Season of Terror
by Tigger
Copyright 2002, All Rights Reserved

Chapter 17: Welcome to Seasons House

Benny McQueen prowled the strangely decorated room, dressed only in his day-old skivvy-shorts.  He'd intended to make this inspection following dinner the previous night, but he'd crashed instead. His body still hadn't recovered fully from the trauma caused by the drugs and his subsequent detox at the rehab center.  As a result, he tired easily and very suddenly - one minute he'd be awake and at least fairly alert, the next he'd be out cold. If not for the damned dreams, that wouldn't be such a bad thing, but sleep brought him entirely too close to Janey.

That was why he was awake now, before the late fall sun was even a false glow in the eastern skies.  Janey wouldn't let him stay asleep a moment longer.  That was one of her more successful reprisals.  Feeling guilty was bad enough; feeling guilty and dog-ass tired was pure hell. 

*Sure is a strange room,* he thought trying to ignore both the guilt and the fatigue.  The room's peculiarity owed to more than just the pink satin and white lace he saw throughout.  First, it was odd for what wasn't there.  There were none of the usual oddments of civilized life - no bottles, no combs, no books, no nicknacks - nothing of what he'd expect to find in a room that was obviously intended to house one of that woman's girl students.  On careful inspection, there didn't seem to be anything light enough that he could raise it above his head, either.  Second, it was odd for what was there - such as wire-mesh reinforced window glass and heavy vinyl cushions lining the rim of the bathtub.  Finally, except for the large, wooden storage closet, *Is that what they call an armoire?*, every single door, window or drawer was locked against him.  That included the door that opened onto the main corridor.  

The freaking room was a very plush, very luxurious combination of jail cell and rubber room.

*Well, they got that right, anyway.  I ought to be in either one of those if not both,* he thought with a sigh of resignation. *Whoever set this place up knew what they were doing, though.  Offhand, I can't see a single thing I could use as a weapon, unless I count that big pillow on the bed, which I don't. I don't think death by self-smothering has much potential.  Even if I could hold that thing to my face hard enough to cut off my air, I'd just pass out before I could finish the job. Wonder if this place does a lot of business with suicidal maniacs?  Not how I'd want to earn my living, that's for sure.*

Giving up on the search for a suitable weapon of self-destruction, Benny turned toward the armoire. *Don't know what is planned for today, but I'd prefer to face whatever that is dressed in something other than my shorts.*

A quick check of the large antique's interior surprised him. *Where are my clothes?  Did they mess up and put me in the wrong room? Or maybe, this is their only jail cell/rubber room, and they didn't have time to move this stuff out of here before moving me in. But where are my things?" he asked himself again as he idly ran a hand up and down the skirt of a brightly colored, silky robe that hung on the inside of one heavy door.

The sound of a key turning in the main door lock preceded the unannounced entry of the woman into his room.  For only a moment, anger at this invasion of his personal space cut through his malaise and he locked eyes with her, but it was only for a moment.  Then he broke eye contact, and stared at the floor between them.

"We need to talk about what is to become of you, young Benjamin," the woman said firmly.  

"Benny," he replied.  "I asked you to call me Benny."

Since his head was still bowed, he didn't see the lines that momentarily furrowed the smooth forehead, but rather only heard, "So you did, *Benny*.  My apologies, but I would have thought a young man of your inches and maturity would have preferred a more. . . adult form of address.  In any case, please come with me so that we can decide what is to become of you."

*Like I get any choice,* he thought. *Not that I deserve any.* "My clothes," he replied instead.  "They were evidently sent to the wrong room.  All I have to wear are these shorts."

"Were they?" she asked.  "Ah, so they were.  Well, that robe will do for the moment until we can make appropriate arrangements for you."

"That's a girl's robe," he observed, but without any emotion Jane could detect.
"Obviously," the tall, auburn-haired woman replied drily.  "However, it will serve to cover you for the nonce.  Now, please put it on and follow me to my office.  We have much to discuss and many decisions to make before breakfast."

Benny thought about that for a few moments, then shrugged into the silky confection and trudged toward the door.

~--------------~

Benny McQueen stood before Jane's desk like so many before him. *I won't be able to buy anything off the rack for this one,* she thought, making a mental note. *I knew he was tall, and had Marie stock the armoire accordingly, but even so, that robe is about five inches too short on him. Obtaining custom-made clothing will surely delay our first public outings.  Looks like it is short skirts and loose sweaters for the rapid change exercises.  Well, I'm not sure just how hard I dare push this one just now in any case.  Perhaps taking things a little slower is the better strategy in any case. And I am very much afraid that Benny will not make a particularly attractive girl, although with the right clothes and makeup, he could be, I don't know, striking?  How about quietly dignified, Jane? We'll just have to see what Marie, Caro and Sandy can make of him.* 

"Please stand straight, Benny," Jane quietly ordered.  "Hunching over like that is unattractive and bad for your spinal column.  Good posture is essential for good health and good deportment."

For a moment, Jane wondered if the boy would balk. Thus far, he'd taken everything she'd thrown at him without comment and without changing that awful look in his eyes.  Then, he slowly unfolded his body and drew himself erect, but still he kept his eyes lowered.  "Why are you here, Benny?" she asked firmly.

Clearly, he had not expected that question and it surprised him. When he didn't immediately respond, Jane asked again, more insistently.  "I guess, well, because of the drugs, and the. . the . . ." his voice failed.

"The attempted suicide?" Jane asked, striving to keep any tone or inflection from her voice. He nodded.  "I see.  The rehabilitation clinic reports that your body is clean of the drugs - was clean, in fact, at the point when you attempted to kill yourself.  What should I infer from that?"

"Huh?  I. . . I don't know what you mean."
"Oh, I believe you do.  As soon as you no longer had the drugs to numb you, you attempted to kill yourself.  Now, why did your parents send you to me?"

The satin-swathed shoulders shrugged again.  "I guess they think you can help me."

"And if I interpret your body language correctly, you obviously don't agree."

"The only way you can help me is to let me die."

"Very melodramatic, young man, and not very convincing.  You had many opportunities to kill yourself on your way here and you elected not to make the attempt.  Walking on airport runways, going through checkpoints with armed guards who are on edge already.  Diving off the airplane gangway to the concrete below. I will concede that those may not have worked, but you might have gotten lucky. Why didn't you so much as try, eh?"

For just an instant, anger flashed in the boy's eyes.  "Because my mom had a death-grip on me from the moment we left my hospital room.  Anything I might have tried would have endangered her and I couldn't do that!"

"Why not?"

"Because I love her!" and there was a world of pain in that admission.

Jane nodded.  "And your father?"  The shoulders hunched again, and began to shake with the sobs Benny could no longer hold inside.  His head shook up and down in an exaggerated affirmative.  "They sent you to me so that I could help you.  If I fail, and you do . . . injure yourself here, it will hurt them - quite badly in fact - because they loove you, too."

"My decisions have nothing to do with them. . . or you!"

"That is where you are wrong, Benny.  I don't know them well enough to say this for certain, but I sincerely believe that if I fail and you do manage to injure yourself or worse, then they will see that as their failure and something deep inside them will die, too.  Do they deserve that fate?  Do you want them to suffer like that?"

"No."
*thank GOD!* Jane let that negative stand in the growing silence for several long moments before speaking again.  "You don't like yourself very much, do you, Benny?"

Something that might have been a laugh rasped from the boy's throat.  "Saw that, did you?  I hate myself, Ms. Thompson."

"Because of the girl?  Janey?"

"Isn't that enough?!"

*You are not ready to listen to that argument, young man,* Jane thought.  "As you will," she replied almost casually.  "But perhaps you are too close to Benny to be able to judge that fairly."

"What is that supposed to mean?"

"I propose that we, for a time, at least, kill Benjamin McQueen."

"Huh? For a time?  What's that supposed to mean?"

"Simply, that you cease to be Benjamin McQueen and instead, live a life of my choosing so that you can take a more objective view of Benjamin, as an outside observer."

"You have some magic wand or medallion that is going to make that possible?" the teen asked sarcastically.

"Not quite," Jane said, purposely ignoring his tone.  "And at the same time, I want you to learn some things about the young lady who died, some things that you, as Benny, have not had the need or perhaps more correctly, the opportunity to learn."

"I have no idea what you are talking about."

"You agreed to come here, Benny.  Agreed to try whatever I proposed.  Is that not correct?"

"My mom. . .my mom cried," he whispered. "I hate it when my mom cries, and it's worse. . .worse when I. . I. . " he broke down again.

"When you cause the tears?" Jane asked, ruthlessly.  At the affirmative nod, Jane continued.  "Very well.  Here is what you will have to do to keep your word to your Mother."  That got his full attention and for the first time, his eyes met and locked with Jane's.  "You will give me your word to follow the program I lay out for you.  At the same time, you will promise not to harm anyone in this house, including yourself, for the entire time you are in my home."

"That is awfully open-ended."

"And your promise to your Mother wasn't?" Jane challenged.

"How long?"

"Did you place any time limits on your promise to your Mother?" Benny looked away, but then shook his head no.  "I thought not, but I am not your Mother.  Very well.  You will give me your word for a period of not less than six months and not more than twelve months.  If I cannot help you to my satisfaction in that time, I will send you back, and will do so in any case at the end of one year." *God help me help him, please!*

He was silent for what seemed like a very long time, but was in reality only a few heartbeats.  When he finally spoke, all he said was, "I give you my word."

"Very well.  Now, if you will go back to your room, my maid, Marie, and my niece, Victoria are waiting to change you into someone else."

"Your . . . your maid? And your niece?  But they're both girls. . .I mean, women?  They're going to change me?"

The 'Jane Thompson' grin threatened but was held in check.  "Why yes.  I did say you'd learn some things about Janey that you had not had the opportunity to learn before, did I not? For the foreseeable future, Benny, you will become and live as Penny in this house.  Unless your word to me and to your Mother has no value, that is."

"PENNY?!?!"