Chapter Twenty-One
REM Sleep
Skips walked into the park house, his fur wet from the sweat of a hard day's work and exhaustion creeping over his muscles. He closed the door behind him and walked up the steps to check on Benson. Sure enough, there was the gumball machine, his eyes glued to a computer monitor with several windows open, all pointing to corporate websites and their lists of employees. It was exactly where Skips had left him a few hours earlier.
"Find anything yet?" he asked, approaching his friend.
Benson answered him in the form of irritable whine. "Nothing; no connections with any other corporations, nothing showing up on any of the employee lists, not even a stupid photo of the chinchilla, or any chinchilla even. I'm beginning to think that Maellard is either going senile, or this person just never existed in the first place." He continued to click through several windows and pursing his lips in failure as he came up empty handed.
"Maybe Maellard was just wrong on this one," Skips said. "Maybe he just thought there might be a connection. It was kind of sudden for him to think of this random guy up so quickly. He's probably just looking for some person to put the blame on losing Pops."
"We haven't lost Pops just yet," Benson assured the yeti, "at least I don't think so. I think both Pops and Don, as well as Tim are still alive. Though, I don't know where to be honest."
"I don't know, Benson," Skips continued. "They may already be too far gone to be saved."
The machine pulled himself out from the desk, and gave Skips a terrible death glare. He didn't want to hear anything negative on the subject of the kidnappings.
"Sorry," the yeti sighed. "I just think…"
"I need your help with something, Skips," Benson interrupted.
The yeti flinched at the cut off. He wanted to finish, but the look on Benson's face told him otherwise. "What do you need?"
"Do you think you could call Death for me?" Benson asked.
Skips face twisted in disgust and his fists clenched up. "Why would you want to talk to that idiot? What good could possibly come from him?"
Benson stood from his seat and sighed. "I can't do anything unless I have a name or face to work with, right? Well, if this chinchilla person died, he'd be sure to have his soul lying around somewhere, and if he's still alive, he obviously wouldn't have it. Either way, he should know who we're talking about."
Skips grumbled something under his breath, but continued to listen to his coworker.
"Besides, if Death doesn't have his soul, wouldn't that give him a reason to hunt him down and confirm out suspicions?"
He had a point there. Even Skips agreed with it. Death hated anything that lived past its live expectancy. Skips was of course included in all of this. It seemed like a sound enough plan.
"Alright then," Skips said, turning around and closing the door to the room. He sighed, and pressed his hands against the door and mumbled something in a strange language. A second later, something knocked on the door.
He opened up the door, and there, standing in the hallway, was a tall, literally bony man in a leather jacket, jeans, boots, and a mullet down to his shoulders. "Well, well, well, would you lookie here," he said in a decidedly thick accent that neither could tell if it was cockney or Australian. "I've been called not only by an immortal yeti, but also a potentially immortal machine. What do I owe the miserable pleasure to?"
Skips' upper lip swelled in hate as he stared down the demon with all of his might. "It's not what I want Death," he said to him, "but what Benson wants." He pointed to Benson by the computer and stepped away from the door frame.
Death greeted the gumball machine before stepping in, giving Benson a better look at the behemoth of an arm the personification of death wielded. It was almost comical considering the other arm seemed scrawny by comparison. "Alright then, gumball," he said with disdain, "what do you want?"
There was a subtle fear that seemed to glow around Death that spread to the other two residents of the room. Skips looked as though he wanted to attack the man, while Benson simply stood his ground, his body slightly shaking from being in this man's presence. He had been around Death before, but no matter how used to his image he got, he could never get used to what the man did for a living.
"Well come on then," Death snapped, "come out with it."
Benson fought through the fear, and tried to get some answers: "We've been having some issues with a monster lately, and we think it may have something to do with some chinchilla or someone who used to be part of some big company a few decades ago. We were wondering if you might know who it is."
The skeleton folded his arms, and smiled. "I've reaped the souls of millions of chinchillas," Death laughed. "What makes you think I can pinpoint this exact one?"
"It was an anthropomorph."
"Well now," Death continued, "that does limit my selection to a couple of hundreds of thousands. Let me take a look. You said a few decades ago, yes? How many decades are we talking?"
"I don't know," Benson said, "maybe six or seven?"
"Let me take a look then," he replied. The skeleton reached behind himself, and pulled out his scythe, looking deep into the reflection of the blade. It glowed green as millions of souls whizzed by in the reflection. Strange as it was, he was able to check each one individual in a fraction of a millisecond, categorized by date, sex, species, genus, anyway he wanted it to be. He smiled with content and pushed the blade toward Benson. "I think this may be who you are looking for."
Benson looked into the reflection of the blade, and saw the image of a healthy looking chinchilla standing up. He was about Benson's height, wearing a business style suit, and was surrounded by yes men. Skips skipped on over to look and watched the image with unflinching resolve.
"Tardem Hasselback is the name you're looking for," Death announced. "Put his name in a search engine and I'm sure you'll find something." He motioned to the direction of the computer.
Benson looked at him, and then to the screen. He sat back into his seat and pulled up a new window, typing in the name he had been told.
"Why the sudden generosity?" Skips asked in an unsure tone.
"I have my reasons," Death said with a half grin. "I almost consider you like a friend, Skips. I mean, even if you DO have an immortal soul that buggers the hell out me, I still consider you an important part of my life." His smiled formed into a full one as he slid the bottom of his thumb along the hilt of the blade. "Besides, with all the loved ones I've reaped from your life, I suppose I owe you something."
Skips eye twitched. He was about to punch Death as hard as he could if he hadn't been interrupted by Benson.
"Nothing," the automaton groaned. "I can't find his name anywhere."
Death let out an impressed whistle and chuckled. "He certainly knew how to cover his tracks, didn't he?"
Benson stared right back up at Death. "Wait, cover his tracks? Do you know something about thing?"
"I'm the Grim Reaper, mate," Death announced with snide, "I know everything about every soul on this sad and miserable little planet. Hell, I know it in all universes too, not just this one. So yes, Benson, I know everything about this bloke right here. He happens to be an old friend actually."
"Tell me everything you know!" Benson screamed. "Our friends are in danger, and this guy is the only thing to connect us to Bad News."
"Bad News? That's what you're calling him?" Death laughed. "I think that's the best one since they called him the Wondering Darkness. Such awful names you mortals give him."
"You seem to know a lot about him," Benson yelled as he stepped up, "what else do you know?"
Death continued to laugh at the gumball machine and his lack of knowledge. "Well, let me just tell you this: he has no soul… just like me. He's been around since the beginning, mate. And just like me he's gone through a couple of different forms and styles. Sadly for him, he can never seem to keep the same form for too long. Probably because of what he is…"
"What was he doing under the basement of this house!" Benson demanded angrily. He grabbed at Death's leather jacket and pulled him close with hostility. "What do you know!"
Death frowned at his threat and put one small finger on the gumball machine's chest. Benson was shot right across the room, slamming into the table and computer. Pieces of technology broke to fragments and fell to the floor, leaving Benson in pain on the table.
Skips dashed to his side and picked him up, checking his body for any damage. He was dazed but unharmed. The yeti's expression turned to shear malice as he glared angrily at his "old friend". He clutched Benson's shaken body close to him, keeping him safe from the creature that smiled so evilly in front of them.
The skeleton's smirk spread as he placed his scythe behind himself again. He approached Benson and Skips, the metal on the heels of his boots clanking on the wooden floor. "I'd stay out of Pestilence's affairs if I were you, gumball," he said as though it were common sense. "Take it from someone who's seen what kind of man he is. Everyone who gets involved with him do not live long and fruitful lives, nor do they have happy endings. Well… maybe except one." He let out a knowing laugh and stepped away from the two. "You blokes take care now. Don't do anything I wouldn't do," he said to them, going under the archway of the door. It slammed shut on its own and opened back up a second later with no one out in the hall.
"Fucking punk," Skips whispered to himself. He looked back down at Benson and heaved a heavy sigh of regret. "You gonna be okay?"
Benson shifted a bit in the yeti's arms, and tried to recoup himself. He was beaten, but not really hurting. It seemed as though it wasn't time for him to go just yet. Death was an enigma to the machine. Still, he worried about what he said.
"Pestilence?" he muttered. "His real name is Pestilence...?"
He pushed himself out of Skips' arms and situated himself back on the nice wood floor. Skips tried to keep him in, on the off chance he really was hurt, but was denied the good will. Instead, Benson sighed and rubbed his head, trying to process the information.
Anything that had to do with Tardem Hassleback had been erased from existence according to Death. This would probably include family members, as well as any information involving the corporation he had previously worked for. The name Maellard suggested, Febrile, turned up nothing but random definitions and descriptions. At first, Benson thought that maybe it was just something that Maellard only thought was true, but now, he wasn't so sure. Febrile meant fevered, like a sickness. Pestilence was essentially sickness incarnate. It made sense the more he thought about it, especially when coupled with Don's delirium.
But at the same time, it didn't make any sense at all. Death only told them his real name, and that the chinchilla person was in fact connected. Even more disheartening was that he said that there were those who had searched out Pestilence before, and didn't live to tell of it… except one. But he was getting ahead of himself. He still didn't have any extra information pointing them in the right direction. Pops, Don, and Tim were still missing, and the whereabouts of Bad News, now Pestilence, were still just as much of a mystery. He wanted this solved as soon as possible, but there were too many road blocks it seemed like. There was something else missing in all of this, but he just wasn't sure what.
"Benson," Skips said, interrupting the machine's train of thought. "I'd take what he said with a grain of salt. Death has been known to stretch the truth, especially if it's anything that involves me."
"He knows something, Skips," Benson retorted. "He knows exactly what's going on. It's like we have all the pieces, but no way of putting them together." The gumball machine folded his arms and grunted. He wasn't getting anywhere.
"Maybe you should take a break," Skips suggested. "You've been in here all day."
Benson nodded. Skips was right. He had been sitting in front of that computer screen all day without a break, and he still hadn't gotten anywhere, save for the creatures real name and a warning from Death that he wasn't sure if he should take seriously or not. True, he wanted to find them posthaste, but without any extra information, he was still running blind. He needed to take a breather and rethink his course of action.
He took a deep breath. "You're right Skips. You're right as always. We still need to get this thing figured out as soon as possible. You're gonna help right?"
Skips looked away for a moment, his eyes focusing on something else. But in time, they looked back to him and smiled. "I'll try to think of something in the mean time to help us figure this out."
Benson didn't like the sound of that. He didn't want Skips to take on the burden all by himself. It seemed kind of selfish, but knowing the yeti, it was just business as usual. Skips always was the one to try and fix everything that happened in the park.
"We can figure this out together, okay?" Benson replied. "I'm gonna head into town and get us something from the Coffee Shop. I'll see you when I get back."
Skips nodded and watched the gumball machine exit the house. He looked out the window, making sure Benson was out of sight before he closed the door to the computer room, mumbled something against the door, opened it up again, and spit in the face of Death.
Benson walked into the Coffee Shop like he usually had for the past few weeks, hoping the break in investigating would settle his worry. It didn't. In fact, it just made him feel worse. He shouldn't be there getting whatever expensive treat he felt like. He should be back at the house trying to figure out what to do about Pestilence. His head still swirled with questions and answers that were just barely out of reach.
His head ached. It had been like that since the stupid creature burst forth from the basement. What in the hell was it doing down there? How did it get down there in the first place? Why was it so gung-ho after Maellard? What was the point in kidnapping all these people? Did it have a motive even? Far too many things juggled around in his head, and he couldn ft answer a single one of them. He felt helpless.
A loud smack came from the back of the shop. Benson looked over with some mild interest to find Margaret's hand being pulled away after slapping Mordecai across the beak. The gumball machine smiled at the show of force, and was happy to see the blue jay get his come ups.
"That is the sixth time she's slapped him since they got here this morning," Veronica commented, taking a sip of coffee. She sat in a chair with one of the tables, looking at the two in distance. "I don't know what they are talking about, but it must be something important if that woman just keeps beating the hell out of that poor bird."
Benson groaned as he listened to his ex gossip. He suddenly didn't want to be there, and felt that the coffee at the gas station across the street suddenly seemed more appetizing. "Hi Veronica," he greeted with no emotion.
"Good late afternoon Benson," she sighed, shaking her little cup around to mix any stray flavor at the bottom of her cup. "You a customer today, or are you just here to collect your girlfriend?"
"Girlfriend?" he said questionably. He then realized what she meant, and smiled sincerely, remembering the date the two of them shared. "Margaret's not my girlfriend, Veronica. She's just a close friend."
"You slept with her yet?" she asked uncaring.
"No," Benson replied steadfast, "and I probably won't either, so come off it. What's got you in such a snippy mood?"
"I'm not in a snippy mood, chiclet," she answered. "I'm just bored today. We've only had like four customers all day, and I did all the dishes, and cleaned, and everything else. So now I'm just sitting here, bored out of my mind, drinking this crap they call coffee, and watching these two go nuts on one another. Just look around you, Benson. Not a single interesting thing today with the exception of them."
Benson did look around, and most of what she said was true. The place was completely empty save for the four of them, and the place did seem surprisingly clean. Veronica apparently knew how to do a good job when it came to the place. Benson guessed that maybe she did have some work ethic in her after all.
"I'm more or less just waiting for Michelle to get here and relieve me of my duty," she continued with a frown. "Then I got the rest of the day to go and do whatever. I'm very excited about that."
Benson shrugged, not caring in the least bit. "Well, I'm here as a customer, so I'm afraid I have to pull you away from your lazy sitting and am going to ask you for two cups of coffee to go. And make it quick – I gotta get back and work some more on this project."
"Now who's snippy?" Veronica said getting up. She popped the joints in her neck and let out a sigh. However, instead of going towards the back counter to take Benson's order, she actually went toward Mordecai and Margaret.
Benson watched as she approached them, caught both of their attention, and sat down in the booth right next to Margaret. The two birds looked utterly confused at what she was doing. A moment later, she motioned for Benson to come over. He moaned at his luck and slowly walked over to the group. He had every intent to force the woman out of the privacy of the two birds, but knew better than that. She would only cause a scene and stay there til she got her way.
"Well go on, sit then!" she yelled at Benson.
He looked at Mordecai who shared the same befuddled expression as he did, and knew that Veronica wouldn't let them be no matter how hard they asked. So he scooted over a bit, and allowed Benson to join them.
"So what's going on with you two?" Veronica blurted.
"I don't think that's any of your business," Margaret quickly countered. "I don't even know why you are over here. Shouldn't you be behind the counter taking orders?"
"From who?" she asked, waving her hand around the Coffee Shop. "The only customer we have here is Benson, and he can just sit his happy little metal butt down and wait to get his to go order."
"You shouldn't be saying things like that about our customers, Veronica," Margaret snapped.
The female machine laughed and stared venomously at the red robin. "And you shouldn't be running around in high heels, dresses, or wearing make up. But here you are, a damn fine example of feminine beauty!"
Benson pulled his leg back and kicked the woman across from him as hard as he could. She squeaked in pain, and rubbed her leg from the assault. He then looked over to Mordecai, who had an equally angry expression that was directly squarely at Veronica. Margaret just looked down in embarrassment.
"Well it's the truth," Veronica snipped. "Let's face it; none of us at this table can technically be qualified as male or female. I mean, Benson and I are pretty much genderless, and as for you two – I'm not sure what's actually up with you two. Are you the kind of birds with actual equipment, or are you the ones with the magical wonder hole?"
She was kicked again for her rudeness, only this time, Mordecai added a kick of his own right at her. It barely hit her other leg, but it got the point across.
"I don't see why you all are being so rude," she stated. "I'm just stating obvious facts! And I said that Margaret here was probably the most beautiful woman I had ever seen. I'm a little jealous of her actually."
She was kicked once again.
"What was that for?" she screamed.
"For acting like B," Mordecai replied.
Veronica gritted her teeth and rolled her eyes at him. "Fair enough I suppose." Her gaze looked over to the depressed Margaret. "I apologize Margaret. I meant every word of you being beautiful, and me being jealous. I hope that at least does something for you."
Margaret didn't even look at Veronica. Instead, her glance was on Mordecai. "C'mon, Mordecai," she said with annoyance. "Let's go."
Mordecai didn't even need to answer her. He slipped under the table and crawled out from underneath, not even asking Benson to move. Margaret pushed her way through Veronica, trying to make it as uncomfortable for the woman as she possibly could. When she was successfully out, she adjusted her clothes and stepped away.
"Margaret!" Veronica called out. "Come here just for one second."
The red robin stopped, shook angrily and turned back to her. "What is it, another snide comment?"
"Not really," the gumball woman said pulling something out of her apron. She then took Margaret's wing and slapped the item into the palm of it. "You two go do something nice and romantic, on me."
Margaret cocked her eyebrow at the woman, but nearly fainted when she saw what Veronica handed her. "There's at least $500 in here!" she exclaimed. Her expression turned suspicious as she looked toward the back counter, thinking of the register. "Where did you get this money?"
"Relax girl," the woman assured her, "we haven't even pulled in twenty bucks today. That's from my own personal account. You two go and have yourself a nice dinner and go on a shopping spree or something."
Margaret just looked at the money and then back to Veronica with a shocked expression. Even Benson and Mordecai looked at her with amazement. The only thing the red robin could do was thank her, and slowly step away, pondering where the money could have come from. Her sight kept going back to Veronica until the two birds were completely out of the store.
"You see Benson?" the woman began. "I can still be a kind and caring technically nonliving being, unlike what you and everyone else around me think."
"Where did you get that money?" Benson asked. "I wouldn't think a waitress at a café would be able to make that kind of cash."
"Well if you have to know," Veronica went on, "this Coffee Shop thing is only a small time gig. I'm really only doing it out of boredom. I have enough money to buy this place out a few times over if I wanted to."
"But where did you get that kind of money?"
Veronica arched her head and giggled. "Well I don't think that's really any business of yours now is it Benson?"
"Well fine then," Benson said standing up from the booth, "you can just go wave your cash all over the place if you want to. I'm going across the street and get some coffee where I can retain some of my dignity." He stomped his feet on the ground and began to walk away.
"What happened to you?" Veronica asked with an almost comical expression. "What happened to the Benson who was all about peace and love, and could never be pried away from his instruments, and who danced and joked around, and wrote ballads and said he never needed money to get by."
"He grew up," Benson yelled approaching the stairs.
"Grew up?" she laughed. "If you grew up you wouldn't be leaving in such a fit, and yet there you are, running away from your problems like you always do."
He stopped in his tracks and let out an extremely loud yell that filled the empty shop with his frustration. He nearly ran back to her, slamming his hands onto the table and getting right up in her face. "You're a bitch! You're talking to me about running away? What about you abandoning me right there in that train station without so much as a real reason as to why you left? You were running away from me, and you know it!"
Her grin shifted to a frown as she folded her hands on the table. "If that's what you want to believe, then so be it. You can leave then if it'll make you feel better to cut me down in size. That's what you've been wanting to do all this time right?" She watched the color on his face exemplify and grow brighter by the passing seconds. "I wasn't running away from you… you were just a circumstance that happened to be what I was trying to get away from. I was trying to get away from the life we shared."
Benson's color shot to purple as he heard that. "It's still running away!" he screamed.
"No," she replied, "it's trying to find my happiness somewhere else. If you had actually taken the time to pull yourself away from your damn ideals you would have seen that. You want the truth, then sit down."
Benson slammed his hands against the table again, and let out another yell. He needed to get back to Skips, but this just seemed to good to be true. He wanted to hear what this bitch had to say about their relationship. He tried to calm himself, but the deep flush of purple persisted even as he sat down and listened.
"Now then, " she continued. "I didn't leave you, per say. I left the life I had behind. You just happened to be part of it."
"I thought you were happy with what we had," Benson said through his teeth.
"For a time I was. You offered what I thought I wanted. You gave me love, sex, beautiful harmony, a place to live, and everything that I thought was going to make my soul complete. But I wanted more than that: I wanted a home where I could start a family. I wanted to wake up everyday and not have to worry about whether I was going to eat or not. I wanted to have a life where I didn't have any worries."
"We didn't have any worries!"
"No Benson," she snapped, "you didn't have any worries. You were completely content with living in your 'ignorance is bliss' mentality, and going about every day with a smile and completely ignoring everything else in life. You smothered the hell out of me with love, sex, and songs, but didn't offer any real support. All you did was sit and tell me that everything was going to be alright. You were ignorant of your surroundings, and this is the reward you get for it. You figured everything out too late in life, and now you're stuck as a park manager – a position I'm sure you just absolutely loathe with all your heart." She shook her head and continued. "So when the closest opportunity came along for something better, I took it."
"By just leaving everything behind?" Benson asked angrily.
"Quit saying that!" she screamed. "Do you have any idea how much it hurt to leave you like that? Do you have any idea how much I cried and screamed about it? It wasn't an easy decision to make Benson. I loved you, hell, I probably still harbor some attraction to you. But I was weak, and you were keeping me that way. I needed a way out. I wanted to find my own happiness and share it with someone that I could love for the rest of my life. I wanted you to have the same thing. But as long as we were together, it was never going to happen."
The color on Benson's slowly face began to fade as he continued to listen.
Veronica sighed and looked at the man fondly. "And then he came along, and everything just opened up. He promised me the world, and he gladly delivered it to me. I thought at first he was just some smooth talking wanting to get me into bed as his trophy wife. I was wrong. He actually cared about me. He would drop everything if I needed something. He wasn't overly smothering, and he even taught me a few things as well. Sure there are a few things I don't approve of that he does... but I was happy. For the first time in a long time, I was happy."
"So Mr. Business Man came and whisked you off your feet," Benson coughed. "Good for you."
"Don't give me that sass, Benson," the woman went on. "I found someone I can be happy with and know it. What about you? Have you found that somebody yet… or do you think you're always going to be alone and worthless?"
Benson chuckled at what she said and leaned back in the booth. "I live alone, I work at a park, and I've been getting attacked repeatedly by a monster from under the park house's basement. You already know the answer to that question."
"You're right," she said, "I do know the answer to that question. It's a shame that don't, unfortunately."
"Excuse me?"
"You heard me right, Benson," she continued. "You may think you're alone and worthless, and all that other shit that's in your head, but it couldn't be farther from the truth. You have a good life – you just don't want to admit it."
"What the hell are you talking about?" Benson asked unbelievingly.
"You have all these happy little people around you who care about you beyond anything else, and yet you still think your sad little existence is a lonely and pathetic one. The only one who's making that existence sad and pathetic is you, Benson. Not anyone else."
Benson's hands folded into fists. He didn't want to hear this snide woman go any further.
"Look at these people," she continued. "You have Margaret, who hangs on your every word and is constantly talking about you whenever you're not around, simply because you accept her and actually cared for her in a way that made her realize that she can find love out there. I couldn't possibly begin to understand how happy that would make someone in her situation. You gave that woman a bright spot in her life, and gave her the hope she needed to continue being who she knows she is. She may have been beating up on that blue jay, but god help me if she didn't still have a glint of romance in her eye. I think even the blue jay had it too."
"And then there was that Pops guy too. I only saw him a few times, but it seemed like he cared about your opinion above anyone else, and that's something that you should really take to heart, Benson. When was the last time someone favored your opinion over anybody else? For that matter, when was the last time you actually thanked them for trusting your judgment on stupid things like how a park can work?"
"And remember the fundraiser thing? That raccoon, whatever his name was, Don I think, certainly seemed to take a shining to you. He was always smiling around you and making sure you were off having a good time. From what your park mates told me, he apparently had some wood for you, and I couldn't have been happier about that. An accountant raccoon has a thing for a park manager nothing, and you just completely shoved it aside like it was nothing in your little world. Both Margaret and Don had the hots for you, and you reject them. Then, you come to me and say that they didn't care about you that way? Are you kidding me?"
"You know that Mr. Maellard really respects you too. I see him and Tim come in here every so often, and when you come up, he usually says nothing but good things. He thinks you could use some improving, but who doesn't? And don't even get me started on your little white yeti friend. Just the way he looks at you in the corner of his eye is enough to tip me off on how he feels about you... but obviously, I'm wrong, aren't I? Nothing is there in your eyes, and why should there be?"
The woman's face curls and contorts into an expression of complete retribution as she continues her tirade against Benson. "You know what you are, Benson? You are without a doubt the biggest hypocrite I have every met in my entire life. You're the kind of person who bitches and moans about being stuck in a rut, and wanting something different to happen to you, and the moment you get out of it, you complain about wanting to get back into the shit you were just complaining about. It's easier to stick to a routine then it is to ever get caught up in something that could be considered potentially harmful to you, huh? That's what all this monster business is about, isn't it? You wanted something to happen, and you got it! You got a homicidal monster wondering the park and the streets, you got me back in your life, you got men and women flocking to you, and you don't want a single bit of it. You are only happy when you're miserable, and it's utterly pathetic. You won't even admit it."
She crosses her arms and leans back in her seat. "Go on then," she yells, "tell me I'm wrong! Tell me how much of a worthless bitch I am, and how I screwed you over and broke your heart. Go around and tell everyone just how cruel I am, so that when they meet me, they already have a negative impression of me. Turn me into the bad guy if that's what makes you feel better about yourself. Whatever gets you to sleep at night is fine with me. But just remember this Benson... it doesn't change the kind of person you are today. You are still a sad dreamer who is begging for all of the fairy tales he thought up in his head to come true. Well guess what? They aren't coming true. You're just going to have to deal with the hand you were dealt. You can either learn to play the game like the rest of us, or bear with it. Your choice." She sighs and just watches Benson's expression, waiting for him to lash out at her.
But he doesn't. His face is speechless and completely white from everything she said. He could barely move from where he was at. He couldn't even make eye contact with her. His head hung low, and his eyes were wide with self loathing. It took all of his strength to move his arms, and all he could do was cling them around each other. He brought his feet up and tried to bury everything else around him. All he wanted was utter blackness to come and swallow him whole. If anytime he wished for Pestilence to make its appearance, right then would have been the exact spot.
He hated the silence that was brimming from all around him. There needed to be a sound of some sort to drown out his horrific thoughts. The TV in the shop wasn't even on, and there were still no customers their either. It was just him and Veronica, across from each other, both of which swept up in their own emotions. He wanted to run as far away as he possibly could, just away away away. He buried his head between his legs and did his best to make all the bad thoughts and images go away. But every time he forced one out, another would appear and take it's place. From the park, to Skips, to Margaret, to his work, to Mordecai and Rigby, to Pops, to Maellard, to Muscle Man and High Five Ghost, to Pestilence, to Veronica, to everything... he couldn't keep them out. They wouldn't leave no matter how hard he mentally attacked them.
His eyes finally readjusted to the world around him, and brought them up into the light. Veronica stared at him with a surprising amount of worry and confusion, but he didn't want to see her. Instead, he looked over to the stairs. They were his escape, and his salvation. If he was going to leave, it was going to be based on his own accord. No angel was going to save him this time. Skips wasn't there to protect him.
And then his mind searched for that one moment. He remembered it so clearly: those soft warm finger tips sliding along his arm up to his shoulder. He said he just wanted to see what it felt like. What did Skips feel like, he wondered. He remembered muscles that seemed made to protect and fight with, and soft white fur that was gentle to a touch all over the body. Skips' stern expressions only made him that much more of an angel – a knight even. But the more he thought about it, the more Benson wanted to shove it right out of his mind. Was it really right there in front of his eyes? Was he that ignorant and blind to the advances... from everyone?
Something was slid across the table to him, and he looked over at Veronica who had something trapped between her fingers and the table. A single check made out from her own bank account to Benson sat silently, as she tapped on the paper to rate Benson's reaction. "Take it," she said with as much sympathy as she could. "I want you to have it."
Benson didn't even look at the amount or anything about the check. He looked away and scoffed at the offer. "I don't need your charity," he said, doing his best not to sound like he was sobbing.
"It's not charity," she sighed, "it's a new lease on life. Take a look at it before you shrug it off." Her smile was actually warm, and comforting. Something about her made it seem like this was the right way of things.
Benson didn't want to see that kind of look on her face but humored her anyways. He took the check and glanced over it. Sure enough, the check was for a large amount of money - $100,000. In a corner of the check, the memo line read, "FOR A NEW LIFE," and nothing else.
"I want you to take that money, Benson," she said softly. "I want you to leave the park, and Maellard, and all of these 'troubles' and go out and see the world. Go out and find your place and what you were meant to do. Start a band, start a charity, go back to school, I don't care, but use that money to dig yourself out. I'm not giving this money to you to simply spite or rub my wealth in your face... I'm doing it because I still care about you, and that I can't stand to see you like this."
"So it's pity then?" Benson snapped.
She shook her head. Her hands wiggled a bit, as if she was trying to find something to say. "I love you, Benson. I still do after all these years... maybe not in the way you'd want me to, but still enough to know that you are a good man, even if you hate me. You know I can be a little brash and bragging about everything, but you know I'm not a bad person. I want you to go out and find a place and life that was made for you, not anybody else. Go out and live the life you were meant to have, not the life you think others want you to have. Get out of your rut and make the world around you new again. This is all that I'm asking for you Benson..."
He still held the check in his hand and sobbed slightly upon looking at it. Her words were real, and beautiful. Everything he ever said about her came back and haunted him now, more then ever. "I'm sorry," seemed like the appropriate thing to say at the time.
"Apology accepted," she said with a smile.
What he needed was right there in his hand. He thought about all the things he could possibly do with the money, and how it could change his life completely. He was given the same opportunity Veronica was given when she met her husband, as well as the same consequences. Pops, Margaret, Don, Tim, Skips, Mordecai and Rigby, Muscle Man and High Five Ghost, Maellard, and everything he had that established his life there to be were on the scale with the money. The check weighed more than any of them, as it was his only way out now...
But still...
He slid the check back to her and stood up from the table. He made his decision. He wasn't going to be happy from it, but it was the right thing to do. There were still too many unfinished things left. He couldn't leave things as they were.
So he stepped away from the woman without saying anything, knowing full well that a sad and disappointed expression was covered on her dome.
"So that's your choice then, hm?" she asked disappointingly.
Benson slowly made him way toward the stairs, keeping his eyes on his feet. "My friends still need me. I can't leave yet until I know they're alright. So just leave me alone to do that, okay?"
Veronica sighed and shifted uncomfortably in her seat. "The park restroom by that little stage you made," she muttered.
Benson stopped and listened. "What are you talking about. What do you...?"
"He told me you all had made a stage or something," she continued, "and were doing little performances on it. When I found out you were playing K'nuckles, I begged him to let me go, but he said it would only rouse more suspicion. I think he was more worried about me then himself. He always was sweet like that. He was already afraid Skips would start noticing the similarities. I'll bet you were a wonderful performer though. Margaret said she took some snapshots, so I might ask her for copies of them." She let out another heavy sigh and shook her head once more. "It's funny... he was worried about the yeti seeing right through him, and yet he didn't notice the doctor. It's really funny when you think about it." Veronica looked at him one more time, showing a guilt ridden expression across her face. "I just don't think you should leave here without knowing. I mean, if you want to help your friends, you gotta know where to start, right?" She watched his face grown wide and scared.
She stared at Benson's back with remorse glossed over her eyes. "Park restroom... under the floor..."
Benson didn't even need to think about it. He was already out the door the moment she muttered those last two statements. She had given Benson all the necessary pieces to connect the puzzle together, and god help him, he didn't want them to fit. But as he was running down the road into the setting sun toward the park, he realized that everything was just too perfect. There was no other way these pieces could fit, not even if he tried to warp them to his liking.
But it was there, simple as day. There was a connection, more than he had previously thought. He cursed himself repeatedly for not knowing sooner. She called him "sweet". He had to stop for a minute, thinking about that one hideous compliment. Sweet? A sweet person doesn't attack random people and kidnap them. How could she even say something like that. His mind boggled as he tried to put the two of them together. How did it happen? When did it happen? How do you meet and talk to something like that?
He passed under the archway of the park and made his way toward the park house. He needed Skips to see this. He wanted someone there to confirm what he was dreading – what he prayed was hopefully wrong. How could any of this possibly make sense?
But it just did. With the exception of the first attack, he was there at every single one of the times Pestilence was spotted. It made perfect sense. Death said it was because of the way he was. He couldn't keep it for too long, or else it would degrade. Ploddevize probably noticed and had to be taken care of. That's why he had to take Don, because he saw the whole thing. We would have found out eventually cause the police or them would have searched the park restrooms eventually.
What was the point in taking Pops though? It couldn't have been to get at Maellard. No... it was never about Maellard. If he wanted Maellard, he could have gotten him at any time. It would have been as simple as that. He didn't seem like the person to simply let his prey wander free without care. Pestilence would have killed him the moment he met him. That thing, was reaching up for something else when they looked down into the hole. It all started there, but before that even. It wasn't there to begin with – it had been buried.
Pops! He took Pops to keep Maellard off his tail. We would have found out eventually, and he could have easily used Pops as a bargaining tool to keep the old man from hunting him down. He couldn't use Pops for the other thing: far too old. That's what he had Don for. He was young and healthy.
Benson rushed into the garage and snatched up a pickaxe. The very same pickaxe that Mordecai and Rigby used that faithful day. They never got around to putting it up.
"SKIPS!" Benson yelled in front of the house. The yeti trotted out, wondering what all the commotion was about. Benson didn't even say anything, and motioned the yeti to follow him. He led him toward park restroom by the stage, his mind full of answers and revelations. He jumped inside, and didn't even wait for the yeti to catch up to him. He brought the pickaxe up and slammed it down onto the concrete floor.
Just as he did this, the room began to ripple and twist from the impact point. Skips jumped in, just in time to see the world grow slightly hazy and images appear in front of them. There, the ghostly silhouettes of four people appeared.
"All done here, for anyone who wants to use it!" a raccoon shaped image said as it walked out of the stall.
"I think I'll manage," Ploddevize sighed, leaning against the sink. The nurse stood beside him, eying her watch, just ready to leave.
Timothy stood at the entrance. "You're quite a sarcastic person, aren't ya doc?"
Ploddevize shrugged and approached the man, giving Don full range of the sink. "Year of practicing medicine will do that to a person. You alright?"
"What do you mean?" Tim asked, shocked by the sudden concern.
"You seem a little pale," he replied. "Mind if I take a look at you?"
"Be my guest."
The doctor looked at Timothy's face and shook his head. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary, save for a little pale skin. He examined his neck and pulse, stopping for a second and then pulling away. He lifted his sleeve up and observed the skin on his arm, before bringing it back down.
"What's the prognosis, doc?" Tim said with a grin.
Martin Ploddevize had seen many things in his life, but this was certainly different. Zombies were one thing, but this guy? He reached into his pocket and gripped at something inside. "You have no pulse, your skin is as white as snow, and some of the flesh on your arm is actually beginning to decompose. I don't think you're alive."
Timothy's eyes went wide in surprise. "Really? You're sure?"
Martin pressed the switch to the devise in his pocket on, and took another step back. The nurse was now looking on with interest, and grew worried from the concerned look on the doctor's face. "I'm absolutely sure. In fact, your showing symptoms of someone who should be dead for a few weeks now," Martin groaned.
"Damn," Tim sighed. "This soon, huh? I thought I had at least another two months or so. Oh well."
Martin didn't even get the chance to get his tazer out of his pocket. The black ooze exploded out of Timothy's skin, spreading all over the doctor and shoving him to the ground. It turned to rubber and wrapped itself all over the good man, eyes of different regions and types spreading out all over him. The nurse screamed and tried to get away, but was met with the same fate as Tim brought his hand up, and shot the same putrid darkness all over her, wrapping her in an all seeing casket.
Don didn't seen the attack at first. It went by so fast that the only thing that tipped him off to the danger was the scream of the now cocooned nurse falling to the floor. He spun around and found Timothy right in his face.
"You're actually still useful," the man said, grabbing Don by the neck.
The next moment, Benson didn't want to watch. Much like a snake, the man unhinged his jaw, and bit into the raccoon's head. Without so much as care, he lifted him up from off the ground over his head, slowly and sickeningly sliding the raccoon into his throat. Black ooze formed around his lips to help the body slide into his stomach with better ease. All the while, Don screamed for help, yelling out for anyone that might have been outside, his voice being muffled by the hideous ingestion he was experiencing. He called out especially for Rigby and Benson, which stabbed Benson in his gears on such an emotionally powerful level, he felt like he was on the verge of wretching simply for that and not as much the act happening in front of him.
Timothy's body never expanded from the large mass entering into himself, but all over the parts of him where pale flesh showed, little eyes opened up and gleefully laughed, crying tears of red and black. When it was done, he swallowed what was left of Don and wiped his mouth as if trying to impress someone with his manners. The eyes closed, and healed up any wounds they may have caused. With that, he heaved a happy sigh and looked down at the two hostages in front of him.
"Now then..." he said.
The room began to ripple again, and reform itself back into the present day. The ground beneath both Benson and Skips cracked and broke. The pieces didn't even break itself smaller pieces, turning into dust and disappearing a moment later. There, in the hole of the bathroom were Ploddevize and the nurse, still captive, and about ten feet down. Their prisons had extended some appendages and were slowly digging their way done into the earth, giving them a fitting burial. Skips wasted no time jumping down and throwing them back up to proper level. He brought out his book of matches, and ignited the cocoons as quickly as he could. They screamed in laughter and pain, and disappeared, leaving the two humans there. Both of them looked haggard and exhausted. The nurse in particular looked as though she had woken up from a bad dream, while Ploddevize was completely catatonic. The yeti knew they needed to be purified soon, but wasn't sure if he needed to take care of their wounds first.
"Benson," the yeti started, "go to my shack. Get my first aid kit, as well as the supplies needed to conduct the purifying ritual." He looked to the gumball machine for a confirmation, but Benson remained in his place. "Benson?"
"It was never after Maellard in the first place, was it?" the gumball machine asked, his face filled with anger.
Skips gulped. The last piece had fallen into place.
"He was after you this whole time."
The yeti closed his eyes and let a breath escape his nostrals. "No Benson... he's not coming after me," he said, his eyes growing sad. "He's actually coming after you."
Benson twitched. When he thought about, he was right. They were all specific, directed right at him. He stood there thinking about everything...
And then he rushed forward and punched Skips right across the face. The yeti grimaced but took the pain. It was the first time Benson had ever hurt him so hard.
Night was slowly approaching the park, covering their world in an ever growing darkness that enveloped them with incoming dread. The ambulance with Ploddevize and the nurse drove off with its sirens blaring; bright sights and sounds lit the way to a better future for them. Skips had already performed the purifying ritual on them, and prayed that there wouldn't be any complications with them from there on out. But he wasn't that concerned about the two humans. His focus was drawn to Benson, who looked as though he were holding the whole world up on his shoulders.
He wanted to say something to comfort Benson in his time of need, but anything he thought about sounded awkward and jumbled. He didn't want his friend to find out about it this way. He thought there was more time to prepare, and hopefully stop it all before it went out of control. He failed in that area.
Benson licked his lips to protect himself from the dry air all around him, and watched the bright lights of the ambulance fade off into the distance. "Except one," he said out loud.
Skips watched him. He didn't bother to ask what he meant by that.
"Death said, 'except maybe one,'" Benson continued. "If I had to guess, that 'except maybe one' was you. Am I wrong?"
Skips continued to say nothing. Anything he said would have fallen on deaf ears anyways.
"I can't believe I didn't see it earlier," Benson groaned. "It never had any problem with Maellard to begin with. The damn thing was employed by Maellard! If it wanted to kill the man, it would have done it on day one of his employment. Not only that, but he was at every single attack with the exception of the first one. Obviously, after it exploded all over the park, it just killed some random patron in the park and took his body to move around. I guarantee you if we looked for any records on Timothy Reynolds, we wouldn't find a damn thing."
Benson kicked at the ground, cursing his own stupidity, before looking up at Skips with angry eyes. "And then there's you!" he yelled. "You knew exactly what that thing was this entire time and you didn't say anything! You lied to my face!"
"I didn't lie," Skips argued. "When you asked me what it was, I said I knew enough about it. That wasn't a lie. I don't know a whole lot about Pestilence, and I don't want to know about him to be honest. That idiot has caused me enough grief in my life as it is."
"Caused you enough grief!" Benson bellowed. "You mean the grief of the park being torn apart twice, or the fact that he attacked us countless times, or that he put Don in the hospital, or kidnapped our friends? Is that the grief you're talking about?"
Skips went silent.
"Because you are aware if we were informed of this thing, then our grief could have been anticipated and maybe even avoided!" The walking machine let out a loud scream and stamped at the ground. "What on Earth would compel you not to tell us about that thing! Why would you keep it a secret for this long!"
Skips continued to stay silent. The words he wanted to say were within his grasp now, but to say them would be admitting something else. And if he admitted it, then things would only get more complicated.
"Skips, I asked you a question!"
But he remained as quiet as he could be, looking slightly away from the gumball machine. His eyes focused on the city in the distance, as he wondered if the people there knew just how much danger they were in. And for the matter, did Maellard understand the situation he was put into? The old man didn't even know he had employed his son's captor.
"I order you to tell me, Skips!"
And then there was the rest of the park staff. How were they going to react when they found out that Timothy, whom they believed to be Maellard's trusting bodyguard, was actually a malformation of sickness itself? What would they think when they found out that there was a chance all of it could have been prevented?
"SAY SOMETHING!"
"I didn't want it to hurt you!" the yeti finally screamed out. "You don't know what that thing is capable of! You don't know what that thing has done to all the people I've loved in my life!"
"And by not saying anything to us, that's supposed to help!" Benson screamed back. "Don't you think if you told us, we would have tried to stop it?"
"You don't understand," Skips continued. "That thing and Death are ruthless. They'll stop at nothing to make sure that my life is ruined and my soul is reaped. I don't want any part of that!" The yeti then turned on his heel and began to skip away.
"So what then," Benson yelled, "are you just going to run away?"
"It's worked so far," Skips replied. "It usually buys me another fifty or sixty years before one of the two of them catches up to me. And now that they both know I'm here, it's just going to make things even worse for everyone else."
Benson couldn't believe what he was hearing. Skips was seriously about to ditch him and the park for his own selfish reasons. He chased after him, hoping to convince him otherwise. "Don and Pops are being held captive by that thing right now, Skips! We can't just let it have it's way! We need to find a way to get them back!"
"They're as good as dead," Skips bluntly said. "And if I stay around here any longer, you'll end up the same way."
Benson shook his head and continued to follow. "I'm still alive, aren't I? So obviously, it's not very good at trying to kill me."
"It's just playing with you," the yeti added.
"And I'm still here!"
"It's only a matter of time."
"And that's time we have to fix this."
"It's not going to stop!"
"But we can try!"
"I don't want anyone else getting hurt because of me, so just LEAVE ME ALONE!" Skips screamed.
Benson didn't want to listen to it. He grabbed at Skips arm and tried to pull it towards him in an attempt to stop the beast from going away. He found his legs to be dragged along by the strength of his coworker, making the task almost completely pointless. "Would you stop!" he said trying to tug as hard as he could. "Would you just stop!"
His feet caught on something along the ground and Benson lost his grip, tumbling onto the grass and stayed there. His anger and rage caught up to him and he began to slam with fists and feet onto the ground in fit of desperation. His screams echoed the surrounding areas, forcing birds to flee from the trees and the insects to hide in the soil. His body twisted and pounded, screaming out unknown words and curses. He wished for him to come back, but coherency did not agree with him at that moment. Finally, when all of his anger had been expelled, he just stopped moving and looked up at the sky.
He breathed heavily, pondering if it would be okay if he just stopped breathing altogether. Everything was just coming at him so fast, he didn't have time to react or process it. The past twenty-four hours had been nothing short of a nightmare to him, and he was still far from waking up. Now, the only other person who could possibly help him through all of it, was running away. Benson was lost again, unaware of where to go or even how to get there.
"COWARD!" he yelled into the night sky. "I TRUSTED YOU!"
He never associated Skips with fear – not once in his life. Out of everyone in the park, Skips was the one who showed the most resolve and bravery in the face of danger. The park had been threatened countless times, and he never once tried to shy away from it. He always wanted to help his home, and help his friends. But now, there he was trying to get away from his problems instead of trying to face them like he should be. Just an hour earlier, Benson was given the opportunity to do the same thing, but rejected it to see all this through to the end.
Nothing around him really synced up with anything he thought. He was confused. Everything was spinning so quickly, it made him dizzy and nauseous. Benson wasn't sure if he wanted to laugh like a lunatic, or cry and let the world take him away. This wasn't supposed to be happening. He was suppose to be in his place finally, and yet, he was on the park ground, whimpering for everything that the past few weeks had put him through.
Something walked over to him as he lay on the ground watching the stars. The way the sounds came in galloping one after another caused the gumball machine to frown with anger. His image of the sky was blocked out by Skips looking down on him. The yeti's eyes were nothing short of apologetic and guilty. He sighed and sat on the ground next to sprawled out Benson.
"Do you really want to know?" he asked, still staring down at his boss.
Benson said nothing and nodded. A cool breeze crept across the park, pushing the grass and leaves in its direction, and causing a chill to run through Benson.
"Alright," the yeti replied to him. "Alright…"
REM Sleep – Himuro Yoshiteru
Author's Notes
Longest chapter of the story thus far, and I had so much fun writing it; wrote it in a day too. I think it's somewhere around the 11,000 words area, no idea though. But needless to say, I had a lot to put into it considering this is kind of one of the big reveal chapters. I still got a few more giant chapters down the pipeline as well. I hope the length doesn't scare you all off. The next couple of chapters are very long as well. Just giving everyone a heads up!
So Until Next Chapter...
Adieu...