by S. M. Baker
“Pay attention.” That ripped him from his grim imagination. Margery had risen and was holding the far door open, glaring at them through her pointed catlike spectacles. He felt like he was walking into his own grave as Bennett stepped through that door. Cynthia didn’t look eager to see their master, but she didn’t look like she was walking to the gallows either. Bennett held his breath as the door closed completely behind him, darkness enveloping everything else. His boots were silent as he continued to make his way forward, held in sharp contrast to the sharp click of Cynthia’s boots echoing around in the endless space.
Bennett wasn’t sure how long they’d been walking but soon the darkness began to recede into muted colors and dull light, like ink creeping its way back to the pot after spilling across a page. A dark room with concrete floors and disagreeably damp metal pipes melted into view. At the furthest point in the room stood a large velvet and metal chair, hoisted in the air by large thin wires crisscrossing beneath. It was like a throne room, fit for a mad and power hungry king, much like the man they called master was. Bennett knew he should feel scared or angry, but his mood and emotions were muted, much like the colors of the room. He’d been doing this for so long he’d stopped being afraid or angry and the sight of the man that pulled strings to his life like a puppet for play. He would have time to be angry later when he didn’t have to face the sickening sight of a human mouthpiece.
“Good evening children.” The small voice attached to the round face of a little girl twisted Bennett's insides to knots. He knew she was already dead, or hoped she was--that was a much kinder fate after all--but he still fought the urge within him to grab the poor creature and race her to safety, so at least she could have the mercy of dying in peace. He knew it was a foolish instinct and an even more foolish idea, but it still twisted his insides into knots.
“Mi-Lord.” Murmured Cynthia from his side, a demure and submissive look plastered unnaturally across her face. Bennett may not know the personal details of her life, but he knew Cynthia would never look like that in any form of reality. It made some deep part of him angry to see what their master had done to her. Still, it was a mild feeling, hidden behind walls upon walls of experienced numbness.
The mouthpiece was a small thing, with pale skin and dark hair chopped in a bob around her chin. She was dressed like a flapper, with a boxy dress hung to the knees swallowing her tiny frame. From the corner of his eyes, he glimpsed the sick expression encroaching at the corners of Cynthia’s expression. Eyes still on his companion Bennett froze when he felt eyes staring at him like they could rip apart his soul and remake it with their bare hands.
“I have a job for you.” Equal parts dread and resignation flowed through Bennett’s veins. As much as he could use the information for his latest client, a large part of him simply wanted to go home, crash in his soft bed and sleep for days. The girl threw them a file—which was a bland manilla color—offsetting everything, making it feel as if this was only a simple office job rather than something that would make or break the past, present, and future. Opening the file unfamiliar faces stared back at him, a woman with soft, wild curls hanging in a mane down to her back. The man standing to her right and slightly behind, looking at something in the distance had round professors glasses and light hair blowing around him. They looked happy, content, and like nothing could touch them. He felt rather than saw Cynthia look over his shoulder at the couple printed on the page. He wondered if she felt the same envy he did at the sight of their happiness. When she jabbed him pointedly in the side of his arm, Bennett sighed and flipped to the next page.
“Mary and Art Monroe.” Something in him tugged at the mention of the last name just like his. But he pushed the idea growing inside his head away viciously. There were many people who shared his last name, and they’d never before been related to him, although he couldn’t stop the small voice inside him from arguing that it was possible. Cynthia reached out and grabbed the file from his hands, spinning and striding away like she had hellhounds on her heels. The mouthpiece, the poor soul, waved her hand, a door appearing where empty space had been. It was all dark wood and brushed brass.
Pausing before the suspended throne Cynthia demurely sank to the floor in a deep curtsy to the mouthpiece before she strode towards the door, reaching for the handle and yanking the doorway open. She paused, glancing over her shoulder at Bennett who remained frozen, staring at the throne, a thoughtful expression on his face.
“Are you going to stand there all day?” Startled Bennett shook his head, turning sharply and cutting a line towards the door.
“See you on the flip side.” With a casual grin and a salute of his fingers Bennett strode through the doorway, Cynthia’s skirts brushing the back of his legs as she followed behind.
Chapter Four
They walked in the darkness until light began to appear once again and chased back the blackness enveloping them at every turn. A mundane street revealed itself slowly, dotted with trees here and there along the sidewalk. The place looked oddly familiar, but Bennett pushed the nagging thoughts racing around in his mind away.
“So where are we, and what are we here to do?” Cynthia spun to face him from a few feet away, her expression exasperated, palms placed defensively on her hips.
“You didn’t even bother to read the file?” Rolling her eyes she huffed, blowing tendrils of hair surrounding her face away before they settled where’d they’d been before.
“I was distracted.” Bennett found himself muttering in defense, a flush creeping up the back of his neck under her gaze.
“Of course you would be distracted by the sight of a pretty woman,” Cynthia muttered with spite, eyes gazing towards the distance and pointedly avoiding Bennett’s eyes.
“That's not it.” Bennett blurted, now the one to move away from Cynthia’s intent gaze. “It was their happiness. I was... Distracted by it.” Cursing himself for his inability to explain himself Bennett opened his mouth again, already cringing internally at the mess of words he knew was going to spill out, and make everything worse than it already was. However, before he could try and explain further why he was so fascinated with the couple, he watched as Cynthia’s mouth softened, and as her eyes were painted with compassion.
“Hm.” She murmured, and suddenly Bennett knew she understood what he’d been trying to say. He could now see the same emotions buried in her eyes. They were simply deep enough so that they couldn’t be used against her. He watched as Cynthia’s face sharpened yet again, and took on the curves of a pleased and vindictive feline, the emotions and softness were gone, like Bennett had simply imagined, they had been there a moment before.
“We’re here to convince this couple that they need to give up their child. According to the file, it's imperative in order to keep the timeline from ripping apart.” Another wave of recognition and dawning understanding twisted its way through him. He swallowed hard, the world swimming before his eyes. Gazing determinedly down at the cracked concrete he gulped back the bile rising in the back of his throat. Soft, cool hands fluttered across his face and down his shoulders. He didn’t bother to look up; he knew the only one who would, or even could touch him like that. Not even the women he so determinedly dated had such soft and gentle touches. They were more intent and distant. Bennett dimly wondered why their master had waited so long to ask him to complete this task. If he was simply being tested and dragged along up until this point, where he could prove his loyalty to his master.
Hatred ripped through him as the world slowly came back into focus. He’d always disliked and even despised their master, but Bennett had never hated someone quite so much as he did him at that moment. A distant voice drew him from his thoughts, muted and far off, yet close and echoing.
“Bennett?” Small hands shook worriedly at his shoulders. “Bennett? Are you alright?” Another shake, this one accompanied with the bite of sharp nails. “I need you to tell me your alright.” Suddenly the world snapped completely back into focu
s, like the sharp sting of a rubber band against the tender flesh of a wrist.
Standing straight, not giving himself time to feel Cynthia’s small hands fall away, he stepped a few feet aside, and began to pace, left hand tugging violently at the hair hanging from the back left of his head. Bennett began murmuring to himself, forcefully trying to draw the blurred image of his mother into clear focus.
“Hey, hey... Tell me what's going on.” Sighing Bennett halted mid turn, shoulders slumping in exhaustion and defeat.
“I think the couple we’re going to see... I think they're my parents.” The words seemed to weight the air around them. The reality of what he, had to do made him nearly collapse under its weight. Bennett knew he had no choice. As much as he’d like to change things, he knew he couldn’t. Bennett had changed too much, both good and ill of the past. If he took himself from the timeline or changed himself or his situation too much, the consequences might rip apart reality as it stood now. So with a heavy heart, he turned his gaze towards Cynthia, a self-deprecating smile twisting across his lips.
“Let’s get this over with.” For a long moment, Cynthia said nothing, looking torn and so very sad. Then she gave her bottom lip a vicious tug and opened her mouth.
“Are you sure you want to do this? I can do it by myself.” The fact that she’d even offered to do such a thing meant more than she could ever know. Still, Bennett shook his head and met her eyes.
“No, he could tell if I didn’t. This is a test of loyalty.” He didn’t need to tell her what could happen if he failed, they both knew the consequences for disobeying their master would be dire, and that was if they didn’t manage to rip apart the world as they knew it first. “I have to do this.” Even if it tears me apart, were the silent words Bennett couldn’t bring himself to say aloud. Cynthia nodded, and quietly turned, walking down the street that led to their destination, and the parents he could hardly remember, and who abandoned him at his own behest.
~~~
The house was painted a dull, welcoming yellow, shoved between two empty warehouses like it wasn’t supposed to be there. The yellow color stuck in Bennett’s mind, and the cheerful pots filled with a multitude of flowers nearly made him retch up whatever was left in his stomach from this morning. Cynthia eyed him with concern, waiting for him to make the first move. As his stomach settled, he took a deep breath and made his way up the thin walkway, cracked and raised in one odd area after another. There was a golden lion head knocker, its brass faded and worn against the maroon red of the door. Hands shaking, Bennett lifted his hand and grasped the knocker, rapping it in three crisp thwacks against the door.
Muffled movements came to life, and the muted voice of a man called out: “Just a minute.” A moment later the door was snatched open, and Bennett came face to face with a mirror pair of eyes, and a familiar face that looked at him in the mirror each morning. The man stood in shock, glimpsing up and down at Bennett like he couldn’t believe what he was seeing.
“Brother?” He murmured, then shook his head, a tired smile spreading across his lips.
“Sorry, for a moment there I thought you were someone else.” Tears clogged the back of Bennett’s throat, and he so desperately wished to cling to the man and beg him not to let young Bennett go. But he knew what he had to do and so Bennett forced a pleasant smile on his lips, unassuming and mundane then asked the man: “Can we come in? I have something I think you need to hear.”
Chapter Five
The man stared at Bennett for a long moment, and he feared they’d be turned away, and that he would be forced to do something drastic to keep the timeline as it stood. His fears, however, were unfounded. The man, his father, Bennett’s mind reminded him, opened the door. His face looked reluctant, but Bennett didn’t blame him for that, particularly since he knew what was about to be said--on his part--at least.
“Honey, we have,” he paused, “guests.” The light clatter of dishes and the delicate thumps of feet on the wood floor echoed from further inside the house.
“Who would come at a time like this?” She asked, voice light and sweet. It was just what Bennett had always imagined a mother's voice to be. Swallowing thickly he nearly collapsed to his knees as a small woman with dark hair in volumus curls appeared inside the large arid room, dishtowel thrown over her left shoulder.
“Oh,” a surprised smile curled at the corner of her lips. “I’m Mary, Mary Monroe.” A long and slightly awkward air filled the room. After a pause of anxious silence--at least on Bennetts part—Mary turned her large, disarming eyes towards Bennett.
“Can I get you coffee? tea?”
“No—”
“Tea would be lovely.” Cynthia interrupted the curl of her smile a dull warmth. They walked back towards the kitchen, Cynthia commenting on the appealing shade of yellow the house was painted. Bennett wanted to be frustrated with her, but his father—that felt more than odd to say--had begun to relax, his shoulders no longer bunching towards his neck.
“Why don’t you have a seat?” gingerly Bennet seated himself on the warm, well-loved furniture and tried not to fidget his hands.
“I don’t think I caught your name.”
“Wha-oh,” biting his tongue Bennet hesitated for a moment. He didn’t want this to be real, any of it. As excited as he was to see his parents, Bennett couldn’t help but wish that none of this was real, that he was simply a twenty-something with parents that nagged and insisted he calls once a week. Alas, he wasn’t normal.
“Bennett, just Bennett.” A look of slight suspicion flickered across his father's face, but then it was gone again. The familiar clack of Cynthia’s boots drew his attention. Glancing up, Bennett found her breezing through the large doorway that led into the back of the house, a teacup and saucer pouring steam, clutched with care between her long and attractive hands. Where had that come from? Bennett thought, nearly shaking his head physically to dislodge the strange thought from his mind.
“—Must tell me where you managed to find such a rare brew.” Bennett came back to focus in the middle of Cynthia’s empty platitude. He knew she was only trying to be nice. She, after all, could go straight to the taj mahal to get the best Darjeeling. It was nice that she was trying, however, and had thus far done a much better job than he had; staring blankly at walls, between questions, while struggling not to fidget with his fingers. After a bit more nice conversation, and a dozen or so delicate sips of tea, Bennett’s father once again began to speak.
“So what was it that you wanted to tell us?” Bennett watched as Cynthia settled her teacup on the coffee table. Sighing nervously he straightened his spine and looked up to meet his father's eyes.
“What I’m about to tell you may sound unbelievable, and a little more than insane, however, I ask that you listen and carefully consider the information and evidence before you dismiss it as ravings of mad lunatic’s.” Silently Bennett’s parents stared at one another through the corners of their eyes. Turning back to face both he and Cynthia they nodded in a careful sort of hesitance, faces deliberately blank.
“Alright.” Deterring the urge to sigh in relief Bennett allowed himself the luxury of his shoulders sloping towards the ground.
“Mister and misses Monroe, do you know anything about time travel?” Cynthia’s eyes were focused on the tea swirling in a circle around the bottom of the delicate cup now once again clutched between her long elegant fingers.
Choking “I’m sorry” Bennett’s father began to wheeze air, “did you just say time travel?” Bennett knew he should have been the one telling them, but it was nice to put if off for a bit longer. He watched, a small part of him amused, as Cynthia pointedly brushed the non-existent wrinkles from her dress.
“I did, in fact, mention time travel.” The sarcastically scandalous ring to her voice gave Bennett the sudden urge to laugh. But he was afraid if he did that he would end up crying instead. Men never cry. The drawl of his final foster-father echoed in his head, twisting his mind into angry knots at ev
erything the echo touched. Struggling with his memory Bennett was ignorant to the long pause of silence that permeated the room. Focusing in on his parents once the voice had been banished forcibly from his mind he found them gazing at Cynthia, who was still looking into her teacup, everything about her deliberately relaxed from the slight tilt to her head all the way down to her feet crossed gently at the ankles.
“What my associate means is--” Breaking off mid-sentence Bennett searched for the correct words to say. He knew they would have to become aware of his occupation eventually, but Bennett had planned to break it to them slowly, so he could put off the inevitable for as long as was possible.
“Never mind.” Sighing he scrubbed at the back of his neck. “She was being frank with you. I’m going, to be honest, and let you know you're not going to believe what you’re about to hear. You see...I’m your son. From the future.”
“Now just a minute here wha--” His father rose from his place on the chair, expression thunderous, fist clenched at his side.
“Wait a minute Art. Let's hear them out first.” The soft voice of Mary and the gentle hand on his arm coaxed Art back into the chair. Her sweet voice made Bennett want to cry.
