A/N: This is the last chapter before the epilogue. I originally intended to end the book 2 with this update, but alas, I couldn't round it up in just two chapters. What seemed it'll take me one chapter to write turned into two, and then two turned into two with an epilogue. Nevertheless, I hope you enjoy it as these two were one of my favorites to write.
Chapter 45 – Just another man
Thomas Walker, who died because of my weakness.
The list always began with his brother. Ben slowed Stepper to a walk as he passed through the massive gates of the Jackson settlement, his entourage following, two rows of men on horseback.
Nora and Owen, Abby's friendsthat didn't deserve to die. They were good people.
The list ran through his head. Almost a daily ritual now, the name of every man and woman who had died by his hand or because of his actions. The street inside the settlement was cleared of snow. Hooves echoed on the concrete road.
The nameless girl I beheaded in the hills when I was escaping Seattle. I've forgotten her face.
The list was a reminder to him, a reminder of what he had turned into. Ben rode past the people gathered on both sides of the street, watching. The crowd watched him silently and stiffly. Nobody liked the Big Paul and his people, and recently it seemd that Ben himself was added to the list. Not so long ago, some considered him a hero because he led the defense of the settlement with Ellie, but his actions after that easily changed their opinions. He went from a hero to a cold-blooded killer, but Ben thought he was actually a cold-blooded killer all the time.
Hundreds in Seattle, who died when I let the horde in to satisfy my cravings for revenge.
The list always began with Tom. That name hurt the most of all, for it began the cycle of death that has followed Ben ever since. And because he could've saved him. He should have. He hated himself for allowing Tom to go hunting with him that day.
A young boy tried to step into the street, but his father caught him by hand and hauled him back into the press of people. Some coughed and muttered, but most were silent. The sounds of Ben's riders marching on the dark concrete seemed a thunder in comparison. There were no cheers from the people that watched him. Not even when they saw him holding a rope tied to a boy's neck that stumbled to keep up with Stepper's pace, stripped of everything but his underwear. Nathan, covered in cuts and bruises, held his hands up from the pressure of the rope tied to his wrists. They didn't cheer for Ben, even when he caught the person that almost killed Ellie, who had quickly grown to become a favorite in the settlement. How ironic. She was the favorite, and Ben was the exact opposite. Yet, no one seemed to do anything about it. They couldn't even if they wanted to. They were afraid. Even Maria. They knew what he could do. He embraced it now. Big Paul and the rest were his people. They understood him the best, for all suffered the same fate. Once, Big Paul asked him to lead them, to make their own world. Ben refused, but his offer lingered once more in Ben's mind.
Out of the corner of his eye, to his left, Ben spotted Julia, Cat and Mark standing by each other, mixed in with the crowd. Their faces were expressionless, but he saw terror in their eyes. He tried to imagine Julia flirting with him right now. It almost made him laugh. Jesse and Dina were not found in the crowd.
He pulled the rope forward, feeling Nathan's weight as it outstretched. He didn't feel sorry for the boy. What he'd soon get almost made Ben laugh out loud. Emily's eyes lifted up when Ben rode past her. William held his ground by her side, his thick, right arm outstretched around her shoulders. Ben noticed his sister's stare from the corner of his eye and felt it sting. Nonetheless, he kept his face and eyes straight. Nothing else mattered. Emily protested and tried to talk him out of it, but Ben knew that no words of others could ever change his mind. Ellie was shot and nearly killed. There was no forgiveness for that. Deep down, he knew he himself didn't deserve forgiveness for many of the sins of his own, but that didn't stop him. He didn't sleep since Ellie was shot, and it's been two days since. He couldn't allow himself to sleep, nor he could. Strangely, he didn't seem tired. He knew it was going to be another long night. He anticipated it, was excited for it.
In the basement of Ben's house, Nathan was placed and tied into a chair, still only in his underwear. He tried to put on a defiant expression, but he couldn't. Fear broke through that mask of defiance. Nathan shivered, but not from the cold. His lips moved shakily as he mumbled something Ben could not hear nor understand.
Big Paul towered behind Ben with his hands behind his back, awaiting Ben's next command. As a good soldier, he'd obey whatever the command was, as long as Ben issued it. Ben pulled a chair from another side of the basement and planted it in front of Nathan. The boy was about fifteen years old, but it didn't bother him. He sat down, leaning towards him. "You know what time it is? I'll tell you. It's seven in the evening, and I want to keep you alive, until there's light."
Nathan looked away, unable to bear Ben's cold stare. Now he understood what he was saying. Ben had to supress the smile when he heard what the Gypsy was mumbling. Those were not the words of defiance. He was saying a prayer. Only, no prayer could ever help him with what was coming. Ben remembered the night when he almost crossed the line with Connor. Ellie was there to save him from crossing the line. She was not there now, because of this boy. I have no limitations.
"I will not deliver a final cut," he continued. "Until we can both hear the birds singing outside." Nathan closed his eyes, trembling at Ben's presence. It infuriated him. He grabbed his cheeks tightly, and pulled his face towards his. It was as if the boy shut his eyes tighter, afraid to look into the face of a devil. "It's a beautiful sound, which Ellie might never hear again."
He stood up and outstretched his left hand. Big Paul approached, his footsteps thundering in the basement, placing a small switchblade in Ben's hand. It was her switchblade, the one she used all these years. "Now, I'll have to choose carefully which part I'll cut first." Strangely, Annabel was silent. Ever since he tied the boy up, she had been awfully quiet. Tears rolled down Nathan's eyes, but Ben had to give it to him. He made peace with his fate and didn't beg.
"Open your eyes." Ben commanded, but the boy just furrowed his eyebrows in an attempt to shut them even more. "Open your eyes, or I'll cut away your eyelids!" How easily did they open then, Ben wanted to laugh. They were red and swollen from tears. "Now look at me. Look at me. This is the end. I'll take your tongue, since I don't want to hear you beg. I'll take your eyes. I'll take your fingers. Then I'll take your ears. See, I take your balls, you'll drain too fast like all you fuckers do!" He talked as though he had years of experience with torture. It almost seemed as if he did, though he was on the receiving end. He stood up and got into his face, pressing the blade inside his mouth, cutting a small chunk inside. The boy wiggled his head, trying to resist, but Ben's grip was iron. Suddenly, he stopped and pulled the switchblade out. "No. If I take your tongue, you won't be able to explain. And I want you to explain. I want you to fucking explain!" The boy stopped murmuring the prayer, gazing at Ben suddenly. Ben pressed the boy's head against his chest, as though he was hugging him. He was breathing heavily. Why did you shoot her? Why shoot her and not ME?, he wanted to ask. Pushing away the boy's head abruptly, he turned around and strolled around the basement, walking around the chair, trying to retain control of his breathing. Annabel was at the back of his mind.
He could barely feel his emotions, yet for some reason, it seemed as though all the caged ones were trying to break out, wanting to be unleashed. He missed Ellie. He hated all of this. It was not supposed to happen like this! No,he thought. I am strong. Longing was an emotion he couldn't allow himself to now. The only thing he needed now was cruelty.
Do we run from the past? Annabel asked softly, but her voice was different. Yes. That is well. Better to run than to face it.
What was she talking about now? He didn't run from his past. Did she mean the past as emotions. In the past he had emotions. No, he has emotions now as well, but in the past he showed them more. Annabel was complicated, always speaking in riddles. When he tried to shoot the boy after he wounded Ellie, it was Annabel that tried to shoot him. Not Ben. We will play with him. Together, you and me. We will play.
"Come on, Ben. Come on." He sighed as he stopped on the other side of the room, crouching down and shutting his eyes when the sudden headache threatened to drop him on the floor. He was exhausted, he didn't sleep. This was why he needed to be strong. Couldn't they see? His sister, Ellie, Jesse, Dina, and others, they wanted him to laugh more. How could a man laugh when confronted by decisions and choices like these? Yet he hesitated. Why did he hesitate? This was not a moment for it, he made his mind. He had no limitations!
"I forget who we are?!" Ben roared and jumped back to his feet, swiftly spinning around to rush back to his prisoner. "We are Annabel! We'll just play with you forever!"
Big Paul twitched at his words. Ben had never seen that before. The man was an epytome of stillness. With his arm raised, Ben swung Ellie's switchblade to take the first eye, but it froze just an inch before the cut was made. Nathan didn't move his head. He accepted his fate, for whatever it was. A brave boy, but why did Ben stop? It was as if his hand had stopped on its own. His own hand was shaking. Why was it shaking? Was it because he was going to cut the boy? No, it wasn't just any boy. Why was he looking at himself? Why was Benjamin Walker tied to that chair instead of Gypsy boy?
"No." Ben whispered, clinging to the switchblade in his hand as though he was clinging to his very life. He stared at the blonde boy tied to the chair. The streaks of white hair were appearing on the top of his blonde head. He could not see his own face, lowered and hidden in the dark. Pale skin was riddled with cuts and bruises, bloody fingers rid of nails, with only red holes that remained. Ben staggered backwards, "No, not again. Not again!"
This isn't real,Ben barely composed the thoughts. She's just playing with me again. No, this isn't real. It can't be real. No, no, no, it isn't.
She? Who is she?
We are the same.
How?
We are one.
Ben blinked and the Gypsy boy was back in the chair. It was still cold inside, yet Ben was drenched in sweat. Nathan lifted his head and stared at him wide-eyed, jaw dropped in terror and surprise. Ben still held the knife, stopped in motion to take out the boy's eye.
"Why?" Ben whispered, more to himself. Why'd he stop? Why couldn't he just take the boy's eyes and start with it. He was Annabel, he did it countless times. WHY NOT NOW? Lightning cracked above, flashing through the basement window. It was going to rain. What a volatile weather. One day it'd snow, then the next one was followed by heavy rain. How strange. He dropped to his knee and grabbed the boy's throat with his free hand. "Why her? Why did you shoot her?"
"I- I didn't want to." The boy spoke through tears, struggling to utter words because of Ben's grip on his neck. "I'm sorry!"
Ben growled and pushed the boy's head away. His head was a mess, he could barely think. It was as if all his thoughts, all that existed, were left to rage freely in his mind, disturbing it and creating chaos.
Everything is my fault!
I'm mad!
I can't go on like this!
Spinning around, Ben sprinted upstairs, leaving the other two dumbfounded in the basement. Running past Emily who ran into the hallway to see what the commotion was, Ben rushed into the storm outside. The dun sky was clouded above him, and the rain mixed with snow. Ben walked, hands shoved in the pockets of his coat under the poncho, head down, holding onto Ellie's switchblade tightly in his hand. There were people outside in the streets, lurking to root out the potential threat to anyone in the settlement, and most of all, to Ellie. Most of them looked afraid, but he ignored them all. Instead, he thought about the second chance they were given by Ellie when she led the defense against the horde. The people of Jackson were safe inside the walls, thanks to Ellie. But Ben's friends weren't safe as long as he was among them. His friends feared him, he saw it in their eyes.
The people here were afraid, but then he realized they were more afraid of losing Ellie than of him. He often passed men and women carrying their guns and rifles openly, giving him side eyes. Ben stopped and leaned against the wall of a house near the main gate. He raised his left hand to his head, trying to clear his mind.
He didn't want to confront what he had nearly done right now. He didn't want to confront what he had done before, all the deaths he caused.
Ben couldn't focus on that. He did not have the Gypsy boy brought to his basement just for the merit of it. He had him brought there so he could torture and kill him for what he'd done to Ellie! Why did he stop then? Ellie was not there to stop him this time. It was time to do it and let everyone see him for what he was. They would not truly know Ben until he finished what he started.
It will be a mercy, Annabel whispered, her voice still strange. In the end, death is always a mercy. The madwoman didn't sound as crazy as she once had. In fact, her voice started to sound an awful lot like Ben's own voice.
Ben stopped at another building, this one just in front of the stables where the Stepper was saddled. Gathering his thoughts, he was making a plan. The Wolves wanted him dead, and he destroyed them. The Gypsies obviously want him dead as well, which leaves but one option. He started his own cycle of vengeance with the Wolves, and now he'll finish it with the Gypsies. Yes, that sounded about right. Then, he rode out through the gates that opened for him. From there, he'd go to the dam and gather the others. Big Paul will follow him with the other half of their men. They'd travel quickly, never remaining in one place long enough, to be able to catch up with the Gypsies as fast as possible. Many would die, but most would be Gypsies.
Stepper galloped through the storm, and Ben cried out when a sudden sickness came over him. He leaned to the side of the saddle, barely holding onto the reins as waves of nausea added to his misery. Then he let it all out through his mouth. The contents of his stomach rushed out, splattering on the wet snow, and leaving an ugly aftertaste in his mouth. His brain felt like it would swell beyond the capacity of his skull, and now his dehydration was too obvious to ignore.
Ben didn't know where he was, but the unusual sickness again washed across him more powerfully than it had before, knocking him off the saddle. He cried out, barely noticing when he hit the stones. He groaned, gripping Ellie's switchblade, curling around it. His insides seemed to burn, and he turned his head, rolling onto his shoulder and vomiting again.
When he tried to stand up, he fell on one knee, relieved of the strength he once had. So he sat down, the snow crunching beneath his weight. He set Ellie's switchblade onto the snow before him and clutched onto his poncho to keep himself warm. Then he rested his elbows on his knees and his head on his hoodie, staring at the switchblade in front of him.
To think.
Why did he stop? Why was he unable to do to Nathan what Annabel did to him? He had a feeling like he had done that over and over! Eyes closed, he wanted to scream but he couldn't. Ben was never the one to complain about things, but right now he felt like the unluckiest person in the whole world. All the misery in the world was his, and he had it the worst. He couldn't doubt these thoughts in the slightest. Annabel was nowhere to be heard, but perhaps it was because of the rain-washed snow and the wind.
A memory returned. The Gypsies. Families gathered together, united in laughter and happiness, just like his father once promised him. They looked at him and he felt the urge to kill. But he could not. The people looked so concerned. So worried. They cared. The Gypsies don't kill out of revenge. Why the hell was he thinking about it now? It made no sense at all.
He opened his eyes. The room of black and white.
Ben felt some of the strength returning, and he stumbled to his feet, clutching the small blade. It was a closed room, but the unusal presence of the wind brought the cold. He stared at the place for a long time, breathing in and out.
Why have we come here? Ben thought.
Because,Ben replied to his own question, or was it Annabel? Because we were made here. This is where we died.
He stood at the very central point of the room, where his chair once was. The chair where she once tortured him and turned him into the person he is today.
The wind blew strongly, but he did not feel it. He had been there for hours, yet it felt like days. And yet he did not feel tired. He stared at the walls, thinking.
What was he? What was Benjamin Walker? A murderer? A victim? A blade meant to kill? A sheltering hand, meant to protect?
A puppet, playing a part that Annabel gave him?
He was angry. Angry at the world, angry at himself, angry at God for leaving humans to tear each other apart with no direction. What right did any of them have to demand Ben's sacrifice?
Well, Ben had offered his life to them at one point. It had taken him a great while to accept his fate, a fate of a madman, but he had made his peace. Peace that he was cursed to die crazy and alone at some point. Wasn't that enough? Did he have to be in pain until the end? Atop of everything, the pain of maybe feeling the hope as well?
He had thought that if he made himself hard enough, it would take away the pain. If he couldn't feel, then he couldn't hurt.
His scars and wounds pulsed in agony. For a time, he'd been able to forget them. But the deaths he caused rubbed his soul raw. That list starting with Tom. At his death, everything began to go wrong. Before that, he'd still had hope, the real hope.
Before that, he'd never been put in the room of black and white.
He understood what would be required of him if he survived Seattle, and he'd changed in the ways he thought he needed. Those changes were to keep him from being overwhelmed. Die to protect the girl he loved? Tortured repeatedly for months, managing to escape and return to the place he once called home, only to have to face his past and the people he escaped from? Nearly having it all in the end, only to be taken right away? Causing the deaths of hundreds, to hold those souls upon his shoulders, a weight must be borne? What man could do these things and remain sane? The only way he had seen had been to cut off his emotions, to make himself indestructible.
But he had failed at that as well. He hadn't been able to stamp his feelings out. The voice inside had been so small, but it had prickled at him, like a needle making the smallest of holes in his heart. Even the smallest of holes would let the blood leak free.
Those holes would bleed him dry.
The quiet voice was gone now. It had vanished when he went back to the room of black and white. Without that voice, did Ben dare continue? If it was the last remnant of the old Ben – the Ben who had believed that he knew what was right and what was wrong – the voice of reason, not her voice. Then what did its silence mean? Others wanted him to fight on, to live and fight for happiness and peace. The people he loved, and the pople that loved him back.
Ben gripped Ellie's switchblade tighter with his left. "And what if I don't want it to go on? What if I want to end it all right here and now?" he bellowed. He stepped forward, towards the door in one of the walls.
"We live the same lives!" he yelled at the people who were not there. "Over and over and over, we make the same mistakes. People do the same stupid things. Leaders fail their people time and time again. Men continue to hurt and hate and die and kill!"
Winds buffeted him, whipping at his black poncho and his dark trousers. But his words carried, echoing between the four walls of the room of black and white as he walked towards the door that led outside. Annabel was there, standing in front, guarding the door.
"What if I think it's all meaningless?" he demanded with the loud voice. "What if I don't want to go on anymore? I live my life by killing others! What good it is that my life continues?!"
The room of black and white had no ceiling. Instead, the clouds above seemed to grow darker.
Ben's anger beat in rhythm with his heart, demanding to be set free.
"What if she is right?" Ben yelled, pointing at Annabel at the door. "What if death really is a mercy, and peace was a lie all along, and this is all just a punishment, just like her game? We are tortured for all our lives!" He was rushing towards her, and she simply stood there and watched him in her white dress, skin milky pale. She was older than him, but she looked like a little girl. Ben raised Ellie's switchblade. At first, he thought he had raised it to slice her throat again, the one person who made his life a living hell. But actually, he felt the tip of the metal at his own throat. One clean slice was all it took, and then it would be over.
"NONE OF THIS MATTERS!"
He closed his eyes, drawing strength to do what he should've done a long time ago, feeling as he had only felt once before. When Tom died.
Ben could remember that day. The hunting trip and the mountains. Chasing the deer and shooting the infected. Stalker in the barn. Agony in seeing Tom's bite wound. He could feel the pain of his little brother. He could smell the air thick with blood and soot and death and pain. Or was that just the scent of a dying world, everywhere around him?
The winds began to whip at him, spinning, enormous clouds above twisting upon themselves into a blizzard. Ben Walker had made a mistake. He had died in the room of black and white, and what was left of him was but a shell of his former self. He could not escape it. Not without ending everything.
"Why?" Ben whispered to the winds around him, and to the Annabel at the door.
Lightning cracked above, thunder buffeting him. Ben closed his eyes, in the middle of a tempest of icy wind. Not too long, and he'd freeze to death. But he didn't want to wait.
The world gave him no answers. Then another question came up. Why do this again?
Why?
Why do we live, Annabel? Why do we live and good people die?
Why do we live? Annabel asked, suddenly. Her voice was melodic and distinct, again her own.
Yes, Ben said, pleading. Tell me. Why?
Maybe… Annabel said, shockingly lucid, not a hint of madness to her. She spoke softly, reverently. Her hand was reaching for the switchblade he was clutching at his own throat. Why? Could it be… Maybe it's so that we have a second chance.
Ben froze. The winds howled all around him, basking against the hard-rooted threes. His hand hesitated, like the executioner's axe, held quivering at his own neck. Then, her hand grabbed his own. Cowards are cruel, but the brave show mercy. Father's voice, just a memory, said in his mind. Let your mercy embrace everything. Only then you'll be above this wicked world.
Why, Ben? Why do we live? What is the point?
Why?
All was still. Even with the tempest, the winds, the crashes of thunder. All was still.
Why? Ben thought with wonder. Because each time we survive, we get to love again.
That was the answer. It all swept over him, all the times he survived, mistakes he had made, love changing everything. He saw his entire life flash before his very eyes. He remembered every single memory, hundreds of them, thousands of them, stretching to infinity. He remembered love, and peace, and joy, and hope. Annabel took the switchblade from his hand, taking the means of ending his own life.
Within that moment, something amazing occurred to him. He was so focused on himself and his revenge that he forgot about it. The doctors themselves said it! Ellie will live. I know she will! She'll live to see another day. That's why he fought. That's why he managed to survive all that happened, and that was the answer to his question. I fight because I failed. I fight because I want to fix what I did wrong.
I want to do it right this time, and not forget who I am.
Time passed. A long time. Hours. Days? The clouds above had finally broken, if only just above him. The gloom dispersed, allowing him to see the sun hanging just above, in the dawn.
Ben looked up at it. Then he smiled. Everything was sorting itself out, he was just not aware of it until now. Annabel was not there, not after she brought him clarity he thought he'd never hear from her. She'll always be a part of him, but only he decides which part will come out. This was his mind and body and no one else's.
Finally, he let out a deep-throated laugh, true and pure.
It had been far too long.
