The Birth of Bane

by Richard Heredia

  The attic was probably the “coolest” attic I’d ever seen, not that I’ve seen many. Still, it was an incredibly organized affair, stocked with shelving, placed to maximize the space and was immaculate, especially when juxtaposed alongside the mess Freddie had left for us downstairs. It was easy to walk through, accessibility to the umpteenth degree, a perfect place for storage as well as a great room to play tag with its’ semi-darkness and meandering throughways.

  It was also a nice private locale for some serious making out. Of which my girlfriend and I would later discover when our desire for privacy was at its’ peak and our urge to quench it was unrivaled. Its’ seclusion was unparalleled…

  There was also a basement, finished with cinder-block, moisture-treated walls and a concrete floor. It was mostly empty with a few age-old odds and ends strewn here and there. There was really nothing noteworthy down there, except for a fully functional, pot-belly furnace, circa the 1920’s. This one though had been modernized with an analog pressure system and a complex electric, valve mechanism that kept everything running smoothly and the house sufficiently warm during the winter months by literally warming the walls, from the inside out.

  A workshop-sized toolshed fronted the back house, where lived our tenant. The small apartment-like structure was a one-bedroom, one bath bungalow with a small living room and kitchen. It was a perfect bachelor pad and was currently occupied by one such man, Bruce Hastings, a thirty-something hippy who, at the time, owned and operated nearly five hundred beehives throughout northeastern Los Angeles. If there was an empty, unincorporated hill or patch of land about, there was a fairly good chance Bruce had one of his hives in residence.

  He has since grown his business into somewhat of a honey empire, stretching across most of the Southeast.

  He had come around from the back when we arrived that morning, all smiles and barefoot. The soles of his feet pounding hard upon the unforgiving concrete of the front yard patio, though he didn’t seem to notice. He wore a pair of old jeans without a belt, so they hung to his narrow hips. He had on an ancient flannel shirt, halfway unbuttoned and covered in sawdust. He had sandy-blonde hair. He wore it long, all the way down to his waist, pulled back in a classic ponytail. Upon his nose were a pair of wire-rimmed glasses, scratched and scuffed, dotted with sawdust as well.

  “Hiya, Pillar!” he had called loudly, making sure he got my mother’s attention from afar, so he wouldn’t startle her.

  My mom had looked up from the suitcases she was caring, her eyes had been stuck fast to the ground from the exertion. Immediately, she brightened. “Bruce! How are you doing?” She was so enthusiastic, she was borderline bubbly.

  He beamed back. “I’m doing quite well, thank you. I decided to get a jump on some repairs before you guys got here, so I could help if you needed an extra pair of hands.” He seemed to notice he was nearly covered in sawdust and began to swipe at his garments.

  My mother sighed gratefully. “Oh gosh, would that be too much to ask of a tenant? I mean, I’ve only been your landlord for less than a week.”

  Bruce seemed to mull over the situation, though his eyes sparkled the entire time. “How about we chalk it up to me offering my assistance, and forget the whole landlord slash tenant rigmarole.”

  My mother laughed, probably too loudly, but none of us kids would begrudge her. Not on this day. This day belonged to her. She was just so happy.

  From then on, we got serious about the tasks before us. My mother and Bruce got about the common areas of the ground floor, while I and my siblings went out in search of our bedrooms.

  Valerie took the bedroom closest to the master suite on the first floor. For some reason she wouldn’t explain, she was still more than a little unnerved about living in the house. So, she chose to sleep as close to our parents as she possibly could, which placed her in the downstairs bedroom directly off the dining room. Since she’d always been a private sort of individual, I was somewhat surprised she’d chose to stay in a more “public” area of the house than the upstairs, which was the case for Eli and I.

  Before anyone could even think to call dibs, I called-out that the second floor mini-suite was mine. Of course, Valerie didn’t care and Eli just wanted to have a room in the “big kids” portion of the house, so he took one adjacent to the one I’d chosen.

  At first, there was reluctance in my mom’s eyes. I could see she wanted Eli to take the downstairs bedroom, closest to hers, but Eli would have nothing of it. He even beamed when Valerie balked at the idea of switching with our younger brother and sleeping upstairs. My mother hadn’t slept far from my baby brother since he’d been born; thus, the thought him being on another floor during the night must’ve made her leery.

  So, I explained to her that we’d be sharing a walk-in closet, so if anything happened to Elijah – bad dream, had to get up to pee and couldn’t find his way, etc. – I would be there to help.

  She smiled at me, grateful knowing I was a short walk and two doorways away. My comment had made her feel better. “I guess I can’t keep him from growing up, huh?” she had said, acquiescing.

  I bobbed my head in agreement.

  Moms, right?

  It was hours later and I heard Eli in our shared, walk-in closet. I was hopeful he was hanging his clothes on the hangars I provided for him and wasn’t playing around, which he was wont to do if a given task proved boring.

  I had finished dusting, wiping-down and sweeping all of the Mini-suite, and my little brothers room as well. I was parched by then, so I went downstairs, grabbed a root beer out of the cooler we’d brought with us. I popped open the can as I walked about the first floor, curious to see the progress of the others.

  My mother and Bruce had done an awesome job cleaning the front and dining rooms and were working on the kitchen, while Valerie was cleaning the downstairs bathroom. Her room wasn’t as large as mine, so she’d finished scrubbing it a while ago.

  I made a few errant comments, happy at the prospect of a new life in the big house on the hill. For the most part, so was everyone else. I made my way back to my room and put my root beer on the only piece of furniture I’d been able to get up there - my four-drawer dresser. I was intent on organizing my personal items in my bathroom, so went in search of my toiletries and other like accoutrements that would keep me well groomed.

  I was in the bathroom for no more than fifteen minutes and came out satisfied. Smiling to myself, I went for another swig of root beer.

  I was astonished to see the can had disappeared from atop the dresser. My thoughts strayed toward Elijah immediately. I stalked over to the closet I shared with him.

  “Eli, why did you take my soda?” I accused him, then felt bad an instant later.

  Elijah had been so busy walking up and down a small, three-stepped stool hanging his clothes; he nearly toppled to the carpeted floor when I yelled at him.

  “W-what?” he stammered, his shoulders bunched up to his ears, startled.

  I switched gears, feeling like a jerk. “Did you swipe my root beer?”

  His little face bunched. “What root beer?” Then a new thought dawned on him. “We have soda?” His entire face was aglow.

  I smiled in spite of myself. Eli was just so darned cute. “Yeah, in the cooler by the front door,” I explained, knowing it hadn’t been him who’d stolen my drink.

  “Can I get one?”

  I was glad he hadn’t thought to bear the brunt of my frustration a few moments prior. He had enough false accusation in his young life. I didn’t need to add any more to it. “Of course, big guy, you’re working your butt off up here, so I’d say you deserve it.”

  “Yippee!” he exclaimed.

  “Do me a favor?” I asked.

  “Sure, Jer! What?”

  “Grab me another root beer, will ya?”

  “Ok!” And, he was off.

  I went back into my room, glancing about to see what I needed to do next. I saw the bathroom towels I was supposed to use, resting on the fl
oor, atop a green, 50-gallon trash bag, remembering my mother had brought them up an hour ago. I strode across the room, scooped them up and made my way back toward my bathroom.

  I saw it then. It was sitting on the edge of the sink, beside the cup holding my toothbrush.

  It was my can of root beer.

  I stood there, transfixed, trying to figure out how it had moved. Had I forgotten that I’d brought it from my bedroom? Had Val or Eli been playing a trick on me this entire time? I remained motionless, lost in thought.

  Less than a minute later, my baby brother came into the room, a flurry of activity, thrusting a cold can into my palm. He was about to say something, then realized I was staring at something.

  I hadn’t really noticed his presence.

  His gaze followed mine.

  “Jer, why would you ask for something to drink when you have something already?”

  I didn’t answer.

  “You know how much dad hates for us to waste anything.”

  Yeah, well, dad’s a dick. The thought was automatic, the rest of my conscious was held fast to the notion that someone had moved the can of soda, and that someone had done so without making a sound. I could only guess, at the time, who it might’ve been.

  Within a few months, I would know for certain.

  ~~~~~~~<<< ᴥ >>>~~~~~~~

  Chapter Three: While South of the Border

  That was the way things began for to us on those first few weeks we lived on Lincoln Drive. Our arduous move and subsequent sanitizing of the house carried us through the end of the week as my mother had foreseen.

  School started for us kids much too fast. Though we’d enjoyed much of the summer, the long days followed by equally uncomfortable nights had worn on us. By the time the last of our furniture was in place, the dishes put away, the linens stowed, our bedrooms set-up and all else put in storage in the attic, we had just enough time to eat, take a shower, get our clothes ready for school and go to sleep.

  We awoke the next day thoroughly unprepared for the rigors of a school day.

  I think at one time or another, each of us dosed off in class only to be roughly awakened by our miffed instructors. Eli was sent home with a note detailing the importance of a good’s night rest prior to attending school.

  My mother had laughed away the memo and assuaged Elijah’s fears of being a bad student. She was still too cheerful to be bothered by something as ridiculous as an overzealous academic administrator.

  By the end of the first week on instruction, we had carved out a degree of routine and things begin to settle down.

  My mother began her search for a landscaper to help her tackle the jungle that was our front yard and a full-time gardener to make sure the grounds stayed in tip-top shape.

  It wasn’t as though she was above doing yard work, mind you. Every other day we came from school we’d found her in some portion of the yard pulling vines away from some hidden treasure, cutting back bushes from the fencing or trimming the trees. She would always greet us tired, but with a satisfied grin. Her face would be besmirched with grime or dust or cobwebs, but she was unerringly fulfilled. There was no denying the obvious. She loved the house and everything about it.

  It was on the Saturday following our move that Valerie’s knee-high moccasins went missing. They were her favorite. She wore them more than any other pair she owned, and she owned over twenty pairs of shoes. She had us looking all over hell and back for them, but we didn’t find them. She was pissed off something fierce.

  My little brother tried to lighten the mood by saying the house had eaten them.

  She had only glowered at him. She would’ve said something bitter to him, if my mom hadn’t been there in her room with us. So, unwilling to risk her wrath, she stayed silent. She crossed her arms under her breasts and turned away from us.

  I was fed up with her childish behavior, so I left. I had a date with Myra later on that day and I hadn’t done a damn thing in terms preparation. I still needed to shower and shave and do all the mundane shit we guys do to look presentable for you ladies.

  A few days later, on a Tuesday, Elijah had been playing in the back yard, near the toolshed. In a fit of overwhelming curiosity, he went to investigate the smaller storage shed on the other side of the stepping-stone walkway. He had opened the wooden door and peered in, looking at the shelves on either side of him. To his surprise, there were Valerie’s boots, sitting there, as plain as day, on the middle shelve toward his right, toes pointed directly at him. It was as though someone had placed them that way on purpose. Here I am! Here I am!

  Excited over his monumental find, Eli ran to our sister’s room with the soft boots in hand, saying: “I found them! I found them!”

  “You little creep, why did you hide my boots!” was the scream that brought us from the various locations about the house.

  “I didn’t hide them, Valerie,” Eli said in defense.

  By the time I got there, Eli was clutching the moccasins to his chest, half-turned from her, while Valerie was pointing an accusatory finger in his face. He was afraid, his eyes wide, one shoulder bunched toward his ear, shielding that side of his body from the angry onslaught of my sister.

  I was infuriated. I had never seen Valerie act as aggressively with our little brother as she had right then. I could tell there was something more, feeding fuel to the fire, but still, that didn’t give her an excuse to take it out on a six-year-old. Our asshole of a father did enough in that department. There was no need for her to add to it. She should’ve known better.

  I could hear my mother barreling through the house. From the way she was stomping about, I could tell she was just as irate as me.

  “Valerie!” I said emphatically.

  She was glancing in my direction, another stinging remark upon her lips. This one was for me. Suddenly, her eyes bulged as if some unseen pressure had filled her head beyond capacity. Shock exploded across her face, making her gasp.

  “Ooow!” she exclaimed, bringing her hand to her ear.

  Elijah stared back at her like she’d gone mad.

  My mother came whirling into Val’s bedroom, pruning fork in hand. “What the hell is going on in here?”

  Valerie ignored us. It was like we weren’t even there. Her eyes were locked on my baby brother once again. “How did you -?” she tried to ask, but couldn’t finish. Her throat clenched, strangling her words.

  Eli tiled his head to the side, beyond confused. I could see tears beginning to gather at the corner of his eyes. He didn’t understand what was transpiring in Valerie’s head. To him, she probably didn’t seem like his sister anymore. She was a stranger, a raving lunatic he laid eyes upon for the very first time.

  “Explain yourself, Valerie,” pressed my mother, her brow knit.

  My sister peered through her bangs, bewilderment and a tinge of something that looked like fear etched on her visage.

  “Valerie…” It was the threatening tone my mother uttered when she on the verge of true anger.

  “M-mom, Elijah flicked my ear,” she said, breathless, as if she’d run a mile. There was doubt in her expression. I don’t think she really believed what she’d just spoken aloud.

  I frowned. It was clear there was no way my little brother could’ve touched her. He was too far away. And, he’d been angling away from her!

  “No, I didn’t!” He was finally indignant. He’d had enough.

  Valerie’s eyes were wild now, darting around the room, toward each of us, out the windows. I could see all other emotion evaporate from her face like rainwater before an unrelenting tropical sun. There nothing but fright left in their wake. “S-someth-th-thing hit m-my ear,” she mumbled, stricken, her hand coming up to touch her right earlobe. She pulled it away as if she’d been stung.

  Elijah dropped Valerie’s shoes on the floor and scurried into my mother’s grasp.

  I gazed at Valerie, truly at a loss for her erratic behavior. This was so unlike my sister. I really didn’t know what to thin
k. She was never like this. Unglued, snappy, denunciatory weren’t adjectives used to describe my younger sibling. Yeah, she could be rigid, maybe even a little cold at times, but she didn’t have a mean bone in her body. And, suddenly… there was this change in her. I had never seen her discard the protective shield she often placed over Elijah. Never. She was as protective as my mom. She always came to his defense, alleviated his fears, even kept our erratic father as far away from him as possible when he was raving drunk and rampaging about. I had seen her run, full-tilt, with Elijah in her arms, away from the particularly bad confrontations that occurred within our household from time to time.

  I had even seen her take a blow in his stead.

  No, she was fiercely vigilant of his well-being. And yet…

  I couldn’t connect the dots.

  It didn’t add up.

  Yet, I could see an angry blotch of red on her ear.

  I was wrangling-up every cliché explanation I could corral, trying to figure out what was going on in her head.

  “It’s cold,” muttered my sister, her hand stretched out before her.

  “What’s cold?” I asked, before my mother had the chance to say anything else.

  Valerie stared back at me as if she were on the verge of death. “My ear, it’s freezing cold.”

  “Jesus Christ!” sputtered my mom. “You better get your shit together, Val! I’ve had enough of your bullshit!”

  “B-b-but, ma -.”

  “No ‘but’s’, young lady. You either get a grip or I’m going to ground you for a week.” She spun on her heel and left, Eli still holding her about the waist.

  I shook my head at my sister, unsure if I should be irritated with her, or feel sorry for her.

  The tears in her eyes were no joking mater. Something was bothering her, and in a big way.

  Still, hurting Eli’s feelings wasn’t the answer either.

  I just left. I stepped away, walking toward my room and the letter I’d been writing to Myra.