A hero’s End - He will be missed

The killer was right in front of him, shrouded in shadow, but still, Henry could feel their breath on him. He didn’t dare to move, to even breathe, for he didn’t know if the killer knew he was here. It wasn’t like them to wait, especially this close to him. Had they only been playing with him this whole time? Was it waiting for him to make the first move? Or, by the grace of the Sun, could it be completely oblivious to his present, waiting to hear or see him trying to sneak away down another hall in this labyrinth of a house. All to just chase him down again. Why won’t he just kill me? The three cuts the killer had made on Henry burned into his awareness was drawn to them again. He took a sharp inhale. The glowing, emotionless eyes behind the killer mask flicked straight into Henry’s soul.

With all his strength, Henry thrashed a kick into the…

Westen clapped the well-worn book closed and looked up at the young lady approaching the counter. He knew who she was, but here, where anyone could be anything, from a farmer to a hero to even a god, everyone was equal. “How can I help you, Miss?”

“Just these for me, please.” Her squeaky voice passed his ears with no judgment. He was a professional. He could listen to anyone speak for any amount of time about anything. Not only because he spent so many years listening to monotone professors working to get his doctorate, but because he genuinely enjoyed hearing people’s stories. It was just another book to enjoy, but when it came to the books of people’s lives, you never got the full story. And that’s why you had to listen to every word; it was all context.

“No YA romance this week?” He said while scanning the books, readying them to be checked out. She stared at him. He gave her a shrug that lifted his eyebrows and allowed silence to fall over the library once more. He looked up and down the span of the long foyer, not wanting to feed into her entitlement, forcing a one-sided conversation. Its once teal walls had been stripped and painted with a substance akin to a chalkboard so that anyone could write their favorite literary quotes. The ceiling was painted a different color every few feet, making sections for the different age groups. Westen’s favorite section was the orange, six through eight, when they were just beginning to be their own little people.

“Enjoy researching your herbs.” He said with a wink.

She took her books with a judgmental huff. “My mom says hi, by the way.”

“Ah, thank you. Please tell her…” But she was already out the door.

But that was just his favorite section of the foyer. The true magic was at the other end and down five steps. A place where you could be anyone, doing anything, anywhere. “The immense and unconquerable sea, for every drop you consume, there is another bucket added.” But alas, he had sailed his last voyage there many years ago, all due to the frustratingly simple entrance fee of five steep steps.

“So, how is the exile going?” The familiar voice was a warm hug on the cold night. He spun in his swivel chair to face the other side of the counter with open arms.

He held the young stout man for as long and tight as his joints would allow, pulled himself away, and gave him a hardy pat on the shoulder. “About as well as it has the last five years.” It was uncanny how much he looked like his mother, though he’d never tell him that. Those blue, almost grey, eyes, the same vibrant blond hair, and a brow so low it made it hard to see his eyes. He chuckled to himself, thinking of the slap on the arm Linda would have given him.

The man genially clapped him on the shoulder as well. “I miss her too, old man.”

Westen went to protest, but it was useless. The boy had learned to read people and listen to the unspoken words just as well, if not better, than him. He shook off the memories. “So! How long are you in town for this time around?”

He rubbed the back of his neck just below the buzzed line of his crew cut, “Well, actually, I’m just passing through today. Hence the surprise. But!” He flicked his finger up. “In two weeks, I’ll be coming back, and you won’t be able to get rid of me for a whole month!”

“Oh wow! How’d you work that out?”

“Oh, just perks of being a First Sergeant.” He said with a well-deserved but mostly feigned cocky smile.

“You’re First Sergeant?”

“I will be. That’s why I’m just passing through today. I got to go through my swear-in. But, yeah, once it’s official, they’re giving me a whole month off.”

A dull warmth reignited in Westen’s heart, a feeling that only returned when Keeth was around. And the boy could tell. “That’s amazing. I’m so proud of you. And so would Linda.”

“Thank you. That truly means a lot.” They shared a small silence together.

“Why are we being all smiles up here?” Westen turned a young girl with curly black hair, pulling two books from her pink fuzzy bag. “Did he tell you about his vacation?” The girl made eye contact with Keeth.

“A vacation, you say? Even with all his reading, I didn’t think he knew the meaning of the word.” They chuckled together, and Westen simply rolled his eyes playfully.

“I’m guessing you’re done with the restocking?” He asked the girl before he could be hounded more.

“In record time, too!”

“What did you find this time?” She moved slowly, placing the books on the counter. “What is this? I told you not to bother your time with this crap.”

“I know, I know.” She patted the air in front of her as a sign to calm down. “Don’t crack a rib in anger again.” Keeth shot a confused look at both of them. Westen waved it off. “I don’t have a choice. They’re what the school is requiring me to read. And plus, I already finished all you suggested and even started implementing them. So I might as well see what these ‘lesser’ psychologists have to say.”

“Figures the school would be making you read this trash. Is Antoni still teaching Psych 101? Of course, he is. He couldn’t tell you the difference between simple anxiety and full-blown dissociation even if he experienced them both personally.” Westen rubbed the side of his face. It was rough with stubble.

“‘It’s better to read the same scene from two different perspectives than two different scenes from two different perspectives,’” Keeth said from behind him. “It’s that what you used to say? Don’t discourage her from seeing someone else’s perspective on what she’s already learned. If you filter her thinking like that…”

“I’d be no better than the school system.” He exhaled sharply. “You’re right. Please ignore all I said.”

With a smile, the girl said, “I’m sorry. You were talking?” He chuckled. “So. Got any plans for your vacation?”

“Nothing much more than letting these old, frail bones get some rest.”

“Please promise you won’t just sit in that house the whole time you’re off,” Keeth said, pulling a vibrating phone out of his pocket.

“Oh, I won’t be in the house the whole time.” Keeth would’ve been frustrated by the play on words had he caught it, but he was reading something on his phone instead. The dark-haired girl might have caught it, but she didn’t say anything if she did.

“Sorry,” Keeth put away his phone. “Mom is here, I got to go. She’s taking me to the airport.” He gave Westen a tight, meaningful, yet careful hug. “And the whole time excludes walking to get the mail and driving to get food.” He said with a sly grin as they pulled away. “Just think of where Aunt Linda would want to go, take a day trip. It won’t hurt anything. All your old dusty books will be fine, here and at home.”

“We’ll see…” Westen said, truly contemplating it. “I love you. See you when you get back.”

“I can’t wait. Love you too.” He said, running out the front door.

“I still can’t believe he isn’t yours.” The girl said, taking the liberty to scan the two books herself after walking around and entering behind the counter.

“I mean, he basically was. With his dad never in the picture and his mom having her breakdown, he was ours for several years.” Westen took the pause of an old man reliving memories. “He is a good kid.” He finally said, with a smile.

“But, and I know his mom is your sister and everything, but how much you two look alike is uncanny. Again, I’m fascinated by the fact he isn’t your son.”

“You and everyone else who sees us together. Linda used to call him my clone. That, since we couldn’t have our own, I had this experiment that I did without her knowledge. Producing my ‘perfect’ heir.” He shook his head with a laugh. “The elaborate mind of a writer, am I right?” She gave him a pat on the hand and a gentle smile.

“Now!” Her bubbling energy infected him. “Tell me more of this K. Allen Young. What line of philosophy does he teach?”

“Oh, he is my favorite by far. He mixes science with spirituality to make a beautifully concrete method that can, at least, start to heal almost anyone. Let me explain to you one of my favorite techniques.”

*****

They spent the rest of the day discussing psychology and their favorite authors and stories, as they always did. Occasionally, being stopped by the familiar patron passing by and/or looking to check out. Westen would organize returns, placing them in order on the cart she would take to restock the shelves with. And then the dreaded announcement came, “Excuse me, friends and explores,” The girl’s voice echoed over the intercom throughout the building. “But it is now fifteen till seven. Please bring your adventures to an end, pack up your belongings, and exit the building within the next fifteen minutes. Thank you!”

They waited for the normal book slugs, people who read/waited to the last second to get up to the counter and meander out. Twenty minutes later, after Westen finished racking the returns, he went and apologetically coerced the homeless man out of the bathroom.

“You’re okay to go home.”

“Are you sure? I can stay. I can help with the kid’s section, where the ramp access is.”

“For one.” She had up a finger. “I don’t need the help, and you know it. I’ll be done by the time you get down that ramp. That’s why you ‘hired’ me in the first place. Second, I will not take responsibility for you cracking a hip going down that ramp just before your vacation. And lastly,” She placed her hand on his shoulder. “Your vacation started thirty minutes ago, so it’s time for you to go. Go to the ocean, drive west – I hear it’s beautiful this time of year, just don’t come back here for two weeks and don’t stay in your house the whole time! I don’t care if you just rent a hotel for a few nights; break up the monotony. Your mind will thank you.”

“But what about…”

“Jay, Christy, and I have it all under control. I promise! We even made a little collection to have ten dollars to get Herry out of the bathroom every night. Go. And please, try to enjoy yourself.”

Westen gave her a reluctant nod and a genuine smile. “Alright. Don’t do anything I would’ve done at your age. And…” He looked over the foyer, and a wave of awe washed over him. “Don’t burn her down.”

“You have my word. She’ll be right here waiting for you.”

And with that, he stood on stiff legs and walked out of the building.

*****

His front door creaked closing behind him, and his nose filled with the familiar must. He took off his shoes at the door and dropped his bag next to the couch as he made his way to the kitchen. He didn’t even know what books he had brought home, not since his days of keeping up with all the newest psychology studies far behind him. He often simply grabbed random returns and checked them out to himself – even if he had already read them.

With each step deeper into the home, his fire quenched, and his heart deepened. He did his best to ignore his wife as she laughed aloud on the couch when she was crying in the armchair, as she tumbled from the stool at the dining table, as she hurried to get the holiday dinner ready in the kitchen, as she danced for him down the hall – beckoning for him to join. He let out a small puff as he let the fridge door slam close.

“Time heals all they say…” He stared at the calendar. Six weeks ago was the second anniversary, “And it still feels the same.” He sipped the cheap beer and moved back through the ghosts, coming to a seat in the living room. He watched as much as he could stand of the twenty years of memories play out in front of him. And still more danced in the back of his mind, in the home they lived in before.

“Nice and flat!” Linda said, stomping on the floor. “Not a single step or lip in sight.”

With his current eyes, he watched himself protest. He still had the vigor of a fifty-year-old back then and still hadn’t worked through the bulled-headedness of his thirties. He, back then, would’ve never admitted the benefits or thanked her for the reassured safety that he took for granted every day now. If only moving here could’ve prevented the aneurysm.

When he couldn’t handle watching the ghosts any longer, he snatched out one of the books from his bag and buried his nose in it. But it was no escape either. Within two sentences he knew the whole story; every arc, character, backstory. For it was Linda’s favorite book, and they had discussed it to the nth degree. He watched as she read it in the waiting room of the doctor’s office, on the couch just across from him, by the poolside during Keeth’s birthday, on the balcony of a cabin in the mountains during their annual vacation.

“We should go. I know you think it’s not worth it. But even if we slept in the car to save money, it’s worth it for your mental health. Even if you don’t want to admit it, getting away from everything always helps you reset. What would Young say?”

He flipped the book down and took a slow breath out. Looking up at the ceiling a small film of water formed over his eyes. Of course, crying was healthy; he had no hang-ups about that. He just didn’t want to tonight. He took a few more aware breaths before looking back down at the book.

“You’re right. As always.”

He pushed himself up, moved the hallway closet, pulled out their suitcase, and set it down on the living room floor. They tended to always go north-east for vacations. Linda was more mountains and cool rather than beaches and warmth. But as she would’ve told him, he needed to get away from the stresses. So, he’d take Keeth’s advice and go south-west, or at least west. He wasn’t much of a fan of the heat, either. “A beach would be nice, though.” He said as he moved through Linda on his way to the bedroom to grab his clothes.

The light flickered as he pulled open his dresser, and then he was plunged into darkness. Westen stood, frozen. The sun was far beyond the horizon now, and every light in his house was off. He waited, listened. There was no storm, no thunder, not even strong wind. Maybe someone wrecked into a transformer or something. He looked around; he had a lantern in here somewhere. He stepped carefully; he knew his house – almost as well as someone blind would know theirs. They had purposely arranged the furniture to be well spaced apart as well as cushioned all edges and legs. “I am fine, I am safe.” They’d practiced this a hundred times.

He stepped slowly, only lifting his foot a few inches off the ground as he moved it forward less than half his normal stride. It was almost painful how cautious he was being, but not nearly as painful if he tripped and fell. He reached out a hand into the dark, patting just at the end of the nightstand, walking his fingers to the far back corner. Something smashed and clattered to the ground. A short shock jerked his body stiff for a moment. But the sound had come from farther away, and he hadn’t even touched or brushed against anything to have knocked something over. He let out a relieved breath as his fingers found the small electric lamp and clicked it on. 

He blinked at the new light in the room. His eyes hadn’t had long enough to adjust to the dark for it to hurt, but they were still a bit shocked. He needed to find what he had heard and what had happened to the power, if at all possible. Maybe he could see the sparks or smoke from the living room window.

There was a scraping down the hallway wall. He whipped around, but the noise moved farther away from his door, all the way to the end of the hall. It sounds like when he and Linda had had to scrape off the wallpaper here, except it was continuous like someone was just dragging the putty knife alongside them as they walked.

A chill ran up his back. The house was silent; no AC running, no hum of the fridge, no echoing of footsteps – not even when he started to move, for he still took each step carefully. Looking ahead rather than down.

“Hello?”

The weight of his loneliness was the only response. Stepping into the hallway, the path toward the living room seemed the same as always. But the lamp’s light cast a deep shadow into the two grooves gouged into the wall. They trailed down the hall into the bathroom. He had read too many stories and seen this scene too many times; it just didn’t seem real. “If this is some kind of prank… Now is the time to get me to start laughing.” He took another cautious step towards the bathroom, halfway there now.

Something scraped against the tile. Westen froze again. Then, one footstep, followed by another, and Westen saw the toes of black boots just before the whole body emerged from the threshold. Large, masked, and with the gleam of a knife at their side stood the ominous presence of a killer.

“Ha. Ha. Good one.” He did his best trying to be calm in their presence. “Alright, now take the mask off. Who is that? Let the old man rest.”

The figure took a lumbering step towards them.

“Come on now. Put it to rest.” The lamp’s light started to jitter as his hands trembled. “You can’t dress up as one of my favorite horror characters and expect me to be scared.” They took another step, there was less than seven feet between them now. “Especially since you went with his outfit in the fourth movie. What a shame.” Two steps closer. Westen was having to look up to see their face now.

He tried to clear his throat but had to just swallow instead. “I…”

They lifted the knife to their face. Westen threw his lamp at them, turning and sprinting before seeing if it hit the thing.

He ran faster than he had in years, faster than he thought he could. So fast that he forgot everything; the only thing that mattered was getting away. Each step was in slow motion, and with each breath, he heaved in the weight of the world.

His foot wasn’t under him when he went to take the next step, it was still behind him. He tried pulling it forward, but he was already going down. His other foot caught up and stepped down on the other side of the suitcase, flinging it up on its side. His thigh bounced off the metal frame. Pain shot through it, but it wasn’t broken, nor had he fallen; he could handle it. He forced himself up from the awkward kneel and flung the suitcase behind him, hoping to slow down the killer.

Not losing much momentum, he pushed himself into a sprint again. His hip slammed right into the corner of an oak table. It and the couch had been shifted a whole foot to the left, directly in his escape path. Something popped, and the pain was so immense it faded before he even hit the ground. More cracked as he bounced and slid to a stop. He struggled to get a full breath as he was forced onto his back. The hulking man stood over him, looking deep into his eyes before turning and walking into the dark of the backyard – back out the broken window he had come through.

Westen gasped each shallow breath. He couldn’t move his left arm or right leg; not that much of his body was responsive anyway. Even if his power was on, there was no way he could crawl to the phone for help. His heart raced as his adrenaline kicked in to push passed the shock, but all it managed to do was focus his mind. He turned his head this way and that. And with each passing breath that grew more labored and shallow, a smile formed on his face. His wife danced and laughed around him, beckoning him down the hall.

*****

Three young, tired people stood inside the darkened foyer of the library. It had been a rough two weeks, but they had gotten through it. More importantly, they had gotten all the streamers and balloons up with only ten minutes to spare. “He’s not going to be happy we’re making such a big deal for his return,” Jay said nervously, folding paper.

“You’re right.” The girl with the fuzzy bag said. “He’s going to love it!”

“Hush. Hush.” Christy said, waving them down. “Just one more minute!” She was having trouble holding her excitement, as usual.

They all crouched behind the counter, waiting to hear the jingling of keys and the door unlocking. Christy was giggling, quiet but still uncontrolled.

Ten till passed. Then, five till Christy’s giggling had ceased, as did Jay’s folding. They both stared at the third, who watched the clock like it was the answer to the universe. The grand clock rang in the early morning hours, and the girl popped up from behind the counter, slamming her bag on top. “Jay, call an ambulance. Christy call the police. Send them to Mr. Westen’s home immediately!” The two didn’t even hesitate, pounding away at their phones. She pulled out her own. She didn’t know what was wrong, but she knew something was, and someone needed to tell Keeth.