by Quil Carter
Ben brought out a small stack of Polaroid’s. He carefully slipped them into his jeans pocket and reached back into the box.
“Circling ravens, feast on your eyes.”
“Ben… I think we should go to the hospital,” Tav’s scared voice whispered, but Ben did not hear him. He pulled out some folded up clothing, then a few random knickknacks. By the time Ben was down to the last few lines of the poem, he was surrounded with Erick’s things.
“In caves of castles, where does folly hide?” Ben’s dry lips split into an almost proud grin, before he pointed to the closet. “Knows not, godless creature, what the light cannot find.” Ben looked back up at Tav; his face half-hidden as he kneeled in the darkest corner of the room.
“Cease yourself from your toils or grow insane from your hand.” He reached into the bottom of the box and with the same grin he pulled out the last thing inside: a worn spiral-bound notebook. He held it up to Tav like it was some sort of trophy.
“And catch me, and catch me… Benjamin Zahn!”
Tav jumped and shrunk back as Ben jumped to his feet and let out a loud crazy ah hah! his dull green eyes were wide with insanity. “He’s been telling me this whole time!” Ben screamed through his laughter; he clenched the spiral book with his hand.
“Telling you what!? The poem? It doesn’t make sense!” Tav cried back, tears welling up in his eyes.
“He’s telling me to find him!” Ben laughed; he raised his hands up into the air. “I need to find him or else I’m going to go fucking crazy! It says it right there! Cease yourself from your toils, or grow insane from your hand – and catch me, and catch me… Benjamin Zahn!”
Tav’s mouth fell open. “You need sleep. My god, you’ve driven yourself mad over this Erick crap. I – I can’t handle you alone anymore. I’m calling Emett.” Tav turned around and ran from the room, not able to bear seeing his friend like this for a moment longer.
Ben ignored him. He grabbed his jacket, which had been lying on his bed, and put it on.
Still murmuring the poem, he opened the window to the cold winter night. He stepped through it onto the emergency fire escape and placed the notebook into his mouth. He scaled down it, much easier than he thought his physical strength would allow, and before Tav even realized he was gone, he was running off into the night.
5
Ben leaned up against the side of a brick building completely out of breath. His chest was throbbing, not only from the running but from the biting cold air.
He moved a winter-bitten finger to his sweater and zipped it before looking around with wild eyes.
It was dark but he knew where he was; an area in the outskirts of Denver where Erick used to hang out.
Deep down he was surprised at himself for actually making it this far. He was miles and miles away from his home, far away from Tav and the warmth of his apartment. There was no comfort here but his own fleeting hope of solving this years old mystery.
“Where will I catch you?” Ben said to himself quietly. He looked around and started walking down the sidewalk.
On either side of him he could see derelict buildings, barely illuminated by the dim street lights. He stared at each building he walked past, trying to see if he could remember Erick being in any of them.
Erick’s familiar face flashed through his mind making Ben close his eyes for a moment to go over every detail. Even if he was dancing on the thin razor of sanity, in his madness he felt appreciative that he had been seeing Erick in his mind more. Over the years Erick’s memories had drifted into the background and his face had too – it was nice to see him in his dreams again. He had missed him.
Even if Erick was a hallucination – and even if the hallucinations were getting worse.
Then, almost on cue, a new vision appeared in Ben’s mind, but this one held no fleeting feeling of whimsical recollection, this one jarred Ben enough to make him freeze on the spot.
It was an image of him, though he was lying face down in the dirt, crumbled and broken, beside a building like a shattered porcelain doll. There was blood leaking from underneath him with his head a broken shell beside twisted bushes and sharp rocks.
Ben shook his head to try and free himself from the image, and brought his hands up to his head. As he did he felt Erick’s notebook brush up against his temple.
He had almost forgotten about it.
Ben opened the notebook. He looked in it for a few moments, still walking down the street, before sighing in disappointment.
He didn’t know what he was expecting but this wasn’t it. All he could see were doodles of things and various names of people and their tabs next to them. Some people’s names Ben recognized, others he did not.
It was just a records book, of course it was. Ben thumbed through it, trying to ignore the pang in his heart from seeing Erick’s handwriting and old drawings.
It wasn’t psychotic ramblings or a journal, or anything that could help Ben locate him or his killer. It was just a book to keep track of the people that owed Erick money.
Still determined, Ben flicked over the last several pages before deducing the notebook as nothing useful.
But when he made the motion to close it, something caught Ben’s eye.
An address.
Ben’s green eyes widened; he jogged a few feet until he was right under a street light and looked closer at the smudged address.
Thursday the 16th 45 5th St. Meet silver guy, $500 + 1 ounce weed for coke. Pizza at Ben’s at 7.
Ben’s mouth went dry and he almost dropped the notebook onto the ground. With his head shaking back and forth Ben stared at the scrawled note made by Erick.
That was it then – the voices were right, the nightmares were right – I was right.
The silver-haired man had done something to Erick.
“Thursday the sixteenth?” Ben whispered. He wiped his forehead with his hand; even though it was frigid outside he was drenched in sweat. “I last saw him on the sixteenth. So it’s true? It’s fucking… true?”
Ben jerked his head up and spun around. He swept the area with his eyes, as if expecting the silver-haired man to be right behind him reading over his shoulder, but no one could be seen.
“Am I next? Is that it? Is this dude leading me down here to fucking kill me too?”
Ben closed the notebook and, without hesitation, he ran to the end of the street. He looked at the street sign and started sprinting down the sidewalk. There were no more questions in his mind; he was going to that building and he would find answers. Whatever those answered would be.
Or go insane from my hand…
“I wonder if he planted that notebook for me to find? I wonder if he made me have these nightmares?” Ben asked himself, unaware or uncaring of just how crazy this silent admission was making him appear.
But there was no room for sane thoughts in Ben’s mind. With a hard swallow and a squaring of his shoulders, Ben continued on, silently resolving himself to whatever it is he would find.
And catch me and catch me, Benjamin Zahn.
Ben hit 4th street.
Ben sniffed; he could feel shiver after shiver going through his body but whether it was from the cold or the anticipation he didn’t know.
Or maybe it was neither? He felt anxiety and excitement as well as he walked down the street. His head moving in every direction to try and find the right building number. In all reality he had no idea what he was going to do when he found it but in his swirling mind he was ready for whatever fate, or the silver-haired man, had in store for him.
For a split second Ben felt the cold unshakable fear he felt inside him when he was staring at the box in his closet. The eyes of those who hated him; the glaring red eyes of his brother.
And that laugh – that damn laugh I heard come from Erick’s lips. Lips that held pointed teeth and a pointed tongue.
Ben shook his head, trying to flush his system from the dreadful feeling that was curling up his spine. He kept trying to tell himself t
hat at least he would finally have some answers. Even if it meant this silver-haired man was luring him to his doom – at least he would fucking know for sure that that was what had happened to Erick.
And I could get some peace, if I survived this.
No, what am I saying? You’re going crazy Ben… nothing will be there.
Ben dug his cold hands into his jacket pocket, but to his surprise he felt something hard, an object of some sorts.
Ben pulled it out and stared at it for a second, then he let out a small laugh. He was holding in his hand his stapler from work.
For his own deranged amusement he pressed it a few times, watching the staples fall out and onto the ground, before slipping it back into his jacket pocket.
He had forgotten all about it; he hadn’t even meant to take it home in the first place.
Ben shrugged, before digging back into his pocket and pulling out a couple pills.
“Are you coming along for the ride, stapler?” Ben said out loud. He tossed the pills into his mouth and swallowed before carrying on down the street.
The buildings started to become sparser and further apart as Ben got closer to the outskirts of the city. Soon there were large gaps of open lots, most covered in bushes and the occasional silhouette of a tree.
When Ben finally found the right building, he felt a lump form in his throat.
He had been afraid of this. It wasn’t an apartment building like Ben had hoped; it was abandoned and derelict and looked like it had been for at least several years.
“What a piece of work,” Ben whispered. He took a couple steps back and stared up at it. It was several storeys high with a flat roof and rows and rows of broken and shattered windows.
“Where do I catch you?” Ben said. He let out a sigh and as he stared up at the building; he started to recite the poem again.
So quiet inside here, so tormented soul,
Nails scraping, cold breath on the winter’s hold,
Circling ravens, feast on your eyes,
Open to find my secrets, then to your demise.
Ben took in a deep breath, his lungs burning from the cold air. He blew it out slowly, making the ominous, rotting building in front of him become temporarily shrouded in foggy, white breath.
What things lurk in shadows that turns fire to night?
Does it matter what slinks so, when you’ve lost your sight?
Surrounded by smoke, in black shadowy lands.
Climb your mountains to find me, Benjamin Zahn
Ben opened his mouth to start the last part of the poem, when to his shock, he heard another voice.
“In caves of castles, where does folly hide? Knows not, godless creature what the light cannot find.”
Every part of Ben froze, he felt his heart drop to his feet before freezing solid where it lay.
Then, gathering every ounce of courage, he looked up to the top of the building, where the mysterious voice had resonated from.
And saw the silhouette of a man, standing on top of the flat asphalt roof.
“Cease yourself from your toils or grow insane from your hand. And catch me, and catch me…”
Ben stared in absolute shock, his mouth open. He could almost hear the smile in the man’s voice as he shouted:
“BENJAMIN ZAHN!”
Then as quickly as he appeared, the man ran out of view. Ben’s breath caught in his throat and he felt a surge of adrenaline.
“STOP!” Ben shouted, then he ran up the building’s stairs and went inside.
It was dark, and it smelled of mould and stale urine, but Ben had no time to care. Even though he could barely see, he managed to find the stairs and started running up each rickety flight.
After the third row of stairs he reached the last floor. He looked around, briefly thankful for the moonlight, and found the stairs leading up to the roof.
As Ben ascended the last few steps he noticed that he was trembling, the anxiety that had been building inside him started to bubble to the surface. He tried to push it down and with one last jolt of bravery he reached the top of the stairs and opened the door.
“Hello?” Ben called, taking a step onto the moonlit asphalt roof. He started to walk around, glancing in all directions.
He wasn’t looking long.
“Hello, Ben,” a male voice said quietly and calmly.
A spasm of both horror and anticipation shot through Ben. Quickly he turned around to face the silver-haired man that he knew had killed his brother.
His face fell.
There, sitting on top of a metal air vent, was a man about Ben’s age. He was wearing a wool hat, and was dressed in jeans, a heavy coat, and scarf. His head was almost entirely covered but Ben could see stray bits of blond hair sticking out from the sides of his hat.
“Not who you were expecting?” the man asked. He had a grave expression on his face but he appeared to be hiding a smile. He was hidden in a darker area of the roof, though, to Ben’s startled observation, his eyes seemed to reflect the moonlight.
“No,” Ben said in a dropped tone. “I thought the silver-haired guy would be here. I thought this is what he wanted. I thought he wanted to lure me here–” Then Ben paused before adding, “I think he wants to kill me like he killed Erick.”
The young man shook his head and rose off of the air vent. He was about half a foot shorter than Ben. “I’m not going to kill you, Ben.”
Ben stared at him, before nodding to himself with his face scowling. His eyes took him to the back of the building, the area that faced nothing but an empty lot. Immediately he recognized the terrain – he had only seen it a few minutes ago in his vision.
The vision of him lying crumpled and broken surrounded by blood and rocks.
“So why did I see myself dead on the ground then?” Ben mumbled, more to himself than the strange man. He robotically turned away from the man and walked towards the far side of the roof; his shoes crunching softly on the loose gravel. As he approached the edge, he stepped over the raised concrete ledge and stared out into the darkness. His toes only an inch from where the roof ended; it was over a fifty foot drop.
“Do you want to die, Ben?” the man asked.
“No, I’ve never been that kind of person,” Ben whispered, holding the notebook close to him. “But the dreams… the insomnia… the drugs aren’t even working anymore. It seems like someone wants me to become a crazy person and I don’t know why.”
“You do know why though.”
Ben looked over to his side to see the other man step over the ledge; he was only several inches away from him.
Ben nodded before turning back to the sharp drop off. “It’s because of my brother… I met the man who killed him and my mind has been crumbling ever since. Worse than I realize, since you’re here.”
The man’s face broke into a half-smile; he reached over and rested a gloved hand on Ben’s shoulder.
“I’m real,” he whispered, “and you shouldn’t fear.”
“Shouldn’t fear?” Ben said loudly; he clenched his fists. “I haven’t had a proper sleep in weeks, ever since this silver-haired psycho got his crony to beat the shit out of me. Then these dreams come and screw my damn head up, then a book tells me where to find you. What should I not be fearing? I’m going fucking insane!”
Ben was surprised to find himself yelling. “My brother got killed, I got over it! Then – then all this crap happens and I don’t know why. All I know is everything hurts and I’m tired. My drugs aren’t keeping me sane. I don’t even have a boyfriend or someone I can confide in because every time I try to tell my stupid friends anything they think I’m crazy… and I am!”
Ben sat down on the ledge and buried his face into his hands. “I’ve lost it, voices talk to me, hallucinations – look at me. I’ve lost it. Maybe I should just kill myself – because I’m just going to drive Tav away with how I’ve been acting. Or worse: hurt him.”
The young man, still standing, looked down at him.
“I�
��ve felt suicidal at times,” the man admitted quietly, Ben could hear pain in his voice. “Before I came here, but – but mostly since I arrived.”
“Where are you from?” Ben asked. “What’s wrong with here?”
The man glanced up at the star-speckled night sky; his eyes, still looking grave, shone a deep green colour. “Sometimes tasks get so overwhelming…” he said in a voice so small Ben could hardly hear it. “Sometimes – death seems so much easier.”
The young man closed his eyes for a moment and Ben could see his chest rise and fall, a puff of vapour came from his mouth. He smiled again, as if finding his confidence, and looked back down at Ben.
“There is a funny thing about being suicidal,” he began. “Once you’ve really decided you want to die… you’re the most alive. You can have anything your heart ever desired, for you no longer have the fear of death in you. When you want to die, is when you should be the most excited to be alive, for you are unstoppable.”
“You sound like you’ve given that a lot of thought,” Ben replied with a cocked eyebrow.
The man nodded. “I have.”
Ben sighed. “I’m not suicidal though, just being driven crazy by – by these events lately. Erick was at times though – maybe he killed himself and all of this is just in my head?”
To Ben’s surprise he heard a scoff. He looked up at the young man, and furrowed his brow when he saw a wry smirk on his pale moonlit face.
“He’s not dead, Ben.”
Ben looked at him, dumbfounded, and shot to his feet. The young man gave him one last crooked smile, before looking back up to the night sky.
“Beautiful stars you have in this world,” he whispered.
Then he let out a small laugh. “I wonder if you’ll think the same of mine?”
Before Ben could react the young man grabbed Ben’s hand –
– and jumped off of the building.
6
For a long time after all Ben knew and could process in his mind was pain. His head pounded with the most intense migraine he had ever had. The clouded, distorted darkness around him made any coherent thought impossible. Everything brought him pain, every sound, every exhale, every shift of his body. Even when the fog would temporarily clear and he could manage a conscious thought, nothing but confused questions came to him. What happened? Why was he so sick? And most importantly: where was he?
