Chapter Text
With a deep breath, Ben parted the curtains and peered through his home office window. The slight weight of a key rested comfortably in his palm. Tracing the jagged edge slowly with his thumb soothed his equally jagged nerves.
Up.
Down.
Up.
Down.
One.
Two.
Three.
Four.
He would let himself in tonight, and this time, he would go into her room. He had a plan. He always followed the plan.
Ben observed his neighbor’s familiar, dilapidated back porch from his second-story vantage point. Behind it, an open window gave him a clear view into the tiny kitchen; above, a curtain-covered window shrouded his love’s bedroom from his view. Having lived next door for almost a year, he had the layout memorized. He couldn’t forget even if he wanted to; such was the burden of an eidetic memory.
He hadn’t technically been invited inside tonight. Then again, he hadn’t been last time either.
His neighbor… Correction: his beloved Rey had given him the key for emergencies. As yet, Rey hadn’t had an emergency, so Ben had only used the spare key once. It was best he kept that particular night from his love. She didn’t need any additional stress. She deserved every happiness.
Last time, like tonight, Rey hadn’t been home. He could have taken something of hers then, but Ben had more important priorities that evening. Namely, he’d been quite busy adding a few ounces of clear, poisonous drops to her foster father’s beer bottles. The plan had worked perfectly: one key, two plastic gloves, 12 bottles of beer, and 12 bottlecaps to remove. Then four drops in each–times 12 is 48–then 12 bottlecaps to screw back on and 12 bottles to return to the refrigerator. As Rey never drank, he needn’t fear her downing a beer–and one wouldn’t really hurt her.
Twelve, on the other hand…
Just as he anticipated, Unkar returned long before Rey (his poor girl worked more than her own guardian). Not questioning why his refrigerator held bottles instead of his usual cans, the man downed the twelve-pack and passed out.
Correction. He died. Tetrahydrozoline was quite deadly in large quantities, and no one would autopsy a heavy drinker with a history of heart attacks and no living relatives.
Ben’s chest swelled, and the corners of his lips twitched up. He’d been so patient; he hadn’t killed Rey’s foster father until the time was right, even though it made his compulsions worse for months. Okay, so he counted to himself more often–so what? It was worth it for his lovely Rey. He’d even exercised more to cope–running and lifting weights despite his general dislike of physical activity.
Plus, Rey said he looked like a “footballer” now, and Ben figured that had to be a compliment.
Anything, he thought, nodding decisively. He would do anything for his beloved Rey.
Breathe.
Breathe.
Breathe.
Breathe.
It was almost time. He checked his watch–five more minutes.
Ben had itched to kill the drunk, abusive bastard who served as Rey’s guardian since he’d become their neighbor. Even when his windows were shut, he could hear Unkar’s constant yelling and berating of his love. What a prick.
Prick.
Prick.
Prick.
But he waited and watched then, too. Only when Rey turned 18 (and had a solid alibi working at a local diner) had Ben rid her of Unkar.
He knew his love would want to finish high school before starting their family. She was so proud when she earned good grades–waiving her papers at him through his kitchen window until he came out to review and compliment her hard work. Oh, his beloved was so very smart.
But as Rey approached graduation with her strong grades and college acceptance letter, she mentioned selling the house. Her friend Poe wanted her to move to the city. And while Ben understood why Rey wouldn’t want to keep Unkar's house, he didn’t want her to move away either.
She couldn’t; he couldn’t live without her. And she needed him. He traced the key again, counting under his breath to stay calm.
Up.
Down.
Up.
Down.
One.
Two.
Three.
Four.
He’d watched from his office window that night too–watched Rey come home late from her waitressing job; watched as she gazed at Unkar’s overlarge form as he slumped over the kitchen table; watched as she rolled her eyes and left to do schoolwork in her own room.
Rey didn’t go back to the kitchen for hours, likely thinking Unkar passed out. Ben was always happy to watch her do homework in the meantime. She would sit at the small table by her bedroom window, and Ben would admire her profile. Sometimes, she would stick her pen between her teeth when she was thinking, then rearrange her hair in a knot.
Ben imagined that someday, maybe he could brush her hair. Someday, maybe he could slide his finger between her lips. The thought made his dick twitch. He tried not to think about that. Maybe someday when she was older… He refocused on his memory.
Finally, she’d come for a glass of water and paused at Unkar’s side. After a moment, she poked his meaty arm. Then she’d checked for breath, holding her hand flat under his nose. Next, she’d used her fingers to search for a pulse. Finding none, Rey stood for a long minute. She didn’t cry. She didn’t scream. She didn’t panic. His brave Rey calmly called the police, waited for the ambulance to arrive, and stared, impassive, arms folded over her t-shirt, as the EMTs carried the worthless fool away on a covered stretcher.
Later, close to 2:00 a.m., she sat alone on her back porch. Ben had approached her there, as he often did, offering a plate of heated leftovers and condolences and choking back the words he was dying to say: that he loved her, that he’d taken care of Unkar for her, that he would keep her safe forever, that once she graduated, they could be together. Then, there would be no one to invade their privacy–no foster fathers, no social workers, and no teachers.
Months later, Rey did graduate, and he’d watched covertly from the back of the auditorium as she received her diploma with a beaming smile. Now, she worked two jobs, paid her bills, and saved for college. But she couldn’t leave. That wouldn’t do at all.
Ben checked his watch. It was time. The darkness was such that nosy Mrs. Kanata (two houses down) wouldn’t see him. Rey wouldn’t be home for at least three hours. He’d only need a few minutes.
Rey wouldn’t like this. He knew that. Last time, he consigned himself to only entering the kitchen. He would never have looked before–he wasn't going to go into a 17-year-old's bedroom.
This time, however, he would visit her room. He simply wanted to find a small token–a key wasn’t enough.
Sweet anticipation swept away his conscience as Ben reassured himself. He’d just take a look. His beloved would understand.
Confident now, Ben descended the staircase, counting (eleven), then stopped at his back door to don his sneakers (right foot, then left). Next came his jacket (right arm, then left) and two gloves (right, left), and he exited, his left hand turning the lock to the right.
A count of twenty later, he stood at Rey’s back door.
A delicious thrill raced down Ben’s spine as he turned the key in the lock; he could count his heartbeats as they roared in his ears. He'd resisted his need to enter again for months. Before phase II of the plan, he needed to know what she liked.
Soon, their home would be ready.
Taking a deep breath, Ben pushed the back door open.