by S. M. Baker
Contents
Copywright
Title Page
Dedication
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Epilouge
Author Note
The Unfortunate and Odd Life of Bennett Monroe
Copyright © 2016 by Sara Baker
All rights reserved.
This Book and all its contents are property of author S.M. Baker and are not to be used for any purpose other than brief quotes for use of reviews, papers and discussion. If any character or creation within this book is used without written and legal permission the party that does so is liable to be sued for copyright infringement and damages to the author.
If you have any questions or concerns about information above contact the author via smbaker.org/contact
The Unfortunate & Odd Life of Bennett Monroe
To Mom, may you alway know your value.
Chapter One
The street was quiet, except for the sounds of the low murmur of three flower girl’s quiet chatter as they huddled on the sidewalks edge. Each was adorned with a dirty, tattered dress, damp with the early morning dew, and soaked with the smell of hard labor. Bennett fell into the scene, quite unexpectedly on his part, in the middle of a fowl mouthed curse from one of the girls about her cheating husband, her heavily pregnant belly covered with ratty and worn cloth layered one dull color atop another. Shrieking they scattered as Bennett landed with a groan, and his own muttered curse of,
“Dammit” Blinking blearily, not yet sure of where, or more specifically where he was, Bennett stared at the blurred faces peering down at him, huddled together a few feet away. All too soon the fog hovering over his mind began to clear. Eyes wide he jumped, staggering on unsteady and wobbly legs, twisting around in a wide, frustrated ark, as the girls tittered and watched on in rapt fascination. Grabbing his hair Bennett gave a violent tug on the messy dark locks he’d had the misfortune of inheriting and screwed his eyes shut, panic crawling up his neck and throat. This, unfortunately, wasn’t the first time Bennett had woken out of time, and place.
As a boy, his parents had realized that Bennett was an odd child. He would claim to have been to places and met people he could never have, or rather should have, been able to meet, and went missing for hours and days at a time. They waited until the eve of his tenth birthday to abandon him on a park bench. He’d known, somewhere inside himself, the minute they set him on the bench that they weren’t coming back. By then, he’d lived and seen enough to understand the cruelty of the world. By the time Bennett reached the age of sixteen he’d been thrown, or beaten, out of at least ten foster homes, although that was only because ten was the number he stopped counting. And now here he was, a twenty-six-year-old man, ten years older and just the same as he’d been as a child. Bennett, as a consequence to his long absences, made a living doing things and selling information that wasn’t strictly legal, or for that matter real.
“Excuse me, ladies.” Smiling with force he watched, only slightly exasperated, as the three women’s eyes widened, each taking a half step back as if Bennett was a deranged beast ready to pounce. “Do you happen to know where I am exactly?” Bennett, however, could only be slightly frustrated with them. They, after all, had just watched him fall from the sky. Hesitantly, the women glanced at one another; the silence only was broken by the sounds of an awakening city. Men on their return home from the factories bustled from the smoky buildings, caked with a combination of sweat, oil, and dirt. Bennett only half watched as they hustled into a small building shoved between two large factories, the smell of warm bread and bacon wafting from the nearly revolving door. As the middle girl, the one who happened to be pregnant, stepped forward, almost shielding the other two with her arms perched on her hips, Bennett tore his attention from his currently empty stomach and the pleasing idea of a hot meal.
“And how, pray tell, did you come to not know where you’re presently standing?”
“I assure you, mademoiselle; I am perfectly aware of where I’m standing. I simply desire to know what specific street, and in which specific city I seem to have found myself.” Learning early that it was best to seem like a perfectly sane, but unfortunately lost traveler, Bennett adorned himself with his most unassuming smile and expression. People were easily convinced that they hadn’t seen him fall out of the sky. Instead, they convinced themselves--with only a few helpful suggestions from him--that he’d really only staggered from a nearby ally, and the rest had been a trick played upon them by their own mind. The reasons were typical but usually ranged from exhaustion, drunkenness, or the visitation of a particularly unpleasant relative, which often took the shape of a despised mother-in-law. Bennett watched as each of them shared another hesitant look, their guarded expressions already beginning to dull.
“Well sir, this is East Chaplin, of the British Isles.” Sighing in relief, he dug into one of his numerous coat pockets, smiling guilelessly at the women still standing, half frozen, like living statues, eyes dull but curious a few feet from him.
Shouting, “Ah ha!” He pulled a small silver coin from the large, and seemingly bottomless pocket, stepping forward, the coin flat on his outreached hand. Eyes wide, the coin, was snatched from his palm, and with one last glimpse of wide eyes Bennett watched the women scurry away, his odd arrival, and even stranger question, forgotten in the wake of the large silver coin--which was only summed to be worth around five dollars.-- Sighing Bennett let his shoulders slump, a combination of relief and frustration making them sag downward. Tiredly he trudged his way toward the bursting restaurant, hoping he could find out exactly why he was here, and more importantly, what profit he could gain from the knowledge and time spent in what he’d come to know as the world's past, and his sometimes future. Flipping the tails of his coat jacket up to obscure his face, he craned his head towards the plank floor, twisting and wheedling his way through the bursting and noisy space. Bennett winced as he pressed towards the back of the room when he was he was sprayed with chewed bits of biscuit from a man who was cursing the Irishman seated next to him, the Irishman's red hair like a beacon in the sea of brown and black shades which filled the small space. Making his way further into the establishment Bennett sat at the only unoccupied table, still littered with dirty dishes and cutlery from its previous occupant. Tuning out the din of voices he rubbed his temples, already exhausted from the knowledge of what was to come, but for many what had already passed.
You see Bennett wasn’t torn from his own time by accident, nor without purpose. He’d come to discover over the years that someone was pulling the strings, controlling events in time like they were puzzles, games, and simple pieces on a chess board. The mysterious man who controlled his fate as an outcast and wanderer of time still remained in the shadows, unseen and only vaguely known to Bennett and the few souls who shared his fate.
“You know, we’ve got to stop meeting like this.” A rich, feminine voice curled into Bennett’s ear. Glancing up, not the least bit surprised his dark eyes met deep pools of green, adorned atop a sharp face and wide lips tilted nearly continuously with mischief and almost knowing which made men think she could tell the future. The problem was, they weren’t entirely wrong because she could see the future, just not always theirs.
“C
ynthia, what brings you to this charming... Destination?” Smiling cattily, the woman known as Cynthia flopped gracelessly into the chair across from him, looking every bit the satisfied feline she was so apt at emulating. They stared at each other in silence, the weight of their impending task settling over them like the onset of a storm. Cynthia seemed to enjoy the work, and its odd perks, far more than Bennett ever had, and probably ever would. She seemed to flit between times and centuries like the job that had been thrust upon them was made for her, and for all Bennett knew, it was. A slim girl, barely fourteen approached the table with a smile full of crooked and chipped teeth.
“What can I get for yew’?” Her accent was odd and distorted by the copious noise which surrounded them. Glancing at Cynthia, he sighed when she remained silent, shifting his eyes back to the young wild-haired girl, who waited only half patiently. Though her body remained still, her hands were twitching and fidgeting like they were chasing after a butterfly fluttering around her linen skirts.
“Tea, and some biscuits with a side of bacon.” Bennett tried to order things he’d seen being served. One never knew what things would be called. Food, dishes and what people called them varied heavily throughout each city and time. He heard Cynthia huff and mutter, “boring” under her breath like it was a curse, but Bennett ignored her. When the girl turned to face Cynthia, she huffed, glancing at the girl barking a sharp,
“Tea” pausing for a long moment before muttering a nearly silent “please” as the girl turned to leave, the pile of crusty dishes clutched between her hands.
“You know, there's no cause to be rude.”
“There's no point in treating the normals like their anything but dull creatures who will live dull lives, and die even duller deaths.” Sighing in exasperation at her complete and utter lack of care Bennett watched as Cynthia observed her blunted, neatly trimmed nails like they were the most interesting thing in the world. Giving up his observation after a long moment Bennett sighed again, and let his shoulders sink even further toward the floor, turning his eyes to observe the people around him instead. Sad as he was to admit it, Cynthia did have a point. Most of these people would live, breathe and die utterly dull lives. Not that he believed that was an excuse for her behavior. Still, he understood the frustration with being someone who lived amongst the abnormal and unexplained, but whom was equally condemned and taunted by the dull, and the normalcy of humans everyday lives.
“So, have you been... Enlightened about our job this time round the bend?” Bennett muttered glancing around for any unexpected listeners. Despite the fact that people were more apt to believe in what they perceived as the ordinary, it was best not to draw their attention towards the extraordinary or unexplained. When people recognized and explored the things hidden, it usually ended with insanity and tragedy.
“No, my dearest, it seems we will have to be... Enlightened together this time.” She sounded amused, which in Bennett’s experience was never a good sign.
Chapter Two
Stalking through the cold, damp streets, Bennett followed with a resigned reluctance behind Cynthia as her hurried footsteps echoed loudly in his ears. He knew he should be used to this by now, but he’d had plans that day, and his date, a charming brunette, wasn’t going to be very understanding at him “ditching” her for the third time.
“Hurry up.” Slouching into himself, as if in defense of Cynthia’s harsh bark Bennett allowed himself a moment of rumination on the odd woman he’d come to call his sometimes companion. They didn’t talk about themselves much, because as far as Bennett knew Cynthia could be from a much later, or very much earlier time than what he usually was apt to call his present. Bennett had been exposed to Cynthia when he was ten years old, not long after his parents had finally abandoned him. Her dark hair had been braided into two mismatched braids that were falling apart and adorned with bits of the forest that surrounded them. She’d wore a green dress, ripped and caked with drying mud. As Bennett stared at her, trying to think of what to do, or if anything should be done, he almost missed Cynthia’s dark, watery gaze. When he did finally notice, it was just in time to witness her bursting into tears. At ten he’d had no idea how to handle crying girls. Not that he had much more of an idea as a man. His little experience was more in the department of being slapped or screamed at for being an unreliable and rude date. Still, he kept on trying; Bennett needed to have a life outside of this. Still, he sometimes wondered if he ever would. The closest woman, who knew the most about him didn’t even have the knowledge of what year he called home, much less the date of his birth.
Ever since that fateful day when Cynthia had appeared in his life at least, he could say things were never dull. Before her, his life had been much more empty and colorless than it was now. Bennett should have been resigned to his fate as an oddity by now, but he still tried to be of the mundane, something that Cynthia would never understand and at points berated him for.
“So,do you have any idea where your going, or are you simply stalking around the city for lack of better things to do?” Huffing Cynthia halted, nearly sending Bennett sprawling into her back. Twisting as she faced him, her face tilted upwards to meet his gaze.
“Bennett, you know I wouldn’t walk around in this droll city because I was bored. There are much better things I could be doing with my time.” Bennett didn’t ask what those things were, in spite of the tendrils of curiosity crawling up his mind, he really didn’t want to know. After a moment of staring at him, challenging him to ask or disagree she turned and continued to march forward. Flitting between streets and blocks she led him through a sickeningly familiar doorway, its chipped red paint standing timeless before him. He wondered as he stepped into the building when it had been painted that color and how it had remained the same for so long. He hadn’t realized he’d stopped until Bennett heard Cynthia’s exasperated inquiry from above, her voice echoing around the nearly empty space.
“Are you coming? Or should I do our task without you?” Jerking himself from his reverie Bennett hurried up the stairs, ears turning red at the exasperated look on Cynthia’s face. When he bound up the last stair, she turned sharply and strode down the long corridor which hung above the seemingly endless place. A Bright Green door hung in the air to their right, attached to the walkway by a shorter version of the metal and concrete they were already on.
“Seriously?” Bennett already knew what had come. That door hardly led to anything good. A small grimace twisted Cynthia’s face, and the sight of it caused Bennett’s stomach to drop to his feet. Cynthia was never displeased to see the person behind that door. In fact, she usually relished in appearing before the man they called their master. Whenever and wherever the man pulling the strings that they called master lived was always behind the bright green door. The Location of the door was nearly always different, and most of the time bizarre—like molded into a large ancient oak tree—but the destination it led to never changed.
“Should I ask?” Bennett licked his lips, already regretting his question.
“I’ve already met with him. Our job is different this time...” She confessed, pausing to glance at the door and then meeting Bennett’s eyes for a fleeting moment. “I’m not happy with our orders, or the arrangements which they require.” Cynthia was an artist when it came to saying much, but explaining very little. Bennett should have been angry she hadn’t just told him she already knew what was required of them. However, something in Cynthia’s expression gave him pause and made him hesitate. Questions scattered across his mind, all clamoring for attention and answers. There was a moment of silence as Cynthia stared out of one of the buildings tall, grubby windows before giving her head a sharp shake then walking with a determined gait towards the door, not waiting for Bennett to follow, although he did, dread knotting his stomach. With a Grimace of his own he followed Cynthia as she stepped into the inky darkness that shrouded the doorway, praying for a miracle, but expecting a disaster.
Chapter Thr
ee
Bennett wondered what face the man who controlled their fate would use this time. Although he’d met with the man who insisted on being called master many times before, he was always hidden behind another face, a mouthpiece, a poor soul who had been condemned to become a puppet to the man who twisted time. The last time it was a brute of a man, with bulging muscles and chipped, crooked teeth. The time before that he’d used a sickly child, skin stretched so thin across his face Bennett feared the poor boy's bones would poke right through the paper thin layer of flesh.
Walking into a windowless room, with cracked, familiar ancient looking walls surrounding them on all four sides Bennett sighed coming to a stop beside Cynthia, who stood at the front of a desk. Sitting behind the large ancient desk was a woman, typewriter perched on its worn surface clicking away, each click jabbing at Bennett’s already tense nerves. Long talon-like fingernails, painted a shell pink, attached to thin bony hands moved fluidly across the keys, the woman who claimed ownership of them ignoring both Bennett and Cynthia. The woman behind the desk was built like a dragon, all hard edges and sharp lines. Her eyes, obscured behind a severe pair of black frames almost appeared slitted rather than round.
“Margery.” Not looking up the woman sighed, twisting the typewriter across and down for another fresh line.
“He’ll be ready for you in a minute. Why don’t you take a seat?” Twisting his neck Bennett eyed the cluster of nearly sagging chairs, hesitantly approaching the one closest to him, toeing it with his foot. He winced as it crumpled to the floor at the light touch, and turned to watch Cynthia, who stood at his side, a similar distrust painted in her eyes.
“We’ll stand.” He said for the both of them. The Woman known as Margery hadn’t moved at all, head still slightly down-turned, eyes focused, hands moving at a steady pace across the keys of the old typewriter. The room was all silent but for the clack click sound of the keys. Bennett distracted himself with picturing what a disaster he would go home to. Would he be slapped? Publicly humiliated via food or beverage being thrown at him? The possibilities were endless, and the longer he thought of them, the darker they became. He was so caught up in his imagination of the multiple humiliating ways he could be slapped that he didn’t notice the door open, or the click-clack of the keys going silent. It was Cynthia’s sharp elbow in his sensitive side and her hiss of;
