Mystery Ben
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I’m sitting in the kitchen with my back to the refrigerator, and I have no idea who’s behind me. The only reason I can tell that there are people here is that the lights were on before they turned them off again. It’s a small house; if you close the door of a room from another one, you’re in it.
The light turns back on. I hear footsteps coming up the stairs. Then, “Ben?”
I turn around slowly. My father is standing there looking worried. There are two other men in suits standing by his side. One has a cell phone out. A man who looks like he might be my uncle walks through the front door. He looks more like his brother than their dad. His eyes narrow when he sees me.
“What are you doing here?” My father asks. “You know we don’t want you going outside.”
“I’m not going outside,” I say, though I have absolutely no intention of telling him what happened at school today. I didn’t get a chance to talk about it last night because Dad fell asleep right after dinner.
“You’re supposed to stay home until tomorrow morning,” Uncle Joe says. That must be who Uncle Joe is; this is his house. His voice sounds angry for some reason.
Dad frowns. He glances at the men beside him. His gaze lingers on the cell phone. It seems like he doesn’t understand what’s happening or why these men are here. It makes sense—they aren’t family. But it also means they’re not really part of our lives. And now that he knows I’m in danger, Dad should be trying to protect me. Instead, he’s letting them take me away.
Uncle Joe takes the phone out of his pocket and looks down at it. When he lifts his head again, there are tears running down his face. “It’s too late,” he says. “They’ve taken her already.”
I look at him blankly. What is he talking about? “Who?” I ask.
“Your mother,” Uncle Joe says. “She’s gone.”
There’s no doubt in my mind that something terrible has happened to my mom. That would explain why she wasn’t here for dinner last night. I knew something was wrong. She looked pale and shaky when she came home. Her hair was all mussed up, which meant she had slept badly, and she was wearing the same clothes as yesterday. She didn’t seem herself at all.
But then, I hadn’t seen her since Saturday. I had thought maybe she’d just gone somewhere with Dad, but now I know differently. They couldn’t find Mom; someone took her away. That must mean…
“Dad?” I say. “Is this true?”
He doesn’t answer. He stares down at his hands as if he can’t bring himself to look me in the eye.
Uncle Joe shakes his head sadly and then points to the stairs. “Go,” he says. “We’ll catch up with you later.”
“Wait,” Dad says.
“No,” Uncle Joe answers firmly. He nods toward the men. “Take him.”
I glance at my father, whose face has gone pale. He stands frozen, unable to move. For once, he’s not strong enough to keep me from being taken away against my will. I stare at him in disbelief. This can’t be happening. Why are they taking me? How could anyone hurt Mom, when she always protected us?
I start to cry. I don’t care anymore about how weak or useless I am—I just need someone to hold me.
“Dad,” I say desperately. “Don’t let them take me.”
That breaks him. He turns around and runs after me, grabbing onto my shoulders and shaking me so hard that I fall forward into the living room. He pulls me back up and slaps me across the cheek, hard. I feel tears pouring down my face, hot and stinging, and my skin is burning where his hand hit it.
“Stop crying!” he yells at me, spittle flying out of his mouth. “You’re a monster! You don’t deserve to live!”
I don’t remember much else about that day. The police came; I don’t even know how many there were. There was an ambulance outside. I remember them giving me something to drink and saying, “Everything is going to be okay.” Everything was dark, but I think they put a blanket over me.
I woke up sometime later. My throat felt like it was full of sand. Every muscle in my body ached. My head was throbbing painfully. And I couldn’t see very well. Someone told me it would get better.
“What do you mean?” I asked, confused.
My mom looked tired and sad. “They took your eyes,” she said quietly. I stared at her uncomprehendingly, until she explained what she meant. “You don’t need your eyes anymore, Ben. You shouldn’t have to live without them. I know it won’t be easy—”
She stopped abruptly. I heard another sound, something soft hitting the ground. She turned away and covered her face. “Mom?”
It sounded like she was sobbing. It didn’t matter now that she couldn’t see either. I knew what I needed to do.
“Mom,” I repeated, louder this time, my voice trembling. “Please help me.”
***
I don’t remember how long I lay on the hospital bed in the darkness before someone spoke to me. A doctor I vaguely remembered from high school stood nearby, looking down at me with concern. “How are you feeling?”
I thought about lying and saying I was fine but decided against it. “I’m really tired,” I answered honestly. “And a little bit sick. Why am I here?”
The doctor smiled gently. “We wanted to make sure you were all right,” she said. “This morning…” She paused, clearing her throat awkwardly. “You know we found the bodies of two people in the apartment you shared with your parents?”
“Yeah,” I sighed.
She nodded, her gaze distant. “Well, we did some more tests on their blood,” she continued, “and it looks like the two of them had been dosed with a very powerful hallucinogen. We think you probably ingested it too, but your symptoms are milder than theirs.”
“What does that mean?” I asked, confused.
“It means you should be just fine in a few days,” the doctor assured me. “Your vision will probably go back to normal in a couple weeks or so, when the drugs wear off. It could take longer, but hopefully not much longer.”
“Okay,” I said, still trying to figure out why they’d brought me here if all I needed was some rest and to wait for my vision to come back. But then the doctor looked up suddenly, and her expression hardened.
“Ben,” she said. “We also found another person in the apartment.”
I frowned at her, trying to figure out what she meant. “What do you mean?” I asked.
She gestured toward a man who sat next to me in the dim room, staring intently at my face. He wore an expensive-looking suit. “Do you know him?” the doctor asked, and the man raised his hand quickly to answer, his voice loud and gruff.
“Yes,” he replied, almost angrily. “I am Mr. Smith, the lawyer you spoke to earlier today.”
“Oh,” I muttered, trying to remember anything about the guy.
“Is that true?” he demanded. “Did you call our office this morning?”
I nodded. “Yeah,” I admitted. “I guess that’s why I’m here. You guys said my parents weren’t…that they wouldn’t be coming home anytime soon.”
“Right,” Smith said slowly and turned back to the doctor. “Can you explain what happened to these other two people?”
Her expression darkened again as she looked at me. “We aren’t exactly sure yet,” she replied. “But we believe they died during a struggle inside your apartment.”
“A struggle?” I repeated, alarmed by her words. “Are they okay?”
“No,” she said firmly. “Both men were strangled to death.”
“Strangled? What does that mean?” I asked, feeling a shiver run down my spine. Strangulation seemed like such a horrible way to die—like choking. Was that how I had killed my parents, I wondered numbly.
Smith turned back to me and smiled reassuringly. “Don’t worry about it, Ben,” he said softly. “It sounds like your friend got there in time to save you.”
I shook my head. That wasn’t possible. No one could have saved me. They wouldn’t let anyone into my room while I was unconscious.
“What happened?” the man beside me demanded, leaning forward urgently. “Where is she? Did you find her?”
His voice made my heart lurch, but I forced myself to remain calm. He was just being protective of someone else. His girlfriend. His wife. I tried to remember who she was but couldn’t. It didn’t matter anyway, I decided. She wasn’t dead. I would find her, and everything would be all right.
“She’s fine,” I said. “She’ll be here soon.” I stared at the man and his lawyer, waiting for a reaction, but neither one looked surprised at my reply. The man leaned forward and tapped me lightly on the cheek. “Hey, buddy,” he said in an urgent whisper, “why don’t you try to get some sleep? Okay?”
I shrugged and turned back toward the wall, staring down at the bed and wishing desperately that things could be different.
I had known this moment would come eventually; I just hadn’t thought it would happen quite so soon. I glanced at the man next to me, studying his face carefully before I spoke. “Who are you?” I asked quietly.
The man studied me for a long time, nodding once as though confirming something he already knew. Then he looked away abruptly and crossed his arms over his chest, shaking his head slightly as he considered something that had been bothering him.
“That’s not important,” he finally said, turning back to look at me once more. “Not now, anyway. But you should know that I’m glad you’re alive. And I’m going to help you find your friend.”
He reached out to place a gentle hand on my arm, and the gesture felt warm and genuine. “She’s coming for you, Ben,” the man said softly, and I wanted to believe him, but I still had too many questions.
How could he possibly have known about me? Had the police contacted him about my disappearance? I frowned uncertainly and looked up at the man’s face. “What’s your name?” I whispered, suddenly realizing I’d never bothered to ask.
The man hesitated, then smiled again. “My name is Peter. And yours is Ben.”
***
THE FOLLOWING DAY
I HADN’T BEEN ABLE TO SLEEP well since the incident with my parents. The nightmares had started up again last night, and I had been haunted by their images until sunrise. I had tried to distract myself from them by doing my homework, but even then, I had barely slept for most of the day.
Even so, I had woken to feel surprisingly refreshed and alert despite having lost so much sleep. My thoughts drifted toward the conversation I had overheard in the hospital yesterday afternoon. I had no idea whether the man was telling me the truth or not, but I found myself hoping that he was somehow involved with the woman and that she was coming to help me.
At the same time, I worried that she might not be able to find me. There was so much time between when I heard her voice and when she actually appeared in my room. If I could find a way to contact her sooner, maybe she would be able to stop whoever was killing people in the apartment building where I lived.
I spent hours thinking about what I might say to her. As far as I knew, I had only seen her face and briefly caught sight of her hair through the window on the third floor. But she must have been wearing her glasses at the time because they were nowhere to be seen now. Without them, I would have no way of knowing if I recognized her face later.
But then, without her glasses, she couldn’t recognize me either… could she?
I shook my head to dispel such morbid thoughts and pulled open the closet door again. Maybe she would come with someone else. A detective. Or a cop. She probably worked with them. She might need a witness or something.
I pulled off my clothes and began to fold them neatly, trying to decide which ones would go best with each outfit. I was just finishing up folding my favorite jeans when there was a soft knock on my bedroom door.
“Come in,” I called out, glancing around the room quickly to make sure everything was put away properly before I opened the door.
It took me a few seconds to realize that the person standing in my doorway wasn’t wearing a coat like the first man had done. Instead, I saw that she wore a light blue sweater and jeans, similar to what I had chosen for myself.
The woman was slender, but there was an unmistakable strength to her shoulders and arms that suggested that she would be physically fit as well as smart and tough. Her hair was short and blonde, parted in the center and held back by a red velvet barrette. It was difficult to see clearly under the dim lighting of my bedroom, but it seemed to sparkle slightly when the sunlight hit her.
She was smiling when she looked up at me, and I realized that she was the same woman who had spoken to me the previous day.
“Hi!” she exclaimed enthusiastically, stepping inside the room and closing the door behind her. “You’re Ben, aren’t you? Ben Sullivan?”
I nodded, surprised by her reaction. When she stepped into my room, she walked right past me, looking me straight in the eye as she did so. Her gaze was intense, almost piercing, and I felt compelled to look down at my feet rather than meet her eyes any longer. I wasn’t sure how to respond when she continued speaking, so instead, I simply nodded again.
“So what are you up to this evening?” she asked, turning around quickly and gesturing toward my closet. “Are you making yourself ready for tonight?”
“No,” I replied hesitantly. “Not exactly…” I paused, unsure what else to say. This whole situation was starting to feel awkward. What was going on? Why hadn’t the two men with the coats shown up yet? Was this some sort of trick? Did they know that I’d overheard them talking about me? Were they here to abduct me?
“Well, I thought we should do something special together today,” she told me.
Her tone was cheerful, but her expression suddenly turned serious. “There’s something I want you to understand before we can get started. We’ve already got a lot of ground to cover, and I don’t want us to waste any more time than necessary. So… let’s skip the pleasantries and get right down to business. Here’s the truth: I’m a detective.”
That stopped me cold. My mind reeled from the sudden revelation. Detective? Me? What the heck was happening? Was she telling me that she was a police officer too? That would explain why she was dressed in casual clothing.
She must have been on vacation while on duty since I didn’t remember ever seeing her wearing a uniform at work. I wondered why she was still wearing her coat then, and I decided to ask her.
“Why are you wearing your coat?” I finally asked. “Shouldn’t you take it off for work?”
The woman smiled at me reassuringly, and I realized she was probably used to being questioned by confused young boys.
“No,” she responded firmly. “My coat is completely unnecessary for this job. In fact, I hardly ever wear one unless I’m actually going undercover.”
Undercover?
Suddenly I was feeling even less certain of her identity. Had she tricked me into helping her set a trap? Was that all this was about? She was working with those two guys to catch criminals! They must have told her what I’d said yesterday about the stolen laptop. She knew what I looked like!
Then I noticed the badge hanging from her purse. It was small but clear. On the front were three horizontal bars that formed a vertical line running diagonally across the center of the badge, followed by the word “Detective” printed vertically underneath. There was no mistaking it; the badge belonged to a real cop.
I stared at the badge for several seconds before my mind began to make sense of the implications. If Detective Adams was who she claimed to be, then she had come to my house that morning intending to set a trap.
I’d never seen her before, but now that I knew she was a detective, I could easily recognize her from her voice and mannerisms. It made sense that she would have gone out into the city to search for a potential suspect in the case.
This realization brought a wave of relief over me, and I felt foolish for having doubted her. After all, she had just admitted it herself – she was indeed a detective. That meant that I hadn’t been duped by the men in the car. She must have figured out who I was after hearing them talk about it earlier. And now that she had revealed it to me, I couldn’t keep it to myself.
“So you’re really a detective?” I asked cautiously, trying not to betray my excitement. “Like, really? Are you an actual police officer?”
Adams chuckled at my naiveté. “Of course I am,” she declared proudly. “But what I’m doing tonight will help determine whether or not that matters.”
“Oh,” I replied, feeling slightly dejected. “Well, that’s good, I guess.”
“Don’t be so quick to assume that this doesn’t matter to you,” Adams said sternly.
“I’m sorry,” I apologized. “Did you mean that for me specifically, or… ? You know what I mean. What does it mean if I’m a cop?”
She shook her head, smiling at me reassuringly again. “It means nothing to you personally,” she explained carefully. “If you want to learn how to become a police officer someday, there are many ways to go about that.”
“What about if I want to be a private detective?” I pressed, eager to learn as much about her work as possible. “Does being a detective affect that?”
Her smile faded, and I saw a look of concern flash across her face for a brief moment.
“No,” she sighed softly, shaking her head gently. “Being a detective doesn’t impact your ability to find evidence or investigate crimes.”
“But… wouldn’t it?” I insisted, unable to accept her answer.
“No!” She shouted, causing me to jump in surprise. “Private investigators and detectives are different things entirely! You’re confusing them both by lumping the two together. Don’t worry about it.”
“Okay…” I responded hesitantly. “I’ll try to remember that, then.”
“Good boy,” she cooed, reaching up and patting me on the shoulder. “Now, let’s get going before we miss dinner. We don’t want to keep your mother waiting.”
The End