The Will (Chapter 1)

June 16, 1984  4:03 A.M.

         The ringing of the telephone broke the silence of the night. A groan. With a struggle twenty-three year old Stephen Finney lifted his head; his black greasy hair stuck up on ends. With another groan he shifted to the left advancing toward the telephone as it rang for a second time. Now Stephen wasn’t necessarily out of shape, that would actually be far from the truth. Two hours of working out a day had paid off as he always said. The phone rang again as Stephen coughed fiercely to clear his throat. He was only in bed an hour as he had enjoyed a night out on the town. There were three things Stephen truly loved in this world: literature, alcohol, and women. And he had spent the night out enjoying the latter two. After six rings each spaced three seconds apart Stephen rest his hand on the receiver, sighed in annoyance, then lifted it.

         “Hello?” Stephen said in a raspy voice.
         “Would I happen to be talking to that of Stephen Finney?”
         “Uuuuh…yeah. That’d be me.”
         “Oh, well it appears you have been sleeping. Sorry for calling at such a bad time.”          
         ‘Well of course I’d be sleeping at four a.m. you jackass’ is what Stephen would have loved to respond with. Instead, “Yeah, I was asleep. Though it appears I’m awake now. What’d you want?”
         “Would you happen to have an uncle named Albert Finney?”
         “…Yes.”
         “Fifty-three year old millionaire with a lazy eye?”
         “…Yes.”
         “Well not anymore you don’t.”
         “…” Stephen’s mind came to a blank. “Wh-what happened?”
         “He’s dead.”
         “Well I kinda got that part. I mean how did he die?”
         “Ooh, how. Kitchen accident. Came home drunk, decided he wanted to make a sandwich, started slicing cheese with a butcher knife, nose got itchy, and well…let’s just say he forgot he was holding a knife.”
         “Oh God, that’s fucking awful. Wait, how do you know how he died?”
         “His house has security cameras everywhere.”
         “Ah yes, I forgot. But…oh God, I can’t believe he’s gone. We used to be so close. He meant more to me then my own dad.”
         “It’s not all bad though.”
         “What’d you mean?”
         “The mansion and money is all yours. Apparently he liked you so much, he put you in his will. He wanted everything to be passed on to you.”
         “Are you serious?”
         “No, I just like calling random people at four in the morning and telling them their millionaire uncle has died and left them with his fortune. Of course I’m serious. Congratulations Mr. Finney, you now have a net worth of five million seven hundred sixteen thousand buckaroos. Sure your uncle had to die for it to happen. But still, that’s a shitload of money. I’d say it’s all worth it.”
         “Shut up you prick. And tell me who the hell you are.”
         “Getting feisty I see. If I were a fag I’d probably love th-”
         “Who are you!?”
         “Fine, fine. Mark Bennfield. I work at the morgue. We need you to come down here to sign some papers and stuff. And well, also because this is where the damn mansion and money is. But I’m sure you’re more than glad to fly half across the country. You seem to me like the kind of guy who’s living a meaningless, sad, pitiful, near suicidal existence. Hell, judging from the tone in your voice I’d bet you haven’t gotten laid in months.”
         “Will I have to pay the airline ticket myself?”
         “You bet. But in return, you’re getting millions.”
         “Alright.”
         “Don’t take long.”

June 19, 1984  2:27 P.M.

         Stephen sat a desk reading over his late uncle’s will. He wore a blue sports jacket and gray slacks. His hair was as messy as always. He liked it like that. Mark Bennfield sat an the opposite side of the desk. He was several inches taller than Stephen, nearly six foot five. He had a blonde crew cut and wore a beige suit.
         “I’ll just need you to sign here Mr. Finney.”
         “I told you, please call me Stephen.”
         “Alright then, please sign Stephen.” He handed Stephen a pen, who then scribbled his signature at the bottom of the page. “To let you know, Albert’s funeral mass is in thirty minutes. Do you wish to attend?”
         “Of course I’m going to attend! This man was my hero. He thought me so much as a child. But then again, he was all I had. My dad was always either drunk or beating on my mom. And whenever my mom wasn’t being abused, she locked herself in her room all day snorting crack.”
         “What a lovely childhood you must have had!” exclaimed Mark with a huge smirk on his face.
         “Do you enjoying pissing me off?”
         “Ahh, why whatever do you mean Mr. Finney. I’m no different talking to you then I am to anyone else.”
         “Then I pity everyone close in your life.”
         “So I see you do have a sense of humor. Nice to know.” Mark glanced at his watch for a second.
         “What is it?”
         “We really should get going to the church now.”
         “Wait…WE!? Why are you going?”
         “I love social gatherings.” Mark stood up and walked to the door. “Come on, let’s go. I need to get a good parking space.”