Yes. Richard disabled them but they had enough time to beat Noah to the ground.
Ben’s expression was stern, his jaw clenched as I retold Kate’s story and their current nomadic movement. The same burden which had abruptly ended my sleep became too heavy to bear as I looked deeply into Ben’s eyes.
We have to leave, don’t we?
There was a moment of hesitation as he grabbed my hand and kissed it. Then, he nodded in confirmation.
I would love to stay here forever with you but it’s not a solution. We both knew this was temporary.
I nodded before looking out to the ocean yet again, searching for my mother’s soft brown eyes for guidance. But they weren’t there. Instead, I turned and found green eyes, confident and determined.
Let’s go get the last two pieces.
We took our last day in paradise to memorize Ben’s plan and make travel arrangements with the nearest airport. Though the plan seemed airtight, I could tell Ben still had doubt about it as we packed our belongings.
You okay, Ben?
Yeah, still figuring out where my dad hid the mother system and focusing on what else needs done.
You created a seamless plan. We can do this.
He nodded and guided me gently to the door with our bags in hand. At the door, I turned and looked at the little cottage, knowing it might be the last time Ben and I were together, safe and happy. With one last look, Ben opened the door to the cool dawn of morning and to the rest of our life. However long that was.
***
Just breathe, baby. Put your head on the back of the seat and think about happy things.
But, I’m scared, mom. It sounds like we’re going to crash.
My mom’s brown hair was pulled back from her face, allowing me to see the delicate curves of her neck and jaw. She was incredibly beautiful with darker features than my own. In many ways, I resembled her, but my father’s features remained most dominant: golden hair, blue eyes, and long legs.
The plane was approaching its final descent toward the ground. My least favorite part. As the wheels touched down and the plane bounced down the runway, I held my breath and waited for my inevitable death.
My juvenile brain refused to trust that the loud descent could in any way be a routine part of a flight and was amazed each time I opened my eyes to a safe landing.
My mother would comfort me the entire time and smile proudly when I opened my eyes. I never felt more confident, more loved than when my mother looked at me that way. Everything in the world seemed small, every fear and obstacle.
***
I hate landing.
Beside me, Ben looked up from his father’s notebook and then glanced at the time on the burner phone.
We still have a couple of hours until we land.
I know. It’s just getting closer and closer. I hate the feeling of bouncing back to earth.
Don’t worry. It’s over quickly and then we get to walk on the ground again. Just don’t forget to breathe. I think it will draw attention to us if I have to carry you out of the plane.
He smiled and jokingly touched his knee to mine. I couldn’t help but notice how closely his advice was to my mother’s.
My mom used to tell me that.
What? She didn’t want to carry you out of the plane either?
He looked back up from the notebook, smiling as I laughed at his question.
No. Just breathe. She would tell me that every time I felt overwhelmed or afraid. Every time we landed in a plane.
He seemed to absorb this information and closed his father’s notebook. A small grin spread across his face as he rubbed his hand over the smooth brown leather of the book.
Isn’t it amazing the impact your parents leave after they’ve been gone for so long? Even the little things. I still hear my mom telling me to brush my hair in the morning or my dad teaching me how to properly shake hands.
I hear my mom, too. Every day. My goal is to carry on her legacy. To be strong and patient like her, to love like she did.
Suddenly, Ben became very serious. He stopped rubbing the surface of the notebook with his thumb and grew very still.
I hate the legacy my parents left. If people learn about the Influencers, they will see death and destruction. And my parents will be responsible for it: the creators.
It was no surprise to me how Ben felt about the role his parents played in the Influencers. No matter how many times I reminded him of their benevolent establishment, he refused to place the blame elsewhere.
My silence eventually drew Ben’s attention. His eyes were intense as they left the notebook and searched my face. No words could change how he felt. A smile spread across my face as I came to a sudden realization.
What?
I have something you should really see, Ben.
XIV.
LEGACY
The air was dry and hot as Ben and I walked down the stairs from the plane in South Sudan. A scorching breeze blew across the concrete runway, a shocking difference from the cool weather we had endured in England.
Taking care not to offend the local culture, Ben and I wore loose-fitting pants and t-shirts. Loose strands of my hair escaped the long ponytail running down my back.
The parched earth provided a consistent tan color around us save the few green trees littering the horizon. Ben was tense as he looked around at nearby militants with rifles held against their bodies.
I couldn’t help but smile as I began seeing familiar sights from my visit with Richard so many months ago. Ben and I swung our bags over our shoulders as the pilot descended the stairs from the plane.
His British accent was thick as he directed us toward the small building nearby where we would pass through customs. Once inside, the young man behind the desk checked our passports and customs paperwork, stamping it before pointing to the exit.
As per military advice, you will have a guide for the extent of your trip. Please follow his guidance to allow for a smooth and peaceful visit.
Thank you, sir.
As Ben accepted our paperwork from the clerk, I turned to find the guide standing near the doors to the outside. The taller man was in traditional loose robes, his skin dark from the harsh sunlight of the region. His hair was cut short and his dark eyes were kind as he greeted us joyfully.
Hello, friends!
Ben turned from the desk, shoving our passports into his backpack before looking up at our greeter. As the guide came across the room, I recognized my old friend.
Bachir!
As the man turned to shake my hand, his face lit up in recognition.
Miss Darcy! Back already?
Yes, I just missed you all too much.
Bachir continued to smile as he looked over at Ben. He raised his eyebrows toward me and then back to Ben.
And who is your friend?
Ben stood tall, offering his hand out to Bachir and greeting him with a smile.
Ben Lewis.
In Bachir’s eyes was a flash of recognition. Quickly, he placed his other hand on top of Ben’s, shaking vigorously.
Lewis, you say? Relative of Charles and Olivia?
Ben seemed taken aback by our guide’s knowledge of his parents. After a moment’s hesitation, he nodded and replied shakily.
Yes, my parents.
Well, Ben Lewis, it is an honor to meet you.
Um, thank you but how…?
I put my hand on Ben’s arm before looking to Bachir and explaining the confusion.
Ben has not been here in a long time, Bachir. Not since he was a young boy. I was hoping to show him what has changed since his last visit.
I raised my eyebrows to Bachir to signal the surprise awaiting Ben. He seemed to understand my expression and offered to take the bag from my hand.
Then, we should be going. There is so much to show you, Mr. Lewis.
Grinning back at Ben who still held an expression of uncertainty, I began to follow our guide through the doors of the small airport and toward the topless jeep parked n
ear the building.
Once we were seated in the back, Bachir began driving down the road leading away from customs. Eventually the street turned from pavement to dirt as we drove farther away from the more populated region.
Ben was quiet as he looked at the dry earth around him. I could see he was increasingly tense as we drove away from the airport. In a feeble attempt to comfort him, I placed my hand on his arm and rubbed my thumb against his warm, soft skin.
He seemed to appreciate my attempt yet nevertheless remained cautious of his surroundings. Though I was aware of the surprise awaiting him, I also understood Ben was returning to the place where his parents died. The place they were murdered by the same Society now hunting us.
Over the rush of the wind, I could hear Bachir shout back at us as he pointed to the horizon.
In another couple of minutes, you will be able to see the village over there on the horizon.
Looking across the scorched earth where a patch of green remained thickest, I knew that behind those trees was the small village I had visited months before with Richard. As we drew closer, I remembered more and more faces from my first visit. My only hope was that those same faces would greet me when Ben and I arrived.
As we continued to bounce along the rough terrain, more huts came into view behind the foliage. Our jeep passed several pedestrians as we drove between the scattered shelters. There were numerous eyes on us as the vehicle came to a halt and Bachir exited the driver’s side to assist us with our luggage.
Miss Darcy, the children will be so happy to see you again.
Oh, I can’t wait!
They are all at the orphanage right now with Ouma. She is telling one of her stories again.
I smiled, remembering the small elder of the village. In many ways, she reminded me of Kate: small but powerful. As a sign of respect, she was called “Ouma,” meaning “grandmother” by all the villagers.
Her hair had grayed long ago and her dark eyes were piercing with the amount of wisdom and discernment they held. Many nights during my last visit were spent listening to her stories by the light of a fire.
Bachir guided us through the huts and toward the orphanage, a larger and better constructed building near the middle of the village. Images of the building unfinished flashed through my mind, the wood and nails I had helped assemble with Richard and other volunteers.
Ben was remarkably quiet as he absorbed the information flowing from Bachir during his tour of the village. Finally, we stood before the familiar building: the orphanage. Our guide grew silent and stood looking at the building with us. I turned to Ben and smiled. He looked down at me questioningly, waiting for an explanation.
On the plane, do you remember talking about legacies our parents left? Well, this is what I wanted you to see.
His eyebrows furrowed as he glanced between me and the orphanage. I grabbed his hand and pulled him toward the front door where a plaque was placed. It read:
THE LEWIS HOME FOR CHILDREN
DEDICATED TO ITS FOUNDERS,
CHARLES AND OLIVIA LEWIS
Ben’s eyes were wide as he read the inscription and then looked back at me. I grabbed his hand and pulled him through the front door. Bachir guided us through the orphanage, its bedrooms, offices, and kitchen. Finally, we reached the backyard where the children gathered for activities.
I spotted tiny Ouma at the front of the group. The children were on their knees, scattered on the ground before her. Their eyes were focused as Ouma continued to tell her tale, her hand gestures building dramatic effect.
We stepped through the door and her eyes immediately found us. She stood and muttered something to the children in their language. Suddenly, the children turned to find us. Then, we were surrounded.
Little hands reached up in greeting as I bent down to speak with their familiar, happy faces. Tears streamed down my face as I looked at their beautiful smiles, their eyes full of excitement.
The group of children parted as Ouma made her way to where we stood. Her expression content as she passed the children, touching a shoulder here or there as she walked. All eyes were on her.
As her focus fell upon me, I returned her gentle grin as she grabbed my hand with her own.
Darcy, child, welcome back.
Her eyes left me quickly as she turned to look at Ben. He stood still as the elderly woman approached and studied him from head to toe. Hesitantly, he looked down at her and offered his hand in greeting.
Hello, my name is Ben-
Lewis, yes, I know, dear.
As Ben looked to me for explanation, he mirrored my exact level of surprise. We both turned our attention back to the village elder.
You look so much like them.
You knew my parents?
Oh, yes. I could never forget them. They were the most generous and kind people I have ever met in my life. Without them, these children would not have a home.
Ben’s eyes were glossy as he looked around at all the curious faces below him. Ouma turned to the children and gestured toward Ben.
Children, this is the son of Charles and Olivia Lewis. Give him a proper greeting.
She seemed to understand the children’s definition of a proper greeting as she vacated the area around Ben. Immediately, the children were jumping around him and shouting in excitement.
I watched as Ben studied the bouncing children below him. Then, it was as if everything he had just learned hit him all at once. He dropped to his knees and allowed the children to hug and climb on him. Tears spilled down his cheeks as I witnessed him display his biggest smile yet.
Through all the torment and misery Ben had endured regarding his parents’ legacy, he had finally learned the truth. Their names would forever be written on the orphanage wall, a reminder of their goodness and love for mankind.
They would not be remembered for creating a malevolent society. No, they left an imprint on the world even the Influencers could not change. Charles and Olivia provided hope and life to these children and to the village.
And this was only the beginning, only one location where they had made a positive impact, an eternal change. As I watched their son play with the children, tears running down my cheeks, I saw them. For the first time, I didn’t see my sweet, protector Ben or the Ben who Margot had hardened.
I saw the father who used his intelligence to find solutions to worldwide problems. The mother who could light up every room, every face with her tender kindness. I saw the parents who raised their son to give to others, to make a change in the world. No matter the sacrifice.
And in that moment as I watched laughter spill from his soul, I knew he would do the same thing. Whether we won or lost, he would create an everlasting impact on the world. A legacy to live on long after we were gone.
XV.
THIEF IN THE NIGHT
Ouma had invited us to take a walk with her away from the children. She guided us through the village with Bachir by her side. Ben and I followed closely, listening to the stories the village elder told of random landmarks and people. I could tell the level of respect Ben held for the village elder as he attentively listened to every detail.
When we circled back to the orphanage, Ouma directed Bachir to go into the building. Our guide nodded respectfully and disappeared through the entrance. When the door was closed, she immediately focused on Ben. He stood at attention as the petite woman studied his face.
Why are you here, child?
He seemed caught off guard by her candid question. Shifting his footing and glancing toward me, Ben cleared his throat and attempted to answer her revealing query.
Well, I wanted to see the place my parents held so close to their hearts.
You cannot deceive me, dear. I have lived many years and seen many faces, good and bad.
Ben looked down at his feet, scuffing the dirt with his heel. After a moment of silence, he looked back at Ouma.
And what do you see when you look at me?
Her eyes were piercing as sh
e looked up at his face towering over her. She stepped closer and gestured for him to bend down before her. Immediately, Ben dropped to his knees, now eye to eye with Ouma.
You have been through much in life, Benjamin Lewis. I see it in your eyes. But it is not up to me to judge you as good or bad.
Ben seemed slightly disappointed with her evasion of his question. However, she left him no time to change the topic.
Stop trying to live up to the legacy your parents left behind. You never will.
Her harsh words created a need in me to protect Ben. I opened my mouth to protest but she put her hand up to stop me. His face was now downcast, tilted toward the ground as he prepared to receive reprimand. Her other hand reached up to lift his chin, bringing his eyes to her own.
Child, you cannot live a life trying to fill another person’s shoes, making decisions as they would. Your parents did not create a clone of themselves, but someone new. They did not raise you to be them.
His eyes had become glossy under the scrutiny of the petite elder.
When I look at you, I do not see good or bad. I see the hand you have been dealt in life, the choices you have made to survive, the mountain weight on your shoulders to live up to your parents. Yes, I see your parents, but I see so much more. I see you, child. The individual you are and the one you will become.
I stood as an observer to the entire conversation, listening to the wise words Ben needed to hear. Blinking past the tears welling up in my eyes, I saw what Ouma saw, what I had seen all along. And for the first time, I think Ben saw it, too.
His words were shaky as he stood up and straightened his shoulders.
You’re right, Ouma. I have been trying to be my parents. There are multiple reasons we are here today, but I think all along there was one reason. In so many ways, I believe I was always meant to come here. Not just to find the legacy my parents left, but to find myself. Thank you, Ouma, for your wise words.
There is no need to thank me for speaking the truth. I was not the one who found your identity. Only you can do that.
***
Over the next couple of days, Ben and I assisted around the orphanage. Ouma introduced me to the ladies who prepared meals for the children. Together, we cooked beans and rice provided by a truck of supplies brought in that first morning.
The Legacy: The Influencers Book 2 (The Society) Page 10