Messed Up

by Owens, Molly

  Between the bumping sounds of my head against the wood, I began to make out words. I stood still for a second, trying to understand the sounds. I could hear muffled voices sneaking from the beneath a closed door at the end of the long hallway.

  Now, this is the point at which I should have ignored the voices, and returned to the mingling pack of pained faces and sorrow-filled eyes, that is what the old Chelsea would have done. But I was not operating at full capacity, so instead, I tiptoed forward several yards, listening with cautiously perked ears. The first voice I could make out instantly, a voice that sounded as if Hannibal Lector had been thrown in a blender with The Godfather and set on pulse. It was unmistakably Alastair Bennett.

  “I’m not going over this again, Mitch,” he said, “I have given you adequate time to find it.”

  “Please,” I heard Mitch Fanning beg. He sounded like he was on the verge of tears, “I just need a couple more days, that’s it.”

  “I wonder who would be better collateral while I wait, hah Mitch? Your first born son, or you sweet little girl?” Mr. Bennett laughed coolly at his own question.

  “No!” Mitch whimpered, “Please,” and then he added in a tiny, despondent voice, “Take Marcy’s girl.”

  “You are one sick son of a bitch,” Mr. Bennett cackled, and then changing his tone suddenly he hissed, “Get the fuck out of my sight you piece of shit.”

  I dove, head first, through the nearest door and stumbled to my feet just in time to see Mr. Fanning’s figure flash past the half opened door toward the living room. I held my breath, standing perfectly still as I waited for Mr. Bennett to go by the door too, praying he wouldn’t see me.

  Then I heard a slow creaking sound of a door opening to my right. I knew even before I turned my head who I would find standing in the doorway from the adjoining room. There he was, a depraved smile pasted on his face, Mr. Bennett.

  “Chelsea,” he purred, “How auspicious that I would run into you. We never did get to finish our talk the other day. ”

  My legs begin to go numb as I nodded and smiled sickly.

  “I do hate having my conversations cut short like that,” he said moving toward me, the smile falling from his face.

  “Well then Mr. Bennett, we’d better hold off on this little chitchat for another time because I have to pee like you wouldn’t believe,” I began hedging toward the doorway, “You know how it is? Lots of coffee, small bladder. Gets me every time.” Crap Chelsea, is that the best you could come up with?

  I had one foot outside the door when I felt his icy cold hand grab me around the stomach and pull me back into the room, as his other hand forced the door shut and then moved to cover my mouth. He forced my body against his as he leaned in to hiss in my ear, “Listen carefully you little cunt, I don’t care if you piss your pretty panties, you’re not to leave until I dismiss you. Understand?”

  I nodded my head vigorously and he released me.

  “Now,” the smile reappeared on his face, as he spoke slowly, “I’m not sure what you think you know, but I want to make one thing perfectly clear. You are nothing more than a plaything for my son. It would be of no consequence to me, or him, if you were to mysteriously disappear. You are utterly disposable my dear, and if Levi doesn’t see that, he can be made to. Questions? ”

  I shook my head. Nope, I got it, disposable like those janky pink razors with the daisies down the handle, or like the cheap cameras that only take one roll of pictures, or come to think of it, like the life of Toby Fanning. Utterly disposable.

  33

  I wondered, as I lay in the bathtub at five AM the next morning, if I would ever be able to sleep again. The previous night had been a hard fought battle between me and sleep. I was bound and determined not to allow Mr. Bennett into my unconscious state. I knew he would be there, just waiting for me to give into my exhaustion; waiting to greet me with his heinous cackle that had been ringing in my ears every since I’d emerged from the Fanning’s master bedroom. I could hear his laugh as Levi had driven me, as he’d groped at my limp body in my bedroom before leaving for a Delancey Boy party at the river. And I could hear it now as the faucet dripped rhythmically into the warm water.

  Levi had noticed that I was more subdued than usual when I’d joined him by the pool after my exchange with Mr. Bennett. I could feel him watching me, suspiciously as he flashed his signature smile at the group of ogling girls. He’d whispered in my ear that he would take me home if I wasn’t feeling well, and I’d quickly took him up on his offer.

  Normally I would have appreciated the reprieve from Levi that last night had offered. It was one of the few nights that he wouldn’t be sneaking back into my room. But as frightening as I sometimes found Levi, I now had a fear monumentally more horrifying: his father. In my twisted logic, I had come to the conclusion that Levi was one of the few people who would actually stand up to Mr. Bennett, and therefore his presence was, for once, reassuring.

  A long and unbearable day stretched out before me. The sun had barely risen and I had an entire day to live through. My job was over, I didn’t have any friends to speak of, my parents would both be working, and even Levi was going to be busy for most of the day. It would be just me and the traumatic scene from yesterday stuck on repeat, playing again and again in my brain.

  I had already gone over the horrifying episode in my unwilling head at least a thousand times. It is actually kind of astounding that such a small little splinter of time could include so many appalling details. There was the Mr. Bennett’s voice, so cold and evil, the threat of killing Bryce or his sisters, Mr. Fanning’s willingness to sacrifice his stepchild. And then, of course, there was the spine chilling encounter in the bedroom.

  I pounded my fist against my head in an attempt to literally dislodge my thoughts before they bulldozed me over yet again. I pressed the latch on the bath with my toe, releasing the stopper and allowing the water to slowly drain. I was shivering in an empty tub, before I finally pulled myself out. Wrapped in a towel, I went to my room, carefully locking the door. I put on my favorite flannel pajamas and crawled back into bed and turned on my TV, again.

  I must have drifted off to sleep for a couple hours because when I opened my eyes the eight o’clock news was just starting. The newscasters began their broadcast with an update on the Toby Fanning murder investigation. A press conference was scheduled to begin any minute and the anchors were doing their darnedest to stall for time. They showed footage of the memorial service and had comments from Mr. Fanning and a from a kid I recognized from my Economics class who I don’t think even knew Toby.

  Eventually, to the obvious relief of the newscasters, the press conference began. A detective in a brown suit, flanked on each side by uniformed police officers made his way to a podium. He adjusted his tie uncomfortably, before leaning toward the microphone to speak:

  “Umm, we have a couple updates on the case. Some we will be able to disclose, but others we’ll have to, umm, keep confidential at this time. Let’s see here… To recap, the body of Toby Lee Higgins Fanning, male, seventeen, was found Saturday, August 8th at approximately 7:30 PM. His body was discovered by two mountain bikers in a remote area of Vistas Park. Umm… Let’s see… The boy had last been seen more than a month earlier on July 6, and was believed to be living with his father. It was our initial assumption that autopsy reports would confirm his death at or around the time he was last seen. However, the autopsy has placed the time of death to be within twelve to twenty-four hours of the body’s recovery. Additional tests will be conducted to better pin point the time of death. The bruising patterns, as well as the victim’s physical health, seem to indicate that he may have been held captive. That is all I can say for now. I will be keeping the press informed as the case moves forward. Umm, we all know how upsetting this has been to the victim’s family, friends, and our thoughts and prayers are with them.”

  The detective turned and made a quick departure without answering any of the questions from shouting report
ers. The newscasters reappeared and moved on to a report about the trials and tribulations of living through a drought in California.

  My mind began reeling with this new information. Toby hadn’t been killed that night at the benches, he’d been kidnapped, held prisoner for more than a month, and then killed. I now felt certain that Toby’s death was way more than a prank gone wrong. I couldn’t begin to fathom how or why Toby’s death would benefit anyone. He was just a hopelessly clueless kid with more enthusiasm than a Chihuahua on crack. Why would Mr. Bennett want him dead? I just prayed that the police knew something I didn’t. That was my only hope. It was farfetched I know, but I thought maybe I could get out from under the Bennett curse unscathed if Mr. Bennett were implicated in Toby’s murder. But did I, for even a quarter of a second consider going to the police with what I knew? Nope, absolutely not, I was completely unwilling to put myself in a position that I considered exponentially more dangerous than the one I was already in.

  One thing I knew for sure was that the only way I was going to make it through this impossibly long day, without my mind driving itself crazy, was to find some kind of distraction. So after screaming at the TV for its daytime line-up and cursing my email inbox for its emptiness, I took out my sketch pad and a pencil.

  I started by doing quick sketches of objects in my bedroom: a pencil can, the corner of a picture frame, my right big toe. Next I set up a still life consisting of a stack of books and my TV remote control. I thought it was a sort of metaphor for the demise of popular culture. At first I could feel myself becoming frustrated. Thoughts kept popping into my head, dragging me out of my artistic zone, but slowly I could feel myself release into the task. I stopped looking at the objects themselves, and focused instead on their shapes, shadows, angles. And magically there it was, my still mind, peaceful and serene. Every cell of my body seemed to exhale.

  An hour later, when my home phone rang loudly, I tuned it out almost completely, intent on keeping hold of my place of tranquil calm. I didn’t want to let anything in as my pencil moved confidently over the paper. I finally lost my concentration with the knocking at my door, followed by my mom’s head peeking in at me. I looked up, and groaned, “Mom, I’m busy!”

  “Chelsea,” she mimicked my tone, “The phone’s for you. It sounds like a man,” she said this looking inquisitive.

  I felt the color hightail it out of my cheeks as my mind immediately flashed on Mr. Bennett’s chilling voice. I picked up the phone and swallowed hard before speaking, “Hello?”

  “Hi Chelsea, this is Mr. Miller.”

  “Oh! Mr. M.,” a huge smile spread across my face as I experienced pure relief, “How’s it going?”

  “Good, thanks. I was calling because I’m going to be at Montecito today, and I thought you might want to come by and pick up your art work from the summer class. I have it with me,” he sounded slightly flustered.

  “Thanks. That is really above and beyond of you Mr. Miller,” I was about to tell him I’d just pick it up when school started, but I figured an outing would be a good diversion, “I’ll come by in a couple hours if that’s alright.”

  “That’d be fine. See you soon.”

  “Hey Mr. Miller,” I said before he could hang up, “It’s funny you should call me just now. I was in the middle of working on a still life in my sketchbook,” I knew this was the kind of thing that would make his day.

  “I’m glad to hear that, Chelsea.”

  He did sound pretty thrilled.

  Anytime I have ever been at a school, any school, when it is not in session, I kind of get the creeps. There is something so wrong about the silence in a place that is typically overflowing with activity.

  The halls of Montecito High were less empty than they had been when Conner and I had committed our file stealing caper. There were a few stray teachers here and there and the occasional incoming freshman registering for school. But all in all, it was pretty much a ghost town. The eeriness of it reminded me that I was probably being followed by one of Levi’s henchmen. I wasn’t sure if seeing my former art teacher would qualify as a punishable act, but I knew Levi would clear that up for me real quick.

  I found Mr. Miller standing on a ladder removing staples from a bulletin board at the front of his classroom. He was a good looking man, considering was a teacher. His dark hair was wavy and he had a body that probably took in some exercise, not a weightlifting body, more along the lines of a runner or cyclist.

  “There you are,” he said smiling and climbing down from the ladder, “Why don’t you sit down for a minute, I’d like to talk to you about something.”

  “Oh I see, this was a set up,” I laughed, taking a seat in a wooden rocking chair that Mr. Miller kept in the corner.

  “Actually, it kind of was,” he closed the classroom door, and sat on the edge of a table facing me, “I wanted to talk to you about something that I’ve been worrying about. I hope you won’t think I’m overstepping here.”

  I shook my head slowly anticipating what was coming next. I was ninety-nine point nine percent certain that the name Bennett was about to escape his mouth.

  “Well, the thing is… Ever since you told me that you are dating one of the Bennett boys, I’ve been worrying about you. Your safety that is,” poor Mr. Miller looked like he had just swallowed a box of tacks as he tried to get the words out, “The thing is Chelsea,” he repeated, “I knew that family quite well when I was in high school, and…”

  “I know, Mr. M. They are a severely screwed up bunch of freaks. You don’t need to tell me that. I already know. But listen, I appreciate your concern. Especially in the summer when you’re not even on the clock,” I got up to leave. The last person who should be losing sleep over me was my former art teacher.

  “Chelsea,” he said firmly, his face looking pained, “I need to explain something to you. Please hear me out.” I slunk back down in the chair and rolled my eyes. “You may know some of what I am about to say, but I am certain that you don’t know the whole of it,” he took a deep breath and began to tell his story:

  “When I was a freshman I started high school at St. Jacobs. Everyone knew about a secret fraternity called the Delancey Society. The fraternity had been an institution at the school for close to a century. It wasn’t an official club, but the teachers and administrators turned a blind eye to its existence. Everyone wanted to become a Delancey. It meant being respected by your peers, getting to date the Delancey Girls, and having a free pass when it came to making sports teams or getting good grades. Somehow Delanceys were always the most popular and successful students at school. Alumni of the Delancey Society were graduates of Ivy League Colleges, so their connection was another incentive to being part of the fraternity.”

  “Yeah. I know about all this,” I said trying not to sound too impatient, he wasn’t trying to be annoying, that’s just a byproduct of being a teacher.

  “A couple weeks before the start of school, the Delanceys host a party for the entire incoming freshman class at St. Jacobs,” Mr. Miller plowed right on without skipping a beat. I wondered if he’d rehearsed this little speech, “I went to the party with a group of my friends. One of my buddies had a brother who was a Delancey, and he’d explained that the new pledges had already been selected. We were just to show up and hope that we were tapped to be part of their group. I remember feeling so incredibly lucky when my name was called. It was like I’d won the lottery. Little did I know that I would spend the next four years as a virtual slave to the Bennett Empire. I am still living with the guilt and shame of what those years as a Delancey meant for me.

  “In the beginning it seemed like what I had expected. I quickly became one of the popular kids at St. Jacobs. There was hazing, where we were all publicly shamed, branded with the Delancey symbol, and beat up if we objected. I remember that it was all completely ritualized, so it seemed like part of the tradition. All the hazing had the effect of creating a fearfully loyal group of soldiers. It wasn’t that we were all that lo
yal to each other though, we were made to obey the leader and by extension his sons.

  “The leader was, and as far as I can tell, still is, Alistair Bennett. He had two sons at St. Jacobs at the time, Steven, who was in my year, and Damian who was a senior. Damian was responsible for keeping us all in line. If someone rebelled against him or his father’s orders he would devise these extravagant displays of supremacy. They would make sure that many of us would be there to bear witness, so that we would understand that stepping out of line was forbidden and held true consequences. And of course we would be responsible for relaying this message to other Delanceys.

  “One time a kid in my year, Paul, began to get sick of being kicked in the ribs constantly by older Delancey Boys. That was part of the tradition of hazing that lasted our entire freshman year. Without warning an older kid would come up to you and say, head up soldier, and you would have to stand perfectly still as he kicked you once in the ribs. If you flinched too much, or didn’t freeze quick enough, they would hold you against a wall and take turns kicking you. Paul began objecting, and even said he wanted out. But nobody can get out of the Delancey Society.

  “So one night we were all at the beach having a bond fire. Most of us had been drinking or doing drugs, which was another unspoken requirement of being part of the club. Out of nowhere came a group of large men in black ski masks. Like I said before, once a Delancey always a Delancey, so guys who had graduated long ago were often called to participate in demonstrations of power like this one. Two of the men were carrying a huge pole. Gagged and hog tied to the pole by his ankles and wrists was Paul. They put the pole over the fire like they were roasting a pig.