Hell Within -- Chapter One: The Failure -- Scenes 5&6

-5-

In the twilight, the blue-gray complexes that were Towne Creek Apartments didn’t quite look the same. All the other cars, most of them relatively new, were abandoned and the late-nighters had already dragged themselves to work. So the deserted buildings rose to meet the treetops in their respective places looking as though they were frozen in stone.

Ben sat in his faded RX-7 for a long time before going back inside -- twirling his wedding band around his finger and staring at Amy’s black Civic sparkling in the gray with beads of fresh rain.

He wondered if he shouldn’t get out of his car and go to hers, drive it down to Milton Martin, and turn the son-of-a-bitch back in. It might actually be worth it to see the look on her face when she came out into the parking lot tonight after dumping him to go fuck her boyfriend.

He got out of his car, staggered across the gray, and stumbled up the steps to his apartment. Then he walked inside and plopped down on the sofa -- staring at the blank screen of the TV.

Amy stomped through the open space that was the kitchen into the den and glared at him holding the cordless phone in one hand and a brush in the other.

She looked different than she had when he’d left. She’d traded in her housecoat for a white blouse covered by a black blazer and skirt.

Ben looked away from her and stared at the blank TV screen which appeared to be spinning around the room.

"Where have you been?"

He ignored her.

"You’re drunk, aren’t you?"

"Were you expecting me to click my heels?"

"I can’t talk to you like this."

Still not looking at her, "Just leave me the fuck alone."

"What?" she snapped.

Ben eyed her again swaying in place. "I don’t want to talk. Just leave and get it over with."

She shook her head. "I need closure."

He turned back toward the TV. "And I need another drink, so either make yourself useful or get the fuck out."

Her mouth fell open. "You don’t even care enough to want to know why, do you?"

He smirked. "It’s not as though I’ve been going through life wearing a blindfold."

"What?" she sighed.

"You heard me."

She rolled her eyes.

"I’ve lost everything."

"You have no clue."

"Whatever."

"You’ve walled yourself up. You haven’t contributed to this marriage in a long time."

Ben stared at the brass and glass coffee table. "Whatever you say."

"I just don’t think you care anymore."

"And you know someone else who does?"

The room filled with a strained silence. Ben spun his wedding band around on his finger. He felt Amy glaring at him, but he didn’t care.

He risked a quick glance at her and then looked away again.

She wiped her eyes.

"I can’t believe you’d even suggest that."

He laughed humorlessly.

"I’m going to Shelly’s," she said turning and stomping back to the bedroom. "I need some space."

Ben didn’t argue.

A minute later she walked back through the den with her suitcase packed and went straight to the door, but just before walking out, she turned and looked back in his general direction, averting his eyes.

"We’ll talk when you’re sober."

-6-

After Amy left, Ben grabbed last night’s bottle of Scotch, went back to the couch, and polished it off. Then he fell into a light slumber.

At nine, his eyes popped open.

Heavy footfalls on creaky steps outside.

Ben opened his eyes halfway and stared up at the ceiling at first unsure of where he was.

He looked at the door.

The footfalls on the steps seemed to have stopped at his door.

He frowned and sat up.

There came a slight jangling from beyond the door – a sound not unlike that which is produced when fishing around in a pocket filled with coins and keys. Then the footfalls came again this time walking away from the door and up another set of stairs.

Ben knew where he was now -- home.

Not his house -- he’d lost that six months before when he could no longer make the mortgage payment. He was in his apartment.

He sighed and stared longingly at the empty Scotch bottle sitting on top of the brass and glass coffee table beside the remote control.

Deciding that wishing the bottle full again would do him no good, he stood and snatched it off the coffee table swaying in place. Then he relocated to his bedroom.

As he emptied his pockets onto his dresser, he came across his cell phone again. The display on the front of the Nokia still announced "One New Message."

The room grew cold all of a sudden and the air thickened and filled with the electric smell of ozone.

"We’ve come to protect you," a foul voice said.

Ben spun around with his eyes darting about the empty room. The air was so cold now that white vapor rose from his mouth as he exhaled. And the room didn’t spin around him anymore as if he’d had too much to drink.

His heart pounded.

He knew that voice.

He’d heard it many years before.

The sound of it resurrected an empty memory.

He lay naked and curled in a fetal position on the floor in his Uncle Rudy’s old apartment in Duluth -- a boy of only twelve.
The tainted form hovered over him.

His eyes were glowing green jewels set deep in his skull. His skin was gray like that of a cadaver and his fingernails, ice blue. He wore medieval attire with ruffles at his throat and cuffs—his long black hair and beard undulating as if suspended in water.

The memory was more like a dream. He hadn’t even thought of it in ages.

But even now, the memory was enough to cause the hair on the back of his neck to stand.

"That number on your phone," his mother’s voice whispered behind him.

He whirled around to find nothing behind him.

"Don’t return his call."

"Who’s there?" he demanded.

But the room was warm again, and seemed to be spinning around him as if he were drunk again.

And the feeling of hidden eyes upon him had vanished as quickly as it had come.

Ben looked back down at his cell phone, went into his missed calls menu and dialed the number.

It rang twice before the voice of an elderly man answered.

"This is Ben Eaton. I believe someone from this number was trying to reach me earlier today?"

"Yes sir, I certainly was," the man said.

"Well, do me a favor and give me the shorthand version. I’m having a bad day, and I’d really like to go to bed."

"I’m sorry to hear that, sir."

Ben shrugged.

"Name’s Steve Mize. I work for a law firm based out of Lakewood Village. This call pertains to your parents."

Ben closed his eyes. "Jesus Christ, I thought you were a divorce lawyer."

"I’ve been known to handle a case or two, do you need one?"

He rolled his eyes. "You’ve got the wrong guy. I’m an orphan."

"I don’t believe I do."

"My parents died in ‘64."

"And that same year, your Uncle Rudy became your legal guardian."

Ben suddenly didn’t feel drunk anymore.

"When you were 13, you went to live with your grandparents in Athens. After you graduated from. . . ."

"Yeah, yeah, yeah, what do you want?"

"Well, I’d really rather not discuss this over the phone. Can you come down?"

Ben looked around the room and smirked. "What the hell!"

"When?"

He shrugged. "Anything wrong with tomorrow?"

"Well, I’ll be in court all day, tomorrow."

"It doesn’t matter."

"Tell you what; I’m not due in court until ten, if you can make it down to my office in Lakewood Village before then."

"Whatever."

"Good, I can’t go over any details tomorrow, but I can go ahead and give you the keys to the place."

"The place?"

"Yeah, your mother’s family home."

(Coming soon -- Hell Within -- Chapter Two: The Bastard