2007-02-09: Me Crash Bus? That's Unpossible!


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Summary: In the wake of the accident earlier today, Benjamin's world gets turned upside down in the way of a special visitor.. and not short bus special either.

Date It Happened: February 9th, 2007

Me Crash Bus? That's Unpossible!

Winters' Apartment

Today.. has not been a good day. It started well enough, but the ending? Not so much. Following the bus crash of that afternoon, Benjamin went to the hospital for treatment. His injuries amounted to a dislocated shoulder and a couple of bruised ribs. Nothing terribly serious. After having his shoulder set right again, Ben was sent home in a sling, a bottle of painkillers and instructions to stay home and rest for a few days. So here he is now, at home, indulging in some TiVo'd American Idol. (as Rose isn't here to give him a hard time.) The envelope he received earlier in the mail remains unopened and in his briefcase. He'll get to it later, once Rose gets back. For now? He'll zone on a percocet and mind numbing television.

There's a knock on the door. A rather loud and insistent knock. The kind of knock that says, 'answer me or I'll KNOCK HARDER.'

Benjamin's chin was in the process of drooping against his chest.. amidst a wretched mangling of 'Bohemian Rhapsody'. Surely, one MUST be on drugs to even begin to nod off with that racket coming from the TV. So when the knock sounds at his door, he snaps to, jolting himself upright. The motion is immediately regretted with the throb of pain that accompanies it. He scrubs his left hand across his face and briefly considers simply ignoring the knock, but that would be rude. So.. up he gets, shuffling for the door. He peers through the peephole and frowns. That's not someone he recognizes, so the door is opened just enough to be considered polite. "Yes? Can I help you?"

At the other side of the door is a fresh-faced looking young woman, in goth-gear. She looks ready for a rave… or from the look on her face, to kick the door down. Angry this one is, yes, mmmm. She chokes down her hatred, puts on a smile and asks, as she trails a finger up to her eyebrow piercing, "Mister Winters? Please don't speak or I'll be forced to incapacitate you. I need to talk to you about today's accident."

Benjamin appears taken aback by the woman's overall appearance, and what she has to say. He doesn't budge, but blinks at her words, and of course, he can't help but respond. "I don't understand. I already talked to the police and what do you mean? Are you /threatening/ me?"

"I said not to speak, sir… And yes, as a matter of fact, I was threatening you," the dark-haired Angie replies, shoving the door hard enough to potentially send poor Benji flying. She steps through and then with a gloved hand shuts the door behind her with a *click*. "I'm not with the police. I'm with an organization that monitors people like you. People with special abilities that may be a danger to themselves or others… and, pal, you happen to be a twofer there." She doesn't offer him a hand.

Benjamin is indeed sent flying backwards. The already wounded man winds up on the floor. "Fudge.. nuggets.." is the curse of choice, as the man does not use profanity. Oh no. The percocet in his system does nothing to help with the fall aggravating what's already injured. He stares up at the woman as if she was flat out crazy. (Which he thinks she is.) Wincing, he reaches his good hand into his pocket for his cellphone. "I don't know what you're talking about," he says, and quite frankly, he sounds a little freaked out. "If you're here to rob me, just say so. Don't bother with some fantastic story."

Angie rolls her eyes and reaches down to grasp the wrist of the hand Benjamin is using to go for his cellphone with. "Okay buddy, look. I don't want this to get ugly… and believe me, sweetcheeks, this could get really ugly. Let's just get you back on your chair there, we'll talk and I'll go, alright?" She starts to pull him to his feet then.

Benjamin's blue eyes glance up at Angie as she grabs his wrist. So much for trying to dial 9-1-1.. "Seriously.. I already told the police everything. Go look at the report." As he's 'helped' to his feet, he throws a glance to the phone on the landline, momentarily debating on making a grab for it. Or perhaps he should just yell. Yelling is good. The neighbors across the hall don't really care for a lot of loud noises. "Talk? Talk about /what/? Your 'secret organization'? I never bought into the black helicopter and shadow government theories.." He falls silent as he abandons the thought of 9-1-1, or yelling. His gaze goes to the vicinity of his briefcase, where that damned book currently is.

Angie doesn't respond, save to 'help' Benjamin back over to the seat he abandoned to answer the door. "You have a gift, sir. You're special. You may not realize it, but you are. And you aren't alone. There are other special people… and I'm not talking about special ed here, sweetcheeks, out there like you, unaware of the gift they've been given. And sometimes, its those that don't know they are special that are the most dangerous. We believe you caused that accident today, Mr. Winters. There was a fatality, did you know that?"

Benjamin looks up at Angie and watches her. What the.. Silent, he listens, not really sure /how/ to respond. This is surely all crazy talk. Special people? Gifts? He shakes his head, and knows that he can't chalk this up to fun painkillers. His ex-wife's complaints, issues with co-workers, his therapist. Those are all coincidences and today? The color drains from his face and he looks away from the woman. "Yes. I know that.. but.. this sort of thing doesn't.. it /can't/ happen. It's .. for movies and comic books.."

"I wish it were. You have no idea how much I wish it were, Mr. Winters," and for the first time since Angela Alvarez forced her way into his apartment, she looks empathetic. "But it is real. It is a reality that you're going to have to deal with. The organization I work for helps people learn how to control their gifts so that they and the people around them aren't hurt or worse." She squats down so that she's about level with the armrest of the chair she's helped him to and says, "You don't have to agree to anything tonight. I just want you to think about it. About the possibility that you did cause that accident today… not on purpose, but because you didn't know any better. Think about that and then think about whether you want more of the same happening day-after-day. More people getting hurt. You're a good man, Mr. Winters and I'm sure you don't want that."

Benjamin turns his head away to face the tv, just in time for a classically scathing Simon rejection of a God awful audition. It's almost mocking really. "I'm just an accountant.. the bus driver.. there's /no way/ I did that." Although deep down, he's not sure how much longer he can deny or perceive these incidents as isolated, or chalk it up to coincidence. He drops his head into his good hand and looks torn. Reality is getting turned upside down and shaken vigorously, like a snowglobe. "I'd never want to be the cause of someone getting hurt.. or.. killed.. This is just.. it's ridiculous, that's what it is. You obviously read that book. Crazy people.. and I'm already crazy enough. I don't need this too."

"All I said was… think about it. /If/ you find that you think you may need some help…" Angie digs a card out of her pocket and pauses halfway to stifle a yawn. She goes back then and digs out something else. Earplugs. They're plunked into her ears and then she hands the man the card, which reads simply 'Angela Alvarez' and gives a NYC area code cell number. When she hands him the card, she touches his hand for a second or two longer than necessary, then pushes to her feet. "I'll let myself out."

Benjamin finds himself taking the card and staring at it, almost as if it were in a foreign language. This is so not happening. He looks up at Angie as she puts in the earplugs and blinks, confused about that. The touch of her hand on his is just as confusing.. only he really doesn't have time to process that as HE'S the one to wind up slumping over, asleep.

"Okay … just so we can find you again, if we need to," Angela adds, once the man slumps over. She stifles another yawn and reaches into the large pocket of her coat, pulling out the gun they use to isotope tag people. "It'll probably hurt when you wake up. Sorry Benji." It's after she tags him that she starts for the door, feeling better once she does so. She leaves the scene as clean as she can and heads out, locking the door behind her.

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