Ben pt. 10. Time To Go

The chair seemed too uncomfortable. Anita crossed and then uncrossed her ankles, then her knees. She rested her arms on the raised sides of Avalon Hospitals waiting room chairs. Black padding covered the seat and back. A thin strip of padding ran down the joint arm of her seat and its neighbor. Embroidered on the back of the seat in shiny silver thread. Nothing fancy about the embroidering. It simply displayed 'Avalon' in swooping elegant cursive swirls. More and more the facade of elegance became apparent to Anita: the padding didn't mask the support bar that dug into her thighs, two points just below her shoulder blades were speared with some unforgiving thing buried shallow in the padding.

In the crowded room Anita sat between a man and a woman. She didn't say hello, neither did they. They both wore black shoes, scuffed and worn. She noticed a knot tied in the man's shoelace. She kept her eyes down and, after she sat, she kept her arms down as well. From her periphery she saw elbows planted firmly to each side of her.

The skin looked sick and pale. Ceiling fluorescents didn't offer flattery; they didn't offer lies either. A large black mole covered the woman's wrist like a bracelet three inches wide. Thik shiny hair grew from random places. Anita held her breath when the woman brought her other hand down to scratch at the mole. The rough surface came apart in a flaky shower dusting the floor between the woman's and Anita's shoes. She swallowed the terrible feeling in her throat back down to the pit of her stomach. The woman's fingernails were ringed in blood, the nails there moved on the spongy bed of liquid red beneath them. The dusting of snow lay stippled with tiny roses.

The first time Anita looked up a nurse walked by. Anita heard the foot falls a few paces away. Discomfort comprised the soundtrack of ambient noise in the waiting room. The nurse's blue slippers approached. Anita hoped she'd slow and stop and tell her she could leave, that Uncle Henry was okay. But the nurse didn't slow or even look at Anita. She whisked by in her blue slippers and her white uniform hemmed in the same blue as the nurse's slippers. Her blond ponytail swaying with her walk.

She held someone approaching from behind her. She turned her head, hoping to catch the eye of another passing nurse. The nurse walked toward Anita, her back straight, head high, blue eyes pointed straight ahead. Her ponytail swayed from beneath her traditional hat. She passed Anita without acknowledgment. As she walked towards a door marked 'employees only' Anita saw the same slippers and blue hem on the nurse's white uniform.

The black + stood out against the white door and soft blue accents in stark contrast. Anita wanted to say something like, Don't go in there, or, Hey! Stop! She did nothing. As the blonde nurse disappeared behind that awful black cross, Anita sat back down. She glanced at the man sitting next her. Normal plaid button up shirt tucked into faded denim. His shoes were dirty. She saw his shoes before, before the woman scratched her terrible liver spot. When she saw his face she stopped. Nothing could ever prepare her - or anyone - for the face above the working class collared shirt: the rim of each nostril was coated with bright fresh blood, the whites of his eyes an infected blood and puss color. He hitched in a breath and something in his throat ground and screeched like an old rusted gate hinge. With the breath held and his chest expanded he smiled at Anita. The sound that had been preparing itself in Anita's throat found just the right moment just then. Her mouth opened and something not quite like a rusty hinge and leagues beyond a scream made it just past her soft palate.

Someone - or something - touched her shoulder. Anita spun on her heel and that terrible sound made it closer to her open mouth. Perhaps, covering her mouth with her hand had helped. She stared straight into pretty nurses face. The face with those striking blue eyes. The nurse wearing the traditional hat and soft blue slippers. Thank God! Anita thought. Her brain reeled in terror but she held onto those two words - Thank God! Thank God! Thank God!

The nurse opened her mouth at the same time Anita saw the nurses cross on her old fashion hat. Startled, Anita looked down and saw the same horrid mouth the man had. Several black, some swollen others shriveled , empty sockets where teeth once docked. The teeth that were there were all broken and jagged. Her tongue though, her tongue was the worst part of all this decay and ugliness. Dark black and laying in the bed of her lower jaw, the texture seemed to match the flaky spot on the woman's wrist.

Anita didn't let loose the animal sound in her mouth. Instead, fog began clouding her vision the moment she set her eyes on that black cross. She barely registered the last thing she saw before the fog's intensity became overwhelming. The nurses eyes weren't the same as the man's, Anita couldn't quite tell why or process what she was seeing very well at all. But she was sure the nurse's eyes were different somehow. The last thought Anita had, Does even.. have.. eyes?...

Anita went black and then blinked her eyes. Her head was bent uncomfortably. The quick deep in rush of air sent a stabbing pain up her neck and into her brain. She let out a small squeak and looked directly into a pair of male green eyes - handsome eyes at that. Anita relaxed into the seat.

"Don't be alarmed, please," he spoke in hushed tones even though the waiting room seemed empty compared to that terrible dream. "I'm Denis Tolly. I'm Uncle Henry's nurse." Anita was instantly warm and comforted.

"How is he? And... do have the time?" Anita smiled slightly.

"Uncle Henry's going to be fine. He's resting now but he should be awake in an hour or so. And it's 4:15 in the afternoon." He straightened. "We'll come and get you when he's feeling better." He smiled a sweet smile at Anita and she liked that. It was warm, almost like that other color, the blue of the nurse with the old fashion hat, blue like her slippers.

Anita got up to look for a vending machine. She wasn't sure what was happening. One minute everything is fine (except for the empty bottle of face wash, of course). Then, the last... how long had it been? Everything was hazy, everything was at the side of her vision. There was a girl in a white dress with a blue ribbon. Eve. That was important, Eve was important. Was that the little girl's name?

Denis Tolly, with the warm sweet smile stood leaning against the door frame at far side of the room. Anita's heart flittered slightly when he waved. She looked around and saw no one. She wrapped her arms around her chest and walked over to them.

"Looks like Henry's coming along better than most," Denis said. "You can go on back and see him if you'd like."

"That'd, uh, that'd be great," Anita's cheeks simmered. She'd burst into flame any moment.

"Down the hall, to the left, third door on the right." Anita hoped he'd ask what she was doing tonight but he was gone. Maybe she'd run into him on the way back out. She wound her way through the hallways: the one on the left, then the third door on the right. He's probably married, she thought as she walked through the door of Henry's room. Uncle Henry was gone.

Anita's phone rang in her small purse. She dug it out and looked at the screen. It was Ben. The impact of the empty room fell to the very edge of her periphery. White light, without heat yet, white hot crept in on her ears as the fog in the ghost house waiting room had crept over her eyes.

Eve was important. Anita was terrified and somehow that was made worse by the fact that she didn't know what she was afraid of. And the ringing phone wasn't soothing.

----

Ben sat in his limousine with his phone pressed to his ear. He was sweating through his fine suit. His feet drumming a rapid tattoo on the floor. The phone rang in his ear. Once, twice, three times. Ben looked out the driver side then the passenger side windows in the back of the car. He looked like a caged animal. He cursed the intervals of silence between rings. The sound of a million thumb tacks in a blender - sometimes a piece of thick porcelain would fall in the blender and the blades would chip away at it erratically - pressed against the insides of his skull, threatening to burst through the plates of bone under his well manicured hair.

The phone clicked and Jack - Jacky you son of a bitch - answered in his arrogant glory.

"This is Jack. Go ahead." It sounded like he was washing dishes. Or perhaps they were throwing dinner wear in the blender more often.

"Jack. Listen, I'm in a big hurry here," he swallowed, making a clicking sound in his throat. He winced. "I'm coming down there and sealing this deal in the next few hours. I can't afford to wait any longer."

"It's your dime. Call me when you're here. We'll meet at the bar."

The phone clicked - clicking,clinking,clicking - in Ben's ear. His hand shook as he brought the phone down. He had one more call to make. As his contacts list scrolled on his phone the back seat of the limo didn't seem so loud. ANITA came to view and he tapped it. He took a deep breath and held it. He wasn't sure how long it took her to pick up. When she said, "Hello?" Ben's mind felt like clear, everything became sharp linear paths.

"Anita, beautiful. How's Henry, babe?" Ben's face, previously stretched tight with pain, wore a comfortable smile.

"Hello? Sweetie, you there?"

"Yes, I am. Umm, Henry's... gone?" That was definitely a question. It was so hard to think. "B-Ben, Henry's not here." That was a little better.

"Okay, listen, we'll figure that out later. Right now I need you to go back to your apartment and pack a suitcase. Our flight leaves soon. A car will be there to get you."

Anita was stunned. Ben was talking so fast and her thoughts so sluggish. Now, thoughts had stopped and the tweety little girls - Eve, it's important, remember - circled and circled. She was so paralyzed she fell back on familiarity, "Yes, Mr. Strass."

"Ben, please. Just Ben."

Ben pt. 9 - The Hospital.

"He's had  stroke, Mr. Strass," the Doctor began. His hands made a steeple out of his fingers just above his belt line. "There's not much damage that we can see right now. Some time is needed to watch him and see if everything is working right," the Doctor's eyebrows went up and the steeple came down.

Even with his eyebrows that high? Ben thought and stifled a laugh with a deep breath of his own. "Well, Dr. ... Everett, is he awake? I'd like to see him."

"No, I'm sorry. Your Uncle is sleeping. Or, perhaps unconscious is a better word. Did your Uncle have a drinking problem, Mr. Strass?"

"Yes Dr., Uncle Henry's been drinking a long time. Been drinking a lot for a lot of years. But you know? This morning he seemed fine, better than fine, really."

"These things happen suddenly. Sometimes they can't be predicted or prevented. That's not why I ask though. When your Uncle's blood work came back, I thought maybe you all had been out drinking, really tying one on, as the saying goes. But then I talked to both of you shortly after he came in and you both look sober. He didn't have any alcohol on him when we put him in his gown. No flask or anything in his boots and what not."

"Where are you going with this? Look, I've been telling him for years to ease up on the sauce but it's not your job to be the moral police, okay?" Ben could feel his ears getting warm, he didn't want to do this, didn't want to give the Dr. such a hard time. The ball was rolling now though and it felt good. "You better start talking level with me, you got that? When are you going to let him out of here?" Ben really didn't care. At first, he thought he could feign concern and they'd keep him long enough to dry old Uncle Henry out and then Ben would feel good that. But Ben didn't care really, Ben would just as soon see Uncle Henry back on a plane - or in the ground - as he would see him limping around in a disgusting hospital gown.

The doctor took a step back, eyebrows now descending. "If he doesn't go into DT's when he wakes up, or if that's not what wakes him up and his vitals stay where they're supposed to be he can be released in twenty-four hours."

With that the doctor was gone. Ben turned to Anita and took all her beauty in like he'd never seen her before. She was staring back but that glow that seemed to surround her in the coffee shop and at the glass exhibit just wasn't there. Maybe Uncle Henry had her shook up. Maybe he should take her somewhere. "You okay, sweetheart?"

Anita blinked for what felt like the first time in hours. Her head was fuzzy, she felt like the coyote in the roadrunner cartoons. Sometimes when the Acme Anvil landed on the Wiley Coyote instead of the meepmeep cunning Roadrunner, Mr. Coyote's head became a haven for birds and stars that floated and spiraled yet never managed to land. Anita had a swirling floating mistress that just wouldn't land. A girl, a girl in a pure white dress, a crying girl named Eve captured Anita's attention the way a dust mote in the periphery can distract.

"Yeah... I'm fine Mr. -" Anita pursed her lips and shook her head, "Ben, I mean Ben. I'm fine, I hope your Uncles alright."

"Me too, doll, me too."

Doll? Sweetheart? They sounded so different when she'd heard them before. She didn't mind him calling her pet names like that. Hell, she'd called him all kinds of flowery ego stroking things in the privacy of her own apartment.

"Let's get dinner, yeah?" Ben's pocket vibrated. "I'm sorry, Anita, I've got to take this."

Ben turned back to and answered his phone.

"Go ahead, Jack."

"You caught me. Is this a bad time?"

Some normal person might say that this was in fact 'not a good time'. "No, no, go ahead. Did you have time to think about coming to the city?"

"I'm not coming near that city. Have you seen the news lately? Anyway, your city, your problems."

What about when it's not just this city, when it's everywhere?

"I'm sure most of its hype anyway, Jacky. Wha-"

"You'll take my offer tomorrow morning. Go to a bank or lawyer or whatever and make sure they've got a fax machine and we'll start signing."

Ben barely got 'Okay' before the phone clicked off and Jack - Jacky - was gone. He turned around shaking his head slightly. He shuffled his feet. Anita watched and found the his demeanor disturbing. Mr. Benjamin Strass never shuffled or shook his head like that.

"Ben..."

"Anita, stay here. Call me when he wakes up. If he wakes up before our flight leaves." Ben punched numbers into his phone.

Before our flight leaves. What flight? Our flight? Anita's tweety birds picked up pace right along with her thoughts. It became difficult to process these thoughts. She concentrated on Ben, on Uncle Henry, on the scene in Ben's office. The more she concentrated the less clear everything became. Her head filled with blinding white light. Trying to grasp at one thought or another was like swimming in syrup.

"Anita, babe, you hear me? You got this?" she looked at Ben. Again, she saw he wasn't looking at her. He had his arm stretched above his head, resting his hand on the wall. His left leg bent at the knee in such a way that his very nice suit pants stretched taut against his very nice butt. Before Anita replied her ears filled with a sound that can only be described as white. White swirled with blue. Warm and comforting.

Ben headed towards the elevators. Anita sucked in a huge breath and smoothed her face. Check on Uncle Henry, that was her job. After that, something... soon. Anita felt her sturdy resolve cracking. Like too much old makeup when it takes on the appearance of the desert macadam, Anita shook inside, vibrated trying to figure this out. The harder she pressed at what came after Uncle Henry the more her insides shook.

"What! WHAT! I can't hear you. I need a flight to Collin's County ASAP. TODAY! You got that!"  Ben shouted in his phone as he waited for the elevator to reach him. "And get your damn phone lines fixed!" Only, Ben knew it wasn't the phone lines. Even before he hung up the phone he knew that chattering sound wasn't in the phone lines. Standing in the middle of a hospital - his hospital - Ben wanted nothing more than an aspirin. But Mr. Strass didn't take aspirin. Mr. Strass's public relations department would have a heart attack if he asked for an aspirin.

The elevator doors opened. With each step the washtub full of coffee cups in a doubled. He was sure his shirt was running red from the sprung pipe in his nose. His shirt wasn't bloody, neither was his nose. He put one hand to his head and used the other to hold the elevator doors open. He beckoned to Anita. She just stood there. In the middle of the hallway. What was she waiting for. There, now those cement shoes were moving. Good, get your skinny ass over here.

"Sir?"

"I'll... oh Christ. Ah, just get some aspirin or something." Ben's arm fell away from the elevator doors. The chattering dropped to a low hum. Now, the doors were sliding shut. The demon inside Ben's mind worked the dials. As the elevator stared its descent the little demon started spinning the volume knob. A clearly defined imperative formed in Ben's head: he needed Anita like a drowning man needs a life raft.

Anita had to squint at Ben. As he gave her instruction - is that what he was doing? - Anita could have sworn one of the doctors on this floor had come up behind her and started running a stitch right through the center of her. The longer the stitch ran the thicker the thread got. With each word her brows and eyes squinted further together. With the elevator on its way down and as she walked towards the waiting rooms her eyes slowly opened and her face became once again smooth. She knew something then. She knew something to be true, as true as touching a hot stove will burn: she needed to stay away from Ben the way a child stays away from a hot stove.

Ben pt. 8 - The Glass Exhibit. The Office.

Ben woke to a clatter from the kitchen. No dreams, no restless sleep; he felt good and slipped into his robe. The clattering continued the whole way down the hall. When Ben got to the kitchen he found old drunken Uncle Henry opening and closing cabinets and drawers. "Where do you keep your damn frying pan boy? How's a man supposed to start his day without some eggs and fried potatoes? Well, anyway, I figured out your fancy dancey coffee pot. You want a cup?"

"Sure," Ben said and took a seat on the outside of the island. Uncle Henry brought a steaming cup to Ben. He stood there, half leaning over the island and staring at Ben with clear awake eyes that seemed to want to know something.

"Oh, yeah, the frying pan. It's down and to the right of the stove there." And Uncle Henry was off in search of a means to make his sustenance for the day. "You feeling okay, Uncle?" Ben asked when Henry started cracking eggs on the side of the pan with precision. Was this really the same man they picked up at the airport the night before? There's no way this man isn't practically comatose. Ben could see - almost expected, to tell true - Henry banging around looking for a beer and a mouthful of aspirin. But here was this man who appeared to have been up for some time. This man that only wanted breakfast and then a mission, a job, an objective for the day. Night and day, Uncle Henry was like night and day.

"Yeah, bud, feel great. So what's on your plate for the day?" he stirred the eggs and started adding a shake of this and a pinch of that. "I imagine you're a busy man these days."

"No, I still get weekends off," Ben replied and sipped his coffee. Good coffee, it connected with his core or his soul or some such. Undoubtedly, Henry used the exact same ingredients that Ben did but this brew tasted of something more, something good and simple. He took another sip and sat back in his seat. "You had something you wanted to talk to me very badly about Uncle. Yesterday, on the phone you sounded scared. What's going on?"

"Not now," Henry slid a pile of potatoes and onions into the frying pan. "After we eat, after we get out in the air." Now, Henry absently stirred the breakfast mix and thumbed a cigarette into the corner of his mouth. He did this as one would do something without thought, an automatic thing. And there was the matches, oh goodness.

"Uncle, I don't-" but the thing was glowing already and the match thrown in the sink. Hisssss.

"We'll eat, we'll get out. Who was that woman you were with?" Henry dragged deep on his cigarette. Ben grimaced.

"That was Ms. Anita. My, uh, my assistant."

"Oh, bummer dude. I hoped you would say she was your fiancé. She's a good one. I could tell that right off." Henry frowned around his cigarette and stared off into nothing middle ground somewhere just past the smoke curling up around his nose and in front of his eyes.

Ben chuckled through his nose. "With all due respect, Uncle, I'm surprised you remember much of anything from last night, much less intuit a person's nature who you've never met."

"Yeah, well..." Henry turned back to the stove and cut the flame off. "How 'bout we go get her and go to the park or something? Walk a bit, and talk."

"Alright, I'll give her a ring right after breakfast."

Henry turned to Ben with a bowl heaping with scrambled eggs-bacon-potatoes-onions-cheese. Ashes drifted down the front of his shirt, Henry didn't seem to notice. He was looking right at Ben through the smoke. "I know what you're up to."

Just that, he could have been saying, 'Here you go'. He set one of the bowls in front of Ben and seated himself across the island and began to eat in big mouthfuls. A look of satisfaction on his face.

Ben put the dishes in the sink, went back to his bedroom to shower and change. He got out his cell and put it back in his pocket. He went around to his nightstand and opened the third drawer down, the bottom drawer, he moved some things around and retrieved his other phone and dialed Anita.

"Anita, it's Ben," he said when she picked up.

"Good morning," he could hear the sleep in her voice.

"How are you?"

"I'm... good. You? It's Saturday, did I forget something? I'm sorry last night was just..." Anita trailed off. Her head swam with memories and the notions of emotions. Especially, that weird babbling Henry did in the limo on the ride home.

"Anita, Anita, it's okay. Perfect, you're perfect. Can I send a car to pick you up in a few?"

"Uh, yeah, sure Ben. What's going on?"

"Just want to take you out with Uncle Henry and me. We'll go to the Avalon Gardens, they're having a glass exhibit right now."

"Your Uncle, he's... okay, he's not sick?"

"Surprisingly, no."

"Okay, sounds like fun. What time?"

"Two hours? Is that good for you?"

"I'll be ready Mr. S- Ben, I mean," Ben heard the smile in her voice. He was smiling too.

----------

The Avalon Gardens were having a glass exhibit. Very abstract colorful things. Very big things. Ben and Henry casually walked around the outdoor section of the collection. Ben had to call ahead and close the Gardens before they got there. He didn't want to have to talk another guard down from arresting Henry and Henry made it clear he intended to smoke where ever he damn well felt like. They didn't talk about much. Henry told him he knew about the properties Ben had purchased, he didn't ask why, just stated that he knew about it. Land deeds were public record, after all, Henry had the right to look that stuff up and had lived in Collin's County his whole life. Ben supposed it wasn't too far a stretch that Uncle Henry had heard about some of this from his drinking buddies down there. Ben checked his watch and they walked the path that would take them to the front entrance. Towering spools of tie dye colored glass, some as thick as the trunk of an old tree, some thin as thread, made a kind of wall on the last leg of the path that led out. It was just about time for Anita to arrive.

She's a good one, Uncle Henry said. When Ben saw her standing there looking at the first few pieces of art he couldn't agree more. Ben coughed in his throat, "Anita, over here," he waved her over to where they were standing. Uncle Henry was lighting up. "Hey there sweetheart."

"Hey, goodlookin'," Anita said, as naturally as Uncle Henry smoked his cigarettes.

"Anita, so very nice to meet you," Henry's cigarette was behind his back, the cloud of stink vanished instantly. He held her delicate hand in his rough one and kissed the back hers'. "Again," and he kissed her hand again.

Ben was stunned at Henry's spontaneous charm. He could have been Clark Gable or even Sinatra for a second there. Now, the cloud of smoke was back and the front of his shirt had ashes on it. "Have uh, have you seen this artist before," Ben paused, he was off balance again, "Anita?"

"No I haven't. Just the beginning is amazing." Henry grunted. Ben didn't think it was the art Henry scoffed. More the price tag this stuff carried. Henry always thought beauty should be free. He had paid dearly for his.

"Uncle, you okay. Want to put a cigarette out for a few minutes and see the inside stuff?"

"I reckon," he stamped out his butt on the ground.

Inside was shadowy and perhaps would have seemed big if not for the towers of giant glass work outside. Uncle Henry's breathing quickened slightly. He didn't like the dark corners. He pulled a cigarette slowly out of his pack, Ben was about to be polite but harsh with Henry but then he just let it dangle from his lip. Henry was nervous.

They passed from room to room, deeper into this old mansion turned museum. Ben broke the silence, "I told Anita about the purchases Uncle. I've kept them off the company books, any books really."

"I know, boy, I know," and Ben could hear in Henry's voice and manner that he wasn't handling this well. What the hell, Uncle Henry's losing it, Ben thought.

They reached the last room of the exhibit. The darkest room in the exhibit, here the bright tie dye colors and sparkly shiny lively skin of the glass gave way to grays and blacks. A stripe of white here, a corkscrew of bubbles in a pointed spire there. The little lighting came from nowhere and everywhere. Like a hidden full moon. An eerie white light, a dead white, a color that housed no life no warmth. Anita and Ben looked down and realized they were holding each other's hand. Then they looked around them, like children do when they suddenly afraid someone saw them, they felt like someone saw them. But no, they were alone. Henry wasn't there. They were holding hands and apparently their breath, too. When they let go of each other, they released their expanded almost burning lungs. Something tickled in their minds, something way back in the dark where even this dead white light couldn't reach.

When they emerged into the light of the day their eyes didn't take long to adjust, the display rooms got darker as you went in, when you came out they got lighter and lighter so that when you reached the outside you wouldn't be shocked by a bright day like this one. There was Uncle Henry, he was coughing around the cigarette between his lips.

"Sorry, Ben, just got a little spooked," Henry said.

"That's okay, do you need to see a doctor?" Ben asked and tapped the left side of his chest.

"No, no, I'm fine, really. Don't worry about me."

"You said something else on the phone," Henry started shaking his head left and right, back and forth. "You said a name, you said-"

"Now you listen here, boy. You stop right this moment and you listen!" Henry's voice boomed out of him and though they were outside, it seemed to fill up the space, a tangible thing, Uncle Henry's voice caused Ben and Anita to step back, their eyes wide and startled. Henry started coughing again, when it seemed he couldn't stop, Ben put his hand on his Uncle's back. Henry shrugged him off. He was bent at the waste, he looked up at Anita from under his eyebrows, he brought his left hand up and pointed a shaking finger at Anita. "You're a," hackhackhack, "good," hackhack, "one."

Anita and Ben helped Uncle Henry out of the Avalon Gardens and into a limo. At least this time he wasn't drunk. Ben was silent, he'd never seen Uncle Henry so mad. Uncle Henry was furious when Ben got close to saying Adam's name. He didn't even understand 'Adam' it tickled something in him but Ben couldn't understand it at all. Henry said he knew what Ben was up to. He flipped out at the mention of Adam. And what about the 'sweetheart' and 'goodlookin' and hand holding and stuff. Ben was really off balance. He didn't like this. They got in the back of the limo. Henry's coughing fit seemed to be tapering off.

"I've got to swing by the office for a minute. You want to see my office Uncle?" god, Ben felt like a ten year old child when he said that - you wanna see what I made, hu hu hu.

"Sure, Ben, I'd love to see your office. You've built so much." And that was all Henry said. The ride wasn't long, the Gardens weren't far from the Avalon Tower.

They rode the elevator to the top floor in silence, Ben and Anita stood on either side of Henry. No hand holding. They walked down the corridor to Ben's office. "Hey, Uncle, I've got this piece of art on my wall in here," Ben jiggled his keys in the slot, "those glass sculptures were good, but this. Man, you've got to see this."

The door swung open. Anita hadn't seen the picture before either. When her eyes rested on it she felt like a second set of eyes rolled up in her head. A warm feeling started in midsection. It radiated to the ends of her hair, the tips of her toes tingled and hands flexed wide, fingers stretching. Her eyes closed now, into the darkness she went. She felt like Alice down the rabbit hole, only Anita's rabbit hole was an abandoned mine shaft. Dark and back and further still.

Ben stared at the framed picture, the pristine glass - except where he had run his fingers across it. He didn't see Anita's slack jaw or closed eyes. He didn't even notice right away when his Uncle Henry crumpled to the floor.

When Henry saw what was protected behind the glass and surrounded by the frame, a black profile silhouette of a young boy, his vision went black all over. He was blind when the stroke hit him and sent him to the floor. He uttered one word. A name:

"Adam," came struggling out of Henry's throat as all the lights started going out.

Ben was lost in his 'art' and his unnaturally wide grin. Anita was lost in the darkness, the warm velvety blackness inside her, relishing in the release of everything, falling through the nothing that made the world when you really boiled it all down. When you made it simple, the dark, tingling, nothing was the end result of everything, nothing mattered. Then there was something. Way down here there was something. A white something maybe, a full moon white. Unlike the lighting in the back room of the glass exhibit this light had a life to it, a warmth. It came clearer and clearer to Anita. A little patch of white in all this black. A little girl perhaps. A white night gown, yes, that's what it is. The girl's back is turned but Anita can see the long blonde, almost white, hair falling down this girls back. Anita can see the lacey parasol umbrella she holds in her right hand. Just before the girl turns - Anita thought her a statue for a moment - Anita sees the blue of the ribbon in the girls hair, that's where the warmth is coming from. Anita knows this as one knows things in dreams. The life, the warmth comes from that ribbon and when the girl turns and faces her, Anita sees that the warmth comes also from the girl's big blue eyes. Huge blue eyes, somehow bigger than the darkness that vibrates and tingles in a cold dead way around her. And even the tears streaming down this girls face radiate a warmth that is love at its core. Perfect love and warmth and beauty leak from those huge blue eyes. The girl doesn't move her lips but Anita can hear the whisper as if it came from inside herself (and in a way, it does, doesn't it):

"Eve."    

Ben pt. 7 - The Airport

"Well, I think I've said quite enough," Ben said.

Anita didn't know what to think. An overwhelming sense of 'okay' enveloped her, yet she worried about Ben. Why was this so secret? The man had enough money and power to buy islands and governments. Just look at the treaty being signed by NATO and Avalon Industries. NATO contracting a private company was unheard of, but Ben did it. The entire pharmaceutical spoke of the wheel made money hand over fist. Avalon Medicine constantly made earth shattering discoveries and advancements in cancer, STD's, even addiction.

So why did Ben have this clandestine operation collecting property out in the middle of Southern American nowhere? But everything was 'okay'. Ben kept shifting around in his seat in the back of the limo. The ride to the airport was uneventful. Everything happened under the surface. Somewhere between here and the dark places. Anita may think these confessions trivial, but her and Ben's relationship wasn't the same. Never the same again.

In fact, the only thing Ben said, as the limo slowed to a stop at the airport, was, "Thank you, Anita. For being such a good listener, thank you."

"You're taking me there, right?" Anita smiled at him. So personal, where did that come from? So comfortable, she'd never been this comfortable with him.

"Yeah, ah..." Ben stuttered, "s-sure."

"Right this way, Mr. Strass." That was the body guard. Ben had body guards at airports and such. Anita couldn't think why anyone would want to kill Mr. Strass, but the world was cruel and black and dark sometimes.

They went through all the security checkpoints without hassle. Anita and Ben traveled often enough they didn't notice anymore. The pre-September-eleventh world had faded. Things had gotten darker. Picking up an old relative from the airport meant being scrutinized for a few hours, nothing private. And they didn't even see it.

Uncle Henry saw it. Uncle Henry was right in its face.  An older man with longer hair and matching white beard and mustaches was being carried by the armpits by two A.A.S. officers. Another notch on Avalon and Ben's belt. Avalon Airport Security was considered the standard in the airline industry. Ben went through all the security protocol like anyone else. The hourly workers didn't see the people anymore than Ben or Anita saw all the security. Ben didn't want to make himself different or get special treatment - and it was a good way to get a feel of how things were going on the ground floor. Now, Ben asserted himself. "That's my Uncle. Let him go."

"The guards shifted stances and the one on the left began to speak. Ben interrupted, "My name in Ben Strass, and I think you should do what I tell you too. I sign your paychecks."

The guards dropped Henry on the thin carpet of the terminal in a slobbering heap.  

"We need to see some identification... Mr. Stass," the one said. Uncle Henry kept trying to interrupt with nonsensical monosyllables.

"I think this is all you need to see," Ben said with an air Anita hadn't ever seen. The authority, the confidence unsettled her. Not in a bad way. He supplied them with a glossy square that must have had his picture on it somewhere. The only thing Anita could see was a cluster of bar codes.

"That'll be fine Mr. Strass. You'll be taking care of Mr. Henry, then?" the guard asked.

"Yes, gentlemen, I think I'll be taking care of 'Uncle' Henry from here on," Ben said in that self assured way that made Anita all pins and needles. She didn't notice the slight dancing she did from foot to foot.

Ben reached down and pulled Uncle Henry to his feet. He tried anyway, in the end it took Ben and Anita and one of the guards to get Henry upright. Once vertical, Ben and Anita wobbled out of the airport terminal on either side of a very drunk Uncle Henry.

He kept babbling things under his breath. All the way through the airport and into the limo, almost inaudible sounds came from his mouth. Ben fidgeted in his seat beside Anita. He wasn't comfortable; he was embarrassed about Uncle Henry. That feeling of elation had receded with the encroaching odor coming from good old Uncle Henry. Anita seemed to be having trouble sitting still and maintaining that professional smile. Something else got to her - probably Ben, too, if he could separate his thoughts better - the sounds he was making. She could barely hear them but they tugged at something. Something way in the back of her mind, way beyond the reaches of the light of day. Uncle Henry, stinking drunken Uncle Henry had something to say. Anita wanted to know what it was. WHAT IS IT!! she wanted to say as she brought her hand down across the side of his wrinkled face. Of course, that wouldn't do. She maintained a level of professionalism for Ben.

The limo driver dropped Anita off at her apartment and accompanied her to her door. A perfect gentleman. Then the limo traveled through the city and to Ben's place. Once again, the limo driver, accompanied Ben and Uncle Henry to the door, even offering to help get Mr. Henry into bed. Ben told him that wouldn't be necessary and thanked him with a generous tip.   

Henry - screw the honorific 'uncle' - had some explaining to do in the morning. Ben felt that sleep was a long way off. Almost all the way to the twilight horizon, Ben thought he could see a fabled token gesture called 'sleep'. He paced the main floor of his house, the kitchen really. Back and forth in front of the window over the sink. Ben paced back and forth, he may not have recognized it, may not still for that matter, but Old Henry's drooling mumbles had set something off in Ben, too.

Something in the back of his mind, way back and farther still, a fraction of a feather touch tickled this thing in this dark place in the back of Ben's mind. And Ben paced and outside Ben's window in the kitchen above the sink a bird fell from its perch on the power line.

Don't Worry. Be Happy.

A sly smile crept up the sides of Ben's face. His pace slowed. Perhaps, sleep wasn't as far away as he originally suspected. Ben went up to his bedroom and laid his head on a pillow of sure resolve.

The hours of night passed for Ben without stir or complaint. He slumbered the sleep of Don't Worry, and Be Happy. When Anita got into bed, she wore her thick long sleeved pajamas and even got her deep winter comforter out of the closet. She wrapped herself up in a cocoon-like roll.

The light was still on and her eyes refused to stay closed for more than a few seconds. She moved around until her head was encased in the comforter. This was no good. In a short time her breath had made the air around her face hot and moist. She unrolled herself and managed to pull the string on the lamp on her nightstand. Now, in darkness Anita fortified herself in blankets again and began to thank god that the meager light above the tiny stove in the kitchen was on. She thanked god that the meager little light somehow found its way down the hallway and across her bedroom floor. Up and around the folds and creases of the big deep winter comforter and to her eyes, the little light brought her a delicate sense of security. She wasn't afraid. No monsters under the bed. No monsters in the closet. Something ticked away inside her. Something the meager light from above the stove couldn't touch. Tick-tick-tick, like a fingernail on glass.

Sleep did find her eventually and with it the sometimes unwanted guest of dreams. When she woke the next morning she felt rested and was surprised to see the alarm wouldn't start its tirade for five more minutes. The vague notion of a pleasant dream faded almost instantly. If asked later, Anita would probably deny having any dreams the night before.

As she reached across the bed to turn the alarm off her phone vibrated and skittered slightly next to the lamp. At first the number looked foreign to her and then she remembered. Ben had given her the number to his private cell yesterday. She hadn't programmed her phone yet, but she was sure that's who was calling. Her shoulders straightened and her eyes shed the last remnants of sleep involuntarily, "Hello?"

"Anita, it's Ben."

Ben pt. 6 - Ben and Anita

Anita should have been wringing her hands. Wiping them against each other as if washing. The limousine took her to the Daily Grind. She didn't sweat or fidget, nothing like this had ever happened before. Ben always treated her courteously, but professionally, too. He'd never taken her out to lunch unless he was meeting with some big shot or other. To call her out of nowhere and request she make haste to meet him at a dive coffee shop. Her dive coffee shop. On any other day Anita would be a nervous wreck, today, however, Anita felt only an amusing curiosity.

She had an idea that Ben had been dabbling in something he wasn't comfortable doing on a professional level. Some huge new reveal, perhaps. Gambling, that's what Anita suspected. How he would ever gamble away his fortune was beyond Anita. Perhaps that's what Ben had called her out for. A confession of some guilt.

Actually, Anita thought, that wouldn't be terrible. A tickling at the back of her mind, back and back where it's really dark. A tickling, a notion: It's not terrible if Ben confesses some wrong doing or character flaw, this gives me leverage. She might even be able to pull his strings and make him dance, make him do... other...

"We're here, Miss Anita." The limo driver, Chris, was standing at the open rear door.

She stepped out onto the side walk and looked up at the big light up sign, 'The Daily Grind'. As the limo pulled away from the curb, the corners of Anita's lips perked up in a slight smile. My, doesn't Chris have nice eyes, Anita thought and filled her chest with air, stretching her shirt. Anita wasn't nervous at all.

-------

Ben sat tapping his fingers on the edge of his empty coffee cup. His other hand twirled a very expensive looking pen. He tried to sort everything out. Too much he didn't understand himself. He'd let himself slide in the last few months. God, he hoped it hadn't been a full year. Uncle Henry had a friend - younger guy, but he liked to help Henry turning wrenches - and sometimes he'd start up on Henry about the drinking, quoting some AA stuff. Henry didn't talk about that stuff much, mostly when he really tied on. Something this guy told Henry once occurred to Ben: A day in the bottle is equivalent to a year in real time. This thought, this saying, this notion arrived in Ben's head in frightening detail and sharpness.

Ben's fingers stilled, the pen took one last slow motion, shiny, revolution and stopped. The limousine pulled up to the curb had already stopped. Ben's mind roared, he had nothing prepared, nothing planned. His entire life had a plan; week, day, hour, minute. And now Chris is opening the door for her.

The shiny pen fell to floor. Proving to be worth its prestigious look, the pen made nearly as much noise as his cell phone had. Ben felt the heat rise in his cheeks. His entire being wanted to explode, leaving a ruined pile of expensive clothing. He felt as if his head might burst, it certainly was warm enough. As he bent over to retrieve his pen, he caught a glimpse of the underside of the table.

There in crude Sharpie. No talent here, some little kid. Some Future Felon of America, scrawled a figure down here. Ben only looked at it for a second, yet he knew what it was, he was offended by the unskilled hand that made it but then he thought of the picture on his office wall.

When he straightened back up in the seat, he saw Anita outside the plate glass windows. Something way back and further still, way down in the darkness tickled in Ben's mind. She had such a beautiful smile.

--------

As Anita walked under the sign and through the door, the piece of graffiti she'd not really thought about passed through her peripheral vision. She didn't think much about it now, either. Not on the surface. Her confident stride took her through the entry way and straight to the table where Ben sat.

"Hello. Ben," Anita said. She kept her eyes on his the entire time she pulled out her chair, sat down, and smoothed her skirt.

"A-Anita! So glad you could come down. I... um, I know this is unorthodox, for us to meet like this. I'm... I'm..." His face flushed. He knew he was blushing. He did not know why this was such a difficult thing to do.

"Ben, it's okay. Really, Ben, whatever you need to discuss with me, I'm sure I can handle it. I'm a big girl, Ben." The corners of her mouth quirked slightly, almost a smile.

Ben was unbalanced to the extent he almost didn't recognize this odd behavior. Everything had a place and everything in its place, everything under control. Every situation could be dealt with. Not this one, this situation had no handles, nowhere to grasp, to get this thing under control. He brought his eyes up to meet hers. She continued to stare, almost unblinking. Ben took a deep breath, held it for a second and in that second he saw into those eyes. His gaze took him through those eyes - so beautiful - past the millions and billions of reactions, past the speed of thought and he was in the darkness. He exhaled his breath. Very under control.

"You're eyes, Anita," Ben swam in the comforting darkness while he spoke. "Your eyes are just the most brilliant, beautiful eyes I've ever seen." Breath escaped through his nose. "My god."

Instantly, Anita was self aware. Aware of herself the way she had been earlier when she had no face cream. The relaxed pose felt unnatural, she fidgeted and sat up straight. Perhaps a little too quickly she brought her hand back away from the middle of the table. Was I really going to touch his hand? Anita wondered.

"Anyway," Ben sat forward, "I wanted to talk to you about something I've been doing as, say, a side project. Do you have any plans this afternoon, evening?" Ben held his eyes on hers now. Anita looked back and forth between the condiments arranged on the table.

"I... guess, I don't. I don't have any plans, no."

"Good, I've got to pick up my uncle from the airport in a little while. We can have dinner. You can meet my Uncle Henry." Ben smiled, "And we'll discuss this business. This, situation."

"That sounds fine, Mr. Stra... Ben, I mean."

"Now, what kind of coffee do you drink?"

They sat in the coffee shop in the afternoon city commotion and talk. Well, Ben talked. He told her about the property out in the country, about the strange compulsion, this undefined feeling he's been having lately. The need for secrecy. He even talked to her about going out to Collin's County. She agreed, hell, she'd been all over the globe with him. He even mentioned something he wanted to show her back at the office. He couldn't describe it, he said, trying to put words of description would never justify it. She looked up at him with a steady eye when he talked about the 'thing' in his office.

That dark thing way back, and back farther still, tickled slightly. Way back behind those beautiful eyes, the dark thing in the darkness. Not in the color of any sort, in the color of vacuum, in the no color.