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At the teacher's words, Sheila immediately thought of the tree at the graveyard and the elaborate knots tied to it.
"Is Ben still around, Mrs.Brigg?"she asked, suddenly very interested in speaking with him.
"Last I knew, he was still living with his father, Edward," she replied, her eyes clouding with distaste."He's an...unpleasant man."
"Unpleasant?"Finn asked."How so?"
"He was fired some years back for selling drugs to the students," Mrs.Brigg said, her voice heavy with disgust."And I heard that he's been involved with some shady characters since then."
"So, Ben Burton could have been exposed to some dangerous people," Sheila said, her mind racing."That would explain the violent behavior."
Mrs.Brigg sighed.She seemed to be lost in memory, no longer listening."I did everything I could to help young Ben with his education," she said, "but he was so far behind, and as soon as the school fired his father, he quit showing up to the program."
"What was his writing like?"Sheila asked, suddenly alert."His handwriting, I mean."
Mrs.Brigg grunted softly."It was unique, to say the least.I'll never forget how he formed his capital Es.They looked just like—"
"Threes," Sheila said.
Mrs.Brigg's eyes widened."How did you know?"
"Because I've seen his handwriting already," Sheila said softly."Carved into a tree."
CHAPTER TWENTY TWO
Ben sat in his car, the dim glow of the dashboard barely illuminating the crumpled piece of paper in his hands.He squinted at the list of names scrawled there, their letters uneven and distorted, as though written by a child who had barely mastered penmanship.
Two names were already crossed out: Roy Hubbard and Macy Warren.Ben's heart raced as he traced his finger down to the next name: Juanita Gomez.A shiver of excitement coursed through him, fueling the anticipation for the night's work.
"Time for you to join them, Juanita," he whispered to himself, a grin stretching across his face.
It was around midnight, and the quiet country road seemed still as death itself.The pale radiance of the moon cast eerie shadows on the ground, and Ben could feel the darkness pressing in from all sides.Across the street stood a house, its windows black and devoid of any light.
They must have gone to bed,he thought as he eyed the vehicles parked in the driveway like silent sentinels.He knew they were all home, tucked away in their little world, completely unaware of the danger lurking just outside their door.
As Ben shoved the pad of paper into his pocket, a pang of bitterness tightened his chest.The thought that these people had happy families – an experience he'd never known – was like a splinter in his mind, impossible to ignore.
He remembered those days at Mildred Heights High School, back when his father, Edward Burton, worked as a janitor.Day after day, young Ben tagged along, helping his dad clean up the messes left behind by careless teenagers.He watched the other kids arrive each morning, dropped off by their smiling, happy parents who seemed to have it all together.Their laughter and carefree chatter echoed through the hallways as they shared stories about family vacations, weekend outings, sleepovers with friends.
"Mom made the best lasagna last night," one girl bragged, her friends nodding in agreement.
"Can't wait for this weekend!My dad's taking us camping!"a boy exclaimed, high-fiving his friend.
Ben clenched his fists as he mopped the floors, jealousy gnawing at him like a ravenous beast.Why did they deserve happiness while he languished in misery?The unfairness of it all stoked a fire of rage within him, one that smoldered and grew with each passing day.
His own upbringing had been nothing short of a disaster.His mother had abandoned him when he was just a child, leaving him to be raised by a father who was as inept at parenting as he was uninterested.Edward Burton was a man of few words, and even fewer emotions.The only thing he ever taught Ben was how to survive—how to stretch a dollar, how to fix a broken pipe, and how to scrub away the grime of life until the surfaces shined again.
"Damn it, Ben!Can't you do anything right?"his father would snap if Ben failed to meet his expectations."You're as useless as your mother!"
"Maybe if you were half the man she thought you were, she would have stayed," Ben would retort, his voice shaking with barely suppressed anger.
As Ben listened to the high school kids swap stories about their seemingly perfect lives, he couldn't help but seethe with envy and anger.Their laughter grated on his ears like nails on a chalkboard, and he would grit his teeth as they prattled on about family vacations, weekend barbecues, and the latest gadgets they had acquired.How unfair it was that they had been given everything he had been denied.
In the dimly lit corners of his mind, he began to entertain dark fantasies about how he could level the playing field.He imagined tampering with the brakes of their shiny new cars or lacing their birthday cakes with poison.It was in these moments that Ben started to write their names down on a piece of paper, a secret list that fueled his obsession.
Years later, when Roy Hubbard returned to town, Ben took it as a sign that fate was nudging him forward.He felt an electric jolt of excitement at the thought that one of them would finally pay for their unearned happiness.
Now, an adult rather than a scrawny high school kid, Ben stepped out of his vehicle, his heart pounding as if trying to escape from his chest.A part of him knew that he should lay low, that the authorities were undoubtedly on high alert after the deaths of Roy and Macy.But he chose to ignore the voice of caution in the back of his head.It was drowned out by the desperate urgency that surged through him, driving him to continue his deadly quest for what he considered retribution.
