The Birth of Bane (40 page)

I know I could
have said any of those things to him, or maybe even all of them. I
very well might have stood there and said, “Bane took my father. He
was going to let his brothers rape my mother and then he was going
to kill her, so
She
had come and took him before any of
that could transpire.”

I run those
words in my head every once and a while, when I am alone and left
to wondering if I had done the right thing on that night so long
ago. I play out the scenario in my head. I walk myself through the
dialogue that would’ve followed, balancing and counter-balancing
the situation with the personalities. I re-live the setting with
the lone Earth shoe and all the blood. I recall the divorce of my
parents, the actions of my abusive father, even the night he nearly
killed Elijah. I could’ve told the truth. I know it. I
understand.

Even now, when I
compile it, stack it against what had happened I really don’t see
the value of the truth in this given situation. What good would it
have done? The sergeant was already angry with us. He clearly has
preconceived notions. Maybe he’d been going through a divorce of
his own. Maybe he’d caught his wife cheating on him and, in that
brief moment in time, hated all women. I don’t know. And…, I really
don’t care to know either. I said what felt right, because I knew
he’d take the truth as a tale of deception. He’d think I was lying.
He would think I was trying to protect my mother and he would’ve
made things even worse for us. On that night, the cop was
that
sort of man…

“
Nothing
happened down there.”

He bristled like
a bee-stung bear.

“
I looked
everywhere. I couldn’t find him.”

At my side, my
mother stiffened for a second, then relaxed when I stared into her
eyes.

This one is
ours, Mom. This one is ours.

She nodded
imperceptively. “It all happened so fast, officer. I can only
remember answering the door and there was this tremendous light and
Leonard and… I think it was... Kory, but I can’t be one hundred
percent sure… Anyhow, they were screaming and something very large
and very strong hit the front door and I was thrown back. I landed
on the floor, dazed…” She wiped the back of her hand across her
forehead, sighed. “By the time I looked up, by the time I could,
Valerie was there hugging me, crying… I think. I didn’t know where
Jeremiah or Elijah were at the time.” She shuddered at the
memory.

The sergeant’s
attention turned toward my sister. “And you, young lady, what do
you remember.”

Her eyes were
typical Valerie – hard, cold when they needed to be. “The only
thing I cared about was my mother.” She wrapped her arm around my
mother’s waist.

My
m
om smiled warmly at her and
kissed on the side of the head.

“
You didn’t see
anything?” he prompted, her answer insufficient by his
standards.

She shook her
head. “I came from my room and saw my mom. I went to her to make
sure she was ok. I didn’t look around or anything. I wanted to make
sure she was safe.”

There was a long
silence. I noticed how cold it was and shivered in my bottoms and
slippers, feeling gooseflesh prickling my chest.

“
You’re d
ad threaten you
guys a lot?” It was almost a statement. Otherwise, I wouldn’t have
let Valerie answer. He wasn’t fishing or trying to back us into a
corner.

“
Oh yeah,” was
all she said.

“
What about you,
little man? Did you see anything?”

Elijah looked
from around my mother. “I stayed in my room like Jerry told me too.
I didn’t leave until Valerie got me.” His voice was small, brave
and smart, but small nonetheless.

The sergeant
looked me in the eyes.

I stared
back.

His gaze shifted
back toward Valerie. “How long did it take you to go up and get
your brother?”

She clicked her
tongue on the roof of her mouth. “Sheesh man, I don’t know, five
minutes maybe.”

The sergeant
nodded.

An errant
thought struck me. “Mom, where’s Scott?”

Her sharp intake
of air and her hand flying to her mouth was all I needed to
know.

“
Mr. Brubaker is
fine. He’s being attended by the EMT’s for some cuts and bruises,
but he’s otherwise unhurt,” said the sergeant before my mother
could reply.

I saw tears
began to moisten my mom’s eyes.

“
Can we go now?
It’s cold out here,” I asked. I’d had enough “cop-ness”.

His eyes
narrowed and he sucked one lip from the inside. “Sure, go in, get
yourselves warmed up. If we have any more questions will come and
ask. In the meantime, sit tight and wait. Someone will let you know
what’ll be going on tomorrow and the next few days following.” He
magnanimously gestured with his hand that we were free to
go.

I never got the
name of the sergeant who interrogated us that night. I never knew
why he was so accusatory. Christ, his department had had enough
interaction with my family to know by then it was Lenny who was the
issue, not us.

I guess some men
just don’t like to see women and children fight back, however
subtle the resistance may be…

In the end, the
police found nothing. It hadn’t mattered if they’d brought in
seismic sounding devices, checking every inch of the basement
floor, the passage leading to the root cellar and the small earthen
chamber as well. They never found a single hair from Lenny’s head.
Just like I knew they wouldn’t.

Bane had been
thorough.

*****

On my
twenty-first birthday, one day before me and my cousins and some
friends were scheduled to leave for Las Vegas, I got duped into
showing them the door leading to the root cellar. We’d been
drinking and smoking a little pot, feeling stupidly good and
courageous. Of course, by then, rumors had been flying about my
large, dysfunctional family regarding the events the night the
Breach had been opened and later, sealed. My cousins wanted to see
why the cops had spent nearly three weeks in the underground
portions of the property. They were morbidly excited over the idea
that their auntie, my mother, Pillar, had disposed of her
ex-husband, their uncle, and buried him somewhere down there. They
made me open the basement doors and show them.

I hadn’t been
before that door since the days following my father’s abduction. I
sort of wondered, if we did open it would
She
be there standing
before us, all of her beauty powerfully displayed. Would she be
nice? Would she be the demure, delicate young woman I had first
seen? Or, would she be Bane? Would she be the terrible creature?
Would she be the devourer of human flesh? Would she come after us
and dine upon our most succulent parts? I know I was drunk and
high. I know my mind was going faster than it should have. Even
through the fog of inebriation, I knew I was letting my imagination
run wild, but I was also curious.

What would we
see?

My cousin Jason
was the one who opened it. He inserted the giant skeleton key,
twisting it two full revolutions. We heard the tumblers fall into
place and he yanked hard against the weight of the medieval
barrier. It opened.

There was
nothing.

Only dirt and
dust, and age-old memory made stale with time.

They spent the
better part of an hour searching over the place, but if they police
Crime Scene Investigation Unit couldn’t find anything in over
twenty days, how in the fuck were those idiots going to find
anything in less than sixty minutes? They were so drunk; they were
falling over themselves laughing like clowns.

It was a very
pretty and a very angry nineteen-year-old Valerie who chastised us
away. It was she who locked the large door. It was she who had
nailed the trap door to the root cellar shut four years prior. It
was she who wanted absolutely nothing to do with Bane or with the
Breach, or with Lenny. For her, it was better to let dead things
lie.

And, Lenny was
long dead.

So was the ghost
of Mrs. Gates. She never returned, and the house was never as
bright or as lively as it had been during that first year we lived
on Lincoln Drive. Even though, some years later, my mother married
Scott before the fireplace in the front room, before the entire
family, it wasn’t the same.

I grew up, went
to college, stayed in the house all the way through my undergrad
years. I moved out when I married Myra. We had both started
graduate school in northern California, so we were forced to
leave.

Elijah and
Valerie lived there much, much longer.

My mother and
Scott lived in the house even longer.

They sold it
finally, in late 2002, and moved to Malibu where they live to this
day before the beach and the sun as they encroach upon their
retirement years.

I still drive by
there, every once and a while. I did moreso when I first decided to
write this book. Much has changed – both the Magnolia and the
massive Elm are gone, the paint is a different color, the unique
windows have been replaced and the Lantana bush has been removed.
Still, I can see my mother’s hand upon the place. Because of her,
it’ll always be beautiful, reflect what Mr. Gates had envisioned
for his wife.

When I gaze
skyward, something I can do now that the twin giants have been cut
down, I can almost see her there, behind the clouds, gazing down,
as she said she would – watching. I can almost make out her
aqua-marine eyes, those perfect eyelids, sculpted
lashes.

I was never an
expert on spirits or ghosts or haunts. I had always thought them
fanciful figments of an imagination gone wild. Though I had heard
they could be annoying, even bothersome to those unfortunates who
strayed too close, who opened their
minds too wide and let them in. Still, I was, and always
would’ve been, an unbeliever.

What I didn't
know was they could be so much more than aggr
avating poltergeists bumping in the night. They
could be grateful, caring, even convey love when compelled, had
enough strength. I was amazed by this. It was wondrous.

Then, he brought
the anger and the malice in his heart. He brought destruction and
darkness, intent on killing us all.

That was
when
She
changed. That was when
She
rose
up.

She was
ruthless.

Mrs. Gates
became the Bane of m
y Father.
She took him.

She keeps what
she takes…

--{ THE END
}--

~~~~~~~<<<
ᴥ
>>>~~~~~~~

Epilogue:
Address

You can’t run
from your fears, because their legs never tire…

The thought came
and left as she read the last line Jerry had written in his
book.

She keeps what
she takes...

Bane and her
terrible blade.

Was she still
afraid of the ghost that had haunted her mother’s house way back
when she was a child? Was she still creeped out by the house that
had creaked and groaned, and howled during a particularly bad rain
storm? Had that first year marred her for the rest of her life? Had
their family’s move to Lincoln Drive caused her irreparable
damage?

Or, had that
disease followed them from their former house? Had the malignancy
been in their family since the day her mother and married her
father?

Instead, had the
House on the Hill and its’ unlikely occupant, in the end, saved
them?

She closed the
book quietly not wanting to disturb her husband, Martin, as he
slept in the bed next to her. She glanced at the digital clock,
surprised and then, not all that shocked, to see it read 5:17 am.
Even when they were younger and Jeremiah’s imagination began to run
wild, his stories had always enthralled her. She wasn’t sure if it
was because they’d grown up together and, by inference, knew more
about him than any other person alive, except Myra, her
sister-in-law. Or, maybe he was just
that
good. Despite the fact
the topic made her feel uneasy, she had liked the story. It was
well written, concise and depicted a fairly good picture of what
had gone before. Though he had embellished upon a few things to
spice it up a bit, there were instances where he had written the
gospel truth.

Despite the lack
of chill in her house, Valerie shivered. Of Bane there was no
embellishment. Jerry had depicted the real Her.

Bane and her
terrible blade…

Besides, after
three previous attempts, this one, this novel had been the one that
had received the most attention. His publisher was completely
behind the book. The print marketing, the internet and social media
blitz, the splash ads on Facebook – all of it was evidence of their
faith in what her brother had put to paper.