Saving Noel

Benjamin

Benjamin parked outside his father's house. Shutting off the engine, he stared at the ranch style home with a mixture of longing and hatred. The memories he possessed of the times before his mother left were hazy at best, but they were tinged with a glow of happiness. His father was little more than a shadowy figure in the background, not cruel or unpleasant, simply part of their lives. It's why he could understand the man his father was today, and why it didn't make sense for his mother to leave Benjamin behind.

Without the heater running, the warmth in the cabin faded until he could see his breath mist the air. In all likelihood his father wasn't at home- or if he was, he was sleeping off last night's bender- but Benjamin wanted to speak with him about Layton Travers. See if the man had said anything during his brief time with Benny that might give away where he was keeping Noel.

His boots squeaked in the packed snow as he trudged across the drive. No one had bothered with shoveling the driveway, and in some places, the snow was crusted over with ice where it had melted when the temperature spiked a few days ago. Benny would be lucky if he could get out of the house after the incoming snow storm dumped another foot on top of this mess.

"Pops," Benjamin called, pounding his fist on the wooden door.

The door was thin and covered in clumps of dried wood glue where his father had tried to patch the cracks in the wood. The sight sent guilt spiraling through his chest, and Gerrie's parting words about being responsible for your own actions rumbled through his head. Just because his father was hateful didn't mean Benjamin had to respond the same way.

He raised his hand again but the door swung open, and Benny appeared in the doorway, his once handsome face gaunt and haggard. The old man glared at his son.

"What do you want?"

"To come in. It's freezing out here."

"Don't want you here. Get out." He tried to close the door but Benjamin caught it and pushed his way in.

"You may not want me here, but I need to speak with you."

Benny growled low in his throat while his eyes darted to the hallway and back to Benjamin. But after Benjamin showed no sign of leaving, he threw up his hands and stormed into the living room.

"Good grief, Pops," he said, following him into the room and cupping his hand over his nose as the sickly sweet scent of rotting meat struck him. "What smells so awful in here?"

Benny wrestled the last can of beer from a six pack ring and tossed the plastic on the floor. It was perfectly at home among the other bits of plastic, empty cans and bottles, and dirty clothes. Stacks of newspapers covered the sagging sofa, and at some point, the coffee table had been broken in half. A roach scurried across the slanted surface.

"How have you been living like this?"

"Don't you dare judge me. You forced your way in here. I can't help it if I'm not some stuck up snob like you." Pale brown eyes watered as he chugged on his cheap beer, and before settling on Benjamin, they turned to the hallway again.

"You have somebody here?" Benjamin asked. He couldn't imagine any woman staying here beyond the morning after. She'd take one look at this place and get herself to the local health clinic if she was wise.

"No. You come here to play twenty questions?"

Benjamin didn't miss the flush that spread across Benny's sallow cheeks. Anger or alcohol- maybe both- but either way, the man was hiding something.

"Actually, I did come to get some answers. That man you were with the night you showed up at my shop- did he ever mention why he was in town?"

Benny finished off the beer, threw it onto a trash heap and hoisted himself from his recliner. Without answering his son, he went into the kitchen and pulled another six pack of beer out. He almost dropped them twice before managing to free a can.

"Pops, you need to be honest with me. The police are planning on stopping by. Johnson told me so himself. They're looking for that man, and you're the last person known to have talked to him." Benjamin was lying, but the bluff paid off.

"Johnson can go to hell. I don't want that traitorous bastard here anymore than I want you here." He slammed a pudgy finger into Benjamin's chest. "The only way anyone would know that is because you said something. I ain't got nothing to do with that missing girl. You hear me?"

"I didn't say you did Pops," Benjamin said, stepping back, his palms raised. "I just want to know if he might've said anything that would help us find her."

"What's it matter to you? She's dead by now. I watch the news. I know what they're saying. It's likely a recovery mission now."

His statement sent a cold sweat through Benjamin, and the hairs on his arms raised. He opened his mouth to argue, but stopped when he heard a thump in the basement. "What was that?"

"Probably the damn pipes. Now if that's all you wanted to say to me, you can get out." Benny snatched at his son's arm, but Benjamin dodged him easily. The entrance to the basement was in the hallway- where his father's attention had been focused for most of the visit.

"Maybe I should take a look at them," he said over his shoulder, quickening his pace.

"Dammit, son. Just do what you're told one time. Hell, your mother might never have left if you weren't such a little asshole."

The barb struck its intended target, but the pain it caused was dull, like an old bruise. He shrugged it off and didn't stop until he reached the door. Here, the foul stench that hovered in the living room was thick and cloying. It was almost tangible, and Benjamin had to swallow to keep from throwing up. His mind understood what his heart refused to accept.

"Pops, what the hell do you have down there?"

Gone was the anger in Benny's face. It was replaced by an emotion so foreign it took Benjamin a moment to comprehend that it was desperation and terror. But terror for himself or for Benjamin?

"Son, please. Go."

"Tell me," he begged, his gloved hand wrapping around the doorknob. If Benny wouldn't tell the truth, Benjamin would see the evidence for himself.

"I made mistakes. Stupid, stupid mistakes." His father gripped the frayed gray hairs on his head. "But you don't gotta get mixed up in them."

"Then be honest with me."

Benny's mouth opened and closed. He took two steps back. Then another. He shook his head and began to mumble as if praying. Benjamin paused, torn between descending into the hell he feared below or reaching for his father. But the choice was taken from him. A sharp pain radiated from the base of his skull, and the lights went out.