Hell Within -- Chapter One: The Failure -- Scenes 1&2

Part One: Inheritance

Chapter One: The Failure

-1-

The little boy lie naked on the green shag carpet curled into a fetal position with his eyes clamped shut. He hadn’t moved a muscle in hours.

The pain was terrible. It felt as though someone had driven a wood-splitting wedge through his bowels.

Elsewhere in the apartment, water from the showerhead steadily drummed the porcelain tub. Hours ago, humming in the shower accompanied this sound, but no more. There was only the sound of the water and his own shuddering breaths.

After Rudy had left him alone on the bed, it had appeared above him. It looked like a ghost with glowing green eyes. It wore black medieval attire with ruffled throat and cuffs. It’s skin was devoid of color, and its face was covered in long black hair and a thick beard all of which undulated as if suspended in water.

"We’ve come to protect you," it said with a heavy English accent, and that was the last he remembered.

He had no way of knowing how long it had been.

Before, it was night outside, now the first lights of day drifted through the window above him and reddened the backs of his eyelids. He hadn’t heard a peep out of Uncle Rudy, his legal guardian in hours -- still, he didn’t dare open his eyes.

Then the doorbell screamed. He nearly jumped out of his skin.

And then there was tense silence.

He held his breath and listened hard, but he heard nothing else from the bathroom.

In a moment, the doorbell rang again followed by someone knocking loudly.

Still no sounds from the bathroom.

The little boy shivered with fear.

In a moment, he heard the muffled sound of someone cursing outside and then heavy footfalls on the stairs.

No motion in the bathroom.

The boy relaxed slightly. The tension had served no purpose but to aggravate the pain in his backside.

Outside the window, a bird chirped. A gentle breeze hissed through the treetops. A car cranked.

He wondered if he shouldn’t try to get someone’s attention. The mere thought of it caused his heart to race. He grabbed a fistful of green carpet.

The phone rang, and he nearly ripped the carpet off the floor.

No rustling in the bathroom.

It rang again and several times more. And when the caller hung up, the silence in the apartment took on a completely different tone.

The boy risked opening his eyes slightly.

Just as he’d hoped, he was alone in Rudy’s bedroom. His ruined white pajamas sat in a wadded heap at the foot of the bed before him.

At the end of the hallway directly across from him, his bedroom door still gaped open.

He carefully pushed himself to his feet and listened hard. There were no sounds in the bathroom but that of the shower.

He stood in that spot for a long moment listening hard, but he heard nothing.

He stepped toward the hallway, and the floor creaked. His chest throbbed, and he stood still again holding his breath -- nothing.

He stepped again more carefully -- testing his weight on the floor.

Then he reached the hallway. He turned left and peered down.

Through the beaded archway at the end of the short hallway, he saw the tweed couch and sitting beside it, the scratched-up coffee table. And on top of the coffee table the lava lamp still glowed.

A few feet ahead of him and on the right wall, the bathroom door stood slightly open -- a dim shaft of yellow light from the medicine cabinet fell across the avocado walls.

He crept up to the door and leaned up close and listened hard, but he heard nothing within but the shower water.

He peeked through the crack in the door.

Reflected by the mirror of the medicine cabinet he saw the reddened water in the tub spilling over its edge and draining into the air duct in the floor, and a single fat and ashen hand drooped lifelessly over the edge of the tub.

Wide-eyed, he pushed the door open and walked inside. The green shower curtain was drawn.

He reached out with trembling hands and grasped it.

* * *

"What in the hell are you doing?"

He opened his eyes and found himself gaping with horror at his wife who was standing against the back wall of the shower stall with the water pounding her left side.

He shook his head and sat down hard on the lid of the commode, and stared into the foggy mirror across from him.

The man looking back at him was a twisted and aging version of himself -- dark brown hair and a thick mustache starting to pepper with gray, crow’s feet.

Amy shut the water off, wrapped a towel around herself, and knelt before him -- clutching his shoulders.

"What’s wrong?"

Ben shook his head and shrugged.

"You can’t keep on shutting me out," she snapped.

Ben stared at her blankly. "Where were you tonight?"

Amy shook her head. "Don’t change the subject."

"Why are you taking a shower at four in the morning?"

She looked away. "Because I stink."

Ben stared at her a moment longer without a word. She looked guilty as hell.

"I’m going back to bed," he sighed.

But she wouldn’t let go of his shoulders.

"Are you having the nightmares again?"

He smirked. "I don’t want to talk about it."

The truth was, he didn’t remember. The dream was only disintegrating fragments of images.

Shower water beating the lime green tub.

A pale hand drooping over the edge by the shower curtain.

He shuddered.

"What is it?"

"Goddamnit just leave me alone."

She released his shoulders and held her hands up. "Fine! I was just trying to help."

He stood up and laughed humorlessly. "No, you were just misdirecting my attention from the fact that you’ve just gotten home."

"You’re an asshole!"

Ben chose to ignore her and walked straight back to the bedroom. When he didn’t respond, she slammed the bathroom door so hard that the entire apartment shook.

Ben plopped back down on the bed, wrapped the navy comforter around himself, and sighed.

But his eyes didn’t want to slide shut. Part of him was afraid that he would have The Nightmare again, and the other part wondered about things he’d be better to leave alone -- things like why Amy had been so intolerant of him lately, why every conversation seemed to turn into a fight, and where had she been all night that made her want to take a shower at four o’clock in the morning.

-2-

When Ben finally rose several hours later, he found Amy in the kitchen at the maple breakfast table wrapped in a red housecoat, staring out the window at the parking lot nursing a cup of coffee. Her blond hair was frizzy from airing dry.

She didn’t look at him, and the thousand-mile stare out the window told him just how bad this was going to be.

Ben said nothing to her and went straight for the cabinet over the sink where he pulled out a bowl and a box of Frosted Flakes. Then he grabbed a spoon and the milk, and went over the table and sat down across from her -- acknowledging her only with a glance.

He’d barely gotten the first bite in his mouth before she was looking at him as though she wanted to say something. He tried to ignore her.

"We need to talk," she said.

Ben gave her his most bitter look, and then went back to his cereal.

She stared at him a moment longer before shaking her head and looking away. "Why are we doing this?"

Ben smirked. "I’ve always heard that breakfast is the most important meal of the day."

"You know what I meant."

He dropped his spoon in the bowl and sat back.

"No, I don’t. I have no idea what your intentions are."

She made eye contact for the first time.

"You’ve been drinking again, haven’t you?"

He huffed and leaned over his cereal bowl.

"You’re going to drink yourself into the grave."

"What do you care?" he said without looking at her.

"I’m your wife!"

"Then why don’t you try acting like it?"

She looked down at the table and then turned her head toward the window. After staring at the side of her face for a moment, Ben looked back down to his bowl. He’d won the staring contest, and the prize was awful.

"I’m so confused," she said. "I think I’m just tired."

She opened her mouth to say something else, but Ben shook his head.

"I don’t want to hear it."

She shrugged.

He stared at her a moment longer then he pushed his cereal bowl out of the way, stood up, and started back to the bedroom.

"Ben?" she said.

He turned back around.

She just looked at him as though she couldn’t find the words.

His eyes welled up, and he looked away. And he stood in the mouth of the hallway for a moment staring through the cabinets, and then he found himself angry at his own emotion.

He furled his brow and shook his head, and then he turned back to the bedroom leaving her to her thoughts.

(Continue to The Failure -- scenes 3 & 4)