Ben searched the internet for two hours, taking notes about where Poe had lived at various stages in his life, but didn’t find a word about Poe’s furniture. Ben ordered a couple of very thorough biographies from an online bookstore, and then closed his web browser.
And then he opened his word processor.
An idea had been growing in Ben’s mind. As he read about the drama and tragedy of Poe’s life, Ben realized that there was a fantastic romance there. It was a universal theme, especially with the undertones of alcohol and drug abuse, and the mystery of Poe’s death. It was brilliant. It was just the sort of story that could be modernized. If done correctly, it might even be worthy of a film.
The story began to play out in his mind like actors on the stage. The characters had to be drawn carefully, so as to expose their flaws and humanize them, while allowing the audience to sympathize with their plight…
Janice came to the door just before midnight. “Are you coming to bed anytime soon?” she muttered. Then she saw the mess he’d made of the study. “Ben! I just did laundry! What are you thinking using up all the clean towels?” She stomped around the room gathering them up, and then held them up in front of him as if she were showing a child an empty cookie jar. His fingers paused on the keyboard in midsentence, and his gaze slowly settled on her.
“Janice, what have I told you about disturbing me while I’m writing?” Hellfire burned in her eyes, but Janice stomped out without another word. Ben could tell that she was happy to see him writing again.
He wrote late into the night and finally stumbled to bed in the predawn darkness. When he woke later that morning, the house was empty. It was almost noon. He went straight to the computer. Poe’s chair was dry now, dry enough at least that he could sit on it without a towel. He fleetingly thought that he should start a load of laundry, or at least start the dishwasher. He owed Janice that much. But a scene had been playing out in his mind, and he wanted desperately to get it written before he lost it.
The next thing he knew, it was dark outside and Janice was standing in the doorway. “You’re still writing?” she said.
Ben pulled away from the computer, blinking as he realized he’d been sitting there in the dark. “Uh, yeah... I guess I lost track of time. Oh, I forgot to start laundry. I’m sorry. I don’t know where the day went...”
“It’s okay,” she said. “I’ll call you when dinner’s ready. Did you get a price on that chair yet?”
“No, not yet. I had to order some books. There’s nothing about it on the internet.”
“I see,” Janice said. “Well I just hope you didn’t spend too much.”
Over the next six weeks, Ben was like a man possessed. Each scene stretched flawlessly into the next, every word on the page led him through another chapter, until finally his book was reaching the five hundred page mark and Janice was about to divorce him. He wrote day and night, stopping only to eat and sleep, and neither very often. His beard grew out and his children started to look at him like they didn’t recognize him.
Then, suddenly, it was over. The book was finished. He typed the words “THE END” at the bottom of the page and settled back, unsure of what to do next. He stared until the text became tiny little bugs racing around the blaring white screen; until a trace of movement at the window caught his eye. It was a bird. A blue jay, he thought. He watched it sitting there for a while, and then it flew off into a tree.
Ben lost all sense of himself as he watched the birds fluttering around outside, flitting from tree to tree, crying out and singing in high-pitched whistles. It was a dance of sorts, a ritual that was too complex for the human mind to comprehend. He watched it until the shadows stretched across town. Then the birds disappeared and the lights came on. And suddenly, Janice was standing next to him.
“Ben, didn’t you hear me?”
He glanced up. “Oh, sorry. I was just thinking.” Janice gave him a worried look. He ignored her, and pointed at the screen. “Look! I’m done! Do you want to read it?”
“Of course I do, but first we’ve got to feed the kids and get them ready for bed. Since your story’s done, why don’t you come downstairs and help me cook?”
“Yeah, okay.” Ben saved his file one last time just to be sure, and then followed Janice to the kitchen.
Eight weeks later Ben’s new manuscript went to auction. For the second time in his life, Ben’s money problems were over. This time the advance was worth over a million dollars, and Sandy was already in negotiations over movie rights.
Over the next year, Ben finished a sequel to his novel and a collection of a dozen short stories. Unlike his first foray into publishing, this time he was quite successful. Successful enough that during the following year, he hardly even had time to write. He was busy jetting around the country for interviews and book signings. He even spent a month in Los Angeles working out a script with a movie studio.
Ben was thrilled to have finally reached the pinnacle of his career, and yet it still left a longing inside of him. Success was a demanding mistress, and it seemed that he spent more time on the road than he did at home. Every night, back at the hotel, he fired up his laptop for a video conference with Janice and the kids. It was hard seeing them on the screen and knowing that they were so far away. He wanted to hold his children, to hug them and tell them stories. He longed to sleep in his own bed and make love to his wife. Unfortunately, he also felt compelled to make sure his career lasted this time. He didn’t want any more false starts. That meant he had to be committed. He had to jump in with both feet. That was what Sandy had advised, and he knew she was right.
After the kids went to bed, Ben often had long conversations with Janice. Most of them were just about the same: “How much longer ‘till you can come home?” she would say. He could hear the sadness in her voice, though she tried to cover it up.
“Two more weeks of signings, and then I have fourteen radio interviews and a trip back to Los Angeles next month. I could cancel if you want... I’ve been feeling a bit under the weather.”
“No Ben, don’t you dare. This is your brass ring, remember? If you cut it short because of me, I couldn’t live with that. We’ll be together soon.”
“Are you sure? It’s not like we need the money.”
“It’s not about money, Ben. It’s about you. You need this, and I want you to have it. I’ll be okay.”
“Maybe you should quit your job then. Stay home with the kids. You don’t need to work anymore.”
“The kids are in school full time now, Ben. I’d go crazy if I sat at home alone all day long. Let’s give it a couple years. Then we can go into semi-retirement and we’ll never spend another night apart. Okay?”
“Sounds good to me. I just wish I could be with you right now.”
Ben was often surprised at the emotions that surfaced while he was on the road. Absence, he learned, truly did make the heart grow fonder. Rather than easing his pain, their frequent telecommunications only served as a sharp reminder that he had a better, fuller life waiting for him at home.
Things finally calmed down during the third year. The movie did well in the theaters, but the sequel was at least two years out. Ben’s second collection of short stories had just gone to press, and everyone was looking for a new book. Unfortunately, he didn’t have one. Sandy was all over his case to get some writing done.
Ben had been worried at first. He’d been afraid that once he got back home, the magic might be gone. It wasn’t. All he had to do was sit in that chair. As soon as he did, Ben started thinking about Poe’s life and his works. That’s what prompted him to pull out his copy of The Raven. A quick reading was all it took to inspire Ben’s next great novel.
It was a sad tale, the story of a man visited by the ghost of his lost love. It was stirring and dramatic, and yet crafted so beautifully and rendered with such immaculate grace that the critics and faithful readers alike were enthralled. Again there was talk of movie rights. At the same time, the sequel to Ben’s first
movie was about to go into pre-production. Ben’s bank account seemed to stretch every day, though he’d quit counting long before. He was well on his way to carving out a place in history.
It seemed nothing could go wrong.
It was early in the fourth year of Ben’s newly reborn writing career. He flew to New York for a pre-release party, and then back home within twenty-four hours. Janice picked him up at the airport. He hadn’t been feeling well, and she remarked on it immediately. “You look pale,” she said. “Have you been sick?”
“A little.Probably just some food poisoning. I’m sure I’ll be okay.” Ben went straight to bed when they got home, and slept through the night. He didn’t even wake in the morning. Janice called at noon.
“Good grief, Ben. Are you still in bed?”
His mind buzzed with drowsiness, his throat was parched from sleep. “Yeah. I didn’t even wake up this morning.”
“I noticed. Are you feeling better?”
“Actually, yes. I do feel quite a bit better.”
“Great. Are you going to do some writing today? Don’t forget your editor wants a first draft in three months.”
“Right, I get it. I’ll get up.”
“Okay. I should be home early today. We just closed a big deal.”
“Congratulations,” he said.
“Thanks. I’ll tell you about it later.” Janice had built a solid reputation for herself as a realtor. She didn’t need to work, but she enjoyed it. It gave her a sense of accomplishment. Ben didn’t argue. He wanted her to be happy, and he also knew that if she was at home he wouldn’t get a thing written. So they both agreed that it was for the best that she keep working, at least temporarily. They continued to plan for an early retirement, but the date seemed to get fuzzier as the months rolled by.
After he hung up, Ben rolled out of bed and wandered into the bathroom. He shaved and showered, and then got dressed. He didn’t really need to do all of that. He could have started writing in his pajamas if he’d wanted to, but that wasn’t his philosophy. Ben had learned that if he treated his writing like a job, he was more likely to follow through. The fact that he’d published more work in the last three years than most writers did in a decade was testament to the fact that his philosophy was working.
He poured himself a cup of coffee, climbed the stairs to the study, and then settled down in front of his computer. Instantly he knew something was wrong.
“What the...?” He jumped up and stared down at his old office chair. His heart leapt into his throat as he scanned the room and realized it wasn’t there. The chair, Poe’s chair was gone.
He checked every room in the house, thinking perhaps the children had been playing with it, or maybe Janice had moved it somewhere. When that failed, Ben searched the garage and even the backyard. It was gone. He dialed Janice’s work number so fast that he hit the wrong button, and had to start over. Then the answering machine sent him straight to voice mail. He called her cell phone, and again got voice mail.
“Janice, call me back right away. The chair’s gone. Please tell me you did something with it. Please tell me it didn’t get stolen. Crap... Call me.”
He redialed the number and left her a second message, even more desperate than the first. She never returned his call. He paced back and forth for twenty minutes and then searched the house again. His desperation was starting to make him sick to his stomach. Finally, just after three o’clock, he heard Janice pull into the driveway. Ben raced downstairs and met her at the front door. The kids grabbed onto his legs, but he ignored them.
“Did you get my messages? I’ve been calling you!”
Janice was taken aback. “I’m sorry, they shut off the phones at the office and my cell was dead. I forgot my charger at home. Are you okay? What’s the matter?”
“The chair,” he said. “It’s gone. Did you do something with it? I think it may have gotten stolen.”
Janice’s eyes widened and her hand covered her mouth. “Oh God, I’m sorry. I didn’t to tell you. The upholstery was starting to rip so I took it down to the fabric store. They’re repairing it. Calm down, Ben. It was supposed to be a surprise.”
“Thank God,” he said. He ran his hands through his hair. “Why would you do that?” he said. “What the hell were you thinking?”
Janice gave him a furious look, and then turned her eyes to the children, who were still hanging all over him. “Kids, go play in the backyard. I’ll make a snack for you.” They screamed, and went running outside.
“What was I thinking?” she said after they were out of earshot. “What are you thinking? Have you forgotten that you have children? Can’t you think about someone besides yourself once in a while? It was supposed to be a surprise Ben. A surprise.”
Guilt overcame him, and suddenly he couldn’t look her in the eyes. “You’re right. I’m sorry. It’s just that I need that chair. I need it for my writing, and when I couldn’t get hold of you... I started to panic, that’s all.”
“Well try and pull yourself together. You know, some things in life are more important than your little hobby.” It was a venomous thing to say, and Ben could see regret in her eyes as soon as the words were across her lips.
“My hobby?” he said. “Have you forgotten that my little hobby has made us millionaires? Or the fact that my hobby has consumed the last decade of my life? Every single minute that I was awake, I’ve been working. You go to work at eight and come home at five. You don’t even need to work! How many weekends and holidays have you given up? You don’t even know what real work is!”
Janice’s face changed. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I shouldn’t have said that. I appreciate how hard you work, I really do. Sometimes I think it’s too hard. You’re missing out on a lot. Your children are growing up in front of you. We all love you very much, and we miss you… even when you’re home, we miss you. I just wanted to surprise you with this, Ben.”
“I’m sorry. I don’t know what came over me.” He opened his arms and Janice came forward, stepping into his embrace. She had tears in her eyes. “I’m sorry,” he said again. He held her for a minute and then she stood back, wiping away the tears.
“Me too,” she said. “I should have warned you. I know how important that chair is to you.”
“It’s okay. You didn’t do anything wrong. When did they say it will be finished?”
“A few days, next week at the latest. The guy at the shop said they can verify if it was really Poe’s chair too, and they can appraise it for us.” Ben’s face changed.
“Appraise it?” he said. “Why would I want that? Do you think we need to sell that chair? How much money do you need? And what makes you think I don’t already know it’s Poe’s chair?”
“What’s the matter with you, Ben? Where are these mood swings coming from? You know I had no intention of selling it. When I told them your story, that’s what they told me. I thought you’d be happy. ”
“Well I’m not! I just want my chair back! Don’t you understand that?”
At that moment, something went horribly wrong. Ben’s vision darkened, and suddenly he couldn’t feel his feet. A tingling numbness crawled up his spine and fireworks went off inside his head. He dropped to the floor and started to convulse, shaking so hard that he could hardly breathe. His legs pulled up in a fetal position. He had enough consciousness to be terrified, but he couldn’t do anything. His body wasn’t under his control. He couldn’t even think. He wanted to fight it, to say something or ask for help, but his body wouldn’t respond. The world faded away.
Ben woke in the hospital four hours later. Janice was in the room. “How are you feeling?” she said as his eyes fluttered. He glanced over saw her sitting by the window. Her eyes were red from crying.
“Like hell,” he said. He had terrible cottonmouth. His throat was dry and his voice cracked when he spoke. There was an I.V. attached to his arm, and heart monitor plugs taped to his chest. “Where are the kids?”
“Home. Grandma’s
watching them.”
“Did they see?”
“No. I kept them outside until she got there. I’m sorry, I couldn’t ride in the ambulance with you. I had to stay with them.” Her voice trailed off into a whine and she started to weep.
“It’s okay. You did the right thing. You did good.” Janice came over to Ben’s side, and bent down to hold him. It took great effort to raise his arm and stroke her hair. “What’s wrong with me?” he said. “Did I have a heart attack?”
“It wasn’t a heart attack,” she murmured into his chest. “The doctor said he should have an answer by tomorrow. They ran some tests already, but they want to do some more. They need you to be awake.”
“For what?”
“I don’t know. I think it’s memory tests, something like that.”
“Do I have a brain tumor?”
“No.”
Janice stayed there for an hour, until Ben finally insisted she go home. “The kids need you,” he said. “I’ll be fine. I’m just going to sleep anyway. Go.” She reluctantly obeyed, and Ben immediately went to sleep.
The nurses woke him at eight the next morning and put him through a series of repetitive tests. It all seemed to do with brain functions: memory, math calculations, logic questions and such. He thought he did pretty good, considering.
Janice came in at ten, accompanied by her mother and the kids. They were happy to see him, and didn’t seem to be distressed in the least by the fact that he was lying in a hospital bed. Alexis handed him a bouquet of flowers and curled up with him on the bed. Bradley was just interested in playing with the TV remote, until he finally located a Spider Man cartoon and settled into one of the chairs.
Later that afternoon, the doctor met with Ben and Janice. He was a tall, balding man in his late fifties. He introduced himself as Doctor Lennon.
“So how bad is it?” Ben said. “Are you sure it’s not a tumor?”
“I’m sure,” said Doctor Lennon. “That’s the good news. Unfortunately, there is some bad news as well. Have you ever heard of Pick’s Disease?”
The Raven King's Chair Page 2