Deeper Illusions (9 page)

Chapter Twelve

Benjamin’s bedroom was at the far end of the wing. The room was enormous and looked like a room out of a
museum. The ceiling was about twenty feet tall and was decorated in a Venetian mural with gold inlay. An enormous chandelier hung from the middle of the room. Light was streaming in through the arched eighteen foot windows, which reflected upon the cherry hardwood floors. The walls were painted in faux finish gold, and an enormous red and gold oriental rug that covered most of the room matched perfectly. On one of the walls was a marble fireplace with two ionic columns on either side. Above the fireplace was another original from the Renaissance age, a Carvaggio portrait of two noble women. The room was furnished with a red couch on one of the walls. On another of the walls was an enormous four poster bed with a framed top.

And, in that bed, was a frail and pale man.

Ryan was standing in the doorway, his hand clutching mine. Sarah was directly behind us, like she was using us as a shield for her. We all stood there for a little while, staring at the man in the enormous bed, with an IV drip next to it, along with an oxygen tank. He looked at us, and motioned us to the bed.

I could see in his face and eyes a part of where Sarah and Ryan got their beauty. The eyes were crystal clear blue, and his face had the same chisel that Ryan’s did. He was weathered and extremely thin, but he had a full head of salt and pepper hair. I could imagine that in his day he probably turned heads as much as his son.

Now he was a mere shadow of a man, less than a hundred pounds, struggling to breathe.

But he was conscious, and appeared to have his wits about him.

“My son,” he whispered. “My daughter.” There were tears in his eyes. “Thank you.”

Ryan simply stared at him and said nothing. I looked a
t Ryan’s face, but his expression was inscrutable.

Sarah’s expression was more readable. She looked extraordinarily sad.

Benjamin looked at me, then looked at Ryan questioningly.

“Benjamin, this is my wife. Iris.”

I held out my hand, and he reached one bony hand and took it, covering it with his other hand. “Welcome,” he croaked between rasps.

“Good to meet you.”

He trained his eyes on Ryan and Sarah. “I would like to speak with you both alone,” he haltingly whispered.

Ryan started to protest, but Sarah silenced him with a look. Then Ryan looked at me and nodded.

I got the hint and left.

For the next two hours, I wandered around the enormous house and the grounds. It was a beautif
ul October day, sunny, clear, and unseasonably warm, with very little wind. I ended up on the edge of the bluff, looking down into the ocean. I couldn’t take my mind off of Ryan. Thank goodness he had Sarah there with him.

I found myself talking to God, asking Him to help Ryan have the strength to get through this. There was something about this place, overlooking the vast ocean, that made me think about the creator of us all. I have always been somewhat spiritual but not reli
gious, so I have, on occasions such as this, tried to connect to something larger than myself.

I also needed guidance. I loved Ryan, more than I had ever loved anyone. But I couldn’t deny that trouble seemed to follow him like a shadow. And it was taking me down, too. I silently prayed for the strength to see everything through, to be able to have the strength to help Ryan and to know how to give him what he needs.

And the strength to stay.

After a few hours, Ryan came and found me. I stood up, and put my arms around his neck, and he wrapped his arms around me. He held me, silently, for what seemed like eternity, but was, in reality, probably only a few minutes. Then, I took his hand, and we both sat down on the rocks and watched the ocean for a little while.

Neither of us spoke for a long time.

Finally, I asked “how did it go?”

Ryan said nothing, just continued staring at the horizon for a few minutes. Then he said “Do you remember what it felt like for you to meet Rochelle for the first time? When you said that meeting her put a human face to her, which helped you to forgive?”

“Of course.”

“Something like that happened to me in there. I haven’t seen my father in so long, not since I was a young boy. So, for all these years, I built him up into this monster. Now I see him lying like that, helpless, and, I don’t know. I had the epiphany that he’s not a monster. He’s human. A very, very flawed human, but human nonetheless.”

I had made a mental note that he referred to him as “my father,” not Benjamin. So, that alone tipped me off that he was feeling differently about his father. It also seemed that this visit had somehow given him a sense of peace and closure about the past.

He went on. “He couldn’t speak very well, because he couldn’t breathe very well. But he apologized to us both.” He shook his head, then brought out a letter with shaking hands. “And he gave me this. He gave Sarah one as well.”

“May I read it?” I asked.

“Sure, go ahead. I read it twice already.”

I opened up the letter and read.

Dear Son,

As you probably know by now, I have been diagnosed with terminal lung cancer, and I don’t have much time left in this world. God has a funny sense of humor. At any rate, I guess that I am owed this manner of death. Cold, cruel and painful. You know what they say about karma being a bitch. Of course, the irony is that I never smoked a single cigarette in my life. I am not going to say that there is an injustice
in this, because I know that whatever horrible thing happens to me, I deserve it after the way that I lived my life.

As a consequence of my diagnosis, I have been taking stock of my life, and trying to figure myself out. I know that I was a cruel tyrant with you, Sarah and Margaret. I knew it then. But I was so filled with hatred and violence that I literally couldn’t stop myself. That’s no excuse, of course. All my life, I blamed all of you for my being unhappy. Then I realized, after I lost all of you, and I was still unhappy, that the problem was me.

But I still wasn’t ready to face my own demons. So, for many years, I comforted myself with my pieces of silver, and became more and more ruthless in business. I was trying to fill a bottomless pit of need. I thought that if I stripped enough businesses of their assets, so that our company could acquire them for pennies on the dollar, I could be happy. I took satisfaction in liquidating pension funds for workers that were relying on them. I was delighted that thousands of people lost their jobs in the process. The happiness about all this was short-lived, of course, so I had to do some more raiding. That’s what I did. That’s how I found short-lived glee after I lost the ability to torment my family. It helped that my company was benefitting greatly from my cold-hearted ruthlessness, but that really was not why I was doing it.

It wasn’t until I was forced out of my job that I began to realize what a sadistic monster I was. I was no longer able to get my short-term fix of making others miserable. I, of course, howled about how unjust it all was. The company was experiencing a downturn because the country was experiencing a downturn, and I was scapegoated. After all I did for them!

It turned out to be the best thing that ever happened to me. I decided to travel the world, and, after I traveled all through Europe, South America and Australia, I ended up in Asia. I found an Ashram, and spent several years there while converting to Hinduism.

It was there, through meditation and prayer, that I started to understand myself. I made peace with my own sadistic father, who regularly sexually abused me from the age of 5, and my mother, who knew what was going on, and did nothing to stop it. They, of course, were very wealthy, very old money, so nobody would have ever believed me if I said anything. So, I never did. I got some satisfaction in inheriting their billions after they died, but only because their money helped me perpetuate their sadism, by making their sadism my own. I also thank God that I was expected to go to boarding school at the age of 10, which means that I was able to get away from my father for good. By then, I was so filled with rage that I caused trouble wherever I went.

I did try to be good, though. Like Dorian Gray, there was always a seed that wanted to be good, but, like Dorian Gray, that seed never took root. When I met your mother on a trip to Ireland when I was 22 and fresh out of Yale, I thought that I finally found my key to happiness. She was so angelic and full of spit and vinegar at the same time. Of course, looking back, she was a possession for me, a beautiful possession. No different than the Van Gogh I acquired, or all the companies I looted. When she was diagnosed with schizophrenia, she became utterly useless to me, so I threw her away. As I would any defective possession. I am deeply ashamed of that mentality now, but that was how I thought at the time.

But you…It took me a long time, and many years of meditation while on the Ashram, to try to come to terms on why I treated you the way that I did. You always had the kindness and beauty of your mother. And I hated you for that. I hated you because you were everything that I could never be. You were loving and compassionate, where I was hard and cruel. I wanted you to be hard and cruel as well, so that is why I abused you. That is why I forced you to take part in my sick games. I wanted you to be like me – filled with self-loathing, calculating, and ruthless.

Of course, I never did make you hard and cruel. I learned about your drug problem, and took some satisfaction in that. As sick as that sounds. But cruelty just wasn’t in your constitution. I continued to hate you for not becoming like me, up until I spent those years finding peace in India.

Cruel irony. When I got back to the States, I was determined to make amends to you, Sarah and Margaret. It was then that I found out about my diagnosis. I had been losing weight, not eating, and coughing for a period of months. By the time I went to the doctor about my symptoms, I was already in Stage 4. I have not been responding to treatment thus far, and it seems that, barring a miracle, I do not have much time left.

I have sent for you and Sarah. I am very sorry for all of the publicity you have garnered, by the way. I feel responsible for that, as well, because I was responsible for your getting mixed up with that rotten Ms. Anderson in the first place.

So, it seems that I will not get my chance to establish a relationship with my family after all. These letters hopefully will help all of you find peace. I have written a letter to Sarah and Margaret as well, telling them different things. You may all share the letters amongst yourselves as you wish.

I just wanted all of you to know that I do love you all, and I am deeply sorry for all that I did to make all of your lives a living hell. I regret everything that I have ever done in my life, because it seems that all my deeds in this life have involved some kind of wickedness. I know that now. I wish all of you all the happiness in the world. All that happiness that I did not have, I wish for all of you.

There is not much more to say. I do not expect your forgiveness, but if I get it, I will be eternally grateful.

Love always,

Dad

After I read the letter a few times, I looked at Ryan. He was standing next to me, studying me, trying to gauge my reaction. He looked much different than before he saw his father. He was no longer pale, and his eyes no longer had the depths of hurt in them. He looked…serene. And sorrowful, but in a different way than before. It was more like he was sorrowful for losing somebody that he just realized he loved, as opposed to hurt because of everything that person did to him.

I didn’t really have words. This was so profound, it seemed that anything I would say woul
d be trivial. Ryan had gone through so much in his life, all of which was directly attributable to his father’s behavior, and he finally got the answers he had always sought. And, by the looks of things, he forgave his father, as well.

This was huge.

Finally, I spoke. “This is perhaps the greatest thing that has ever happened to you.”

He smiled. “Well, second greatest thing,” he said, taking me in his arms. “Behind meeting you, of course.” Then he kissed me.

One thing was certain. Even though I found myself wavering about my feelings for him, his magnetic attraction for me never dimmed. I felt that kiss as I have always felt all of his kisses. Every hair stood on end, and my body felt flushed and warm.

We ended up making love on the grassy area behind the bluff, both of us almost fully clothed. I was wearing a skirt, and he laid me down and slipped off my panties. Then
he unzipped his pants, and lowered his underwear, and entered me right there, his pants and underwear around his knees, kissing me passionately on the lips the entire time. He raised my arms above my head, holding my wrists firmly in place while he thrust hungrily. We were in plain view of anybody who would be walking by, be it Sarah or one of the help, but neither of us cared. He evidently had a need for me right then, and I always craved him as well.

Afterwards, we were spent, and lay there on the grass after dressing ourselves again. I was on my side, and Ryan lay perpendicular, his head on my waist. I stroked his hair, as he talked.

“I feel like a 1,000 pound weight has been lifted off of me,” he said. “All my life, I have felt this kind of suffocation. This anxiety. This fear. I have tried so hard to shake it, and I have to admit that meeting you helped me do that for the most part. But it was still always there, lingering.” He hesitated, grabbing my hand, and playing with my fingers lightly. “Now, it is completely gone. Completely gone. I have forgiven my father for what he did to me, and I have even understood him. How broken he is. He wanted me to be like him, and I was in a way. Both of us broken, just acting out in different ways. Me with drugs, him with abuse and sex addiction. And raiding companies. The irony is, of course, that I was like him. He just didn’t know it.”