I Wanted to Live to at Least 30

A Chapter by Cooper Bennett

I always thought the world would end in something fiery, maybe something with a bang. My guess was nuclear war for a while, or maybe a solar flare that shot in just the right direction to destroy half the planet. I never thought it’d end with my neighbor coming at me with a knife.

Okay, maybe the end of the world may be a bit dramatic. The end of my world for sure, and perhaps the end of a few other people's worlds. But the earth and society as a whole survived. Even if I didn’t. But excuse the melodramatics, seeing as how I was just murdered.

I suppose I may have deserved it. I wasn’t exactly a saint. Hell, I was killed because I fucked my neighbors wife. Being a good person was never in my repertoire and it never will be. Particularly not now that I’m dead. Or… think that I’m dead. The knife sticking out of my heart seems to imply I’m dead, and I can’t move, but for whatever reason nothing’s happening. If death is just sitting in your corpse unable to move, I might just go insane.

Or maybe there’s just a bit of a wait. Lots of people die every day, after all.

The door is opening, which is probably a good sign. But the wave of heat is strange. Normally I’d look, but the whole being dead thing rather prevents that.

“Pathetic. Killed by some random blue collar husband with a kitchen knife. I would’ve expected more.” Whose voice is that? Sounds like one of those Harvard kids, only there because of daddy’s bankroll. Well, maybe if you added ten years of realizing life isn’t going to be your father bailing you out forever, Dylan…

Wait, someone is touching my hand. Why? Checking my pulse, I bet. Feels warm. Can dead people feel heat? I guess so. Weird to keep touching my hand though. Still, I guess they can do as they please. Strange, the warmth coming from my hand. It’s… Spreading? That can’t be right. It feels good, but somehow sharp. What’s happening? Is this another part of death? Maybe Mr. Harvard is death, come to whisk me away. Maybe…

Waking up always sucks. But being dead and defiled makes waking up a bit more a surreal experience. Hang on. I think I can move… you know, this whole “I’m dead thing” may not be the truth. The knife may very well have missed my heart, and I might just be being a drama queen. Or perhaps I‘ve been patched up without realizing it.

“Wake up. We haven’t got all day, and I’ve got better things to do then take care of some half dead b*****d.”

“Nnnghaaaa.” Wow, eloquent. Let me try that again. “What… where am I?” There you go, pal.

“Good. Now, get up. We’ve much to discuss, you and I.” Rather rude to ignore my question like that, dickhead. What’s this guy talking about? A jerk and insane? Just what I need.

“I don’t… what? Discuss?” Murmuring. One day, maybe, I’ll speak normally again.

The man laughs… dickbag. “Come on, kid. I’ll show you.” Maybe that condescending tone will go away after he gets to know me. Then again, hard to teach an old jackass new manners.

“My name isn’t kid… it’s Seb. Or… uh…Mr. Cross, to you.”

“Yeah, whatever. I don’t really care.” F*****g charming as ever. Dick. Still, Mr Cross? The f**k was I thinking.

When did I start following this guy? It must’ve been happening for awhile, seeing as I can’t tell where the room I woke up in is. Why the hell would I follow this jerk… Whatever. No point in questioning it now.

“What’s your name, anyway?” Might as well know his name, since he knows mine.

“Leon. Call me Leo. Yours?”… was this f****r not even listening when I told him my f*****g name? I should kick his teeth in, the f*****g f**k.

“Sebastian…” Hey, I managed not to hit him. Good on me. I deserve a cookie. Or six shots of malt liquor. Actually, taking into account the stabbing, I deserve both, and should probably get them as soon as I get out of this place. That said, this is a beautiful house. Must be an old mansion or something, it’s got loads of room, and it looks straight out of the 1800s. It’s clearly well kept and must have had a few dozen restorations over the years. We can’t still be in Manhattan, so I’d guess upstate. Nice place, wherever it is. Speaking of…

“Hey, what is this place? It’s a maze.”

“This is our base of operations, as well as my estate. For now, you may call it home.” The way this guy talks, he’s definitely from some seriously old money. I’d think he was British, but he’s not quite tip o’tha hat enough.

“Base of operations? What are you, a soldier?” Whoa, that was a quick turnaround… He’s wayyy up in my face.

“No. We’re not soldiers. We, my friend, are lords.” I don’t like the way he said ‘we’... like I’m part of his clique.

“Oh… alright. That’s nice.” Seriously, I can taste your lunch, and I’m sure you can taste mine. “Shouldn’t we… uh… keep moving?”

“Yes, you’re absolutely right. We’ll be late. Pick up the pace.”

Just like that, we’re off again. Blazing down the hallway. Thank god I’m tall or I’d be trailing way behind. This guy walks like he’s on a mission or something, and is about to fall behind a very strict time limit. For such a short dude he moves like an olympian. Or a mugger.

“Here.” The sudden stop came thiiiis close to making me trample this guy. Whoops.

“Come on, go in. We haven’t got all day.”

Okay then. Guess this is our stop. Big, double oak doors… Imposing, if nothing else. No time like the present. I’d have thought these doors would be a lot heavier, but they’re opening like they’re made of cardboard. If they weren’t so clearly solid, I’d say they were fake.

“What exactly is in h-” Not cool, shoving a guy into a mystery room. I just barely kept on my feet. Whatever, what’s around…

Whoa.

This is a lounge, classic style. Massive black leather chairs and couches, an oak table, a fireplace (more of a bonfire place), full bar, even a bearskin rug. Whoever designed this must have either been a hundred years old or really, really, REALLY, liked cartoon rich people. Either way, nice place.

“This is the sitting room. I’m sure you’ll find it amicable to your needs.” Leo might not be such a bad guy after all. Still a bit of a jerk, but hey, maybe he had a mean dad. Hardly his own fault.

“This is a really nice place. But I gotta ask… Why am I here?” Took me long enough to ask. That should’ve been one of my first questions.

“In due time. For now, little brother, enjoy the bar, read a few books. Let Nathaniel know if you need anything, anything under the sun. He knows his way around.” Whoa, I did not notice that guy just standing there. Classic butler getup, though. Leo must love him some classics.

“I will return soon enough, and your inquiries will be answered when I do.” And with that, he’s gone. Guess I might as well see what he has behind his bar in the meantime.

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