The Secret Manuscript (4 page)

“Mr. Owen,
stand up please,” an authoritative voice demanded. “I need you to
come with me.”

Ben’s eyes
slowly opened and he staggered to his feet. He shuffled along as
the officer trailed behind him. At the end of a short hallway was a
tiny cell that had a metal toilet and a small cot.

“We’re going
to keep you here for a few hours,” the officer said. He selected a
long key, which was connected to his belt, and unlocked the metal
door.

Without saying
a word, Ben entered the cell and headed right for the bed.
Fortunately, Ben did not have to share the cell with any drunkards
or dangerous hooligans. Since all the bars had been closed for
hours, there was a good chance he would be alone for the rest of
the night. The large metal door slammed shut, sealing him in.
Without hesitation, Ben shut his eyes and went to sleep.

Ben was
released on Monday morning with nothing more than a petty summary
conviction offence. Ben had encountered a few of these before, but
had put those days of petty larceny and vandalism behind him.
Either the security guard did not mention the assault, the police
officer forgot about it, or he simply ignored it. Regardless, Ben
was happy to catch a break.

Ben proceeded
to the processing clerk to obtain his personal effects — one pocket
knife, a wallet with identification, roughly $200 in small bills,
and one really expensive watch. Now with the bit of money he had
looted from the apartments, Ben could at least afford to feed
himself for the next few days until he received his paycheque.

Ben stepped
outside as a free man, but figured his freedom was temporary.
Surely it was only a matter of time before tenants were allowed
access into their apartments to gather the rest of their things.
Once they realized their apartments had been robbed, Ben would
likely be the prime suspect. He did not want to remain in Cold Lake
and wait for the RCMP to arrest him again so the only option seemed
to be leaving town for good. However, given his circumstances, that
did not seem like a viable option.

Given that it
was nine o’clock in the morning and his shift started at eight, Ben
thought for sure he would be fired. He ran inside Ray’s Grocery
store as if shaving a few extra seconds off his tardiness would
somehow matter. Considering the store was usually empty in the
morning, he figured his manager would go easy on him.

The store was
small and not an easy place to hide from someone, but when Ben
walked in, Chad was nowhere in sight. Ben rushed through the store
and into the stocking area where he donned his apron and began to
work. He was greeted by a few coworkers and was in the middle of
explaining why he was late when Chad burst through the back
doors.

“B.O., you’re
late,” Chad said.

“I know, my
apartment burned down early on Saturday morning and I was in the
hospital. I came in as soon as I could.”

“I don’t see
any burn marks on you.”

“Fortunately,
I made it out okay, but I suffered severe smoke-inhalation damage.
They wanted to keep me for observation and I—”

“Look, I don’t
want to hear your excuses, okay? Work is work, and when I schedule
you to be here, I expect you to be here.”

“Okay, you’re
right. I’m sorry, it won’t happen again.”

“That’s right,
because you’re fired.”

“What? No,
please don’t do this. Chad, I just lost everything, I need this
job.”

“I’m sorry,
Ben, but rules are rules. Do you know what would happen if there
were no consequences for our actions? There would be chaos. As a
manager, it’s my job to ensure there’s order, and that operations
run smoothly. How do you expect things to run smoothly when one of
my employees decides to take the morning off without notice?”

“I
didn’t—”

“I’ll tell you
what,” Chad said smugly. “As it turns out, a position for a
stock-boy just opened up, but for minimum wage.”

“Come on,
Chad, please. I’ve worked here for three years.”

“You should be
lucky you have a job.”

Ben did not
say anything since he had no leverage to negotiate. Feeling
powerless and humiliated, he accepted Chad’s patronizing offer, and
went back to work. As soon as Chad left, a few concerned coworkers
asked him how he was doing. He offered them a few details, but for
the most part kept his head down to avoid being on Chad’s
radar.

A few hours
into his shift, his stomach began to growl. He had not had anything
substantial to eat all day, but since he worked in a grocery store,
Ben was surrounded by food. Sometimes a box of granola bars would
get damaged or a package of muffins would pass its expiry date.
Instead of having it go to waste, the owner let employees take it
home. Ben had been eating stale granola bars all morning and
desperately wanted some fresh fruit.

Stacking boxes
of shiny red apples, Ben casually looked around. As it was
typically the case, there was no one else around. He picked out one
of the apples and slipped it into the pocket of his hoody. Then he
went over to a shipment of bananas that had just arrived, took out
his box cutter, and ran it along the seam of the box. He reached
in, snapped two bananas from a bunch, and concealed them in his
apron.

During his
fifteen-minute break, Ben stepped out back to where some employees
would typically congregate, but this time he was alone. He reached
into his sweatshirt pocket and took out the apple. In an effort to
clean it, he rubbed it a few times on his shirt before taking a big
bite. As he chomped down, his mouth was filled with nourishing
juices. To him, an apple never tasted more delicious. It was
something he had previously taken for granted. Before he could sink
his teeth into the apple for a second time, he heard an angry voice
yelling at him.

“B.O.!” Chad
shouted.

Ben was so
startled that he nearly dropped the apple. He could feel the blood
rush to his face as his anxiety rose. He thought for sure he had
been caught.

“What do you
think you’re doing?”

“I... uhh…”
Ben didn’t know what to say. Showing up late was one thing, but
stealing would certainly be grounds for dismissal. A medley of
feelings consumed him; the most prominent being guilt, regret, and
hunger.

“You must not
want this job,” Chad began his tirade. “I hire you back after
showing up over two hours late, and now I catch you slacking off.
Eat your apple on your own time. Get back to work!”

“But I’m on my
break.”

“You don’t get
a break, not today.”

Chad gave Ben
a dirty look and shook his head in disappointment. He turned around
and went back inside. Before he was fully in, he turned back around
to face Ben. Ben was prepared for the worst — another tongue
lashing, or perhaps he changed his mind and was going to fire him.
Instead, he said, “By the way, some man was in here looking for
you.”

“What
man?”

“I don’t know,
I told him you were busy and were not allowed to have any
visitors.”

“Was he an
older man?” Ben asked.

“Listen, I’m
not going to play twenty questions with you. Here, he left you his
card.” Chad extended his arm to give Ben the card. When Ben went to
accept the card, Chad flung it at him. The card hit Ben in the
chest and fell to the ground.

“Don’t let me
catch you calling him on company time either.”

Chad walked
away, leaving Ben to pick the card up from the ground. After Chad
left, Ben picked up the card and turned it over. Printed with
simple black letters on a white card was the name:

Carl Saunders –
Process Server

Saunders &
Associates

A process
server?
Ben thought.
What would a process server want with
me?

Ben had a
limited knowledge of the law, but knew a process server was a
person who delivered documents for a law firm, typically when
someone gets sued.
Am I being sued?
he asked himself. His
imagination ran wild. The most logical explanation for a process
server contacting him was due to the fire. Perhaps some insurance
company was looking to settle, or someone was putting together a
class action lawsuit. The other logical, albeit unlikely
possibility, was that he was being sued, but he could not think of
a single person who would sue him. Besides, suing him would be
pointless since he had nothing left.

Ben put the
card in his pocket and finished the remainder of his shift. When it
was time for him to go, he punched out and snuck out the back to
avoid Chad.

It was shortly
after 4:00 p.m. when Ben arrived at the plain office building in
the business district of the small town. He entered through the
front doors and approached the building’s directory. With the
business card in his hand, he looked at the name once again, and
then checked for it on the list. Saunders & Associates was
located on the eighth floor.

Ben entered
the old elevator and rode it to the top floor. The doors opened and
he stepped out into a drab hallway with a low ceiling. Something
about the place made his stomach churn. He felt claustrophobic,
resurfacing painful memories from his childhood. He did not want to
spend one moment longer than he had to in the place. He looked both
ways, but was unsure which way to walk. At one end of the hallway
appeared to be an office of some sort so Ben proceeded in that
direction. There was a door with small black letters imprinted on
the glass and when he came close enough to read it, he knew he was
in the right place. Ben entered the office and looked around
nervously.

“Can I help
you?” the receptionist asked.

“Yes, my name
is Ben Owen. I’m here to see Carl Saunders.”

“Please have a
seat, Mr. Owen. I’ll let Mr. Saunders know you’re here.”

“Thanks.”

Ben took a
seat on the edge of the sofa, but never got comfortable. He looked
as if he were about to bolt out the door at any minute. Being an
orphan, Ben had major trust issues. He bounced around from
different foster homes throughout his entire life. Even though he
had been legally declared independent at eighteen, he never truly
embraced that fact. Offices and authority figures made him nervous,
but he was there to see what the process server wanted.

“Hello, you
must be Mr. Owen,” a portly man said.

“Uh... yeah.
You can call me Ben.”

“It’s a
pleasure to meet you, Ben. My name is Carl. Please, come into my
office.”

Ben rose from
the plush leather sofa and followed the stout man into his tiny
office. When they entered, the man apologized for the mess.
Scattered papers and filing boxes covered nearly every surface,
including the floor. Wall-mounted cabinets were filled with sloppy
binders and overflowing dossiers. The desk was also completely
consumed by what appeared to be countless case files.

The rotund man
walked behind his desk and squeezed into an overused office chair
that had been stretched to its limits. He invited Ben to have a
seat.

Ben analysed
the man’s features and mannerisms, and stored the information away
in his brain. He did this with everyone he met. He figured he may
be able to use him as a basis for a character someday.

“So, Ben, how
are you doing today?” the man started.

“Could be
better,” Ben replied.

“Well, I have
some news that might cheer you up. I was contacted by a lawyer in
Calgary who wanted me to get a hold of you regarding an estate
settlement.”

“Estate
settlement?” Ben repeated. “What does that mean?”

“Did you have
any relatives living in Calgary?”

“I don’t have
any known relatives,” Ben said confused.

“You must have
had someone, because from what I understand you are the sole
benefactor of an estate. The lawyer will be able to provide you
with all the details. Here’s his information.”

From a sitting
position, the man’s belly was pressed firmly against the desk. Even
reaching over to hand Ben the lawyer’s information was putting a
strain on him. Ben rose from his chair slightly to accept the piece
of paper before sitting back down.

“Just give him
a call and he’ll explain everything to you.”

Ben looked at
the note for a moment and then asked if there was a phone he could
use.

“Certainly,
follow me.”

The small
windowless conference room was about seven-feet wide by eight-feet
long — just enough space to fit a small circular table with a
couple of chairs around it. Ben sat alone in the room with the
phone in his hand. On the table was a piece of paper with a name
and a long distance number scribbled in pen. It was barely legible.
Ben had received a few pieces of paper with numbers on them
recently, but this was the only one he was eager to act upon. The
mere thought of finding a relative trumped all other competing
interests. He dialled the number, then held the phone to his ear.
Within a couple of rings, a middle-aged women’s voice came on the
line.

“Epstein,
Windsor, & Associates,” she said.

“Hi, I’m
looking for Barry Windsor,” Ben said.

“May I ask
whose calling?”

“Ben
Owen.”

“One moment
please.”

Ben waited on
hold for more than five minutes. He grew restless, but since he had
nowhere to go he continued to wait. At the ten minute mark, he was
about to hang up. Just as he was about to do so, he heard a voice
come on the other line.

“Barry Windsor
here.”

“Uh… hi, Mr.
Windsor, my name is Ben Owen. I was instructed to contact you.”

“Yes, Mr.
Owen, thanks for getting back to me.”

“Please, call
me Ben.”

“Alright, Ben,
the reason I wanted to contact you is that I’m the attorney for
Charles Gringer’s estate. I’m sorry to inform you that Mr. Gringer
has passed away.”