2021-12-03 - A Sword Cuts on Both Edges

(TXT to Alexander) Bennie : I'm not sleeping.

(TXT to Bennie) Alexander : Chronically, or right this second?

(TXT to Alexander) Bennie : Yes.

(TXT to Alexander) Bennie : Tell me a story.

(TXT to Bennie) Alexander : A happy story?

(TXT to Alexander) Bennie : Do I sound picky?

(TXT to Bennie) Alexander : No. All right.

(TXT to Bennie) Alexander : Once upon a time, there was a woman. She was a first generation immigrant from Finland.

(TXT to Bennie) Alexander : She'd come to Gray Harbor with nothing but the clothes on her back, along with her family.

(TXT to Bennie) Alexander : They worked at the timber mills, but she wanted more.

(TXT to Alexander) Bennie : Can her nam be Ingrid? Is that Finnsh?

(TXT to Bennie) Alexander : Her name was not Ingrid. It was Emma. I think Ingrid is Swedish? Maybe?

(TXT to Bennie) Alexander : She was smart, and fell in with a smart but bad crowd.

(TXT to Bennie) Alexander : She had a gift for numbers, and ledgers, and was soon doing the accounting for several of the local criminal elements.

(TXT to Bennie) Alexander : But she wanted more.

(TXT to Bennie) Alexander : So she started hiding a few numbers here, and there. Just a few. But a few from every gang she worked with.

(TXT to Bennie) Alexander : It added up to a lot of numbers.

(TXT to Bennie) Alexander : Eventually, the people who actually owned the numbers got suspicious. Then angry.

(TXT to Alexander) Bennie : This does not bode well for Emma.

(TXT to Bennie) Alexander : No. It does not.

(TXT to Bennie) Alexander : Three of the gangs she stole the most from all raced to be the first to catch her. They wanted their revenge, and their money.

(TXT to Bennie) Alexander : They descended on her home at about the same time, and there was a minor shootout just getting in. But what did they find?

(TXT to Alexander) Bennie : No money? No Emma?

(TXT to Bennie) Alexander : Not Emma. Bullet holes. A little bit of blood in the hallway. Which didn't seem to come from a nearby bullet. But no money. No Emma. Even though the house was surrounded, and no one saw her leave.

(TXT to Alexander) Bennie : Because she went to the Veil?

(TXT to Bennie) Alexander : It actually triggered a minor gang war, because each of the gangs figured that another MUST have gotten her and the money.

(TXT to Bennie) Alexander : Maybe. Maybe she stood out, and tricked them all.

(TXT to Bennie) Alexander : Maybe one of the gangs really did get her first, and set up the rest.

(TXT to Alexander) Bennie : Mental juju! Wait...does this story have an ending or just...supposition?

(TXT to Bennie) Alexander : If it had an ending it wouldn't be as interesting.

(TXT to Bennie) Alexander : She was never seen again. Not in Gray Harbor, anyway.

(TXT to Alexander) Bennie : Ooo a treasure hunt!

(TXT to Bennie) Alexander : I guess it could be. 🙂

(TXT to Bennie) Alexander : You should see my office. I have an office. It's probably haunted or evil.

(TXT to Alexander) Bennie : Like a not in your house office?

(TXT to Bennie) Alexander : Yes! https://gray-harbor.com/file/alexander/claytoninvestsm.jpg

(TXT to Alexander) Bennie : That. Is fancy pants.

(TXT to Alexander) Bennie : Needs a tub tho

(TXT to Bennie) Alexander : It has one in the side room. Claw foot tub, old as hell.

(TXT to Bennie) Alexander : All the furniture was there, untouched, in this building Perdita owns. The whole place is a meth den, or was, except this one office.

(TXT to Alexander) Bennie : I claim it in the name of Bennie.

(TXT to Alexander) Bennie : Yup.

(TXT to Alexander) Bennie : Haunted.

(TXT to Bennie) Alexander : Yeah. It will definitely try to kill me. But look at it.

(TXT to Bennie) Alexander : And my tub es su tub.

(TXT to Alexander) Bennie : Pretty fly fly swag swag

(TXT to Alexander) Bennie : So that offer. Is it still good?

(TXT to Bennie) Alexander : Yes. If you want. It won't help you sleep, though.

(TXT to Alexander) Bennie : Well not knowing is getting me much shut eye.

(TXT to Bennie) Alexander : All right. Want me to meet you somewhere, or you want to come here?

(TXT to Alexander) Bennie : I don't know yet. I don't know anything yet.

(TXT to Bennie) Alexander : Okay.

(TXT to Alexander) Bennie : Your office?

(TXT to Alexander) Bennie : wait, what else is in the building?

(TXT to Bennie) Alexander : Mm. Yes, we could. And nothing right now. I think Perdita lives in the penthouse.

(TXT to Alexander) Bennie : Nosy type? Apt to investigate sobbing?

(TXT to Bennie) Alexander : No. And there are many floors between.

(TXT to Alexander) Bennie : k

(TXT to Alexander) Bennie : I think that'llw ork

(TXT to Bennie) Alexander : It's the Bauer Building. <<Address>> I'll meet you there.

(TXT to Alexander) Bennie : k

Alexander is waiting as he promised outside the building, and leads the way through the deserted lobby to the ancient elevator. Despite its age, it actually works fairly well, and the elevator cage rattles its way up to the third floor. The third floor is deserted, and in need of repair, except for the door to Alexander's office, which looks like something out of a noir office: a frosted glass, dark wood door, with CLAYTON INVESTIGATIONS in bold, black stencils on the front.

When he opens the door, it's like stepping back in time to the 1920s. A few plants have been added to a little rack by the one window, and their blooms add a little sweetness to the air. Alexander pauses once he's stepped inside, and turns to look at Bennie, watching her reaction eagerly.

When Bennie arrives it looks like she's taken a page out of Alexander's wardrobe, and then turned it up to eleventy. She's wearing a long night shirt over a pair of sweat pants, her work boots unlaced with fingerless gloves and an afghan around her shoulders instead of a proper jacket. She arrives on foot because it's not like she was in a hurry, the walk leaving her nose and cheeks rosy from the chill in the air. Her hair is still mostly straight, but the blow out is starting to lose it's hold in places, leaving kinks where she must have had it up at one point.

And she looks tired.

Despite all this, when he opens the door she reacts how he might expect her too, or perhaps because that's what she thinks she's expected to: a bright smile and a overenthusiastic little, "EeEeee." Of joy as she walks in, but the spark just isn't there. "This story starts as all good ones do. With a dame." Bennie intones her best old detective movie narrator voice as she enters. And then adds as an aside. "Totally haunted."

Alexander may not always know what to do with other people's emotions, but the empath is a difficult person to fool when he doesn't want to be fooled. The attempt at cheer garners a rather wan smile from him, but his head ducks and shoulders droop a little, before he recovers. "It's probably haunted," he agrees. "But haven't seen a ghost yet." He closes the door behind her, gestures to the bench. "If you want to lay down, you can. Uh, bathroom's in there." Another gesture to a door, which he opens so she can see an antique bathroom, complete with claw-footed tub.

A little more subdued, Bennie says earnestly, "It really is a picture, Alexander. But I think we need to get you some second hand dress shirts, so you can walk around in shirt sleeves rolled to the elbow, suspenders, and a cigarette dangling from your lips while you pour scotch from a stash in your desk drawer." She walks in further, unwrapping the blanket from around her shoulders and laying it over the arm of the couch. "I should have worn heels." She comments to the walls. And, tactile creature that she is, Bennie is touching everything on the path to the bathroom. "In here, I think." She stops in the entrance, her hand paused on the jamb. "Wait. No." Indecision strikes again. "I don't want to associate your tub with bad memories."

"It would fit the whole image," Alexander agrees, quietly. He's also a tactile person, so approves of her wandering and touching. He doesn't move around much, himself. The office is small enough that it only manages one roamer at a time without bumping into each other, so he stays at arm's length. "Wherever you want. We could even go to one of the other, empty rooms. They're pretty...uh, raw. But could work." He's watching her, thoughtfully, his eyes dark. "Whatever makes you more comfortable."

"Nothing about this is comfortable." Bennie remarks, her eyes mirroring what she thinks of the office because they seem haunted too. "You sure you want to do this? In some part won't you have to relive it too? To make it..." She swallows, wrapping hr arms around her midsection. "Believable."

Alexander tilts his head to one side. He stares at her for a long moment, then says, "I don't want to do it. But I will. It doesn't matter what I have to do. You're clearly not sleeping. If this helps you get closure, then I'll do it. If it helps you come to some form of...peace, with this. With what happened, then I will do it." He shrugs, then grimaces. "I'm not...good. With helping people through this. I don't know if this will help, Bennie. I think it would have helped me. If someone had...offered. So I'd know. But I'm not like most people. I don't want to hurt you. You're my friend."

"But you know why I need to do this. I wanted to explain to Easton but he'd do anything to protect me. Anything, I truly believe that. I know I can't turn myself in, in the end that would punish more than just me. But I do need to be punished, because I fear if I don't...Alexander I'll just slip deeper and deeper into the darkness if there were no consequences. This is my lifeline. YOU are my lifeline. And you're right, if the tables were turned...I'd do the same for you. I'd help you at any chance." Bennie nods firmly, as if she's trying to convince herself just as much. "Alright. One of the abandoned places, then."

There's a simple, brutal sort of justice to the idea that appeals to Alexander. That has always appealed to Alexander. So when she says that she needs to be punished, he doesn't argue with this. Instead he nods, and his expression goes curiously blank. There's a hardness to his eyes that wasn't there before, a certain steel that settles into his posture, straightening his spine. "All right," he says. He opens the door and leads her across the hall, and down two doors. He's been doing a little bit of repair work here and there, so he knows this room is empty and not too wretched. And it is. There's some graffiti on one wall, but otherwise, it's empty. "Lay down, I'd recommend. It can be disorienting."

Bennie knows that look by now, It's when Alexander shuts off the part of him he's struggled so hard to regain. In part, that alone is punishment for Bennie and she wants to reach out, bring him back. But she only pauses long enough before they leave the office to murmur. "Whatever happens, I deserve this. I forgive you. And whatever happens, don't stop. Even if I beg." And then she ducks her head and follows to where she's directed, twining up her hair into a ball at the nape of her neck when she lays down on the ground. It's the only shred of comfort she allows herself, laying down, she knows John didn't get that option. Shifting slightly she then nods a mute okay.

"All right." It's all Alexander says, and the words are flat, without compromise or mercy. It's not a statement she's going to get to take back. He waits for her to lay down, stands over her, staring down at her with that same, remote expression. Then he moves away, out of arm's reach, and sits down, cross-legged, his hands resting lightly on his knees. There's no warning when he begins; he has no desire to make this linger, which means that one moment, Bennie is lying on the floor, and the next, she's in John's body, the remembered argument replaying.

Alexander's cruelty, if there is cruelty, is simply in giving Bennie exactly what she asked for. Every moment of that argument is replayed in crisp, clear details, to the extent that he recalls it -- and Alexander's memory is, if not eidetic, still very, very good. More, he replays the emotional overlays with a brutal clarity, as anger turns to surprise, to disbelief, to agony as tendons snap, muscles contract, bones break. Bennie feels her father die by her will, and feels every moment of his passing, physically and emotionally; no attempt is made to shield her.

There is barely a breath drawn before Bennie gets slammed into the vision. At first she feels the spite filled vitriol that consumed John in those final moments before things turned violent. The unmitigated joy felt when he watched his daughter's expression sadden when he smacked the wedding ring from her fingers. And then everything splits open like a wide chasm in the Earth, the lava flowing up to consume her achilles tendons in a searing pain. It makes her stomach clench, her body going fetal as her fingers blindly reach as if to try and hold the two ends of a broken rubber band together. It's the fist of a giant closing around her ribs that makes her jerk flat again, her spine snapping straight so fast it makes little popping noises that would make a chiropractor proud.

The scream emitted from her lungs is expelled with all the force her diaphragm can muster but it's clipped short because she can no longer breath. No longer breath because her ribs feel like they are snapping like dry tinder, her lungs and heart feeling squeezed like balloons ready to pop. In the end, she's just staring at the ceiling wide eyed, her mouth guppying open. Even if she wanted to beg, plead, pray for a stop - she feels like she can't draw the breath to make the noise. This is what death feels like. This is what John's death felt like.

And she feels it all.

And Alexander? From his face and posture, he doesn't appear moved by any of it. Normally so responsive - even overresponsive - he's now a man made of stone, his face a neutral mask that simply watches one of his best friends writhe in pain that he's inflicting and he doesn't even flinch.

Nor does he make it linger. When the memory comes to an end, he cuts it off, just as abruptly as he inflicted it. He doesn't stand up, but remains sitting. Watching. Silent.

Air. She needs air. Even if she was never actually deprived of it, her body feels like it's been starved of it. Bennie takes huge gasps of it into her chest greedily but that in itself backfires. She can barely manage to turn to her side again before the echoes of the pain in her mind make her wretch until the bile acids her throat raw. Her muscles ache from the tense clenching in reaction to the illusion, a groaning sob escaping her as she pushes away from her own filth. It's not a pretty look for the blonde, spittle caught on her bottom lip, eyes red and shadowed and her hair in a tangle by the time she struggles into a sitting position. "I'm sorry." The words are for Alexander somehow, not the image that's now seared itself into her memory of the man she crushed to death.

Alexander takes a sharp breath, shakes his head. "Don't apologize to me," he says, sharply. He rises to his feet, one knee popping once. He doesn't approach her. Instead, he walks out of the room. But not for long - it's only about a minute before he's returning with a bottle of water (lukewarm because he hasn't put a minifridge in the office), a few paper towels, and a hand towel to boot. Now, he approaches her and sets the water down next to her, along with the other items. "Here." He retreats well out of reach, sits down, continues to watch her with those blank eyes.

The exhaustion is evident in the way Bennie reaches for the bottle of water with a muted word of thanks and the way she struggles to uncap it before she spills a bit into her mouth and after a swish, spits it to the side with a mental note to clean up after herself as soon as she can move. "Teach me how to do that." Her voice sounds like it's struggling through a throat scraped with jagged glass.

Alexander rubs his face with his hands. "Do what?" he asks, his voice heavy. "I can't read you, so I don't know if you have any of the Mental abilities. But I'm pretty sure you're not strong enough in that area to create the full illusions." He takes a deep breath. "If you mean teach you how to torture people...no. I won't."

Drawing up her knees, Bennie rings them with her arms. "I'm strong enough in the Mind to talk to Easton and others, but that's it. No, I meant...turn it off."

"Turn what off?" Alexander's voice is harsh. His hands go to his hair, wending his way through it, tugging at it. Now that it's over, that mask is falling from his face, and his hands are shaking. He puts them firmly on his thighs, grabbing them and holding on to stop that.

Bennie's lips quirk just slightly as she watches his posture change, "I guess you really can't, can you?" She wipes out her mouth with the back of her hand, "Guess we're not that different in that regard then, just different approaches. Sunshine and Ice. Gimme a minute, and I'll give you a boost."

"Oh. You mean...no. I don't ever turn it off. Just...sometimes you have to do shit, and so you do it. If I lost my concentration during the illusion, I could have seriously fucked you up, Bennie. So I couldn't lose my concentration." His voice has gone soft and low. "And I don't need a boost. It needed to be done, so I did it." His brow furrows, and he stares at her. "But now you know. You know how much you can hurt someone, if you want to. I'm sorry you have to know that. Please don't do it again. Please. Not unless you have to."

"I've know that I could, Alexander. I never knew that I would." Bennie pulls her feet up underneath her and stands as if she's aged thirty years in the last thirty minutes. "That's worse. And now I have to live with it." She grinds the knuckle of her thumb against her eye socket. "Do you mind if I text Easton, say I'm spending the night on your couch with a headache." Which isn't a lie, per se, her head is pounding.

Alexander blinks a couple of times. "You...want to stay on my couch for the night? Yes, of course, you can. Always. I just figured--" she wouldn't want to, he doesn't say out loud, but it's clear it's on his face. "Sure. Um." He rises to his feet. "While you do that, I'll clean up in here. Um. Why don't you go back to the office and lay down on the couch there until I'm done?"

"I meant staying here. At the office." Bennie pushes her hair behind her ears, "And use the shower of course. I mean, heck, the only way to know if your place is truly haunted is to leave out some bait, right?" She tries to smile, fails, and gives up. "But I'm taking you up on the clean up offer. I barely think I'll be able to manage the walk back across the hall."

"Oh." A pause. "Oh." Alexander ducks his head. "Of course. I, uh, the office isn't really...I'll have to leave you my key, in case you have to go outside. You can bring it by tomorrow. Just leave it in the mailbox if you don't--" he stops. "Um, if I'm not there. I have something I need to look into. A couple of things. So I probably won't even be there." He hovers for a moment. "Do you need help? Getting to the couch?"

"I think you've helped enough for one night." Bennie says on her shuffling way to pass out on the couch. She meant that as praise - probably- but it just comes out all sorts of wrong.

(TXT to Easton) Bennie : Crashing on the couch at Clayton's. Headache. XOXO.

She might as well have slapped him. There's a moment of complete shock and he even stops breathing for a moment. His skin goes pale--and then red as shock and hurt metamorphizes into rage. She shuffles out of the empty room, and there's a crack as Alexander slams his fist into the nearest wall. Not just once. He slams it into the wall again, and again, and again, venting the sudden fury on the walls of the empty office. And his fists, of course. There's blood on the wall by the third punch, and it doesn't slow him down at all.

The sound doesn't really register with Bennie the first time, but by the second she's back at the door and by the third her voice rings out in concerto with the thud of knuckles to wall. "Stop it!" Nothing renews her energy like the sight of blood on the man's knuckles. "Alexander, STOP IT. Clayton, look at me. Look." The blonde moves quickly, her brain snapping into Work Mode as she tries to snatch up his wrists and interpose herself between Alexander and the wall. Okay, so it's work mode without the access, deescalate, and then intervene, but hey. Nobody's perfect.

When Bennie grabs Alexander's wrists, there's a moment when his focus shifts from the wall to her, and there's nothing in his eyes but a burning, impotent fury just looking for a target. And in that moment, she's almost the target he's looking for. He swings his body, jerking her around by the grip on his wrists, about to slam her up against the wall, when he recognizes who this is, and that no, he doesn't really want to hurt her.

He comes to a stop, breathing heavily, still furious but hanging on to control. Enough, at least, to snarl at her, "Get the fuck away from me, Bennie."

Bennie's teeth grit when she's whipped around, her muscles tensing preparing for an impact to the wall that doesn't come. "Not a chance in hell." She doesn't care about his personal bubble any more, not right now. Her hands release his wrists and her palms quickly go to walk up his chest and reach for his face. "Come on now, focus on my eyes. Focus. What color are my eyes Alexander?"

Alexander jerks away as soon as she releases him, jumping backwards out of reach. "Fuck your eyes!" He bares his teeth at her, his voice rising to top volume, a place Alexander's voice rarely ever goes. "Why? Why do people keep asking me to do the hard thing, and then hating me when I do it? What's wrong with me? Why can't I just have friends who like me? I try! Why do they always want me to hurt people? Or hurt me?" And now he's angry crying.

"That. Would hurt." Being fucked in the eye, of course. It's one of the off the cuff comments Bennie's used to firing off in repartee with Easton, but it doesn't quite fit in this instance. She shakes her head to clear it, "I didn't..I'm sorry, Alexander. I don't hate you. If anything, I hate myself. You did this...enormous thing for me and I am grateful." Her hands are held palm out in capitulation as she advances on him again. "You think I don't like you? Alexander Clayton you are my best friend in this world and I wouldn't have survived these past few years if it wasn't for you. So what color are my eyes, Clayton."

Alexander is, indeed, not a banter person. He recoils at it and turns and slams his fist into the nearest wall again. "Don't be grateful! I don't want gratitude!" He edges back from her as she advances, until there's a wall and nowhere else to go. Hitting the wall seems to jar him enough that his fury drains out of him, leaving his expression slack and hurt. "I don't think I have very nice friends," he says, slowly, after a moment, voice faded and dull. "And your eyes are blue. You should go lay down, Bennie. I'm fine now."

There is a slight quaver in Bennie's bottom lip but she pulls it taut to cease the wobble. She lifts her chin slightly, "I guess. No one is forcing you to be friends with us. Yes, blue. Good. Now what's the first thing you smell in this room? First thing, take a deep breath and tell me what you smell." She doesn't seem to be so inclined to lay down any time soon.

"No. No one's forcing me," Alexander agrees, slumping to put his back against the wall. He rubs at his face, hissing as the motion stings his split knuckles, but obediently takes a breath. "Vomit. I need to clean that up," he mutters, glancing over in that direction. "Now go lay down, Bennie. Get some goddamned sleep. I'm fine. It's just an Incident." The capital letter is clearly heard. "I have them. It's over. I'll be fine."

"That's right, vomit and bile. The sandwich I had for lunch. The brine of the pickle. Now, I want you to close your eyes and concentrate. Tell me the first thing you hear. And no, my voice doesn't count." It just so happens that the blonde has a stubborn streak, not one that surfaces often, and one that Alexander can usually crumble. But this time? This time the old gal is sticking to her guns.

"More information than I needed to know," Alexander says, wearily. But he closes his eyes, and the back of his head hits the wall with a thump. "I don't know why we're doing this." And yes, it's absolutely a little bit of a whine. Still, he's inclined to follow orders when they're given. "But I hear..." he frowns, "air in the pipes, I think? Tick tick tick - not a clock tick, maybe a cooling radiator from my office." A long pause. "Yes, that's what I hear."

"We're doing this because we need to refocus your energy. We're grounding you in the present. The now. So keep keep your eyes closed. Listen to the tick tick ticking. Think of the color blue, The sky, the ocean. The acrid smell in your nostrils. And now hold out your hand." Bennie's voice is steady, calm. "And when you're ready, if you'd like to, reach for mine."

Alexander's jaw sets, like he'd like to argue or whine more. But instead, he firms his lips against the impulse and breathes slow and deep. His visualization abilities are (as poor Bennie has reason to know) very good, and concentrating on the things does seem to bring him a little bit of grounding. He holds out his hand, obediently; the knuckles are split and smeared with blood and a little bit of drywall dust. He opens his eyes, and reaches for Bennie's hand, although he hesitates just an inch from her. "I'm sorry. For yelling. And disturbing you. You need to rest."

As he reaches for her hand, Bennie's holds her palm out flat. An invitation to take it, or hover there above as he pleases. "And I'm sorry I triggered you." Her other hand flips over the top, sandwiching his between in layers that never touch. The ghost of a smile forms, a sad thing, given just before the warmth starts to spread. "Some scars we were never meant to bear."

Alexander huffs as he feels the warmth start to spread. "And I'm sorry I said you weren't very nice," he replies, ducking his head to stare at the floor. "I don't...you didn't make me do anything. Don't apologize. I'm older than you, anyway. I could have said no." His other hand comes up to wipe at the remnants of the angry tears; there's no particular shame in that part, at least. Alexander cries sometimes, and it's clearly not something he thinks poorly about. After a moment, his hand drops, to just barely touch hers. "I'm glad you're my friend." Then he withdraws his hand. "I do have to clean up the vomit. And the blood. I don't want Perdita to be sad she rented the office to me. Go lay down."

When he touches her hand it's like some connection that was frayed between them has become intertwined once again. Bennie exhales out her nose, coming out a little shaky as if she has a tenuous hold on her own emotions after this entire ordeal. She doesn't talk again, lest she lose it. Just a nod, a slant of a smile, and then and only then does she do as she's told.

Alexander exhales, softly, when she nods. Her small smile is returned with an equally slight one of his own. He follows her back to the office - but only so he can grab cleaning supplies from the bathroom, and then go to clean things up. He doesn't speak again, either, just gives her space and quiet to do her thing, while he finishes tidying up. Then, he'll leave just as quietly, and the key to the outer door left on the desk in the office.