Board Thread:Writer's Workshop/@comment-28428152-20181003190023

Chapter II

Dazzling winter light streamed through Ben’s window, and a cardinal sang on the tree outside, as though nothing in Ben’s world was amiss. Trying to keep his eyes awake, Ben scowled at the window and shut the blinds, insulted by the outward cheeriness that was in such contrast to the anger he felt within. He went over to his nightstand and turned off the alarm that hadn’t sounded yet, eagerly awaiting the moment when he could step onto the bus and escape the tension from the cataclysmic night before.

Yawning and rubbing his swollen sleep-deprived eyes, he changed out of the clothes he’d worn the day before and began to get everything in his backpack ready for the day.

“Ben, honey, breakfast is ready!” Penny called from below.

His stomach did a flip, and he checked to make sure that his door was still locked.

“Ben! Don’t ignore your mother. Not when it’s maple-syrup pancakes day!”

Ben did a double-take. Had his father just tried to entice him with pancakes? Knowing that if he ignored his parents any longer he might evoke the wrath displayed the night before, he reluctantly slunk out of his bedroom and drearily made his way downstairs and into the dinette.

“Merry morning!” his mother sang from the kitchen, where she was washing pans and silverware, a dark bruise on her face.

He sat down opposite Dave, who was hidden behind a ginormous newspaper and already dressed for work.

“D’ja sleep well, sport?” he asked off-handedly.

Ben felt truly mocked.

“Well, how ‘bout it, son?” he added, with a sharp look from over the top of the paper. It was little difficult to take him seriously when the headline read: “MAN CLAIMS DOG GAVE HIM MOUTH CANCER” with a picture of a tiny old man holding the leash of a colossal Tibetan Mastiff.

Ben scoffed and took a bite from his mountain of pancakes.

“Gee, I dunno. You tell me.”

“What are you talking about, dearie?” Penny asked from the sink, a fake plastic smile stretched across her face.

“Yeah, what are you talking about, Ben?” Dave demanded. “I sure don’t know what you’re talking about. You might wanna check your memory.”

Ben stared at him a moment before tentatively nodding his head.

“So,” Dave continued, “how ‘bout it, sport? Did you sleep well?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Good,” he smirked, taking a cocky sip of coffee.

“Didn’t let the bed bugs bite, did you?” laughed Penny shrilly.

“No, ma’am.”

“Say, sport,” Dave said seriously after a moment, folding up his newspaper and leaning sternly across the table in a way that put Ben on edge. “You haven’t seen my pair of underwear by any chance, have you?”

There was an awkward moment’s silence, in which Dave bored into Ben’s eyes with complete sincerity and Ben returned the gaze with confusion.

“Oh, Dave, if you’d just let me buy you some—”

“Penny, we both know how I feel about this.”

“But honey, it makes your thingy taste—”

“Ahem. Well, Ben, if you do see them—”

“Dave, you need more than one pair of underwear.”

Ben’s father closed his eyes in agitation, trying to conduct himself within a reasonable manner.

“Look, just tell me if you see them, okay? And if you did take them, then that’d be a pretty nasty trick. Hey, how about I drive you to school today? Sound like a plan?”

“No,” Ben answered calmly. “I think I’ll ride the bus today.”

“But—"

“Dad, I want to ride the bus.”

Dave leaned back into his chair and tapped his fingers on the table in agitation for a moment before getting up.

*  *     *     *  *

A violent jerk of the bus yanked Ben out from his light slumber, the warm winter sunlight passing through the dusty window of the bus having sent him into a much-needed doze. He glanced around himself for a moment before leaning his head against the window and closing his eyes, eager to fall back asleep.

But, something had seemed off.

He tried to ignore this feeling, but something was tugging at his mind, something that shouldn’t be there, though he wasn’t sure what that something was. Picking his head back up, he took in his surroundings more carefully, but his lungs suddenly took in a sharp breath and his blood turned to lead in an instant, as in that moment, he’d been hit by a train of despair, delight, dread, and adrenaline.

Mohamed was sitting in the third row from the front, on the left-hand side of the bus, just where they’d used to sit before he’d been killed, staring at Ben, his features perfectly intact.

Nobody had occupied that seat ever since the murder, especially Ben, who tried to rush past it every day on the way in and out. But here he was in the flesh….

No, no it couldn’t be him. Surely it was just another nightmare, and the bus would crash in an instant, and Mohamed would die before his eyes for the thousandth time. But nonetheless, his eyes became hot and wet, and when he blinked the sadness leaked out.

But maybe—just maybe—if he could go up to Mohamed and save him from whatever was about to happen, then he wouldn’t have to watch him die again.

Standing up with every ounce of courage, Ben ambled his way up the aisle and over to Mohamed. But when he blinked, Mohamed was gone, like a dull flame extinguished by the night.

A violent jerk of the bus yanked Ben out from his slumber.

*  *     *     *  *

“You gonna eat that pork chop, Ben, or just let it rot?” Dave demanded over dinner that night.

Ben shrugged his shoulders and prodded at the porkchop absently.

“Well, you’re not getting up until you eat everything on your plate,” Dave added. “So, I’d go ahead and finish it now, so it doesn’t get cold.”

Ben didn’t say anything, not really hearing anything. His mind was elsewhere, in the realm of dreams. He’d been in emotional distress all day, the shock of believing for a moment that Mohamed had actually been there still gnawing at his brain.

“Ben!” Penny shot, jerking Ben out of his trance. “Listen to your father!”

“What?”

“You better watch your tone,” Dave warned. “You’ve had a piss-poor attitude all damn day, and I don’t appreciate it much. Do you have any idea how much we do for you? Do you even think about how we provide you with clothes, food, and a roof over your head? Heating? Electricity? A bed?”

Not knowing how he was expected to respond, Ben opened his mouth slightly and made an unsure kind of grunting noise.

“Guess it’s a ‘no’ then,” Penny muttered, stabbing her fork into her porkchop and a ripping out a great bite without even cutting it with the knife.

“What’s your damage, Ben?” Dave asked, his voice starting to get louder. “Are you still butthurt about that prank from last night? Christ, it’s called a fucking joke, Ben.”

“No, sir,” he mumbled.

“What, it wasn’t a joke? Well, I’m just flat out insulted now. Penny and I weren’t the best actors in our high school theatre class just to be told we didn’t give a good performance by some ten-year-old."

“Eleven.”

“Do you know how much planning we had to do? How much we had to plan out because we thought it’d lighten you up a little?”

“I meant that what happened last night isn’t what’s wrong.”

“Oh, don’t give me that shit! I don’t believe it for one second after that little temper tantrum you threw about it. No appreciation! You know, I asked off early for that! Then we had to turn off all the lights and our cell phones—”

“Then just sit and wait around for you to come home—”

“In separate rooms! I had to hide in that bathroom for like an hour while your mother sat in the closet, and then when you came home, I had to switch rooms without you noticing once you came upstairs.”

“And I had to keep the attic door cracked without you noticing and wait for you to open that closet thing in the playroom and knock over a heavy-ass box—”

“And then I had to immediately close the door and switch off the lights with the fuse box—I had to change the lock on that door, by the way, just so that it would lock from the outside—”

“And then I had to push open the attic door and get to the back of it without making any noise!”

“And then I had to wait for your mother’s cue and unlock the door and close it again in total darkness and silence and sneak up behind you. Do you see how much effort we had to put in? And you have the balls to say that it wasn’t a good joke? You know what, give me your plate. Go to bed right now, no dinner for you until you learn to appreciate the things we do for you.”

“That’s not what’s wrong, Dad!”

“Then what is it? Huh? Your little Muslim friend who got himself killed? Are you seriously fucking trying to tell me that you’re still upset about that? Because I don’t believe it at all, I think you’re just trying to get attention. Because I’ve lost some people in my day, and guess what? I get a little bummed out, I pay my respects at the funeral, and then I forget about them because they’re not in my life anymore. I move on and forget they ever fucking existed. I don’t piss and moan for three months afterwards, nor would I even if it was my own mother.”

Ben clenched his fists and said as evenly as he possibly could, “I don’t want to talk about it right now.”

Dave threw his hands up and Penny threw her fork onto her plate.

“Fine. You wanna be a little brat? Then you’re grounded for two weeks. No TV, no phone calls with your friends (not that Ben made those anymore), no reading, no nothing. You’re to come straight home after school, do your homework right here at the dinner table, and go straight to bed after dinner. Maybe you’ll learn some respect, I dunno. Now go on, get out of my sight. And to think, we tried to be nice to you this morning. Why’re you still here? Git! God, I could use a daiquiri right now.”

Ben piddled around in his punishingly silent room for the rest of the afternoon, not going to bed until he heard Penny coming up the stairs to check if he was asleep or not. When he awoke the next morning, he was told he could have oatmeal, though he was reprimanded when he tried to add sugar to it.

With apprehension, he climbed the stairs of the bus forty-five minutes later, desperately hoping that he wouldn’t again be lulled to sleep. And even though he was certain that he hadn’t fallen asleep, Mohamed appeared in the same seat, now glaring at him. This frightened Ben, who, try as he might, could not convince himself that he was dreaming. He could only stare back as his best friend gave him a look that displayed without a doubt a clear death-wish for him.

But unlike the day before, he couldn’t muster up the courage to go up to him, even if it had previously been a dream. But he couldn’t turn his eyes away, either, until when they at long last pulled into the school. He blinked, and Mohamed was gone.

“Man, oh man, I hate the lunches here,” Jay scowled a few hours later as he cut up a piece of pork chop. “Hey, you think the pork chops taste like cheese, or is it just me?”

“I dunno, let me try some,” Ben said, for he had chosen a barbeque sandwich, not being particularly in the mood for pork chops. “No… tastes more like hotdog.”

“They always taste like a big chunk of mayonnaise to me,” Thomas piped.

Jay shrugged and said, “I’m too hungry to care.”

“Same,” said Thomas.

They sat in silence for a minute, staring down at their red plastic trays.

“Barbecue’s good,” Ben mumbled as Jay aimed his spoon to hit a girl with a pea the next table over.

“Nice shot,” Thomas complimented after it smacked her in the eye. “Hey, you okay, Ben? You look like something’s wrong.”

“Yeah, I’m fine.”

“You sure? You seemed upset yesterday, too.”

“Ben, what is it?” Jay asked earnestly.

“It’s just…. I’ve been having these nightmares every night about Mohamed.”

Their faces grew stony.

“And… every time, he ends up dying right in front of me. Like, you guys remember when we tried to climb the school over the summer, and how Mohamed fell, and I caught him?”

“Yeah,” Thomas said, his cheeks turning red from embarrassment.

“Well, in this dream I didn’t catch him. His head hit the dumpster, and…. Yeah.”

Jay sighed heavily. “Jesus, man. No wonder, that’d mess me up too, having to see… that. Like, every night. God.”

Ben nodded his head and continued. “But yesterday, on the bus, I fell asleep and saw him sitting where we used to sit, staring at me. I tried to talk to him, but he disappeared. But… I’m not sure if I’m maybe starting to go crazy or if… if….”

“What is it?” urged Thomas.

Ben gulped and glanced around him. “Today… this morning… I didn’t fall asleep. Like, I know I didn’t. But… I saw him. Clear as day, I fucking saw him, but this time he was glaring at me. Like he wanted to kill me.”

Neither Jay nor Thomas said anything as they nervously scanned the cafeteria, scared that they would see the same thing. Ben joined them, and his heart froze when he saw Mohamed sitting at an empty table behind them, scowling at him with utmost hatred. Ben quickly turned back to them and nodded his head to indicate to them where to look.

“What?” Thomas asked.

Ben nodded his head again, but they only stared at him in confusion.

“Behind me,” he hissed.

They both glanced at the empty table but gave him a puzzled look.

Ben turned back around himself, and sure enough, the specter of his friend was still there, still as a corpse.

“Do you not see him?” he asked, his hackles raising as chills raced down his body.

“No,” Jay said with a shake of his head. “Nobody’s at that table, Ben.”

“Are you sure you’re alright, man?”

Ben nodded his head, but when he looked back behind him, the table was empty.

He was glad that it was Friday, for at least now he would be safe from more morning encounters, even if it did mean being stuck at home. But at least he’d managed to sneak The Prisoner of Azkaban into his room without his parents noticing, though he was nearing the end of it, something he was sad to reach. However, he was distraught to see that his torment was not done when, on the way back home, he spied Mohamed in the same spot once more. He was emotionally exhausted… running on fumes. Ben couldn’t deal with this any longer and was angry at… whatever was going on. He prepared to get up and sit next to Mohamed, to try to talk to him but was taken aback when Mohamed stood up first and made his way down the aisle, his movement somehow unnatural, though Ben couldn’t figure out how.

“Why, Ben?” he demanded. “Why didn’t you come with me that day?”

“I…. I….”

“If you had just gone with me to the store instead of sitting in your room, then I’d still be here. That man wouldn’t have made me get in the truck with him.”

Ben was paralyzed, and his mind was empty like an unearthed grave.

“Do you know how much he hurt me, Ben? How much pain I had to endure before I died?”

Ben slowly shook his head.

“I wanted to die, Ben. And all because of you.” His voice sounded strangely hollow, not quite like Mohamed’s had been. It was as if he’d become a shell inhabited by some other entity.

“I’m sorry,” Ben whimpered.

“’Sorry’ is not enough Ben. ‘Sorry’ can’t change the past. ‘Sorry’ can’t bring back the dead.”

Ben had become accustomed to tears of sadness and even tears of anger. But he wasn’t used to tears of sadness and fear at the same time.

“You’re dead to me, Ben. Deader than I am to you. And you’re gonna pay. You’re gonna pay dearly.”

Ben couldn’t see him clearly anymore. His vision had become hot and blurry, and the muscles in his mouth were cramping from trying to keep it from letting out the agony within.

Mohamed smirked.

“Tell me, Ben. You haven’t happened to see a certain book of mine, have you? A black book. A book with a picture of me in the back?”

This didn’t make any sense. What did that thing have to do with Mohamed?

“I… I don’t… I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Don’t lie to me, Ben. You can’t. I know you’ve seen it. Maybe you should look at it again, sometime.”

“What do y-you mean?”

He smirked again—an awful smirk that looked inhuman—and pointed two fingers at him like a gun.

“Only I,” he said, pretending to shoot him before going back to the seat up front.

Mohamed once again began his game of glaring, but Ben could not meet his eyes. His heart had been ripped out, carved up with a knife, and shoved back into place upside down. The tears flowed freely, and he couldn’t make himself stay quiet. He didn’t care that the two girls next to him that he’d had mild crushes on were staring at him in dismay.

“Hey, dillweed,” an older boy in the seat ahead of him snarled. “Would you mind shutting up? It really annoys me when I hear babies cry for their mommies.”

Ben glared at him but didn’t say anything. He only tried to dry off his face.

“Who were you talking to, anyways?”

Without thinking about it, he pointed at Mohamed, who was wearing his dreadful smirk again.

“Nobody’s there, dumbass. What, is it your imaginary friend? Huh? Does bitch-boy McGee still play with his imaginary friends?”

“Shut up,” Ben growled.

“Aww, baby’s getting angwy. Does bay need a bawtle?”

“I said, shut up.”

“Baby want mommy? Do you need mommy, baby boy?”

Ben stood up and took a step forward.

“What’s baby doing now? Is he gawna tell the bus dwiver?”

“No,” Ben corrected, ignoring the rock in his stomach. “I’m gonna do this, shit-head.”

He cocked his fist back and slammed it into the boy’s nose with a loud crack followed by a spray of blood over the kid’s mouth.

“Ah, shit! God fuckin’ damnit!”

Ben didn’t give him a chance to recover, but instead punched him again in the face, and again and again.

“Fight! Fight! Fight! Fight!” a chorus cried out around him, though Ben didn’t take any notice. His vision was red, and his ears ringing.

“Hey, what’s goin’ on back there?” the bus driver demanded from the front, though this, too, was lost in Ben’s rage as he grabbed the kid’s head and smashed it into the window, the glass cracking instantly.

He was aware of a loud thud-thud-thud to his left, but he didn’t care. He took in one last swing before he felt someone much bigger than him pulling him away. Ben whirled around and decked the bus driver in the face.

It felt too good to stop. 