Page 7 of Potent Desire 5

“What is it you’d like to know?” Benjamin asks, sitting forward in his chair. Eager to spill all the secrets of Maddox’s youth.

“How about we start at the very beginning?”

So, Benjamin does. From wetting the bed after watching Stephen King’s It to orchestrating his own play of Hamlet. Or rather the to be, or not to be scene from Hamlet. How he beat up bullies in the schoolyard who were trying to hurt his little brother and how he fought with the principal for siding with the little shit who punched Aaron. One thing I did pick up on, in every one of Benjamin’s stories, was that Maddox’s actions were selfless. Meant to entertain, or to help serve some greater cause.

Benjamin never passed the threshold of Maddox’s sixteenth birthday. That was the year it all changed and he became enmeshed in the very fabric of the life he now leads. He spoke of tragic circumstances that changed Maddox from a free spirit into the mafia’s monster. An oppressive father, in his most tender years, was all it took to change his foundation.

“He’s a good kid, Isabella,” Benjamin says, once he’s done telling stories of Maddox. And though, I don’t forget the fact that I’m a prisoner in Oswald’s home, these tales have helped me through the nightmare, somewhat. “And he’s a good man. I know this isn’t what you want…”

Isn’t it?

“But he’ll forever be there for you. That much I’m damned sure of,” Benjamin finishes. We share a smile.

By the time Benjamin’s done, there’s barely any light left in the room at all. He flicks a switch above his head, before getting up to draw the curtains closed. But now that we’ve gotten through the easy part, it’s time for one more question.

The hard question.

One that Benjamin can’t know the answer to, but probably has some insight to give.

“What’s going to happen tonight, Benjamin?” it leaves my lips reluctantly.

“Nothing good, I think.” Benjamin’s head drops forward. He lets out a long sigh. “We can only pray that the outcome is in your favor.”

“And if it isn’t?”

“Let’s not dwell on the what if’s; let’s just try to stay positive. It’s the only way to get through whatever happens.”

And as if those words are some mystical command, all hell erupts around us. The first sign of it is a loud bang that echoes and reverberates through the expanse of Oswald’s property, followed by what seems to be a thousand more.

Benjamin drops to the ground, inspiring me to roll off the bed, as well. I wince in pain. My ribs hurt from the accident, and my head only thumps harder.

“Christ, it sounds like World War Three out there.” Benjamin turns to me.

“What’s going on?” I whisper. My breathing is shaky and rapid.

“The cavalry’s arrived,” he says.

The sound of multiple sets of tires screeching is audible between a brief pause of silence.

“Let’s give them hell,” I hear someone shout from outside the bedroom. Others are cheering excitedly. All ready to serve and die at their master’s side.

“We need to get you out of here. This room faces the street,” says Benjamin, starting a slow leopard crawl across the ground. I follow closely behind him.

Once more, reports from various weapons sound out. Some are single; pistols are my guess. Other steady streams of open fire ring out in short bursts. Some sort of machine gun, I presume. As soon as we reach the door, Benjamin’s worries come to fruition. A number of shots crash through the bedroom window, tearing through the bed.

I scream, ducking my head lower, and covering it with my hands.

That son of a bitch put me in this room to die. Oswald wanted the random spray through the window to hit me. The realization of my situation sets in deeper. I know Maddox is out there somewhere, fighting to save me, but what if I’m not meant to be saved? What if all I am is collateral damage in the grand scheme of this war, and this is my fate?

During another short pause in the gunfire, Benjamin gets up on his heels. He keeps his back pressed against the wall, making himself as small a target as possible. With an open door, he drops to his belly again and starts the leopard crawling all over.

We don’t speak. We just move. The house is alive with footsteps, men barking orders, some cheering, and of course, death. Those unlucky enough to be standing in front of the windows meet an untimely fate in the wildfire.

Eventually, the shooting starts again, and this time it doesn’t ease up. A constant stream of thunderous firing, on and on. My ears are ringing so loudly I almost can’t hear anything else. When we reach our destination, I have to focus on Benjamin’s lips to discern what he’s saying.

“We’re safe here,” I make out.

But we both soon realize that Benjamin is very mistaken.