Where the Heart Lies

Chapter Nine: Death and Despair

Author's Note-This is going to be a very angst filled and sad chapter. Have tissues on hand. (And I apologize for the clichéd title.) Also, it's going to be a bit shorter than the others-Mr. Martin's death will be in the next chapter, I promise.

Willard was feeling as if he could conquer the world. Abbie had agreed to marry him, and already he was beginning to plot and plan their wedding in his head.

They had the chocolate cake for breakfast to celebrate the event, and after Willard drove Abbie to work. "I'll see you tonight, love. Have a good day."

"You too."

Willard swung by his house to pick up his briefcase, humming to himself. "Time to go back to work, Socrates." He opened his briefcase and jumped back in surprise. Ben was sitting in it, staring up at him. "Ben. Out." Ben didn't budge, and Willard took a breath.

Socrates ran down his arm to sit next to Ben, and Willard sighed. "Okay, Ben-but only because Socrates says it's okay."

After he had safely hidden them in the storeroom, he sat at his desk, his mind still on rings and wedding plans, and at first he didn't notice the envelope sitting on his mouse pad. When he finally focused on it, his first thought was confusion. It was a plain white envelope, his name printed neatly on the front. Wondering what it could be, he opened it-and his jaw dropped in shock at the contents. He reread it three times, certain he had missed something. Cathryn watched him, concerned. "Willard?"

He shook himself and handed her the letter. "Am I reading this correctly?"

She took the letter, reading it aloud. "Mr. Stiles, it is our regret to inform you that your position here has been terminated. Enclosed find two weeks' severance pay. Your service is appreciated. Frank Martin." She handed the letter back to him, a sad expression on her face. "He's firing you. But…I thought he couldn't fire you."

Willard's head snapped up and he glared at Mr. Martin's door, fuming, then stood and stomped towards his office, shaking in anger. Cathryn turned in her chair, concerned. "Willard!" She fell silent as he stomped into Mr. Martin's office.

Willard wrenched the door open, ready to give Mr. Martin a blistering tongue lashing, and was stopped in his tracks by his boss speaking first.

"This has all been a huge misunderstanding. Tell you what I'm going to do. I'm going to take you to the Jets-Dolphins game, how's that sound?"

Willard reeled in confusion. "What ? !"

Martin turned, irritated at being interrupted in his phone call, and mouthed 'Shut up and sit down.' Willard sat, his stomach in knots and his head starting to throb.

Mrs. Leach looked up from the invoice she was filling out. "It feels like this office could use a little holiday cheer. Cathryn, go in the storeroom and dig out the Christmas decorations. The key's in Willard's desk, I think."

Martin sat at his desk, leaning back in his chair. "I'll see you later." He ended the call, and stared at Willard in contempt. "Well?"

"How could you? !"

Martin snorted. "What part of 'you're fired' did you not understand?"

"My Father!"

"Is dead! Been dead. And now your Momma's dead too."

Willard gasped for breath. "He started this company! It's my family's company!"

Martin sat up straight, glaring at him. "No. It's my company. It's been my company, and I don't want you around it any more! Why are you still here anyway? You hate it here. I hate you being here. You'd be much happier if you left, so why in the hell won't you leave?"

"The terms of your purchase compact-tract they clearly state that you are not allowed to sell…"

Martin shrugged. "Sue me."

"WHAT? !"

"Sue me. Go down to the courthouse, hire yourself a $250 dollar an hour lawyer, and sue me. My $400 an hour lawyer will tie it up in the Courts till I die. So what, ten, fifteen, twenty years from now-you'll win."

"You know I cannot afford that! You know that!"

Martin snorted at him. "No, really? If you need money so badly, why don't you make me an offer on the house?" Willard glared at him. "Don't give me that look, Willard. I buy the house. You have money. You can go out and buy yourself a good clean used car, move far away, get yourself a good job, a girlfriend. Hell, you'll be so happy you won't want to sue me."

Willard took a breath, trying to stay calm. "I already have a girlfriend, Mr. Martin. That's why I need this job. I'm planning on marrying her soon, and I want to be able to afford a decent wedding."

Martin sighed. "Well, then I guess you're up shit creek. You wanna give your girl a nice wedding? I'm sure you could use the money you get from me for your house to buy her a nice enough dress."

Cathryn had located the keys. She looked towards the secretary. "Mrs. Leach? I found the keys. But, you can dig out your own holiday cheer then you can shove it up your ass with a big Ho Ho Ho. I quit." She threw the keys at Mrs. Leach, who dodged out of the way, then grabbed her coat from the hook and walked out, relieved.

Willard fumed, his body trembling and Martin stared coolly at him. Willard stood up, still fuming, and slammed himself against the office door over and over again. Martin winced. Finally, Willard slumped, completely done in, and began sobbing.

"Alright! I'll sell you the house! But please, please, let me keep my job! Please."

Martin stared at him, and was considering his answer, when a loud shriek sounded. Willard looked around, stunned and scared. Martin stood, heading for the door. "What the hell?"

Willard followed, a sick feeling forming in the pit of his stomach as Mr. Martin headed to the storeroom. Mrs. Leach was standing at the door, shaking. "There is a white rat in there, and it is the size of a dog! I mean, huge! With fangs."

Willard gasped. 'Socrates!' He peered round the door into the storeroom, hoping that Socrates would stay safely hidden.

Martin peered on the bottom shelf. "I don't see any mouse."

Mrs. Leach sighed in annoyance. "He's up higher, you idiot."

"I think your wild ass imagination is playing tricks on you, Barbara. There is no…" He looked up and into the scared eyes of Socrates. "Aha! There he is!"

Willard shivered, knowing if he said anything he'd probably be fired on the spot. 'Socrates, please, hide, run, hide!'

Mr. Martin looked around for a weapon, and his eyes fell on a Christmas tree dowel with a metal edge. He hefted it, and then drove it straight into Socrates.

The rat squealed in pain, and Willard nearly vomited. He watched in numbed horror as Socrates' beautiful white fur became dabbed with blood under the continued assault of Mr. Martin. Socrates blinked, dazed and dying, and Martin bought back the dowel for one last thrust.

"Walt-this is Mickey-coming to join you!" He drove the dowel home and Socrates gave one final screech and went limp. Martin grinned, and then headed out of the room, waving the blood soaked dowel in front of a sickened Willard. "What's the matter tiger, can't take a little blood?" Willard turned away, pale and trembling.

Martin handed the dowel to Mrs. Leach. "Here you go. Finder's Keepers."

Mrs. Leach gagged at the dowel. "He…expects me to clean that up?"

Willard gently took it from her, still fighting the urge to throw up. "I'll do it." The dowel was shoved in his hands, and Mrs. Leach returned to her desk, leaving Willard alone. He walked into the storeroom, and stared at Socrates, tears in his eyes. Ben, seated atop a tall shelf, watched.

Willard took a breath, and began muttering. "What could I do? What could I do? What could I do? What could I do? What could I do?" He blinked, then turned and looked up at Ben, an insane smile on his face. "What could we do?"

He was the Rat King, he thought, and it was time he put his Army to use. 'Martin will regret this.' He giggled insanely, then gently scooped up Socrates and placed him in his pocket heedless of the blood. Ben climbed down from his perch and into Willard's briefcase. "Good boy, Ben. Let's go home."

He stumbled into the house, the mad grin still fixed on his face, and collapsed into a chair, sobbing. "Socrates…"

He gently drew forth the rat, stroking the limp body. "You were supposed to be our pet, Socrates. I was going to let our children play with you." He softly kissed his head, not caring about the blood. "Martin will pay for what he did, I promise."

He cleaned the blood off Socrates' fur and gently placed him in the urn containing his father's ashes, then looked at Ben. "I've got someplace I need to go first, but I promise, once I'm back-Martin's hours are numbered."

Abbie knew something was wrong when she spotted Willard's car parked haphazardly in front of her building. Feeling more than a little nervous, she headed upstairs, and gulped in slight fear when she noticed her apartment door standing open. She walked in, and gasped at the sight before her.

Willard was seated on the couch, his legs drawn up to his chest. He was staring into space, rocking back and forth slowly as he muttered under his breath.

Abbie carefully shut the door, and then sat next to him, speaking softly. "Willard? Baby, what's wrong?" No response and Abbie touched his arm. "Willard?" He turned and looked at her for a full minute, then buried himself in her arms, sobbing. Abbie held him as he cried, gently stroking his back. "Baby, what happened?"

"So…Socrates…he…he's…dead."

Abbie's eyes widened in grief. "Oh no! What happened?"

Willard took a breath, and then told her everything. "I just stood there! I did nothing while he was killing my friend! I couldn't move! He died because I was too much of a fucking coward to speak up!" He grinned madly, and Abbie gulped. "But I'm going to get even with Martin. He's going to regret ever hurting Socrates. Oh, he's going to regret it." Willard giggled, his hand on his mouth, and then looked over at Abbie. "I'm scaring you, aren't I?"

"No. Willard, if you expect me to give you a lecture about how we should turn the other cheek, forgive and forget, and all that jazz, then you'll be disappointed. I'm also not going to tell you that revenge is wrong, or that Socrates was just a dumb rat. What Martin did was horrible, and if you ask me, he deserves to be stripped to the bones by your rats. The only thing you'll get from me is Godspeed and good luck, and I hope the bastard suffers."

Willard grinned evilly. "Oh, he will. I'll make sure of that."

Abbie giggled madly, clapping. "Good, and when you're done with him, come back over so we can start discussing wedding plans."

Willard laughed and kissed her. "You're almost as crazy as I am, Abbie. I knew I loved you for a reason. But you can't…we can't…"

"Can't what? Get married? Why the hell not?"

Willard turned and faced her. "Abbie, it's very likely that I won't have a job, a house, or any money very soon. What could I possibly give you? Nothing!" He gave a short, barking laugh. "Hell, I probably couldn't even afford to buy you a damned veil!"

Abbie glared at him. "So everything you told me last night, about wanting to marry me no matter what, was that all bullshit? Were you just spouting the latest tips from Esquire about how to get your woman to say yes to anything you ask? Did you actually mean one word of it?"

"Of course I did! But Abbie, we still need something to live on! If we got married now, we'd have precisely zilch. No money, no home, nothing! I don't want you to have to go through all that!"

"I've gone through all of it my whole fucking life! I have struggled, and scrimped, and gone hungry many, many nights. I'm not exactly rolling in dough either! But I love you, and I want nothing more in the world than to be your wife. Don't run away from me, please. I don't care about money, or houses, or anything like that. I only care about you. Please, Willard-don't back out of our engagement."

He looked at her. "Abbie, I can't even afford a ring. Do you honestly think I could afford anything else?"

Abbie gently cupped his face in her hands. "You listen to me, Willard Stiles, because I'm only saying this once. I don't care if we have to get married in the courthouse with me in a second or third hand dress and a bouquet of dollar store daises. I don't care if we have to spend our wedding night at this apartment and our honeymoon in Central Park. I don't care if we have to struggle for a few years before we're able to stand on our own two feet. All I care about is hearing the priest or justice of the peace pronouncing us man and wife."

Willard gulped, and then kissed her passionately. "Me too. Abbie…I need to go. I think…I think it's best that I don't tell you what I'm planning to do tonight to Martin, but it probably won't be pretty. Are you completely certain you want to marry a man who is capable of…?"

"Yes. I'm completely certain. I'm not afraid of you, Willard, and I never will be." She kissed him. "Now, times a wasting. Go gather your Army."

He smiled evilly, then kissed her. "Yes, my Queen."

Abbie watched him leave, a grim smile on her face. She hoped he made Martin suffer.