Ben Archer and the Cosmic Fall

by Rae Knightly

  Laura hugged him, before adding: “I’m sorry you and Grampa didn’t really get a chance to talk.”

  How can I tell her? Nothing makes sense right now…

  Grampa mentioned someone called Mesmo, and lo-and-behold, who did Ben bump into but the man himself – only to find him turn his back on the boy…

  Ben gulped down a sob. To think of something else, he said carefully: “Can I ask you something?”

  Laura stared down at him, stroking the side fringe out of his eyes: “Of course, honey. Anything!”

  Ben chose his words carefully: “Why do I have Grampa’s last name? I mean, why am I called Benjamin Archer? Shouldn’t I be Benjamin Manfield, like Dad?”

  Laura rubbed his shoulders, thinking about her answer: “Well, your Dad was gone so soon. You were just a baby. I knew you wouldn’t remember him at all, whereas Grampa took such good care of you… I don’t know, I guess it made sense to call you Benjamin Archer.” She paused before asking worriedly: “Does that bother you?”

  Ben shook his head quickly: “No, not really. I was curious, that’s all.” When he saw that she wasn’t convinced, he added: “It’s ok, really! I prefer the name Archer, it reminds me of Grampa.”

  She hugged him again, so he could not see her biting her lip as she rolled her eyes towards the ceiling. Finally, she said gently: “You’d better pack your bags now.” They glanced at each other, then she asked: “Are you ready?”

  He nodded.

  She sighed before opening the door. Immediately a wave of human heat and chatter enveloped them as they headed back into the crowd.

  Swiftly Ben made his way from the kitchen to the stairs, ignoring someone who tapped him on the shoulder to talk to him. He sprinted up the steps, headed for his bedroom, then froze at the doorway. A man with short, black hair streaked with grey and wearing a tidy business suit was standing near the shelves at the other end of the room, holding a cup of coffee in one hand and Grampa’s white telescope in the other. When he realized Ben had arrived he broke into a toothy grin: “Ah! Here’s the boy I was looking for! You must be Benjamin Archer!”

  Ben didn’t reply.

  “She’s a beauty, isn’t she?” The man continued, admiring the telescope, while almost dropping coffee on it. “Here, hold this for a minute, would you?” He said, handing the cup to Ben, who had to grab it with both hands as hot liquid dropped down his arm. Fortunately the man returned the telescope to its place, still speaking as he did so: “Your grandfather and I shared the same passion for the stars. They tell me you share this passion too.” He turned to face Ben. With a smile he put out his hand, presenting himself: “James Hao.”

  He checked Ben’s reaction as Ben shook it, the cup dangerously wavering in his other hand. Hao ignored the cup, saying thoughtfully: “Hm, I’m surprised your grandfather never mentioned me. We go way back, him and me.”

  Ben scowled: “Were you looking for something?”

  Mr. Hao’s face lit up as he said: “Ah, yes, actually. I spilled coffee on my tie. I was looking for the washroom when I walked by and spotted this beauty up there.” He pointed to the telescope.

  “The bathroom is on the other side.” Ben said blandly.

  Mr. Hao straightened: “Indeed!” But instead of leaving, he strolled over to the window. “Quite amazing, isn’t it, to think meteors crashed into these very fields? I’m sure only a handful of people in the whole world could claim the same. Your grandfather shunned the limelight, yet in a way he became quite famous in spite of himself. He’ll be making the headlines this weekend too, though obviously for a very unfortunate reason…” Mr. Hao walked back over to Ben: “The Cosmic Fall happened at the end of the summer… Why, you must have been on vacation then! Wouldn’t you have loved to be here and witness something like that?” He gazed down at Ben, showing his neat row of teeth.

  Ben stared back at him, then handed the cup back to him. Mr. Hao carefully took it from his hands, holding it from the edges, as if Ben had dirtied it. “Well, you and I must have a chat soon... about the stars.” Mr. Hao said, as he moved towards the door. “See you later then.” He added, as he left with a satisfied air.

  Yeah, you wish!

  Ben shut his bedroom door. He could still hear the man whistling down the corridor.

  On the opposite side, Inspector James Hao locked himself up in the bathroom. He stood before the mirror, whistling quietly as he emptied the remaining coffee into the sink. He took out a plastic bag from an inside pocket, then carefully placed the cup inside it. He washed his hands and took his time to plaster down his hair. Still whistling, he placed the cup in his inside pocket before stepping out. The cup was bulging weirdly, so he glided down the stairs and left the house, walking with big strides to his car. He briefly noted that, although the rain had stopped, it had become very cold. Once inside the car, he placed the cup in the passenger seat before driving away, his tires screeching.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Crystals

  LAURA WAS RELIEVED TO NOTICE THAT PEOPLE were slowly leaving. She busied herself in the kitchen to avoid having to talk to more acquaintances, and noticed that the garbage bag was overflowing. She carried it over to the kitchen door leading to the back yard. The old door squeaked open as she pushed it, but the cold air took her by surprise. She went back inside to grab her mother’s large, knitted shawl that always hung on a couch in the living room. She didn’t remember it being this cold during the funeral. Although it was mid-October, it was still too early for such a temperature drop.

  She left the garbage at the bottom of the four steps outside the kitchen, then was heading back inside when she spotted a tall man in jeans and brown jacket standing with his back to her at the end of the yard, looking out over the fields. She recognized Jack Anderson with his weird fur hat immediately.

  She held the shawl closely around her shoulders, took a step forward, then stopped as something crunched under her feet. She glanced down and was amazed to find the grass covered in delicate frost crystals. She bent down to pick up a fragile, star-shaped crystal that fit in the palm of her hand before going to stand by Jack’s side.

  “I hadn’t seen one of these in years. It’s so beautiful!” She began, before noticing the breathtaking scenery of golden corn fields tumbling down the hillside into the valley below. In the distance, the autumn sun peaked under menacing dark clouds, just above the mountain range. The effect was a mesmerizing, brightly golden sunset in a cold and dark world - a strange sign of summer still clinging on in the face of the ever-looming winter.

  “My father would have loved this.” She said softly.

  “I know.” Jack replied after a while.

  She looked up at him curiously, asking: “You miss him too, don’t you?”

  After a silence, he replied: “Yes.”

  She studied his handsome features and high cheekbones. She noticed the small strand of white hair under his fur hat. He stared down at her with deep, honey-brown eyes that reflected pain and exhaustion: “I lost someone, too.” He began. “My daughter…” He trailed away as he gazed out at the fields again. “She would have loved this, too.” His voice trailed away.

  A dozen rain drops fell on them, accompanied by a handful of very light snow. Laura found herself crying silently, freely and without shame, giving in to her grief almost with relief. She cried for her father and for all the hurtful things they had said to each other. But most of all she cried for all things that had been left unsaid between them. Yet somehow she knew everything was going to be all right, that he forgave her. Just as she was forgiving him now.

  Standing very close to each other somehow made the cold air more bearable. Their misty breath mingled together between the snowflakes as they remembered their loved ones. She resisted the urge to take his hand, as natural as it might have seemed in their shared grief, for somehow she knew that if she did so the magic moment between them would evaporate. He had, after all, backed away from her when she had tried to greet him in the graveyard.


  Once the sun had sunk behind the mountains, the corn fields became dark, leaving way for the cold to penetrate through the shawl all of a sudden. Laura was still gazing in the distance, as if hoping to hold back the last ray of sunlight. “I’m glad you came...” She began, turning to Jack, only to find him gone!

  She stared in bewilderment at the empty space where, a moment ago, this mysterious man had been talking to her about his daughter.

  “Jack?” She shouted, a chill rippling down her back as the wind picked up and large raindrops spattered on the ground.

  But Jack Anderson had gone.

  ***

  It didn’t take Inspector James Hao long to get to the rendez-vous point at a cross road that led to Chilliwack. The white, unmarked van was parked under some trees by the side of a lonely road.

  Hao knocked on the van door to be let in by one of his men. He placed the cup in the agent’s hands, ordering: “Get the fingerprints on this cup analyzed pronto and have them compared to the ones we found on the broken glass we recovered from the crash site.”

  The agent nodded.

  Connelly and a second agent were in deep discussion, pouring over the computer screens, only pausing when Hao came up behind them.

  “What is it?” Hao asked.

  The second agent looked up at him, saying: “We may be onto something. Watch this.”

  He pulled up a photograph of the funeral from that morning. It was a general picture of the graveyard, with autumn trees and lush grass, while in the distance a group of mourners were gathered around Ryan Archer’s grave. Some people were strolling away, while others were lining up to pay their respects to Laura Archer. At this distance, people’s faces appeared small and blurry. Zooming in was the only way to get a better idea of people’s identities.

  “Agent Connelly noticed this in the corner.” The agent explained as he zoomed in to the left side of the picture, away from the crowd, slowly bringing Hao’s attention to a dog standing by a tree. The agent zoomed out again so that now a boy appeared next to the dog.

  “That’s Archer’s grandson.” Hao stated.

  The agent nodded: “Yes, but look at this.”

  He moved the angle of the picture slightly so that, now, Hao could make out the face of a man with a fur hat materialize between the branches of surrounding shrubs. He could tell that the boy was talking to this man.

  “Who’s that?” Hao asked swiftly.

  Connelly spoke: “We’ve managed to put a name to most of the people who attended the funeral. Most are regular Chilliwack folks. But not this guy.”

  Hao said impatiently: “Are you telling me we don’t have him in the system?”

  The second agent said: “We’re still searching.”

  “I want to know who that is! Find me a name!” Hao ordered. “We’ll go back to the motel and work on this all night if we have to!” He pointed to Connelly: “And you! You’re keeping watch. Report to me immediately if the Archer woman or her son leave the house!”

  Connelly settled in the Nissan as the other men took off in the van. He sat back, crossed his arms and kept his eyes on the road before him. The rain thinned, making it easier for him to make out the people who passed in their cars. On a normal day there would have been very little traffic coming to and from the country road where Grampa’s house stood, as there were very few neighbors, but on this late afternoon the last of the reception visitors were headed back to Chilliwack. Connelly watched as a man, covered in a large plastic bag and wearing a beanie hat, cycled by, glancing over at him briefly. Connelly glared at him, unmoving, until he was far gone. Because of this, he almost missed the red Dodge Grand Caravan that slowed down as it reached the stop sign of the crossroad.

  Connelly could barely make out the woman driver and, next to her, a boy. A small dog’s face stared out at him from the rear window. Connelly straightened, suddenly fully alert. It was the same dog as in the graveyard picture. He switched on the engine and followed the red Dodge as it turned onto the highway heading to Vancouver, without informing his superior.

  ***

  Laura Archer woke up to a grey morning, feeling refreshed and rested. She realized she hadn’t had a normal night’s sleep in a long time and the funeral had left her completely drained.

  She showered, then put on some black slacks, a white top, a large, grey sweater with a V-neck, black ballerina flats and a pendant she had inherited from her mother. She brushed her shoulder-length hair, pinning it back into a ponytail, then headed downstairs. She half expected to hear her father’s loud guffaw of laughter as she entered the kitchen, so she swallowed hard when only silence greeted her. Still, it felt good to be in her childhood home, with its wide windows and wooden beams in the white ceiling. While she brewed some coffee, she walked around the living room slowly, stroking the furniture with the tip of her fingers, gazing at old photographs. She was struck by how quiet it was. Once-upon-a-time she would have rejected the lack of sound, she would have yearned for the bustling sounds of the city, yet now she found the calm was strangely relaxing.

  She headed back to the kitchen to pour herself a cup of the black brew. As she sipped on the hot liquid, she leant against the wall, then stared out the window towards the empty yard. She caught herself thinking of Jack Anderson again, wondering where he could have disappeared to. She shook her head to get him out of her mind, then washed the cup before leaving it to dry. She checked her handbag to make sure she had her wallet, her identity cards, her keys, some makeup and, most importantly, her asthma inhaler. After putting on her coat and a light shawl, she locked the door, then headed out into the chilly morning.

  She parked on Knight Road in downtown Chilliwack by 9:25 am, then crossed the road to search for the notary’s office. It was a further up than she had expected. She picked up the pace, when a homeless man with his face hiding behind a thick scarf while sitting on a black garbage bag made her slow down. He was jingling coins in a plastic cup at her. Automatically she reached into her purse, then dropped some coins into the cup as she walked by - as her father had taught her to do since her childhood.

  As the homeless man with the beany hat saluted her with his hand covered in fingerless gloves, she heard him say: “Just like your Daddy, you are.”

  She turned around in surprise, then stopped as she recognized Wayne the Bagman - the homeless man who had spoken to her the day before at the funeral reception. “Hi,” she said awkwardly, walking away more slowly.

  He was looking at her intently now: “Where’s that boy of yours? You shouldn’t leave him alone, you know?”

  Laura frowned at him.

  “What do you mean?” She asked nervously.

  “It’s not safe.” Wayne said loudly as she distanced herself from him. “You need to take him away. Far away!”

  Laura glared at him, but decided to ignore him. She had reached the notary’s office and pushed the glass commercial doors inward.

  “I wouldn’t go in there if I were you!” Wayne shouted after her.

  Laura frowned at him angrily, stepping inside.

  She picked the stairs over the elevator to go up to the first floor, where she entered the reception office that had a sign: CHARLES BOYLE, NOTARY PUBLIC on the front. A couple were already there, reading magazines as they waited quietly, so Laura walked up to the assistant who was sitting at her desk, typing away on her computer.

  The thirty-something woman with short, brown hair smiled up at Laura.

  “Good morning,” Laura said, smiling back. “I have an appointment with Mr. Boyle at 9.30? My name is Laura Archer.”

  Immediately the woman’s smile evaporated, her face visibly turning to panic. She stuttered, “But… er… you’re not supposed to be here…”

  Laura stared at her in bewilderment. “Excuse me?” She recognized the woman’s voice. “You called me a couple of days ago, after my father passed away, asking me to come in today!”

  The assistant, who had been calmly working away a minute ago, was now t
otally at loss as to what to do. “I… er… you must have misunderstood. The notary is not in today.” She stammered. “Er… we’ll call you to confirm a new appointment…”

  Laura stood with her mouth open in disbelief. She pointed to the couple sitting in the waiting room, before saying: “What about them, who are they waiting for?” The couple stared back at them curiously.

  The assistant’s eyes widened as she searched for an answer, but then muffled laughter came through the notary’s office door.

  “Who’s in there?” Laura asked angrily.

  As the assistant opened her mouth to reply, Laura strode to the office door while the woman struggled to get out of her chair to stop her. “Wait!” She warned, but already Laura had opened the door to peek inside.

  Two men, one of them with neat, graying hair, the other with thick glasses and big belly, were standing beside the notary’s desk, laughing at some joke.

  “We must plan another round of golf…” The man with the graying hair was saying, before stopping to find out who had interrupted the meeting. The assistant pointed nervously at Laura behind her back. “Ms. Archer, what a pleasant surprise!” He said nimbly, nodding to the assistant that he had understood, then reaching out his hand to shake Laura’s own. “I’m Charles Boyle.” He presented himself.

  Laura shook his hand unhappily.

  Mr. Boyle gestured towards the chair before his desk, inviting her to sit. Then he turned to the plump man, leading him politely out the door “I’m sorry, Mr. Smith, my assistant is reminding me of an urgent meeting I must attend. She will go over my agenda with you so we can finalize the paperwork as soon as possible. It was a pleasure catching up with you, as always.”

  They shook hands, then, as the client turned away, Laura saw the notary giving his assistant instructions which clearly implied making a phone call, to which she hastily nodded in understanding. Then he closed the door, calmly returned to his desk, sat down and crossed the fingers of his hands on the table in front of him in a business-like manner. “Ms. Archer.” He said gravely. “We don’t have much time.”