You Know How This Ends

By Ryan Fisher

Second chances aren't always a blessing.

 

Ben Durham is about to learn that the hard way when he trades his prison cell for an apartment in the repurposed Timber Heights Tuberculosis Sanitorium. While the rest of the world views him as a pariah, a murderer out on a technicality; the mysterious owner of Timber Heights offers him a lifeline. The arrangement is simple: work as the live-in custodian for a modest paycheck and receive a free apartment. It's a chance to rebuild his life.

 

Ben's days are filled with quiet, enjoyable work and breathtaking mountain views that provide some level of reprieve from his grotesque night terrors. Horrific visions of Caitlyn's final moments, her broken body on the stairs, and all of that blood, have plagued his sleep for almost a year now. Visions that no longer confine themselves to his dreams. Visions that have started talking back to him...

 

 

 

 

• Language: English
• Publisher: Ryan Fisher
• Release date: Nov 14, 2023
• ISBN: 9780989026239

Book preview

- Prologue -

The first time Ben heard about the opportunity with Timber Heights, he was in Snohomish County jail, waiting to be sent to prison for murder. It was sometime in late September, though it was almost impossible to know the actual date. Those kinda details really started to blur for him over the last several months.

Today was different though.

Today he was given a date he’d never forget as long as he lived,  October 12th. On October 12th at 10am, he’d be a free man. Fuck, he never thought he’d say those words again. Ben hoped one day he’d get the opportunity to sit down with someone from the jury and learn just what it was that convinced them Caitlyn’s death wasn’t intentional.

He’d killed her.

He’d never denied that. Which, in his gut, he believed may have been the key to this new found hope. He never hid the knife. He didn’t wash the bloody clothes, or try and hide her corpse. According to his lawyer (Fuck, he thought, how am I going to pay that guy back?) he’d done everything by the book. Ben just wished he could’ve—

No... He murmured to himself. Not now. You’ve got your whole miserable life to reflect on those five minutes from hell , right now though, you’re going to focus on this dry-as-dirt toast and watery orange juice and think about how god damn beautiful the weather is going to be on October 12th when you get to leave this fucking cell and never look back.

- Chapter 1 -

Dang, that’s sure is some rain we’re havin’, said the frumpy flour sack of a deputy. Ben stared on as the man’s old, wrinkly hand with far too much silvery hair on the knuckles, scrawled across the last of his release papers.

Ben let out an impatient sigh as he waited for this guy to hand over his box of belongings that contained everything he’d have to start his new life with; a clearance rack pair of Air Force Ones, a wallet containing exactly twelve dollars in cash, an ORCA bus pass, a debit card that was so over drawn it might start a fire if he tried to use it, his license, and his iPhone. Oh yeah, he’d be living like a king for sure.

Fortunately, the boxers he’d been wearing when they arrested him weren’t among the possessions. The sickening amount of Caitlyn’s blood on them had made them evidence, which was fine by him, they rode up anyways.

Ben tried to return the small talk. Any chance it’ll clear up today?

The flour sack of a man shrugged slightly, maintaining his focus on the paperwork before him. Afraid not. The missus says it’s supposed to be a real soggy fall. He looked up and gave Ben a little smirk before rolling his eyes back. She’s a big gardener, made me give up my Seahawks tickets last week to build a greenhouse for her roses. Guess it couldn’t wait; Noah’s ark is coming or something.

Ben fought back a disappointed groan and just nodded back politely instead. Outside the rain pattered down gently against the small, reinforced window of the prison’s vault.

Alright Mr. Durham, sign here and you should be good to go.

Ben scribbled something that looked vaguely like a letter or two on the signature line and gathered the cardboard secretaries box from the counter. He shuffled over to the small wooden bench on the other side of the room and slipped on his shoes. Ben pulled the wallet and cellphone out of the box and tucked them into the front pockets of the gray Washington State Corrections sweats he was given.

You got a ride comin’ or do you need me to get ya a Lyft? Asked deputy flour sack.

I gotta ride. Ben replied. He glanced up at the clock that hung on the wall behind the deputy’s right shoulder. She should be here in ten minutes or so.

The deputy gave another little nod and disappeared back into the vault.

At seven past ten Ben watched as a late eighties hunter green Honda Civic pulled into the parking lot. He shot up from the bench like he was launched from a cannon and was outside in the rain before the vehicle came to a full stop.

Finally, the moment he’d been praying for was here. The wind was whipping the rain drops around with enough force that they actually stung his cheek when they collided with him. Ben breathed in deeply, his arms stretched wide; desperate to soak in every ounce of this moment. Some birds squawked from the trees across from the yard obviously voicing their displeasure for the weather themselves. The breeze was fragrant with the scent of fall leaves and oil on blacktop rising to the surface for the first time since the summer. The aroma permeated his sinuses and lungs as the rain cemented his thinning, wavy hair to his forehead.

It was fucking awful out here and god, he loved every bit of it.

He was free.

The Honda’s timid horn broke him out of his day dream. He looked over to the car and the middle-aged woman inside had her arms up in the classic what the hell are you doing standing in the rain? gesture. It was time to go.

Ben walked over to the car and squeezed into the passengers seat. He looked over to the woman and let out a smile. Thanks for coming.

Of course, the woman extended her hand to introduce herself I’m Miranda, the one you spoke to on the phone.

Ben took her hand in his and tried to give his best warm, slightly firm, and entirely non-threatening handshake in reply. Nice to finally put a face to the voice.

Miranda smiled politely and looked over his clothes, which were now drenched. You trying to catch a cold the second you leave the slammer?

Just savoring the moment. Ben replied.

Miranda nodded as she put the car into reverse, I can see that. Feel free to turn up the heater if you wish. It’s a bit of a drive up to the apartments; don’t want you getting chilled.

Thanks, Ben nodded and looked down at the gray jumpsuit that clung awkwardly to his humble beer belly and otherwise skinny frame and then back to her. This woman looked like everyone’s favorite aunt. She wore a floral scarf around her dark auburn, shoulder-length hair. Her face was a little angular, but somehow it looked soft on her,  like Andie MacDowell’s when she played what’s-her-name- in Groundhog’s Day. She was bundled up in a rust colored cardigan atop a mustard blouse. The cardigan fell mid-thigh and covered up most of the embroidery of her black on black tights. Not a bad figure, especially for a woman a decade or more his senior. Then again, any woman had a good figure compared to what he’d spent the last eight months looking at.

Any chance you could spend our first thirty seconds together staring at something other than my tits?

Ben felt his cheeks flush red as his eyes met her side-eyed gaze.

Don’t get me wrong, she smirked, they’re nice, but you’re kinda making a gal think twice about giving you a job sight unseen.

Ben flushed an even deeper red as the embarrassment flooded him, Shit, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to, it’s just I’ve seen nothing but prisoners for months and—

Miranda raises her right hand a little causing him to stop mid-sentence. I get it, just try not to drool please.

Ben looked out the window as they passed a little gas station, I will, sorry.

When he turned back to look at her again, he made damn sure to keep a laser-like focus on the whites of her eyes. Why are you doing this? Giving me a job and place to stay I mean. It’s not like you know me or anything.

Miranda hit the blinker as the little Civic turned right leaving the major road and down a slim side street.

The honest truth, the government’s paying me to do it. My family owns a beautiful old building up on Devil’s Thumb that we’re turning into an apartment complex. We’ve only got a couple of floors done and the cost is really starting to add up on us. By hiring you, we get a live in custodian for a fraction of the normal price and the government gives us a nice little check to both employ and house you. It’s a pretty easy win-win.

Ben sits back against the head rest and watches the scenery outside shift. The long rows of mom and pop businesses and modest homes have been replaced by small run-down houses and trailers spaced acres apart. This place was really out in the sticks.

How’s the rest of the building feel about that?

We put out a leaflet explaining who you were and that you were acquitted. No one came forward with complaints, so I supposed it’s fine until it isn’t. Miranda replied curtly.

Well, that’s probably as close to a fresh start as I could hope for, Ben replied. First day out and I’ve got a roof over my head and a job, that’s more than a lotta people got. Prison sentence or not.

Ben reached down between the seat and the door panel and grabbed the lever to recline the seat back catching a glimpse at his face in the side mirror for the first time.

Shit, had he ever fallen apart. Before prison, his hair was always cut into a Number 4 French crop; it’s what Caitlyn had liked on him. What sat on his head now was a shaggy mop of ashy tangles. He had dark circles under his eyes and his cheeks looked gaunt. He knew he’d lost some weight