THE PRETENDER: Black Mountain Academy

by Brent, Cora

  I level my gaze at Angus now. “He said, ‘Please don’t. We’re family.’ It was your father who replied ‘Not anymore’. And it was you who pulled the trigger.”

  Angus is unimpressed. “That’s some kind of fairy tale you’re peddling, you poor brainwashed little fuck.”

  “I saw you. That night at Uncle Layton’s house. I saw you, Angus.”

  He’s not expecting this. There’s visceral hatred in his face now. “You didn’t see a fucking thing.”

  Grey is frozen in place. He could never be a good poker player. He does a piss poor job of hiding his thoughts. The look he’s giving his brother is sorrow mixed with loathing. Even if no one has ever spoken the truth to him out loud he’s always suspected.

  I have nothing more to say to Angus. Maybe Grey can still be reasoned with.

  “My mother ran away because she was terrified. She thought if I told the truth about what happened to my father then I’d be killed too. Maybe both of us would have been killed. It doesn’t matter now. I’m finished hiding. I’m reclaiming my identity. And I’m telling my story.”

  My cousin ages before my eyes. His shoulders droop and his face falls and he looks like he might be in need of a chair. Or some vitamins. Or a time machine.

  “Bennet…” he says and then shakes his head and he loses track of the rest of the thought.

  Perhaps he was going to insist that I’m delusional. I’ll never know.

  His eyes widen and he roars, “ANGUS!”

  It’s my fault. I’m so intent on giving Grey an explanation that I fail to stay in self defense mode.

  I’ve also forgotten that I’m not the only one in the room with martial arts skills.

  Grey hasn’t even finished shouting his brother’s name when the kick lands on my lower back, the blow rendered much more brutal by the attacker’s steel toed boots. The impact sends me into an end table and my reflexes are not too impaired to throw out my hands to brace against the collision. Rather than simply falling into the table while knowing that another assault is already on the way, I seize the small table in both hands, deliberately fall to the side and roll. I land on my back but now I have the table to use a shield when Angus tries to stomp on my head a half a second later. He succeeds only in knocking one of the table legs off and he curses as this latest kick throws him off balance. I’m still unsure if he’s carrying a gun. All bets are off if he is. With a mighty growl I hurl the broken table. It lands a blow to his shoulder, which causes him to stumble and curse some more. In one fluid jump I’m on my feet but Angus has recovered long enough to swipe the broken table leg from the floor.

  Everything happens with lightning quick speed and yet it feels like slow motion as I watch the wooden piece swing in my direction. He’s too quick and I’ve had too much to drink. The wood slams into my elbow with a crack and my next kick attempt misses the mark.

  But Angus’s doesn’t.

  He lands a boot to my chest and that sends me on my ass for a hot second. I’ve still trying to catch my breath and get to my feet when a lick of fire shoots across my ribs as Angus bludgeons my torso with the stick. I’m sure the next blow will be to my head and I lash out with a punch to his jaw. He staggers but I’m staggering too and he gets the upper hand first.

  Dimly I hear Grey’s voice shouting in the background but he’s as useless as he ever was. Angus is behind me now and this is bad news because he’s got the length of wood in both hands and he’s using it to cut off my airway. With all my might I’m trying to step back, to flip him, to wrench free, but he’s a strong motherfucker.

  “Say hello to your dad,” he hisses in my ear and I know that if I don’t shake him loose real soon the next sound I hear will be the sound of my last futile gasps of air.

  In desperation my thoughts careen to my mother. She’s never recovered from my father’s death. Losing her only child will destroy her completely.

  And Camden…

  I haven’t yet told Camden that I love her. I need to get out of this and tell her that.

  Black dots dance before my eyes. They expand and run together. Angus grunts in my ear. Hatred surges in my blood.

  Then there’s a loud crash, the distinct sound of glass breaking.

  In an instant everything has changed.

  Camden

  I hear their voices before I see them and I also hear the tension in Ben’s voice. One look at him and I know the situation is bad. These men, whoever they may be, aren’t welcome here. The two of them might be brothers. They definitely look alike.

  And, astonishingly, they also look like Ben.

  My boyfriend turns at the sound of my voice and I’m startled by the expression on his face. Ben, who faces down knife wielding assailants and backs down from nothing, is afraid. But when he speaks he turns his voice into something low and horrible.

  “Thought I told you to get your skinny ass out of here until you can learn how to suck cock properly.”

  No. This isn’t really Ben. His words are not serious and I don’t take them seriously. He’s playing a part. I just don’t know why.

  “What the fuck are you waiting for? Do I need to shove you out the door myself?”

  Whatever he’s doing, he has a reason. He needs me to cooperate with the act.

  I stare him down and try to become an actress. “Never mind. I got what I came for. You’re not good for much else.”

  I glare at him. I call him an asshole. One of the men breaks out into cruel laughter. After I grab my jacket and purse I stand face to face with Ben. He gives me a barely perceptible nod and I read the look in his eyes.

  Trust me.

  I’m doing exactly what he wants me to do. To finish the scene I exit and slam the door behind me.

  Then I stand outside in the darkness and wonder what the hell I’m supposed to do now. The next street over thunders into a chorus of hooting and a crackle of celebratory fireworks. Or perhaps it’s gunfire. I can’t tell the difference.

  Ben is in danger. I’m certain of that.

  The motive for his behavior was to get me to safety and while I’m technically safe standing out here by myself, I can’t bear to move away from the house. I take my phone out of my pocket with the intention of calling for help. I’ve never called 911 before. I have no idea what to tell them. According to all known facts, there are two men sitting in my boyfriend’s living room. I don’t know who they are and I heard no threats made.

  “911. What’s your emergency?”

  I don’t know what the emergency is. I just know that one exists. That probably won’t produce much of a reaction so I make something up.

  “There’s a, uh, a home invasion. Two men broke into my boyfriend’s house. We need help.” I rattle off Ben’s address and again urge the operator to hurry.

  I don’t know how long it will take for police to arrive. It’s New Year’s Eve. They likely have their hands full with emergency calls.

  The sound of a shout captures my attention. Someone is yelling inside the house and I can’t make out the words. Ben may not have time to wait for the police.

  I need to get back in there. I need a weapon. But all I have in my purse is lip gloss and a package of tissues. Frantically I search the ground in the darkness. I find a rock the size of my hand and judge the weight of it in my palm. If thrown with enough force it could likely crack a man’s skull. In Ben’s hand and with Ben’s superior baseball throwing arm it would be an effective weapon. In my hand it’s just a dirty rock. Helpless tears threaten to choke my efforts and the rock falls to the ground with a thud.

  I am not strong.

  I am the girl who gets slapped in the face by Bridget Spinelli and bursts into tears.

  I am the girl who is powerless in the hands of the McGill brothers.

  I am not someone who’s capable of rescuing anyone.

  I am someone who needs to get rescued.

  “FUCK THAT AND FUCK YOU!”

  That’s Ben shouting and the raw agony in his voice is enough
to jar me out of my weak tears.

  Ben needs me.

  Busting through the front door is a fool’s errand. The sight of me would frighten no one and the fact that Ben took such pains to get me out of there gives me pause. There’s a reason why he wanted them to believe that he cares nothing for me. He does not trust them. Even more than that, he must believe that they’ve hurt people before and would do it again.

  Whatever I do needs to take them by surprise. If I break a window at the back of the house I could gain entry and perhaps they wouldn’t hear.

  And then I remember that I don’t even need to break a window.

  Ben and I were hot and heavy when we got here and we did not go through the front door. We entered through the kitchen. Running the sequence of events through my mind I clearly remember that his hands were occupied. He kicked the door closed with his foot and he never turned back to secure the lock.

  I did not see the two men arrive but they would have knocked on the front door. The same door I left from. If the side door was left unlocked when we arrived earlier in the evening then it’s still unlocked now.

  I’m not positive that I’m right. I can’t be sure until I try the door myself.

  After a three second dash to the side of the house, I have my hand on the doorknob and my heart in my throat. The knob twists easily and I step inside. A shout goes up in the next room.

  “ANGUS!”

  Noise follows, the kind of noise that comes from furniture being toppled amid men locked in combat. There’s a guttural curse and a grunt of pain.

  The kitchen is a better place to discover weapons than the front yard and I wildly rifle through the drawers, hoping to see a great big butcher knife. The most dangerous object I can find is a steak knife and I grip it tightly with the blade facing out as I rush into the living room.

  One of the men stands beside the couch and he’s shouting, “Angus, stop!” but he’s not doing anything about the fact that the other man, who must be Angus, has Ben locked in a deadly pose. Angus is behind Ben and he’s holding Ben in place by wedging a thick wooden stick at Ben’s neck. With horror, I see Angus secure his hold on the wooden bar by moving one end to the crook of his elbow in order to apply maximum force while Ben struggles to breathe.

  “Say hello to your dad,” taunts Angus and I’m ready. I have the knife in my hand and I’m prepared to plunge it in his back between his shoulder blades. A dim memory haunts me, something I read in a textbook once about the technical difficulty involved in stabbing a human being. I’ll have to get through the man’s overcoat and his clothes and hope that the blade doesn’t bounce off a bone. I’ll only have one chance to inflict a crippling wound before he responds.

  I raise the blade at the same instant I spot the half empty wine bottle. Ben must have set it down there, on the seat of a chair, perhaps just as he heard the knock on the door. It only takes a split second for me to drop the knife and seize the bottle instead.

  “Was it seriously your plan to destroy the McGill brothers with a five dollar wine bottle?”

  A foolish plan then.

  Perhaps a foolish plan now.

  I raise it high and realize that someone has finally noticed that I am here. The man beside the couch stares at me. There’s a gun in his right hand but he makes no move to raise the barrel. He simply watches. I don’t know why I have the feeling that he secretly approves of what I am about to do.

  I swing with every grain of strength that I never knew I had and the bottle finds its intended target. With an explosion of glass the shock of the hit sends a painful jolt all the way up my arm and I fall to my knees.

  In my next breath I hear the sweet sound of Ben gasping air into his lungs. He’s on his hands and knees but he’s breathing freely. The fallen man, Angus, has crumpled to the floor and I crawl across broken glass to get to Ben.

  “Are you okay?” I wrap my arms around him, rejoicing in the solid feel of his warm body.

  Ben breathes deeply and then looks around in a panic. Angus remains on the floor. Glass and wine litters the carpet around us. And the other man is still standing, still staring, still limply holding a gun in his hand.

  Ben zeroes in on him and gets to his feet before ushering me behind him, spreading his arms wide and using his own body as a human shield. “Are you planning to become a murderer too, Grey?”

  The man, Grey, stares at the prone figure on the floor. The gun in his hand disappears into his pocket. He sighs in defeat. “No, Bennet. I am not.”

  Then he sinks down on the couch and drops his head into his hands.

  In the distance a noise begins to grow; dozens of horns honking in unison as the people of Devil Valley ring in a new year.

  And as the honking fades, another more urgent noise takes its place.

  The wail of approaching police sirens.

  Camden

  Ben is pretty banged up but he refuses medical attention. He winces as he pulls a sweatshirt over his head and I can see from the discoloration on his ribs that he’ll be hurting in the days to come. But he’s whole and he’s safe and I clutch his hand as we sit on the couch together and tell the pair of officers sitting across from us what we know.

  I know very little.

  The men are Ben’s cousins. Grey and Angus Drexler. I thought that Angus might be dead but he isn’t. The blow knocked him out and possibly fractured his skull. He was taken away in a stretcher and his brother went with him.

  The officers ask stern questions at first and their demeanor becomes less severe when it becomes clear that Angus was the instigator.

  “Was there a reason he attacked you?” asks the officer on the left. His basic expression is a frown.

  “Yes.” Ben coughs into his hand. His voice remains a little hoarse. Apparently being choked by a wooden table leg does that to a person. “Because I told him I knew what he had done.”

  The officer waits for Ben to continue. He doesn’t.

  I clear my throat and speak up. “Should we call lawyers or at least our parents?”

  A female officer approaches and has a quiet word with the cop who was questioning us. He glances our way, nods and stands up.

  “We’re going to take a trip down to the station.”

  Ben is not happy. “Can Camden just go home? This shit doesn’t have anything to do with her.”

  The cop is already shaking his head. “We need to speak to both of you. You can get your coats. It’s cold out.”

  We are led to a waiting police cruiser and while I have faith that we didn’t do anything wrong, I’m nervous. Ben keeps his arm around me and I lay my cheek against his chest. I don’t know exactly what happened tonight. But I do know I would have been crushed beyond repair if anything had happened to him.

  The police station is busy. We are each briefly questioned alone and then left to sit in the lobby as people come and go all around us. A pregnant female officer brings us sodas and a plate of cookies. We are told that our parents have been contacted.

  Ben touches my knee. “Go home if they let you.”

  “No. I don’t want to leave you.”

  “Please, Camden. I can’t stand the thought of you being here.”

  I don’t agree or refuse. We don’t say much else. There are plenty of serious questions blazing through my mind but the busy lobby of a police station is not the place to settle them.

  Soon the original officer who questioned us approaches and speaks only to Ben. “They’re ready for you. This way.”

  I don’t want to let go of Ben’s hand. “Can I come with him?”

  “Afraid not.”

  Ben kisses me gently and then lets go. My vision blurs with tears as I watch him disappear behind a door.

  Moments later my dad shows up in a state of alarm but after he sees that I am unhurt he relaxes. He’s friendly with at least half the police force and he stands by the reception desk and speaks quietly to a pair of officers, one of them the woman who gave us the cookies. She gives me a sympathetic gla
nce and then nods.

  My dad shakes their hands in turn and the worry vanishes from his face. He walks my way and holds his hand out as if I’m a little girl. “Come on, sweetie. They said I could take you home. If they need you to come back in tomorrow they’ll call.”

  “I don’t want to go home. Ben is still here.”

  “Ben is safe. I’m sure he’ll call you when he can. He wouldn’t want you to sit here waiting all night.” My dad’s hand is still extended, waiting for me to take it. “Adela and Frankie are worried sick about you.”

  I look at the closed door again. I know my father is right. Ben already told me not to stay. Whatever this crisis is, he’s doing his best to handle it. And he’ll tell me the details when he’s able to.

  I slip my hand into my father’s and get to my feet. I allow him to lead me out of the police station as if I’m five years old. He opens the passenger door to his pickup truck and waits until I’m settled with the seat buckled before closing it. I watch him through the windshield as he walks around the front of the truck and rubs his tired eyes. But when he climbs in he gives me a smile of relief. This must be what it means to be a parent. Once you have the job it never ends, not really. You can be called upon any hour of any day and you’ll willingly rush to the aid of your child to do whatever is needed without complaint.

  A police cruiser pulls up to the front of the station and the second it comes to a stop a woman jumps out. She’s wearing a short black party dress and even in the dim parking lot light I can see she’s been crying. An officer rushes to open the station door for her.

  “That’s Ben’s mother,” I tell my dad.

  He looks at her, nods, and then starts the engine.

  Adela and Frankie are indeed awake and waiting at home in the kitchen. I feel terrible to know that I’ve been the source of their worry and at the same time it does my heart good to feel so loved. They have a lot of questions and I don’t have many answers.

  Adela holds onto my hand and now I see how tired she is. I also know she won’t return to bed until she knows I’m all right.