“Of course you’d defend him. You’re both Foster delinquents!” the man snorted.
Ben looked at him in shock. “That’s not fair! We’re good kids! We get good grades!”
“And you talk back to your elders. Shut up and sit down there while I decide what to do with you! I’m of a mind to kick you both out!” the man pointed to the chairs outside his office.
Ben sat next to Richard and tried to get him to speak but he wouldn’t even look at him.
They sat and waited. And waited. Ben kept an eye on the clock and began to get worried. They still had a long way to go home and it would be getting dark soon.
He heard a noise behind him and the principal’s door pushed open. The man looked at them in surprise.
“God dammit! You’re still here? Go home! I’ll deal with you two in the morning!” he yelled.
Ben smelled the stale cigarettes on the principal’s breath and clothes as he pulled Richard to his feet and got him moving down the hall to the exit. When they got outside they saw the sun was only a short distance from the horizon.
“We have to move fast. It’s going to be dark soon,” he said and pushed Richard into a slow run.
Block after block they ran and Richard was tiring out. Finally he began to cry. Ben stopped at a bench next to a bus stop and let Richard slump down.
“What’s going on with you Rich?” Ben asked.
“I’m so sorry!” the boy bawled.
“Sorry for getting hit?”
“No. For telling Mr. Cosburn about you and Mrs. Cosburn dancing.”
Ben froze. “When? When did you tell him?”
“He- he came to the school and called me over to him at lunch in the school yard.” Richard sobbed.
“What did you tell him?” Ben said with dread in his heart.
“He asked how long you two were dancing… I said a long time. Then he hit me. I’m so sorry.” Richard cried then yelped as Ben yanked him by the arm to his feet.
Ben began to run, pulling Richard along behind him, the boy barely managing to keep his feet under him. They ran the remaining distance and when they arrived heaving for breath they saw the house was dark.
Walter’s car was in the drive but parked crookedly.
There was one light on in the backyard. The small light on the shed was casting odd shadows across the back patio. Ben released his grip on Richard and walked slowly into the back yard. He heard Richard slip in the side door and run down the stairs into the basement but he put that out of his mind as he saw the red glow of a cigarette in the darkness of the backyard and it was moving closer.
Ben walked out onto the patio and Walter came closer, cigarette in one hand and whisky bottle in the other. He brought the cigarette to his mouth and inhaled slowly. For the briefest moment the glowing embers lit his face, dimly, but enough to see his cold eyes. He slowly exhaled the smoke in Ben’s direction then knocked back the last mouthful of whisky, tossing the bottle to the side to smash on the patio stones. Ben flinched and Walter snorted quietly.
Walter stepped closer and the weak light from the shed lit his edges from behind. The man’s big hands caught Ben’s attention first. The knuckles looked bruised and cut. His hands were… bloody.
Ben couldn’t talk. His throat was closing up. He was terrified of what he’d find inside the house.
Then he saw a shadow on the ground behind the picnic table. His mind wasn’t understanding what he was looking at but he couldn’t look away.
Walter stopped moving and glanced back at what Ben was fixated on. He chuckled deep in his chest as he turned to face Ben once more.
“The bitch is mine.”
That’s when Ben realized the shape on the ground was the broken body of the woman he loved. He found his voice.
“NNNNOOOOOOOOOOO!!”
Walter smiled and met the boy’s charge head on but he wasn’t expecting the strength behind the rabbit punches to his gut as Ben slammed into him. He took a couple to the kidneys before he roared and hit back with a big and bloody fist.
Ben went down but he got right back up and charged again, face distorted with his rage.
The big machinist’s next sweeping punch just grazed Ben’s cheek as he ducked and slammed his own fists into the ribs of the brute in front of him. He heard the man suck in a sharp breath and grinned that he caused him pain.
Walter’s next punch didn’t miss and Ben’s head rang as he staggered back. Another fist came out of the darkness and stars exploded across Ben’s mind.
Richard slipped back outside having made his preparations in the basement. He clutched a heavy pipe wrench in his small hands. He watched Walter pounding on Ben and froze in terror. Then Ben’s fist shot out and thudded against the man’s nose causing a spray of blood. Richard jolted free of his terror and stepped closer.
Walter shook his head to clear the buzzing and blocked Ben’s next punch. He smiled. He was going to enjoy taking this punk down. He slammed his fist into the boy’s gut and heard the wind gush from his lungs. He readied his next punch when he heard a sharp clanging to his left. As he dropped Ben to the patio stones he looked back to see the smaller brat pounding on the barbeque with one of his wrenches.
“Stop that you little shit!” Walter boomed.
Richard looked up in fear then scuttled back into the shadows of the house.
Walter would take care of him after he finished-
He rocked back when Ben’s fist caught him on the right ear, dazing him. He snapped his eyes back to the boy whose left eye was swollen shut and he was bleeding from his lip and nose. But his eyes were filled with hate. Walter knew that emotion well. He blocked Ben’s next punch and hit the boy in the chest with his left sending him tumbling to land on his back.
The sound of shattering glass was followed by that nasty clanging sound again. Walter spun to see Richard stepping out of the shadows with the wrench in his hands. There was an odd noise behind the boy Walter didn’t recognize but he was going to take care of the little punk right now! He stalked closer and when the boy swung the wrench at him he pulled it from his grip and tossed it over his shoulder as he backhanded the kid. Richard flew backwards to slam against the house and fall in a pile.
Walter heard footsteps running towards him and spun to see the wrench swung at his head. He tried to duck but the heavy tool caught the edge of his temple and he went down hard. Again and again the wrench slammed down on his arms as he blocked the blows. He finally grabbed Ben’s arms and rolled to pound the boy against the patio stones, the wrench bouncing free. He climbed to his feet and lifted Ben high above him and threw him.
Ben crashed down on the picnic table and bounced off, sailing over the broken body of Margaret to hit the patio and rolled into the in-ground pool.
“ASSHOLE!”
Walter spun to see Richard’s legs sticking out of the shadows as he leaned back against the house.
“You FUCKING ASSHOLE!” the boy’s shrill voice called out.
The big man stepped closer. It was time to shut him up.
“You’re dead,” Richard said and giggled nervously.
Walter watched the small boy raise the lighter he’d stolen from the principal’s desk in a shaky hand and roll the wheel. His eyes widened as his drunk brain finally recognized the hissing sound.
The blast wave ripped outwards, crushing everything in its path. It flattened the ripples on the pool as Ben struggled to swim back up to the surface of the water. He saw a bright flash wash over the water next.
The roaring flames and intense heat consumed anything the blast wave hadn’t crushed and debris from the house’s explosion rained down on everything.
Gasping Ben clawed for the edge of the pool. He winced as at least two of the fingers on his left hand were broken. He heaved himself out of the pool and flopped onto the scorched patio stones. He tried to get his breath but his ribs hurt so much. Everything hurt.
He rolled onto his side and froze as he saw her. Margaret. She was gone. No, she was dead. He closed his eyes as pain stabbed through his heart. He looked again and saw the final indignity. Her clothes were burning. Ben wobbled to his knees and scooped pool water out to splash the fire out. Then he gathered her up in his arms, so small, so delicate. He was shocked someone so small could have contained so much life, beauty, and love.
Ben looked around and suddenly realized the house was gone. He spotted… a piece of Richard. Looking away he saw the broken and burnt body of the cruel bastard who killed his Margaret.
His Margaret. She couldn’t be gone. Not this way. Not because of him. Ben screamed at the torturous pain ripping through his heart. He screamed until his throat stopped making noise. He sagged and cried over her small body, deep wrenching but silent sobs until he just stopped as the realization sank in.
The thought just came to him. A terrible truth.
Everyone he loved… left him. Of course Margaret was dead. It was him. It had to be.
The truth was too awful to absorb. He did this! This beautiful life had been extinguished because of him. He didn’t deserve to be loved.
The firemen found him there, kneeling with the woman’s burnt body in his arms as he stared out at nothing. They gently moved his arms to release her, then guided him away to the ambulance. The paramedics splinted his fingers after setting them but Ben was beyond feeling the pain. He looked without seeing, didn’t hear their questions, and went where they put him.
Numb was better. He didn’t want to feel the pain any more.