That One Night (That One Series Book 1) (23 page)

“I’ll just kill him and then you can be happy again.” He moves his other hand onto Archer’s neck, now holding him with both hands as if to strangle him.

“Oh God, please, let him go. Please,” I wail. I see Ben lunge towards his father when I hear a loud noise, like an explosion. Blood is suddenly everywhere, drops falling onto my clothes. I feel them hitting my face.

It takes me a moment to take in the situation, the shock clouding my senses. Ben is sitting on the floor, cradling Archer in his arms, crying. His father is only inches away from him, blood pooling around him from the wound in his shoulder.

I fall to my knees and crawl over to Ben, frantically patting down Archer’s small body, making sure he isn’t hurt. I look at Ben and I see a broken man in front of me. He seems unscathed too, at least physically. I clutch both of them, sobbing uncontrollably.

My mind spins out of control as I consider what would have happened if Ben hadn’t lunged for Archer, if he didn’t put himself in harm’s way. He chose Archer over his father, even over himself. He saved our son’s life. My hold on him and Archer gets stronger. I need to convince myself they are both here, both uninjured. I don’t pay attention to the officer putting handcuffs on Noah, who is still breathing, though doesn’t appear conscious. I don’t care about anything or anyone else other than the two people in front of me—Archer and Ben.

***

The next few hours are a blur. We are taken to the hospital where they check Archer over, from a CT scan, to x-rays, to other tests. I’m thankful they are so thorough. But it all feels like a bad movie, it doesn’t seem real. The doctors ask a lot of questions, making sure not to miss anything. They also want to watch him for a few hours to make sure that he really is okay.

The police take our statements, having us recount the terror we experienced. I feel numb. I can’t allow myself to feel anything else or I’ll shatter. A nurse brings me and Ben some clean scrubs and it’s only then that I really notice how we look. My pants are smeared with blood from when I crawled over to Ben and Archer. Both of us are sprayed with little red droplets that look like an abstract painting on our clothes. While the doctors take Archer to the CT, where we aren’t allowed, Ben and I change and clean up a bit. It does nothing to make me feel better. I won’t until the doctors tell me that Archer is okay.

Dean and Mrs. Walsh have joined us at the hospital, to be with us and to drive us home, while the rest stayed home with the police and the cleaners.

As soon as we can, we are back in the room with the doctors and Archer. He looks tired, but seems excited about all the lights, people, and shiny equipment. Ben and I don’t talk. Not because we don’t want to, because we can’t. We’re holding onto each other’s hand though, not letting go. It keeps us grounded; helps us not fall apart.

When the doctor finally tells us we can go home, and that Archer is fine, I have a hard time accepting it. I want to make sure. Thankfully, he’s a patient man, explaining to us that Archer will have some bruising on his neck from the hold, might experience a bit of an ache when swallowing, but it’ll pass in a day or two. Otherwise, he’s healthy and good to go home.

Before we leave, there is one question that is burning my mind with its urgency, although I know that there is no clear answer. But I want some reassurance. I need it.

“Doctor, will he remember it? Will he carry any psychological trauma?”

Giving me a sympathetic look, the doctor shakes his head.

“It’s nothing we can say for sure, but at his young age it’s very unlikely. It’s not continued abuse and neglect, but a one-time experience. I don’t think you have to worry.”

With that, we’re allowed to leave and go home.

When we come back from the hospital around midnight, everything has been cleaned up. There is no sign of the horror that transpired in our kitchen mere hours ago.

Everyone gives us hugs, letting us know they are here for us. They’ve prepared some food and tea, but I can’t think about eating. In a stupor, I thank them, heading upstairs with Archer in my arms. I lay down on the bed, with him next to me, not bothering to bathe, or shower, or even change out of the scrubs. I’m lying on the bed, watching Archer fall asleep; his breaths slowly evening out. They did all the tests possible and I’m trying to believe them and not worry, but every time Archer moves or breathes a bit differently, I feel fear rising up in my chest.

A shadow falls over us, alerting me to someone standing in the door. I look up to see Ben hesitating to come in. He looks so lost. Like a ship on a stormy sea.

I motion to the other side of Archer on the bed. “Come lie down with us.”

His gaze flicks around the room, like he’s looking for something. “Do you even want me here?”

I’m thrown by his question, not realizing what he means, and in the state I’m currently in, I can’t even attempt to try and analyze it.

“Of course. Please, I need you,” my voice breaks, tears rising to the surface. He walks over slowly, kicking off his shoes as he goes and pulling his shirt over his head. Then he gently lies next to Archer, facing me. His eyes are closed for a moment and his jaw is clenched. When he opens his eyes and looks straight at me, he looks pained and I don’t blame him. As painful and tragic as this experience was for me, it must be even worse for him. To find out the things he’s been confronted with today—I don’t think there is a way to repair the damage it does to someone’s heart. I reach out, touching his hand and bringing it up to my lips, I then kiss each knuckle gently.

“I’m sorry, Frankie. So sorry.” Even in the dim light of my lamp, I can see the tears streaking down his face. It hurts me to see him like this. I didn’t think my heart could break any more than it did earlier today, but it does.

“Ben, it’s not your fault. Do you understand me? It’s not your fault,” I say it with as much conviction as my fragile state allows.

His eyes flick up to mine, but he doesn’t seem to believe me. There is doubt written all over his face.

Archer stirs, trying to find a comfortable position it seems. Seeing this helpless beautiful boy, the baby I nearly lost today, I don’t understand how anyone could ever want to harm him. How anyone could ever hurt a child. Looking at him, I can’t stop the images from spilling into my head of what could have happened, how bad things could have gone. The feelings are so strong, so violent, I suddenly can’t breathe. I feel dizzy and light-headed, my hands growing clammy. Even in my haze, I can tell I’m in the midst of a panic attack, but there is nothing I can do about it. My heart beats frantically; I’m convinced everyone in the house can hear it. I try taking deep breathes, trying to calm myself, but I can’t. Just as Ben asks me if I’m okay, the bile rises in my throat and I stumble to the bathroom just in time to retch uncontrollably for what seems forever until my body has nothing left to give. I slump next to the toilet on the cold hard floor and sobs wreck my body. I shake like a leaf in the wind, wailing with the ache and terror I feel.

Ben appears in the doorway and kneels down in front of me, pulling me into his chest. Panic rises in my chest, thinking of Archer being alone. I try to break free from Ben’s embrace, frantically calling Archer’s name.

“Shhh, he’s with Dean and Alex right now. They’re taking care of him.”

Ben turns on the water in the shower until the steam starts filling the room. He then proceeds to undress me, following it with his clothes. I follow his lead, and step into the shower, letting the hot water rain down on me, leaning into Ben.

Murmuring into his chest, I tug him closer to me. “I love you, Ben. I’m sorry this happened to you, to us. I’m so sorry he did this.”

He just runs his hands over my back in a soothing manner, whispering repeatedly that he loves me too. We wash each other gently, our hands skimming over the other’s body. It’s not sexual, yet intimate and tender. We need this connection right now, a moment to disappear into our own world. Once we’re done and all dry, I brush my teeth while Ben gets Archer, putting him in his crib. As much as we’d like Archer in bed with us or to hold on to him all night, he needs his rest.

Ben lays down on the bed, staring at me and when our eyes meet I can see all the emotions in his—raging like a storm. I climb on the bed, curling into his side, and try to convey my feelings for him with my touch. I think neither of us really sleeps deeply. It’s more a constant toss and turn, startling awake to then give in to the exhaustion again.

I jolt awake at some point and find Ben laying in bed, his eyes fixed on the wall. I glance at Archer’s crib, making sure he’s asleep; and then I turn my attention back to Ben. He seems far away, withdrawn. I sit up and climb on his lap, trying to get his attention.

“Babe?” My question doesn’t register right away; it takes him a moment before his eyes fall to mine. When they do, his lips follow, crashing to mine with a raw need. We tear at each other’s clothes, touching and kissing as if this is the only thing keeping us from falling apart at the seams—I guess it is. We need this raw and primal feeling to chase away everything else for the moment. Although we make sure to be quiet, it’s not romantic, sweet, or tender. It’s wild and raw. We don’t make love, we fuck, chasing away the demons that have taken residence in our home and in our hearts. Without thinking for a second, I shake my head when he wants to grab the condom. “I want to feel you, Ben. All of you.” And I do. What we’ve had before was intense, but this is our hearts cracking open and all the little pieces falling to the ground. It doesn’t take us long to find our release, with it letting go of some of the tension and fear, giving each other a moment of peace amongst the chaos. We lay the rest of the night in each other arms, lost in our own thoughts.

I must have dozed off in the early morning hours, just to wake up a short while later and find myself alone with Archer in the room. I decide to go look for Ben, wanting to grab a bottle for Archer on the way in case he wakes up soon. As I’m about to leave my room, I start to tremble. Something that was easy and normal before seems impossible now. I can’t leave Archer alone in the room.

“Dean,” I cry out into the empty hallway and relief washes over me when he exits the bathroom.

“Frankie?”

“Can you please watch Archer for a moment? I want to look for Ben and get Archer a bottle.”

Dean nods, gives me a quick hug, and without another word walks into my bedroom, taking his place in the armchair. 

I don’t find Ben downstairs and immediately start to worry. I look around to see his car keys, jacket, and phone are still on the kitchen counter. It’s not until I hear a bang from outside that I figure he must be in the shed. As soon as I step out the door, I hear more banging and clanging, sounds of destruction ringing through the early morning. When I open the door to the shed, I find Ben tearing the place down, throwing things against the walls and to the ground—pain and anger so evident, it’s penetrating the air, forcing me to catch my breath. I don’t even notice the tears that are running down my face.

“Ben?” My voice is low and shaky. I sound scared, but it’s not me fearing Ben—I fear for him.

His head snaps toward me and his mouth opens, trying to form words, but nothing comes out. He looks so lost, completely broken. I walk over to him, tentatively wrapping my arms around him, frightened that any sudden movement would scare him away. When I finally hold him, he just breaks down, collapsing to the floor and taking me with him. He holds on to me like he’s drowning and I’m his only hope for survival. Violent sobs are wrecking his body.

“Why, Frankie?” He repeats those words over and over.

In my arms is not just a man that nearly lost his son at the hands of his own father. It’s a little boy not understanding why his father didn’t love him—didn’t want him. Even tried ending his life. There isn’t much I can say to make it better. A “cheer up” won’t do when you find out your parent, the person that should love and protect you, tried to kill you out of a sick, twisted feeling of jealousy.

Instead I just hold him, making soothing sounds while I cradle his head against my chest, allowing him to release the pain he’s feeling. I cry with him and for him. I cry for us. Our little happiness was shattered in an instant and it feels unfair. I’m angry at his father, angry at the world, and even angry at God.

Once Ben’s sobs subside, I kiss his jaw gently, helping him up and pulling him with me to the house. Alex is standing in the kitchen, making the bottle for Archer. He looks at us with love and sympathy; it’s easy to see he feels our pain. He silently hands me the bottle, gently laying his hand on my shoulder, giving it a squeeze. This little gesture tells me all I need to know. He’s there for us, he loves us, and we’re not alone. I nod at him with tears in my eyes, but don’t want to stay in the kitchen much longer. Looking around it, everything that happened plays out in my head like a bad movie and by the time we make it back upstairs with Archer’s breakfast, I’m shaking.

Dean is sitting in the wing chair, cuddling Archer who’s laughing and trying to grab Dean’s glasses, unaware of the things that have transpired. When Dean sees us, he stands up, handing Archer to me, giving me a kiss on the cheek and Ben a pat on the shoulder. He doesn’t say anything. There’s really nothing to say.

***

The next few days, we barely leave the room, cocooning ourselves into a safe bubble. We’re both aware we can’t do this forever. It’s not healthy for us or Archer, but right now it’s the only way we can exist, the only way I can exist.

But every day it feels like Ben is withdrawing more and more. He seems distant. He’s still caring and loving, but it’s like he doesn’t allow himself to feel. He barely stays alone with Archer, making sure I’m always around. When I wake up at night and reach for him, all I find is an empty bed, often finding him sitting at the computer. As soon as he notices me walking up to him, he’ll close the tab, hiding what he was looking at. Then he comes to bed with me, but when we snuggle close to each other, it feels like he’s miles away.

One time I manage to catch what he’s reading—hereditary factors in psychosis. That’s what the doctors have told us his father has. We haven’t been able to find out all the details as it’s an ongoing investigation. We’ve been told that his father will be placed in a high security psychiatric hospital when he’s released from the hospital. They will then assess his mental health to determine further action. What we know is that he never went into the mental health institution of free will, but was sent there by a court order after he had attacked Ben, nearly killing his own son. He’s never been released since. Despite being seemingly well-adjusted, he failed every evaluation. The police told us that he managed to trick an intern to get out of the institution, succeeding in getting to us without being caught. No one had any idea that he might be heading here, so they didn’t alert us, as well as the rehab trying to keep it on a low burner in fear of bad press.

After seeing the website, I realize that Ben isn’t just feeling guilty and responsible for bringing his father into our lives, but that he’s scared of ending up like him. When I try to broach the subject, he shoots it down, telling me not to worry. He doesn’t allow for any further discussion on this, changing the topic or tuning me out. I try to be understanding and patient, to give him the space and time to come to terms with everything that happened, but the further he pushes me away, the more I hurt.

On the third night, I wake up and find him neither in bed next to me nor at the computer. Pulling on my fluffy gown and slippers, I make sure not to wake Archer, who’s been a bit fussier than before, surely feeding off of our anxious energy. I slip the baby monitor into the pocket of my bathrobe.

Plodding downstairs, I see the light on in the living room, finding Ben sitting on the couch. He’s hunched over, his elbows on his knees, his face in his hands. It breaks me to see him like this. He’s hurting and I can’t do anything to stop it. I tried to suggest we talk to his mother to find out more, but he says he can’t look her in the eyes after how he treated her.

“Ben, what are you doing down here?” I whisper softly, so I don’t startle him.

His answer is short and clipped. “I couldn’t sleep. Go back to bed, babe.”

He rarely calls me babe anymore since it happened. He’s actually rarely talked to me in the past few days.

“Why don’t you come with me?”

“Nah, I’ll only keep you awake.” He doesn’t even look at me when he says this. He’s consumed by pain, shame, guilt, and fear. It’s a downward spiral he seems unable to escape.

“Ben, please don’t do that. Don’t push me away,” I plead, hoping I can get through to him.

“I’m not.” His voice wavers slightly, and I realize that he’s punishing himself for what happened.

I walk up to him, kneeling in front of him and forcing him to look at me by grasping his chin and tilting his head up. His eyes are bloodshot, and the sparkle and mischief usually in them has been replaced by pure, unadulterated pain.

“Ben, you’ve barely touched Archer since it happened. You don’t dare to stay alone in the room with him. You pretty much stopped talking to me. You’re here in this room, but it feels like you’re leaving me. I can’t lose you again. You promised you wouldn’t leave.” I’m crying now, the feeling of hopelessness rising to the surface. “You promised.”