray staggered to his knees, but Jason ducked and caught the pipe. He swept Harry’s feet out from under him. Harry crashed to the ground and let go of the pipe. Without a second thought, Jason struck Harry with the pipe across the face. Then, Ron came out of the car and tried to grab Jason. He missed, and Jason turned and lashed out with a kick, striking Ron’s leg just above his knee, which instantly shattered Ron’s kneecap. Ron fell to the ground, screaming in pain.

  Jason’s adrenaline was on overload. He pounced on Ron then. He landed on Ron’s chest with his knee and used the very same move he’d used on Jet Chan. This time, however, Jason threw a full punch at Ron’s face. The blow shattered Ron’s nose, spattering blood on Jason’s face. Ron stopped screaming.

  Harry was up again and dived at Jason, throwing him across the wet stone road. Jason quickly turned and pulled Harry down. At lightning speed, he started to pound Harry’s face with his fists. Harry was knocked unconscious in seconds.

  Now on his feet, Ray limped over to Jason and put his hand down to pull him off Harry. Jason felt a hand on his shoulder, grabbed it, and then twisted it, pulling his father to the floor and landing him in a puddle of cold, dirty water. As he held his hand and bent it further back, Jason pulled himself on top of his father and pulled back his fist to strike.

  “Jason, it’s me,” Ray gasped.

  After he blinked several times, Jason stopped. He stood up and helped his father to his feet. His body shook violently as the rain washed the blood from his face and hands. Seconds passed before he realized how badly he’d hurt his dad’s attackers, but he felt no remorse. He felt only coldness.

  ***

  Jason and Scott sat in the hospital waiting room while Ray’s wounds were treated. Eventually, a police detective came and sat opposite Jason. He looked the boy up and down. Jason felt self-conscious. His clothing was covered in blood after all. He looked at the detective, who had greased-down hair and smelled of cigarettes. He wore a long raincoat that was spotted with rain.

  “I need to ask you some questions, son. I am Detective Johnson. Can you tell me what happened?” he asked.

  Jason looked at his trembling and cut hands. He wasn’t supposed to perform martial arts outside of a dojo, and he knew he may have gone too far. He glanced at Scott, worried. He did not really want to talk to the police and say something that would make it worse.

  “He will answer anything you want, sir, but only when his father is present,” Scott replied.

  “And you are?”

  “Scott Turner.”

  “Okay, Scott, I only need to ask him a few questions. I am sure he can speak for himself.”

  “Yes, he can, and he will once his father is here. He is a minor, and you can’t question him without an adult.” The detective nodded and reluctantly got up and walked away.

  Jason looked at Scott and smiled at him in thanks.

  At that moment, they spotted Ray limping down the corridor. He managed a grin. “Hi, boys. How did you like your night on the town?”

  “Are you all right, Mr. Steed?” Scott asked, climbing to his feet.

  “I will be fine, Scott. Just some cuts and bruises—thank you.”

  “The police wanted to talk to me, Dad,” Jason said, looking worried.

  “I will deal with them,” Ray replied.

  Detective Johnson reappeared. “Mr. Steed, may I question your son? I need to know what happened,” he asked, blocking the waiting room exit.

  “No, he’s ten. What do you want to know?” Ray replied.

  “Yes, sir, I can see he is ten, but we have two adults in critical condition. One man has a shattered kneecap, and his nose is broken in four places. The other man has a broken collarbone, nose, fractured jaw, and cracked ribs. How did that all happen?”

  Scott gave Jason a pat on the back and smiled. Jason stared at the floor and held his breath.

  “My son saved my life tonight,” Ray said sharply. “He defended me and himself against two grown men armed with a steel pipe. They attacked us. I am a navy officer. It’s my job to protect this country. It’s your job to protect us from scum that preys on innocent people going out for a nice meal. Now, you can either arrest us or see me anytime with my lawyer. Until then, I have to get these two boys home to bed.”

  Detective Johnson nodded and reluctantly moved out of their path. Jason still didn’t know how to feel during the long drive home.

  ***

  The following morning, Ray walked into the kitchen where Scott sat eating toast and drinking hot tea with Mrs. Betton.

  “Good morning,” Ray said.

  “Good morning,” Mrs. Betton replied. “Are you okay, sir?”

  “Bruised and very sore, but I am okay—thank you. I think I will go and check on Jason.”

  He smiled as he looked at the mess the room was in. Scott had slept on a folding bed. The sheets and blankets were sprawled everywhere, and socks, underwear, and shoes were scattered across the floor. Jason was sleeping under a sheet, still wearing his pants and socks. Ray sat on Jason’s bed and gently brushed Jason’s hair away from his face with his fingers. He looked down on the floor where Jason’s blood-stained shirt still lay. Jason rolled onto his back and opened his eyes. Ray bent down and kissed him on his forehead.

  “Are you all right, son?”

  Jason yawned and stretched his arms, pausing to look at his knuckles. They were bruised and cut, and his hands were still blood-stained. Ray took his hands and examined them.

  “I think I am, Dad. My hands hurt, but they will be okay.”

  “Were you okay last night, Jason?”

  “Yes. Why?”

  “The detective thought you did a good job, but you may have gone above and beyond what was needed. Did you lose control?” Ray asked.

  Jason sighed. “Wong Tong taught me how to increase my adrenaline rush. It’s the most powerful weapon a man has. When you hear stories of how a mother lifted a car off of her child or how a man being chased by a bull jumped and cleared a six-foot fence, that’s an adrenaline rush. Controlling it is a learning experience. I am still learning, but I knew what I was doing. I never lost control. When I jumped on that guy, I knew I was going to punch his face. It never came into my mind to punch his windpipe.”

  “His windpipe?” Ray asked.

  “Yes, it can kill a man. I did not want to do that. I didn’t want to send a nose bone into his brain, so I struck down. I was in full control…I did go too far by breaking his kneecap. Before you say it, yes, I did hit that guy more than I should have. I just couldn’t help it. I just wanted to hurt them for hurting you. I never felt like that before, but I didn’t have any intention to kill them—just hurt them. I’m sorry if I hurt you. I just felt a hand grab me. I was so high on adrenaline that it’s hard to just stop.”

  “I was impressed, son. I am very proud of you,” Ray said, pulling him up and hugging him. He then said the words Jason had never heard from anyone before: “I love you.”

  Jason pulled away to look at his father.

  “Really? You love me?” Jason asked.

  “Of course I do.”

  Jason looked down and said nothing.

  Ray lifted Jason’s face with a finger under his chin. “You never doubted that, did you, Jason?”

  Jason looked at his father, and his sapphire-blue eyes filled with tears. He didn’t reply.

  “Why? How could you not know I love you?” Ray asked, looking stunned.

  With his voice breaking and looking away, Jason replied, “You blamed me for mom’s death. You said, ‘The hospital should have saved her and not the kid.’”

  Ray sat back, put his hands on his head, and said, “You heard that?”
br />   Jason nodded. Ray took Jason’s face in his cupped hands, wiped Jason’s tears with his thumbs, and made Jason look at him.

  “I loved your mother more than life itself. We were so happy when we knew we were having a baby. When she died, I was so mad at the world and everyone else. Yes, I did think they could have done more to save her. We will never know now—Yes, I did wish they had put her life first, Jason. I loved her. At the time, you were a stranger to me, but as time has gone on, you mean everything to me—look—” Ray said, passing him his wallet. Inside were photographs in a small plastic envelope.

  Jason opened the envelope and found nine pictures of himself. On the back of each photo was written “My son’s first birthday” all the way up to his ninth.

  “I don’t have a picture of you for this year yet, but I will get one before I go. I take these everywhere. I am very proud to show friends my very handsome son. Please believe me—I do love you and always have. I guess I never said it until now. That’s not how I was brought up. My parents, your grandparents, were very conservative, just like Uncle Stewart. Sorry, Jason. I never knew you felt like this. I never knew you heard what I said. Can you forgive me?”

  Jason hugged his father.

  “Why did you never say anything before? You normally speak your mind,” Ray asked.

  Jason just shook his head.

  They could soon hear Scott walking up the polished wooden stairs. Ray got up and told Jason that they would talk more later. Scott entered the room with a plateful of hot toast and jam for Jason.

  “Mrs. Betton asked me to bring this to you,” Scott said, looking at Jason’s red, teary eyes. “What’s wrong? Are you all right, mate?”

  “I just need a few minutes to myself please. I will be okay,” Jason replied, wiping his bloodshot eyes with his bed sheet. And he knew he would, even though Ray would return to Portsmouth and the Ark Royal the next day.

  Chapter Eight

  The following week, Jason joined the Sea Cadets. He was given a form to complete and to get signed by a parent or guardian as well as the instructions on where to purchase a uniform, and he was also told to get his hair cut. Mrs. Betton signed the form. Jason did not let her read the section stating date of birth, which he changed to 1962.