Chapter 20: Pandora's Box

Like most stories, this story also has a moral. According to Greek myth, a woman named Pandora was given a box by the Gods, which each had put something hurtful into it and forbade her ever to open it. One day, she lifted the lid­ and out flew innumerable plagues, sorrow and mischief for humanity. In terror, Pandora clapped the lid down, but too late. Sin was released into the world and to this day, her mistake has become our twisted reality…

Ben had played a similar role to Pandora in his life. Every time he tried to help his family or friends, he had been struck down by misfortune.

When he was nine, and his mother died, Ben tried to help organize the funeral, but was too overwhelmed with grief during the ceremony and ran out crying.

When he was fifteen, and his friends were all smoking, Ben tried to stop them, only to be caught with various packets of cigarettes in his hands and accused of dealing.

His most recent noble act had left him in dire consequences.

To defend his wife when her crazed aunt turned out to reclaim Charlie, he had stabbed her, which left her in a coma – a coma that she recovered from to direct the blame onto him.

The February rain fell unevenly on the muddy ground as Ben crouched in his son's tree house, a wooden box that tethered high in an old oak tree in the back garden. The smell of damp pine filled his nostrils, as well as the smell of warm Blueberry pie – the scent drifting out the open window as it cooled on the windowsill.

Ben reflected on his life, living a convict for the past few weeks, and decided to abandon his moral for some food that was not out of the garbage or snuck to him during the dead of night.

He slowly got up, and edged down the ladders, taking it a step at a time.

There was a strange sound, like a popping – but Ben ignored his, licking his dry lips as he waited to taste the juicy blueberry pie.

There was another sound, this time clearer, as a bullet hit the wooden step below him and Ben slipped, grabbing onto the branch in terror.

Collin stood on the floor; his bulky frame encased in a black raincoat, which was soaked with rainwater, His coarse black hair was covering his eyes – distorting his view. With his free hand, he ran a hand throw the thick fringe, and shot again.

Ben felt the impact – but the accompanying pain was absent. Ben's thoughts slowly melted together, his mind blurring as he fell, like a weightless bird through the air. The rain felt so soft against his skin.

There was a thump and Ben returned to earth, the rain soaking his torn clothes, his wounds opening to reveal trickles of blood. He lay, facing the dark grey clouds and whispered a single word, the name of the person who stood beside Collin. The one who had betrayed him.

"Ellie."

---

The air tasted like bitter cigarettes and the poisonous vapours made Matt cough slightly. The alleyway smelt like a public toilet, the urine and stale smell of sweat plaguing the air as well as the smoky scent. The ground was a paradise for litterbugs, cigarette boxes and old kebabs, rotting food and broken bottles over the black gravel.

Matt shifted uncomfortably, the gravel grinding loudly beneath his shoes.

"Matthew," purred a man's voice.

It was full of a thick sadistic excitement from seeing the man squirm. It was suave, most likely to belong to a rich man – keeping a shifty air to it in the way he talked with such confidence. His name was Jacob, dyed black hair atop his scalp, and numerous piercing on his face - two in his ear, one nose stud, and one on his lip. His cheeks were flushed with a confident blush, like seeing an old archenemy from school.

Matt looked up. The man was dressed in a simple black suit, like one an undertaker would wear.

"Jacob, please" begged Matt, stepping forward, the crunch of gravel beneath his feet the only sound in the silent alleyway. Two men, both bald and dark skinned snarled at the man, who backed off ever so slightly.

"I need more time," whined Matt, persistently, but Jacob's eye twitched at this sentence, as if he had heard it before.

"My dear Matthew," he sneered. "I've been supplying you with drugs since you were eighteen. You had slowly irked me with these increasingly less payments."

Jacob picked up a small stone from the floor and held it in his palm. "This was you until you stopped paying your bills." He smiled, suddenly a dark shadow casting across the pebble as his hand enveloped it. "Now, you have a choice. Escape my grip, or be crushed by the iron fist."

Matt opened his mouth several times, like an inarticulate goldfish, but kept his mouth closed in the end. "I'll find the money."

"Good. You wouldn't want to face my wrath again, would you?" he winked at the other man, and Matt felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end.

"Leave us men," he said, and the two guards left to find Jacob's car.

"Drugs isn't the only thing I'm supplying." He whispered, sensually in Matt's ear, who shivered as the older man leaned in and kissed him softly on the lips.

"So get my money or all of my-" he cleared his throat. "-'services' will end,"

Matt nodded. "Thank you," he mumbled several times.

Jacob made to leave, but turned around. "One more thing." Before Matt could react, a fist swung round and hit him in the cheek with vigour. Matt felt a tooth come loose and blood poured from his bust lip – his eye bruising to match his purple cheek.

"Never sleep with my sister again," he snapped and left Matt alone, in the filthy cradle of an endless drug-addicts hell.

---

Amy lay in her bathtub, large quantities of bubbles and warm water helping her to relax. She had earlier thought of Melissa Johnson, and recalled a vague memory. She dunked her head under water…

Amy was rushing through the wards. She was twenty, and her first major operation would be today. She consulted her watch, who told her she was late. She ran down the corridor and got to the room.

Operation Room

She took a deep breath and entered…

Amy's head emerged from the water, her blonde hair darker now. As she reached for the towel, another section of the fragmented memory came to her mind…

Dressed in a surgeons outfit, Amy surveyed the scene before her with great interest. A girl, about fifteen was laid on the table with a deep bullet would to the head. If Amy could remove it, the girl would live; but if she failed, the girl would die.

"This is Melissa Johnson, the girl's mother," said a fellow surgeon and Amy made sure to acknowledge her.

"Let's begin," Amy said…

Amy walked down the corridor, a towel only around her waist. The sound of dripping on the wooden floor returned more of the memory that the girl had sought to hide from all others…

"Mrs Johnson?" Amy's voice was hoarse but kind. "Your daughter is safe,"

"Thank you so much," The dark skinned women whispered as she hugged Amy.

Amy's smile began to turn to a more comforting smile for the other women. She hated delivering bad news. "However, Mrs. Johnson, I believe your daughter will have major cranium damage throughout her life. She's being diagnosed by a doctor as we speak, but there seems to be long-term effects such as memory-loss, speech impediments and possibly blindness."

"Excuse me?"

Amy could not be sure, but hidden within those dark brown eyes was a hint of glee at this news. Some perverted form of happiness from this bad news.

Amy was walking down the stairs, dressed in pale pinks and lilacs. The thoughts of that day still haunted her as she walked…

A single lamp lit the room, and Melissa sat beside her daughter, stroking her hair. The door opened quietly and Amy stepped inside. She crossed the room and sat opposite Melissa, next to Sonya.

"I don't know what type of weapon could cause such impact…care to enlighten me, Mrs. Johnson?" Amy asked, but the women had a suspicious look on her face. "Standard Medical procedure," Amy said with a convincing smile.

"A gun," Melissa said darkly, her eyes fixed on Amy's eyes. "She dropped her father's rifle and it went off,"

Amy smiled kindly, but she knew the woman was lying.

Amy walked down the driveway towards the letterbox. As she opened the letterbox, she saw Melissa Johnson walking past.

"Hello Mrs. Hunt," she said.

"Hello Mrs. Johnson," Amy replied automatically as the woman walked on past. 'What are you hiding?' she wondered to herself.

---

Night engulfed Appleby Street in a humid, dark wave that lulled the residents into a deep sleep where their troubles became distant memories.

Meanwhile, in the Jones household, Katy was struggling to sleep, intrigued by information she had gathered.

She got out of bed and turned on her light and her computer. When she had returned, with a cup of coffee, the screen was illuminating the room with a blue glare.

Sitting down at her desk, she typed into a few commands and clicked the mouse regularly.

A blueprint version of the street came up and when the mouse hovered over the houses, images of the residents would appear. She typed in another command and an image of Mr. Harrison and Catherine Gardener came up.

"Why did you both die?" she wondered aloud, typing another command. A section of information came up, detailing Mr. Harrison and Catherine's lives, and she scanned them for links.

"Mr. Harrison wrote a newspaper…and Catherine was very talkative. Were they killed because they knew something that they shouldn't?" Katy's deductions were quiet but valid, as she suggested this to the computer. A small whirring noise indicted she had mail. Checking her inbox, a single e-mail from her boss popped up.

"Katy, this is Collin. Both murderers have been identified." She read aloud, her eyes wide in surprise. "Andrew Dale killed Mr. Harrison and Brad Wilkinson killed Mrs Gardener." Her eyes widened at this information. "Their arrests will be imminent. Hope this helps, Collin."

She typed another few commands into the computer and four images appeared on-screen. The computer scanned for connections and found one.

"Brad and Andrew are related to Terri Wilkinson. Andrew is her brother in-law, due to a marriage between Alex Dale and Sophie Wilkinson." She read. "And Mr. Harrison's last article was on Terri's death."

She leant back in her chair. "Did Catherine know something about Terri then?" She wondered aloud but no reply came from the computer. She sat in silence and reflected in the peaceful warmth of night, slowly falling to sleep.

---

The morning sunlight spilled into Appleby Street as Sunday morning was upon the citizens of the secluded town. The incessant sound of police cars echoed in the deserted street.

Twin cars of red, white and blue slid into the street at precisely 9:00am that Sunday as their sirens blazed loudly in the morning air.

The residents of Appleby Street groggily scrambled from their warm beds, drew back their curtains and pressed their sleepy faces against the cold panes. The police visited Appleby Street little (after all, it was the 'perfect street') so the rare occasions they did, it was a moment of interest for the nosey neighbours.

The first police car pulled to a halt outside Number 14. Amy watched in horror, as the police officer climbed from the car and began to approach the Dale residence with a pair of handcuffs in his gloved hand. The second stopped in front of the Wilkinson household, the only one who had not emerged from their beds.

Curious residents ran for their slippers and dressing gowns, prepared to withstand the cold, morning air to see the police officers arrest their culprits.

There was a knocking at the Dale residence, which Alex answered. The man was in his navy boxer shorts, looking frustrated and tired.

"What?" he snapped, regardless of their overpowering authority.

"Andrew Dale?" the first officer inquired tentatively.
Alex turned to the man who was edging down the stairs in a navy dressing gown. "Andrew, it's for you." His brother said, before leaving the doorway and heading to the fridge.

"Andrew Dale?" the second officer requested.
"Yes?" asked the Welshman curiously. Amy was stood behind him, her eyes wide in fear.

"You're under arrest." The police officer flashed his badge and Andrew's eyes widened. Within seconds, the steel cuffs bound his wrists together.

"You do not have to say anything, but anything you do say may be used against you in court as evidence." The police officer said, routinely. "Please follow me, Mr. Dale."

At the Wilkinson household, Sophia watched from the doorway with mild interest as Brad was taken to the police car awaiting him. Terri held tight to Mary and Stewart, who both were in tears.

Residents gathered on the pavements in their gowns, shivering at the bitter morning wind. "There have been three arrests within the past twenty-four hours." Ellie heard a police officer mutter. "Appleby Street is becoming a crime hotspot."

"What's going on here?" demanded Emily of one of the officers.

"I can't say officially ma'am, but they're both charged with murder." He replied casually.

"Murder?" Emily repeated, horrified.

A wave of fear rippled through the small crowd of people. Brad had lived in Appleby Street for nearly 10 years – he was well known by the people of Appleby Street as an excellent father and a pro-golfer. Andrew Dale had remained a stranger to the street, though he was friendly despite suspicion.

The police officers escorted both men to the cars that awaited them. Brad did not try to resist, accepting his fate quietly. Andrew chose a different option.

"Let me go!" he yelled, struggling with his might. The two officers who held him were shaken by this escape attempt, but dragged him down his lawn. "I'm innocent, I tell you!"

He turned to face his girlfriend, Amy, and looked desperately at her. "Tell them Amy! Tell them I'm innocent."

"I…" Amy's eyes filled with tears. "I can't Andrew…" she sobbed, breaking down on her doorstep.

"Amy!" Andrew bellowed as he was pulled into the police car. "Amy, I'm innocent, I swear!" he cried hysterically as the door was closed.

Without another cry, the police cars shot off, their whirring the only sound in the street beside the sobbing of Amy Hunt.

---

Ben sat in the small cell in the police station, his hands cuffed and his clothes a monotonous black and white. His face was streaked with tears, mud and, surprisingly, blood. His external wounds had been smothered in antiseptic and wrapped in layers of bandage, but the internal wounds hurt more than ever. His own wife had betrayed him.

"You have a visitor." The burly security guard said. The thick steel bars that held him captive slid open and a brown-haired woman stepped in, dressed in black as if she was attending a funeral.

"Ellie?" Ben crossed the room and the pair kissed, passionately but something was absent. "Ellie, what's wrong?" He asked. Ellie's eyes were red – she had been crying.

"I'm sorry Ben," she sobbed. "Please forgive me," She removed his arms and stepped back. "I didn't want them to hurt you,"

"Ellie…?" Ben asked, worried. "No, please Ellie, don't do this again!"

Tears were pouring down her face. "I'm so sorry." Ellie muttered. "I love you Ben, but. I can't be there for you this time." She left him alone in the cell, as the lights turned out and plunged Ben into darkness. He sank against the wall, his own eyes full of tears.

More than anything, he needed hope. At the bottom of this deep, dark box, there must be hope.

Yes, Pandora's curiosity led to a great terror upon the world. However, at the bottom of the box, was hope. In all situations - be they dark as a prison cell or as unfathomable as an addiction – Hope is the antidote to our sins, our evils that plague our planet with our misfortune. Hope was the only good the box held, among the many evils, and it remains to this day humanity's sole comfort in misfortune.