Ben swallowed down the last of his orange juice and gave me a quick nod.
“If you want, I can drop you off before we do sound check and have someone pick you up when you’re done.”
“Yeah, sure.” Nothing bad could possibly happen while I was packing away my things.
Right?
***
When we went back to the hotel before sound check, I left my phone at the hotel. Who needed their phone while packing their life away? I could use the landline when I was done.
I found Ben trying to do his hair, and out of frustration, he allowed me to help him.
“The landline is still in service, right?”
“Yeah, it is. I get a bill for it every month…” Ben went off on a tangent, discussing how ridiculous it was that he got a bill for it every month mostly due to the fact that he never cut it off and wasn’t actually using it.
“I told you that you should have shut it off when you two left,” Grayson chimed in when Ben continued on with his rant.
“Yeah, Ben, why didn’t you?” I asked out of curiosity.
He shrugged and said, “To be honest, I don’t know.”
When it came time to get ready for the show, I dressed in dark-washed skinny jeans and a white sleeveless blouse with an open back. My boots were laced up over my jeans, and I was ready to go back to the place I was leaving behind.
Ben dropped me off, and I hugged him. “I love you,” I said. Something I hadn’t told him in a while.
“I love you too, Frances. Take as much time as you need. It’s not like it’s our last show or anything.”
I laughed at his comment as I got into his rental car and headed toward the apartment.
Inside, it was cold and stale as if the time that had passed since anyone had inhabited it had taken a toll on it. It seemed dreary, and I could feel the sadness of the apartment swell within me. I grabbed the group of folded packing boxes from the doorway and went straight to my room. I was ready to pack up the last remnants of my life here and leave this poor, sad apartment forever. Though I wouldn’t miss it, I couldn’t help but wonder if it would miss me.
I found pictures from my childhood, ones of me with Ben, and a few more of me with Mackynsie. Something that was very little known to the fans of Eden Sank was that Ben had taken up photography while I was growing up. After a certain age, there were no pictures of us together since he was always behind the camera. That’s why there were so many of me and Mackynsie and me and other friends, and very few of Ben and me. I sat and looked through the photos for what must have been hours before I packed them with care, putting them in a box labeled “photos.” I found some photos of me and the few people I had “dated” over my high school career and pictures from all four homecomings and one prom. I found pictures from the time Mackynsie and I went skinny dipping in the Hudson River in the dead of night, and pictures of parties we had attended. One picture had Mackynsie with her arms wrapped around my neck tightly, and we were laughing with bottles of Heineken in our hands. I’d almost forgotten about the picture, and I couldn’t quite remember who had taken it. It was the summer of our sophomore year. I smiled at the memories it brought back, crying at the same time.
I was officially an emotional wreck. Without Mackynsie and Everett, I was lost. I was going on with my life without them, and it could kill me if I allowed it to. With the depression and anxiety alone, I thought I should have been the one who was dead.
Consciously pushing these ideas out of my head, it discovered hours had passed again, and I’d packed more than I realized I even owned. I’d never get to Ben’s show on time.
After making sure everything was properly labeled and stacked neatly, I used the landline to call the venue. I asked for Ben, and was told he was in sound check. I checked the time; it was time for the doors to open. I then asked for Ben’s manager, and when he was put on the phone, I relayed the message to him.
“Dean, I’m ready to be picked up.” As I said this I felt a strange chilled-to-the-bone feeling come over me. I looked around, and I found that there was nothing to be fearful of.
“I don’t know how quickly I can get there,” Dean said.
“Just hurry,” I said in a low tone of voice. “Please.”
“Is everything okay, Frances?”
I bit my lip. “Yeah, I think so. This place is giving me the creeps.”
I thought I heard the sound of a camera clicking when I hung up the phone, and then I saw the door was ajar, which left me in a panic. I went to go shut it and lock it until I was ready to leave, and that’s when I felt the end of something cold and hard touch the back of my head, right above my ear.
“I’ve missed you, my precious Bea.”
I heard what sounded like the cocking of a gun, and I swallowed a large lump in my throat.
“We’re going to play a little game.” It was Crosley’s voice—there was no denying it.
“What game do you want to play?” I managed to say.
“We’re going to play one of my own creation. You want to hear the rules?”
“S-sure.”
He laughed in a dark, maniacal way, grabbed my shoulder, and led me to the bedroom.
“This is how we play. Either you do as I say and do whatever I want you to do, or you get a bullet in your brain.”
This was no game. This was life or death.
Of course, I didn’t really have a choice. I think at this point, I never really did.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
All of my worst nightmares were combined into one person: Crosley. My fears coalesced into this one moment with him forcing me to do whatever he wished. The gun wasn’t against my skull anymore—though, he kept it pointed directly at me at all times as if to remind me that if I didn’t play along I wouldn’t live to see my brother play his biggest show yet. Waving the gun at me, he forced me to sit on the bed.
“Remember, Bea, you have a debt to pay. If you don’t, you’ll never see the light of day again,” he whispered, pressing the gun to his lips.
“Why are you doing this?” I asked him to the sound of jeans unzipping
“Being as how you’re my queen, you’ve got a duty to your king.” He had to be delusional, and yet the only thing I could think of was how he was able to take off his pants so skillfully with just one hand. I had to figure out a way to stall, but he was grabbing my hand and putting it over his groin—something I didn’t want to touch. Bile rushed up my throat as he guided my hand the way he liked it. Soon, I felt his member lengthening, and I tried to keep my lunch down.
“Crosley, I’m not your queen,” I said, attempting to make myself sound confident and stern, not so scared and squeamish.
“Oh, yes, you are. Just like Mackynsie was.”
Mackynsie! She was exactly what I needed to use in order to stall for time.
“Was Mackynsie a good queen?” His hand movements stopped, and he flung my hand aside.
“Bea, you killed my mood. How can I possibly talk to you about Mackynsie? Ah, well I suppose you should know the truth.”
I was desperate, anything to stall for time!
“You see, I wasn’t always king, Bea. Hard to believe, right? Mackynsie wasn’t always queen either.”
I tried to act as if I was really listening except I was actually plotting my escape in the back of my head. I had no clue what I was going to do or how I was going to pull it off.
“When the seniors graduated our sophomore year, Mackynsie was elected queen. Me? I was elected a man in waiting. I was third in line! It was ridiculous, and so was the reigning king. I decided to usurp him.”
“Tell me how you usurped him,” I said.
“Well, it was Splint-ass. He had been a year ahead of us. I don’t know why he was held back. All I knew was that he was next in line from the senior class. I don’t even know how he managed to get next in line. I mean, he’s such a loser. Anyways, I took him to the battle. Our challenge was to answer five questions. I already knew all of them, since
the last reigning king was an airhead, and I had persuaded him to let me in on them in case this was to happen. I mean it’s good to be prepared.
“Anyways, Splint-ass knew none of them. He was silent as a mouse, so I won. Things between a king and queen were different before we were crowned.”
“How so?” I asked, my mind racing. Splinter was supposed to be king? Splinter was the next in line? Splinter was a year behind? Apparently I knew less about him than I had previously thought.
“Ah, well you see, the previous kings and queens were never in any real relationship. I wanted it to be different. I wanted it to be real. My first order as king was to declare Splint-ass a commoner for the rest of his stay at Rosewood. The moment I was alone with Mackynsie, I told her the rest of my plans.”
“What were the rest of your plans?” Stall. I just needed to stall a little longer.
“Well, first off, we needed to consummate our relationship as soon as possible. In the way the real royals used to.”
Yeck.
“Secondly, I wanted to change the way the whole hierarchy worked. I wanted to change the system to my system. I wanted every royal after us to be like this. I wanted it done—except no one would listen. Mackynsie was a horrible queen, and all the queens that were treacherous in the past toward their kings, much like Anne Boleyn for example, were beheaded.”
I tried not to cringe.
“She needed a fair trial, though. So I purchased this little guy.” He waved his gun around to show me what he had meant. “And before you came along, I used it very much like I am now.” He pointed it directly between my brows, and with a smug smirk on his face, he said, “I used it as a tool of persuasion. Either confess to your crimes and do your time, or you die.” He laughed and lowered the gun again.
“It’s so simple, yet very few listen. It took a bit, but Mackynsie finally listened. I think she didn’t want a blemish on her person at her funeral.” He laughed again, and this time, he was bellowing from the comment he had made.
“And yet, there’s quite a bit of irony in that. Did you see her before they did the closed casket at her funeral? She was a mess! She was hideous as hell. That drunk driver did a number on her face.”
I wanted nothing more than to punch him, but suddenly his libido seemed to increase, and he was pushing me back on the bed, grinding against me. There was nothing I could do except block it out. I stared up at the blank ceiling, and after a few minutes, I heard the phone ringing in the kitchen. I was running out of time, but at least someone was wondering what I was doing. The answering machine picked up the call, and I heard Ben’s voice.
“Hey, sis. Sorry, I’m running late. When I was on break from sound-check, I was told you needed to be picked up. I’m done now; they should be opening the doors soon. I’m almost at the apartment. I’ll come up and help you with the boxes.”
BEEP!
I couldn’t hold it in anymore. I screamed. Crosley slapped me across the face hard enough to stun me into silence. He roughly yanked off my jeans, and soon enough, his hands were traveling underneath my shirt.
“Nice tattoo, Bea. It’s so damned sexy.” He hiked my shirt up, revealing every inch of skin to him. I tried to hold in my disgust, my pain, my sorrow. He assumed I had given in. I thought of Mackynsie and how she told me she had been going to confession a lot since she started her junior year. I never questioned it; I knew she would randomly go when she was feeling guilty of something.
“Bea, I can’t get enough of you.” He unhooked my bra. “You have been very bad, little girl.” One hook unclasped. “I think it’s time you confess your crimes, my queen.”
He held the gun at my head, and the second hook of my bra was unhooked.
“Forgive me, Father...” I said.
He seemed to be getting off to the fact I was pretending that I was in confession. He didn’t bother hiding his smug face and attitude either. He paused from unhooking my bra and lowered the gun away from my head.
My senses were going into fight or flight. This was it. Everything was sharper—everything was louder and more in tune. I could hear the front door opening; Crosley didn’t appear to notice.
“Frances! Where are you?” Ben shouted.
This was it. This was my chance.
“For I have sinned!” I said with a battle cry, and I punched him as hard as I could. He faltered, and it was enough for me to push him off. I grabbed my pants and ran toward my brother.
“Frances, what’s going on? Why are you—?”
“We don’t have time—just run with me!” I grabbed his hand right as Crosley appeared and snatched me away from Ben, locking his arm against my neck, choking me.
I couldn’t stand the pain on Ben’s face, or how it had made Crosley laugh joyously.
“Did you really think you could pull that stunt and get away with it, Bea?” he crowed. “Did you really think your brother could save you?” He pointed the gun at Ben and tightened his grip on my neck. “We’re going to play a new game. You can join in, Benjamin. Here’s how it works: Bea, you get to decide who lives and who dies. Either you let your brother die and save your own life, or you let your brother live, and I can shoot your brains against the walls.”
Ben was clearly furious—furious and terrified. He didn’t know what to do. He’d probably left his phone in the car, and even if it was on him, he couldn’t use it right then.
We were both helpless. I looked at him, and I tried to convey a message that could tell him how much I loved him.
Crosley let his grip loosen on my neck so I could speak, and I coughed as air finally returned to my lungs.
“So, Bea. What’s it going to be? Your precious brother or you?”
I could tell Ben was ready to beg for me to let him die. I was sure he could see the rebellion and defiance in my eyes.
“Frances—don’t do this.”
“Ben, make me a promise.”
There was silence and tears shared between us both.
“What am I promising?”
Silence came over us again, and without an actual verbal promise to be made, he knew exactly what I wanted. Our little poem of hope.
“Say it with me,” I told him. And we did.
“From me to you, I’ll always be true. A promise I’ll make, one I’ll never break. Together or apart, you’ll always have my heart. One promise I ask of you, is that you always stay true, and to keep the faith. With this, you’ll be okay.”
Crosley gagged mockingly. “Are you two incestuous lovebirds done? I have business to take care of, and Bea needs to make a choice.”
While I was certain Ben was hoping it would be him I chose to die, I couldn’t let him offer his own life to save mine. I couldn’t do that to him. I tried to imagine a world without Ben. It would be as if the sun had suddenly stopped shining. It would be dark and cold, and terrible things would follow. Not just for me but for everyone who had ever loved him. My decision was clear.
“Take me, and leave Ben,” I said confidently.
“Frances, no!” Ben cried out, and once again, the gun was pointed right behind my ear.
“Any last words, Bea?” Crosley taunted.
I didn’t have enough time for the speech I had wished I could give him—though, I knew what would be enough in its place. “I love you, Ben.”
Tears streamed down my face, and with the sound of a pop, and instantaneous pain, I fell slowly to the ground. Everything around me was in slow motion. I could still hear, which was weird. I thought that maybe it was an effect of the afterlife coming for me. Maybe I was in the in-between, waiting to find out where I would go.
I could hear the sounds of fighting, and another bang. Someone dropped to the floor next to me, and I couldn’t tell who it was. My vision was blurry…I was sure it was going to go next. Then I heard Ben’s voice, and he was talking to me while he was talking to someone else.
“Brenna—Brenna stay with me.”
Who is Brenna?
“Frances, please hol
d on. Stay with me!” His warm hand grabbed mine, which was slowly growing cold and losing all feeling. “Please hurry! He shot her in the side of the head. I shot him with his gun. God, what has happened? Please help me! I can’t lose her. I can’t! Brenna, stay with me. Please don’t let this be our final show.”
Brenna was the girl my mother always thought I was in her delusional state, so why was he confusing me with her? Maybe I was delusional, or he was in shock; perhaps that was how he was reacting to it.
I wouldn’t know, because soon enough everything faded into darkness.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Despite being raised Catholic and taught otherwise, I had never really believed there was an afterlife. I never believed in anything. My father had left us, and in the aftermath, my mother became a drunk. She allowed her alcoholism to escalate to the point of an alcohol-induced form of dementia. Despite this, she still had her good days.
On one particular day, she told me that as we die we remember every good thing that has ever happened to us, and the big stuff that changed our lives to make us the person we would become in death. For once, I could say she was right.
I was remembering everything backward. I remembered the last moment I shared with my brother, with Everett, with Mackynsie. I remembered everything I thought was stored in my memory box that used to be my brain. Then it started going farther back. I could see a man picking me up and spinning me around.
“Faster, Daddy! Faster!” I shouted. I didn’t think this was real, based on the fact I never knew my father. The memories slowed enough for me to see every part of them—whereas the ones with Ben, Mackynsie, and Everett were like flashes on the television screen. This was different. It was like I was living in the moment with them.
I could see myself as a toddler, maybe only two or three. My hair was just below my ears, and it was full of bouncy ringlets. Soon after this it was like a movie that was panning out from me and onto the whole scene. I saw Ben playing with his Tonka trucks in the grass, and then a man’s hands gripped me tightly, spinning me around.
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