The Secret Manuscript

by Edward Mullen

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  Despite no longer being in possession of the manuscript, Ben figured it was for the best. He had been able to acquire a bit of money from it and understand himself more, but beyond those things, it was occupying too much of his focus and not allowing him to live a normal life. Perhaps he should have listened to Kyle and gotten rid of it sooner. As it remained, Ben was unsure whether having it was the greatest of all blessings, or the biggest curse.

  Although he had yet to realize it, the manuscript had given him one other gift — an introduction to a beautiful and intelligent woman. Other than that one scene, there had been no other mention of Vanessa in the manuscript. Since he was convinced the manuscript was a scripture from God, he never considered the possibility that he could ever be with her. Ben and Vanessa had begun hanging out and every time they saw each other, Ben would expect something bad to happen, as if any prolonged engagement with her would unravel the space-time continuum, or cause some great tragedy. Eventually he was able to free his mind of those thoughts and live his life unbound from the directive of the manuscript.

  Ben sat at the dining room table typing away. He was trying to get his novel finished, but had been distracted as of late. There was a new addition into his life that was competing for his time.

  “There, I’m done,” Ben said.

  “Done what?” Vanessa asked.

  “I finished my novel.”

  “That’s so amazing, Ben, congratulations!”

  “Thanks.”

  “How does it feel?”

  “I have to tell you, it feels amazing. I’ve been through some ups and downs this past year and completing this novel is validation for me. It’s tangible proof of how much I’ve grown.”

  “I’m so proud of you. We should definitely go out and celebrate, you deserve it.”

  “Sure, that sounds great.”

  “So are you going to finally tell me what it’s about? You’ve been so secretive about this manuscript.”

  “I’ll let you read it, but I drew a lot of inspiration from my life.”

  “What’s your main character’s name?”

  “For now I have it as Ben, but it’s meant to be a placeholder only. I’ll come up with a different name during the editing process.”

  “Maybe you could just leave it as Ben, I like that name. Does it have a title yet, or are you still working that out?”

  “I haven’t put the title on yet, but I’m thinking of calling it Angel’s Cradle.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “An angel’s cradle is a receptacle that some hospitals have. It’s basically a box where people can anonymously drop off their unwanted babies.”

  “That sounds horrible, do people actually do that?”

  “It’s supposed to prevent people from abandoning their unwanted babies in dumpsters or on people’s doorsteps. I think given the alternatives, an angel’s cradle is a good thing.”

  “I guess,” she said with sorrow. “So is that what happened with you?”

  “I’m not sure. The details of my early life are not clear, but I was abandoned by my mother. The name Owen is actually not my real last name, it’s my middle name. When I became eighteen, I legally changed my last name to Owen. But I know now my real last name is Gringer.”

  In the driveway was a brand new Ford Mustang in cherry red. Ben deactivated the alarm and opened the passenger door for Vanessa. He then walked around and sat in the driver’s seat.

  “You look happy,” Vanessa commented.

  “I am,” he said. “It almost doesn’t feel real. I finished my novel, I’m about to go for dinner with you, and I’m sitting in my dream car. A year ago I would never have thought this day would be possible, at least not as soon as this. I was just thinking about all those things and it brought a smile to my face.”

  “You certainly have a lot to be thankful for. And you should smile more often, it looks good on you.”

  Ben turned the key and fired up the engine. The powerful rumble still excited him. He backed out of the driveway and drove from his quiet suburb to the downtown core.

  Of course, finding a parking spot during the dinner rush proved to be an issue, so Ben dropped Vanessa off at the restaurant so she could wait for a table while he circled around the block to look for a spot. A few blocks away, Ben pulled up just as someone was leaving and felt his luck had yet to run out. After parking the car, he got out to feed the meter for a few hours. While reaching in his pocket for coins, Ben was blindsided by a punch to the jaw. The unexpected blow was jarring and knocked Ben to the ground.

  As he was regaining his wits, a man stood over him and rained down punches. Ben instinctually covered up to protect himself, but knew he had to get out of there. The street was fairly quiet and he was lying on the sidewalk obscured from view by his car, so it was unlikely someone would see the attack and come to his rescue.

  Still unsure who the man was or what he wanted, Ben decided not to remain there and find out. Ben kicked upward, creating enough distance between himself and his attacker. Bloodied and bruised, Ben sprang to his feet and began to run away. Without hesitation, the attacker gave chase while yelling incomprehensible slurs at him. Ben paid no attention to what he was saying; he just wanted to get away from the mêlée.

  The attacker was in good physical condition and caught up to Ben with ease. He grabbed Ben by the back of the shirt spun him around, and slugged him in the stomach. Ben crumbled to the ground.

  “That’s a nice car you have, I think I’ll look good driving that.”

  “Take it,” Ben pleaded. “Take anything you want.”

  “You know, I’ve always been good with faces,” the man said, “and as luck would have it, I happen to run into you the same week I’m paroled.”

  “What are you talking about?” Ben said, looking up at the man from the ground.

  “You really don’t remember me, do you?” the man asked in disbelief. “Maybe I should break into your house in the middle of the night and rob you? Perhaps that will jar your memory.”

  Ben remained silent, realizing it was the bank robber seeking revenge. Unbeknownst to the robber, Ben had actually saved the man’s life. According to the manuscript, had Ben not broken into the robber’s house and subsequently called the police on him, he would have died in a police standoff the following week in a botched robbery. Of course, Ben could not tell this to the man who was acting like Ben had taken everything from him.

  “Look, I think you have me mistaken for someone else.”

  “I don’t think so,” the man said, studying Ben carefully.

  “What do you want from me?”

  “I want what you took from me,” the man said, “the money plus interest, and the time I spent in prison.”

  “Look, I don’t want any problems, man,” Ben said, not willing to admit to what he had done. “How much will it take for you to leave me alone?”

  “Twenty large ought to cover it.”

  “Twenty-thousand dollars!” Ben said. “I don’t have that kind of money.”

  “Well, that’s my price,” the man insisted, “and I’ll hold onto your car until you give me the money. I expect full payment by the end of the week and if I don’t get it, I’ll come by and take something else of yours.”

  The man stood over Ben once again and patted down his pockets for his wallet and keys. He reached into Ben’s pockets and removed them both. He opened up Ben’s wallet and took out his driver’s licence.

  “Now I know where you live, Ben Owen,” he said, holding it out. “You have one week.”

  The man began to walk down the street toward Ben’s car. Ben was not sure what to do, so he stood up and tried to reason with the man.

  “Come on, man, please don’t take my car,” he said, but the man ignored Ben and kept walking. The only play Ben had in this situation was to lean on the man’s weakness. “I know where you live too,” Ben called out. This caused the man to stop in his tracks and turn
around.

  “What’s that?” he asked.

  “I know where you live,” Ben repeated, his voice somewhat trembling with uncertainty. “I’m sure your P.O. won’t be too pleased when I report my car stolen and they find it in your driveway.”

  The man hesitated a moment to consider Ben’s threat. Without saying a word, the man tossed Ben’s keys back at him.

  “You have one week to get the money or else I’ll be seeing you again,” he said, holding up Ben’s driver’s licence, “and trust me, you don’t want to see angry.”