Seven Ways To The Abyss

MIND GAMES PART TWO

Mr. Benson tapped his foot impatiently. He had about twenty minutes to listen to the girl sitting across from him, but she wasn’t saying anything yet. She looked ragged. Her clothes were filthy, and her thick afro hair, usually braided, was now a mess, giving her a wild, unkempt appearance. She was alarmingly thin, so much so that it made him uncomfortable just to look at her.

Something about her, though, was off. Normally, he would have written her off as a beggar, but her English was too crisp, her accent too refined for that. She looked young, but her curvy figure suggested she was older than she appeared. If he had to guess, she was around fifteen or so.

The situation was unsettling. Sofia was staring at him in silence, taking forever to speak, and the longer it dragged on, the more uneasy he became. His eyes darted around the restaurant, hoping for an escape, but there was no way out now. He’d offered her a meal to break the ice.

“Do you want anything to eat?” Mr. Benson finally asked, gesturing to the small roadside restaurant they were sitting in. The words felt hollow, but it was something to fill the awkward silence.

Sofia shook her head, her gaze falling to her lap. He wasn’t surprised; in fact, he’d expected her to decline. People like her—shy, downtrodden—always turned down offers at first. But the situation wasn’t progressing, and he was already running late for work.

“Are you sure?” he asked, his voice stiff, pushing again.

She nodded, just as quietly as before.

Frustrated but unsure how to move forward, Mr. Benson ordered her a kids’ meal anyway. Maybe food would loosen her up enough to talk. When the meal arrived, he pushed it toward her—shawarma with a small bottle of Pepsi.

Sofia looked at the food and fought back a grimace. It was disgusting, She had tried human food before, but each experience had been worse than the last. Everything tasted off, like each dish carried its own kind of poison. Human food wasn’t just unappealing; it was actively harmful to her body. She swallowed the revulsion, knowing she had to keep up appearances. After all, a child in distress would accept free food, no matter how bad it looked.

“So, Sofia, what is it you wanted to tell me?” Mr. Benson asked, finally cutting to the chase. His voice had a forced gentleness, as if he was trying to maintain calm in case she made a scene. The last thing he needed was for this strange girl to cause a public outburst.

Sofia was relieved he asked before she had to take a bite. She wiped at her eyes, willing tears to appear as she softly said, “It’s about my mom, sir.”

Mr. Benson’s eyebrows furrowed. Did he know her mother? Had he crossed paths with this girl before? The confusion was building in his chest, and for the first time, he started to question how he’d even ended up sitting in a restaurant with her.

“Do I… know your mum?” he asked, genuinely perplexed.

Sofia’s breath hitched, and she shook her head, allowing more tears to well up. “Sir, I didn’t want to bring this up, but… you really don’t remember me?” she asked, her voice trembling. “Years ago, you had that terrible argument with my mother. You both worked in the same department at the time. Things got out of hand… you said some things she never really recovered from. After that, rumours spread. My parents got divorced, and my mom lost her job. We struggled—really struggled.”

She paused, watching Mr. Benson’s face closely for any sign of recognition. His brows knitted tighter, and she could see the guilt starting to show. His lips twitched, his fingers tapped anxiously on the table, and he shifted uncomfortably in his seat. He couldn’t quite remember the details, but the traces of shame began to creep up, deep in his gut. He didn’t challenge her; he didn’t dare. Sofia amplified that guilt, feeding it, letting it grow inside him.

“But I remember the look on your face,” she continued, her voice softer, yet more accusatory. “You didn’t even care.” Another pause—this one calculated. “I’m not here to hold it against you. I get it, people make mistakes. But my mom… she never bounced back. We lost our home, Mr. Benson. She tried, but it was too much. And now she’s gone.”

Mr. Benson felt sick. He shifted again, feeling the full weight of her words pressing down on him. He tried to sift through his memories, grasping for anything that could explain this—some long-lost argument or disgruntled coworker—but nothing solid came up. He felt guilty, but more so, he felt trapped. What if this girl wasn’t lying? Had he really done something so awful that it destroyed a family? His heart pounded in his chest.

“I don’t blame you,” Sofia continued, sensing the disarray in his thoughts. She softened her voice, her words cracking as if she were barely holding back the tears. “I don’t. But I have nowhere to go now. All I’m asking for is a place to stay—just for the night. It’s the least you could do, after everything.”

Mr. Benson swallowed hard, her words swirling in his mind. The guilt gnawed at him like a parasite. He couldn’t think straight. He should’ve been asking questions—pressing for details like her mother’s name, the department they worked in—but instead, all he could think about was how much he might’ve hurt this girl’s family.

Her gaze locked on him, and he felt paralysed. Her eyes seemed to burn straight through him. As she stared, Sofia slipped fabricated memories into his mind. At first, just vague images—a dark-skinned woman, smiling at him during office lunches. Then, more intimate memories: them working late together, conversations that felt real. Finally, she implanted the argument. It was about something trivial—a broken office water dispenser—but it had escalated. He remembered losing his temper, hurling accusations, calling her a "hoe" in front of their colleagues, causing a scandal that had ruined her reputation. He felt the memory solidify in his mind. Her name, Demilola, was suddenly familiar.

The shame hit him like a tidal wave. How could he have forgotten something like this? How could he have let it get so bad? His heart pounded in his chest, and all he could feel was the weight of guilt pressing down on him.

Mr. Benson sighed deeply, rubbing his forehead. “How old are you, Sofia?” he asked, trying to regain some semblance of control.

“Fourteen,” she said softly, wiping at her tears.

He looked down at her. What choice did he have? He couldn’t let her back out on the streets, not after everything she’d just told him.

“Alright,” he said, clearing his throat. “I’ll let you stay for the night. But on one condition.” His voice wavered as he spoke. In truth, he didn’t have a real condition, but he needed something to regain a bit of control over the situation. “You’ll tell my wife that I found you on the street, and I’m just helping out of the goodness of my heart.”

Sofia nodded, the act of a girl too broken to do anything but agree. Mr. Benson glanced at the meal in front of her. “Now, eat up,” he muttered, motioning to the food.

Reluctantly, Sofia picked up the shawarma, her stomach churning at the thought. It was revolting. The stench hit her first—a greasy, oily smell that made her nauseous. When she took a bite, the texture was unbearable, like wet cardboard mixed with fat. Every flavour was vile, and she had to force herself to chew, swallowing only with difficulty. The Pepsi didn’t help, burning her throat and adding an acidic sting to the already unbearable experience. But she forced it down, maintaining her fragile facade.

Mr. Benson, meanwhile, checked his watch, realising he was already twenty minutes late for work.

~~~

Back at the office, Mr. Benson informed the guards not to disturb Sofia, telling them she was a long-lost relative. He led her to his car and instructed her to stay inside and out of sight until he got off work at six.

Once he left, Sofia waited for a few minutes, her eyes scanning the building from her vantage point. The office grounds were busy, but her sharp instincts guided her. She noticed a small, inconspicuous door marked “Room 8G”—that was her target.

With a grin, she plotted her course, darting behind parked cars and trees, keeping low and out of sight. The sun cast long shadows across the parking lot, giving her plenty of cover. She moved swiftly but cautiously, slipping from one hiding spot to the next, careful to avoid being seen. Every step was deliberate, and within moments, she was standing at the entrance. She took a deep breath, the thrill of success sending a surge of satisfaction through her. Now, it was just a matter of getting inside.