The Birth of Bane (29 page)

Instead, I was
met with a vision of Lenny. I was able to make out most of his legs
and feet before he was bodily hauled out of sight and about the
back of the house.

I saw the blood,
then. It was being tracked by the heels of his shoes, a sinuous
trail. It was thick in spots, light in others as if dropped onto
the ground in spurts.
What’s
going on?
I thought as I strode
through the broken gate, at a near run. But I had this nagging
feeling I should tread cautiously, so I didn’t go forth at a
breakneck speed. I edged my way toward the side-yard fencing,
trying to get a glimpse of as much of the back of the house as
possible without exposing myself in the process. Craning my neck, I
saw the lower half of Lenny being dragged down into the basement. I
took a few quick strides forward when one of his shoes caught on
the metal framing holding the large wooden doors in
place.

For some reason,
the pause in the action made me stop.

I grimaced when
I heard something rip, then pop. I was about to go toward him when
the Earth Shoe on his right foot suddenly flipped free, rotating in
the air a few times before it hit the ground half the distance
between me and the basement. I was amazed to see the laces had been
shredded. The leather on either side of the shoe was ripped. It was
soaked in blood. I cringed, realizing the “popping” might’ve been
his foot being broken in the process.

Was Bruce that
strong?
He was wiry, built with
solid, stringy muscles. I knew this because I had seen him without
a shirt on many occasions. I knew he was no stranger to manual
labor. He worked hard to keep his bee keeping business afloat. But,
was he
that
strong?

“
Hey, Bruce, what’s going on?” I asked, more fearful than
before, still figuring it was our tenant who was pulling Lenny away
from my mother.
It had to be,
right?

Yeah, dude, but
why was he dragging him down into the basement?

“
Bruce?”

Nothing, except
Lenny’s body thumping as it was unceremoniously hauled into the
earth.

I crept forward,
gingerly easing over the fallen shoe, not wanting to befoul my
slippers with the blood splattered all over the ground. As I
approached the stairs heading down to the basement, I can see the
doors had been thrown open, violently, as if something straight out
of Clash of the Titans had pulled them open with such force, they
were nearly torn from the hinges.

As with the side
gate
, I hadn’t heard anything,
only the scuffling sound of rubber scraping across
concrete.

I walked up to
the gaping maw that was the entrance into the basement. I peered
within. It should’ve been as black as coal down there. I should’ve
have been able to see more than four or five steps down.

I was surprised
I could see
all
the way down to the basement floor.
Plainly, I saw the runnels of blood, the shoe marks muddling it.
There was a thicker, darker rope of it that had to have come from
Lenny’s mangled right foot. It was broad, almost brush-like. I
could tell it was the impression made by his sock. It was drenched
all the way through. His foot must look like hamburger.

My eyes darted
about. I was beginning to realize it wasn’t Bruce. It wasn’t our
friendly tenant who was doing this. The ageless hippy couldn’t’ve
flung open the side gate as if it were no more than chicken-wire.
He couldn’t have handled the heavy doors of the basement as though
they were made of balsa wood. And, he sure as hell couldn’t have
done it without making a sound.

Yes, he was
strong, his muscles were ropey and defined, but he wasn’t
the
Incredible
Hulk
, he wasn’t
that
Bruce. He was Bruce, Bruce – your typical non-violent,
bee-keeping, flower-lover from a bygone era. He wasn’t a raving
monster. He wouldn’t saunter off with full-grown man in tow like he
was a sack of potatoes.

Something else
was happening. Something else had Lenny.

I realized this
as I gazed down into the basement, my orbs capable of piercing what
should’ve been sheer obsidian.

It wasn’t
darkness either. Some alien light source was down there. It was
phosphorous, a dim glow. It had no pulse or flicker, or periodic
dimming. It was constant. It was blue, the color of gemstones,
pure, of a single ray. It was emanating from the right, what we
knew as the northern portion of the basement.

Something
had Lenny. It wasn’t a person. It
wasn’t an animal. It was a
something
.

Something I had
yet to see.

I heard the
sound of creaking hinges and the slam of a heavy door. The azure
light extinguished. The basement went dark.

I felt my heart
sink.

I knew
something
had taken Lenny into the passage leading to the root
cellar. Whatever it was, it had closed the door leading to it. I
knew whatever it was, it would kill him there. It would end his
miserable life and, though I already felt something like it in my
heart, I’d be fatherless.

Lenny would
never see things above the ground again.

~~~~~~~<<<
ᴥ
>>>~~~~~~~

Chapter
Eighteen: The Warehouse

I thought about
the situation for a split second.
Did I have to do anything? Should I just stay there atop the
stairs and let whatever was happening take its’ course? It would
sure make things easier for us, for my mother.

I should just
leave, right? I should let the cops take care of it. I
should…

I walked down
the stairs, uncaring now if my slippers were besmirched with my
one-time father’s life-giving fluids. My mind focused on navigating
the pitch-black surrounding me. In my head I counted until I
reached the number eleven and stopped. That was how many steps it
took to reach the concrete floor. I extended my hand to the right,
feeling for the surface of the boxes that should’ve been stacked
there.

My hand closed
over the flashlight we were in the habit of leaving atop the boxes.
It was the way we did things in my family. In case of great need,
we’d always know where to find a flashlight. I’m not sure if it was
a by-product of having a father like Lenny. We seemed – my mother
and we kids – always prepared for the worst. Whatever it was, it
sure helped that night.

I thumbed the
switch and a strong, steady beam shot forth from the four-cell
Maglite. I trained it immediately upon the medieval door leading to
the root cellar, all six by five and a half feet of it. Its’ huge
oaken planks bound with iron and wood shod with large rivets had
been cleaned and partially restored. The iron ring serving as the
door handle was polished as well. The once-looking crudeness of it
wasn’t as noticeable now that the thick hinges had been greased and
painted black. It didn’t seem as foreboding as it had over a year
ago when my mother and Eli had urged my sister and me down into the
basement to ponder its‘ existence. Though it was large in
comparison to modern doors, it looked relatively normal
now.

Well, except for
the ever-widening swath of blood running directly underneath
it.

If you’re gonna
do this, Jeremiah, you better get a move on,
I urged myself. I shook my head, physically
banishing all doubt, stepped over and pull the circular latch
downward, hard.

The portal
opened readily. Nothing had changed there.

But, everything
had changed beyond. I should’ve been staring at rough-hewn walls,
dug out of the sandstone fundament of the hill. The other set of
stairs should’ve given way to hard-packed dirt. It should’ve seen a
passage supported by cross-beams every five feet or so. The thick
layer of dust would’ve been gone. It had been swept away long ago
by the men my mom had working down here six or seven months
prior.

None of it was
in evidence.

What I saw made
my mouth gape so drastically, the hairs of my scraggly goatee
should’ve been awash in Lenny’s blood when my jaw hit the
floor.

Instead, there
was no passage. There was a soft, deep blue glow that seemed to
come from everywhere at once, but nothing else I would’ve expected.
I was perplexed. I was struck motionless, incapable of making my
body move. I don’t think I even breathed.

Before me was an
alley, much like an alley one would see in the older portions of
metro Los Angeles, only it was the strangest sort I had ever seen.
Yes, there were what appeared to be tall buildings on either side,
each one at least fifteen stories high. There was an assortment of
trash bins, empty milk and produce crates, heaps of newsprint,
broken glass, smashed soda cans and the like rubbish one would
expect to find in an alley. It was dim with long shadows, because
of the odd lighting. It was cold, much cooler than it was in the
basement, where I stood. The entire passage was damp, but the verge
of freezing. I could feel the icy air chapping at my cheeks, making
my lips crack. There was even the typical smell of garbage, turned
milk and urine, comingled as it would within any typical
alleyway.

As I said
before, though, this place was anything but usual.

To begin with,
there was a roof. I could see the tops of the buildings – normal -
except there was a small extension of the wall above and beyond the
rooftops. Where this ended, an overarching ceiling – or whatever –
began.

The doors
leading from the alleyway were different as well. Unlike the
windows, which faced perpendicular to the passage, they were
turned, forty-five degrees in my direction. There were hundreds of
them, as far as I could see down the alley, which seemed to have no
end.

No
end
, the words repeated in my
brain, my eyes scanned the distance, searching for some semblance
of a terminus. I couldn’t see one. There were only stretches of
differently colored, in-laid brick facades as far as my vision
allowed. The bizarre roof covered all.

Down through the
center of it all, leading away from where I stood, splotched and
dribbled, was Lenny’s blood.

I squinted,
trying to determine if the trail led to either side, possibly down
a crossing passage, another alley. I couldn’t tell from my vantage.
It appeared to go at least seventy - maybe eighty - yards before it
faded from my view altogether. I knew the gruesome trail continued.
It was merely obscured the further away I gazed.

If I wanted to
discern where my one-time-father had been dragged, I was going to
have to personally investigate it.

I stared down at
my feet, standing as I was in the mess left behind by Lenny. I
hadn’t stepped through the doorway yet. I saw the line where the
concrete of the basement met the frigid sogginess of the alley. I
had this odd notion, the moment I stepped over it; I wouldn’t be in
the same place any longer. I wouldn’t be at 1052 Lincoln Drive, in
Los Angeles, in California.

I’d be somewhere
else entirely.

I glanced up at
the long, crimson streak upon the unclean pavement, my mind
uncertain. Thoughts, similar to those I’d thought before, bubbling
to the fore.
Did I really
have
to go after him? After everything he had done to us, was it
necessary to seek out his attacker? Couldn’t I just let it go?
Lenny was a world-class douche. Did he deserve my concern, or my
time? Couldn’t I let the police figure it out? After all, we hadn’t
done anything. He and his brothers had broken into the house.
They’d been the ones who’d battered down the door. They were going
to hurt my mother. Why should I bother?

I peered about,
breathing in the fetid, chilly air, feeling my shoulders bunch,
then release. The answer was simple. Though I hated it, I couldn’t
escape it. Its’ simplicity made it so.

Because…

It was one word,
without explanation, devoid of closure. It was open-ended, because
there was no single correct way to finish it. Sometimes, especially
when things no longer make sense, the only answer is a beginning,
whatever sort that may be.

Because…

I could sit here
and attempt to enumerate all of the “endings” to the beginning of
that sentence. I could spell them out and explain them, in detail,
if I chose. And, believe me, there were many. But, in the end, it
would amount to the same thing. In the totality of the situation,
it all added up to the same act.

I stepped across
the threshold and entered the alley. I risked leaving behind
everything I’d known in my short life and went in search of the
reply to every query I had ever asked.

That night, I
would find out.

Feeling I had
wasted enough time as it was, I began my trek into that strange
place at a jog.

I worked my way
through the debris clogging one side of the alley and then the
other, following the mild “zig” and “zag” left behind by the body
of my one-time father. I tried to ignore the peculiarity of my
environs, but it was hard not to look.