The bizarre confluence of events that currently occupied Ben’s mind had begun on a muggy Saturday night, three weeks earlier.
Ben had been having trouble sleeping, as he often did since moving to Louisiana. There was no air conditioner in their crummy little shack and the heat here was hellish, even at night.
On the evening in question, after spending three hours tossing and turning, Ben gave up trying to go to sleep the natural way around 2 am, and went out to the back deck to smoke some weed.
He remembered firing up his little joint, standing out there in the dark, listening to the sounds of insects and croaking frogs, thinking to himself how much he hated this fucking place—hated the heat, hated the humidity, hated the way everything everywhere was crawling with life; the snakes, the gators, the bugs. It was a real-life living hell. A nightmare landscape. He had begun to hate it from the very first day after the move, and every single day, he grew to hate it a little more.
As he cast his eyes around at the murky dankness, despising the dangerous sense of aliveness everywhere, the night-song of the swamp was suddenly interrupted by the rumble of an engine as a car slowly eased into the driveway.
At the time, Ben had been assuming Harold was in the house, sleeping—he certainly should’ve been. Harold was a busy man and had no social life, especially in the months since the tragedy. He never stayed out late for anything other than work. And even for work, he would never be out till 2 am.
Which meant a car arriving this time of night in this fucked-up back-country redneck paradise was very unusual—more than unusual enough to set off all sorts of alarm bells in Ben’s mind.
He quickly stubbed out the joint, kicked it off the side of the deck, then walked down the steps to the yard and went around the edge of the house for a sneak-peek.
Harold’s car was there, idling, lights casting strange shadows into the surrounding cypress trees.
Ben was about to approach and see what was up, but something made him pause. Maybe it was the fact that he’d been smoking weed, and he knew Harold would notice. Harold had always been quick to criticize Ben for small things when they were growing up, and even though both were grown men, technically on equal footing now, Ben didn’t want to give his big brother an excuse to call him a loser.
So instead of revealing himself, Ben remained hidden, and watched.
The car continued running for another two minutes or so. Then the engine died and Harold got out.
A few seconds later a woman climbed out on the passenger’s side.
Ben couldn’t make out her face in the dark, but he could tell that she was small and birdlike, with shoulder-length hair gathered up into a ponytail. She wore tight jeans, and a light colored button-up blouse, and leather sandals.
Harold and the woman spoke, too low for Ben to hear, but she giggled a couple of times, and she was wavering slightly as if drunk.
Harold switched on the little penlight attached to his key-chain, and flashed the beam up at the woman, giving Ben a quick glimpse of her face.
She scrunched her eyes and crinkled her nose in reaction to the glare, but even with her features contorted, Ben was immediately struck by her resemblance to Harold’s former wife, Leah. She had the same soft, round cheekbones, the same upturned nose. In fact, from that distance, he wouldn’t have been able to say for sure that the woman wasn’t Leah, except for the fact that Leah had been dead and gone for more than a year now.
The two stood in the dark talking for a minute or two. Ben only caught a few words, but the flirtatious tone of the conversation and the body language made it pretty clear what was going on.
Good for Harold, he thought. And he felt a wave of relief at the idea that his big brother might finally be moving on with his life.
If Harold could move on, Ben thought, then maybe he could move on too, some day soon. Perhaps he really could put some of the pain behind him and have a normal life again.
With that hopeful realization—the first genuinely positive glimmer he’d experienced in weeks—Ben was just about to slip away and give the love-birds a little privacy, when Harold went over to the woman, put his arm around her, and started walking her off into the swamp.
The woman leaned into him, clutching him around the waist, and nuzzling her cheek against his chest. Then the two stepped into the trees, and all Ben could see was the beam of the pen-light, which gradually dwindled to nothing as they vanished into the bush.
Ben stood there for a full minute afterward, puzzled.
Why would Harold—a scientist who knew exactly how dangerous it could be—go wandering off into the swamp in the middle of the night? Harold wasn’t the outdoorsy type. He liked desks and beakers full of chemicals. A spur of the moment nighttime swamp excursion with only a pen light to keep him from getting lost—or eaten—was entirely out of character.
Ben briefly considered waiting around to see if they made it back out, but then he changed his mind and just shrugged it off.
Maybe Harold had some kinky fetish for risky outdoor sex. Or maybe he was just very drunk. Either way, Ben figured the whole thing was a private matter, and standing around to wait would make him feel like a snoop.
The idiot better keep his eyes peeled for fucking gators, he thought as he returned to the porch and trotted up the steps.
- - -
The next morning, Ben found Harold in bed asleep, but there was no sign of the woman, and in the days that followed, Harold never said a word about her.
Ben thought about bringing the subject up himself, but never did. It just seemed like an embarrassing topic. If Harold had managed to find a willing partner for a casual sex encounter, and if he wanted to keep that fact to himself, Ben was willing to allow him that much privacy.
After a week, Ben forgot about the incident altogether, and never would’ve given it another moment’s thought if it hadn’t been for the news story.
- - -
Ben never watched local news. Who cared what happened in a shitty little place like this anyway? But on this particular night, he left the TV running as he drifted off to sleep, and happened to catch a story about a missing woman.
The face on the screen immediately sent a chill running through him. There was no mistaking it.
So much like Leah, he thought.
The news report was brief—detectives had failed to turn up anything in the weeks since the woman, a mother of three, went missing, and investigators suspected foul play. At the end of the story they showed the woman’s distraught sister who urged anyone who might know something to contact the police.
Afterward, Ben was badly shaken. He went to the computer and did a quick Google search for news about the case.
Everything he found lined up in a bad way against his brother. The woman had gone missing on the very same day that Ben had seen Harold outside with his mysterious lady-friend, and she’d been last seen at a local bar with a man who matched Harold’s general description almost to a T.
There was no good way to spin it. Harold had probably done it. Nothing else made sense.
Ben had a decision to make. A hard one. And, after a couple of days of internal waffling, trying to talk himself out of facing the truth, he finally decided that something had to be done.
Which is how he ended up sitting at the dining room table with a gun in his lap, waiting to confront his brother and accuse him of murder.
Chapter 2
Harold’s car pulled up in the driveway at five pm.
By then, Ben was sore from sitting for so long. He felt tense in his shoulders, and in his knees, and a million butterflies danced like maniacs in the pit of his stomach.
This thing was going to be ugly.
Harold was the only family Ben had left, and he was just about to destroy their relationship. Accusing someone of kidnapping or murder wasn’t something that could be glossed over and forgotten in a few weeks or months. If he was wrong—and he sincerely hoped he was—Harold might never forgive him for his suspicion.
What happened today would most likely end things between them, no matter how it played out, and then Ben would be even more alone than he already was.
It was a scary prospect. He had probably never been more scared.
And as he heard Harold’s engine die; heard his car door slam shut; heard the sound of footsteps on the wooden porch, all that fear welled up at once, and Ben felt a moment of real panic, like the kind of panic one might experience while standing in front of a firing squad.
What the fuck am I doing? I can’t do this!
“Yes you can,” he muttered quietly to himself.
He could because he had to.
There could be a woman out in that swamp right now being held prisoner for all he knew. He had to stay strong, regardless of the consequences.
Harold opened the door and walked in. He had a white plastic bag in one hand, his keys in the other.
He stopped in the doorway and stared at Ben with a thoughtful expression on his face.
Though no words had been spoken, it was clear that Harold had picked up on Ben’s mood immediately, and that he was trying to figure out what had happened to cause that mood.
No one said anything for five full, excruciating, seconds.
Then Harold leaned back against the door, adjusted his glasses on his nose, and said, “Something on your mind Benny?”
Ben cleared his throat, suddenly unable to find his voice. Finally instead of speaking, he just glanced down at his hands and nodded.
There was a period where no one spoke. The electronic hum of the fridge was as loud as any truck motor in the terrible silence.
After what seemed like an eternity, Harold prompted, “Come on Ben, the suspense is killing me. What’s going on here?”
Ben still couldn’t bring himself to look Harold in the eye, but he finally managed to croak the question: “What did you do to her?”
“What do you mean?”
“I know about the woman—the one you took out into the swamp.”
Harold seemed to consider his options for a moment, then without any change in expression he nodded and said, “How did you find out?”
Ben’s heart fell.
Harold hadn’t even tried to deny it. He was guilty.
“I saw you with her,” Ben stammered. “I was outside getting some air when you pulled up that night. I-I just thought… I thought you’d managed to meet somebody… I was happy for you…”
“You should be happy for me,” said Harold. “You should be happy for yourself too. And I think you would be, if you knew the whole story.”
Ben studied Harold’s face. There was no sign of panic or worry there. No sign of guilt.
“I did what I had to do,” said Harold. “I think you’ll understand if you’ll just hear me out.”
“Hear you out?” said Ben. “What’s the point? Unless she’s alive and healthy, and unless she’s operating under her own free will, then it doesn’t matter why you did whatever you did. What you need to understand is that you’re gonna have to turn yourself in. Because I can’t live with this. I just can’t. If you’ve got some kind of sickness in your mind that made you do something perverted, maybe somebody can help with that. You might be able to recover if you spend some time in the loony bin or whatever. But you need to know right now that I fucking can’t… I just can’t keep your secrets for you.”
Harold smiled slightly and there was a mischievous crinkle at the corners of his eyes, as if he were on the verge of laughter. “What do you think happened?”
“I don’t know what to think, but it looks pretty bad to me. I know a woman is missing, and that you have something to do with it, which is more than enough. I guess I’m hoping maybe she’s still alive.”
“She is,” Harold said. “At least after a fashion. It’s really quite wonderful. I’ve accomplished amazing things. I’ve accomplished things you wouldn’t believe.”
“What does that mean?”
“Actually, it’s probably about time I showed you. This might be a perfect opportunity for me to bring you into the fold, get you involved. I was intending to go out there and feed her today anyway.”
“Feed her? So she’s a prisoner?”
“Not exactly… It’s the sort of thing you need to see to understand. I’ve been doing some very exciting science. She’s been a part of it. I’ll show you, and then we can talk about what happens next.”
Science?
Ben shook his head. “I don’t know what you’re expecting from me, but I promise, you’re not gonna bring me in. If you’re holding some woman prisoner out there, doing fucking experiments on her, the only thing that’s going to happen is the two of us are going to let her go. And then you and me are going to the police.”
Harold laughed. “Oh come on… Indulge me. I promise, what’s going on is much more interesting than you can imagine. Come with me, Ben. Let’s go for a little walk in the swamp. When you see what I’ve accomplished, and when you really understand, I think you’ll have an entirely different feeling on the matter. You’ve always been closed minded, and I’ve always found that disappointing, but you’re not a dullard. No brother of mine could be dumb. When you see what I’ve done, and understand my plans, I have faith that you’ll come around.”
“A walk in the swamp?”
“Right. Just a short walk. Then I’ll show you, and we can talk about the future.”
Ben felt dead inside. His brother had obviously gone insane. It was a terrible shock.
The tragedy that had come into their lives last year had hit them both hard, of course, but Ben had always thought Harold was the more stable of them. Harold was less obviously emotional. He always kept himself together, almost never showed a hint of temper or grief.
Maybe Harold had just been hiding his feelings all these years. Maybe just beneath the surface there was a tumultuous storm of wild emotions brewing inside Harold that no one ever saw.
Or maybe he’s just a fucking psycho. Maybe he’s not crazy. Maybe he’s just evil.
Ben took one more look at his brother’s smug expression, and let out a long terrible sigh.
He gripped the gun in his lap, and stood.
Harold’s eyes darted immediately to the weapon and he showed real surprise for the first time.
The expression was only there for a split second and then it was gone, replaced by a look of mild displeasure. He gave his head a shake, and said, “You don’t need that thing.”
“I would like to think that was true,” said Ben, “but I just don’t know… You’ve just admitted to kidnapping a woman. I think I should hold on to it.”
Harold smirked and adjusted his glasses again. “I suppose I wouldn’t want you to be frightened. If arming yourself like a ruffian will make you feel a little more secure, then bring it along.”
Ben ignored the verbal jab and stuffed the gun into his pocket.
Harold shot an arrogant sneer over his shoulder as he opened the door, and then the two of them walked out into the swamp together.
Chapter 3
As they trudged off into the wilds, Ben noticed Harold was still carrying the white grocery bag with him, and asked what was in it.
Harold smiled. “Raw pork… Including the less savory bits—organ meats and such.”
“For what?”
“Food. She’ll be getting hungry, and she’s at the stage of development where it’s time to start feeding her solids. Raw meat is disgusting for me or you, but its more nutritious in many ways, and nutrition is very important for her right now. I have to treat her a bit like a growing baby.”
Raw meat? Jesus… He really has lost his goddamned mind.
As they walked, Ben tried to anticipate what sort of situation he was about to walk into, but he kept drawing a blank.
Hopefully the woman really was still alive, but the fact that Harold had said so didn’t mean much to him at the moment. Harold appeared to be totally bonkers. He might even be imagining the woman. This whole thing could be some weird de
lusion.
If Harold really had gone crazy, and that was seeming more likely by the moment, then the cause for that insanity had to be some sort of screwed up coping mechanism—a reaction to the grief.
And in some respects, Ben could sympathize. He’d had his own issues after the accident. Big ones.
Losing your whole family was a hell of a thing to deal with.
- - -
The RV wreck that had killed almost everyone he and Harold cared about occurred during a cross-country family trip to Yellow-Stone national park.
For reasons nobody would ever know, their Dad had lost control and driven the big vehicle over the side of a cliff in the middle of the night.
Their Mother and their little sister Marianne had been killed instantly. Harold’s wife, Leah, who’d been pregnant at the time, had died a few hours later in the hospital, and their father died a week later from internal organ damage.
Harold and Ben weren’t in the RV, but both of them were supposed to be there.
Harold had skipped out on the trip due to a last minute thing with his job. Leah had decided to go on without him, and Harold had encouraged her.
Ben, on the other hand, had no good excuse for his own absence.
He was the only one other than his Father who had any experience handling the RV, and the two of them were supposed to share the driving duties. Maybe if he’d been there to let his Dad take a break, the wreck wouldn’t have happened.
Looking back, Ben couldn’t even remember what had caused him to bow out. His memory of that whole time period was somewhat sketchy now. Which wasn’t really surprising. He’d been doing a lot of drugs then, and living a hard life in lots of other ways.
In the wake of the tragedy, Ben had reacted by quitting college, coming home to Ohio, and moving into the old family place there. The money he’d inherited made it possible for him to keep his body constantly full of various mood altering substances, and he’d essentially become a spaced-out hermit. The only people he ever talked to during that time were drug dealers.
The DARK Trilogy: Titan's Song Chronicles Volume 1 (Books 1 - 3) Page 25