Ch 23

It was a long time before Ben got home, the drive along the two lane highway lasting beyond the sunset, leaving him in darkness outside of his trailer. He stood outside for only a moment, before the sight of the shadows set him on edge. He struggled to pull his keys from his pocket, then unlocked the door and went inside. Ben turned on all the lights and began pacing, a slow walk from one end to the other of the trailer, around the couch, infront of the computer, past the restroom and turning around at the entrance of the bedroom to begin another lap.

As is often the case, Ben did not know he was pacing. In his mind, memories flew unguided, wild, more vivid than any other memories he'd ever had before. He could see the giant mice, could see the moment he picked up the glowing picture of an eye, almost saw as the bullet impacted mouse after mouse, their bodies breaking apart into light, like they were made of glass. The memory of how effortless it had been to shoot twelve bulls-eyes in a row, and how impossible it seemed to him now. When his mind went to investigating the bodies, of getting up close to them, the memory obsessively started over, right back to the beginning of the fight.

He paced like this for quite a while, eventually sitting down on the couch with his elbows resting on his knees, head in his hands. Overhead, lightning crackled, and a heavy rain began to fall. Every strike sent little shivers of energy through his body, the sensation of being tickled inside his leg bones, accompanied by a dull tingling across his body. At one point in the night, he clutched his chest, his heart pounding like it was going to explode, then calming down. At another, he had a case of diarrhea so painful and powerful, it made him vomit, and seemed to continue long after there was nothing else to purge from his system.

Things seemed to be moving outside of his focus, making him jumpy, eyes darting about. Eventually, Ben settled on closing his eyes and leaning his head back, sleeping on the couch with the lights on.

–

In his dream, Ben was on a ferry. He was on a large passenger ferry headed to a city. Around him were huddled people, wrapped in rags. They were rocking back and forth, like homeless people who had spent too long on the streets. Ben saw the city in the distance, and the sky was red.

There was a flash, then a shock wave that blasted the boat to pieces. Ben floated above it, and saw the mushroom clouds in the distance reducing the city to rubble. Another impact knocked his vision out.

Ben was laid out in a sandy desert. He knew it to be the bottom of the ocean, evaporated by war. Around him was the wreckage of civilization, all twisted metal stretching upwards, everything washed in a thin orange haze. He walked, and soon he was on barren, dead dirt. A voice whispered;

Come and see. . .

Ben saw. His companion was out of sight, not invisible, simply unable to be seen or even acknowledged. Ben saw. He sat atop a wall thick enough to be a city and tall enough to touch space. Below, on dead, red earth, all the peoples of the world danced. They danced, frantic, frenzied, afraid. He could see their eyes even from this distance, like an ocean of hyper vivid lights, every one of them in a state of total, perpetual panic. They copulated and murdered and danced among the blood and dead.

Come and see. . .

Ben saw. A field in the final moments of twilight, sky painted with stars, green grass swaying gently in the breeze and a small creek winding in the background. A boy child dressed in rustic clothing stood before a chain link fence with barbed wire atop it. From the darkness of the woods came a Witch in scarlet, she pressed her body and face and hands against the fence, hard. “Let me in child.”

“No!” the boy said with wide, terrible eyes “You are a witch.”

With horrifying slowness Ben watched for long minutes as the boy walked backwards, keeping eye contact with the witch. He passed over the stream and out of sight.

Come and see. . .

Ben saw. A golden throne for giants, atop it a corpse whos flesh was tight and swollen with decay. Atop his head was a Crown with gold the color of blood and Rubies atop spikes, across his lap a sword of black, a darkness which hated the light. It's voice was deep and dead and echoed through Ben's mind. “To one shall I give my body. To one shall I give my authority.” It laughed an awful laugh that tore the vision to pieces.

Come and see. . .

Ben saw. A gathering in an RV park in the forest, his family and friends were there. He sat at a fire, and across from him was a hideous witch, hunchbacked and fleshy, totally naked. “Hear me well,” she said, and Ben knew she spoke an evil truth of possessions “It is better for man and the devil to work in concert.” Only one of her eyes locked on him, while the other continued to stare in the fire. The eye that looked at him was red and slitted, the other a simple brown.

Come and see. . .

“Please, no more!” Ben begged, but the vision was relentless.

Ben saw. He sat in a car with his family, a family which had never known the peace and communion this family enjoyed. The light outside was golden, a strange forest of trees with white bark and leaves like ivy dominated the sides of the road. They arrived to a house with a firetruck red garage door that opened automatically. The inside of the garage was dark. When Ben passed through it, he felt as though he was tumbling through a void, surrounded by Egyptian idols of jackals.

There was a figure near the back, black robes and shrouded in shadows. He held a papyrus scroll with golden caps on the end.

“God?” Ben asked incredulously.

The figure looked up, it seemed surprised. Then, it held the scroll out to Ben. Upon it were written in gold leaf; THE RULE OF LAW. When Ben reached out to grab it, it crumbled to ash through his fingers. Ben wept and fell to his knees, trying to grab any smoldering fragments that might be left.

COME AND SEE!

Ben screamed, and he saw. A town in the middle of nowhere, ringed by trees. A young girl, beautiful, sixteen, stood naked at the top of a hill. She walked briskly, shamelessly, and Madness followed in the wake of the young witch. Old men ripped their clothing from their bodies and began furiously fornicating with one another. Women threw their babies to the pavement with savage violence and covered themselves in the blood. Wherever she walked, more witches appeared as though they had been invisible, hiding. Bloodlust and madness followed, packs of men running around on all fours and drinking from urinals, fires and lust and murder-

“AAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!” Ben screamed for a long time.

When he awoke, he was in bed at home. A shadowy figure stood over his bed, and a clock rapidly cycled through numbers, letters and gibberish symbols in furious millisecond intervals.

Ben awoke again and was floating above the crime scene, looking down at a great pit surrounded by piles of gold and treasures. He felt a storm of soundless wind, rain and thunder all around him. From the pit, he felt a great, hungry presence, waiting.

–

Ben awoke with a start, sitting still for a moment, then standing up as quickly as he could and rushing to the bathroom. He washed his face with cold water, wiping it off with a towel and attempting to wash the vision from his eyes. He towled off and headed outside to dry off, the bright desert morning light warming his skin and burning his fear away.

Ben walked over to his car, wanting to get a pair of sunglasses to protect his eyes, and noticed something strange. He looked over at it and the first thing he noticed was that his car had been given a clean new coat of paint, the same color as before. Then, looking inside, he saw that the interior had been thoroughly cleaned and organized. Sitting on the drivers seat of the car was a white metal street sign with a cow symbol on it, and in red spray paint, the cow had a circle around it with a line through.

Ben pulled the sign from the drivers seat and put it in the trunk. He would want it in there as a souvenir if he survived the next 12 hours.

–

Everything but the Cow Fried Chicken was the only fried chicken restaurant in fifty miles. Initially, locals had avoided it, considering the name to be weird and somehow implying cannibalism. Ben had thought that said more about the town than it did the restaurant, but had also avoided eating there, because he didn't know he liked fried chicken yet.

Eventually, as the weeks went on, boredom and curiosity had driven the locals of Hope to eat there, and it was thereafter generally considered to be a good place to get food; it had worked out much better than the Kabuki Theater Steak House, which was dead upon arrival. Later the business would be bought out by a crime family from Vegas, a member of whom had enjoyed eating there while he was laying low for a couple of months. Not much had changed, aside from a substantial pay raise for the employees in the form of an extensive benefits program, along with a smaller traditional raise.

The employees knew, however, who paid their bills. It was no surprise to Ben when he arrived to Everything but the Cow Fried Chicken to see the large Closed sign, and a full staff waiting inside. The door was opened for him, and he was led to his table. Aside from staff, the building was almost empty, only a single booth with two suited men. Ben was seated across from them.

“So, the cartel thinks you might be connected to two of their dead amigos. Before they black-bagged you and did some freaky cartel shit to you, they came to us, because you're white and we are also white, and thus under our jurisdiction,” the man on the right said, and his bigger companion on the left nodded.

“We've talked to the sheriff's already,” the man on the left said “but they aren't exactly clear with the details, not their job description. Do you know what happened?”

Ben involuntarily gulped.

“There were wolves up there when we found them,” Ben said, a sudden surge of emotion making him shake. Some distant part of his mind was surprised he was reacting this way “Ten or twelve of them. I shot them all. I don't know what happened up there, one of them looked like a messed up mummy, and the other looked like he'd been struck dead by lightning.” As Ben spoke, he felt a pressure inside of him, gripping him to continue, and then when he finished, he seemed to slump a little.

The men across from him looked sideways at one another.

“Yeah,” he finally said “Freaky cartel shit.”

“Only two bodies, right, and only one of them Mexican? Probably infighting,” the man on the right said “They'll be happy to know someone in their own ranks is gunning for control,” he said, then looked straight at Ben “Personally, I'm glad they're dead. I'd like to see more of them in body bags, all wrapped up like burritos, but we can't always get what we want. This applies to you as well,” he said, an apologetic smile on his face “unfortunately. The cartel's still going to want to grab you and do all sorts of freaky voodoo on your dead body. So, as of this moment, you're working for me now.”

He shrugged and motioned one of the servers towards them, and she arrived with three servings of fresh fried chicken. It was golden, dry and crisp looking, steam wafting and filling the air with a pleasant smell.

“Have some chicken, Ben. Welcome to the family.”