When The Time Comes

chapter 19; Ben

I'm on auto-pilot until my feet touch sweet Georgia land again. The money feels heavy on my back even though it's not much. I ditched the briefcase back in Maryland and skimmed through the notes once during the short flight. Omar had misjudged the amount. Stewart had stashed away approximately seven grand which makes all of this, worth it.

I didn't plan on leaving them and taking the money. It hadn't been until I got back to the hotel and couldn't take Michael off my mind. While I still haven't spoken to him, Mrs. Douglas finally texted back this morning. In response to my five lengthy texts, I received two sentences in response.

'Hi Ben he's doing fine, his phone's not working right now. We'll try getting him a new one during break.'

Whilst reading her text, which I did over and over again- I couldn't help but imagine her stubby thumbs tapping away on her phone. Mrs. Douglas, like many others her age, had a hard time texting so she always resorted to voice notes when she could. She has a deep voice that sometimes, if you forgot who you were conversing with, would sound more like Mr. Douglas than Mr. Douglas himself.

Upon landing and getting a single solid bar of reception, I texted her back asking if I could talk to Michael on her phone then. It's been four hours since I've been back home and still haven't heard back. I take a taxi back home but don't stay long. Chugging down a glass of water by the kitchen sink, I swing the empty glass back on to the dish rack and go for a piss. The bag is still on me. It doesn't feel right putting it down. Like someone will rush into the house and steal the bag from me.

It's then I remember that they know where I live. A part of me hopes they've forgotten. After all, they only came this way once and it was dark then. Unless they wrote it down somewhere, I doubt they know exactly where I live. Either way, I need this deposited as quickly as possible.

I leave the apartment in a hurry. Bank closes soon. Lucky for me there's a Wells Fargo real close to me so by the time the hour hand touches 12, the money is safely deposited in my account and I'm plugging my key into the ignition. When I park near the apartment, I stay and sit behind the wheel for a while, staring at nothingness until my eyes get dry and scratchy. I blink which does nothing for them. Maybe it was the dry air they had circulating in the aircraft.

It starts raining and I look up, squinting at the grey sky and listening to each rain drop gently plop onto the glass. I lean forward, both hands squeezed around the steering wheel.

Time flies when you feel like shit. Which is precisely how I feel right now. Somehow, even with my bank balance almost doubling in under a week, I still feel worse than I did before. Maybe because not speaking to Michael is giving me a regurgitating kind of anxiety. Or maybe it's because of what I've done, that I don't know what to do with this version of myself. Deep down, I know I stooped low. I robbed two dying kids and even though I'm one of them, I was the one who made it away the briefcase.

I'm not that guy. I haven't stolen anything my whole life. Not even when I was a kid, as far as I can remember. I've followed the rules all my life, took my vitamins as I should, been a good brother to Michael. I excelled at school and never troubled anyone for anything. Because in the end, I did exactly what I never thought I would do. Death makes hypocrites of us all.