1 - Mr. Kern's Class
1
Billy Weadle pulled his cap down over his ears and stumbled through the kitchen door. It wouldn’t be long before his dad got home, and he knew he’d better have the drive shoveled by then. Problem was, the snow continued to pour. Huge flakes. Huge, heavy, wet flakes, making his job even tougher. It was not easy for someone of Billy’s build, much less when one was missing an arm as Billy was. He’d lost his in a car accident when he was young. Worse than his arm, he’d lost his mother. He’d never gotten the full story from his father, only that they had been in a wreck and the guardrail or a tree, or something like that had come through the window. Billy had just never questioned it, only accepted the fact that he only had one arm, one parent and one miserable life. When he was young, his grandmother had filled him full of stories about how the angels needed his mother and his arm in Heaven, but at fourteen years of age, he was much too wise to believe them now. Even then, he could see how the angels would need his mother, but he could never quite understand what they would do with his arm. The thought kept him up some nights, envisioning babies with wings running around with his detached arm. The sights he could conjure were not pretty, and he was left to deal with them on his own, as his father could have cared less about how having only three limbs made him feel.
Only yesterday, he’d been forced to endure the cruel punishment adolescent boys can inflict upon someone who is, well, different. They normally just called him names or made up jokes about him. But, they wouldn’t hit him or punch him like they would some of the other boys. Rarely would they ever touch him. Rarely, would anyone ever touch him. Sometimes he wished they would. Even a smarting crack to the back of the neck may make him feel a little more in touch with others around him. He hadn’t been touched by anyone for as long as he could remember. He guessed that had his mother been alive, his life would be different. He never got a hug. Not a kiss good-bye in the morning. Not so much as a hand shake. Although, his dad would touch him from time to time. Hit him, that is. But, that was only when he was drunk, which was the excuse Billy always made for his dad to justify the way he would treat him. Because, for some demented reason, he always searched for ways to justify the manner in which his dad dealt with him.
Billy struggled to pull his glove on his right hand, using his teeth and the dexterity he’d mastered over the years. Problem was, the glove was getting too small. Or, his hand was growing, that is. He was growing. But, his dad didn’t notice, much less care. The pants he wore were now up above his ankles and his t-shirts stretched tightly across his chest. When he’d mentioned it to his father, he was met with silence. The usual, silence. He hoped he’d get new clothes soon.
Once he was outside, he began the process of jamming the snow shovel into his hip, bracing it with his one good arm and pushing forward with his legs, cutting a bare swatch through the snow and up the drive. Once the pile in front of the shovel was too heavy to push, he’d stop, lift up on the shovel and try to send it to the side of the driveway. Sometimes he was successful and sometimes he was not, spilling snow back on to the freshly cleaned pavement. He stopped from time to time to rest, watching his breath freeze in mid-air. Billy held a fantastic sense of wonder for this phenomena of nature and sometimes he’d let the time get away from him, just watching. It was then that he would get in trouble with his dad. The man had no tolerance for his inquisitiveness. He called it daydreaming.
The snowfall was beginning to slow down when Billy saw his dad’s red Nova chugging its way back the road. It crept slowly out of respect for the slick back road along which they lived. Billy sighed when he looked at the drive. It was only half finished. He tried to hurry now, pushing the snow as fast as he could. His legs churned up the drive, but the shovel caught on a crack in the pavement, knocking him off balance. He tried to steady himself, but his right foot slipped on a patch of thin ice and he tumbled into the middle of the drive. When he looked up, the side of his head was covered in snow and the headlights to his father’s car beat down on top of him. He heard the snow crunching under the tires as the car rolled down the drive. Time stood still for him as his father engaged the brakes and the car slid to a halt only inches from Billy’s face. The car door opened and slammed shut.
“What are you doin’? You idiot,” his father mumbled as he stepped around the car toward him.
Billy tried to push himself up and was finally successful after slipping and falling one more time. “I fell, sir.”
“Why isn’t the drive shoveled?”
“I just got home, sir.” His father looked at him with disgust. “I got out here as soon as I could.”
“Get it finished.” His father trudged his way inside without saying another word to him.
Billy waited until he heard the front door of the house close before he moved again. He looked back to the drive and saw the two tracks the car made. He knew they would soon freeze to ice if he didn’t get them shoveled out first.
Although the temperature had probably dipped into the twenties since he’d begun the job, perspiration built under his stocking cap on his forehead and up and down his back. The job was tiresome and physically demanding, but he was finished before it got dark. He looked to the sky and hoped it wouldn’t snow anymore tonight. Most kids dreamed of having a day off of school due to snow, but the last time it had happened for Billy, he’d spent the entire day in the house with his father who was also unable to go to work. It wasn’t a good day.
Taking one last look around, he noticed all of the snow that still lay under the car. He wondered what his father would say if he left it. He may not even see it, but Billy wasn’t sure if he could take that chance. Bending down on the pavement, he attempted to push the snow out from under the other side of the car using the shovel, but it wasn’t working. The snow was too thick and heavy. He got back up and went to the front door of the house, stomped his feet off and went inside. He carefully took his boots off, not wanting to endure the torture his father would invoke on him if he tracked snow inside the house.
He could hear his dad snoring on the living room couch. Tom Brokaw told a story of some distant land on the television. There was no way Billy was going to wake his father up to move the car and he spied the car keys sitting in the middle of the kitchen table. He didn’t give it a second thought. Grabbing the keys, he stuffed them in his pocket and pulled his boots back on.
When he got back outside, he became a little more apprehensive over what he was about to do. His heart pounded in his chest as he unlocked the car door and sat down in the driver’s seat. He’d never driven before, but he’d watched his dad start the car and shift it into gear thousands of times. The car was an automatic, making the task even easier for him, he thought.
The engine started on the first crank. His heart pounded harder and a bead of sweat now escaped from under his cap, racing down his cheek. He revved the accelerator one time. The car coughed twice, but smoothed out and he moved his foot from the gas pedal to the brake. He felt uncomfortable when he had to let go of the steering wheel with his only hand to move the gearshift to reverse. The car shifted smoothly into reverse and he quickly grabbed the steering wheel again before anything could go wrong. The only thing left to do was to take his foot off the brake and place it on the gas. He was surprised his heart was not actually jumping out of his chest now. It beat so hard it almost made him nauseous. Slowly, he let go of the brake and placed his foot on the accelerator.
About a hundred yards down the road, another car moved in Billy’s direction. He paid it no attention. The thought hadn’t even occurred to him that he should look in either direction behind him. He was too scared he was going to mess up. His bulky boot pressed down on the gas and the engine revved, but the car did not move. The tires spun fruitlessly on the ice. He pushed down harder and Mrs. Martin moved closer to him, inching her way up the road. The tires began to sing now, and finally, they moved the car half an inch. Billy looked up in time to see his father looking out of the front window. His face was wicked red. The car jerked backwards, catching the dry pavement. Billy began to pull his foot off of the gas, but he couldn’t move it. His boot had become jammed between the accelerator and the brake. With the gas pedal halfway to the floor, his father witnessing it all, and Mrs. Martin in his path, Billy closed his eyes and began to cry. The car slammed into the side of Mrs. Martin, pushing her off the road and into a snow bank. Billy’s boot slipped out from between the pedals with the collision and he regained control of the brake. He pushed as hard as he could with his foot and wouldn’t let up. When he opened his eyes, his father was storming half way up the drive. He looked like a bull. His eyes were bloodshot red and steam blew out of his nostrils. When he reached the car, Billy rolled to his left, let go of the steering wheel and locked the door.
“Open the door.” Billy could hear his father’s gruff voice but refused to move. He held tight to the steering wheel and pushed himself as far back into the seat as he could go. His eyes were closed and his breathing had actually slowed to normal.
“Open the door,” his father screamed this time. Then, just as quickly, his attitude changed, he turned to the lady on his driveway and sheepishly said, “I’m sorry Mrs. Martin. Are you okay?” Billy opened his right eye and looked into the rear view mirror. He could see Mrs. Martin stumbling out of her car. She appeared to be all right. His father had joined her and was helping her across the icy road to their driveway.
“See what you done to her? You see? Look at me,” his father yelled at him.
“Oh, it’s okay,” he could hear the sweet voice of Mrs. Martin now. “I’m sure it was an accident, Mr. Weadle. Is he okay?”
Upon hearing her compassion, Billy opened both eyes, turned his head to the window and looked up to Mrs. Martin. Their eyes locked in a moment of empathy.
“Honey,” she said, “are you all right?”
Billy didn’t move. He stared at Mrs. Martin, his eyes glossed over.
“Has he been hurt?” she asked Billy’s father.
“He ain’t hurt. Open the door,” he screamed, pounding on the window.
Billy finally snapped from his fog, reached over and unlocked the door. He allowed his father to swing the door open and offered him no resistance when he yanked him from the car. Mr. Weadle flung Billy about like a rag doll and began screaming at him, eventually slamming him up against the car. His dad worked with incredible ferocity, but Billy had gone limp. He just let his body roll with the thrashing he was receiving. This was the response he’d learned over the years. Mr. Weadle continued to yell at him louder, as if the more he yelled, the sorrier Mrs. Martin would think he was for what had happened. It was almost as if he wanted to show her that none of this could have possibly been his fault because he knew how to discipline his child. But as she looked into Billy’s eyes, she could tell, this was all Mr. Weadle’s fault.
“It’s okay,” she said to him. “The poor thing’s scared to death.”
Mr. Weadle didn’t listen to her. He continued to shake Billy, finally, ending by pushing him toward the house and telling him to get inside. Billy complied, shuffling his feet over the clean drive. His father stayed outside to help Mrs. Martin with her car.
Inside, the house was warm. Billy took off his wet clothes and slipped into a pair of sweatpants and a sweatshirt. He went to the pantry, opened a can of Campbell’s and warmed it on the stove. He was two spoons into it when his mind began to drift to other places.
****************************************************************
In his head, Billy was running. He’d always been fascinated by the middle ages and his mind had completely shut down on the present and transported him to the muddy roads and cool weather of northern England somewhere in the 1100’s. He imagined peasants around him, walking up and down the road leading into the castle of Prince Drake, III. He ran though, and as he ran, he swung both arms from side to side. His dreams always featured the addition of his left arm. It was as if he’d never been without it. Strapped to his back was a bow and a small quiver of arrows. The two flopped back and forth with each stride. He’d been out hunting for something to eat, but had been unsuccessful. He was no longer Billy Weadle. He was Squire William. And, he was under the tutelage of Sir Roy, the second greatest knight in the kingdom of King Drake, II.
When he reached the inside of the castle, he slowed to a walk. It was forbidden for any of the subjects to run inside of the castle walls. He tried to catch his breath while straightening his garments and the weapon on his back. Funny, he considered it a weapon, when most others only saw it as an old worn stick with a taut string connecting each end. Many of the ladies giggled quietly as he walked by. The men treated him even worse, and Sir Roy, while in charge of his training, rarely gave him much notice. But William was determined to one day become a knight and prove himself to them all. He refused to allow their humiliating glances and badgering to keep him from reaching his goal.
Walking through the castle’s gate, he looked up at the King’s colors hanging high from the inside of the northern wall. He smiled with pride. Unfortunately, he was not watching where he was going and he stepped into a small puddle of watery mud. His left foot lost its traction and he slipped, falling hard onto the muddy surface of the well-worn track in and out of the castle. Some around him took only a short moment to laugh, others hardly noticed. William got back up in his embarrassment and tried to brush himself off.
“What is the matter with you, boy?” It was Sir Roy. He was obviously very irritated by the sounds of his voice. “Where have you been?”
“Hunting, sir,” William answered.
“Tend to my horse, boy,” he ordered, “And, I haven’t got all day. I shall patrol the western edge as the sun sets.”
Billy tried to contain himself, but his eyes conveyed his excitement. “And, you can’t go with me,” Sir Roy added as he stomped off.
The western edge was the far most dangerous area of the kingdom. Full of wild animals and vicious tales of enchanted beasts, it was also the home of the Grey Knight. He was the fourth of five brothers who had come from the south in search of their own kingdoms, but he lacked a following, proving he had poor skills in amassing people to remain loyal to him, so he roamed the countryside, mainly the west end, as a rogue, if “rogue” could be a harsh enough word. He had destroyed his share of crops among the peasants and butchered livestock at night. Adding to his skills was his advanced ability to appear and disappear at will like a ghost. Stories about the Grey Knight abounded, some of them true, and some of them not. No one had come close to capturing him, but tonight, Sir Roy would search for him. Tonight, Sir Roy would attempt to flush him out to the plains of the Gretel Valley and defeat him in the open. The moon would be full. It would provide him with the light he would need to complete his task.
In the stables, William brushed at the coat of Crusade, Sir Roy’s pearl white stallion. The horse’s long mane hung beautifully from its powerful neck. William ran a comb through the hairs of it, ensuring that each strand lay perfectly straight.
“Are you going to go out and take care of that Grey Knight tonight?” he quietly asked Crusade. Sometimes the horse was the only friend he had, but right now, Crusade didn’t seem too interested in conversing. He seemed to know he had a dangerous evening ahead of him. He snorted and stomped his foot nervously.
An hour later William lead Crusade out of the livery and into the courtyard. Sir Roy stood awaiting his mount and took the reins once William handed them to him. Roy didn’t even acknowledge him. A few peasants and a group of lady’s in waiting stood by and gawked as the handsome young knight jumped into the saddle. As he left through the castle’s main door, a trumpeter issued a single, wailing blast, signaling the departure of the people’s greatest hero, on his way to conquer one of their greatest enemies. Crusade pranced out into the open, taking Sir Roy down the hill upon which the castle was built. Roy’s armor made no sound despite the horse’s movement, having been perfectly prepared by William. The boy stood at the gate, watching with pride as his mentor rode down into the valley.
In the distance, thunder rolled and lightning lit up the sky as it turned to dusk. The full moon Roy had counted upon now hid itself behind a rolling bank of clouds and William felt a chill in the air. For the first time since he’d known Sir Roy, he was overcome with a sick feeling in his stomach. He felt something was wrong and worry began to fill him.
The Western Edge lay to the southwest of the Gretel Valley and Roy had to cross the Moniker Hills to pass through it. Of course, in the Moniker Hills lay the lair of the great Sintlay Dragon. The dragon itself was also responsible for the loss of livestock in the area, but no one had the courage, knowledge, or strength to deal with the beast. He was too powerful, having lived for hundreds of years, but just recently, within the last few decades, set up residence in this kingdom. Sir Roy had deliberated challenging the dragon on more than one occasion, but the fortune-tellers who advised the Prince had always stopped him.
The night was very dark. Crusade carried him quietly past the Gretel Valley, just skirting the edge of the Moniker Hills. From time to time, Crusade would snort and prance nervously, but Roy reassured him he was okay.
At the castle, Squire William slunk back through the main door and went back to his quarters. As he moved the sense of fear for some disaster grabbed even more tightly about his stomach and he walked with a greater sense of urgency back to his room. There, he grabbed a dagger he’d found in the stables late one night. He had kept it hidden for at least a year now, knowing he was not allowed to carry a weapon, and understanding full well the punishment that would befall him if its rightful owner claimed he’d stolen it.
After placing the dagger in a makeshift sheath and tying it tightly to his waist, he threw his cloak back on and pulled his hood up over his head. Moments later he was on the outside of the castle wall and headed down the same path Crusade had just taken Roy. Anticipating harsh words from the castle demanding his return, William kept low and moved swiftly. The thunder became louder and the wind began to pick up. It would only be a matter of time before the rain would begin to fall, making it more difficult for him to move about, but also making it easier for him to go undetected.
Crusade’s left forefoot slipped in the mud, throwing Roy off balance and nearly spilling him on a pile of rocks lying at the foot of the hills. “Easy boy,” he reassured him.
Crusade responded with more heavy snorts and slowed his movement while moving downhill toward the Western Edge.
“We need to find his cave,” Roy said to no one in particular. Although finding the home of the Grey Knight was becoming more and more difficult by the second with the banks of clouds blotting out the moonlight and the rain beginning to fall. The landscape was lit up sporadically by flashes of lightning, making distant objects appear to dance before Roy’s eyes. For a brief second, a feeling of doubt crept through his mind. But, not his heart. And, he knew that was what counted. He’d relied on his heart all of these years and it had not yet led him astray. He pushed Crusade on.
William ran now. He knew Roy would choose to move between the boundaries of the Moniker Hills and the Gretel Valley. He knew there was a dragon said to live in the hills, but he tried not to think about it. He’d never actually seen the dragon for certain. A few months back, he’d seen a speck on the horizon, but couldn’t tell whether it was the dragon itself or nothing but a large, stray bird playing tricks on his mind. He wondered if even a dragon would dare venture out on a night like this. Overhead, the skies began to open up in a torrential downpour. The lightning came more rapidly and the thunder was never-ending. William could hardly see in front of himself. He didn’t see the root from the old tree sticking out of the ground when he drug his foot over it. He fell hard when it grabbed hold. He came down on his left side and slid slightly downhill. He clawed at the land with both hands and managed to stop himself. Trying to pull himself up, he found himself facing directly up the hill and into a magnificent cave. It sat quite a distance above him, carved out of one of the larger hills. A sinister chill crept down his spine when he saw it and, immediately, he knew. There was a faint glow which lit the cave, then went out, then lightning lit the hills only for a moment. And, for that half a second, William saw it. Sleeping, with its huge head extended, was the Sintlay Dragon. William froze, collected himself, then realized he had to run.
Roy had now entered the Western Edge and was searching by instinct for the cave in which the Grey Knight would reside. Crusade stomped nervously and was getting more difficult to control in the storm, but somehow, Roy felt Crusade was more in charge, taking him where he needed to go. Rainwater now dripped from the horse’s mane, having fully saturated it. His coat shone with each bolt of lightning, reflecting the rippling muscles of his powerful frame.
If they had come upon the cave any faster, they’d have walked right in it without knowing. Old bones lay around its opening, providing any visitor with reason enough to turn around and leave the cave alone.
So, to some, the cave laid out its ominous warning, but to Sir Roy, it was a mere challenge. As he stood outside of it looking in, a boy sat in hiding watching him. William knew better than to make his presence known. Roy would be infuriated. But, William had trusted his instincts to get him here, and he knew he was right. He knew Sir Roy would eventually need him.
Roy lowered himself down from Crusade. Shots of lightning reflected in his shiny armor. William could hear the nervous snorts of the horse. He wanted to go to Crusade, to settle him. Roy drew his sword from its scabbard and held it to his side, then led Crusade to a nearby tree and wrapped the reins around a sturdy branch. Carefully, he approached the opening of the cave and slipped inside.
The first thirty feet of the tunnel leading down from the opening were pure dark, but at the bottom of the decline, the Grey Knight had placed a small torch, providing Sir Roy with a destination. He moved slowly, careful not to make noise, warning the Grey Knight of his presence.
For a moment, he stopped and listened. He caught sound of a low, screeching noise. At first he thought he was hearing things, then he heard another, and another. Then, the screeching got louder and the entire inside of the cave was overtaken by it. Once he realized what it was, it was too late. They enveloped him. Bats. He struck at them to no avail.
Swatting furiously, striking at them with his sword, they swarmed around him. He tried to back away. He tried to find the opening to the cave, but he was now turned around, his eyes closed, swinging, batting at them. He couldn’t find his way out, then tripped. A rock, sticking up from the cave floor grabbed at his armored foot. He fell to the ground and smacked his head on the hard floor. Almost immediately his world went black, knocked completely unconscious. And, just as suddenly, the bats were gone, the whole, rotten mass of them squeezing through the opening and out into the night, leaving not a one behind.
Squire William was startled when he saw the bats. He’d heard them, with their bone piercing shrieks, but he couldn’t figure out what they were. They fluttered in one group into the night sky and disappeared. William stood up and crept toward the cave opening. He couldn’t hear any more noise coming from inside. His heart beat rapidly, both worried for Roy and scared for his own safety. When he got to the opening, he knelt down and looked inside. It was pitch dark, save for a slight glow coming from deep within. Minutes later the glow was blocked out, then a brighter light erupted from inside. It was a torch being lit. The Grey Knight. William had never actually seen him, but he knew that that this must be him. His scraggly beard cascaded down over the breast plate of his armor. His armor was not shiny, but a ghostly, dull grey. His hair was pulled back in a pony tail and looked as though it hadn’t be cared for in ages. William tried to stay out of his sight. The Grey Knight’s eyes were a shockingly beautiful color of blue. Like the color of rubies he’d once seen a wealthy woman wear at a fair inside the castle walls just this past year. As the Knight walked forward in the cave, the light got brighter. He began to move faster, but steadily, as if he were in pursuit of something of which he was unsure. He drew his sword and held it aloft in one hand, the torch blazing in the other. Finally, William saw the object of the Knight’s search. Sir Roy lay on the ground in front of him now.
“Well, well. What do we have here?” the Grey Knight spoke. “A visitor?” His voice sounded raspy, as though it hadn’t been used in years.
“A brave knight, come from the castle to rid the land of the Grey Knight.” He finished his statement with an evil laugh and set the torch against the wall of the cave. Having both hands free, he raised the sword above his head, stepped even with Roy, lying on the ground, his neck openly exposed.
“Say good-bye to the world, fearless knight,” his voice was cruel. He laughed again and brought the sword down in a hard arch, the blade headed directly for Sir Roy. A glint of light reflected from the blade and it suddenly flew from the Knight’s hands. The ugly man stood still, shocked by what had just occurred. His brain finally told him that something had knocked the sword out of his hand. Something rolled and hit the cave wall opposite him. He looked there and saw a large stone, realized it had come from in front of him, looked toward the opening of the cave and saw a child.
William took aim again and fired. This stone hit its mark, right between the blue rubies. The Grey Knight fell backward in the crashing, metallic crescendo of armor on rock.
Squire William shook his left arm. It hadn’t failed him. He knew he’d hit the Grey Knight square and he’d be unconscious for a while, but he didn’t want to chance his waking up. He ran to Crusade, grabbed the lariat he’d placed on the horn of the saddle for Roy only about an hour or so ago.
He made his way back up to the cave and slipped the rope around the Grey Knight’s wrists and ankles, tying him up. Drawing the rope as tightly around him as he could, he knew he could not give the Grey Knight the opportunity to escape.
Turning his attention to Sir Roy, he tried to wake him, but he was still too weary to walk on his own so William found the strength to toss him, armor and all, over his shoulders and carry him to Crusade. There, he placed him over the saddle and let him hang from the horse’s enormous girth.
William went back to the cave and drug the Grey Knight to Crusade. He tied the rope to the saddle and took Crusade by the rein. Shortly thereafter, the two had drug the Knight to the bottom of the hill in which the Sintlay Dragon lived. William quietly untied the Grey Knight and wrapped the ropes around a sturdy tree that stood in the open. From his cave, the Dragon would easily pick up on the Knight’s scent and graciously accept the offer from the people of the castle. Squire William knew this would be enough for him to leave them alone for a while any way. He had effectively rid the people of two nuisances in one fell swoop.
William reached back for Crusade’s reins and took one last look up at the cave. From inside, he could see the glow of two burning eyes looking down into the valley. Knowing the Dragon would soon make its appearance, he wasted no time in leading Crusade back to the castle with Sir Roy in tow.
On his way to the castle, the rain let up and the thunder rolled off in the far distance. Lightning no longer was the only source of light, as the full moon began to make its appearance. William considered the embarrassment Sir Roy would go through if the people of the kingdom witnessed him, a mere squire, hauling the great knight in to the safety of the castle walls. So, he stopped and nudged Sir Roy until he came to.
“What has happened?” the knight asked William.
“You saved me, sir,” William forced the words. He felt the physical pain of the lie burning in his heart, but he told it anyway.
As Roy stumbled down off his loyal beast, William filled him full of stories of bravery and wild adventure. Sir Roy was the hero and William put himself in his place, as the squire. Roy didn’t seem to recall any of it, but did not find any of it hard to believe.
Slowly, the two of them made it into the castle and were greeted by cheers and ovations from the people. They looked up and found themselves in the middle of a huge throng of onlookers, all ecstatic. They began chanting Sir Roy’s name and pointed to the sky. Above them, crossing the backdrop of the moon, flew the Sintlay Dragon. In his claws he clenched the Grey Knight’s lifeless body. A smile crossed Roy’s face and he straightened his posture, ready to accept the accolades.
To his side and a step behind, Squire William stood in proud agony. He allowed Roy to absorb the glory for him, while he pretended not to notice, maintaining the bearing expected of all loyal and true squires.
2
“I said, What’s the matter with you?” His father was pounding his fist on the table with each word.
Billy snapped from his dream. His eyes were hollow, his expression vacant. However, there was a smile on his face, which didn’t bode well with his father. Mr. Weadle raised his hand. Billy barely had time to prepare himself for what was to come. His father’s hand crashed across his right cheek. Billy was barely able to steady himself before falling to the floor. He scampered under the table and cradled his legs with his right arm, assuming a fetal position amidst the chairs, trying to hide, to do anything to escape his father’s wrath.
“Can’t you do anything without messing up?” his father screamed. “Why can’t you do anything right?”
Billy had heard it all so many times he truly believed he was incapable of doing anything correctly. He just accepted the fact that he had an in-born quality that caused him to make mistakes.
This position is where Billy remained until his father went to the fridge to get a beer. When he did so, Billy made a break for it, escaping out from the opposite side of the table to his room. His father did not follow, too engrossed in finishing his next beer. Billy got to his room and slammed the door. The lock had been removed long ago, but he was able to shove his heavy desk chair behind it and jam it up against the doorknob. This small barricade had worked before, and he prayed it would keep him safe again tonight.
His room was small. A disheveled mattress lay on the floor in the center of the room. There were no box springs. A small lamp stood on top of a crate in the back corner of the room, lighting it inefficiently. A couple of posters hung from the walls displaying his taste in alternative rock bands. A lone dresser with two drawers stood on the opposite wall from the window. A sock hung from the slightly open, top drawer. And, on the floor, next to his mattress was a picture in a frame. His mother. She looked like him- brownish hair with pale blue eyes, and a look of innocence, and loss- loss of youth, freedom, and love. Billy didn’t really remember her. He had always felt sorry for her when he stared at her picture late at night. It was the same way he wished someone felt for him now. But, there was no one to care.
His book bag lay on the mattress. He looked at it and wondered if he’d ever be able to concentrate long enough to finish his homework that night, but he knew that one way or another, he was going to have to. Throughout the evening his father would come to the door, pound on it, then give up and leave, but not after going into some obscenity laced tirade. Unfortunately, Billy had forgotten about dinner. There was nothing in his room and he was getting very hungry. He prayed his father would pass out soon so he could sneak into the kitchen and get a bite to eat.
After he finished his math and English homework, he sat looking out his window. The snow had stopped falling an hour or so before and it looked like they had about four or five inches on the ground. He regretted that it was not more. He’d probably have school the next day. Five inches of snow was not enough for this part of the world to cancel school. They’d have that cleaned off the roads in no time.
Once it was dark, he ventured out into the kitchen. His father was snoring heavily on the couch. The television blared with an old Clint Eastwood movie. His limited knowledge told him it was The Good, the Bad and the Ugly, but he guessed it could just have easily been something else. He watched Eastwood walk down the center of town for a moment, his broad-brimmed hat covering practically the entire upper half of his face. Billy went to the kitchen and began making a ham sandwich. Once done, he walked back down the hall, the exploding sound of the cowboy’s six guns following him. He propped the chair back up against the door, quickly ate the sandwich and was soon fast asleep.
**************************************************************** The wind blew across the prairie and the townspeople were scared. They took up residence inside the knotty pine buildings, protecting themselves from what was to unfold. Black Jack Frank was staring down their new marshal in the empty street. Marshal Stevens fidgeted with his right hand and pranced nervously. Black Jack was a rock. He waited for the Marshal to strike first. Black Jack’s draw was faster than anyone who had come near the town in the past five years and he had terrorized everyone since.
A cold chill shook Marshal’s spine.
Standing just behind the feed store, Billy took aim with the slingshot his father had helped him cut from some hickory they’d gotten off a stage from back east. The Marshal set himself to draw, and even made a move to his Colt .45 when the small rock came whizzing past his ear on its way to Black Jack. The villain didn’t even know what hit him. Nor did the crowd of onlookers spying through the windows of the nearby buildings. One second he was standing stock still, the next, he fell backwards straight on to the dirt road leading through town.
He was only down for a few seconds before he popped back up. The Marshal didn’t have enough time to even realize what had happened. Black Jack took off like a flash, jumped on his horse and road out of town.
The people of the town slowly made their way back into the dusty streets. A low murmur began to spread among them. They looked for the source of the projectile that had saved their marshal this time. Finally, their eyes landed on Billy, standing at the corner of the feed store building. He looked down to the earth below him and kicked the dirt around, creating a small mound with his boot.
They approached him and Mrs. Winston, the town gossip, walked forward, placed a hand on his shoulder and said, “Child, what strength would have made you do such a thing?”
Billy didn’t look up, just shook his head, almost like a boy who had was being reprimanded.
The townspeople shook their heads, then began to laugh. He was their hero. They moved in closer on him. He looked up, wide-eyed and stepped back. Their gratitude scared him. He was not used to such a display. Months ago, they were upset with him because he’d shot out a window on the local church. Glass didn’t come cheaply in those parts, and he’d shattered it. He thought he’d never be able to live it down, but now it looked like they were over it.
Hands slapped down on his shoulder. Vivacious laughter filled the air. But then, it stopped. The group separated, clearing a way for the marshal. The man walked slowly through them. Heads turned and looked at him in silence. The laughter turned inside out. A solemn air took over. He stopped in front of Billy, cocked his chin up in the air and said, “You know he’ll be back.”
Billy had expected he’d be happy with him. But, apparently he was still ticked about that church window.
“We’ll deal with him then,” Billy said.
“No. You can,” the marshal chided. “I had him like I wanted him.”
“Sorry.”
“I’d have shot him ‘tween the eyes.”
“Course you would have, Marshal.” Billy swallowed hard.
The marshal turned around and started back through the crowd. Billy called to him. “’Course, Marshal, that’s the difference ‘tween you and me. You would’a shot him ‘tween the eyes,” he paused. “But, I did shoot him ‘tween the eyes.”
The marshal stopped, hesitated, thought better of turning around, then stepped off again. The crowd closed behind him, looked at Billy, then dispersed.
Later in the day, Billy wandered the open territory south of the town, searching for rattlesnakes to terrorize. When he came upon one, he stood back about ten feet and tossed a pebble at it to make it aware that he was there. He always liked to give them a chance. “Are you coming after me, or are you gonna run?” he’d ask them. This particular snake was about three feet long, and it was coming after him. Billy loaded his sling, raised it, pulled and fired. He barely skinned the backside of the snake’s head. It came at him harder. It was on him in no time, striking out, its rattler shaking fit to kill. Billy jumped back, scooped up another rock out of the sand, his head coming to within a foot or so of the snake as he did so. It struck at him again. He jumped back and up. It missed by inches. Billy stepped back, but missed seeing the prairie dog hole. His boot sunk into it and he tumbled over. Now, he was level with the snake. It slithered, then raised up. Billy saw it from between his legs. He pulled, dug in with his feet and pushed himself backwards. The snake struck. The rock flew from the sling. Fangs flashed a foot from his leg, half a second later, they were there, on the verge of the clamp they needed to inflict their deadly bite, then the rock struck. The snake fell sideways, its neck snapped. Billy scrambled up and away from it, before its dead, writhing body had a chance to randomly bite him.
When he stood up, he took a deep breath. His heart was still beating hard, but his pulse nearly stopped when he felt the hand on his shoulder.
“Nice shot, boy,” he heard its owner say.
Billy needn’t turn around. He knew who it was. The gruff voice obviously came through a rough scrub of a black beard. It was Black Jack. His fingers dug in to Billy’s shoulder. He could feel the pain beginning to spread. He tried to pull away, but knew it would be no use. When he turned his body enough to see him, he noticed the large red welt and black bruise between his eyes.
The man was not happy with him.
“What’ch you want?” Billy asked.
He didn’t answer.
Billy didn’t ask again.
Black Jack directed him toward town. His horse followed. Their shadows lay long now over the prairie and they left footprints in the sand. Billy hoped his footprints wouldn’t end abruptly when they reached the town. Jack had his revolver in his right hand and he kept swinging it near Billy’s head.
In the distance, the rattlesnake stopped moving and a large vulture swooped in on it. Within seconds there was a group of four. And, in front of the outlaw and the town’s latest hero, a group of people gathered to witness what was playing out to be another execution.
As they got closer, Billy tried to slow down, but Black Jack pushed him faster. Billy finally straightened himself out and, to the surprise of the people, managed a smile. In the back of the group, Mrs. Watson whispered to no one in particular, “Don’t got the sense to know what a world of trouble he’s in.”
Black Jack raised his gun, aimed it quickly at the woman, and yelled, “POW.” She startled, then fainted, falling backwards into the dirt. “Shut up, woman,” Jack said. No one had the guts to help her up.
Jack guided Billy to the center of the lone street running through town. The group of people moved as one, following them. No one dared speak.
“Where’s the marshal?” Jack screamed once he’d stopped Billy.
“Here I am,” came the answer. His voice came from above them. Everyone looked up and to the right. Marshal stood on the second story porch over top of the saloon. He leaned casually on the railing, a toothpick clenched between his teeth, whittling a wooden knife. The shavings fell fifteen feet to the street below him.
“Get down here,” ordered Jack.
“Be there directly,” the Marshal said.
Billy lost any hope in the Marshal proving to be his savior on this day. Black Jack’s strong fingers bit into his shoulder. Even if he wanted to run, Billy didn’t think he could. Jack’s grip was too tight.
The sun was beginning to set now. Billy started to wonder whose side the marshal was on. He didn’t know what to do, so he waited. He tried to turn around and sneak a peak at Black Jack, but the burly outlaw just spun him back around.
“Keep your eyes off of me,” he ordered.
Billy was surprised to realize he still held his slingshot in his hand. He stopped himself from looking at it, fearing the attention he brought it would encourage Jack to take it from him.
When he looked back up to the balcony the marshal was gone. Billy checked the door to the saloon in time to see him walking out of it. He wondered what the marshal was up to when the man came to within ten paces of him and Jack and stopped.
“Jack,” he said.
“Marshal,” Jack replied. Billy could feel his grip loosen slightly on his shoulder. The move struck Billy as odd.
Marshal Stevens took a few steps closer and Black Jack shoved Billy toward him. The marshal blocked Billy and shoved him aside, laughing as he did so.
Billy looked confused. What was going on, he wondered. The marshal reached out and popped Billy in the nose, starting his eyes to watering. He held his nose between his forefinger and thumb and felt a small trickle of blood begin to ooze from between them. The crowd of people reacted as if they had been hit themselves. A loud gasp came from them, then they were stuck in silence. Billy looked to them. Again, they were standing tightly together, like one large entity, one being, unable to break apart and stop what was about to happen. These people, Billy thought, able to withstand famine, weather, and disease, but unable to stand up against a sorry excuse of a man.
Billy began to back away from the two as they made their way to the town’s bank. Both of them held their six shooters in their right hands. Neither said a word to the other as they kicked in the doors. The marshal stepped aside and allowed Black Jack to enter the bank first. Billy heard a scream come from inside and decided he had to do something.
Outmanned and certainly outgunned, Billy knew his plan would have to be clever. He ran to the livery and grabbed several coils of rope and returned to set his plan in action.
Outside of the bank he made a lasso and lay it in front of the door. He tied more rope to the other end of his lasso rope and ran it to the Wilson’s mustang, standing hitched to a post next to the saloon. No one could tame that horse and the Wilsons were ready to give him up. But, Billy saw a use for him now and loosely wrapped the rope around its neck. He untied it from the post and backed steadily away from it, for the thing would appear as calm and quiet as Mrs. Watson at church on Sundays one minute, but when it was startled, it would go hog wild.
On his way back to the bank, he kicked as much loose dirt over the rope as he could. Once there, he tied another bit of rope to the saddle strap of Black Jack’s horse, which had now wandered over to the front of the bank. He made sure to double the knot and pull it as tightly as he could. The other end, he strung down the planks of the boardwalk and tied to a support beam running vertically up into Mr. Parson’s general store.
Billy looked back to the townspeople. They stood still, in one tight group, watching him, not lifting a finger to help.
The two crooks emerged from the bank. Each carried a large sack, presumably filled with money. Black Jack raised his six-shooter in the air over top of the townspeople and fired off two shots. Billy ducked behind a banister on the boardwalk, hoping they wouldn’t see him. The marshal looked in their direction, saw the startled look on all of their faces and laughed. When he lifted his foot to walk off, it drug on Billy’s lasso. On cue, Billy took aim at the old mustang with his slingshot. The force felt the quick sting on its rear and jumped, then took off running down the street. The lasso tightened around the marshal’s foot. He was snagged. The bags of money fell to the ground as he was drug down the middle of the street, screaming in fear and agony. The townspeople just watched.
Black Jack caught a glimpse of the marshal in his misfortune, gave thought to returning to retrieve the money, but thought better of it and jumped on his horse. He kicked his heels into the animal’s side and took off without looking back. Of course, he didn’t have a chance to. Just as quickly as the horse was able to accelerate, the rope tightened and the saddle was pulled from it, yanking Black Jack to the hard ground. He hit his head and was knocked out cold. His bag of money fell with a loud thud. Billy expected the money to come spilling out, but it stayed tied and intact.
Heading back into town in a cloud of dust was the Wilson’s mustang. He was beginning to tire with the marshal tied to him. Mr. Wilson stepped from the pack of people and clicked a whistled to the beast until it stopped. The marshal was groggy and obviously incapable of movement at the time being. Billy quickly untied the rope from the horse and wrapped the marshal’s hands and feet up with it. He then proceeded to untie the rope from saddle lying on the ground and began tying Black Jack’s hands and feet together. When he was done, the outlaw was tethered to the building and would be going nowhere when he became fully conscious.
The townspeople began to break out of their group once the two men were securely tied. Billy looked into their eyes and saw true happiness. Whispers started to run through the crowd. Billy’s name was spoken with reverence. He had rid their town of evil. As he was being lifted on to the shoulders of Olaf, the town’s blacksmith, another man placed the marshal’s badge on Billy’s chest. No one disagreed. They’d found their marshal. And, Billy had found his own happiness.
3
The shrill beeping noise startled him at first, then his reality came into focus and he slammed his hand down on top of his alarm clock. It was five o’clock. He’d have to go wake his father. He looked out the window and could faintly tell that there had been no additional snow and assumed he would be going to school.
There were several empty beer cans lying on the floor next to his father. Billy could smell the stale odor of beer in the air. He pushed them out of the way with his foot, making a little pile.
“Come on, Dad,” he said and tugged on his shirt. In the darkness of the living room, his father looked ogre-like.
“Dad,” Billy said louder. The man rolled on to his side and pulled his arm up over his face.
“You’ll be late for work.”
“I’m up,” his father responded.
“Okay.”
Billy found him there after he’d finished his shower and was on his way out the door to catch his bus. He decided to give it one more try and knelt down beside him. He gently shook the man’s shoulder, “Dad,” he said. The man’s left arm shot up and out. The back of his hand caught Billy in the cheek, knocking him over.
“What?” his father asked.
Billy backed up from him. He realized the shot he’d just taken from his father was not intentional. He blamed himself for having startled him.
“I- I was just telling you, I’ve got to go. You need to get up.”
“Where am I going? Can’t drive the car in that condition.” His father seemed well awake now. “I gotta call in sick again, thanks to you.”
Again, Billy thought. Again, because you can’t get your drunk self out of bed every morning. Instead of saying what he felt, he just stared at the man. Looking at him through eyes as large as silver dollars, he continued backing away from him, like a three-legged crab. When he reached the ottoman on the opposite side of the room, he stood up and quickly made his way out of the house.
He was immediately met with a cold gust of air. He was definitely dressed inappropriately. The thin jacket he had on would never keep him warm throughout the day, but there was no way he was going back inside now.
Billy attended Crescent View High School. He was in his sophomore year and could hardly wait to graduate. No one there paid much attention to him except to toss the occasional insult and to stare. Most of that was Billy’s fault, though. He didn’t go out of his way to be friendly to much of anyone. They didn’t want to talk to him, Billy thought. So, why should he go out of his way to talk to them? He did have one friend, Dottie L’Amour. He’d known her for as long as he could remember. They just always seemed to have classes together. Dottie definitely marched to the beat of a different drum. She tended to listen to alternative punk music, but didn’t really belong in the crowd at school that wore all black. She was too smart for those kids, at least at Crescent View anyway. The teachers expected a lot from her, pushing her along with academic pressure that didn’t seem to bother her. Dottie was attractive in a cute sort of way. She was shorter than Billy and had a slight build. Her shortly-cropped hair curled out at her ears and on her neckline. Billy could never get a hold on how many ear piercings she had because she always seemed to get a new one each week. Her ears were lined with about a half dozen rings apiece, which Billy thought was pretty cool, but he never mentioned it to her. As he got older, Billy found himself becoming more attached to Dottie on some days and growing further apart from her on others. She had about as many friends as he did, but she didn’t seem to let it bother her. She just came to school, did her work and socialized with Billy. He could never figure her out. One day he would feel like it was assumed they were an item, then the next he thought they were only supposed to be friends. Then, on other days, it seemed like he hardly knew her at all. All in all, though, he liked her friendship and wasn’t willing to risk it by making some pass at her that he wasn’t sure would be taken the right way.
While Dottie provided him with constant warmth, another girl at the school set his nervous system on fire when he saw her. Suzan Richards was possibly the most beautiful girl in the school, if not the prettiest he’d ever seen. He’d shared classes with her in middle school and had been in the same fourth and fifth grade classes with her. Despite the nervous infatuation he felt for her, he doubted she even noticed him, although, recently she had actually shared a, “Hello,” with him when she and he had been walking in the school at the same time. She didn’t seem to be too grossed out by him at the time, Billy thought. Unfortunately, she’d been dating Steve Worthy for the past year and that was not a gorilla Billy was willing to fight. Steve was the school’s star athlete. He started at quarterback for the school football team as a sophomore and won the regional wrestling tournament at the 180 weight class. Steve also looked like a Ken doll. He and Dottie did not get along. They never could. Steve represented everything in life that Dottie hated. Billy liked that about her. She was not a mundane person and she saw everyone and everything for what it was. She, unlike Billy, had no trouble discerning her value to the human race in comparison to everyone else. Billy could not make that judgment because he had no real value for himself. The others made their judgments on superficially based assumptions that popularity made them valuable. Dottie knew that couldn’t be further from the truth. Billy had just plain never thought about it.
As he made his way to the bus stop, he was greeted with words from Frank McDuffy, “What’s up loser?”
Must he start this early? Billy thought. He tried to ignore him. Some of the girls rolled their eyes and moved away from Frank. The boy then stepped toward Billy and extended his left hand as if to shake hands with Billy.
“Very funny,” Billy said, and wished he hadn’t said anything after he heard it come out. This just allowed Frank an opening to bellow. He let it all out, like he’d never laughed before. Frank was the last of the major components of Billy’s miserable life at Crescent View. The sophomore with the athletic build, but equally ugly face had made a living off of tormenting Billy. There wasn’t a time Billy could remember that Frank had not been a part of his school-life. He thought God had stuck the two together because he apparently didn’t like Billy at all. In fact, Billy thought on several occasions, God must like the bullies more than the pansies. In Billy’s mind, Frank was living proof that God gave more attention to those who least deserved it. Otherwise, he’d never feel like he was constantly coming out on the short end of the stick when it came to issues with he and Frank. Billy was happy to see the bus come around the bend on the county road and tucked his chin into his chest. He didn’t look at Frank until he saw the lights of the bus in front of him. The bully was too busy talking with his friends to notice Billy any more, so Billy climbed on the bus ahead of him and walked back the aisle to an empty seat. When he sat down, he shoved himself all the way up against the window, his forehead pushed against the glass and he looked out at the snowy backdrop racing by.
****************************************************************
Soon, he was asleep, but not inactive. He was racing down a snowy mountain, strapped tightly to his high-tech racing skis. In his left hand, he held a ski pole. He’d lost the pole in his right hand, but he raced down the mountain just the same. When he made it to the bottom, he pulled up and looked back from where he’d come. His tracks were barely visible with the sun glaring off the icy hill. He knew it was a good run, the type that would win him the championship. Unfortunately, championships were not in his future. He pulled back the sleeve on his left wrist and looked at the two-way television radio. “Good run,” agent Hill told him.
“Thank you, sir,” Billy replied.
“Can you do it with the Sintag device strapped to you?”
“Yes, sir.”
“And, possibly being shot at?”
“I guess that will just make me go faster, sir.”
“Good attitude. You need to get back to the cabin. You’ll be picked up at 2130. Don’t forget the night goggles.”
“Aye, sir.”
Billy shut the radio off and looked back up the hill for any trace of a trail. His run, and his visit to this slope for the past week, had apparently gone undetected. He felt good about this mission. Turning back to the north, he made his way back to his secluded cabin and began his preparations for later that night.
As he approached the cabin he noticed something peculiar. There was a set of tracks in the snow from where he had left the cabin only an hour and a half ago and there was also another set of tracks leading back into it. Considering the fresh snowfall from last night, he knew the tracks heading into the cabin did not belong to him. And, now, he got that heavy feeling that someone was watching him.
Billy chose to ignore all of the signs, figuring that feigned ignorance would provide him with the best avenue of surprise.
He crept nearer the cabin, leaned his skis against the outer wall and opened the door. He stood in the doorframe and allowed his eyes to adjust to the darkness. The cabin was fitted with electricity, and he briefly considered leaving the lights off before deciding the person inside probably had had time for his eyes to adjust to the darkness, so he turned and flipped the switch on. The cabin was flooded with fluorescent lighting. He stepped in and shuffled into the kitchen area where he pulled a pot off of a hook over the stove. He held it for a moment, then set it down on the countertop and turned around. As he did, he caught the movement of his assailant. The man in the cabin streaked through the small den in the center of the house and made his way directly for Billy. He reached him and struck out with an open hand. The man wore a ski mask over his face and Billy searched every clue available on this person to figure out who he was. Billy sidestepped and blocked the man’s punch. He whirled, grabbed the pot and spun back around, crashing the pot against the man’s head in one quick movement. The man fell immediately. Billy had cleanly knocked him out. He placed his foot on the back of the man’s neck, bent over and pulled the mask off of him. His face was grimy and his hair was greasy, but his eyes were pure evil. Billy knew he’d only have a few minutes before he came to, but he guessed the man would not be able to offer much resistance to him, based on the banging he’d just suffered.
He used the toaster cord to tie his hands up, not because he didn’t have any rope, but just because he’d never tied anyone up with the cord to an electrical appliance before, and he’d always wanted to. He lifted him up into a sitting position and leaned him against the wall, then laughed at him. “Well, Frank, so we meet again,” Billy said as he pawed at his cheek.
His long-time nemesis, Frank McDuffy, began to wake up. The man’s lips curled up in an ugly snarl and he tried to conjure up some clever saying to throw at Billy, but his brain just wouldn’t function clearly. “Run into something hard?” Billy asked him. All Frank could do was mutter back at him.
“Who sent you, Frank?”
The man was silent.
“That’s fine,” Billy said as he tied the coffee maker’s cord to the toaster cord and pulled it above Frank’s head. “You can stay here a long time.” Billy stood on a chair near Frank and tried to toss the cord over the open rafter of the cabin. Frank had the presence of mind to kick the chair out from under Billy, although, his choice wasn’t a good one. Billy had gotten the cord over the rafter and was holding the end of it when he was thrown into empty space and tumbled to the floor, pulling the cord down with him, simultaneously yanking Frank’s hands sharply above his head, nearly dislocating his shoulders at the same time. Frank screamed. Billy said he was sorry.
“Guess there was no way for you to see that coming, huh, Frank?” Billy prodded him.
“Let me go,” Frank said, only it came out weakly, as though he were spending all of his remaining energy to give the command.
“Oh, no, Frank. I don’t think you’ll be telling me what to do here. Not today. Not ever. Never again.”
Frank looked at Billy with an evil grin. There was nothing he could say right now to make much difference in Billy’s mind, but he could confuse him by making him angry.
Billy kept his cool.
“I’m going to ask you again. Who sent you?”
A cold stare was all Billy received.
“Fine. Have it your way,” Billy said. Moments later, he was dragging Frank outside, tying him to a forty foot pine tree. Once there, he wrapped duct tape around his ankles, rendering him immobile. He went back to the cabin and returned with a raw steak.
“Here you go, Frank,” he said. “Something to remember me by.” He rubbed the raw meat on Frank’s torso, then tossed it a few feet away from the tree.
Frank looked at him, puzzled. “It’s for the bears, Frank. You do know there are bears up here, don’t you?”
For the first time, Frank looked at him with concern. “It’s up to you, though. I can always let you go.” Billy turned and walked back toward the cabin. When he reached the door, he heard Frank mumble something.
“Excuse me?” Billy asked, turning back in Frank’s direction.
“Steven,” Frank said. “Steven Worthy.”
“Now, that’s a good boy, Frank. I’ll be out in a little bit to untie you,” Billy promised. “Holler now, if you see any of our furry friends coming around.”
As soon as Billy reentered the cabin, he paged Wallace on his two-way television wrist radio. “Who is Steven Worthy?” he asked Wallace.
“I was afraid of this,” Wallace replied. “Not to worry. Steven Worthy will only provide you difficulty if you are unable to secure the Hawk sector.”
“The Hawk sector?”
“You’ll need to run by it first, which means you’ll get to the Sintag later,” Wallace stopped to think. “Not to worry, though. We’ll adjust your pick-up time.”
“Roger, that.”
“Over.”
“Out.”
Billy let go of the receiver button and looked around the cabin. It didn’t appear as if Frank had gone through anything, but he couldn’t be sure. He stepped immediately to his bed, bent over and pulled the plank off the floor just in front of the bedside table. The map and his set of orders were still there. He rolled the two even tighter and shoved them down inside his parka.
It wouldn’t be long until it would be dark outside and the helo would be there to pick him up. He prepared the rest of his gear and headed toward the landing zone, but first he intended to let Frank go. He strapped his skis back on once outside and made his way down toward his enemy.
When he reached him, Frank was asleep. Billy bent down, and without warning, ripped his boots and socks off of him. Frank, startled, awoke and looked up at Billy, obviously disturbed with him now.
“What are you doing?” he asked.
“Just slowing you down,” Billy replied.
Billy stuffed his socks into his boots and flung one boot as far as he could west, then slung the other east. He then reached into his pocket, took out a set of wire clippers and cut Frank off of the tree.
“Don’t come looking for me, Frank.”
Frank just nodded, then looked down to his hands, still firmly wrapped with the electrical cord. Billy threw the wire cutters as far as he could north. They sunk in the snow. “I’m at least giving you a chance. Don’t come after me,” he repeated.
Frank growled at him.
“Adios, my friend,” Billy taunted, gave him a half-hearted salute, then pushed himself off down the hill. Once he reached the bottom of the hill, he turned along the slope’s grade and ran with the hill, curling back around from where he came. He hoped Frank would follow him down the mountain, because he was going to head back up it on the other side. Sweat was beginning to pour down his brow as he pushed with the ski poles. His muscles ached after a while and he was only halfway back up the hill. He kept assuring himself it would be okay. He’d have time to rest on the helo. As a matter of fact, he entertained himself with the notion that he could hear it in the distance. He hoped it would be at the landing zone when he got there, but, more importantly, he prayed it would not be too early. He did not want Frank to hear it and cut back over the hill.
He flailed at the snow with his ski poles, pushing and stepping, pushing and stepping. His breathing was getting heavy, but he soon made it to the landing zone. When he got there, he listened and determined that he really could hear the sound of the helicopter now. It was getting dark and he could see a single light shining from its nose. He reached inside his parka and pulled out a smoke grenade, activated it and tossed it to the north of the landing zone so the pilot could see where to land.
The smoke was barely visible in the fading twilight, but to the eyes of the pilot, who was looking for it, it stood out well enough. Now, across the clearing, he could make out movement. Someone was coming out of the thin row of brush at the bottom of the hill. It was Frank. He’d recovered his boots. Must have known where the landing zone was, Billy thought.
As Frank made his way into the open area of land, the helo neared its touchdown spot. Frank was running now. He appeared to have an object in his hands and he was aiming it at Billy. Billy refused to fire back at him. He could only hope the surprise he’d set for him would do its work. Billy neared the helo and Frank kept coming. He was running harder and harder now, playing right into Billy’s trap. Billy reached the helicopter and was getting on when Frank was upended. It was too dark for him to see the thin layer of cord Billy had tied at chest level around the landing zone. It had caught Frank just below the neck as he was running at full speed and he fell backwards, cracking his head on the hard ground.
Billy looked down and waved at Frank as the helo rose into the sky. He’d made it this time, but his mission had just begun. And, it had started a little more excitedly than he’d wished.
The pilot banked the copter sharply as it rose into the sky. They would head north for some time, then head west to the northwest corridor where Billy would be dropped into the Matricks Compound. Once the helicopter had evened out, he looked on the port side bulkhead and pulled at the straps of the backpack holding the Sintag device. He opened the backpack up and switched the device on. He could not hear its humming over the sound of the helicopter, but its small lights glowed in the darkness. The yellow and green lights blinked momentarily, then went off, only to be replaced by red lights. Billy knew that meant that the Talisbar Group was sending signals to the group known as the Yoemen. It would be his job to jam those signals and then replace them with phony transmissions. It sounded so simple when he thought about it, but he knew it would not be without difficulties.
After taking readings from the Sintag device, Billy closed his eyes and let the humming of the rotors lull him to sleep. He felt as though he’d only been asleep a few minutes when the pilot hollered at him to wake up. “We’re five minutes out,” he said.
Billy straightened himself up and tightened his belt. He pulled the Sintag device off the bulkhead and strapped it to his back. He, then, attached D-clips to his harness and wrapped the fast-rope through them. He placed his night vision goggles on his head, pulled his gloves on, then spoke to the pilot for confirmation of their time of arrival. “You’re dropping in 10-9-8-7-6…” came the reply. Billy stepped to the open door of the helo and took a big leap. The ropes slackened, then tightened in his hands. He grabbed them tightly and began to slide. Within seconds, he was on the ground, inside the compound of the Talisbar. He pulled the night vision goggles over his eyes, then got as flat on the ground as he could. He could make out a building about four hundred yards to his northeast. He looked back up and couldn’t make out the copter. It was already gone. He was on his own.
Slowly, he started to crawl in the direction of the building. The ground was gravelly and covered with sand burs. He could feel them poking at him through his vinyl parka. It was also warmer here than back on the mountain. Maybe he’d overdressed, he thought, but he’d just have to deal with it, besides, he couldn’t imagine dealing with these sand burs if he were to take the coat off. No, it would have to stay on.
He crawled as quickly, yet unnoticeably as he could. There were spotlights crisscrossing the yard and he was determining their patterns so he would not be caught by them. Soon, he was at the building. According to his map it should be the command post. It was here he’d be able to jam signals, but he’d have to get to the top of it and infiltrate the radar.
Attached to his harness was what looked to be a medal clip, but when he unfolded it, it revealed itself as a grappling hook. This hook was tied to thin and flexible high tension wire. The wire was wrapped around a narrow spool, which he rotated out from him. He placed the grappling hook in a tube, popped the bottom of it and the hook shot into the sky, the wire following it. The hook found its way to the roof and secured itself on the overhang on the building’s edge. Billy switched the motor to the spool on and was soon dangling in the air along the side of the building. The harness cut into the back of his shoulders, but there was little he could do about it. Besides, in only a few minutes, he would be at the top.
When he got to within fifteen feet of the edge, he tried to readjust the harness. This shift caused the hook to nudge and it slid up, dislodging itself from the back edge of the overhang and it bounced up and off the edge. Billy felt the change in tension and reached out for the side of the building. He was able to grasp a window ledge and held it tightly before the hook and wire let go for good. Just as he grabbed ahold, the hook came spiraling down past him, then stopped abruptly when it ran out of slack wire. Billy was now dangling from the ledge over three hundred feet above the ground. He surveyed the situation, looking left, then right. There wasn’t much more for him to grab hold of. He thought for a moment, but knew he didn’t have much time before the strength in his forearms would give out. Finally, he decided the only thing to do would be to attempt to toss the hook back into its original place, but first he’d have to add slack to the wire. He could only do that with one hand, while the other would hold him to the building. Not an easy task, he thought, but it was his only option.
So, he let go with his right arm, reversed the wire’s catch and pulled wire off the spool. His left arm was aching and he began to rotate slightly. If he couldn’t keep his body still, he’d soon fall. Smoothly, he pulled wire out, swung the hook like a pendulum and tossed it toward the top of the building. His movement caused his left hand to slip and he could hold himself no longer. He fell. But, only for half a second because the wire tightened- quickly, when the hook found its mark. The harness really cut into his shoulders now. But he was moving toward the top of the building again. And, soon, he was over it. His feet never found a solid floor more comforting. They were practically numb. He knelt down and caught his breath. His heart was really pumping now and he had to force himself to settle down before he undertook his next task.
He looked across the top and saw the satellite. No one was guarding it, which amazed him. It’s got to be a trap, he thought. He decided to move toward it carefully.
The top of the building was thinly layered with gravel and Billy’s boots scraped over it, making a crunching noise that Billy feared would alarm someone. He made a note to lift his feet and set them back down carefully. It took him only a few seconds to reach the satellite. Too easy, he thought, and then looked down. Plastered to his pants leg was a red light. He was standing in the beam of a red laser, some sort of alarm, Billy was sure. He’d have to act fast.
He reached into his parka again and pulled out a chain. Attached to the chain was a round metal object. In the center of the building was a large iron box that housed the door, which allowed the building’s occupants entrance and exit to and from the roof. He clipped the chain around the knob and slammed the round metal object against the outside of the iron box. Once in place, he flipped a switch on the metal object, reversing its polarity, turning it into an ultra intensive magnet. It would require nearly 1,000 pounds of force to remove the magnet now. The doorknob would break before the magnet could be budged.
Billy knew this was only a temporary fix. He turned his sights back to the satellite and found it to be moving, down. The thing was set on a mobile platform and it was being swallowed down into the top of the building. As it moved, huge doors began to swing up from the floor of the building’s roof. They would effectively close the satellite in within a matter of minutes if he didn’t move fast.
He surveyed the make-up of the satellite and caught notice of the girders the satellite was set on. He reached into his parka and pulled out a steel rod that looked to be about twelve inches long. Pushing the extension button on the rod’s end, it popped out several more lengths, creating a sturdy pole about twelve feet in length. He ran to the satellite and threaded it through the satellite’s girders and out the other side. He set his end of the pole down on the floor of the roof and let the other end catch itself on the opposite side. This provided an obstruction to the movement of the huge object. He could hear the platform’s motors whining with ferocity and smell the engine burning. Billy knew the rod could not possibly hold it for long, but it might buy him the time he needed.
He flung the Sintag device off his back and opened it up. Locating the satellite’s control box, he set a micro charge against its lock and a second later the door of the box was blown clear of it. Inside the box, small lights flashed and gauges whirled. Billy located the inlet receptacle and tapped a wire into it. He plugged the wire into the Sintag device and rotated its keyboard down. Typing a few commands into the device, he effectively jammed the satellite’s system from any communications with the Yoemen.
Behind him, he could hear the members of the Talisbar Group banging on the door. He guessed he’d have only a few seconds before they were out. He reached into his parka and pulled out one last flare, popped it against the floor of the roof and stood back up. A loud clang sounded as the doorknob popped and three men piled out of the door, running toward Billy. He stood stock still, waiting. The men moved closer, swinging heavy iron clubs, forty feet away. Thirty feet away. Twenty feet. Ten feet. Their bars raised high, and Billy, still, did not move. Then, he felt a nudge. A cable. An iron hook. His body, still motionless, he calmly reached up with his right hand and took hold of the hook, lifted his foot up to it and it began to raise, pulling him into the sky. The men met the area where Billy was standing, but now he was gone, looking down at them, floating overhead. The men looked up above Billy and could barely make out the shape of a small helicopter, ascending into the night’s sky, its rotors on stealth mode. It made not a sound, and the only noise that could be heard were the curses and swears of the three uglies below Billy. And, a smile spread across his face.
The pilot switched the rotor on and Billy was pulled upward toward the copter. Soon, he was inside its body, resting and awaiting word for his next mission. Within seconds he was asleep, being lulled there by the quiet hum of the helicopter.
4
And, only seconds after that, the bus lurched to a stop. Billy fell forward and banged his head on the seat in front of him. The kid sitting in that seat turned around and gave him a dirty look.
“Sorry,” Billy said, trying to rub the sleep from his eyes. He could make out the sun rising in the sky out of the fogged-up window. The bus was at the school and students were busily making their way through its doors. Billy stretched and started to stand up. Halfway there, he felt someone push him back down. Frank. He hated Frank. The bully laughed his cruel and vicious laugh and those around him just shook their heads and looked away. Billy chose not to respond, but instead to wait until Frank had exited the bus, then he got up and trudged his way up the aisle toward another miserable day at school.
The school was a flurry of yellow and green, the school colors. Students milled about the area outside of the auditorium, while others went inside to find their friends. Billy walked through the archways leading into the school and made his way through the courtyard. The sun did not make it entirely into the courtyard, causing it to be a bit too chilly at this time of the morning for students to hang out there. That is where Dottie found Billy, though, where he could basically hide from everyone else until the bell rang.
“What’s going on?” Dottie greeted him?
“I’m tired,” Billy said. “I had a bad night last night.”
“I know,” Dottie responded. “It took me three hours to work on Watson’s math.”
“Somehow, I’ll bet you were the only person that spent three hours on it.”
“Did you do it?” Dottie asked.
“No.” Billy was embarrassed by the exasperated look Dottie gave him. “I didn’t get a chance to.”
“You are so going to fail his class. You better not get held back, Weadle. You’re already in danger of failing. I’m not moving to the eleventh grade without you. I don’t know how you just can’t care.”
Billy looked at her, then looked away, like he was following the path of some lone bird in the sky.
“Great,” she said, “Go into Weadle-land on me again. Why is it every time I make a point with you, your brain just takes a vacation? You don’t listen to anyone anymore.”
Billy snapped his head back to her. “I wrecked my dad’s car.”
“What?”
“Well, not too badly. I went to move it-“ Dottie was shaking her head in what Billy was unsure was disbelief or pity, “and, it slipped on some ice. Mrs. Martin ran into me- it- and my dad got pretty mad at me.”
“What did he do?”
“What he always does. He yelled a lot, hit a little. Got drunk. Passed out. You know- the usual.”
“Why didn’t you call me? You could have stayed with us.”
Billy felt bad then. “Naw,” he said. “That would have been too weird.”
“No it wouldn’t. Why would it?”
Billy got mixed signals from her all the time. One day he thought she spent so much time with him because she liked him- like girlfriend-boyfriend liked him. Other days he thought she hated him. Others he thought they were just meant to be friends, and still on others, he felt like she treated him like he was supposed to be her brother or something. He could never figure her out.
“What would it matter what people thought?” she tried again.
See, Billy thought, does she truly not care what other people think, or does she want them to think we are together? He wanted to scream inside.
The bell startled them when it rang to begin the day and call the students to classes. Billy started walking and Dottie fell in along side him, brushing up against his right side as they walked. The two looked inseparable for a moment, then Dottie veered off after they passed through the first door. “I’ll see you later,” she said. Billy nodded and smiled at her. “Hope you have a good day,” she added.
“You too.”
Billy made his way to his locker by himself. I hate doing this, he thought. He spun his lock dial around and inserted his combination. The world continued around him, but no one noticed that he existed. Most days he paid no attention to their conversations, but today, it was like he could hear every little thing they said, making out each individual detail of every conversation. He heard how Linda was so mad at Bill because he hadn’t called her the night before. He listened to the details of last night’s football practice between Clint and some other kid he didn’t know. Melinda asked Cheryl about the math test and on and on. He tried to push it all out of his head, but he couldn’t. He pulled his backpack off his shoulder, dropped it on the floor, took out the books he didn’t need and jammed them into his locker. Minutes later he was on his way into math class. He entered quietly, hoping no one would notice him, walked back the aisle and poured himself into his desk. He set his backpack on the floor by him and placed his chin in his hand, elbow on the desk. Looking at the clock, he saw there were three minutes left until the bell rang. Students around him were pulling out their homework. The homework he didn’t have. Maybe Mr. Watson will excuse me, he thought. Yeah, right, he told himself. Maybe if I tell him I live with a drunk father who doesn’t really care if a pass or fail, no matter what he said at the open house night, where he shows up just to make himself look big and bad in front of all of Billy’s teachers. He closed his eyes and left the world around him. Maybe if I tell Mr. Watson that, Billy thought, he’ll cut me some slack. He then smiled to himself. Maybe, he’ll even give me extra credit. Billy shook his head, wanting to laugh. Then, he looked around the room again. It all made him sick. If life on planet earth was a ride, he wanted to get off. He wanted to run away from everyone. He wanted to get away and find some kind of new beginning. He felt some days like he was running from everything and everyone, pushing his way through the pack, dodging in and out to remain unseen, to prove that he could be better than everyone else if he really wanted, only thing is, he just didn’t have the chance. Or so, he didn’t think so. He felt his head slipping toward the desk and soon his cheek rested on top of it. His mouth opened slightly and his eyes were tightly shut when Mr. Watson entered the room.
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The bell rang and the field was off. Billy, on Whirlwind, lurched to the inside. He tried to stay directly off the rail, where the softest dirt was, but he was pushed there by two other horses making their charge for his lane. It was okay, he thought, the others were bunched up outside making their way to the first turn. If he could pop through the hole in front of him, then he’d be running second wide around the first bend, right where he wanted to be. And, it happened, Majesty’s Service pulled away from the field and he followed her. Ornery Pete had thoughts about getting to the vacant spot first, but Billy bumped him hard, securing his spot in that lane. When the field hit the first turn, Majesty’s Service was leading and Billy was in the front of the rest of the pack. He didn’t want Whirlwind to go after Majesty’s Secret yet. She would have little left once they were through the backstretch. She would fade. Billy didn’t have to go after her. She’d come back to him.
Billy could practically feel fine clods of dirt hitting him in the face. The odor of the track overwhelmed him. Over six tons of sweating horseflesh banked into the first turn. His muscles strained to control Whirlwind and his calves burned while standing up in the saddle, pulling back on the reins, trying to keep his horse in check.
Going into the backstretch he could feel himself being bumped from behind. Another horse obviously wanted his spot, but he was unwilling to relinquish it. The jockey to his left bumped him, wanting off the rail. He could tell the horse was struggling in the softer dirt and would fade soon. That was where Billy wanted him. It was okay to be on the rail for a moment, but a horse couldn’t stay there all race. He’d tire for sure.
He held tightly to the reins. Whirlwind wanted to be let loose, to catch the leader. But, Billy knew better than to give in to him. He rocked in the saddle and rode him into the homestretch. The field had not changed up front, though Majesty’s Service was beginning to fade. It wouldn’t be long now and Billy could make his move.
Coming out of the last turn the other horses tightened up on him. He knew it was time to go. The leader had since faded and Whirlwind’s nose was now in front of the field. Billy gave him the reins. Like a shot, he flew forward. Billy had to do nothing. The other jockeys were pounding away on their mounts with their whips, but Billy just rode Whirlwind. He had the better horse. He’d pulled away by two lengths, now three and four. And, not a single horse would be able to catch him. Hitting the last furlong pole, Billy gave him all of the reins. He was now up by at least ten lengths and by the time they crossed the finish wire he’d widened his margin of victory by even more. Billy stood in the saddle, raised his left arm and waved to the cheering crowd.
5
“-Weadle!” Billy heard his name. “Weadle!” There it was again. Billy opened his eyes and slowly lifted his head. “You care to join us?” He could hear the other students snickering as he pulled his head from the desk. He scrunched his face up and started to stretch, causing the rest of the class to get in on the action. Their laughter boiled out into the hallways. Billy sat straight up. “Do you have your homework, Billy?” Mr. Watson asked, holding up the stack of papers in his hand for added emphasis.
Billy slowly shook his head from side to side. He was too busy being embarrassed to humor himself with the possibility of responding with some clever remark about his drunk father. That was the furthest thing from his mind.
He let the class get bored with him and eventually, Mr. Watson did, too. The man accepted the fact he wasn’t going to magically get any work out of him today. Billy had learned that most of his high school teachers didn’t put much effort into getting the work out of you when you didn’t appear as though you were going to try in the first place. That was different from middle and elementary school where it seemed like they were always on his case if he skipped an assignment. Although, they didn’t really need to be on him all that much. Normally, back then, he was able to get his work done. Back then it was almost like it was an escape. Now, he just had trouble focusing. He had trouble overcoming the obstacle his father had truly become.
6
Billy got up early the next morning. It was a Friday and he was actually excited to get to school to get the day over with. The bus gave him no problems. Frank wasn’t riding this morning for whatever reason. That could make the day better than expected, Billy thought, hoping Frank didn’t make it to school at all today.
English class took him slightly by surprise. Normally, Mrs. Gringle would never attempt working in pairs on Fridays. “The kids are just too wild,” she would say. But, today proved to be different. He enjoyed writing and sometimes the socialization of working with a partner was nice, too. It could possibly be the only interaction he would have with someone today.
Mrs. Gringle was nice enough. Actually, the kids took advantage of her kindness from time to time. She was one who definitely went into teaching because she wanted to share her love of the English language with children. However, Billy thought at times, she was probably more well-suited to be an elementary school teacher than a high school teacher. She was just the nurturing type and to Billy and his peers, that could become suffocating at a time in their lives when they wanted the adults to stand off ninety percent of the time. The students speculated she’d never been married, and her penchant for accentuating her overly average looks assured them that no one would ever have her, that she would waste away, her only position in life being an English teacher. Liked by the thousands who would pass her way, but never loved intensely by merely only one.
“Today you will be writing a fictional narrative,” she began. “You develop a character. It can be a superhero, an average Joe, a community helper, you name it. Your character must save some aspect of the world from an evil character that you base on a real-life celebrity.”
Snickers came from part of the class. Groans came from the other. Billy liked the idea and grabbed for a sheet to sketch out his superhero character right away. He always found that if he started immediately it was much easier to come up with ideas. Sometimes he put pencil to paper without any idea in his head about where he was going, but he’d just start to write and somehow, it would come out.
His head drooped over his desk like some kind of vulture and he went to work. He’d already marked his paper all up and was reaching for another when most of the other students were only getting started. His superhero had come alive in his mind. He’d created a semi-mortal character that could never possibly be half the man Superman was, but he relied more on his wit and charm to win over the world.
Soon, he’d drawn up his evil character. Using David Hasselhoff as his celebrity, he wrote of a man who wanted to conquer the earth by making people slaves to their televisions, then dumbing them down through the use of low quality films. His superhero cleverly countered all of the evil Dr. TV’s moves. The two never had to physically fight, but instead grappled using their minds. The superhero eventually won over the public by figuring out a way to display all of the works of classic literature through video screens he’d placed throughout the world. Eventually, the world’s population became more interested in Huck Finn and Jim, Hawkeye and Chingachgook, King Arthur and Lancelot, and Robert Jordan and Maria than they were the mindless junk Dr. TV was offering them.
When he finished, he sat back and looked the story over. He smiled, happy with the tale he’d told. He looked around the room and noticed a few students were asleep and others were doodling instead of working while some others were actually working. Suzan Richards seemed to be struggling next to him. He wanted to read what she had written and give her a few ideas, but he thought better of saying anything to her. He looked around the room again and was struck with the thought of writing members of the class into his story. He could have Dr. Evil claim Bobby Thornton, Jill Sheiffer, Nelson Clayton and George Wimple as his mindless drones. He suspected the four of them were already helpless captives to their televisions.
“Alright, class. It is time to move on,” his thoughts were interrupted by the Mary Poppins-like voice of his teacher. It would be best not to tick anyone off anyway, Billy thought.
“We’re going to pair up and work with a partner to peer edit and improve on our writing.” She quickly walked around the room, coupling students. To Billy’s dismay, she chose Suzan Richards to be his partner. He didn’t know what to think of that. When he looked at her he could have sworn the sun was shining through the window on her golden brown hair to create a halo effect. She quite innocently took his breath away. Billy looked down at the floor when she glanced across the aisle at him. Electricity shot through him when he swore he saw her smile at him. He was not about to look up again until it was absolutely necessary.
Get over yourself, he told himself. She doesn’t want to have anything to do with you anyway, so it’s not like you can make a fool of yourself. Just read her story. Let her read yours and get this over with. Deep down inside he tried to convince himself he should have no respect for her because of the fact that he was so far out of her league, meaning he had nothing in common with her, meaning she and he were nothing alike, meaning he should not be nervous in the least. She practically lived on another planet compared to him. This is just like doing business, Billy told himself. Treat it no differently than if you were doing this with a wall.
“Please, don’t make too much fun of what I wrote,” she said. Billy was still looking down at the floor and hadn’t noticed that she’d moved over to the desk beside him. He gave her a startled look when he snapped his head up. He thought she blushed slightly and giggled at him when she saw the look on his face. She craned her neck over her desk, causing her long shiny hair to hang in front of her face, hiding her next expression from him.
“Don’t worry.” He stumbled over what to say next. “I’m sure what you’ve written is better than mine.” It sounded clumsy and rehearsed. He thought she could easily tell he was patronizing her. He didn’t want her to feel uncomfortable, but he didn’t know how to talk to her and make her feel as though he really thought she’d be a decent writer. Honesty was one of his better virtues, which made situations like this very difficult. He just couldn’t lie well. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t hide his true feelings for people. They just reared their ugly heads in his eyes when he looked at certain people. He couldn’t cover it up and he was sure Suzan was getting that vibe now. Despite the crush he denied that he had on her, he didn’t think she was that intelligent and she knew he thought it. He felt it, because he couldn’t hide it, no matter how hard he tried.
She rolled her eyes, tilted her head back, gave a laugh, picked up her paper and handed it to him. She looked away and said, “Let’s get this over with.”
He handed her his and said, “I’m sure it’s great.” Again, it was stilted. Idiot, he thought to himself. Just don’t say anything.
He turned slightly from her and started reading. It was cumbersome, but creative. Her writing style was nothing like his. She wrote with the hand of someone who rarely read much herself. Billy could always tell who read a lot based on how they wrote. It was obvious she just didn’t know what good writing looked like. However, her story was fun. He even smiled a time or two and he knew she’d done the best she could. When he was done, he looked up. She was still reading his. A smile lit her face and she shook her head from side to side. When she was done, she looked at him with a huge.
“This is incredible,” she said. “I love it.”
“Thanks,” he immediately looked to her paper and pointed out a sentence. “I love it when Monkeyman wraps Christina Aguilera in banana peels. It’s cute.”
“It’s stupid,” she replied and immediately took her paper from him. “I’m embarrassed by it after reading yours.”
“No. You shouldn’t be,” he said.
“But, yours is so good. I don’t know anyone who can write like this.”
“It isn’t that good,” Billy said.
“It is too.” She looked at him for a long two seconds. Billy felt very uncomfortable as he saw a deep sparkle in her eyes as she looked at him. He quickly shifted his gaze. His heart was pounding. What was that? he thought. There was no mistaking. He’d felt a definite connection to her. Only, he didn’t feel it for her. Just from her. Could it be possible that she had feelings for him? That is stupid, he told himself. Get over yourself. Like she would have any feelings for your stupid self. He looked back up at her. She was still looking at him. Her face was red and her mouth was curled in a sweet looking, cute smile. This time he had trouble taking his eyes off of her. Their gaze was finally broken by the sound of Mrs. Gringle’s voice.
The look in her eyes kept him smiling and wondering the rest of the day.
It was that look that got him in trouble with Dottie. “What’s your deal?” she asked when she met him in the hallway after they had been dismissed for busses.
“What are you talking about?” Billy asked.
“The smiles. The look on your face. You actually seem,” she paused, “happy.”
“I don’t know. Just had a good day, I guess.”
“That’s good.”
“Yeah. Suzan Richards really liked my story in Gringle’s class.” He wished he could take it back after he said it. It sounded so corny out there in the open instead of buried somewhere deep inside his head.
“What?” Dottie asked. She’d practically come to a dead stop and her mouth had flown open. Billy rolled his eyes, turned around to look at her, and then decided to keep going. She followed him. “What do you care what Suzan Richards thinks of your writing?”
“I don’t know. I-“
“No. I mean, I’m sorry,” Dottie was getting worked up. “The question is more like, ‘Do you really believe Suzan Richards cares a flip about the stupid stories you write?’”
“Dottie-” he began.
“No. You’re nuts. She doesn’t care about your writing. End of story.”
“Fine,” Billy said and continued walking.
Dottie caught up. “I’m serious, Billy. I just don’t want to see you get yourself all hot and bothered-“
“I’m not ‘hot and bothered,” Billy interrupted.
“Whatever. You know what I mean. I don’t want to see you get all excited about thinking someone like her- one of the beautiful people- cares about you or what you write. I’m surprised she even knows your name.”
Billy held the glass door leading outside to the bus-loading zone. He squinted while his eyes adjusted to the sun.
“Well,” Billy thought for a minute about what he was going to say, then settled for, “she does.”
“You’re incorrigible, Weadle,” Dottie said as she gave him a hug and headed to her bus. While she walked away, Billy thought he caught a sparkle in her eye. He wished he’d never said anything, but he wondered what difference it all made to Dottie. He gave it another quick second, trying to recall another time he’d seen jealousy on Dottie’s face, but couldn’t think of a time. Must not be, he thought. He tried to convince himself to take her words as advice from a friend, but still couldn’t decide for certain whether she was being protective or envious. And, even more confusing, he thought, is she envious of me, or Suzan?
“Get on the bus!”
“Get on the bus!”
Billy rolled his eyes and shook his head when he heard Frank’s voice as students loaded onto the bus headed for home at the end of what appeared to have been a long day for all of them.
“Shut up, Frank,” Billy heard some people murmur. “Be quiet.”
“Take your seat, Weadle!” Frank shouted at Billy as he passed by him, giving his best drill instructor impersonation.
“You got five seconds. Five seconds to tell me what you were doin’ talkin’ to Suzan today, Weadle. You know Worthy is gonna find out,” Frank was screaming at Billy in a faint attempt at humor. Billy didn’t know now if he was attempting to sound like Mr. T or if he was still on that drill instructor kick. Either way, he was a little apprehensive about Frank’s statement. Why should Steve Worthy care if I was paired with Suzan today, he thought.
“You know he’s gonna get’cha,” Frank said. “He’s gonna get’cha.”
“Whatever,” Billy said. Although, when he said it, he was looking out the bus window, his face was turned completely away from Frank in a relatively safe position.
“What’d you say, Weadle? What’d you say?”
“Sit down, Frank,” this time the bus driver was hollering back. “And, be quiet.” Frank sat down behind Billy, knowing that one more bus referral would have him walking to school. He kicked Billy’s seat, but soon got up and went to the back of the bus when he failed to get any kind of a response from Billy who knew that boredom was the best way to fight Frank.
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He’d never quite smelled air like this before. The salt practically stuck in his nose hairs. He could tell the ocean was nearby when he got off the bus, but he couldn’t take time to look, nor could he see it anyway. It was pitch black outside. What time is it, he wondered. It must be around 2:00 a.m.. Of course, that would be 0200 now. The drill instructor was screaming at him and he was searching frantically for those yellow footprints they’d been briefed on when they were still on the bus. That seemed like hours ago, but it was only seconds. Perhaps because he’d just gone through a time machine. Back on that bus, he’d left Billy Weadle, high school loser. Through the door and off the bus, he’d become something else. He wasn’t sure what yet, but he knew he was no longer Billy. What was the word the large man with the tilted hat kept yelling at him? ‘Crute? ‘Cruit? And again, Ra-cruit- recruit. That was what he was now. Just a recruit. Not ‘just’ a recruit he decided. He was a United States Marine Corps Recruit. Only- a United States Marine Corps Recruit. And, this land he’d just stepped foot on was Parris Island, South Carolina.
He’d been trampled on in the mad flurry of boys that piled off of the bus. He’d found a set of footprints only to be screamed at from behind to, “Move up! Move up! Move up!” about a hundred times. Then, he couldn’t find a set as the gap between him and those in front of him had closed quickly with a tidal wave of bodies being herded from another one of the shepherds. That was what he felt like, no, he guessed that was wrong. They weren’t sheep. They were cattle. And, those men doing the screaming were cowboys.
Now, he couldn’t find a set of footprints and he was being yanked out into the street where there were no footprints. He could move here now because the bus was gone. His time machine had left. It was too late to get back on and try to hide now. Then he was being hurried along, to the back of the formation, back further than where he was before. And, he was thrown into line. Footprints. Home. This is my home. Right here on these two little feet. He tried to shut the world out around him.
“You are now at United States Marine Corps Recruit Depot, Parris Island, South Carolina. You belong to the United States Marine Corps. My name is Drill Instructor Staff Sergeant Williams. I will be responsible for processing you through receiving. You will keep your eyeballs straight ahead. Do NOT look at me. You will keep your mouth shut. Do NOT speak to me. If I speak to you, you will do what you are told and respond, “Aye, Drill Instructor Staff Sergeant Williams.” When you are asked a question, you will respond, “Yes, or No, Drill Instructor Staff Sergeant Williams.” Do you understand?”
A gaggle of voices coughed out things such as, “Yes, sir, Staff Sergeant- “
“What!?” He paused to let his anger soak in. “You will respond, ‘Yes Drill Instructor Staff Sergeant Williams.’ I am not a ‘sir.’ I work for a living. Do you understand me?”
Then, somewhat in unison, the group of young men answered, “Yes, Drill Instructor Staff Sergeant Williams.”
“Try again,” he said, barely audible.
“Yes, Drill Instructor Staff Sergeant Williams,” they responded together, as one strong voice that echoed off of the buildings in the darkness that allowed their vision to reach only about fifty feet. With that response they would begin their voyage together for the next three months. They would live, eat, sleep, sweat, cry and ache together. They would look to each other for support because there would be days when each of them would no longer want to be a part of it- when each of them would no longer want to play the games. But they had to. It was imperative that they work together- to help each other- to create in each other the right to call each of themselves a United States Marine.
The group of young men followed each other in a tight formation from the receiving area, picked up the bare necessities, uniforms and hygiene products, then made their way to the barbershop. Billy felt like he was watching himself from above as all of his hair was chopped off. He made it back out into the night, settled into the formation with his bag of goodies and waited for the drill instructor to come.
In only a matter of seconds, he felt as though the sun had risen and he was standing in the middle of a parade deck. He no longer carried his bag of civilian clothes, which he’d exchanged for the uniform, but instead, held on to a rifle. He felt something tugging at his shoulders and looked down to see the straps of a backpack digging into his chest.
“Get your eyeballs up! Stop looking around!” shouted Drill Instructor Sergeant Henderson. Somehow Billy just knew what his name was, but he didn’t quite remember being introduced to him. Although, somewhere in his mind was a recollection of having learned is mind, almost like a memory of déjà vu, it was there, but he wasn’t sure where.
“Platoon: Right Face!” shouted the drill instructor, only it came out more like, “Eeelah-tooon: Eeee-rye haaaace.” Somewhere along the line, Billy had learned the language, and he quickly followed the command.
“Peeee-yoort harms,” port arms, Billy translated and complied. “Eeee-rye shol-der harms,” right shoulder arms.
Billy anticipated the next command, but did not allow his body to move. “For-ward eeee-yarch.” The platoon stepped off, and as they did, Billy could see the long line of Marine recruits in formation in front of him, and he could only imagine that many were lined up behind and to the sides of him. It wasn’t long before the battalion had stepped out their march and were then route stepping, a stretched out, forced walk that wasn’t much slower than a run, but equally as fast as a jog. With each step, Billy felt as though he’d gone another mile. The alice pack- all purpose lightweight individual carrying equipment pack- cut into his shoulders. The thing felt as if it weighed easily a hundred pounds. His feet felt blistered and numb.
The battalion was making its way down a long sandy road. They were surrounded by trees and mosquitoes on all sides. As he walked, he noticed something different about his boots. Looking down, he noticed that his trousers were pulled up above his boots and cuffed there. A sign of a typical recruit was that his boots could not be bloused. His trousers hung down over his boots, looking awkward and tripping him up constantly. Real Marines, however, had earned the right to blouse their boots. Apparently, his dream had taken him right through boot camp, and although it seemed like a good deal, he still felt as though he’d been through the wringer. When he looked back up, he saw the ocean to his left and his squad was climbing into an amtrack- amphibious tractor. When he was in, he sat down and tried to get as much comfort as he could out of the break. Within seconds, the large iron door on the rear of the vehicle was closing and he could tell they were moving in the direction of the ocean.
The ride was bumpy. The smell of hydraulic fluid was overwhelming. He was tired and could barely keep himself upright, save for the Marines sitting on either side of him. They, too, depended on each other to sit up. When the amphibious assault vehicle roared to a stop, all of them were up and charging out of the door, as if they’d been jolted with electricity. They screamed and hollered, whipping around the open iron doors and trudging through the deep sand of the beach. At least they hadn’t been dropped off in the water this time, Private Weadle thought. That just made it tougher to run through the sand. Now, they were in the deep stuff. His boots sunk at least five inches on each step. He clung tightly to his M-16 with both hands. After running about thirty yards he watched his fire team leader drop and roll and he followed suit. The sand kicked up and blew into his face. He spit, trying to rid his mouth of about a cup full and struggle to open his right eye, filled with grit and sand. Once he got it open, he looked up to see the other Marines around him standing back up and heading back toward the AAV’s. He joined them and retook his spot in the back. This was only their second training run and they had a full afternoon ahead of them.
It was getting hotter and he was already soaked with sweat and sea water, making his uniform cling to him even more uncomfortably.
“Let’s go, gentlemen. Let’s double-time,” his platoon commander was shouting from atop his AAV. Private Weadle noticed Captain Blanchard had not gotten off of his machine, watching their movement. Easy to say, “Double-time,” when you aren’t wearing sixty pounds of gear, running through the soft sand, Billy thought.
They re-entered the vehicle and took their places. Billy was soaked and tired. His muscles ached, especially his legs. A huge blister burned on the inside of his right heel where he swore there was a nail piercing his sole and driving its way into his foot.
The driver closed the heavy iron door and drove the craft back out into the ocean. The waves bounced them around some more and Billy was soon asleep, but his rest lasted for only a few minutes before they were again storming the beach. This time, they got out and rushed across the entire beach, ending up in the scrub at the bottom of the cliffs facing the beach. As he looked up into the cliff, the thought he could actually feel the sun going down, bringing on the darkness of night.
Then, Billy sat with three other Marines around the lone shelter half constructed within their campsite. Billy, nor any of the other Marines, had brought their tents because they didn’t want to bother with having one more thing to carry. The tent they sat near now, contained supplies for the platoon and had been set up only because the skies were threatening rain.
“Man, it’s gonna piss on us again tonight,” Private Garcia complained.
“A hundred degrees in the daytime and forty degrees and wet at night,” added PFC Latimer.
Billy looked up to the sky, could see no stars, and could sense the thick clouds above him. He wished he had his shelter half now. He didn’t even bring his sleeping bag, just a poncho and poncho liner, and they would be soaked within the first few minutes of the approaching rainstorm. Such is the life of a Marine Corps infantryman.
Billy forced himself to eat the last bit of chili-mac from his Meal Ready to Eat. The brown plastic bags, stuffed with dehydrated food, normally referred to as MREs were the main diet of Marines when they went to the field. To eat one once in a while wasn’t bad, but for breakfast, lunch and dinner for a week was too much.
The Marines saw someone approach them. Lieutenant Brophy.
“The bearer of bad news,” whispered Latimer before he was close enough to hear.
When he reached them, the Marines began to stand up. “At ease, Marines,” he said, and motioned for them to sit back down.
The Marines were immediately uncomfortable with the notion of their platoon commander invading their space. Thoughts of What’s he want? raced through their brains.
“Where are the squad leaders?” he asked.
“Squad leaders up,” Latimer shouted. Within seconds, the three Marines were up next to Lieutenant Brophy and walking down the beach. It wasn’t long before they were back briefing the platoon on the ambushing exercises they would be running that night on the amtracks which would be moving in off of the beach at them. Marines from Bravo Company would be riding in them and would simulate the attacking force. Billy’s company’s job would be to defend the beach and not allow them to advance.
They began to move, setting themselves up in a strategic formation on the beach, digging fighting holes and setting up their perimeters. Billy pounded his firing stakes in the ground once he was given the word by Corporal Smith and sat with Latimer, awaiting the advance of the attacking force.
The two sat in silence. Someone walking along the beach would never have known that there were several hundred Marines lying in wait there. After what seemed like days, Billy could make out a light bobbing in the water in the distance, then another, and another, and another. Only they weren’t lights. They were reflections of the full moon bouncing off of the amtracks. Then, he could hear them slowly churning through the water. The Marines on the beach hunkered down, waiting patiently for the word to open fire.
Once the machines were about fifty yards from the beach, Billy heard the screams. So did the other Marines, as there was a response that normally would not have been seen. Heads poked up from the fighting holes, looking to see what was going on. The yells were coming from the ocean and they were not normal. Finally one wave rolled in, bottoming out, exposing its deadly secret. Behind it, one of the amtracks was half submerged, tilting dangerously. In the moonlight Billy could tell that it was trying to open its large iron doors on top. One of them was half open now and the Marines inside were spilling out into the ocean, treading water, being swallowed up by the waves. Billy knew that in all of that gear, they wouldn’t last long. “Corporal, they are drowning,” Billy was the first to yell. He laid down his rifle with Latimer and took off his H-harness, unhooking his combat belt and started taking off his boots and blouse. In the vague light of the moon he could see Corporal Smith and Lieutenant Brophy doing the same thing.
The three began running to the ocean. When they reached the ice cold water, Billy fought the urge to turn back. He could see about a dozen Marines holding on in the waves, throwing their arms about wildly, soaking up water, gaining weight and resisting the temptation to just let themselves sink. Billy dove in and began swimming to the first one he could reach. Brophy and Smith were right alongside of him. Billy swam until he could no longer touch. When he made it to the first Marine, he looked at his panicked face and decided to slow down in the event the Marine were to pull him under. He swam to his backside and took him by the shoulders from behind. When he began backpedaling through the water, he ran into something. Turning around, he realized it was another Marine. When the waves flattened out, he saw more faces in the water, Marines, who’d come and were serving as a chain back to the beach. Billy passed the Marine off and went for another.
Within a few minutes, he, the Lieutenant, and Corporal Smith had recovered the Marines and turned them over to the long line of Marines that had formed, waiting to pull them to the beach. The three then began swimming back in themselves. When he reached the beach, Billy could hardly stand. His legs and arms shook violently. He lay in the moonlight, a few yards from Brophy and Smith as Marines gathered around them, first asking if they were okay, then lauding them as heroes. Billy was helped to his feet began to smile as those around him began patting him on the back, singing his praises. When he stood upright, he was greeted with a head rush and he felt his world begin to go black. All he could remember was the satisfaction and the happiness as he slipped into unconsciousness.
7
“Weadle. Weadle!” Billy jerked awake. It was Frank. “It’s your stop, dufus. Wake up.”
Billy quickly stood up and nearly fell back down as the bus lurched to a stop. He could hear Frank snickering behind him. Billy turned around and looked at him, then thought better of saying anything to him. After all, he thought, I’m the one that looks like an idiot. He slowly made his way to the front of the bus, bouncing off of a seat or two on his way, dreading having to go back into his home tonight. As he walked down the steps to exit, he looked back at the number of blank faces and thought about how they seemed to have all of the blood drained from them by the same vampire he called life. He jumped from the last step onto the ground, sighing deeply. Some day, he thought. Some day, someone will rescue me.
Mr. Ralston was really tough. No one remembered anyone ever having received an A from him. No one talked or played around in his class, much less actually fell asleep. Although, that was what everyone wanted to do because he was so boring. He rarely moved from behind his desk and yet he seemed to always know what was going on in his class at any given time. It was if he had mirrors all over the room and could see from any angle. The rumors that circulated among the students had him at the school for the past thirty years. No one, even the other teachers, could seem to remember a time when Mr. Ralston had not been at the school. Some students just assumed he’d been there forever. They didn’t question his existence, just his ability to act like an actual human being. None of the students truly considered him one.
His gray hair was combed over to hide the bald patch on the top of his head. His beard, though well kept, hung past the collar of his shirt. He had a gruff voice when he spoke, but it never seemed like he talked above much more than a whisper. The students had to struggle to hear him, which could have lent itself to the fact that they never really talked or acted up in his class. It was already difficult enough to pass his class, much less if you missed something important he had said.
Billy had tried to ask him a question one day and the response he’d gotten was based on obligation, not because the man truly wanted to help Billy. He never asked him a question again.
This morning in class he was lecturing on the right to vote. Billy chuckled inside when he noticed almost every student in the room had propped his or her chin up on hand, with an elbow on the desk. They looked like zombies.
Then, out of the corner of his left eye, he saw what Frank was doing. He was brazenly tossing little bits of paper into the back of Suzan Richards’ hair. Suzan sat directly in front of Billy. If he got caught, it would be the end of him. Ralston would surely kill him.
Even worse, now Billy realized Steve Worthy saw what was happening to Suzan. Only he just assumed Billy was the one putting the paper in Suzan’s hair. The look on his face said that he was taking the attack on Suzan as a personal insult. He took his chin off of his hand, looked at Mr. Ralston, realized he couldn’t possibly do anything right now without the teacher nailing him and sat back. Billy risked a look at Steve. The star athlete shot knives at him with his eyes. Billy shook his head and his eyes tried to tell Steve that he misunderstood. He looked back over to Frank who gave him a huge crocodile smile.
Time seemed to race suddenly in Mr. Ralston’s class for the first time all school year. Billy could not believe what was happening to him. The bell would ring and as soon as he stepped foot into that hallway, he’d be a dead man. He chanced a look at Steve twice more during class time, and each time he was met with a look of death. He didn’t dare look again.
Sooner than he wished, Mr. Ralston was wrapping up his lecture and finished with his signature sentence, “And, that is how it happened.” Then, the bell rang.
The students scrambled for the door, but Billy tried to crouch in his seat. Maybe Steve had forgotten. He tucked his chin into his chest and slouched down, but he was knocked to the side. He expected to look up and see Steve, but instead, it was Frank. “You jerk,” Billy mumbled to him.
“What’d you say, boy?” Frank pushed his desk with his foot.
“Problem young men?” Mr. Ralston asked from the front of the room, not moving from his chair.
Frank continued walking out of the room. “Not for me, sir,” Frank answered over his shoulder. “Not for me.”
Billy shook his head and finally got up. He didn’t see Steve in the room any more, though he was sure he’d be in the hallway. He crept out of the room and stepped through the door. The hall was busy with the yelling and screaming of boys and girls seemingly oblivious to the fact they had classes to return to in the next five minutes. It was always the way it was, Billy thought. Pure chaos.
The worst part was that he had to go to the bathroom, but there was no way he could step foot into the restroom. He was sure Steve would be waiting for him in there and no one would even be able to hear his screams.
With his head on a swivel, he walked down the hall. Every time someone bumped him from behind, he would jump, expecting the worst. When he got to his locker he thought he was home free. Maybe Steve was too busy picking the paper out of Suzan’s hair to deal with him this period. But, for sure he’d get him next period. I could go to the clinic, he thought. I could rush to the office and tell them I am sick. It would work, for now anyway. But, what about tomorrow? I’d still have to come back to school. No I wouldn’t, he thought. I could run away, join the circus. The thought made him smile slightly. Then, like birds that go silent in the depths of the jungle when the lion approaches, the boys and girls around him got quiet. From the corners of both eyes, he saw them move away from him. He turned around slowly, his lips were still curled upward. “What’cha smilin’ about, punk?” Steve grunted, pushing him hard into the lockers.
“Nothing, I-I,”
“Stop studderin’, fool,” Steve commanded. “Now, you are mine.” He grabbed him by the collar and tightened it against Billy’s throat.
Gagging, Billy tried to squeeze out, “It wasn’t me.”
“Shut up, boy,” Steve shouted.
“Steve, stop. You’re hurting him.” Billy could hear Suzan from behind Steve. She was actually trying to stop the beating he was about to take. He barely caught glimpses of her and she looked like an angel. He was sorry Frank had made a fool of her, and wished he’d done something to stop it. Maybe if he had, he wouldn’t be in this predicament right now. But, he reminded himself it was Ralston he was more scared of.
The other boys and girls started to chant, “Fight, fight, fight,” around them. Steve let go of him, backed off and pulled back. He swung his clenched fist at Billy’s left side. Billy started to block it, but quickly remembered he had no arm to deflect the blow. The fist hammered into the side of his jaw. A deep blackness with bright stars exploded in his head. He heard his neck crack and fell to the ground. Once there, he felt Steve begin to kick him. He tried to curl up and cover himself, but it was to no avail. Through flashes of Steve he could see Frank standing, smug expression on his face, probably laughing. Billy wanted to kill him. But, he could do nothing now.
The other boys and girls were laughing, then they began to disperse. He saw Mr. Ralston burst through them and grab a hold of the back of Steve. “Stop it. Stop it right now,” he commanded.
Steve backed off once he saw Mr. Ralston. The old man bent over and touched Billy on the shoulder. “Are you okay, son?”
He doesn’t even know my name, Billy thought. He felt like his ribs had to be broken. “I’m fine,” he said and tried to sit up. His head started to swim and he thought he would pass out.
“Just stay still,” Mr. Ralston said. “We’ll get you to the clinic.”
Now, I go to the clinic, Billy thought, and smiled at the irony.
He could see Steve being drug away by Mr. Smith, the school’s dean. Suzan leaned against the lockers and sobbed. The drama queen, Billy thought. And, Frank was visible from across the hallway, doubled up in his sardonic laugh. Billy’s eyes met his and the two were locked in an unbreakable stare.
He tried to get up again and was successful this time. Mr. Ralston saw that he was looking hard at Frank, but when he turned back around to look at Frank, the boy was gone.
“What does he have to do with it?” Mr. Ralston asked Billy.
Billy didn’t answer him. Instead, he started trying to walk away, but Mr. Ralston wouldn’t let him. “You’re not going anywhere, son. We’ll call your dad and have him come get you.”
Billy stopped, looked back at Mr. Ralston and decided he had nothing to lose, “Mr. Ralston, my name is Billy- Billy Weadle. I’m surprised you don’t know that at this point in the year.” Mr. Ralston stepped back and looked at Billy. The boy could tell by the man’s expression that he was puzzled by Billy’s reaction. He obviously did not know how to respond. Just when it looked like he was ready with something, Billy took in a deep breath and blew fire from his mouth when he screamed at him, “Go ahead and call my dad. It’ll just make him beat me harder tonight!”
Mr. Ralston didn’t have a sympathetic bone in his body and therefore did not know how to react to Billy’s outburst, so he grabbed him by his arm and whisked him down the hallway. Students made way for them. Billy remembered seeing a boy being led from his local shopping mall by the police having just been arrested for shoplifting. The people stopped and stared just as the students of Crescent View were now doing to him. Some laughed, some said nothing, and others turned and got on with their day.
When he got to the dean’s office, Billy took a seat to await his destiny. Mr. Ralston had dropped him off and quickly left. Outside the window to the office were several students looking in, laughing at Billy.
Mrs. Sally, the dean’s secretary, interrupted his thoughts, “Your royal subjects demand to know your status, your majesty,” she said, referring to the kids outside.
Billy laughed slightly and looked up at her smiling face. He knew she was just trying to make him feel better. “Unfortunately, I just feel like the court jester, instead,” he said.
“Oh, come now, Billy Weadle,” she said, “we can all be king, if at least for just a day.” Then she leaned toward him and shocked Billy when she whispered, “You took on that meathead Steve Worthy. For that, I’d say you have the right to feel a little royal blood coursing through your veins.”
Billy smiled and looked away. I didn’t exactly “take him on,” Billy thought. However, she had made him feel somewhat good inside for whatever reason. The smile was still on his face when he leaned his head back on the wall and closed his eyes.
****************************************************************
The crown felt heavy on his head. He’d never quite gotten used to it.
“They are at the gate, sire,” his scouts reminded him.
“Yes. Yes. I know.” King William hung his head. Can’t let them see me like this, he thought. Briefly, he felt like it was all his fault. Whatever he’d done though, he wasn’t certain that the consequence should have been equal to this. Slowly, he stood up and walked to the small opening that served as a window in the north wall. Torches and fires lit the night. There must have been thousands of them. Mordren and his army had come. Like they said they would. King William had not doubted it. Mordren had always been a man of his word. His youngest brother, and the most aggressive, always feeling as though something had been taken from him. Always feeling as though he’d been slighted. William shook his head as he remembered events from their youth. Mordren was ten years his younger, but he’d always played with the ferocity of a man ten years his senior. When they would slay make believe dragons in the woods of the Sherman Corridor, Mordren always had to be pulled off of whatever they were abusing, whether it be a large oak tree, a boulder, or a rotting, dead dear, left there by some hunter who had lost its trail. Mordren always had to have the last word and was never willing to listen to anyone. When their father died, William could sense the sick sense of fulfillment Mordren had taken. He was one step closer to the throne. He was one step closer to never being told what to do again.
William played with the silk cape hanging from his back. Its texture slid smoothly between his thumb and index finger. He remembered the words of Mordren when their mother died. “Now there is no one left to watch over me,” he told Mordren when the two were alone together. “Except for you.” He’d paused for an eternity, “But, you’ll be taken care of soon.”
Have I been too weak? William wondered. Trying to rule with a fair heart had presented only too many problems. Maybe the type of kingdom Mordren would rule would prove more successful. Less problems. And, what problems there were would go away, once he made them.
He considered his options. Mordren had ridden to the south and accumulated his massive army, promising them riches and fields that William knew they would never receive. Leading them back to William, Mordren promised the king he would spare him his life and the lives of his subjects if he were to turn the kingdom over to him. Otherwise, he was to prepare for a civil war. William knew he would send many men to their deaths. He knew his kingdom would be weakened, allowing his enemies to move in later and possibly take the kingdom from him. Mordren had too many friends throughout England. William’s enemies licked their lips at the thought of Mordren’s eventual attack.
Poor Mordren, William thought, fooling himself to believe my enemies are his friends. Does he not see that he is just their pawn? Does he not see that they will certainly move in as soon as he takes over, especially with an army weakened by a war with my men? Mordren was obviously blind to it. He is too caught up in the rapture of conquering me and ruling my subjects, William thought. He does not know who his enemies are, or, William thought of himself, his friends.
“Has he sent word?” William had turned to his chief consult.
“No, sir. Not yet. His men, however, appear prepared to bring the fight tonight.”
“How long have they been moving?”
“Our scouts tell us they set out this morning.”
“They’ve been traveling all day, and he is prepared to bring them to battle tonight?” William asked.
“Yes, sir.” His consult knew the story of Mordren. He knew the man still behaved like a young child. “One might think they would have just been led to their slaughter, sire.”
William again weighed his options. If I surrender, no one will die, other than the possibility of me. If we fight, my own army will be weakened, opening me up to attack from my true enemies, but we will most certainly defeat Mordren. And, then what do I do with him? If mother were watching this from her perch in Heaven, she would be dying a hundred more deaths. Father. What would father do? He wondered. Father would have him killed. Father wouldn’t hesitate. He could never control Mordren. If I were to slip away, I could live. Mordren would take control of the kingdom without a drop of blood shed. Then, perhaps I could return when things begin to unravel. Would he give me the kingdom back? No. He would never admit to his failure. My mother would wish for me to attempt to talk sense into him. But, I have tried that.
Father. Father would kill him.
Outside, William could hear the drumbeats of Mordren’s army. When he looked back out the window, he could no longer see them. Their torches had been extinguished. Perhaps, Mordren was going to begin the battle without consulting with him first. He was not allowing William to talk him out of it. In the distance, near the river, he could see one group of torches. Probably Mordren. Those who held them were on horseback. They were moving swiftly toward the castle walls. As the glow from their fires moved closer, William could begin to make out a banner. Obviously Mordren. Superfluous. Needy. Insecure. Unproven.
When they reached the walls, they stopped.
“William,” it was Mordren, he was sure, though his voice was muffled.
“Take your helmet off, you fool,” William said out loud.
After a moment of silence, he replied, “I am here brother.” His voice was terse, proud, and noble.
“Have you considered your options?”
“There are no options, brother.”
“Hand me the kingdom that you know is truthfully mine,” he took a breath. “And, no one will die.”
“I would if I could brother. But, I don’t own a kingdom that is truthfully yours.”
“You are the bastard son, William. You know that,” Mordren’s voice showed anger, impulsivity.
Mordren had attempted this line with him before, swearing to him that William had been born when their father had been off fighting wars, obviously proving that his birth was not as a result of the union between the Queen and her King. William had never questioned it. He knew his true father was the man who had been the King before him. That was the man who raised him. And, his mother loved him. This accusation was just one of Mordren’s many stories he liked to fabricate. Mordren’s mistake was that the story burned at the love, the honor, of William’s mother.
“Through your accusations, Mordren, the lady they called the Queen before us, is no longer your mother.” A silence swept through the castle and the lands surrounding it. “And, I am no longer your brother.” William raised his right hand to his chief consult. The word was given, and the bedlam that was to follow had been set in motion. Nothing could stop it now.
Seconds later, thousands of arrows flew from the castle walls. Screams could be heard in the dark of the night. The battle had begun. William’s decision had been made.
The king looked out the window and could see the lights that accompanied Mordren on the way in had been extinguished. He imagined his brother was now fleeing back through his army. He would have been a fool to stay. William could now make out a battering ram being rolled up the hill to the main entrance of the castle. A few arrows flew from Mordren’s army into his castle walls, but they were not synchronized. William was easily seeing that Mordren’s men were disorganized and not well led.
He heard the command given again and thousands of arrows made their way into the men below him. Many of them were directed solely on the battering ram. He heard their cries of pain and saw several of them run from the large log. It wasn’t long until its wheels began taking it the opposite direction. It rolled down the hill, took a sharp turn once it reached the bottom of it and rolled on its side, taking out several men with it.
It was beginning to become obvious that William’s army would not become as battered as he once feared. The battle looked good for them, until his consult reentered the room. “Sir, you need to come to the north wall.”
William turned and looked at him, saw the horror in his face. The two hurried out through the corridor and into the chamber on the opposite side of the great hall. William felt sick when he peered from the window high atop the north wall. An army of what looked like thousands had already amassed itself just outside of the woodline. Whether they were part of Mordren’s army, or just an opportunistic one, he did not know. “Who are they?” he asked the consult.
“They are soldiers and knights of the realm of Gordon of Willisby.”
“How did they get this close?”
The consult did not answer. It did not matter at this point. “Have we begun to shift? Have they made any demands? Does Mordren know they are here?”
The consult looked deeply into William’s eyes. “Sir,” he began slowly, “we believe they are the reason Mordren attacked.”
William shook his head and looked back out the window. The army stood poised, ready to strike when William’s had been weakened. Luckily, so far that wasn’t the case.
“Then, we shall fight,” William calmly stated and turned from the window. He returned to his chambers and stood in front of his armor. It had been years since he’d worn it, but it stood in front of him, shining, beautiful, ominous.”
With the help of his consult, he was clothed in the armor and then walked to the huge cabinet near where the armor was stationed. He pulled the two doors open. The insides were lined in black silk. In the center of the cabinet hung a single sword. It gleamed in colors of silver and gold. William bowed before it, said a prayer to the Mother Mary, then stood and gently took it from the wall of the cabinet. He turned to his consult, who was closing the cabinet doors. On the outer walls of the cabinet hung his shield. He pulled it down, turned and headed for the door to his chamber. “You can’t possibly be thinking of going outside of the castle walls can you sir?”
“I must meet with Mordren,” he responded and was gone before his consult could have a chance to talk him out of his plan.
King William could hear the sounds of battle outside the castle walls as he strode down the steps leading into the courtyard. Men and women bowed down before him when they realized who he was. The people had obviously not expected for their King to take up a sword in the battle himself.
William found his (head military leader), Sir Garrett. “Are you sending out squads to fight?” he asked him.
“We can’t send them out in large enough groups, sire. We are surrounded. It makes more sense to stay inside the walls and defend ourselves.”
“If we go on the offensive against Mordren, his men will flee.”
“We can’t chance opening the castle doors with Gordon’s men so near.”
“Whose men are in front of the doors right now?”
“Mordren’s, sire.”
“Then, this is our best chance if we are going to do it.”
Sir Garrett, knowing he wasn’t being given an option, began to devise a plan for getting as many men outside of the castle as quickly as he possibly could.
His men drew up to the door. Their horses stamped the warm earth, their eyes glistening in the light provided by the torches. The peasants had scattered to within the castle walls, knowing full well that the doors were about to be opened.
“Stand by,” screamed Garrett. “On my command!” There was a long pause, then thousands of deep screams followed his command, “Open the gates!” The knights and soldiers poured from the castle. About three hundred were released and the doors were then successfully closed. Mordren’s men had not expected an offensive from the castle. Nor had Gordon’s. Mordren’s men moved back immediately. Gordon’s men, even though they were on the opposite side of the castle, stopped fighting momentarily when they realized what the commotion was. That gave William’s men time enough to regroup and reload from within the castle walls and launch another attack of arrows and balls tossed from catapults. William’s men split, one group moving in a circle to the right of the castle, the other to the left. As they moved around the castle, they also moved forward on Mordren’s men. William led a small group of knights through a weak path of Mordren’s men. He took them to the hill overlooking the far reaches of the river. It was where he and Mordren had played together as children. He knew he would be there.
He was right. In a tight group at the top of the hill was a group of horsemen, surrounding Mordren. They offered no resistance. When he reached the crest of the hill, William turned around and took a quick look toward his castle. The last of Mordren’s men were retreating back toward the river. There, they would be trapped and William’s men would await word from him whether to let them go or make them pay.
“Mordren,” William called.
“Yes, brother.” Mordren didn’t look in William’s direction, just toward the castle, never blinking.
“You have made a mistake.”
“Yes, brother.” The words almost choked Mordren.
When William rode up to Mordren, his men separated easily and allowed him through. “When will I be able to trust you again, Mordren?”
His brother did not answer.
“What will it be, Mordren? Can I trust your men to help me attack Gordon’s army? Or, do you want the kingdom to belong to him?”
Mordren still did not answer.
“Who are these men you have brought? Have you hired them from foreign lands? Do they show you any loyalty?”
Finally, Mordren spoke, “They show me loyalty.”
“They are now stuck at the river. My men are ready to put an end to them. Are you going to give the sensible command? Or, shall I give mine?”
A long pause passed between the two. Then, Mordren spoke. “My men will travel along the river and set up in the caves to the north. Your men will run Gordon’s that way. We will trap them between our two armies.”
“Good,” William replied. Then, before turning toward his men, said, “Mordren, look at me.” Mordren looked his direction. “I can trust you.” Those in the vicinity close enough to hear what he had said could not tell whether it was a question or a statement, but either way, both men nodded at each other and William took off toward the castle with his men in tow. And, Mordren headed toward his men at the river.
When he reached the castle, William felt young again. He raised his sword above his head and hollered at his troops. They heard him and waved their weapons back in his direction. William’s horse surged forward, and he led the attack. Arrows flew on both sides of him, but none found their mark. Within moments, his men were pushing through Gordon’s and the enemy army had drawn back.
Once they reached the hills and the caves, they were trapped as Mordren’s men fought a glorious battle, firing on them from behind sturdy cover and attacking them in pockets. William had never had such a great feeling of pride and camaraderie as when his forces joined with Mordren’s.
By sunrise, Gordon’s men had scattered and William’s were picking up the tattered pieces of his and Mordren’s army. They had fought a brave battle, but now they needed rest. None had the energy to discuss what would be come of William’s brother and his army, they just wanted to enjoy the victory together and hope that they would never have to face another battle like the one of the past night again.
In the clearing near the castle, brother met brother. “It was a hard fought victory, Mordren.”
Mordren just nodded, a look of shame crept across his face.
“I appreciate your efforts, brother.”
“I am ashamed.”
“You need not be.” The two rode back to the castle’s gatehouse, side by side. “We shall work together. The two of us will rule this kingdom. I may be king, but only by birthright. You are still my brother and royal blood courses your veins.”
A smile found its way to Mordren’s face.
“I may be the king. But, as you know, I am not perfect. I will need your help.”
Mordren stopped at the castle’s gate, turned around and looked at the littered battlefield. Above he and William, the sun rose atop the trees, settling its light in the nooks and crannies of all portions of their kingdom, and Mordren and William turned their horses and rode through the castle gate together.
“Weadle. I said, ‘Weadle’. Let’s go.” Billy snapped awake. How long have I dreamed this time, he wondered. The dean was standing in the doorway to his office, motioning for Billy to come inside. He stood up and his knees buckled slightly with the head rush he’d just given himself. Wiping the small bit of drool from the side of his chin, he walked by Mr. Craig and into his office.
The dean’s office smelled of rubbing alcohol. Every paper looked to be in its place and the man’s meticulous attention to detail shone through in every facet of the tiny room. Billy had never made it this far before, into the man’s office, but it didn’t surprise him that the room unveiled his penchant for being a neat freak.
“So, what happened?” Mr. Craig began.
Billy looked at the floor and chose not to respond.
“Look, if you don’t tell me, I’m going to have to suspend you too.”
“It was a misunderstanding,” Billy said.
“About what?” The man was now squeezing a tennis ball that he’d pulled from Billy didn’t know where.
“Steve’s girlfriend.”
“What about her?”
“He thought I did something to her, but I didn’t.”
“Put the paper in her hair?”
“I didn’t do that.”
“Who did?”
Billy knew better than to answer that. “I don’t know,” he said after a hesitation.
“If you can’t tell me, I have to assume it was you.”
Billy’s head snapped up and he made eye contact with him for the first time. “Why do you have to assume it was me?”
“Because you won’t tell me who did it.”
“That makes no sense. For starters, I didn’t do it, and secondly, I didn’t fight Steve- he just beat the snot out of me.” Billy trailed off with the last of his words, realizing that he was actually taking a stand for himself and he felt very lonely as he did it. His head was back to its original position, bowed down, making him look defeated.
The man didn’t say anything. Billy could only hear the sound of the air conditioner overhead and the tennis ball being squeezed in and out, in and out.
Finally, the man spoke. “Guess you’ve got a point.” Billy was shocked. He looked up at the man and saw he was now scribbling something on the referral that had been written on him. “Give this to Mrs. Sally,” he said. “Go back to class.”
Billy walked out of his door and handed the paper to Mrs. Sally. “Does this mean I’m not suspended or anything?”
She looked at the paper, “Nope, guess not.”
Billy looked relieved. “You can go back to class,” she said. Then, his face turned pale again. The thought of going back among “his royal subjects”, though as humorous as Mrs. Sally had tried to make it sound, made his stomach turn and ache. There was nowhere in the world, he thought, that he’d less like to go.
8
Time passed slowly the next few days. Billy felt like no one wanted to get caught looking at him, much less actually talking to him. He just came and went without noticing much of anyone. Even Dottie seemed a little off, only saying hello from time to time and not much else.
He was making his way down the hall, invisible to the world, when he was overcome with a strange feeling, as if something bad were about to happen.
“Hey, Billy.”
Billy turned around and saw Suzan. A shock wave immediately pierced his heart. He stumbled through a response, then wondered what he’d said.
“I’m fine. How was your weekend?” she asked.
“Good. It was good,” he responded.
“You don’t seem too sure about that.”
“Oh,” he said, didn’t know how else to respond, then gave up.
His eyes kept darting around her head, looking at other students in the hall, looking at the floor, then the ceiling. He thought he must be making himself look like a fool, but he didn’t know how to act now, not since Friday’s incident with her. The look she’d given him had changed his attitude about himself, though he continued to remind himself who he was and not allow himself to get too big of a head. But, it was true that she’d made him feel very good. He’d been happy most of the weekend, regardless of Friday’s events and he had enjoyed being at school without Steve there for a few days. But, now that he was actually confronted with the source of his happiness, he didn’t know how to respond. Actually, that was not true. He knew how to respond. He just couldn’t do it correctly. He was very nervous. He’d tried to convince himself that she was just being nice, that there was no way a girl like her could be interested in a boy like him. But, there was still that inkling of hope embedded deep in his soul that maybe, just maybe a girl like her could actually be interested in a boy like him. It wasn’t probable, but it could be possible. Just, maybe.
“I told my mom all about your story. She thought it was a fantastic idea. She wants to read it,” Suzan said. Billy laughed at the thought. “No, I’m serious,” she tried again.
“S-sure- I guess,” Billy said. This was too strange, he thought. He tried to think of something clever to say, but could come up with nothing. Finally, he set his books down and started to rummage through his folders to look for it.
Then, he was jerked back into the present when he heard a familiar voice. “Why are you talking to him?” Steve Worthy asked, back from his suspension.
Billy looked up. Steve looked exceptionally tall from this vantage point. His heart leapt and he wondered how well he’d survive this encounter. He still had a sore on the inside of his mouth from where one of his teeth had become embedded in his cheek when Steve had hit him.
“Steve, we’ve had this conversation. You know as well as I do he wasn’t to blame for all of that,” Suzan said.
“You said you felt sorry for him, not that you were going to be his new best friend,” Steve stopped, then reconsidered with a smile, “I mean his only friend.” Then, as if on cue, Billy heard a voice from behind him.
“What’s going on Billy?” Dottie. Billy closed his eyes and wished he could vanish.
“Oh,” Steve said, “I’d forgotten about this freak.” Dottie came closer. “You’re little Billy’s friend, aren’t you, freak?” he said.
Billy stood up. The look on his face showed his discomfort. “Oh, my, my,” Dottie replied. “What color is the kettle, Steven?” Her humor was too deep for Worthy and he grabbed Suzan by the arm, turned her around and said, “Come on, babe. We gotta go.”
Billy looked at the floor and shuffled his feet slightly.
Suzan looked back at him, and as if in defiance of her boyfriend, said, “It’s okay, Billy. I’ll get it from you in Gringle’s class.”
Billy and Dottie watched the backs of the school’s most popular couple as they walked away from them.
“Get what?” Dottie asked. “No, never mind,” she said on second thought. “I don’t want to know.”
“A story, Dottie. Just a story. We were partners in Gringle’s class on Friday and she liked my story,” he tried to summarize it in the two seconds he knew Dottie would give him.
“Oh, really William?” Billy hated it when she called him that. “Shall I write Grisham and warn him that there arises from the ashes a new fangled writer, one who poses a challenge to the common everyday author. I can see him shaking in his Hush Puppies now.”
“Shut up,” Billy responded.
“Clever. Shall I write that down? You are-”
“Leave me alone, Dottie,” Billy interrupted her. Then, he turned to walk away from her. “Why do you hate me so much?” he asked as an afterthought.
When he was out of hearing, she responded with a frown, “I don’t.”
Then, he surprised her by turning back around and hollering at her, “See you at lunch?”
“Yep,” Dottie replied. “See you at lunch,” and she watched him walk away from her to his first period class.
When he walked by the plate-glass window in the hallway, the sun shone on him. She could have sworn she saw something white envelop his whole body, like he was being hugged by something, or more accurately, by someone. Blowing it off as one of those unexplained things that happens all the time that no one gets worked up about, she turned around, and walked off to class herself.
At home that evening Billy hoped he’d be able to get through making dinner, eating, and wrapping his father’s in tin foil before the beast got home. He was two-thirds of the way through his quest when he heard the door open.
“How’s it going?” Billy asked him without turning around.
“Fine,” he replied, tossing his briefcase on the table and walking past him, headed for the living room and the television. Dan Rather was wrapping up the nightly news with a story about the Coast Guard’s struggles with piracy off the coast of Florida when he sat down. Billy made his way in and handed him the plate of spaghetti and meatballs.
“Hope this is okay. It’s been done for a while.”
“It’s a little cold,” he said, taking a bite. “Why don’t you warm it up?”
Billy took it back from him and headed for the kitchen. “And, get me some milk, too,” his father ordered. His voice was gruff and tired sounding.
When Billy returned with the reheated plate and milk, his father took it from him and said, “What kind of trouble did you get in today?”
“None.” Billy looked away from him and watched the television. A coast guard member was boarding a yacht, holding a criminal-type at bay with a pistol.
“Did you do your homework?” his father asked.
Billy didn’t respond, listening instead to the commentary about how the pirates pull up alongside other smaller ships and take whatever they can from the unsuspecting weekend sailors.
“Look at me,” his father demanded. When Billy did, the man was looking at him through one eye, the other was tilted down toward the plate, squinting for some unknown reason. He chewed with his mouth open and as he talked, bits of spaghetti and sauce flew from his lips. “I said, Did you do your homework?”
“Yes,” Billy said, knowing his father would never check.
“Don’t make me have to come up to that school,” he finished, as some sort of threat. Billy was almost certain that this was also one that he would never carry out.
Having had enough Billy turned his back to the television as Dan Rather closed the report with statistics showing the rise in piracy on the Atlantic Coast over the last decade. He smoothly exited the living room and headed for his room, hoping that his father would rinse his plate of the spaghetti sauce before placing it in the sink. Along with everything else, he hated scrubbing dishes when they were caked with dried tomato sauce.
He slowly trod into his room, closed the door, lay down on his bed and was asleep only seconds after his head hit the pillow.
****************************************************************
Salty mist hit him as he came topside. It had been twenty days since they’d left home and there had been no sight of land since. His clothing, a gray rag for a shirt and blue pants that came to just below his knees, smelled awful. Many men lay sprawled out on the decks, sick from the storm of the night before. He looked up to the sails, saw they were all up, none looked torn, and decided they must have made it through it okay.
“Hey, watch where you’re a goin’,” a man said to him when he tripped over his feet, lying on the deck. The man’s words were all slurred together and Billy was by no means threatened by him, but he responded as though he were, apologizing profusely. He found the best way to deal with this man’s type was to make them believe he was scared of them. Generally, they left him alone after that. And, he wasn’t concerned that they had no respect for him. These men had no respect for anyone, so he wouldn’t waste time or energy attempting to gain it.
He found a spot on the rail and stood against it, looking out into the open sea. Not far below him, a single fin rose from the surface of the water. He recognized it as a shark, a rather large one, then another surfaced and another and another. Billy figured they must be in the Caribbean. That was the only place he’d ever heard tell of so many sharks.
Near the bow of the ship he caught a glimpse of something in the water. There it was again. And, again. It was schools of fish, jumping from and skimming along the surface of the water. They’d fly through the air for a short distance and then dive back in. He couldn’t believe his eyes when they told him the fish had wings, actual wings. Could it be that they were truly flying? He’d never seen anything like it.
“What’cha doin’ on the rail? There’s work to be done.” Billy heard the gruff voice and turned slowly, expecting to truly give this man as little reverence as he did the last, while pretending to bow down to him. But, when he turned around, his body stiffened. He saw the single patch over the right eye, the crisp blue jacket and the beard that ran in braids to his belt.
“Aye, Captain,” Billy scrambled in the direction the ship’s captain pointed. As he ran, he felt a smart rap on the back of his left shoulder. Captain Havin had smacked him with his cane. Some say the cane was made partially from the bones of his old enemies. Whatever, it had a sharp tip that jutted out from the upper end of it in a Y shape. No one ever wanted to feel the wrath of that point. Billy heard that many a man had been cut severely with it, although he’d never actually seen it happen himself.
When he was far enough forward of the captain, he picked up a bit of a rag from a wash bucket and pretended to begin washing the inner side of the rail on the starboard side of the bow. He wondered how long he’d make it before someone told him to stop and get to work on some other job. The crew really seemed disorganized and undisciplined to him, but they cowered in fear of Captain Havin, which was enough to keep the ship afloat. Billy’s greatest fear was that someone would realize that he shouldn’t be on the ship to begin with. He hoped that if he just kept working, nothing would be said to him.
Following a few minutes, he was startled when men near him began running aft. As he looked to the others on the deck, he saw they were all looking over the port side. He walked to the opposite rail and held his hand over his forehead, shading his eyes from the sun. There, on the horizon, was another ship. It didn’t look to be much larger than theirs. Billy wondered why the men had such an interest in it. He was confused even more when the Captain ordered the helmsman to turn their ship hard to the port side. It appeared to Billy that he wanted to head in the direction of the other ship, but he didn’t understand why. He was under the assumption that they were heading for the Caribbean Islands and they would be there in a few days. He wondered why they would slow their voyage down by going after another ship.
Billy was snagged from his contemplation when he was grabbed hard from behind. The man held Billy’s shoulder in his hand with the grip of a crocodile. Billy tried to wiggle away, but he couldn’t possible free himself.
“What’cha doin’, mate?”
Billy didn’t answer.
“Who are ya’?”
Still, Billy didn’t answer. He had been taken by surprise and left speechless. Different answers started running through his head. None of them seemed adequate. He wished he’d thought about the story he’d give before now if he got caught.
“I asked ya’ who ye are.” The sailor shook Billy hard with each word.
“I-I-I…”
“Stop stutterin’ ya’ blubbering fool.” Again, he shook Billy and his grip only seemed to get tighter.
“My name is Andrew-“
“Where ye’ from, Andrew?”
“P-Portsmouth, sir,” he wish he’d chosen a different city as soon as he’d said it.
“Portsmouth? How’d you get to Havanna?”
“Portsmouth is only my birthplace, sir.” Billy’s voice shook as he spoke.
“Only yer birthplace, ‘ey? I’ve a mind to-“ The man was interrupted by a booming voice coming from the quarterdeck. Apparently whoever called him had more authority than he did because he let go of Billy’s shoulder and tossed him against the rail.
“Jim,” the sailor called to a man a few feet down the rail, “Hold onto this one. He looks a little suspicious to me.”
The other man lost interest in Billy as soon as his accoster walked off. Billy took advantage of this lapse and headed below decks where he thought he could do a better job of hiding. As he made his way to the ladderwell, he studied the man’s back. He couldn’t forget it. The man had nearly scared him to death and next time he must be more prepared for him. He wouldn’t forget the white cotton shirt the man wore, nor the shiny glare from his bald head. Billy could see in the man’s left ear was a piercing. Oddly enough, it appeared to be a bone that looked like it had just been jabbed through his lobe. No, he knew he could never forget that.
Once he’d gotten below decks he was alarmed to see the crew loading the heavy guns with cannonballs. “What is going on,” he wondered. Finally, the thought occurred to him that they would be attacking the ship he’d seen. The need to know why raced through his mind. The ship couldn’t possibly be English. As a matter of fact it looked like a Spanish galleon from what he’d seen. Why would these men attack another Spanish ship? Then, it hit him like a ton of rocks. He hadn’t seen a Spanish flag flying from the ship. None of the men spoke of the King or Queen. Their lack of discipline. Their disorganization. The evidence stacked up. And, he came to the realization as the cannons fired a deafening roar. He was on a pirate ship.
He ran back to the upper decks to escape the noise. They had already come nearly up against the other ship. It was definitely a Spanish ship. Their cannonballs had placed large holes in its hull and ripped two of their riggings. The ship had sustained quite a bit of damage on this, the first wave of attacks. In just moments, they would be up alongside it and the pirates would board her. They were a fierce lot and Billy had no doubt they’d win her easily.
The sound of drums rolled off of the other ship. Billy covered his ears and tried to find somewhere to hide. There were soldiers on the other ship and they were valiantly firing back. Cannonballs from the galleon where now piercing the hull of Billy’s ship. He wondered why these pirates were attacking a ship that seemed to be its equal, especially one that could inflict the same amount of damage it was capable of receiving. He kept poking his head up above the rail. The galleon must be reloading he thought, but the pirate ship was now firing. More holes blew into the side of the galleon. Billy tried to hold his ears to cover the noise, and try as he may, he could not keep his eyes closed. He had to see what was going on. The ship came even with the galleon and the pirates jumped from rail to rail. Their swords glimmered in the sunlight as they fell into the opposite ship. The soldiers fired at them with their muskets, but once their single shots were through, they had to resort to their swords. It was not long before the men on the other ship were easily outnumbered. Billy would never have guessed the ship he was on held so many pirates. They must have been hiding everywhere. He could only hope the galleon had some sort of trick up its sleeve, but he could not tell.
“What are ye doing, ya’ winch?” Billy was startled when he heard the familiar gruff voice. He turned around just in time to see the bone protruding through the hole in the pirate’s ear. The man grabbed Billy by the shoulder and shook him hard. Billy tried to run, but he couldn’t even scream he was so scared, let alone manage to escape.
“N-n-nothing.”
“N-n-n-n-nothing,” the big man mocked Billy. “Ya talk like a little girl. What’s the matter with ya’? Ya’ want me to toss ya’ in to the sea? No one would miss ya’, would they?”
His point struck Billy with a deadly fierceness. Nothing the man had done to him yet hurt as badly as that comment. “No, sir.”
“At least yer’ a well mannered young lad.” The man picked Billy up rather easily. Billy could smell the nastiness of his breath. “I think I’ll do just that.” The monster pushed Billy up on the rail and took a hold of his belt. Billy could feel himself slipping toward the sea. He felt the ship rocking to and fro. He could hear the two ships banging in to each other and knew the man was just waiting for there to be a large enough gap between the two to slip him down through. Billy said nothing, but opened his eyes wide and pleaded with the pirate by staring into his eyes. Billy could have sworn the man was blind for all the attention he was giving him with his eyes. That was it! Billy was sure of it. The man wasn’t below helping with the cannons, and he wasn’t a part of the boarding party because he could barely see. He was surprised it hadn’t been that clear to him before. His left eye seemed very slow. Billy swung at the left side of the man’s head. He didn’t even flinch. The ships banged together. Billy knew this would only mean that they’d be pulling back apart momentarily. That was the precursor to his exit and he knew it. He had to do something quickly. He balled up his right fist and swung as hard as he could, striking the man in the left temple. The pirate was stunned and dropped Billy. He felt himself fall backwards, toward the sea. He grabbed for the rail. Only his fingertips separated him from his deadly fall. He dug his nails into the wooden rail and pulled hard to sit up. Just as he righted himself he saw the pirate lunging for him, holding the left side of his head. Billy dropped himself to the deck and scampered back for the hatch leading below, but he was too late. The pirate had him again. Billy felt his heavy forearm wrap around his neck. He feared the man was about to break his neck. His grip tightened and he could no longer breath. He gasped for air, prayed to the heavens, and prepared himself to die. Then, there was air. He was breathing again. His grip loosened. The pirate fell sideways. Billy, puzzled, was afraid to move. He took in gulps of air. Looked to his side, saw the man lying on the deck. A single wound to the side of his head told the tale of a bullet that had found its mark. Billy looked back to the Spanish galleon to see if he could find the man who had fired it, but then decided he didn’t care. He stepped toward the hole leading below decks. As he went down the ladderwell, he saw what he guessed was the reason for all of this. The pirates were coming back to the ship now. They lugged at least seven or eight large chests. Billy suspected it was treasure, and he guessed it was more than most ships ever carried. With this, he knew why they’d risked the safety of their own ship and their own lives. There must have been enough treasure to last them all a lifetime. And, more men were flooding out of the holds of the ships with more. Billy didn’t wait around to see more. He hurried below and found a corner in which to hide.
Once he’d found a spot, he turned his back to everyone, buried his head in the corner and placed his hands over his neck. He was scared. And, he cried. But, what young boy wouldn’t? He’d gotten on a ship to make his way back to Spain. But, he’d chosen the wrong ship.
Above him, over the calls of the pirates, he could hear a lone pirate yell out, then all was quiet. The scampering of feet above him told him, they’d found the large man who had wanted so badly to kill him. “Jack is dead,” he heard the man scream again.
So, Billy thought, his name was Jack. And, with that, Billy decided he could sit in his corner and whine until they killed him, or, he could do something. Suddenly, a new feeling crept over him. He lifted his head, sat up and looked at the dirty men in front of him, cleaning their cannons, rejoicing in their victory. Yes, he thought, he’d have to do something. But, not so fast. Think it through first. Then, get them when they least expect it.
When Billy made it back up to the upper deck, the two ships had parted ways. The galleon was listing hard to its port side and Billy knew it wouldn’t be long before it had sunk. He wondered where the soldiers who had inhabited it were, then he saw bits of uniform clothing spread throughout the water and decided he did not want to know.
The sun was high overhead now and Billy guessed it to be after noon. The treasure chests were stacked neatly in the center of the ship. Several men, including the captain, hovered around them. They had one of the chests open. Two men ran their hands through its gold coins. In all, Billy counted thirteen chests. He guessed that was the reason for the risk the captain had taken in attacking such a heavily armed ship at such close range. He’d never heard of a ship carrying quite that much treasure. And, these chests were much larger than the type he’d seen before. You could fit at least two men in each of them.
Two men were fashioning a sort of pulley and joist system above one of the gratings leading below decks while two more were removing the gratings. Soon, they’d move the treasure below. Billy wondered where they would take it. The best he could tell, they were moving north.
“You, boy,” one of the men called to him. “Give us a hand with this,” he pointed to the grating.
Billy looked behind himself to be sure they were talking to him.
“Hurry up!” the man commanded.
He moved quickly to the two men and grabbed the third side of the grating. Together, the three picked it up out of its frame and set it to the side.
Just as quickly as they’d ordered him to assist them, the two dismissed him, ignoring him as though he were not even there.
Billy waited around to see how the pulley system would work. Once the men had finished engineering it, they set it in motion, loading the first chest into a net of strong ropes and lowering it below. Under him, the pirates went to work loosening it from its net and moving it aside, placing it in the hold.
About an hour later, the last of the chests had been dropped below. The men, hot and tired, sat aside to rest.
“Boy,” one with a red rag on his head called to Billy, “drag the grating back over the hole.”
Billy did as he was told, reaching for the grating, but he found it to be much too heavy. “Come on, boy. Ain’t ya’ stronger than that?”
“Oh, I’ll help ‘im,” a pirate Billy had not yet noticed said. The man had scars all along his right shoulder. His arm looked like it was almost useless, but when he grabbed the grating, Billy saw that he was more than capable of making use of it. Together, the two were able to drag it back across the deck. It dropped right down over the hole. They didn’t bother securing it with the screws the men had originally taken out of it. He assumed they probably didn’t care whether they were put back in. They’d just be taking them back out soon enough.
“Come here, boy,” the pirate wearing the red rag called to him.
Billy’s eyes widened. He shook inside. He did not want this much attention.
“What’s yer’ name?”
Billy didn’t answer him at first. “I said come ‘ere, boy,” the man ordered him closer.
“Can’t you speak?”
“Yes, sir,” Billy finally replied.
“I asked ya’ yer’ name.”
“B-Billy, sir.”
“What are ya’ doin’ on our ship, B-Billy?” the man mocked him as the other large pirate had done. Billy reminded himself that the other large pirate was now dead. A part of him felt bad for that.
Billy didn’t answer.
“I asked ya’ what yer’ doin’ on our ship,” red-rag head asked again.
“He was with that big lug,” a pirate on the opposite side of the deck called. This one wore no shirt either, but the pants he had on were of fine silk, obviously stolen, Billy assumed.
“What big lug?”
“You know. The big man- what with had the bone straight through his ear lobe,” nice pants said.
“Oh, so you was with Mighty Joe were ya’?”
Not thinking, Billy slowly nodded his head.
“Didn’t know him well,” red rag head said. “No one did. Just joined us in the harbor.”
Billy nodded again, trying to hide his fear.
“They say he was a good man- back there on their docks. We let him ride. He had quite a history, come to tell.”
Billy finally mustered up courage. “I-I’ll miss him.”
Red rag head stared at Billy, making him uncomfortable. The pirate didn’t know what to think. Nor did Billy. Did they know, Billy wondered. They couldn’t possibly believe he was with that ugly pirate. Could they?
“Well,” rag head said, “stick with us. You’ll be sure to see him again someday.” With that, he laughed and ran his forefinger across his throat. The others joined him in a chorus of gruff cacophony.
Billy tried to conjure up a laugh, too. It came out fake, forced. But, they’d bought it. He’d survived so far. Only time would tell what the remainder of his fate would be.
Later in the day, Billy watched as the sun and moon exchanged places in the sky. He could tell the ship was moving slowly, steadily north. There wasn’t much wind, so they weren’t moving all too quickly. Most of the men on the ship had gone to sleep both above decks and below. Some men had lost their sleeping quarters below when they’d brought the treasure on. Billy couldn’t sleep at all. He’d tried off and on, but his nerves wouldn’t allow it.
Hidden in a cranny below decks in the forward portion of the ship, he lay curled up, without much room when he felt something fuzzy brush past his left leg. There was no light for him to see what it was and his heart jumped. About a thousand possible creatures rushed through his mind. He wondered if it could be a scorpion that he’d heard so much about. He braced himself for its painful sting. Whatever it was now nestled itself into his belly. Dare he touch it? He decided it was too large to be a scorpion, but too small to be one of the novelty animals he’d seen on the ship earlier, a monkey, a small dog. Then, it struck him as a long thin tail rubbed against his bare leg. It was a rat. The fear began to leave his body, but the remnants of adrenaline still floated through him. Many people were deathly afraid of rats back home, but he wasn’t too concerned by them. He wasn’t about to try to scare it away. It wouldn’t hurt him if he didn’t try to hurt it. Besides, he thought, maybe he’d found his only friend.
He sat up and reached into his pocket. Inside it, he found the remnants of cheese and bread left over from his dinner. He broke up a bit of the bread and placed it in front of the rat’s mouth. The furry creature immediately gobbled it up. Billy was sure the pirates would scold him if they saw him feeding a rat, so he tried to be as discreet as possible.
Billy stretched, being careful not to scare his new friend, and stood up. The rat stayed right at his feet, sniffing around for more food. Billy leaned over, gently picked him up and took him above decks with him, being careful not to kick any of the pirates sleeping on the decks as he went.
When he reached the rail, he was startled by an eerie voice, “You there. What are you up to at this hour of the night?”
Billy turned and saw an old sea-man about ten yards down the rail from him. “Just couldn’t sleep, sir,” he said, keeping his voice down so as not to wake anyone. He carefully slipped his rat into his pocket, not wanting to be caught with the rodent.
The man looked at him suspiciously, but then turned around and walked forward, Billy assumed back to his post.
He was startled again when he heard the clanging noise that signaled the turning of the hourglass, an act that occurred every hour. Billy guessed it was nearly time for everyone to wake up. The best he could figure, it was five in the morning, or, perhaps, just four.
Only about a half-hour later, the sun began rising above the horizon. The endless snoring he was hearing started tapering off and he heard some activity below decks. The rat he that had come to him in the night was still lingering around his feet. He thought it would be dangerous to let the pirates see him befriending the creature, so he picked him up and started to slip him in his pocket. Only, he didn’t make it into his pocket. He jumped from Billy’s hands and scampered along the rail and then made it to the deck. Billy chased after him, not even considering the repercussions if he were to disturb someone while chasing after a rat.
The two zig-zagged back and forth along the upper decks and then the rat darted down into the first ladderwell. Billy followed him there and lost sight of him as he disappeared under a hatch leading into a room that he’d only seen the ship’s captain and the lead helmsman enter. Billy pulled up when he reached the door, laid his hand on the handle to open it, then stopped to think. He didn’t know for sure whether this was a room he was allowed to enter. No one, however, seemed to be awake in the direct vicinity of him, nor did anyone seem to care that he looked as though he were about to enter it. He took his chances and quietly turned the handle and pushed the door open.
Inside were two massive tables. On one was a large map. A candle burned inside a lantern placed next to it. The candle was sputtering and appeared as though it was about to go out. On the other table, pushed against the opposite wall, lay the lead helmsman, his upper body spread out on top of it. His body rested on a stool which seemed to tip back and forth with the rocking of the ship. The helmsman snored heavily and appeared to be out cold.
A tiny squeak came from the other table. Billy’s adrenaline rose, shocked his heart and sped toward his belly. He was shaky and felt sick. Then, he was startled again when he heard a click from behind him. He turned slowly and realized the door had shut quietly from the rocking of the ship. Looking back to the table, he smiled as he saw the rat peer out at him from behind the lantern. Billy slowly walked to the table, being careful not to brush up against the helmsman on his way.
He held out his hand, exposing a bit of bread to which the rat quickly scurried. Billy took him by the back, lifted him from the table while not disturbing his morning snack and cupped him in both hands. As he did so, his eyes glanced over the map and he noticed a path drawn on it.
“This must be where we’ve been,” Billy whispered to his friend. He placed his finger on the map and traced a direct shot up to an island which had been circled in red. “And, this is where we are going.” The island was a mere speck on the map. He wondered that anyone had marked it at all on such an official looking map. Beside the island was marked its name, each of the letters appearing larger than the dot that marked its location. The letters were D-i-a-b-l-o. Billy tried to commit them to memory. He traced his finger back to the tip of the line which marked their path. Then, he heard the candle begin to spit. It’s flame flickered back and forth. He knew it was about to go out. In the room with the door shut, he knew it was about to become incredibly dark. He whirled about and tried to make his way to the exit. As he turned, he bumped into something. The room went dark. He panicked. His foot caught and he couldn’t move it, then the object on which he was stuck moved. The helmsman. Fear shot through him. He nearly dropped the rat, then he pushed forward, hoping to find the door handle in the dark.
“Wh-… what, who there,” he heard the helmsman’s voice, groggy from his interrupted sleep.
Billy ran into the wall, slapped his hand against it and began feeling for the doorknob.
He heard the helmsman shift and sit up. He felt the hinges, quickly moved his hands two feet to the left and smacked his wrist into the doorknob.
“Who’s there?” The helmsman was now fully awake, and, Billy could tell, standing up.
Billy turned the knob, opened the door a small bit and slid through, turning as he did so, shutting it behind him.
He jumped down the small passageway and into the open hull. Pirates lay about the decks. He found an empty spot just near the opening leading back into the passageway and dropped to the floor just as the door to the map room opened. Billy closed his eyes, then cracked one open. Through the passageway he could see the silhouette of the helmsman, lit up by the sunlight pouring down into the ladderwell from overhead. He stomped into the hull and stopped even with Billy.
“Get up,” he heard him command. He was standing only about two feet from where Billy lay. Billy could see he was harassing a sailor lying on the deck with his back to the passageway. “Someone just came through here,” his gruff voice proclaimed. “Did you see him?” Billy heard the weak reply offered by the sailor.
Then, he stepped nearer to Billy. The rat tickled the palms of his hands. Billy held his eyes tightly shut. Then, felt a boot fly into his belly. He expelled the air from his lungs. He realized he’d been holding his breath since he’d dropped to the floor. His belly aching, he sat up. Not quickly enough, he thought. He tried to look more surprised, more shocked. “You, boy. Did you see the man that made his way out of that room?”
Billy squeezed the rat tightly. He shook inside, tried to hide his fear. “No, sir. No- not at-all.”
The helmsman bent down to Billy’s eye level. Billy could feel the warmth of his nasty breath on his cheeks. He tried not to squirm. The light was weak here and Billy knew the helmsman could barely make out the details of his face, could barely tell his eyes were bloodshot, teary, scared. “What’s that you’ve got in your hands?”
Billy looked down and realized he still held the rat. He opened his hands. “Oh, sir,” he tried not to let his fear show. “’tis my pet.”
Without warning, quick as lightning, the helmsman straightened up, and swung his arm in a downward motion, striking the rat from Billy’s hands. He heard him slam into the bulkhead across the hull. A faint squeak came from it when Billy heard a second thud, presumably created by the rat hitting the deck.
Billy pulled back, moved like a lobster away from the hulk of a man, but like a flash, he’d moved on, down the hull and Billy could hear him harassing someone else. By this time the pirates were all stirring in the hull, many of them were awake and sitting up. The helmsman began shouting, “That’s right. Someone was in my room. And, I’ll find out who it was be snoopin’ around.” The pirates grunted and snarled at him. “Fuss if you like, but your neck will become well acquainted with the sharp end of my cutlass.” The fussing stopped. “I’ll take care of the likes of you. I’ll find out who ye’ are.”
Billy sat frozen. He dared not draw any more attention to himself. Then, just as quickly as he’d entered, the helmsman disappeared through the hull and up the ladderwell on the opposite end.
Billy scurried over to the opposite bulkhead when the pirates began to mill about, when he thought it was safe to move without drawing too much attention. There, on the deck, was his friend, scared, but not too badly injured. Billy picked him up, cupped him in his hands, leaned his back to the wall and slid down to the deck. There he rested, trying to hide himself, his knees bent up to his chin. He hoped no one would ever notice him again.
Later, when everyone was milling about, looking busy, Billy decided it was time for him to move too, lest he be told to do something when someone thought he looked to just be lounging.
“Let’s get up,” he said to the rat. “What should we name you?” he asked him as he pulled him from his pocket. “I think I shall name you *&*&*&*&,” he said with a smile.
Billy found his way up the ladderwell leading to the upper deck. The sun was shining full and bright, now. Just as he made it to the top of the stairs, he thought he noticed something on the horizon. It was just a speck, but could it be another ship? His questions were quickly answered when he heard shouts coming from the lookouts position on top of the main mast.
The pirates on the rails strained their eyes to see the ship, but many of them were too near-sighted to make it out. Billy lost it for a while himself. Then, it fluttered back into view, then out again. It must be a long ways away, he thought.
He heard the captain speak with the helmsman, “Get us a little closer to it. I want to see what it is that’s out there.”
“Aye, Cap’n,” the helmsman responded.
Billy could feel their vessel turning, heading in the other ship’s direction. There were fair winds and the ship bounced along the waves. The ocean spilled its mist into Billy’s face and he was amazed to see how quickly they gained on the other ship. As they pulled closer to it he could tell that it was a much larger vessel. On its sails were the marks of the Spanish Armada. He guessed it was some sort of military ship and he longed to be on it. He lamented again about the bad luck that guided him into picking this ship to take him back to Europe. His mother had always said that he made bad choices, and, he guessed he’d proven her correct again from her perch in Heaven.
He was sure they would not go any closer to the ship. They’d probably pushed it by getting this close. Billy turned back around and saw Captain *(*(*( looking through his spyglass. He then made a motion with his hand toward the helmsman to turn the ship back around. Apparently, they’d gotten close enough. Some of the pirates let out groans when they felt the ship turn. They were aching for a fight. It would be a bit much, Billy thought, to overtake two ships in such a short period.
He wondered if the Spanish ship could catch them if it intended to. Then, he looked to the horizon and noticed the sun was beginning to set. They’d spent the entire day chasing the ship down. And, now, Captain (*(*(* would have the cover of darkness to make his escape from it.
Billy looked back to the Spanish ship, which was getting smaller in the distance, then looked at the side of his own ship. He wondered if those small boats could carry him to the Spanish vessel. His mind began to go to work.
In his pocket he could feel his friend begin to move around. He took the rat out and cupped it in his hands. He’d have to find it food, or it would want to go out on its own. He guessed that there were hundreds of rats in the hull of the ship and they probably had some source of food, but he was unsure exactly where he would go. He took a walk down in to the ship’s hull again. There, he found pirates sitting around on the decks, playing cards, talking, and drinking in small groups. He sat down on his own and tried to think about ways to get off the ship and on to the Spanish galleon. As he thought, he stared at a pirate, presumably passed out on the deck, lying with his back to him. He wondered what that man would look like floating in the waters right now. Then, the thought struck him. A man overboard. Would this band of unruly men stop if they knew one of their own had fallen in? Would they care enough to go pull him out? Could that be his way off the ship?
He set to work, looking for clothing that could be seen in the water at dusk. He found a shirt and lying in a corner in which a group of men slept each night. He assumed one of them had just left it there. He discreetly bent over and picked it up, stuffing it up into his own shirt.
He walked unnoticed to the lower deck and moved about the cannons. Finding nothing to help his cause, and realizing his pet was now getting very hungry, he reached into his pocket, grabbed him and set him down on the deck. “Go on, big guy. You can go.” The rat scurried away. Then, Billy was struck by an idea. He hurried after the rat, remembering to be more careful this time.
The creature raced down one more deck and took Billy into a storeroom. In there, Billy saw many barrels, presumably, of food. In due time he came to one that was about the size of his chest. It was empty and appeared to be fairly well sealed. He grabbed it, thanked his friend and left it to its paradise. Making his way back up to the upper deck, he found bits of sawdust on the floor. He grabbed a broom and made like he was cleaning up a bit, accumulating a large pile of the stuff. When he was done, he pulled the shirt out, laid it out on the floor and moved the pile of sawdust onto it. He wrapped it up and carried it and the barrel back up the ladderwell.
Now, everyone was well into his bottle of rum and few noticed what he was up to, nor did they care. To them, they were all friends aboard the ship tonight.
Billy got to the upper deck and found a spot behind several barrels along the rail on the port side of the ship. He laid the shirt back out and quickly got to work. He tied knots in the ends of the sleeves and began stuffing the sawdust into them. Once done, he wrapped the shirt around the barrel and buttoned it up. It was fairly light, but he was still afraid it would not float.
“Oh, well. Here goes nothing,” he said. Checking to be sure no one was looking, he dropped the dummy into the water. It splashed, bobbed under, and after a moment that seemed to take an eternity, it emerged back to the water’s surface. He could barely see it in the waning light. Once it was a little further away, he opened his mouth to scream, but was beaten to it. The sailor on watch let loose, “Man overboard! Man overboard.”
Several pirates ran to the port side, others made their way up from the hulls, but the majority went about their business. Billy was glad of that.
He was glad to see his plan reach the next level when he saw two pirates begin to loosen the riggings for one of the small boats attached to the ships side.
The men stepped into the boat and three others began to lower them. Once they’d gone a few feet, Billy held his breath, began running for it, and jumped into it, screaming, “I’ll help you. I’ll go.”
He was met with grunts of disapproval from the men in the boat. But, Billy was beyond the stage of being scared. Pure adrenaline flowed through his veins. The men on the ship looked confused, but didn’t think to stop lowering the boat. A few minutes later, the three of them were rowing out to Billy’s overboard sailor.
The sun had officially set now, and it was very difficult to see. The three took the boat out a fair ways and began looking again for the man. One of them started hollering, “Ahoy there. Where are ye’ at. Holler so we can hear you.” Billy started hollering himself, so as to play along with their game.
A few minutes later, Billy had them where he wanted them. They were far enough out that they could just make out the light cast by the lanterns on the ship, but it was nearly impossible to see the ship itself, much less its crew members. Billy held up a lantern to light their way, then asked, “Would we be able to see further out if we doused the flame of the lantern?”
“Aye, go ahead,” one responded. Billy did as he suggested.
Then, they practically ran right into it. It was only about ten feet away from them. Billy was afraid they’d discover it was not a man too soon. One of the pirates reached over to grab for it. He leaned a bit too far and began to fall. The other man grabbed him by his belt and the two leaned forward. While they weren’t looking at him, Billy pulled an oar from the water. If he aimed it correctly, he could get both with one shot. He stood, raised the oar over his head and sent it through the air in a slicing motion. Two dull thuds reverberated through the still night air. Both men were unconscious and Billy pushed them on out. He grabbed the arms of one of the men and wrapped them around the “man.” The barrel still floated with him on it. At that time, the other pirate came to and tried to say something. Billy thought it was something to the effect that he couldn’t swim, but he didn’t stick around long enough to find out. He put the oar back in the water and began pulling his way toward the Spanish galleon. He assumed the pirate would grab hold of his partner and they would float until morning. It was too dark now for those on the pirate ship to make out what was happening, and by morning Billy expected to be long gone, hopefully, on the decks of the Spanish ship.
He began humming to himself in a short fit of elation of the battle he’d just won. He looked back to where the ship was, remembered his friend, the rat, and tossed around a simple word in his head: Diablo, devil. He’d be sure not to forget it.
It wasn’t long before his shoulders and back were killing him. The waters were fairly calm, which worked to his advantage, but rowing was still a lot of work. He found himself rowing, then stopping, resting, then rowing again. He was sure the two who went with him would not be able to make it back to the ship. And, it was too dark for the ship to be able to see him. Still, he tried to row diagonally away from the line the ship would take to its two crewmembers still stuck in the ocean. Though, he knew soon he’d have to decide which direction to take in order to come close to the Spanish galleon. He hadn’t seen it for hours. As a matter of fact, the last time he saw it was an hour or so before sunset. He hoped the ship hadn’t lost interest and moved on in the opposite direction. If that were the case, he would never find it. And, worse yet, the pirates may find him first. He shuddered to think what they would do to him if they found him now. This motivated him to row even faster and harder. He tried to laugh at his situation. There were three possible options for his future and two of them were bad.
Several hours later, his hands were on fire. Every last blister that he had accumulated had burst, leaving with it raw skin to rub against the wooden handles of the oars. From time to time, the water from the sea would splash into his tiny boat, spraying him and his wounds with salt water. The pain was agonizing, but it kept him awake. He realized it had been days since he’d gotten a decent night’s sleep and it was dragging on him now. He wanted more than anything to stop for a little bit and take a rest, but he knew he couldn’t. Doing so would certainly seal his fate. He needed to put as much distance between himself and that pirate ship by morning. More importantly, he had to find the Spanish ship.
He had pushed himself farther than he should have. His body, totally worn out, had given in and collapsed. He fell asleep, or passed out, one couldn’t be sure which, and his little boat moved on with the waves.
The moon moved over his head and back down the other side of the earth. Billy slept on, for at least a couple of hours now, his body twisted, his legs under him and the water flew up over the side of the boat and sprayed him. But, he was unaware.
A knocking. There it was again. A hard sound. His boat stopped, bounced, then rebounded. The hard knocking sound visited him again. And again, and again. The realization hit him. He opened his eyes. He sat up quickly. To his left was a wall. No, it wasn’t a wall. It was, but it wasn’t. His mind worked hard to focus. He could hear someone yelling. He looked up. A ship. The galleon. The Spanish Galleon. He’d run into it. By sheer blind luck. By the hands of a miracle, he’d run into it.
A rope was now being dropped down to him.
He stood up to grab it. The boat rocked and he fell over, almost spilling out of the boat. From his spot lying on the bottom of the boat, he grabbed the rope and used it to pull himself up. He tied it around his waist and then began pulling himself up the side of the boat.
The men eagerly pulled him over the side of the ship and he straightened himself up. He hadn’t thought about what he would say to them once he was on board.
“Who are you?”
“Where did you come from?”
“What happened to you?”
The questions came at him quickly now.
“My name is Billy Weadle,” he answered. “I came from that pirate ship.”
The men drew back from him. “The pirate ship?” they asked.
“Yes. The same that tore one of your ships apart- they stole its treasure.”
More questions flooded from the mouths of the sailors around them, then a larger man, more elegantly dressed, stepped through the crowd of sailors. “Where is the ship now?” he asked. His voice said that he was somewhat skeptical of Billy’s story.
“I’m not sure, sir,” Billy answered, “but, I’m pretty sure where they are heading. An island, they’d marked on their maps, Diablo was the name of it.”
The man squinted at Billy with his left eye and took a good hard long look at him through his right. “Fine,” he said. “Diablo. We will go there. But, this one,” he pointed at Billy, “this one, we must be careful with, lest he be a part of some trick.” The others around him began shaking their heads and muttering tones of agreement. “Chain him up,” the man said and turned around and walked forward.
The men converged around him. Their excitement to talk to him now was overtaken by their obligations to their orders. They chained him and took him below decks. There, Billy was placed in the stockade, to await his fate.
The room stunk of rotten food and urine. It was hot and the air was stale. His legs itched from the straw placed on the floor. At least they’d taken the chains off of him.
He found himself getting sick due to the conditions and the fact he couldn’t see the ocean. He didn’t realize how much he had relied on seeing the water to keep his equilibrium.
The ship creaked and groaned with each passing wave. The sailors were fairly silent and the moon hung in the night sky, illuminating the sea like a thousand candles over broken glass. Billy hadn’t heard them take the sails down, so he guessed they were still moving somewhere. He could only hope it was in the direction of El Diablo. He was sure they would be there- the pirates that is. He knew for certain they’d catch them there. His only hope was that the Spaniards would be prepared for them. He knew they’d be well-equipped, he just wasn’t sure they’d have the right mentality. He’d been on the pirate ship when it had attacked. He knew what they could be like. He knew if the Spaniards went about it indifferently, they’d surely lose. And, he knew if they lost, he’d die. The part that scared him the most was the uncertainty about how he would die. He was sure it would be painful. The funny thing was that the Spaniards acted as if they were punishing him by locking him up in this little jail. Actually, he felt more comfortable here than anywhere else. If the Spaniards felt they could intimidate him, they were also sorely mistaken. Did they not realize he’d just spent over a week on a pirate ship? If that couldn’t scare someone, he didn’t know what could. Yes, he actually felt at home there locked up in the little cell. There, he didn’t feel like anyone could get at him. Plus, he was so sure his instincts were right that he was not concerned about what they may do to him. The only thing he saw them doing to him in the near future was to declare him a hero.
Shortly after he heard the nightwatch ring a bell, he recognized activity in the ship. He guessed it was just before or just after sunrise. He could hear soldiers and sailors moving about on the deck above him and from time to time a man would scurry down the passageway nearest him.
He had difficulty making out the language they spoke. Many of the Spanish words they spoke were familiar to him, but they talked so rapidly that he had trouble keeping up. One thing he could tell for certain was that they were preparing for something important. He wondered if they were near the island. He began to think he could hear the words El Diablo spoken by them, but then, he thought he may just be imagining it. Then, he thought he heard it again.
He was leaning against the bars of the tiny cell, squatting over his ankles when the ship turned suddenly. The movement spilled him across the deck, and there he lay, sprawled out, when the ship was rocked by an explosion. At first he thought they’d been hit, but then he wondered if the commotion he heard was an offensive launched by the Galleon.
Now, it was clear to him. The words he’d heard spoken were El Diablo. And, they were on the attack. The Spanish ship was firing, reloading, and firing. Very little time elapsed between bursts of cannon fire. They were efficient. The pirate ship could never withstand this he thought. He only hoped that it was the pirate ship that was the subject of their attack. He pulled himself back up to the bars again and held on tight. This time, his feet were firmly planted on the deck. This time, he would not fall. He held on so tightly, the blood had begun to leave his knuckles. His hands were snow white with spots of red. He found himself grunting and screaming when the ship rocked, when the explosions tore through the intermittent silence. He could hear the sailors from above yelling, commanding, responding. He felt it would be over soon. The ship lurched forward. He held on. He could hear screams, then the screams stopped. He guessed the soldiers were attacking. He pictured them boarding the pirate ship in his mind. One thing he knew for certain was that the pirates were not aboard the Galleon. It was too quiet for that. It was too peaceful. He closed his eyes and prayed for the safe return of the soldiers. He hoped it would be over soon.
“Vamanos,” The command startled him. He opened his eyes, stopped praying, and stood. “Let’s go,” the sailor said, unlocking the door. Billy looked at him, confused. “Go,” he yelled.
“Okay,” he replied.
The man unlocked the chains that shackled his wrists together, grabbed him by the back and lightly pushed him forward. Billy walked toward the ladderwell leading to the upper deck, turned around, looked at the man and saw in his eyes that he was to ascend them. When he got to the main deck he could see the destruction that was the pirate ship.
“Congratulations, mate,” he heard from behind. He turned around. It was the man who had ordered him to the cell originally. “You’re either very lucky, or your story is a true one.”
Billy just smiled. His story, he felt, was difficult to believe, even for himself and he had lived it. Or, so he’d felt.
9
Billy’s legs moved but his body did not. A foggy haze surrounded him and he found an empty spot on the rail to stand and wait for the bell to ring. No one else wanted to have anything to do with him. He didn’t notice them and they didn’t notice him. After a while he looked at his watch. It was 11:25. Five minutes to go before the bell rang. He had to go to the bathroom, but there was no way he was going in there alone. They’d tear him up. He wasn’t scared of Frank or Steve, for that matter, but he wasn’t stupid. In the bathroom they did crazy things to kids. In the hallways they were bound by certain rules, not like, no hitting below the belt or anything like that. They could do things like that. Hitting anywhere was okay. But that was about the extent of it. They could call you names and things, but in the bathroom there were no rules. At all. They could do whatever they wanted, and though he could take a punch, personal embarrassment and humiliation was something of which Billy was not fond.
So, he decided he’d hold it and pray that Mrs. Gringle would let him go during English class. His physical handicap made her uncomfortable, so she felt some sense of obligation to let him get away with whatever he wanted. Billy was good at figuring out who he affected that way. He would never admit it, but he could do it the minute he met anyone new and when he sensed a weakness, he knew it opened up a whole new world to him in regards to that individual, but he rarely used it to his advantage. It was just nice to know it was available to him if he needed it to be.
He fished into the cargo pocket of his pants and pulled out a tattered copy of Frankenstein. At least there were a few minutes to engage himself in the world of the monster. He was totally engrossed within seconds. So much so, that he didn’t notice when Frank and his cronies walked up behind him. So much so that he didn’t see Frank’s hand coming. The book was snatched from him before he knew what was happening.
“What’cha reading, one arm?” Frank said, only it came out drunkenly and he staggered to and fro.
Billy didn’t know what to think of Frank at first. He knew he wanted his book back, but he didn’t want to take his eyes off of Frank. Neil Mortensen held the book above Frank’s head. He began whisking it through the air as if it were an airplane. He flew it close to Billy as if he were waiting for him to swipe at it so he could move it away, but Billy refused to humor him. He just looked at the book, back to Neil, then to Frank. Neil laughed and was becoming frustrated with the fact that he was getting no response from Billy.
Frank straightened up then began taunting Billy himself, “Your face looks better now. Worthy really did you some good.”
No response from Billy.
Pages began raining down in front of Frank now. Billy didn’t turn his head to look, but he knew Neil was tearing them out of his book. This was just enough to stir a rise out of him, but he acted like he didn’t care. He couldn’t. The only hope of getting him to stop was to ignore it.
“Hope you know how it ends,” Frank said, looking at the pages falling to the ground, laughing.
“Yeah, the monster loses,” Billy responded. His eyes never moved from Frank’s.
Unfortunately, Frank missed the relevancy of his statement. It was difficult to duel with ignorance. Most of their lives, Frank had offered up stupidity and Billy had countered with quick-witted blows, but Frank rarely got them. The thought had crossed Billy’s mind that he could write a book on the amount of one-liners he had slung at Frank. Maybe, one day Frank would be intelligent enough to understand them.
“Well, you’re a loser,” Frank finally said. His friends laughed and called him names too.
Idiots, Billy thought.
Neil finally tossed the book backward. It landed softly on the hard tile floor of the hallway.
Billy hung his head and leaned against the wall. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the group of boys part. Someone was coming.
Not another teacher, Billy thought. Didn’t they get it? He didn’t want their help. No, not a teacher. Even worse.
Dottie.
“Get out of the way, Frank,” Dottie ordered.
“What?” Frank said.
“You heard me, jerk.” She bent down and started picking the pages up off of the floor. Billy noticed she had the remnants of the book in her left hand.
He turned to her and pleaded with her, “Don’t Dottie. Stay out of this.”
“It’s okay. I’m just cleanin’ up their mess.”
Billy bent over and tried to help her pick up the pages but he didn’t make it all the way down before a boy shoved him from the side and he fell over.
They laughed. It seemed like the whole hallway was laughing. Then the bell rang and students were bumping into him as they made their way to class. Dottie had recovered and was standing off to the side. Billy gave up and let them run him over.
Once the crowd had subsided, he stood up and looked at Dottie. “Thanks,” he said. “I was doing just fine before you had to butt in.”
“You know, it wouldn’t hurt you to show a little gratitude.”
“For what? You think I need your help?”
“Well, you’ve been getting your butt kicked the past few days, haven’t you?”
“I’m fine.”
“Yeah, you are. You know, maybe if you wouldn’t try to be such a loner, people would like you. Maybe if you wouldn’t be so difficult to get to know, people would respond to you better.”
“People are stupid.”
“They certainly think you are.”
“I don’t care what they think.”
“I don’t know why I bother with you,” Dottie said.
Billy began walking down the hallway. Dottie followed, then came alongside him. “Well,” Billy began. “I guess I really do appreciate it when you do.”
Dottie didn’t speak, nor did she look at him.
“So, thanks,” he said, almost inaudibly. “I don’t think you are stupid,” he added.
Dottie again, did not respond.
They walked in silence and when they came to the corner of the hallway, they started to part ways. Billy stopped, turned around to her and said, “Could I get those pages back?” Dottie hadn’t even realized she still held most of them in her hands. She just thrust her arm out and continued walking. Billy ran to her and grabbed them. “Thanks,” he said. She flicked her hand backward at him in response.
He watched her walk down the hall. “See you after school?” he said, not sure whether it was a statement or a question.
As she got to the door of her next class, she looked back at him and said, “Okay.”
Billy smiled, turned and made his way to class, remembering he had to take care of his bladder as soon as possible.
10
Following his restroom break from Mrs. Gringle’s class, Billy sat at his desk and looked at the board. She had written today’s prompt up, “Describe a character who makes a bone-chilling discovery in an abandoned house.” He knew he’d be given the period to write it and pulled out a couple sheets of paper. Doodling for a moment, he looked up at the window. The blinds were pulled, but they were partially turned, allowing a small amount of light to shine through. He thought at first that his eyes were playing tricks on him when he began to see what he could only describe as a face permeating through the light that illuminated the blinds. He looked around to see if anyone else saw it. He was alone. All of the other students were either busy on their writing, or asleep. He looked back and saw the image more clearly. He recognized the face without a doubt. The eyes, the nose, the chin, it appeared in black and white, but it was clearly his mother. Then, he felt his arm begin to move. He looked away from the blinds and ran his hand quickly to his paper and began to write. He wasn’t exactly sure what was coming from him, but he just let it flow. He swore he could barely feel his hand moving. It was almost as if it worked of its own free will.
He wrote: The old door creaked open. Billy barely held its doorknob, but he felt like it was actually opening itself. When it swung entirely open, he was met with a cold puff of air. It sent chills down his spine and brought gooseflesh immediately to the surface of his skin. His better judgment told him not to go through the threshold, but he had to know for himself, so he stepped through. The floorboard crunched under his feet. For a moment he thought he was going to fall through it and slightly lost his balance, then regained it. He expected it to be terribly dark inside, but found that he could actually see fairly well for as dark as it was outside. He took one step forward, onto the beautiful Persian rug lain on the inside of the foyer. It appeared to be the only new thing in the house, the only thing with any real color, as everything else had a gray tinge to it. Of course as he stepped forward, he heard a slamming noise behind him. The door. Had he not expected it to close by itself? He was in now. There was no turning back. He was scared, but he was young and felt himself immortal. He’d make it, he convinced himself. May as well keep moving.
He looked down the long hall leading from the foyer that passed to the side of a long staircase leading to the second story of the century-old house. Darkness engulfed the end of the hallway, making it impossible for him to see what was down there waiting for him. From time to time, he could catch a glimpse of something glowing at the end of the hall, but it seemed to move in his field of vision, flickering, disappearing, then reappearing slightly higher or lower than it was the last time he saw it. He decided to walk toward it. The sooner he found what he had come for, the sooner he’d be able to leave the house.
Somewhere, in this house, was a picture that he needed. The picture was of a happy family. It was of people smiling. It had been taken a long time ago. It was of his family. His father, arms wrapped around his mother who was holding Billy, wrapped in a receiving blanket. And there were smiles on every face. He didn’t know what led him to this house, but he was sure the picture was here.
He took one step, then another. Each step was more agonizing than the last. The floorboards creaked when his feet sat down. They sounded like banshee screams in the silence of the darkness. He continued on his way down the hallway. On the opposite side of the wall that served as the side to the staircase, was a series of windows. He was startled as he walked by the first and the room was lit up momentarily. He looked out the window and saw the wind had disturbed the low cloud cover and the moon was now shining temporarily through the clouds. He looked back to his right and saw a picture on the wall. The picture was of a boy dressed in black and a man hovering over him, also dressed in black. The man had a cigarette in one hand and wore dark sunglasses. Billy recognized it as a picture taken after his mother’s funeral. Once he realized what it was, the clouds moved back over the moon, blocking out its light and the picture’s clarity faded. He turned and moved on.
Billy could make out the outline of another window only a few yards away. He crept toward it. When he reached it, he looked out it and saw the moon briefly peek its face out from behind the clouds once more. Its light streamed into the window and he turned to look at the wall. Before his eyes could find the next picture, he nearly jumped out of his skin. Something had rubbed against his leg. He pulled back against the window, trying to get away from whatever it was. He looked down and saw a mangy black cat. The animal looked up at him, attempted a stifled meow and moved on. It was the most unhappy cat he’d ever seen. It had seemed to frown at him. As it made its way down the hallway, he noticed it was missing it front left leg. It hobbled out of view and Billy quickly looked up to the wall. There was a picture. He could barely make it out at first, but then, he realized it was a portrait of his father. He wore a giant smile, but as the clouds glided back over the moon and the light faded, the smile slowly turned upside down. By the time the darkness had slowly pulled the picture into obscurity his father’s expression was one of incredible sadness and pain. Then, the picture seemed to disappear.
Billy was no longer afraid of the house. Now, he was filled with an emotion much deeper and horrifying than that. Now, he felt lonely and sad. He recognized them as the two worst emotions a person could feel.
He turned and continued walking. As he moved, the hallway seemed to get longer. When he’d started down it, he didn’t think it looked all that long, but now, just enough light came from the end of it that he could tell the end was obviously getting further away.
So, he kept walking. Each time he’d pass another window, the moon would break through, hanging low in the sky, it would shine through enough to light up the hallway. He would find a picture on the wall, and each would be more antagonizing than the last. After a while, he stopped looking hard at the pictures altogether, just glancing at each long enough to tell whether it was the one he was looking for.
A tapping sound came from above him. He wondered what was on the other side of the ceiling. Whatever it was, it was intended to scare him. But, he’d have none of it. He convinced himself none of it could hurt him and it was all just likely a product of his imagination.
The tapping got louder and he finally looked up at the ceiling when he passed a window and the hall was lit momentarily. The ceiling itself was very faint and he couldn’t see anything that might be making the sound, but he could make out the door to the attic. When he looked back down, he saw a rope ladder dangling from the door. How it got there, or when, he did not know. He grabbed the ladder and put his foot on the first rung. Smoothly, he began to climb toward the attic door. Without warning, he bounced back off of it. It hadn’t been this close when he looked up, he thought. He couldn’t understand how he’d gotten that close to it, but then again, he couldn’t understand much about the house. Straightening himself up, he shook the cobwebs from his mind and looked at the door. Now, a bright light emanated from all four edges of the door, framing it in what looked almost like a halo.
He reached for the door, and felt it incredibly icy to the touch. He pushed it slowly. The hallway became flooded with light and he looked behind him. The house, gray, dingy, tired, and worn before, was now revitalized. Its color had returned. A bright, vibrant Persian rug lay on the floor of the hallway. The pictures, crooked on the walls with their glass broken only seconds ago, were now straight and whole. A chandelier in the foyer burned brightly with thousands of beautiful incandescent bulbs. Billy shook his head, not believing his eyes. He turned back around, looked up into the attic, and was drawn to the source of the light.
There, sitting on a beam was the picture. It glowed with a fiery brilliance. Billy climbed up and scooted toward it. He paused over top of it. Closing his eyes, he was not sure whether he truly wanted to see it. Slowly, he opened his eyes, reached down for it, picked it up with both hands and looked at it. As soon as he recognized the three smiling faces, he disappeared, the table disappeared, the house disappeared, and the picture was gone.
He was screaming. Only he couldn’t see his body. He was looking at a dome light. It was hanging from the ceiling of a car and he was traveling very fast. There was yelling. He turned his head and could see the backs of his parents’ heads. He was a baby, or at least a young toddler.
“Just pull over and let me drive,” he could hear his mother screaming. She was leaning over, touching the steering wheel. Then, he saw his father’s beefy right arm reach up and push her back to her seat. She pulled up again and screamed louder. “You are too drunk! Let me drive.”
His dad slapped at her again with his arm. She grabbed it and pulled. He bobbed to the right and pushed at her. He was now yelling at her, only Billy couldn’t understand what he was saying. He was just yelling. But, he wasn’t looking at the road anymore. He was waving his arm at her, hitting her, yelling. And, the car swerved, or the road turned, Billy wasn’t sure which. And, the oak tree didn’t get out of the way. The front end smashed into it in a terrifying screech of gore and violence. The low-lying branch, stretching down near the ground, came through the window. There was a crashing sound of glass, and his mother’s scream. Then, all the noise was gone. The branch had slammed into his mother and found its way to the backseat before the car stopped. He looked down to his left arm. It was in bad shape. The branch ended its journey into the life of Billy Weadle right there. And, it had taken the life of his mother and his left arm right along with it.
Moments later, he could hear his dad. He was moving his mother’s lifeless body into the driver’s seat. Later, when the police came, his dad would roll out of the passenger’s side and he would look at them with tears in his eyes and tell them, “I told her she was going too fast.”
Billy stopped writing. He was spent. He looked up at the blinds. They were a dull gray. The vision of his mother was gone. His arm felt numb. He looked at all he’d written, barely remembering a word he wrote. He was puzzled by the fact he’d written about himself in the third person, almost as if he didn’t exist as Billy, but that Billy was somebody else. He wondered if he’d actually written it or if it was written by someone else. Like his mother.
11
He knew he’d be in trouble if he got caught in the attic. His dad had told him on more than one occasion that he was to never, under any circumstances, go up there. He always made it sound as though he was afraid he’d hurt himself or would get stuck up there because of his arm. Billy was old enough now to know the difference. He knew now that his dad had kept him out of the attic all of these years because there was something up there he didn’t want him to see.
He scooted himself around from one rafter to the next. His flashlight exposed boxes marked “Christmas,” “Easter,” and “Halloween,” all of which he hadn’t seen but once or twice. Many years ago his father had rushed to the attic in a drunken fit of rage, thrown the Christmas decorations down and started stringing them about the house before he’d passed out. The fit had been brought on when Billy, as a seven-year-old child, had asked him about Christmas and why they never decorated. So, that was his father’s response, and the only time Billy had ever seen the house with any semblance of Christmas spirit. Unfortunately, it was July when all of that had happened.
He was kicking up dust as he scooted himself from rafter to rafter. It danced in the beam of light thrown by the flashlight and began to catch in his nose, causing him to sneeze. The reaction to the dust was causing him to be noisy, but he figured it didn’t make much sense to try to stay quiet now. If his father came home suddenly he was going to catch him up here either way, so it didn’t really matter. He always had about an hour and a half to do as he pleased after he’d gotten home from school and before his dad returned from work. Sometimes, he had even longer than that if the man stopped at the local tavern for a drink or two after work.
He bounced the flashlight around the attic from box to box until it settled on what appeared to be an old treasure chest. Billy scooted himself over to it. It had a layer of dust on it and the hasp holding it closed looked as though it had been broken. He ran his hand over the top of it, wiping away some of the dust. When he did so, he exposed three letters, “???.” He recognized these immediately as his mother’s initials before she was married. He was surprised that he was consciously aware of those letters as her initials, but it was like he’d thought of them every day of his life, as though someone was telling him what they were as his eyes caught a glimpse of them.
Then, it struck him that this box may hold his only glimpse of the person his mother truly was. His father had told him stories of her from time to time, stories that painted a picture of her as a lazy, good-for-nothing woman. But, Billy had known those stories weren’t true. He’d known better than to believe his father on any subject relating to his mother. And, now, he realized he may find everything he’d ever wanted to know about her. He grabbed the hasp and yanked up on the lid. As soon as it was open, he picked the flashlight up and shone it into the chest. The empty chest. Except for a leather-bound journal at the bottom. His heart sank. There were no pictures, no old wedding dresses, no tunnels into the past. Just this book. He picked it up, balancing the flashlight between his knees and opened it up. It was full of writing. He’d never seen it before, but he recognized it immediately as his mother’s handwriting. He tried to read it, but couldn’t make much of it out due to the flashlight being so difficult to hold with only one arm. He decided to head back downstairs to his room before his father came home. He closed the lid to the chest, tucked the book up under his underarm and began scooting himself toward the opening leading down out of the ceiling.
As he moved, he heard a loud noise coming from outside of the house. He immediately recognized the sound as his father’s car door. He began to panic. He would be in so much trouble if his father caught him up here, but even worse, he’d never let him keep this journal. He’d probably burn it, worse yet, he’d probably make Billy burn it. The thought of it made him scoot even faster. He knew he’d never make it out in time. He could hear the sound of jingling keys. He’d locked the door knowing that would slow his father down if it came to this. He was glad now that he had, but the man would be angry enough because he’d done that. He always yelled at him in the past and had even taken his forms of punishment to extremes for having locked the door. Now, he heard cursing after a jangling clang. He’d probably dropped the keys. It bought him some time. Billy stopped and began tucking his shirt in. He pushed the tail of the shirt down into his trousers as tightly as he could, then dropped the journal down into his shirt. Now, hopefully, his father wouldn’t see the book.
He’d scooted himself to the opening and dangled his legs down out of the attic. He could hear the front door opening. He only had a few seconds left. He scurried down the fold-away ladder, got his feet on the floor and pushed it back up into the hole in the ceiling. He tried to hold the rope attached to the ladder so it didn’t slam, alarming his father. But, it slipped from his grasp and made a sickening noise as it slammed back into its frame. Billy froze. The rope swung from the ceiling. He didn’t even try to stop it because he knew his father heard it. There was no sense in trying to hide it. It would only make him angrier.
He turned around slowly to meet his father’s wrath, but he had not yet emerged from the living room. How could he have not heard the slam? Billy wondered. He couldn’t believe the man was not on top of him already. He turned around quickly and grabbed for the rope, which was still moving in its pendulum-like swing. When he turned around, his father was just coming through the door from the living room to the kitchen. The man stopped, looked at Billy, and said, “You look guilty. What have you been up to?”
“Hey, Dad,” Billy managed to get out. He tried as hard as he could to act innocent, but he knew his face must be flushed. He still couldn’t believe his father didn’t know he’d just come from the attic.
The man stepped into the hallway and stopped a few inches from Billy. “What do you got that for?” he asked and pointed to the area around Billy’s waist.
His heart sank. He thought for sure he was referring to the book, but then realized the flashlight was lying on the floor just behind him where he’d set it when he was shutting the attic up. “Oh, I, um…” Billy could not think fast enough. The excuse he needed would not come.
Then, as if by magic, it came for him.
Billy’s dad reached up to the light switch in the hallway and flipped it on. The bulb did not work. Billy couldn’t remember it having blown in the past day or so. He was puzzled, but then acted quickly. He picked up the flashlight, opened the closet door and shone the light at the top shelf in the closet where the light bulbs were kept. “I was just getting a bulb,” Billy said.
“And, you need a flashlight to see up in there?” his father asked, referring to the small amount of light that permeated into the closet as it was.
“Yes,” Billy said, “I couldn’t find the 60 watt bulbs.”
“They’re right here,” his father said gruffly, pushing past him and grabbing for a box. He handed it to him, turned and went back into the kitchen. “Don’t have the sense God gave ya’,” he mumbled as he walked away from him.
Billy watched him move away from him and began to breathe easier. Now, he started to shake slightly, the adrenaline catching up to him. His father grabbed a beer from the refrigerator and walked into the living room. He stopped on his way, looked at Billy looking at him and said, “Well, what are you looking at me for? Fix the light.” Then, he walked on into the living room.
Billy stood motionless for a moment, knowing he’d dodged a big bullet. A smile slowly crept across his face as he became aware again of the book stuck in the waistband of his pants. He couldn’t wait to get to his room to read it. Then, he pushed it. He opened his mouth and wished he could have taken the words back as soon as they flowed from him. “What happened in the accident?” he asked.
His father stopped suddenly at the door leading into the room. “What?” he said, turning around.
Billy didn’t respond.
“What accident?” His father thought. “You ran into Mrs. Martin.”
Billy considered his next words carefully. “Not that accident,” he said.
His father looked at him angrily, puzzled by Billy’s question, and irritated that his nightly ritual had found an obstacle.
“Your accident,” Billy said. The word ‘accident’ came out very slowly, almost as if Billy were spelling it phonetically.
“My accident? Whad’ya want to know about that for?” he asked.
Billy stepped backward shaking his head and looking down at the floor. “Nothing.”
“I told ya’ about that accident. We hit a slick spot in the road. Things happen. What are you asking me for?”
Billy knew better know than to push it even more. “No reason. Just wonder about it sometimes,” he said.
“Well, there’s nothing you-“ his father stopped. “-We,” he began again, “There’s nothing we can do about it now.” Billy’s skin crept when his father emphasized the word ‘we,’ as if his father really cared. He was sure he didn’t. At least, he felt as though he’d lost any ability to feel sorry for what had happened, much less, to try to make things work a little more smoothly for them because of the accident.
“Okay,” Billy said. “Never mind.” He walked toward his room and heard his father plop on the couch in the living room. The man wouldn’t bother him anymore tonight he guessed.
Once he got to his room, he made sure to close his door tightly. His father had removed the lock from the door years ago, so he shoved a shirt under the door. Typically that worked pretty well. If someone entered the room quickly, the shirt would ball up under the crack between the door and the floor and at least cause a hindrance to the invader.
He crept onto his bed, undid his shirt and pulled the book down out. Turning on the lamp next to his bed, he opened the journal and found his mother’s handwriting, laying neatly to the right. It was beautiful penmanship. He began to read from the first page and was disappointed to find it wasn’t about him and his years as a baby, but instead, it was a short story. The story was full of action and adventure. It was about a knight and his squire who defeated a dark knight to save a kingdom. Then, there was another story. It was about a spy, almost like a James Bond type story. Then, there was a story about a horse jockey, then one about a cowboy saving a town. Then, one about a boy who had befriended an Indian. Each story was full of intrigue. Each story was exciting and seemed like a child’s imaginary world.
Billy sat motionless and read the entire book. It took him several hours to finish them. He hadn’t eaten dinner but he didn’t even notice. He was transfixed. It wasn’t the stories that drew him in so much as his realization, about half way through the first story, that these stories were the dreams he’d had. He already knew what was going to happen in each story because he’d dreamed each and every one of these stories. When he closed the book after the last word had been read, he lay the book on his chest and stared at the ceiling. He was almost in a state of shock. He didn’t know what to do. This was definitely too much to handle. As he lay on his bed, he felt closer to his mother than he’d ever felt.
Now, he wanted to know more about her. He felt like a whole new world had been opened up to him. As he stared at the ceiling, he was drawn into a deep sleep. The aroma from the leather cover of the journal filled his nose and stung his senses. He felt filled with his mother. Sleep finally overtook him.
****************************************************************
The wind tugged at his cape, tossing it into the air like a flag on Independence Day. Billy stood proudly, disguised as Metro Man. He had not chosen the name himself. The local media had. About seven weeks ago he’d realized his superpower gifts and had been saving the world from crime and performing good deeds since then. The best was when he’d lain down on that broken bit of railroad track, completing the rail just in time before the oncoming train was thrown off the tracks. That event had occurred just as he’d liked it, anonymously. No one had really seen the blue and red streak fly in from up above and land on the rail, so there was nothing to report. No one realized there was going to be a problem to begin with. He didn’t want a fuss made of him. He just wanted to help society, not be the idol of millions of people.
His costume was red and clung tightly to his body. The sleeves stopped short of his bulging biceps and appeared to be almost painted on. He wore his white power belt, and the buckle, a golden B sparkled in the sun. The pants, also did not run the full length of his legs, but were shorts rather, revealing the rows of muscles throughout his thighs and calves. He wore no shoes and carried no weapon. A blue cape flew from his broad shoulders. In the center of it was a B, embroidered in gold to match his belt buckle.
He wiggled his toes. They were hanging over the ledge of the Independent Building, the tallest skyscraper in Springfield. His heels were dug into the concrete of the building’s roof. The wind blew strong, but it did not sway him. He was planted like a mighty oak on the top of the building.
Scanning the city with the vision of a bird of prey, he saw that things seemed relatively quiet. Today’s heat made the horizon seem to dance miles away. He opened his ears to listen more carefully. He had full control of the muscles in his ears and he had special nerves attached to his eardrums allowing him to hear even the tiniest of noises from miles away whenever he chose to. The beauty of the nerves was that he was able to filter out any secondary noises. Right now, he was looking at the public swimming pool and he was capable of hearing individual conversations of the people on the pool deck here from miles away.
His head suddenly snapped to the left when he heard a scream. He didn’t know from where it was coming, but his senses were telling him to look toward the port. The screams got louder. There, near the landing was a father hollering to his daughter from their family boat. He could see the girl now. She appeared to be about five and her head was bobbing up and down in the river. Each time she came up, she slashed violently at the water with her arms and broke the peaceful calm of the afternoon with her screams.
Billy stepped from the ledge. Then, he looked to his right. His mother stood there in mid-air with him. She gestured to him with a smile to go. He bounced on the first gust of wind and took off. He was flying now, his arms were outstretched, his legs together and his toes pointing straight back. He was a picture of perfect symmetry, slicing through the air, down, down, down towards the water.
Now, he noticed a huge barge making its way under the bridge near the landing. The girl was directly in its path. If he didn’t get there in time, she would be sucked under, never to return to the surface alive. He angled his body more sharply, tried to read the wind, maneuvering in and out of the varying gusts. At this time he was traveling nearly one hundred miles an hour. Those who noticed him would have only seen a red streak. It looked like a shooting star some would say, others would call it a meteorite, but no one was sure exactly what it was. As he neared the river, the barge crept on. It was only about twenty feet from her now. The driver was laying on his foghorn. He could hear the father screaming. The man could do nothing but watch, for if he jumped in he’d be sucked under the barge too. And, the girl rose to the surface again. Billy could hear her incredible screams rising to a pitch he’d never heard before. He curled his fingers and timed it. He braced his body. Hitting the water at this speed was going to wreck havoc on him, but he knew no other way to do it. He knew if he plucked her from the water, the drag would be too much, he couldn’t catapult back into the sky with her before the barge reached them. He’d have to go under with her, and he was unsure how fast he’d have to be going in order to pull her far enough under that they’d be safe. He could only hope she had enough air left in her lungs to hold her breath before they would surface. He angled his body, increased his speed, squinted his eyes, and held his breath.
When he hit the water, it was like skidding across concrete. It tore at his body, but he was able to grasp the girls legs. She was sucked under, out of her father’s sight just as the barge crept over the area where she just was.
The girl’s father was crying now. He wondered if he’d ever see her again. Little did he know that under the water, Billy clung tightly to her and was pulling her through the river, looking for a safe place to surface. He circled her around, and noticed the barge was now past them. He shot straight for the surface, and emerged with her. The father, shaken from his state of shock when he saw her, reached out from the boat and grabbed hold of her collar. He was amazed at how easily he lifted her up out of the water and placed her on the deck of the boat. Billy rose out of the water after assuring himself that the father had pulled her into the boat. He floated onto the deck and knelt over the girl, lying there as limp as a rag doll. Her father stared blankly at her, then began wringing her hands. He started hollering again. It was obvious to Billy that he didn’t know any sort of CPR, nor was he prepared to do anything but watch as she slipped from life. Billy squeezed in front of him and began mouth-to-mouth. Within a minute, she was gagging and coughing on the water she’d swallowed. He rolled her on her side and let her cough it out. He helped her sit up. Her father threw his arms around her and thanked God for the miracle he’d just witnessed. Billy stepped back, seemingly unnoticed by the man.
“Are you alright, honey?” he asked her over and over, stopping every so often for breath between his sobs.
Billy placed his hand on the girl’s head, then shot into the air. Within seconds, he was out of sight.
12
“Get up,” it only took him saying it once and Billy’s feet were on the floor. He’d learned his lesson more than once that if he didn’t get out of bed when he was told, his father would find a most uncomfortable manner in which for him to do it.
“What time is it?”
“Time for you to get up for school. Get movin’,” his father’s voice trailed off as he walked back down the hallway.
He reached to the floor and picked up the same faded jeans he’d worn for the last three days and put them on. Grabbing a flannel shirt from out of his sparse closet, he quickly made his way in his sock-feet down to the kitchen. He made his toast and sat down with a glass of orange juice. His father had already finished reading the newspaper and it was haphazardly scattered across the table. He reached for the section closest to him, the Metro. The lead story dealt with the town library and funding the current mayor accused his predecessor of promising. Billy found no interest in it and nearly set the paper aside when he saw a picture on the bottom half of the paper of a man whose face looked familiar. Then, chills slid down his spine when he saw the young girl sitting next to him. It was the girl from his dream. The headline read, “Father Thanks God for Help in Saving His Daughter,” then under it, “It was like an angel was watching out for her, father says.” Billy’s eyes immediately darted to the beginning of the article. Girl and father were enjoying an afternoon of boating… it began. He skimmed, fell in when he took his eyes from her for only a second… his head moved from side to side, bouncing from one margin to the next. An oncoming barge inched closer to her and she went under, for what the father feared would be the last time he’d see her, Billy recalled the events from his dream clearly. He could have sworn he was there. To the father’s relief, he discovered she’d somehow reemerged after the barge had passed and floated toward him. Billy didn’t even need to read the article, he knew what was coming before he read it. Her father pulled her out of the water and placed her on the deck. Miraculously she came to, clearing the river water from her lungs. Her father said it was a miracle she came to as he did not know CPR himself.
Billy set the paper down and stared at it in confusion. The dream had an unreal clarity to it. Could it have possibly happened? Could his conscience have saved the little girl? It had to be a coincidence. Things like this simply didn’t happen. Or, did they, he asked himself. Could people control the destiny of others? No one would tell others of such an event in fear of being deemed crazy. He knew for sure he wouldn’t dare tell anyone. But, it just couldn’t be. This made no sense. He must have caught a glimpse of this story on the news last night before he went to bed and let it into his conscience enough to have a dream about it. That was all. He couldn’t possibly change fate through his dream. He was not capable of that sort of thing. He’d leave the miracle work up to God.
“Straighten that paper up and take it outside.” His father’s voice shook him from his meditative state. Billy did as he was told, then finished his toast off. He stacked the segments of the paper together, tossed his napkin in the trash and moved toward the kitchen door. He looked down one more time at the picture of the man and his daughter. He turned the doorknob, staring intently at the two, and just before he dropped the paper into the recycling bin, he noticed the building behind the pair. It was the skyscraper down town, the Independent building. The picture was taken at an angle from the ground up. The top of the building was visible. There, over the shoulder of the father, was a speck standing upright on the top of the building. He couldn’t quite make it out, but he thought for a second that he knew what it was, or who, that is. No one would agree with him. One couldn’t possibly tell that it was a human being. But, he knew. Or, he wanted to believe it was a man in a cape. He pulled the paper closer to his eyes, straining to see.
“Close the door,” came the harsh voice. “You’re letting all the cold air in.”
Billy startled, turned his head to see his father standing on the stoop just above him and thought better of looking back to the newspaper. He dropped it into the bin, closed the door, and went to get ready for school.
His day passed uneventfully at school. No one seemed to notice him. Even Mrs. Gringle did not call on him when he’d raised his hand to one of her questions. Dottie didn’t seem to have much time for him, either, making him feel lonelier than he’d felt at school yet. When he got home, he was fortunate to have his father leave him alone. The man barely spoke to him when he came home from work, just throwing his briefcase in its usual spot and making his way to the couch. Billy went to bed early that night and found what he was looking for.
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The day was hot and humid. The heat waves rolling off the pavement looked large enough to lift a small cat. Kids weren’t out running and playing today like they normally would be, but instead lounged around in the shade of trees and buildings throughout the town. The city pool was packed with children swimming and splashing. The warm water thrown from the pool to the concrete deck evaporated quickly in the heat of the burning sun.
Billy stepped from the ledge of the Independent building and floated in midair. He looked to his right and saw his mother standing next to him, gesturing for him to go. He smiled at her. His cape floated slightly above him and he wavered in the still, warm air. He held his arms out to his sides, lifted them straight up in the air and launched himself about a half a mile higher in the sky. He didn’t want to take a chance of anyone noticing him. When he reached the higher altitude, his eyes automatically adjusted to the distance he would need to be able to see and within seconds he could read a car’s license plate from his floating perch above the city.
Below him, on Gordon Street, he could see a group of three boys getting into a car. They were dressed in the day’s popular thug wear. One slipped what he thought was a baseball bat into the backseat of the car as he got in. The car was what appeared to be a late eighties model Grand Prix. It was painted candy apple red with glitter sprinkled heavily in the top coat. Its chrome magnum wheels sparkled in the sunlight. Seconds later, the car drove off. Its stereo system blared with heavy bass but the drone of the engine muffled the sound of the rapper’s voice.
Billy kept an eye on the car as it sped down Gordon Street. Soon, it stopped outside a dilapidated house on the corner of Gordon and Forsyth. Billy glanced up and counted them to be three blocks from the city pool. He flew higher in an effort to put himself entirely out of anyone’s view. As he did so, he glanced back to the pool. It looked even crazier than the last time he’d studied it. There were more kids in the deep end now. They splashed and laughed uncontrollably. Lifeguards blew their whistles at those young kids that ran around the outer deck. But, overall, there was no danger he needed to concern himself with.
Then, he was nearly knocked from the sky when his ears rang with the unmistakable sound of gunfire. He immediately circled back around and flew back overtop of the house at the corner of Gordon. The red car was still out front, but he didn’t see the three guys. Billy contemplated swooping in on them anyway. He was forced to act faster when he heard more gunfire. This time there were two, maybe three, shots. He angled his body down and began his descent. As he accelerated, the door to the house opened. Slowly, the first boy, the one he recognized with the baseball bat stepped out. But he looked different. He had on shorts and his shirt had been exchanged for a bright orange one. Sewn across the front were the words Beacon Baptist. When he turned around, Billy could see the number 8 sewn to his shirt. In his hands, the boy carried a softball mitt. The two others followed him out, dressed identically. Another gunshot rang out and Billy jerked his head back toward the pool, confused. He’d let himself get caught up in stereotyping the three boys and may have lost valuable time. When his eyes settled on the pool, he was overcome with chills. Boys and girls ran everywhere. Some jumped in the pool, ducking below the deck while others ran for the cover of the locker rooms. In the street sat two cars, both of them older models, loaded with groups of boys, facing off against each other. One was pearly white while the other was bright, neon green. The gunshots had come from one, then the other. Neither was going to be the first to drive off and the boys and girls at the pool were getting caught in the crossfire.
Billy swooped in on them. He had to act fast. No one actually saw him as he moved in. But the boys in the green car knew something was wrong when their roof caved in by about three inches. Billy had come in to land and bounced off it, rolling to the pavement. He ran to the back of the car, grabbed its rear bumper and pushed with all his strength. The driver, pressing on the brake, couldn’t believe it when the car suddenly lurched forward. He had no control over it. It sped toward a tall streetlight on the corner and he had no time to react. The car crashed head on into it and it fell straight down over the car, bending a perfect V into the roof, trapping the boys inside, uninjured.
Billy turned to the white car. Its occupants laughed uproariously and it began to drive off. In half a second Billy was again airborne, this time he was flying alongside the driver’s side window. As the car sped away, he could hear sirens approaching. If he could only stall them a few seconds, the police would be here. The boys in the back seat yelled at the driver to get going. Billy had to act now. He reached through the open window and grabbed both sides of the steering wheel. Once he’d grabbed hold, he let his body go limp. He was being drug through the air and he kicked his legs up to the door. He pulled as hard as he could and ripped the steering wheel off the column. The driver was amazed when the wheel flew from his hands and out the window. Billy fell backwards, landing on his back on the pavement, skidding to a halt. He slowly got up, dazed. His costume was torn in several spots, but his cape seemed to have cushioned most of the blow. The car slowed down and slammed hard into a fire hydrant. Three police cruisers turned the corner and surrounded the car before the boys had a chance to escape.
Billy looked back to the pool and heard the screams of a frightened woman. Standing over a young girl on the pavement was a mother, beckoning for help.
Billy took one step, then another, and by the third he felt stable again. He had to get to the girl.
When he reached her, he noticed the girl to be only about five years old. Her short, curly black hair had flecks of cinders in it from the dirty sidewalk. Billy could not let her die like this. Her mother was in hysterics. Blood pooled up beside the girl and was quickly taking her life with it. Billy knelt down beside her and found the hole. He placed his hand over the wound and slowly began to retract the bullet using a suction-type power being driven from the palm of his hand. Within seconds the bullet had withdrawn and the wound had closed. The little girl opened her eyes and looked up. She was the only person who witnessed her savior that day. She smiled and held out her hand to him. Billy took it for a brief moment and returned the smile. His eyes told her he had to go and her smile fell slightly. Billy stood up, raised his arms to the sky and launched himself several hundred yards in the air. He circled back around, saw the boys in the cars being handcuffed on the streets and play resumed in the pool.
Billy smiled again and headed back toward his perch on top of the Independent Building where he’d await his next call.
The next morning Billy awoke feeling refreshed. His dream was a distant memory, although he could clearly remember the look in the eyes of the little girl he’d saved.
13
Billy jerked awake. He looked at his alarm clock and immediately jumped from bed when he saw it was 6:50. He’d managed to oversleep by a half hour. His dad would be furious. He threw his jeans on, ran to the bathroom, grabbed his toothbrush jammed it into his mouth.
“Dad. Dad,” he said when he reached the living room. He shook his father awake. “We’re late.”
The man rolled over and sat up, a tired look was spread across his face. Then, when he realized what Billy had just said, he got up, stared at Billy angrily, then bumped into him on his way to the kitchen.
Billy followed.
“Get your stuff for school,” his father grunted. Billy was taken aback at how easily he seemed to be taking this.
Minutes later the man emerged from his bedroom with a new shirt and tie on. His hair, what was left of it, had yet to be combed.
Billy threw his toothbrush down on the bathroom counter and got his shoes. Seconds later he was following his dad outside to the car. The man would have to drop him off at school, as he’d missed the bus. Billy threw his book bag in the back seat and walked in front of the car and scooped up the newspaper. He barely glanced at the side of the car, which still displayed dents his father had chosen not to pay to have fixed. He jumped in, opened the newspaper and buried his nose in it.
Billy wasn’t surprised when he saw the headline on the Metro section, Bangers Arrested in Drive-By. He skimmed the article and read about how both cars had mysteriously crashed at the site. The police were able to capture and arrest them. Luckily, the article had stated, there was only one injury as there could have been several. The injury occurred to a young girl as Billy expected. Her mother thought it was much worse than it turned out… Billy knew the rest. She could have sworn she’d been hit squarely in the chest… Billy skimmed further. Doctors said she’d be fine after suffering some minor scrapes. They could not explain her loss of blood or the source of the blood on the sidewalk.
He expected to read about his dream in the paper this morning. Though, he wondered again if he’d actually played a role in what had happened. He couldn’t have possibly changed reality? Could he? Not in his dreams anyway. He tried to remember if he had seen the story on the evening news the night before, but recalled he hadn’t watched television. How would he have known about it? How could this story have bled itself into his subconscious?
Billy folded the newspaper back up and looked out the window. He lost himself in thought, then opened the newspaper again. He looked at the picture that accompanied the story. There, draping itself over the spot on the sidewalk beside the pool where the picture had been taken was a shadow. It was cast by no visible human. And, flying from its body was what appeared to be a flowing cape.
Coming to grips with the reality of what had just happened, if it indeed were reality, was difficult for Billy. He looked out the window of the car as his father drove him to school. He rarely had the pleasure of riding to school with his dad and when he did, it was normally full of misery, but today his dad left him alone and they rode in silence. The car sped along and Billy thought about his mother. Spring was coming and he could see new buds on the ends of tree limbs. He thought of his mother, an angel, decorating the trees with leaves, planting the flowers that would sprout up everywhere and wash the dirty winter snow from the landscape. He smiled at the thought of it, but wondered if it was too much to expect, angels, making Earth pretty for spring to come. That, of course, would be a much simpler world than the one in which he was forced to live with his father. They were still about twenty minutes from school and his mind began to play tricks on him. He was being enveloped by the nature around him. He felt as one with it. In the car, he sped along with the man who couldn’t show him love, outside, he saw the beauty of the world, floating like spirits… the spirit of nature- his eyes closed.
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The pine branches swayed in the wind. Billy held the knife close to his chest and leaned heavily against the lone maple tree in the valley. His newfound friend, Crystal Bear, sat on his haunches near the large sandstone boulder on the side of the hill. The two watched the buck paw the ground at the bottom of the valley where the creek ran through. They’d followed it since the sun came up and Billy’s feet were getting tired. He dared not tell Crystal Bear, nor would he admit that he didn’t see the sense in trying to catch up to the animal anyway. They couldn’t possibly kill it once they did, could they? Not with these small hunting knives. Billy wondered what he would do when he got close enough to it. The deer’s neck was huge and powerful. Billy didn’t think he’d even be able to stretch his arms around it. His body was long and muscular. The few times he’d jumped so far were effortless. Then, there was the rack of antlers on his head. There must have been twenty-four points. All of them looked to be sharpened and more dangerous than the most brutal of weapons. Billy shuddered to think what might happen if the old buck were to turn them on him.
He looked up to the sky. The leaves were sprinkled with morning sunshine. They danced and glittered with the sparkling colors of the fall. The wind caught them and blew them in one direction, then the next. He looked back down to the buck, standing proudly in a shaft of light, cast from between a break in the trees. Billy could swear he saw his spirit floating up from him through the shaft of light into the sky.
Crystal Bear moved cautiously down the hill. Last night’s rains had dampened the ground and its coverings, muffling most of the noise conjured by their heavy feet. Billy watched with amazement as he slid easily over the earth. He was nearly invisible and made no real noise. The buck did not detect him. Luckily, the wind was blowing in to them, so the deer could not pick up Crystal Bear’s scent.
The Indian brave slowed his movement as he drew to within three or four body lengths of him. Billy’s eyes widened. His heart pounded. He wondered how Crystal Bear could have kept so still. He wondered how his heart did not pound right out of his chest.
In the distance of his mind, Billy swore he could make out the drumbeats of Crystal Bear’s ancestors, praising him for what he was about to do, praying for him to be true.
Crystal Bear slowly lowered himself to the ground. The buck startled. He didn’t move his legs, but his neck snapped up higher. He moved his head around and snorted. Billy could see the buck’s breath. Two puffs of frozen air exploding from his nostrils. Breathing in, taking in the air, smelling nothing as a slight breeze crept through the valley into the face of Crystal Bear. The buck could not smell him, but he could smell the buck. He floated across the ground, from tree to tree, now he was within a body’s length from him, squatting behind a large pine tree, his knife curled up under his chin, tucked in tightly to his chest.
Billy didn’t see Crystal Bear move. He only saw a streak. The boy of twelve or thirteen years had turned himself into a flying spear. His knife blade struck the deer in the side of his neck, up under his jowls. The buck scrambled, a mass of life under attack, its legs sprinting in four different directions while its brain tried to figure out what was happening. The legs regrouped, moved in one direction. Crystal Bear held tight to the side of his neck with his other arm, but didn’t stay there for long. The deer squatted and leapt away. The knife pulled its way out, tearing at the sinewy muscles. The deer was on its way to escape, but the wound was too deep. Crystal Bear slammed into a pine tree as the deer shook him off. Billy jumped up, knowing to follow him was all that was left. The deer may outrun them for a while, but they would follow its trail of blood. It may take until the afternoon, but eventually they would catch him. They would track him and Crystal Bear would make use of him. He would not squander a piece, not a bit. For that deer had been running the earth for him. It had been put here for Crystal Bear’s purpose. And he would honor its existence.
Billy ran down to Crystal Bear. “Are you okay?” he asked.
Crystal Bear answered him with a soft grunt but a firm shake of his head. Billy offered him a hand which Crystal Bear accepted. He pulled himself up and immediately set to the trail of the injured buck.
The two followed it until the sun nearly reached its highest point in the sky. Billy could feel the sweat trickle between his shoulder blades down his back. He was amazed at how Crystal Bear could pick up the trail of the deer with just a trace of its blood here and there. It was almost as if he could smell it. The young Indian brave had moved nonstop since he’d landed the hilt of his knife into the neck of the animal and Billy was beginning to tire. He was almost relieved to see Crystal Bear stop suddenly and squat down ahead of him. It was obvious to Billy that they were coming to a clearing and he thought Crystal Bear wanted to check their cover and move into it without giving themselves away. The last thing he wanted to do was to scare the buck further if they had it in a position in which they could trap it. When Billy reached him where the wooded area met the clearing, he was stunned to see two other Indians kneeling over the buck. Billy looked on in horror. The buck lay in the center of the clearing. Its lifeless body only a remnant of the large, incredible beast they had chased only hours before. From its front, right shoulder rose the shaft of an arrow. One Indian held a club which had obviously been used to finish the deer off.
Billy began to yell at them, but Crystal Bear grabbed his mouth before he got the chance. The Indians belonged to the Shupa tribe. Billy did not understand the dynamics of the tribe rivalry, but he was learning fast that it could be dangerous to upset the balance in any way. He was willing to trust Crystal Bear and his decision and relaxed his body, relaying to his friend that he would keep quiet.
In the clearing the Indians went to work. They tore at the deer’s hide and took only what they wanted. While Billy knew Crystal Bear would have made use of all parts of the deer, these two were doing the buck a disservice by picking and choosing only the parts they wanted.
The two sat in utter disbelief. They were helpless. The two Indians were much older and larger than Billy and Crystal Bear. The two boys would be no match for them and all they could do was watch. While their attention was focused so intently on the scene at the center of the clearing, they lost track of everything else around them. Their lack of focus allowed the additional member of the Shupa tribe to easily move upon them unnoticed. Billy had no warning when the club struck him in the back of the head and Crystal Bear was just as unaware when he was pushed headfirst into the dirt. His hands were quickly tied behind him before he could even get a chance to put up a struggle. Billy shook the blackness and stars from his head, but he was too late. The Indian had already secured his hands behind his back, too. Crystal Bear began screaming out in a language Billy did not know. It took only a few seconds of that before the two Indians at the buck were next to him. One slapped him in the side of the head from behind. The other grabbed his head and covered his mouth. He yanked away just as quickly. Billy could tell that Crystal Bear had bitten him. But, that was the only fight he was capable of putting up. Their captor rained a barrage of fierce blows down upon the young Indian brave’s head. His body went limp and his nose was pressed into the dirt. Billy sat with his eyes wide, not daring to move.
Billy watched as the Indians walked back out to the deer. One opened a sack and they stuffed the hide of the buck and its antlers into it. The two came back and spoke their language to the third Indian. The discussion seemed to become heated, then one turned to Billy and grabbed him by the arm. He lifted him to his feet rather abruptly. The other two tied Crystal Bear’s feet together. One disappeared into the woods then returned with a long, bare staff. He threaded the long stick between Crystal Bear’s feet and hands. Two of them lifted the young brave into the air and each placed an end of the staff on their shoulders. Billy winced. He knew that when Crystal Bear became conscious the pain would be excruciating to his shoulders, hanging upside down from his wrists and ankles, suspended on the long stick. His shoulders appeared to be dislocated as they began their voyage to an unknown destination. The third Indian pushed Billy along. He wondered how this had happened. He looked to the sky and the sun was not much further along than it was when they had come upon the clearing. Only minutes ago, they had been free. Now, Billy was unsure of his fate.
The ground was soft and slick in certain areas heading down the hill toward a low-lying creek bed. Billy didn’t know how the Indians ahead of him were able to keep their balance holding Crystal Bear between them. After they got to the creek, the Indians took no concern about holding the young Indian brave up above the sandstone rocks. Crystal Bear, who had since woken from his stupor, did what he could to lift his head and chest from the grating surface of the rocks, but Billy was sure that he wasn’t being all that successful. From time to time he could catch glimpses of the red patches and abrasions on his skin.
Billy chanced a comment to his friend, “Hang in there, bud-“ he was slapped hard in the head from behind and stumbled but caught himself before he fell.
He was aware that Crystal Bear, nor the other Indians, could understand him, but he hoped that the sympathetic tone of his voice was comforting enough to his comrade.
The five traveled down the creek for quite some time before the land seemed to drop away from them. Billy could tell the creek, only about four feet wide at the fall, dropped away into thin air and when they reached the end of it, he saw the small waterfall it created at the mouth of a large cave. They moved steadily down a trail to its side. The land was steep and slick here, dropping nearly forty feet at a horizontal distance of only about fifteen feet. However, the years of use it had gotten had created footholds that served as well as steps on the way down. Billy chanced a look back into the cave and saw tribal women scattered amongst its floor, carrying out daily duties. In front of him, further down where the creek opened up, were huts and lean-tos created by the nearly hundred Indians he could see now. Billy could tell the creek was fed from the cave also and wondered how far back in the cave went. He assumed the creek running from the cave and the creek running on the land above were fed from the same source, but he knew he could be mistaken since it seemed so much larger down here.
As they walked along the creek into the center of the village, Indians stopped briefly from their chores and stared at the two young boys. Billy least liked the silence with which they greeted them. Loud accusations would at least let him know where they stood with them, but these silent stares only served to cause worry and confusion. He had no idea what they were about to do with them.
They stopped outside of a large hut. Crystal Bear was finally dropped. His body was limp on the ground. They cut pulled the staff from between his hands and ankles and drug him and Billy to separate trees near the hut. There, the tied them each, facing the trunks of their respective trees. The smaller Indian picked a small stick up from the ground and Billy knew quickly that it was to serve as a switch. He didn’t even have a chance to flinch before the Indian had pulled his shirt up and swatted him across the back with it. He didn’t hit him any more, but instead, spoke to him loudly and aggressively. Billy was sure it was meant to be only a warning. “No funny business,” he imagined the Indian had said. Seconds later he could hear the switch smacking the back of Crystal Bear. Billy felt ashamed, as he had let out a small whimper when the pain came to him, but Crystal Bear was silent. He promised himself he would not show pain again.
Billy could hear commotion and voices in the hut. He tried not to be scared. Crawling up the tree next to him was a large beetle. He watched it make its crooked path through the rough ridges of the gray and black bark. He longed to be that beetle now with its threatening pinchers and long barbed legs. He noticed a design on the hard shell on its back. He could have sworn it was the letter B intricately drawn. Billy shook his head, closed his eyes then opened them again and the B was gone.
Billy was awakened from his stupor by the sound of angry voices coming from the hut. After a short while, an Indian with long legs and a short torso walked from the hut. He walked directly up to Billy, grabbed his forehead and pulled his head back. Billy shook, but made no sound. Long-legs made more movement that Billy could not see, as the Indian’s hand was covering his eyes. Seconds later he could feel pressure being relieved from his wrists. His arms fell to his sides. Long-legs had apparently cut him loose. But, he still held him by the chin and lifted him to his feet. Billy obliged, standing tall once he had risen fully.
Long-legs spat a verbal warning to Billy in a language he could not understand, but he knew full well the direction in which he was pushing him. Billy moved toward the hut and stood outside the covering which served as a door. Long-legs brushed the covering aside and pushed Billy through.
A small fire burned inside the hut. It was built in the center, on the dirt floor and its smoke rose lazily toward a hole in the top of the hut. An Indian with a full headdress sat behind the fire, staring intently at Billy. Once inside he was pushed closer to the fire by Long-legs. Billy tried to straighten his body, to stand tall, but was immediately pushed to the ground. His head was shoved into the dirt, nearly landing in the fire. He could feel the warmth of it on the back of his neck. After a moment he was allowed to lift his head back up and come to a full sitting position, his legs tucked under his thighs.
He noticed Head-dress held an object in his hands. It was a jawbone, probably of a deer. When he spoke he raised it and let it fall, raised it and let it fall. Billy could not understand a word he said, but knew from his tone that he was angry, though he could not tell who he was angry with. At first, he thought he was the subject of his speech, but then he wondered if he was upset with the three Indians who had brought them in and now stood to the right of the fire in a single row, bowing and nodding to the words Head-dress was saying.
Head-dress spoke for a few more minutes, then suddenly stopped. Just as quickly, the three Indians broke from their line and pulled Billy to his feet. The three had looked so powerful to Billy in the forest but now they seemed so comical, so weak in front of this man who must be their leader.
They took Billy back out of the hut. He contemplated saying his good-byes to Head-dress, but thought better of it when the man slammed the jawbone into the dirt floor of the hut, sinking it about three inches deep.
When they were outside, Billy caught a glimpse of Crystal Bear. He leaned against his tree unhurt. His hands were still tied, but not for long as two of the three Indians sliced through the lacings that held him with sharp, shiny knives. Just as quickly they yanked Crystal Bear to his feet and threw him at Billy. The two boys stood together, confused, not knowing what to do.
This was the first time Billy was able to get a good look at his captors. Two of them were almost identical in stature. Each was short with a powerful chest and shoulders. Both wore their long hair back in a ponytail. A headband adorned the crown of both and provided the only manner in which Billy could truly tell them apart. One was dyed red, while the other was green. Both men had red and green streaks painted on their cheeks. Their deerskin jackets and trousers were well broken in and soiled.
The third Indian was not like the others at all. He stood nearly a head taller and wore no real headband, but a skinny rope of deer hide instead around his head. From it hung several feathers. His face was painted with the same red and green streaks as Red-Headband and Green-Headband. Though his deerskin jacket seemed oversized, Billy could tell he was skinny through the upper body. His left cheekbone bore a vicious scar that started near his left ear and ended near the cleft between his nose and lips. Cheek-Scar was far uglier than anyone Billy had ever seen before, but instead of appearing scary to him, Billy almost felt sorry for him. Of course that sentiment lasted only as long as it took for the man to reach out, grab Billy by the shoulder, twirl him around and push him back in the direction they had come. Red-Headband and Green-Headband were quickly walking alongside the two, keeping them close and wielding their knives in a threatening manner.
As they walked Billy thought again of the beetle he had seen. He tried to put this world out of his mind. He wondered how long the beetle would live. If he were that beetle, he’d fly away right now. But, then, he thought of Crystal Bear. Though he knew him only for a short while, he felt a strong connection to him and realized he wouldn’t abandon him even if given the chance.
He walked behind Crystal Bear and tried to emulate the proud fashion in which the Indian brave walked. They walked back up the creek and toward the large cave. Just when Billy thought they would be walking back up around it, the three diverted their path and they were heading straight into the mouth of it. The women Indians stood up from their work and gawked at the two boys. Their stares were not friendly, but Billy did not feel threatened by them either. He nodded at one and gave her a slight smile, but received nothing in response.
The floor of the cave was gritty and made up of tiny bits of broken sandstone. They had reached a point nearly twenty feet inside of it, back where the creek ran from the unknown, underground source and Billy felt a shove from behind. Cheek-Scar had pushed him down. Pain shot through his knees when he landed roughly on the bumpy rocks. Green-Headband did the honors to Crystal Bear, nearly knocking him on his side as he pushed him to the cave floor. Once they were down, Crystal Bear and Billy sat facing each other, but Crystal Bear would not make eye contact with Billy. He only looked to the ground, staring intently at the tips of his knees, protruding from beneath him as he sat on his ankles.
It wasn’t long before Billy noticed that Cheek-Scar was gone. He returned only a moment later with what appeared to be some sort of crude tools, two shovels made of hard rock, Billy didn’t know what kind. The boys were pulled back to their feet and led into the opening from which the creek flowed. Red-Headband led the way and the others followed with Billy and Crystal Bear sandwiched in between.
The five walked until there was hardly any light left to creep in from the outside. Red-Headband stopped and turned around. Billy could barely make out the wall on the left hand side of what amounted to a tunnel they had walked back. Green-Headband took the rock-shovel from Billy’s hands and slammed it into the side of the wall, knocking dirt to the floor. He stopped, and pointed, speaking his language, into the side of the wall, indicating they were to go deeper. Green-Headband then dropped to his knees, speaking to them, scooped up the dirt and placed it in a basket sitting nearby. He pointed back to the mouth of the cave indicating they were to remove the dirt as they dug it out.
Did they amount to slaves, Billy wondered. He stood with his eyebrows scrunched together. Red-Headband and Green-Headband turned and left while Cheek-Scar took seat on the damp floor and indicated to them to get started. Billy looked at the wall, looked at the rock-shovel on the floor and his hands began aching just at the thought of the job that lay before them.
Cheek-Scar grumbled orders to him and Billy reached down, picking up the rock-shovel. He slowly moved to the wall and began chopping away at the clay. It fell off in chunks and Crystal Bear moved in below him and began picking it up, placing it in the basket.
The two worked like this for over an hour and Billy didn’t think they were ever going to be afforded a break when Crystal Bear plainly stopped, sat down, turned around and looked at Cheek-Scar. The Indian said something to Crystal Bear and it was obvious his young friend was refusing. Cheek-Scar stood up and raised his hand as if to hit him, but Crystal Bear did not move. Billy heard movement from the front of the passageway. He turned in that direction and caught the glimpse of one of the older Indian squaws stumbling away from the scene, her right arm extended, guiding her along the wall at the mouth of the passageway until she was out. Billy turned his attention back to Cheek-Scar and Crystal Bear. The two were in the same position, only Cheek-Scar now had his left arm raised to his right ear, the back of his hand was facing Crystal Bear.
Crystal Bear still did not flinch. He held tight to his dignity and was making it apparent that he was done working for this tribe of Indians. Cheek-Scar grunted more orders and took one jump-step at Crystal Bear. The young Indian did not move, nor did he as the Indian’s hand came soaring through the air at him. But, Billy did. He could not stand to watch this. As Cheek-Scar’s open hand came at Crystal Bear, Billy stepped in, held out his hand and shielded Crystal Bear from the blow. Billy caught his hand in mid-air. The two stood frozen together. Cheek-Scar was focused on Crystal Bear, but he slowly moved his head and shot a glaring look through Billy. As scared as he was inside, Billy would not allow him to see him tremble. The Indian acted shocked for a brief moment, then pulled his hand away. Crystal Bear looked up at Billy and spoke softly, but he, again, could not understand a word.
Cheek-Scar stepped back and cried out with a vicious scream. The noise rolled off his undulating tongue, echoing out of the cave and to the waiting ears of his companions.
Crystal Bear stood up now in anticipation of what was to come next.
The two boys could hear footsteps hurriedly approaching them. Within seconds Red-Headband and Green-Headband appeared. They didn’t even stop to ask Cheek-Scar questions. They immediately bashed Crystal Bear in the side of the head. He crumpled to the gritty floor and they tied his hands behind his back. Billy could do nothing but watch. Then, the Cheek-Scar turned on him. Billy, realizing the futility of the situation, gave in rather easily and allowed himself to be tied.
They were forced back out of the cave. Crystal Bear was treated a little more roughly than Billy, but for the most part they just moved them hurriedly, which wasn’t easy to do considering the terrain they were walking through with their hands tied.
This time when the reached the mouth of the cave, they were not taken back through the tribe’s camp and to the hut. This time they were lead back up the side of the cave and out into the middle of the forest. The three Indians acted nervous as they moved out of the camp, as if they were not supposed to be taking the two young Indians away.
They reached a point several hundred yards away from the cave and the creek and the camp. Cheek-Scar pulled on Billy to stop and Green-Headband yanked back on Crystal Bear’s shoulder, causing him to fall backward on his rump.
The young Indian was furious and swung his legs around, attempting to kick the larger Indian. He missed, then wished he hadn’t attempted his clumsy move. All three Indians swarmed on him, pummeling him, then undid the ties on his wrists and wrapped his arms around a large oak tree. They tied his hands back together and Cheek-Scar picked out a thin switch lying on the forest floor. He began hitting Crystal Bear on the back of his neck with it. Large welts with trails of blood began rising on him. Finally, the beating stopped and Red-Headband and Green-Headband turned their attention on Billy. Again, Billy felt ashamed because he did nothing to stand up to them, but the beating Crystal Bear just took provided ample discouragement for any such actions.
The two Indians pulled Billy to a tree near Crystal Bear and tied him to it also. Luckily, he did not receive the beating Crystal Bear had taken. He just slumped to the ground and hoped they would leave soon.
The three Indians stood about, talking heatedly with each other. Billy could not see them, but he finally heard them begin to move away from them. It was not long before he could no longer hear their footsteps in the leaves. Had they left them, he wondered. Were they just going to leave them out here?
Billy listened to the sounds of the forest. The leaves high above swayed with the wind. The birds sang their melodious chants, paying no attention to the boys believe them and their troubles. Crystal Bear had been totally silent. Billy didn’t even try to communicate with him. He wasn’t sure whether his Indian companion would be upset with him.
The sun was beginning to set and Billy was unsure whether he wanted the three Indians to return and take them back to the village or whether he wanted to risk staying out in the forest through the night. Neither option seemed promising.
It was not long before the late afternoon turned to early evening and the birds continued to sing their sweet tunes. Then, Billy heard a crack. It was the type of noise he knew would just start a flood of more terrifying commotion. Crystal Bear sat up, alarmed. Then, another loud noise, a shuffling sound, as if four large timbers were being drug over the leaf covered floor of the forest. The birds suddenly stopped their chorus and all that remained was the cackle of a few lone crows.
Above him, Billy knew they watched, and awaited his fate, as they could see the monster that was proceeding toward them. He listened, then heard its deep breathing, then a low growl. And, Billy knew. It was the great Grizzly Bear coming to make a call on them. His heart shook in his chest. Billy pulled at the lacings that tied his hands, but they only became tighter. Crystal Bear hunkered down around the tree trunk. His eyes met Billy’s and they spoke of fear.
Billy caught a glimpse of the huge brown beast. Its fur hung in loose neat patterns from its enormous body. It looked to Billy to be as large as the cabin he’d grown up in.
Once it had drawn closer, he could see its piercing black eyes. He swore he could see fire in them. And, air snorted from its nostrils. One paw after the other pushed its way closer to the boys. Billy could see its long claws. They reminded him of the antlers he’d seen on the great buck that had started this adventure. He swore they glistened even though the sun had dropped below the forest’s canopy.
He wanted to pray that the beast had not yet seen them, but he knew that they wouldn’t be that lucky. Not only had the beast seen their arms wrapped around the trees, he had also smelled them. And, Billy was sure, they smelled like dinner to him.
He closed his eyes, pressed his face against the tree and began to pray. It wouldn’t be long now. Then, all of the noise stopped. Billy wondered where it had gone. He slowly opened one eye, then the other. To his horror he was staring directly into the face of the great Grizzly Bear. He froze in shock when the beast let out a deep, terrifying yell, twisting its neck from side to side, inching its face closer to Billy.
The bear stood up, extending its paw and got set to swipe it at Billy. It plunged down, falling on the Earth. Billy prepared to feel the claws rip through his forearms, but he only felt the Earth shake when the bear landed. He noticed his arms were free. The bear had cut through the lacings and moved on to Crystal Bear, tearing his apart, too. The two boys sat back and crawled like lobsters to each other. The bear stood for a moment over them, breathing heavily, drool falling to the ground beneath him like crystals attached to spider web.
Time stopped. Billy’s heart stopped. The crows stopped. Only the bear remained, and he grunted and growled, snorted and pawed the ground. The boys pushed tightly against each other, then were confused, amazed, and relieved when the bear turned and began moving away from them. Both of them stood up when he’d gone far enough. In the waning sunlight, they watched the back of him disappear through the low-lying scrub of the forest. He was searching for something still, and he was headed toward the Indian village.
Crystal Bear tapped Billy and motioned to follow him. The two began running along the bear’s flank, thirty yards away, watching him, thanking the gods for whatever had provided their escape.
What will the bear do to them, Billy thought. Or, worse yet, what will they do to the bear? He watched the great Grizzly in awe. In these short few moments, he’d gone from absolute fear of the animal to kind admiration and respect.
They watched as it moved clumsily, yet so gracefully, through the forest. They had to run just to keep up with the lumbering animal. Shortly, they reached the area surrounding the Indian village. The bear stopped and sniffed the air. He was aware of the existence of something through the trees, near the creek. He turned almost ninety degrees and began walking around the area. His sense for danger overwhelmed his sense of mischief this evening.
Billy did not even see it coming. An arrow struck the beast in the right shoulder as it turned. It screamed in pain and stood up, exposing its belly, to which an assorted barrage of rocks pelted its underside. It screamed again and lowered itself to the earth. Its defensive posture quickly seemed to change to an offensive one. The bear pushed through the young trees surrounding it in the area. It left a wide path of destruction on its charge to stop whatever had attacked it.
Billy and Crystal Bear struggled to see, to find out how many of the tribe had ventured out to harass the bear. Through the trees, finally, they could tell, it was the three: Cheek-Scar, Green and Red-Headband. Billy wanted to stand up and yell at them, to tell them to leave the bear alone, but Crystal Bear held him down. They watched as the Grizzly pushed through toward them. The arrows Scar-Cheek continued to fling at it were deflected by the saplings as the area was thick and the bear continued to close in on them. Green and Red-Headband attempted to lob more rocks at it, but they found it difficult with their angle. Once the bear was to within about twenty feet of them, they turned and began running back toward the village. Billy and Crystal Bear followed.
And, so didn’t the bear.
When they got to the edge of the hill leading down into the village, Billy could see the women and young children scrambling for the cave. The man he presumed to be the chief was yelling loudly at the three Indians. Billy assumed he was reprimanding them for having brought the bear to the village.
But it was too late now for reprimands and Billy knew it. The great Grizzly had made it down the embankment to the creek and was lumbering its way through the far edge of the huts and lean-tos. A lone arrow stuck like a banner from its side, but it didn’t seem to bother it. A trail of blood had matted itself in the bear’s thick coat of brown fur.
Many of the Indian braves were now surrounding the bear in a large circle. The women and children had fully retreated into the safety of the cave and its hidden passageways. Billy was sure they would be safe there.
The Indians began tossing rocks at the Grizzly from the side closest to Billy and Crystal Bear. They were driving it away from them. Billy thought at first that they were just going to push the bear out of their village, but then he saw Cheek-Scar on the bank of the creek opposite to him. He was lifting his bow. A shaft was laid across his arm and he looked to be taking aim. Billy did not hesitate. He reached around on the ground and found a golf ball-sized rock and launched it at the Indian, nearly forty yards away from him. His aim was true. He hit Cheek-Scar in the neck, causing him to let go of the bow. The arrow snapped back and fell to the ground. Cheek-Scar danced around, holding his throat.
Billy dropped back down into the cover of the surrounding area and looked to see if he’d been noticed. No one seemed to have seen him. He peeked through the scrub that camouflaged them and saw Cheek-Scar doing a little dance of pain, rubbing his neck. Billy smiled slightly. Then, he saw the bear moving in the direction the Indians were pushing him. The circle of men was pelting it with rocks from its right side. Those on the opposite side held rocks and opened their side of the circle, effectively letting it out to the other side of the camp.
The bear sang an aggravated tune and Billy felt slightly sorry for it, but he was glad it was moving through the camp relatively unharmed, while not doing any damage itself to the village. As the bear went out the other side, he felt a slight pain in his heart. He and Crystal Bear owed the bear something for releasing them, but there was no way they could repay it. He looked at the Indians in the village and decided they could not be blamed for their behavior toward the Grizzly. They were only protecting what was theirs. He would have done the same thing. Then, Billy saw the arrow again. The bear moved completely out of the village and Billy realized the shaft, which stuck deeply into the bear may eventually kill it if it weren’t treated.
The men of the village gathered around each other as the great Grizzly fled them. They did not pursue it. Cheek-Scar, Red-Headband and Green-Headband stood to the side of their group. While the other men looked as though they took pride in their victory, the three looked very unhappy. The village chief looked to them and the group slowly moved their way. Billy was taking a great interest in watching what was about to happen, but Crystal Bear grabbed him and pulled him toward the end of the village, recognizing their opportunity to distance themselves from the tribe while no one was paying attention to the perimeter of the area.
The two boys moved swiftly through the brush and as the sun was setting, Billy had difficulty seeing, but he trusted Crystal Bear to show him the way. He ran so closely behind him that if his young friend were to stop suddenly he’d run right in to the back of him. But, Crystal Bear did not stop. He continued to move as fast as he could.
The boys reached the far stretches of the tribe’s village and then circled back around it. It was when they started back up the other side that Billy realized where they were going. Crystal Bear was taking Billy to the bear.
Before long, it was nearly dark and Billy had no idea how Crystal Bear could see in front of him, but they had reached a broken path. Billy realized the bear had created this path for them.
They stumbled and tripped their way through the forest for what seemed like an eternity to Billy and then it got to the point where they could not see at all. Crystal Bear finally stopped. Billy could barely see him when he motioned to him that they should lie down here for the night. He was sure Crystal Bear shared the same fear as he did, that they would run up on the bear, and though the beast was injured, he was also angry, and that was something the two boys were not prepared to deal with.
Billy had no trouble sleeping that night. He didn’t even dream. The morning came quickly and he was very sore as he felt Crystal Bear shaking him to awaken. The sun hurt his eyes when he opened them, and Crystal Bear gave him very little time to wake himself up before they were moving again.
He hoped the bear had gotten moving early, too. He did not want to run into it unexpectedly.
Along with broken saplings and weeds pushed over, Billy also caught glimpses of blood on the dry leaves they were running across. The bear had to be getting weak. Billy couldn’t imagine that it had run through the night. He was afraid they’d be running upon it sooner than he was prepared for. Although, if the bear had to stop because it was too weak, any time was better than never. They were still going to have to reach it and approach it in order to help it. That moment would be scary, but they had no choice. He knew it and Crystal Bear knew it. The bear had saved them, for some unknown reason, and they must now return the favor.
Shortly before the sun reached its peak in the sky, Billy saw the large mound of fur lying at the top of a slight hill. Crystal Bear approached it carefully. Billy could hear it breathing heavily and knew that it wouldn’t be getting up any time soon to launch an attack at them. Still, they walked gingerly around it. Each of the boys circled it from a different direction. The arrow stuck directly out of the top of its exposed shoulder. It stood at an angle, appearing as though it ran deeply, possibly into the area of its throat.
The bear took long, hard, slow breaths. Its body shuddered every so often. Billy guessed it hadn’t lain here long because there was not very much blood surrounding it, although, he thought, maybe it has lost all it is going to lose. Slowly, Crystal Bear made his way closer and closer to the great Grizzly. Billy almost felt nauseous at the sight. He pictured the powerful bear roaming the forest, commanding respect from anything in its way, now reduced to this helpless sack of bones, awaiting the healing touch of a thirteen year old Indian brave. Billy stepped toward it, but Crystal Bear quickly raised one hand and motioned for him to stay away.
Crystal Bear picked up one foot, set it down softly, then picked up the other, inching his way toward the beast. Finally, to within a foot of the bear, it jerked its head up and let out a muffled roar. Billy could hear a distinct gurgling sound from within its throat, probably from the blood. While his heart shook with the bear’s sudden movement, he noticed Crystal Bear had not moved at all, but stood frozen over it. The bear looked hard at Crystal Bear and he at it. Its head was nearly the size of Crystal Bear’s entire torso. The two were locked in a death stare. Neither moved. Then, Crystal Bear slowly lifted his right hand toward the bear. And, the bear dropped its head.
Crystal Bear knelt down and took the arrow in one hand. He caressed it and held tightly to it at the spot in which it entered the Grizzly’s body. Billy watched him move it ever so gently and the bear let out a pain-filled grunt.
Can he possibly pull the arrow out, Billy wondered. If he pulls it out, will the bear bleed to death? Billy was glad Crystal Bear was with him because he would have had no idea how to handle the situation.
Crystal Bear reached into a pouch tied to his belt. He pulled out what appeared to be a grainy black powder and piled it in the center of his hand. He spit on it and stirred it with his index finger, making a thick mud of it. Then, he quickly grabbed the arrow and pulled it straight up out of the wound, tossing it aside. Billy had not expected this, nor had the bear. He stepped back as the Grizzly raised slightly, screamed, then fell back down. Once he was on the ground and still, Crystal Bear began packing the mud into the hole left by the arrow. The bear lay still and let him do his work. Billy stepped back and admired his new friend.
Feeling overcome by Crystal Bear’s bravery, Billy stepped toward the bear and sat down beside it. He slowly began stroking the thick fur running down the back of its head and onto the back of its neck. The bear seemed comforted by his kind gesture. Crystal Bear continued to work the sludge into the wound and Billy could see that there was no blood leaving the hole.
Finally, his friend finished his work. He stood and began chanting over top of the bear. Billy remained seated, running his hand down the bear’s neck. Crystal Bear began a rhythmic dance and continued it into the evening hours. The bear lay awake under Billy’s hands. The only thing that could be heard was the chants of Crystal Bear, calling on the spirits of his forefather’s to heal the great Grizzly.
The day had been long and Billy finally drifted off to sleep. His left hand lay in the thick, warm fur of the bear and his right arm was tucked up under his head which sat on the bear’s great shoulder. Here, he slept comfortably and hard. His head was full of pleasant thoughts throughout the night. He awoke once only to hear Crystal Bear’s voice, serenading the night sky. When Billy woke again, he realized his face was lying in the old leaves of the forest’s floor. He quickly sat up and was shocked to see that the bear was gone. He could make out a small black mound a few feet from him in the moonlight. It was Crystal Bear, asleep. His job was done. The great Grizzly was gone, off to reestablish its rule in the forest. Billy imagined he could hear its great roar in the valley which sloped off the hill over which the lay. And, he was happy. And, so was Billy. He lay back down and placed his head on his hands and went back to sleep, feeling content and fulfilled.
14
“I said, “Wake up!””
Billy shook his head, leaned forward off the seat and opened his eyes. He took a second to get his bearings, then realized they were at Crescent View. He reached for the door handle and let himself out. His father didn’t say a word to him. He just drove off when Billy closed the door.
“How you feeling?” a familiar voice asked him. He looked up. It was Dottie. She’d been absent from school yesterday, and Billy and she hadn’t shared any classes this morning, but she was kind enough to join him at lunch regardless of his new found popularity amongst the students of Crescent View High.
“I’m doing okay.”
“Hear he got you good,” Dottie remarked.
“I said I’m okay.”
“All right, all right. You don’t need to get snippy.”
Billy looked down at the table, “Sorry.”
The two sat in silence for an awkward moment, then Billy said, “It’s just that I didn’t even do anything to deserve this. He just enjoys tormenting me like this.”
“Steve Worthy…” Dottie began. “More like, Steve Worthless. He such a…”
“It wasn’t him,” Billy interrupted. “Well, I mean, it was. He beat me up, but he was just defending Suzan. He thought I, well, he- it was Frank McDuffy. Frank put paper in Suzan’s hair. Steve thought I did it. He beat me up for it.”
“Well, why don’t you just tell Steve the truth?”
“Yeah, and then face the wrath of Frank? No thanks.”
“You’ve got to be able to do something. You just can’t keep taking these beatings,” Dottie offered.
“Yes, I can,” Billy responded matter-of-factly.
Dottie rolled her eyes, shook her head and said, “You’re hopeless.”
“I don’t care.”
Dottie just groaned and turned her body away from Billy. The two parted ways in silence and walked off to their respective classes.
15
Knowing his father would be home soon, Billy rushed to finish rinsing the few dishes he’d needed to make dinner and throw them in the dishwasher. The way in which he managed doing the housework with a single arm was amazing, always balancing things and making use of all available resources to finish the job. It had all become second nature to him. He finished by wiping the excess water off the kitchen counter and making his way to his room. Just as he began to close his door, he heard his father’s car pull up in the driveway. The man wouldn’t bother with him. He’d probably be glad he didn’t have to talk to Billy once he got in the house.
Billy grabbed for his math book, sat down on his bed and opened it. He was honestly going to make an attempt at finishing his homework tonight, but he didn’t make it far before sleep was calling. He was leaned back on his pillow and things got a bit too comfortable. Within seconds, his eyes had gotten heavy and he found himself drifting off.
****************************************************************
He was being taken further and further down a corridor of light. The walls were smoky and white. Even though the light was intensely bright, he could still see where he was going. He kept expecting it to hurt his eyes, but for some reason, it almost comforted him, begging him to come forward, to keep walking.
He felt a strange sense of déjà vu, and wondered when he’d walked this path before. He stopped and looked backward, realizing that he may have been down this corridor at some other time, only he’d been going in the opposite direction.
He lost track of time quickly, although it had been only a few minutes. Now, the corridor began to offer different paths and take several sharp turns, but at each, he could hear the faint sound of what he thought was a flute guiding him down the next path. His ears felt like they had cotton in them. The last time he’d heard like this was when he’d been to a concert in the park and stood too close to the amplifiers. For about two hours afterward, he heard things like he was under water. And, that was how he felt now.
He continued to walk and as he did, the flute got clearer and his ears seemed to open up. The further he went, the more the sound became magnified. And, now, he was in an open chamber. He closed his eyes briefly and when he opened them, the whiteness of the room had been replaced with vibrant color. He was entranced by the beauty of the walls, but it seemed as though no section ever looked the same twice. He’d stare at a wall, look at another and look back at the first only to find it had morphed into something even more alive than the first.
After a while, he felt the presence of something very intimate. He felt the presence of love. Then, he began to notice an intense smell. He recognized it suddenly as the perfume his mother had worn. He’d found a bottle of it when he was young in a chest his father had kept in their attic and he’d hidden it under his mattress for years, smelling it when things had gotten particularly rough. Now, the smell enveloped him. He looked around the chamber and felt himself going around and around faster and faster only to realize he wasn’t moving at all. The chamber was. Then it stopped. And, a woman was sitting in the middle of it on a stool. She held a flute. He recognized the woman from pictures he’d seen in his house.
It was his mother.
“Hello, darling,” she said.
Billy was speechless.
“It’s okay if you don’t say anything. I don’t know what I would say if I were in your position.”
“Where- where are you?” Billy asked, not feeling that he could actually be ‘here’ himself.
“In Heaven.”
“Are you an angel?”
“I guess you could say that.”
Billy shook his head. He wanted to run to her, to hug her, but another part of him told him he had to wait. He couldn’t touch her. He was afraid of getting hurt if he went to her. He decided he’d be better off to keep his distance.
“Do you- what- is…?” Billy trailed off, not knowing what question to ask next.
“It’s okay, honey. You’ll never understand it, of course, until it is your time to come. But, until then, you’ll just learn to accept it.”
Billy shook his head again. He found it hard to believe that he’d ever truly learn to accept this. Then, he was startled when he considered what he was going to say next, “Why am I here? You said- am I dead? I can’t be-“
“No, no, honey. You aren’t dead. In fact you have yet to have been given a real chance to live.”
“Then, why am I here?”
“I just needed to talk to you, darling.”
Billy wished he could have remembered all of her ‘honey’s’ and ‘darling’s’ from his younger days. They seemed to roll off her tongue like melted chocolate. But, he couldn’t remember anything about her. In fact, the last three minutes had provided to him more insight into his mother than the last dozen or so years.
This was all more than he thought he could take. He felt like sitting down, but there was nowhere to sit. Suddenly, he felt like he was sitting, but he looked down at his legs and could tell he was still standing. He ran his hand through his hair, then realized his arm was there. He looked at both hands, opened and closed his left hand, bent the arm at the elbow, and took in how it seemed to work pretty well.
“Don’t be surprised, honey. It will always work in your dreams.”
Billy looked at her incredulously.
“Some day, it will work again. I don’t know how, but I’m looking into it.”
He was confused. Did she mean to say that one day he’d have his arm back? He was elated for about a half second, then realized how silly the notion was. His mother saw it on his face.
“You must have faith, darling.”
“Okay,” he said, though it came out more as a question than a statement. “How, exactly, do you expect that to happen?”
“I’m not quite sure,” she said. “But, I’m looking into it. I have very little else to do up here than to take care of you.”
Billy shook his head at the notion that his mother had been “taking care of him” for the past several years.
“I know,” she said. “It has been difficult. Your father- he-“
“He’s a beast,” Billy interrupted.
“He just doesn’t know how to deal with all of this.”
“He caused all of this,” Billy argued.
“You must learn to forgive him-“
“I don’t want to,” Billy realized he sounded like a four year old child when asked to eat his peas.
“You must, Billy. Once you forgive him, you’ll find it in you to help him.”
“How can I help him? All he wants to do is drink. He can hardly hold a job.”
“But, you have got to be strong for him. You have got to watch over him. I can’t help him. He is beyond my grasp. But, you have to understand, deep down inside, he still loves you.”
“He doesn’t love me.”
“It is difficult for you to believe, but there is a part of him that still remembers the first time you wrapped your tiny hand around his finger.”
“I doubt it.”
“You must find a way into that part of his soul. It hasn’t been that long ago. He’ll remember. It will help him.”
Billy stood in silence. He found all of this impossible. He looked at the woman and noticed his eyes on her. His hair carried the same waves and curls hers did. And, his mouth curled in the same places hers did when he smiled. She was smiling now, Billy assumed because she had the same thoughts he did.
“You are growing up, Billy,” she said. “And, you need to fix this before it is too late.”
“How?” he asked.
“I’ll let you know as soon as I figure it out,” she responded. Then, the corridor started moving backwards from behind him. His mother was being drawn away from him. Billy was no longer in the chamber and then she was gone. He stood still. This did not shock him. He wasn’t scared by it. He could no longer be amazed at the special effects of his dreams, because, this, he decided, was all it was, a dream. Then, he found himself to be right. He began to wake up. He sat up in his bed, shook his head and looked at his wall. For a brief moment, he saw an image there. It was the face of his mother. It was like one of those games he’d played as a kid where he’d stare at dots on a page next to an image, then look at a white wall and he’d see the image for a few seconds. There she was. Then, she was gone.
16
The afternoon sunshine poured through Mr. Watson’s window and nearly put Billy straight to sleep. What else would be new? Almost everyone slept through Mr. Watson’s class. After all, it followed lunch and was boring as sin. Following the textbook day-to-day was the curriculum for Mr. Watson. It didn’t take much prep time for him and as far as he was concerned, it kept the kids busy. He seldom even spoke to the students other than to quiet them down at the beginning of class, tell them which pages to read and give them their assignments. Billy never understood why a man like that stayed in the profession. It must have just been easy for him. But, the man had to be miserable.
He had difficulty taking his mind off the dream of his mother from the night before. He didn’t really want to go there. It scared him. But at the same time, he knew he should have been filled with joy. He was sure she was controlling his dreams now, and he felt like he should be happy about it, and while there was some sense of elation, he also felt pressured by it, almost as if he was not happy about being expected to make the change his own life needed.
It wasn’t long before Steve Worthy was waking him up. “Hey, dufus,” he whispered to Billy. Billy tried not to look at Steve, but he knew with forty-five minutes to go, class would not be fun. There’d be no real daydreaming today. He’d promised himself of it earlier, but Steve’s attention was going to assure him of it now.
“I know you hear me,” Steve tried again.
Billy turned and made eye contact with him. Big mistake.
“Why you been talkin’ to Suzan, man?” he asked.
Billy tried to turn away from him. He knew that girl would continue to get him in trouble.
“She’s talkin’ about you all the time, man. Talks about what you write and all.” Mr. Watson stirred from behind his newspaper. He pulled it down and peeked out at his class. Billy quickly bent his head toward his desk and tried not to look at him. Steve had his head cocked up on his bent arm and never looked Mr. Watson’s way. Billy glanced back up at the teacher and saw that he was still glaring at him. Another moment and he’d get bored, Billy assured himself. But, not before Mr. Watson would get bored looking at them.
Billy closed his eyes; he tried to daydream. In his head he was conjuring up a dramatic wind like in movies about witches. He commanded the air to blow through the classroom. It tore through everyone’s papers, knocking books off desks and created a snowstorm of looseleaf paper running about the room. Eventually, it got strong enough to pull Steve right out of his desk and Billy smiled at the look he imagined on the boy’s face as he was whisked from their third story window and thrown outside.
“What’cha thinkin’ about Weadle?” Steve brought Billy back to reality. “You’re smilin’ about something.”
Billy shook his head, then wished he hadn’t.
“Yeah, you are.” Now, Steve knew he had Billy’s attention.
“You better not be smilin’ about Suzan.” Billy wanted to smile again, as she was the furthest thing from his mind. “You better get her out of your head right now,” Steve continued to badger Billy.
Thoughts poured through his mind and Billy slightly shook his head back and forth over and over. Why is it, he wondered, that every other boy in this school wants that girl, but I have no interest in her in that way and all he wants to do is be jealous of me? Look at me, Billy thought. Why would he want to be jealous of me?
It’s not what you look like, you idiot. He could hear Dottie’s voice in his head now. It’s what you have inside your head. The pretty snob girl isn’t as materialistic as she looks. She actually likes you for who you are.
“Weadle-” Steve interrupted his thoughts. “Weadle-“
Of course, Dottie’s voice overtook his conscience again, she’d rather be seen with jerk face. Billy kind of smiled. He’s a lot easier to look at than you.
You are a fool. Whose voice was that? Billy snapped from the somewhat pleasant thoughts that Dottie provided. His father had joined the conversation in his head. Just in time, Billy thought. She doesn’t want to have anything to do with you, his father’s voice said. Who would want to have anything to do with you, other than that freak, Dottie? No one even looks at you other than to call you names. If anything, that girl just feels sorry for you. Believe me, she’ll get tired of it, especially when her snob friends start making comments to her about you. Then, she’ll be just like them. She’ll be talking about you behind your back just like everyone else.
Billy tried to put him out of his mind. He didn’t like Steve and his father to gang up on him. “Shut up,” he found himself whispering.
“What did you say to me, freak?” Steve upped his volume. Mr. Watson stirred again. Billy looked sideways at Steve, realizing what he’d just done. He wished he could take it back but it was too late.
Steve waited until Mr. Watson had buried his head in the sports page again. “I said, what did you say?”
“Nothing,” Billy mouthed without looking at the bully.
“Look at me,” Steve screamed at him, although it came out as barely a whisper. Other students were beginning to look at the two now. Billy began to feel very uncomfortable. He felt like the world was caving in on him. Breathing was becoming difficult. The other students were really starting to stare now. He even felt like they were pointing a laughing at him, but he knew that couldn’t be true. Why wouldn’t Mr. Watson stop them? Didn’t he care what they were doing to him? Didn’t anyone care? Why can’t they all just leave me alone, Billy thought. Steve was on a roll now, spurred on by the attention he was getting. “I said, look at me,” he ordered again, getting more brazen with the volume.
Billy felt his stomach leap. His bologna sandwich from lunch was not sitting still anymore. He felt like if he didn’t do something quick, he’d make an even bigger fool out of himself. Mr. Watson looked up again and all eyes were focused on Billy like arrows pointing out the trouble. There it is, Mr. Watson, they said, there’s the source of your problem, the root of all evil in your classroom. “Problem? Mr. Weadle?” Mr. Watson said. He even began to stand up. That rarely happened.
“No- no, sir,” Billy stammered through. Some of the students began to snicker. He was really beginning to feel sick now.
“Then what are we making such a fuss about back there?”
Billy opened his mouth to say he wasn’t, then stopped himself. He determined that keeping quiet was the best solution.
“Can’t talk now, Weadle?” Mr. Watson asked. The students really began to laugh then.
How can you let them egg you on, Billy wondered. You are supposed to be the adult, and you are just ganging up on me like they are. How can you call yourself a teacher, an advocate for children? Billy felt his blood pressure rise. He put his hand on his forehead, his elbow sat tightly on his desk. He felt like he was going to puke. Don’ let them see you do it, he told himself.
“Get up to my desk, Weadle,” Mr. Watson ordered. Even though Billy was upset, he still couldn’t get over how comical the teacher sounded when he gave his command. His voice garnered very little respect from anyone which made this all the worse. He had no respect for the man, but still had to do what he said.
“Go,” Steve Worthy pushed him on.
“You stay out of this Steve. I can handle it.”
“Yes, sir. Sorry,” Steve said in perfect school-boy fashion. If Billy wasn’t going to puke before, he was sure he was going to now.
“Should I send you down to the office and have them call your father?” Mr. Watson asked.
At the sound of the word, Billy jerked his head up and looked at the teacher. He parted his lips in a half smile, shook his head and looked back down at his desk. “What difference would that make?” Billy mumbled.
“What did you say, Weadle?”
Billy just shook his head again and continued looking at his desk.
“Get up here, Weadle,” Mr. Watson shot out again.
Billy acted without thinking. He stood up and began to walk toward the front of the room. He felt like he was seeing everything in slow motion, recognizing his actions two or three seconds after he’d performed them. One foot in front of the other carried him to Mr. Watson’s desk. When he got there, he stood with his toes touching the front of the teacher’s desk. His stomach gurgled. His head swum. The student’s waited in anticipation for the sentence that was about to befall the town’s joker. Billy felt a hot stream emerging from his belly. It crept up his throat and he did nothing to stop it. It didn’t slow down on its way out, and it welcomed Mr. Watson’s newspaper with a hot bath. The majority of it landed on Mike Piazza’s face, hitting a homerun, swinging for the fence, going yard right there on the front of the sports page. Billy wretched again but nothing came out. His knees suddenly felt weak and he looked up at the teacher. He’d never seen a sharper look of horror in his life. He didn’t turn around to see the faces of the students. He didn’t need to. He could tell by the collective gasp what their reactions were. Then, he did a right face and exited the room.
After walking through the door, his arms began to shake, then his legs and his hands and stomach. He felt like he could throw up again. He walked down the hallway with his shoes squeaking on the shiny white tile. The glow of the fluorescent lights reflected off the floor, accentuating the fact that he was in the corridor alone. His mind zoomed past Steve and on to Suzan Richards. Billy thought there was no way Steve could be jealous of him now in regards to Suzan. Not after this. He’d be lucky if she ever talked to him again. But, he didn’t really care all that much. He cared more about what Dottie would say. He wished she was here right now, but he was afraid she’d think he was a true idiot now. Although, with her, it didn’t seem to matter what he did. She just went on being his friend. Which, is why, he thought, he shouldn’t go messing it up by sharing his feelings with her.
Class would let out soon and he didn’t know what he would do. He’d been to the nurse too many times already this year. They’d just call his dad, and that would make matters worse. He didn’t want to stay at school. But, he decided that wasn’t an option. So, he went to Mrs. Gringle’s class. Maybe she would let him sit in the back of her room and let him write. Dottie had her next period anyway. He could see her. She’d make him feel better.
When he got to her room, he stood outside her door, checking his shirt to make sure he hadn’t left any evidence of his sickness in Mr. Watson’s room. Noting nothing of consequence, he quietly opened the door and slipped through. No one really paid him any mind, other than Mrs. Gringle, who gave him a wink and nodded her head when he went to the back of the room and sat down. He looked to the chalkboard and read the days writing prompt, “What would happen if you ran off and joined the circus? Write about the adventures you would have.”
Billy smiled at the thought of it. Boy, he thought, what he’d like to do with that prompt. He actually had Mrs. Gringle last period of the day today and would have some time to think about it, of course, unless she changed the prompt. He thought it would be nice if he had paper, but he’d left his folder in Mr. Watson’s class and wasn’t about to go retrieve it. He had his pen in his back pocket and found several sheets of torn up paper on the floor. It would have to do.
****************************************************************
“Ladies and gentleman, boys and girls, children of all ages, welcome to the greatest show on Earth,” the ringmaster belted out. The man’s jet-black curls tumbled toward the dirt floor of the circus tent when he removed his large hat and doubled over, bowing to the eager crowd. “Feast your eyes on the center ring. Tonight, you will be treated to an act that defies all probability, an act that will mesmerize, tantalize, and hypnotize. In that center ring we have Buster, the wild gorilla.” The ringmaster pointed to the ring and a cued spotlight lit up the massive beast. He was hunkered down on all fours, awaiting his command. “He will juggle flaming bowling pins while balancing on Tonka, our world-renowned Asian elephant.”
Billy couldn’t listen to anymore. He had to get away from this place. Walking out into the dark night, he found himself tripping on the trash left behind from the past two nights. He found it all disgusting. Though, he thought it was even more disgusting that no one had bothered to clean it. And, if any of the other shows were an indication, then this fairground would be left unclean too when the circus moved out two nights from now. He heard muffled sounds of the ooh’s and aah’s of the crowd. Tonka must be standing on his hind legs, Billy thought. He remembered the first night he saw the act and how he found intriguing, but it lost its effect shortly after. After he’d worked for the circus for a week, he’d seen more animals treated badly than he’d ever wished to see in his life. He’d wondered why the animals responded at all anymore. If anything, they should rebel, he’d thought. But they kept on doing the same tricks, week after week, show after show, and they didn’t complain.
“What’s going on, Tiger Boy?” The voice was gruff and obviously drunk. So, was its owner. He turned and saw Jim, leaning against the trailer he’d walked out to. Jim was one of those perpetual drunks. Billy never really saw him drinking, but he just always seemed to be drunk. He often wondered when he had time to drink because he was in charge of feeding the show animals: the horses, the dogs, the camels and more. It wasn’t a job that required much skill, but he had to know what he was doing and it took him most of the day to continually check and recheck to ensure the animals were getting the proper amount of nutrition.
“Not much, Jim,” Billy answered him. “How is it going with you?”
“Can’t complain, my man. Can’t complain,” Jim then let out a horrible belch.
He had referred to Billy as Tiger Boy, because of Billy’s act. He was the center of attraction in an act involving three Bengal tigers. Their act always began in a humorous way. The ringmaster would announce Billy and his tigers. The spotlight would scan to their ring, but Billy would be nowhere to be seen. The three tigers would just lie lazily in the center of the ring, one right next to the other. The ringmaster would call for Billy and the clowns would come out, seemingly worried. Then, one of the tigers would roll over, then another would roll, revealing Billy underneath them. He would pop out and jump up. The crowd would act surprised and show their approval through clapping and cheers and Billy would take a bow. The tigers would then jump up and begin their routine, ending with them jumping over Billy as he crouched on the ground.
Billy couldn’t even remember when he’d learned the tricks he had with the tigers. He couldn’t even remember training them. But, he knew that he’d had this act for several years and although he’d sustained a scratch or bruise from time to time, he’d come through it all relatively unhurt. Sometimes, though he wondered how much longer until his time would come up. He treated his tigers well, but most of the other animals in this circus were treated poorly. He was very protective of the tigers and tried to keep everyone away from them. After all, they were still wild animals and one never knew what one could do to set them off. He had witnessed first hand a bear tear into its trainer, but then again, trainer was a loose description of the man who had put that bear through the wringer, forcing his own brand of discipline on him and making him perform trick after trick without feeding him and by beating him so severely at times that Billy thought for sure the bear would not survive it. But, the trainer’s day had finally come up and the bear had taken hold of him. It required three tranquilizer darts and about ten men of the circus to separate the bear from him. By the time it was all over, the trainer was pretty torn up, scared to death and still in the hospital when the circus left town. No one had heard from him again. The circus owner had toyed with the idea of having Billy take over the training of the bear, but he’d let him know that in no certain terms would he be doing that. The bear was now damaged psychologically. Billy would never feel safe with him.
As for the tigers, he had a special bond with them. They acted so tame around Billy that many people would become complacent around them. This caused problems from time to time, but nothing major. Billy, however, was worried that one day it would lead to that. They were, after all, wild animals. And, they were wild animals that could easily kill any human. This meant they were not to be messed with, which was a concept some people of the circus couldn’t seem to get.
The crowd was letting out of the main carnival tent. Billy looked at his watch. 10:00, a few minutes later than normal. The ringmaster must have given them something extra. He tried to back out of the way of the people heading toward their cars. Generally, the crowds were pretty polite and easy-going as they left, but from time to time, they’d get the drunken college groups at these later shows and once or twice, they’d spotted and recognized him, making him uncomfortable. They’d ask him question after question, some of them serious, some of them sarcastic. It didn’t help that he was literally known as Tiger Boy in the circus. The drunks loved to give him a hard time about that name.
He decided to head back to the trailer area of the grounds. If he got his shower now, he could be in bed by 11:00.
When he made it back to the trailers, he jumped into the one he shared with Jon Carlson and Ned Snape, two guys who were extras, playing clowns some nights, cleaning up elephant debris the next. They were okay, but Billy always held them in suspicious regards. He couldn’t quite place his finger on it, but he felt they were up to no good at times, but he never actually saw them doing anything wrong, except for one night when he saw them going into the parking lot with a group of people who didn’t appear to be on the grounds to watch the circus, but seemed very intent on meeting with Jon and Ned. Neither of them looked too happy about having to go out and talk with them, but they went anyway. Two of the three guys they went with were over six feet tall and had to weigh about 275 each. They both wore buzz cuts and bore the scars of those who looked like they made their livings in bar brawls and fights. The third man was tall, but skinny. He was heavily tattooed and wore about three days worth of whiskers on his face. Billy remembered him the best because he didn’t appear to have an eyeball in his left eye socket. There was no glass eye there, either. It was just empty. Jon and Ned went with them and had come back about thirty minutes later. Both had looked as if they’d had the blood drained from them. Billy remembered asking them if they were all right, and neither answered. They’d just returned to the trailer, locked it and gone to sleep, though Billy knew they hadn’t gone to sleep that night at all.
Now, the two of them were getting ready to go out. “Hey, Weadle,” Carlson said. His voice was gravelly. He always sounded as though he’d been screaming his lungs out for the past two days. Anything he said skipped over vowels and left blank air in their places.
“Want to go out with us?” Snape asked. His voice, on the other hand, was almost effeminate. It was nasally and low.
Billy’s heart told him, yes, go. He’d been lonely lately. He couldn’t even remember the last time he’d had an actual conversation with someone. But, his mind answered for him. “No, thanks, guys. I’m real tired.”
“We’ll get you back early,” Carlson tried to convince him.
“Nope. Y’all better go before I change my mind and regret it, too.”
“Alright, man,” Snape said. “We’ll tell you about it in the morning.”
“Take care,” Billy said as they closed the door behind them. He felt his heart sink slightly. He probably should have gone, but he knew he had to be up early and it was already late by his standards. The part of him that wanted him to go taunted the side that knew it was right to stay. He knew he was one of the most responsible people in the circus, but he knew he was also one of the most boring. He shook his head, tried not to dwell on it got his things ready to take a shower.
On his way out of the trailer, he grabbed for the key around his neck to lock the door, but couldn’t feel the leather lanyard that he usually wore it around. In the dark, it was difficult to see, but he could definitely tell it was not there when he felt some more. He was standing outside the trailer in shorts, a t-shirt, and old tennis shoes and the night was getting cold. “Ah, there’s nothing in there anyone wants anyway,” Billy said to himself, deciding he’d look for the key inside when he got back from the shower tent.
Halfway to the showers, he made a detour to the tent holding his tigers. He figured it wouldn’t hurt to say good-night to them.
When he entered their tent, he saw them sleeping, but Mac jumped up immediately. She always recognized his sent and responded to him, sometimes, before he’d even entered the tent. Hal and Grace lifted their heads, but didn’t get up. Both pawed briefly at the bottoms of their cages in Billy’s direction as if to say, “Come over to me,” in a lazy way, but Billy went first to Mac. He always did. She seemed to be the happiest to see him, plus, she got upset if she had to wait on him. The other two were content to wait. They knew he’d eventually make his way to them.
Mac was a female, about seven years old. She’d been taken from the jungles when she was only a few months old. Her mother had been shot by a poacher and she was found by an American student in the jungle conducting research. The circus had bought her when she was smuggled to the United States and Billy had met her when he was only six. But, they’d fallen in love. He played with her all the time and the two were practically inseparable until Mac had become so large that she was scaring anyone who came around her and realized she was not on a chain, leash or penned up in any way, so the owner of the circus had demanded that she remain in a cage when not performing. Although, he seemed cruel to Billy at the time, he also thought enough of Billy to give him one of the best opportunities he’d ever come by. The owner set Billy up with Gino Tarentelli, one of the world’s top animal trainers. Gino was given the task of teaching Billy everything he knew. Billy was only seven. And, Billy didn’t have any trouble picking up on it all. After all, the tiger was in love with Billy and would go to the ends of the Earth for him. A few trainers had tried to bully their way with Mac, but she’d stood for none of that. The only person to whom she would respond then, was Billy. By the time he was eight, he was performing with her in the circus, and they were the highlight of the show.
Hal and Grace were just as responsive to Billy, but they’d joined the pair just two years ago. Both were only three to four years old and had been abandoned by a zoo that was closing up in Sioux Falls. Within about three weeks, Billy had won their trust, Mac had taken them under her tutelage, and they were just as magnificent under the spotlight as Mac and Billy had become. The four of them made quite a group, though it was obvious that the group was made up of two pairs. No one could separate Billy and Mac, just as no one could come between Hal and Grace.
Billy was sad now that he hadn’t gone back in the trailer to look for his lanyard with his keys. If he had, he’d unlock Mac’s door and crawl in with her to give her a hug good-night. “Sorry girl. I don’t have my keys.” He reached through the bars and rubbed her neck and up into her ears. She pushed her nose through the bars and gave him a rough lick on his left cheek. Billy laughed and kissed her back on the forehead.
After petting Hal and Grace, Billy said good-night and headed for the showers. It was pretty cold out and Billy thought about how stone-aged it seemed for them to have these types of showers. At least there was a floor, though temporary. And, the walls were nothing more than carnival tent material, sectioned off for everyone’s privacy. The biggest problem was that it was not heated. The whole thing was temporary, easily put up and taken down, meaning on nights like these, showering was akin to torture.
Billy eventually started to make his way back from the showers. He ran, jogged, walked quickly, whatever it took to get him back to the trailer faster. It felt as though the temperature had dropped about fifteen degrees since he’d left the trailer thirty minutes ago. Each time he’d pass under a light pole, he’d notice that he could see his breath. He was glad he hadn’t gone back for his key now, because he was able to swing the door to the trailer open immediately and rush inside. He closed the door behind him and turned back to the inside of the trailer, clicking on the light that he was sure he’d left on when he’d left the trailer.
When the light came on, the color rushed from his face. Standing and sitting threateningly in the trailer before him were the three men he’d seen with Jon and Ned a while back.
“Hello, William,” the tall skinny one said.
No one had called him William. Ever.
Billy’s skin crawled, and his first inclination was to run. But, he had the intelligence to take his time and plan his next move. The thought occurred to him that they shouldn’t know his name, and if they did, they knew more about him than he did about them. Now, he was even more nervous. The three just stood looking at him. Finally, the large one cracked his knuckles, while the other laughed.
Billy knew he needed to get out of the trailer fast, but he also remembered the keys. He saw them now lying on the floor by the couch. The same couch the big one was leaning on, cracking his knuckles, with a sadistic grin tearing across his face.
“All you need to do is tell us where Ned and Jon are, Billy,” the tall skinny one said.
“I-I’m not sure,” Billy stumbled over his words. He wasn’t sure how to answer. He wanted to be loyal to his two friends, but they weren’t that great of friends as to get himself beaten up over. He also didn’t really know where they were. He knew they’d gone out, but not where. He knew they’d eventually be back, but not when. He guessed he could tell all of this to the three, but then, he was sure they would just want to stay and ambush them in the trailer. And, there was no way they’d let him go now, lest he find the two and warn them.
He let his options run through his head as quickly as possible and realized his best chance would be to get to his tigers. Even if he just got in the cages with them, he was sure these three guys would not follow him in.
He set his shower stuff down on the table just inside the door of the trailer. He looked at the keys lying on the floor in front of the couch. They were practically surrounded by the three men. There was no way he could swipe them from them. He took a deep breath, thought, then said, “They are in the gear tent. Let me get my keys. I’ll take you to them.”
The three separated and let Billy walk up to them. He picked the keys off the floor. Easy as that, Billy thought.
He had turned around and began walking back toward the door when his plan hit a snag. “Wait a minute,” the skinny one said. “We’ll be takin’ those keys.”
Billy turned around and saw he had his hand out. The look on the skinny one’s face said that he wasn’t asking. Billy was startled into reacting. He didn’t think at all when he took off running for the door. The big one tried to grab hold of him, but his fingertips only brushed Billy’s back as he scrambled for the door. The three jumped to their feet but were not quick enough to catch Billy before he’d disappeared out the door and into the night.
He ran as hard as he could toward the tiger tent. Arms pumping, legs churning up clouds of dust in the moonlit night. His shower shoes flew off his feet as he ran. The two smaller men were gaining on him while the large one fell behind and eventually crept to a walk, but he kept an eye on them, sure to catch up with them sooner or later.
Billy wasn’t about to let them catch him. He knew all he had to do was to make it to Mac’s cage. She’d take care of them. There was no way she’d let anything happen to him.
His bare feet took him swiftly past one tent and then another. He was careful now not to trip over any guidelines that held the tents in place. The area was not well lit, but the moon was out pretty strong and provided some light anyway. He was in an area with six tents, each only about twenty feet by twenty feet. He ran alongside of one, then turned right, running on its backside, trying to lose the three. When he got to its corner, he turned left again and ran between the two supply tents, then he turned again and ran to the right, along the backside of the fourth tent. When he got to its edge, he ran into his trouble. While he had been cutting in and out, the tall, skinny man had opted for a direct route. He stepped around the corner just as Billy got to it. Billy ran hard into his right shoulder. Both were knocked off balance. Billy almost fell, but regained his footing and began running again, deciding now he had to go for a more direct route to Mac’s and the others’ tent.
When he got to the opening, he stopped momentarily. The thought crossed his mind that one of the three men could possibly have a gun, though he hadn’t seen one on them yet. If that were the case, he’d never go into his tigers’ tent. He could never forgive himself if he put them into that sort of danger.
He felt his way in anyway. It was very dark inside the room, though Billy knew there were the equivalent of night-lights somewhere inside that would eventually provide him with the light he needed, though, right now, his eyes had to adjust to the darkness. He would have to work that to his advantage, he thought, for when the three thugs came in. He maneuvered his way to the cage in which Mac slept, although, she wasn’t asleep anymore. She was probably up before Billy even entered the tent, her senses for him being so keen and sharp that Billy would often walk far around the tent when he was running errands in the afternoon so as not to disturb her. He heard her now, purring heavily and pawing at the cage. He knew he had only seconds before the three followed him in, so he grabbed for his keys and felt for the lock. Within seconds he had her out. He held her by the silver studded collar she wore. His heart began to slow down now as he felt her soft coat of fluffy fur under his knuckles. Hal and Grace pawed at their cage door now, too, and he realized he’d better unlock them in the event the men had a gun. He had to give them a fighting chance and not allow them to be sitting ducks inside a locked cage.
They sensed the danger that drove Billy to them in the first place and were outside of the cage on the canvas floor before the keys swung back to his chest, hanging from the lanyard.
Hal and Grace pranced nervously in front of Billy and Mac, not sure what to do. Billy wasn’t concerned that they’d leave the tent. He knew they’d stay right by his side until the danger had passed, but he was worried that this would prove their downfall at the same time. These tigers were trained to perform, not attack or defend. He wasn’t sure how they would react. He hoped that their natural instincts would take over and that they would be able to assist him in the best manner possible, although he wasn’t sure what that was. The thought crossed his mind that if they attacked the men, they may be seen as dangerous and put down, but then, he realized he couldn’t worry about that now, he’d set this in motion and he must carry through with it. Hopefully, he thought, their presence would be enough. Hopefully, the three would see them and take off, but Billy knew that wouldn’t necessarily keep them from coming again.
He stood and waited. The air was still. It seemed like just moments ago there was tons of noise and commotion going on around him, but he realized now that it was just as quiet now as it had been all along. The garble he’d heard was no more than the noise of worry present in his head- the noise that tells one what to do, that gives options, that hurries people along, that drives a person, when he is in trouble.
A minute passed. Then another, and another. Finally, he crept toward the tent opening. His hands began to shake as his fingers parted the two sheet of canvas draped together acting as a door. He pulled one side back and slowly poked his head out.
He didn’t even feel it. The heavy object landed on the back of his skull, sounding a dull thud throughout the carnival tents in this block of circus city.
Mac watched in confusion as his limp body slid out through the opening and the canvas swung back to its vertical position.
Outside, two men grabbed Billy under his underarms and started to drag him down the passageways between tents, going back the way from which they had come. The men felt no sense of urgency. They only moved carefully, so as not to be seen by another human. But, it was late, after midnight, even, so they weren’t as concerned as they should be that someone may happen along them. The further they went, the more confidence they gained that they would eventually get what they came for. They had no clue they were in danger. They had no clue that behind them, moving in single file through the tents, following their friend’s scent, were twelve paws, each armed with its own set of retractable weapons. Weapons that put the talons of the great bald eagle to shame. Weapons that hooked and curved to one vicious point, a point that had ensured the survival of their species and all variations thereof since the beginning of time. And, they followed the trail silently, looking for Billy, their muscular bodies moving with precise rhythm, ready to rescue him from the danger which had taken him from them.
“Where we taking him?” the large one asked the skinny man. His words came with a struggle now, huffing and puffing. The man was strong, but by no means was he in cardiovascular shape.
“Back to the trailer. If anyone asks, we just tell them he’s had too much to drink, we’re taking him home.”
When they reached the end of the block of tents the big guy readjusted Billy and threw his arm around his broad shoulder and carried him, dragging his feet as though he were passed out from a night of carousing. No one would suspect a thing.
When they were half way to the trailer, the three tigers came abreast at the edge of the last tent. They stood and watched as their friend, their master, was drug through the trailer door. They began calculating their next move.
As if they could read each others’ minds, or, at least as if they were following Mac’s lead, the three moved silently across the opening between the tents and the trailers. They formed a triangle with Mac in the front, Hal in the right rear and Grace on the left.
When they got to the trailer, Mac put her massive paw on its side, standing on her hind legs and looking into the window.
From the inside the large man sat on the sofa, across from the window. The curtains were slightly closed and the lights were on, therefore when he looked up and saw the jowls of the Bengal tiger brushed against the glass, he thought at first that his eyes were playing tricks on him. But when he realized he wasn’t being deceived, he let out a confused yell. His scream scared the other two, causing them to jump. They looked at the window and saw for themselves the source of his commotion.
Their reaction set in motion a violent set of events from Mac, and then Hal, followed by Grace. Mac let out a primal scream, pawing at the window, nearly breaking it in one fell swoop. Grace and Hal jumped toward the window, then Hal backed off, remembering that they had drug Billy through the opening at the front, though the opening was no longer there, but there was an outline and she slammed into it. Grace, then jumped for the top of the trailer and grabbed hold of its edge. She let go when her hind legs slipped, failing her in her attempt to climb on top.
Inside, the three men scrambled for the middle of the trailer, horrified at what they’d gotten themselves in to. Billy began to stir, almost as if he was now aware that his tigers had come to his rescue. His head was groggy when he sat up and he had no recollection of what had just recently occurred to him. The lights in the trailer were bright to him and hurt his eyes. He could begin to make out shapes, then realized there were men in the trailer with him. At first he thought they were Jon and Ned, but when he counted a third he remembered that these men were here to cause him problems. Then, he was confused as the men seemed to move away from him. He hadn’t even done anything to warrant them being afraid of him, but they grabbed hold of each other and wore looks of panic like he’d seen worn by the characters in an old Scooby Doo cartoon.
Slowly, he became aware of the noises. There was a loud knocking, not rhythmic, but as if something wanted in the trailer none-the-less. He looked at the window and caught a glimpse of something huge outside of it looking in, then it was gone.
The men began to scream at him. “Call them off,” yelled the skinny, tattooed one.
“They are going to kill us,” the large on hollered.
“Who?” Billy asked.
All three men answered at once, though each of them called the tigers something different in his response, one “cats,” the other “beasts,” and the other, “lions.” It was enough though that Billy knew immediately what they were talking about. His heart swelled with pride. He could vaguely recall now running from these three to Mac’s, Hal’s and Grace’s tent. He didn’t know what had happened once he got there, but he assumed it was nothing too good based on his state right now. But, to know that his tigers had come to save him made him want to jump up and shout. Instead, he attempted to make himself appear as calm as possible. He knew he didn’t really want them in the trailer with these three men. He was actually more scared of what the men might do to his animals than what they would do to the men. Though, he couldn’t let these hooligans know that.
Just then, wham, he could hear one of them slam into the door of the trailer.
“Shall I let them in?” Billy asked.
“Get rid of them,” the skinny man said.
“I might not be able to,” Billy replied. “They expect me to come out. If I don’t, they are going to tear this trailer apart trying to get me.”
The men looked at Billy with wide eyes. “Fine,” the skinny one finally said. “You go out. Call them off. Let us out of here.”
“Whatever you want,” Billy said, knowing full well what his plan was.
The trailer was rocked again by one of the beasts. Its walls creaked as if they were going to break open.
“Go,” the three men shouted in unison.
“Okay,” Billy almost sang to them.
When he got outside, he shut the door and all three tigers playfully pounced, licking and pawing at him. Billy laughed and was overjoyed to see them.
In the darkness he could see that a small crowd had gathered to watch. He called to them and when they came running he told them what had happened and of the three men inside. “We’ve already called the police,” one of his circus comrades said.
“Good,” Billy said. “Those three aren’t going anywhere, not as long as these ladies are out here waiting on them.”
The crowd could hear the muffled sound of one of the men shouting at Billy, “Hold them back, now. Let us out.”
The crowd of circus people, wanting to make itself known, took over. They ran at the trailer, kicked and hit it and shouted various words of discouragement to them.
In the background Billy could make out the faint sound of sirens. He knew in a moment the three men would be safely inside the back of a police cruiser. In the distance he could make out the shape of Jon and Ned. When they realized Billy recognized them, they turned around and headed back into the parking lot, never to be seen or heard from again. Billy was left to wonder what it was all about, but decided it didn’t matter. His animals loved him and they had quite possibly saved his life.
The sirens seemed to get louder now, and at this point it was like they were coming from overhead. Now, they weren’t sirens. It was a tone, a loud piercing tone, and he woke up. Again, he was in school, sprawled across his desk, drool fell from his mouth and the students around him laughed.
17
When Billy came up for air, he realized to his dismay, or to his liking, he was unsure which, that Dottie was sitting in front of him. “Hello, stranger. Fancy seeing you here.”
“When did you come in?”
“When the bell rang, dufus,” she chided.
Billy hadn’t even noticed the changing of classes. It worried him for a second that he could have become so engrossed in his writing.
“You seemed so involved, I didn’t want to bother you.” Billy turned around and saw Mrs. Gringle standing beside him, trying to read what he’d written.
“Oh. Sorry,” he said.
“Don’t be. I love it when someone gets sucked into their story.”
Billy began to blush, but tried to toughen up when he saw Dottie roll her eyes at him.
“Could I read it?” the teacher asked.
He didn’t respond, only handed her the stack of papers. There were about a dozen or so of them. She tidied them up. “You must have had something on your mind, William.” Part of him hated it when she called him that, but a small part of him liked it, thought it made him seem older, more mature. Then, he saw Dottie roll her eyes again and turn around.
When Mrs. Gringle walked back down the aisle to her desk, Billy craned his neck and tried to see what Dottie was writing. She turned her shoulder and placed her forearm over the bulk of the paragraphs she’d written. “It doesn’t concern you.”
“Why not?” Billy asked.
“You wouldn’t want to read it anyway. Oh, ye who gets sucked into his writing. Shall I bow before you?”
“Give me a break.”
“Please, any other teacher would have sent you straight to the dean for spending two periods in her class. But, with Mrs. Gringle, you- you get a medal.”
“She feels sorry for me,” Billy said, trying to make excuses for the fact someone actually cared for him. “Besides, why do you have to go bustin’ my chops just because she cuts me some slack?”
Dottie just sighed, turned around and finished writing her sentence. After a moment she turned back around. “It’s about a boy who gets lost at the circus and can’t find his mother. They turn him into a clown,” Dottie said. Billy couldn’t help but notice the lack of inflection or emotion in her voice.
“Everyone laughs at him and he goes on to become the world’s most famous clown, but in the end, he dies unhappy, sad and alone, because he feels like the only reason he was so popular was because everyone was just laughing at him and all of the problems he dealt with being nothing more than a circus clown.”
“Enlightening,” Billy responded.
“Thought you’d find it so.”
Billy just looked into her eyes. She was locked into his gaze and the two were silent. The rest of the room was quiet and Billy’s breathing began to become more rapid. He could feel his heart start to pound in his chest.
Thump. Dottie slammed her fingers down a little too hard on Billy’s desk. “Okay, friend,” she said, breaking their stare, “I should try to finish this.”
“Go ahead,” Billy said and sat back in his chair. He began doodling on the last piece of paper he had left. He drew a misshapen cow and the moon. The moon had a face, but it looked particularly unhappy. It looked down on the cow as it jumped over it. The arms and legs he’d drawn extending from the moon were skinny and frail looking. When he was finished, he turned his pencil over and drug the eraser over the left arm of the moon, completely deleting it from the page.
The bell startled him. Class was over and he had only one more to go, in Mrs. Gringle’s class.
“Don’t you go to Ralston next,” Billy asked Dottie.
“Yeah, you want to come, seeing as how you’ve made up your own schedule today?”
On their way out the door, Billy got the okay from Mrs. Gringle to move on to Mr. Ralston’s class. “It’s okay,” she said, “but don’t tell him I approved of your skipping his class to begin with.”
“I won’t,” Billy said, smiling as they left the room.
His smile turned in to a frown almost immediately when they turned the corner of the hallway adjacent to Mrs. Gringle’s room. Steve Worthy as walking straight toward the two. Suzan was with him and had already noticed. “Hey, Billy,” she called out.
“Oh, brother,” Dottie whispered, loud enough for Billy to hear.
“I heard you were sick. Are you okay?” Suzan asked. Steve feigned barfing. His pack of followers laughed at his mime.
“Yeah. Yeah-“ Billy stopped, realizing Dottie probably didn’t know what she was talking about.
“What do you mean you were sick?” Dottie asked.
“In- In Watson’s class,” Billy stuttered through. Dottie bent her head toward him in a gesture that said, “Go on.”
“I got sick and threw up,” Billy said, putting it all out there. He’d hoped she wouldn’t find out at all.
“Are you alright?” she asked. Then, “Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Yeah, are you okay?” Suzan asked.
Dottie gave her a look, then turned back to Billy, looking annoyed. He didn’t know if she was annoyed with Suzan or him.
“I’m fine.”
“Give me a break,” it was Steve, “boy blows chunks all over Watson’s desk and he gets the attention of the finest looking girl in school and the dorkiest-“
“Shut up, Steven,” Dottie interrupted him.
“What?”
“You heard me. Leave him alone.”
Billy’s heart sank. Here we go again, he thought. Why doesn’t she realize she just makes things worse when she gets like this?
“It’s okay, Dottie,” Billy said weakly.
“There you go, boy, pull your dog off.”
“You creep,” Dottie said, stepping toward him. Suzan backed off, a blank expression on her face.
“Who do you think you are? You may be able to stand up to Frank and his boys, but-“ Dottie stepped closer to him and Steve took a step backward toward the hard marble steps, leading down to the outside door.
Billy rolled his eyes and backed away. I can’t believe this is happening, he thought. There are going to really respect me now. “Dottie,” he said and tried to reach for her.
“No,” she screamed and pulled away from him. As she did, she pushed at Steve. With the two forces moving together, and Steve already heading backwards, she managed to push him pretty hard. Will Tomlinson, one of Steve’s parasites, didn’t react quickly enough. He tried to move out of Steve’s way, but managed to drag his left foot too much. Steve fell right over it and down the steps. His books flew in the air and the back of his head cracked loudly on the steps. If the fall didn’t give him the concussion, his math textbook did when it fell through the air directly on his forehead. He must have blacked out momentarily because he slid down the steps in a smooth motion. His arms and legs drug quietly behind him and he landed softly at the bottom. Suzan went running after him. Billy and Dottie turned around just in time to run in to Mr. Watson.
“Good job, Weadle. I thought you’d gone home,” the teacher said in a snide voice as he took Billy and Dottie by the arms.
Dottie didn’t even respond. She was too furious. She just walked alongside the man, knowing exactly where they were going. Billy slumped along too. He was beginning to become acquainted with the Dean’s Office. Billy thought to himself that it was always over stuff that he didn’t even start.
Mr. Watson didn’t shut up the whole way there, but Billy didn’t listen. He just looked at the floor and felt like crying. He was sure, though, that Dottie wasn’t going to, so he tried as hard as he could to keep it in.
“Let go of me,” he could hear Dottie begin to complain.
“Nope,” Mr. Watson said.
“You are hurting my arm,” she said. Then, she made the comment that Billy knew would get to the teacher, “Look at the mark you are leaving.” He could see Mr. Watson quickly let go. Dottie didn’t run. She kept right up with them. Billy shook his arm lightly and pulled it free of the teacher’s grip. He too, walked alongside, figuring that to run would be stupid. He’d go talk to Mr. Grogan and explain to him what had happen. Surely, he would understand. He then thought about Mrs. Gringle and felt bad for her. She had passed the three of them in the hallway on the way to the steps to tend to Steve. Billy hoped she wasn’t too scared.
The office was cold. Billy was led into the nurse’s office and expected to sit there until the dean was ready for him while Dottie was placed in the waiting office. He thought it was funny how they’d separated the two of them. When he sat down, he pulled the flannel shirt he wore over his black t-shirt up on his neck in an effort to warm himself. He knew it would be a while and found himself wishing he had someone to talk to. He wished he had someone to make him feel better about the situation. But, he knew the only person who would do that was also going to be fighting her own battle. She was in the other room. He knew his father was not going to support him. And, even though he knew in his heart that he was right, it was easier to believe that he had been in the wrong because he had no one to comfort him and tell him that everything was going to be okay.
It wasn’t long before he was slipping down tat conscious corridor between being awake and asleep. His eyes grew heavy, his chin dipped toward his chin several times and then, he was out.
****************************************************************
The air was crisp, but not cold. His mother’s face appeared warm and rosy. His grandmother’s, on the other hand, was leathery and cold looking, sort of like the face of one who had spent the last fifty years of her life behind a cigarette. He couldn’t tell if he was supposed to be a part of their conversation, so he took a chance and said, “Hello.” Neither responded to him, so he assumed he was just expected to watch and listen.
“How did you find me?” his grandmother asked his mother.
“My heart brought me to you.”
“What do you want from me?”
“I want to save my son,” Billy’s mom said. Though her statement struck Billy quick to the heart, it seemed cold, just professional, but lacking emotion. He had never known his grandmother but assumed that there was no love lost between her and his mother. The way she spoke to him could attest to that. It was obvious she wanted something for him, but she knew she couldn’t appeal to his grandmother’s emotional side to get it. He recognized this sort of talk from himself when he spoke to his father.
“And, how do you expect to do that?” his grandmother spat back.
“I’ve no idea.” There was a long pause, then she said, “But, I expect that you can help me.”
“With what? How?” This time her answer was a little less (negative, stand-offish, pushing her away) and a little more welcoming.
“How can we change what happened?”
“I don’t know.” The old lady spoke harshly again, as if she couldn’t be expected to do something so irrational.
“Can you tell me more about Billy’s father?”
“What do you need to know about him? You married him didn’t you?”
“Yes, but I-“
“Shouldn’t you have been a little more careful about who you chose to marry?”
There was a pause. Billy saw that his mother did not want to play this game. He wondered how his grandmother could be so cruel to his mother, then he reminded himself of his own father. He figured this old woman must be where his father had learned to act the way he did.
Billy waited for his mother to answer, but recognized some of the same strength he knew he had in his mother. He knew she was not about to start talking again right away. She’d wait on his grandmother to appear disinterested. She’d never make the woman feel as if she had the upper hand, like she had something his mother wanted. She’d never allow his grandmother to feel as though she were begging, just as Billy never begged his father for anything. He would never let that man think that he held any purpose in his life. He did everything he could to make him feel like he could get along just fine without him.
“Well,” his grandmother finally started the conversation again, “what do you want me to do?”
“I want you to tell me why he acts the way he does. I want to know why treats people the way he does. Why is he so hard on Billy? What made him turn to drinking? Why couldn’t I reach him after a while? Why-“
“Because, dear,” his grandmother interrupted the flow of questions. “He grew up learning to hate me- and his father for that matter.”
“But, he didn’t know his father,” Billy’s mother said more to herself, then added, “Did he?”
“He knew him as well as Billy knew you. You both died around the same time.”
“Why would he have hated you, though? You raised him.” Billy’s mother was confused. She had known Billy’s grandmother only a short time in real life. She died shortly after Billy’s mom and dad met. Billy’s mom remembered her to be a nice woman.
“Billy’s father is raising Billy. He hates him,” his grandmother said.
“But, why would he have hated you? I only met you in life shortly before you died, but you seemed to be a good mother.”
“I was not a good mother,” she said and looked away.
Billy’s mom shook her head and said, “But,-“
“I wasn’t,” she was interrupted by Billy’s grandmother. “My son is only acting the same way he saw me treat him as a child.”
The two stood in silence for a few moments, then Billy’s grandmother sat down, only there appeared to be no floor on which for her to sit. Billy noticed then that there appeared to be no floor whatsoever, however, he didn’t let himself become too concerned about this. After all, the thought to himself, this is a dream, right?
“Charles, Billy’s grandfather, had a friend named Robert Tubino. I never cared for the man. Charles and he rarely saw each other, but when they did in my presence, I knew the man was trouble. I guess you could say he was more of an acquaintance. He seemed to be a violent man and I couldn’t tell when Charles would talk to him if he truly liked the man or if Charles just didn’t want to offend him and was just being friendly.
Charles worked late hours at the bank and wouldn’t be home until 8:00 or 9:00 o’clock some evenings.” His grandmother stopped and sighed. “It upset me at first, but I got used to it and sometimes I’m afraid it made me grow away from Charles and not even care.
One night he came home and he seemed to be agitated. Before he got into bed, he mentioned something about Robert Tubino. The man had visited him at work and asked him to have a drink with him. I don’t even remember what Charles told me about their meeting. I was just very upset about the fact that Charles had not gotten home until 11:00 o’clock.
The next morning Charles tried to make up his tardiness to me from the night before by offering to take me to dinner. He knew I was angry and I was more than willing to allow him to put together an apology for me. I agreed and he got a ride to work with Gene Higgins from across the street so I could take the car into town that evening and pick him up for our dinner date.
He called me several times that day, just to say hello and to remind me to be there by 5:30. The bank closed at 6:00 and I thought that he just wanted to prove to me how committed he was by leaving before they actually closed. As I recall everything, I realize now how he was acting strangely, almost as if he was scared that I wouldn’t be there by 5:30. But, I didn’t want to be there on time.” She stopped and had a faraway look in her eyes. “I wanted for him to wait on me for a change. I wanted for him to hurt a little bit instead. I hated myself later for doing that.
I didn’t leave the house until 5:30 which put me at the bank at about 5:45. That was about twenty minutes too late. I look back and know for certain that if I’d gotten there when I was supposed to, I would have never lost Charles. When I walked into the bank, I remember a cold chill creeping over me. Things seemed all wrong. Tillie, the head teller didn’t even smile at me as she usually did. The employees were like statues. Before it was too late, I realized they weren’t being unfriendly. They were frightened. When I got to the back of the bank, I reached for the doorknob to Charles’s office, but it burst open on me, nearly knocking me off of my feet. Out poured Robert, and he was dragging Charles behind him. I could tell Charles had been hurt. When he turned to me, I saw that Robert had one of those big guns you always saw on gangster movies. Then, I saw Tillie walking from around her counter. She was carrying moneybags. She was followed by Marie, then Stephen and Helen. They all had moneybags. Robert was waving the gun at Charles’s head and shouting for them to keep moving. I started screaming. Robert turned to me and pointed that gun right at Charles’s left cheek. He told me to shut up and follow him or he’d shoot Charles. I didn’t feel like my feet worked, but I quickly did what he said. I’d parked in Charles’s usual spot in the alley next to the bank. I did like he said and opened the trunk. He ordered Tillie and all to drop the money in there and to go back in the bank. There weren’t many people out on the sidewalk, and for those that were, it didn’t seem to register what was going on. He pushed Charles and me into the car and he jumped into the driver’s seat and took off. When I thought back on it all later, I couldn’t recall how long the trip had been. But when we got to the buildings where he planned on hiding for the night, Charles was in rough shape. It was there that he killed Charles. He left the two of us in the morning, and I spent the rest of my life angry, placing the blame on everyone, including myself and Billy’s dad, as stupid as that sounds. I just didn’t want to deal with being left to raise a child on my own. I started drinking and my personality changed horribly. It wasn’t until after I knew I had cancer years later that I realized my mistake and tried to amend my ways. But, I’d already ruined (Billy’s dad’s name). The seeds had been planted to make him an angry person. I saw him happy for the first time in his life when he met you. You never knew the real (Billy’s dad’s name), because you turned him into something better. But, of course, it couldn’t be totally driven from him and he’d have his bouts with anger and the drinking. One of those bouts, as you know, killed you. Then, he was unhappy again, and Billy is left to pay for it. If I’d only gotten there fifteen minutes earlier…”
Billy saw his mom looked horrified. He couldn’t believe she’d never heard this story before. But, it was obvious she hadn’t. “The only way, then, to change him is to make him realize that Billy is a part of me, to get Billy to realize he has to accept him for who he is, but that he is the only one who can make him happy. Billy can’t run from him. He has to make him realize he loves him.”
She stopped for a while and no one said anything. Finally, she spoke again. “God has brought me to Heaven for some reason. I don’t really know why. I think it is to make me suffer. I don’t deserve this. I should be in Hell. Sometimes I think the shame I live with around these great people is supposed to be my living hell, for eternity. Wouldn’t that be something- if Hell were actually in the minds of those living in Heaven who don’t deserve to be here? I would believe that. I don’t deserve to be here. And, watching Billy puts me through Hell all the time.”
Again, there was silence and Billy thought the two were done, but then he realized they had only gotten through the beginning. “Then, what are we going to do?” his mother asked.
His grandmother gave her a blank look.
“How will we fix it?” his mother asked again.
His grandmother looked away and responded. She didn’t know where the answer came from. She didn’t even understand it, but she just said, “The dreams.”
Billy’s mother shook her head. She understood.
Almost immediately, Billy felt himself being drawn back. He was no longer sitting next to his mother. He felt himself being pulled into that spot in the distance at which his grandmother’s gaze had been fixed through most of her story. He could barely see them now. If he hadn’t just been with them, he wouldn’t even know it was they. He squinted, and realized he was still looking at them. After a while they drew close to each other and their bodies became one. He assumed they were hugging, but they never seemed to draw apart. That was the last thing he could remember when he awoke.
“Wake up!” Billy felt someone kicking at his feet. “I said, “Wake up!”” It was his father. Billy snapped up, not so much because he was scared of him, but more because he didn’t want his father to embarrass him in front of Mrs. Sally.
“What’d you do this time?” his father asked when Billy stood up.
“Nothing- Steve- Steve-“
“Stop studderin’ boy,” his father interrupted.
“Steve Worthy got pushed. He fell down the steps after he’d been sayin’ stuff to me and Dottie.”
“So you pushed him down the steps?” his father asked in disbelief.
Billy wanted to tell him he hadn’t pushed him. Then, he’d have to tell him Dottie did, and he’d feel ashamed of that. He wanted to tell him what had happened but decided it would be of no use. He’d have to be able to actually explain it to him, which is something his father would never give him the time to do. Then, he went a different direction.
“He had it coming!”
His father stepped back. Billy wondered, did I just yell at my dad?
He decided not to stop. “He’s been all over my case this year and Dottie shoved him down the steps.” He hated himself for having to admit it was Dottie and not him that did the deed, but he couldn’t stop it from coming out.
Billy’s dad took another step back. The expression he wore said that he didn’t know how to react to Billy taking up for himself. Suddenly, he felt weak. The man turned away from Billy and started to leave. As he walked out the door he mustered all of the authority that he thought he had left and said, “Fine, you dug your hole, they can…” and, Billy didn’t hear the last of what he said. He was already out the door and gone.
“Come one, Billy,” he heard Mrs. Sally say. “The dean will see you now.”
Billy walked into his office with his chest higher than it had ever been before.
18
Billy was disappointed when the two of them walked back out of Mr. Craig’s office. When the dean had called Dottie into his office, she hardly said a word the entire time, only stared at the man and barely even blinked when Mr. Watson came into the office, ranting and raving about how she’d pushed Steve down the steps. Not a word was spoken about Steve and his role in this. Mrs. Sally had come in at one point and informed them all that Steve was now conscious, but it looked like he would have a concussion. Then is when Dottie had made her mistake. “Oh, Mr. Craig will he be able to play in the football game on Friday?” she had feigned concerned. That had been about enough, and it had probably gotten her suspended the extra two days. She’d be going home for five total. Billy, on the other hand, hadn’t been suspended at all. Mr. Craig had barely spoken to him. Billy hadn’t really even looked at him. Now that he thought about it, he wondered if he’d even listened to most of what the man had said. After all, as he looked at his watch he noticed at least thirty minutes had passed, but he couldn’t recall most of it. Had he been dreaming again? He wasn’t sure.
“That’s justice for you isn’t it?” Dottie had begun speaking again.
Billy didn’t know whether to be happy or angry with her. She had totally taken all the heat for him on this one. He hadn’t stood up for himself at all. And, she was getting in trouble for it now, too. He decided he’d be angry with her.
“What? You aren’t talking to me now?”
Billy just kept walking. They’d been directed to go straight to the bus-loading zone and go home.
“Whatever,” Dottie said, shaking her head and turning it away from him.
“You know, I can take care of myself,” Billy finally said.
“Yeah, okay,” Dottie replied.
“Oh, you tick me off.”
“Oooh, let me have it. You ever notice that I’m the only person you talk to that way? Everyone else just kind of runs over you.”
Billy considered, then said, “At least people talk to me. No one will even give you the time of day-“
“I don’t want anyone to talk to me. I’m perfectly fine with it,” she interrupted.
“Yeah, you are.”
“Shut up. What do you know about it? It’s not like many people are falling all over themselves to be your friend. Besides? What good does popularity do anyone? Look at what it’s turned your buddy Steve into.”
“He’s not my bud-“
“I was being sarcastic, you idiot.”
“I know that.”
“Oh, you kill me.” The two were walking faster now, like they were in a race.
Dottie changed the subject, “Billy, it wouldn’t hurt you to come out of your shell a little, to open up to people.”
“Why? I don’t have a problem with the way people look at me.”
“You threw up on Mr. Watson’s desk, smooth boy. You make a farce out of yourself. You dream your way through the day. People make fun of you behind your back. You don’t have any friends, except for me, and, who wants me for a friend, anyway? That’s half your problem.”
“I’m not-“ Billy started.
“Oh, except for the fact that you have chosen another friend, and she just happens to be the girlfriend of the most evil boy in school. Good job. Way to pick ‘em. What next? Are you going to actually make yourself Mrs. Gringle’s son. You know that’s what she wants-“
“Shut up,” Billy stopped her. “Man, Dottie, you’ve got me all figured out, huh? You know I just don’t like to confront people. They’ll get theirs in the end-“
“It’s not about them getting theirs. You know all of your relationships are built around sympathy for your… condition.”
Billy rolled his eyes and exhaled deeply.
“And, the problems you have are rooted in it, too. Your dad, your arm, your life, it is all centered around one central them. You want the world to feel bad for you. You aren’t willing to step out and make the world your own. You aren’t willing to take control.”
The two made it to the bus-loading zone and Billy sat down on a bench. He was angry with Dottie and didn’t say another word to her, but, as much as he hated to admit it, he knew she was right. The two sat in silence until the smell of exhaust snapped him from his fog. When his bus appeared, he got on it without saying a good-bye to Dottie and took his tired bones home.
19
Later that night with his father asleep on the couch, Billy sat up on his own bed, clutching the book his mother had written. He remembered her comment about the dreams and hurriedly flipped to the last story. What he found disappointed him. She had started a story, but hadn’t finished it. He wondered if this story was the beginning to the last dream he felt he would have. What was her comment about the dreams meant to infer, he wondered. How did this story fit into the dream network? He turned off his lamplight and closed his eyes with the book under his pillow. Just get some sleep, he thought, you’ll figure it out in the morning.
Only, three hours later he was still awake. He couldn’t stand not knowing. He wanted to go to sleep and have the dream of which his mother spoke, but the wanting only made it more difficult for him to fall asleep, and so he failed. He stretched, got out of bed and walked the floor of his room, praying he’d fall asleep soon. On the floor was a sheet of paper. He grabbed a pencil from his bedside table and opened the journal to that last story his mother had started. He lay down on the floor and began rewriting the story she’d written. He started to copy it word for word. He didn’t make it a half dozen lines before his eyes began to get heavy and his head started to droop. He let it fall and rest on his arm. There he lay, asleep, and his brain took him down that corridor to his dreams.
****************************************************************
The car sped down the rural county road. Billy held on to the top as the rain pelted him in the face. He wasn’t sure how he had gotten there and he wasn’t sure whether all of this was real. It sure seemed like the rain was truly hitting him, but he didn’t think any of this could really be happening. Almost as if he were in another person’s body, he looked at his arms. They were both there. It wasn’t real, he thought. Does that mean that if I let go, I won’t be scattered along the pavement? He didn’t know whether to be brave or scared.
Then, his mind was made up for him. The car slammed to a halt and he flew off of the roof. He tucked his body into a curl as he bounced off the pavement. He didn’t really feel it, only the sensation that it must have truly hurt, but he couldn’t tell if it did or not. He stopped rolling and looked up. The cars headlights were screaming toward him. The car had begun moving again and he was its target. Make no mistake, now. He was scared.
It bore down upon him and he sat up. A dazed look covered his face. If he didn’t move, he’d be turned into hamburger. Without thinking any more about it, he rolled backward on his head, threw his arms behind him, did a reverse handstand and sprung his body into the air. He’d only seen Spider-Man perform such a trick on Saturday morning cartoons, well, and maybe he’d seen a gymnast or two complete the feat during the Olympics. Flying five feet in the air, now, he saw a blur speed below him. He reached down and grabbed the top of he windshield and held on. His body jerked back flat and he slammed onto the top of the car again. Unbelievable, he thought. He was hanging on for the ride again and the driver was doing everything he could to shake him.
Who am I now, he wondered. Where am I? Why on earth does it matter whether or not I hold on?
It became clear to him now that he’d heard screams coming from the car when they swerved again. The man driving was relentless. Billy’s body was being slung about like a rag doll, from the left to the right, right to the left. And, the screaming started again. “Stop! He’s just a boy…” He heard the voice over and over, and then realized he recognized it. It was his grandmother. He knew he’d only heard it in dreams, but it was as clear as a bell to him. A ragged coarseness lined her words. It had to be her, he thought. And, this car- it was bulky, definitely something from the 1940’s or 1950’s. He wasn’t sure, but he knew he’d seen cars like it in those classic hot rod magazines. If his photo were snatched right now, its caption would read something to the effect that he were hugging tight to an early 1950’s Dodge, or something like that. It would make quite a picture, he thought, but then, he wasn’t sure that he’d ever seen action shots in those magazines.
The roaring of the engine snapped him out of his brief wonderings and he looked ahead. The headlights revealed to him that they were about to go around a sharp curve and there was something in the road. The storm had knocked a small tree down and it lay completely in the way of the oncoming car. The driver swerved to the left, then to the right, probably realized they weren’t going to go around it, then was speeding up to hit it full force. They did. The car lurched. A thud accompanied a sickening screeching of metal and Billy realized they were dragging the tree now. The car could not shake it. The drive slammed on the brakes and Billy was nearly thrown again, but he held on tight. The car was thrown into reverse and backed up about twenty feet. Billy could see that the tree had now been knocked sideways and it was obvious the driver could make it around it now. They stopped, changed direction and rolled forward, leaving the tree behind them, but he could now hear a distinct clunking sound coming from the underside of the car. The tree had done some damage and they never were able to accelerate to the same speeds they had before. Billy held on for the next mile or so when they reached what appeared to be old farm warehouse-like buildings on the right-hand side of the road. Trees and shrubs lined the left-hand side. The driver threw the car into them. It spun in a full 180 and Billy could not hold on. He was thrown from the car. When he hit the small tree, he thought he had broken in two. His head slammed into the ground. The mud caused by the rain slimed its way into his ears, nose and mouth. Then, he thought he tasted blood. And, everything went dark.
When he came to, the car was sitting still in a ditch on the opposite side of the road. The driver’s side door was left open and he could see the dim light of the overhead dome bulb burning. No one was in the car. He sat up and looked at the large wood-planked buildings behind the car and figured they must be in them somewhere. Again, with every move, he knew he was supposed to be in pain, but he wasn’t. It was more the thought of it that was a hindrance to him. The anticipation of what he thought he was supposed to feel was playing more of an effect on him right now than if he really were in pain, he thought. He stood up, then realized he was out in the open. He jumped behind a tree and crouched down. He tested hi right leg, then his left, felt his midsection where he thought for sure he’d have broken ribs, but everything seemed to be alright. He knew he didn’t have time for a plan, but he knew he also couldn’t just go charging over there. As he looked at the buildings and made a mental note of where all of the dim light fixtures were, the thought occurred to him that he should first go to the car and try to determine who all was in it. He thought maybe he could discover something that would give him some idea of what he should do next.
The rain was beginning to let up, but lightning still flew across the sky and the cool breeze caused his loose-fitting shirt to cling tightly to his back and nearly make him freeze, only he didn’t truly feel the cold, just the sensation that he knew he must be turning into a Popsicle. He wondered if it were possible to go into hypothermia in this world. He tried to keep moving, to keep his body warm.
When he got to the car, he kept his head down. He didn’t want to shut the door to turn off the light so he wouldn’t alarm the driver in the event he was watching the car from the buildings. He also needed to be able to see what he was doing. He snaked into the car and looked under the front bench seat. Nothing. He carefully moved his head over the top of the seat and peaked into the back seat. There were a few droplets of blood on it, but nothing major. Whoever was back there wasn’t bleeding profusely, but the person wasn’t in the best of shape either. He guessed there must be three of them. The driver, his grandmother, she was obviously in the front seat judging by the screams he’d heard, and the person who was bleeding. He wondered if that were his grandfather.
He popped back down out of the car and on to the pavement. He snuck along the backside of the car. The rear tire was in shreds. When he looked back up, he realized the trunk was ajar. He pushed his fingers into the crevice between the trunk and the car’s body and flipped it on open before he thought enough about it. The trunk lid bounced in the upper position several times before coming to a rest in the full up position. He wanted to slap himself for not being careful. If the driver were keeping an eye on the car, he certainly would have noticed that. Now, he thought, he was in already in enough trouble, he may as well stick his head in and investigate. He quickly looked in. When the next bolt of lightning streaked across the sky, it provided him with enough light to see a green piece of paper and shiny cylinders lying on the floor of the trunk. When the world had gone dark again, his mind registered what they were, money and shell casings from some kind of large gun. The next streak of lightning revealed a scant path of bills from the car to the buildings. A trail of money, Billy thought. Will it lead me to them? Do I want to go? If he has a gun, how will I ever face off against him? He sat crouched down, his hand still rested on the opening of the trunk as he thought. Then, a huge gust of wind blew with the next crack of thunder. It caught the trunk lid and threw it down. Before Billy could react, it slammed against his fingers and popped back up. He jerked his hand back and, as a reflex, jerked his hand up and down, flicking his fingers, but then realized they didn’t really hurt. They’d stopped the trunk lid, but they didn’t really hurt. The thought then occurred to him that it could be possible that he could get shot, but it wouldn’t hurt him. He looked at his knees and saw bloody scrapes through the holes in his jeans. There was blood, but still, they didn’t hurt either. What does that mean? I can be injured, but can I truly be hurt? He wasn’t sure, but it was enough to give him the courage to go after the man he knew had a gun, his grandmother, and, he was sure, his grandfather. Without thinking, he popped up and sprinted for the nearest building. When he got there, he crouched under an open set of stairs that led to its second floor and gave himself time to think. At least now, he thought, he was committed.
The rain began pelting him again. Maybe, he thought, I can go to the second floor and get up high. He thought there were only three buildings and he wondered where he’d go if he were the driver. Probably, he thought to the one furthest from the road and as high as he could. If the man had stolen money and he had a gun, he knew the police would soon be after him. He envisioned shoot-outs from movies he’d seen of Al Capone and his gang. He figured for sure he was holding his grandparents as hostages and he would give them up only for his own safety. Billy wanted to get to them before the police came. He wasn’t sure he grandparents would come out of it alive if he left it up to someone else. He didn’t care if the driver got away, but he knew he had to get the man to release his grandmother and grandfather. If he could, he may be able to change the course of his own life.
He began creeping up the stairs of the building, keeping himself as low as he could, moving slowly so he wouldn’t slip on the slick wood. When he got to the top of the stairs, he reached for the doorknob of the door to the second floor. He slowly turned it, praying it wasn’t locked. It opened with ease. Then, he remembered, this was mid-century in farm country. They didn’t have to lock doors then and there. Things like this just didn’t happen, but it was what had defined his life, one of those freak acts of violence and terror that most people only thought happened in movies, but that were a large part of his real life.
He expected the door to make a horrifying creaking noise as he opened it, but instead it was as silent as one could imagine. There appeared to be no light on inside, but as the light from the lightning flashed into the open windows, he could vaguely tell that there were rows and rows of burlap bags stuffed to the gills. The rafters of the building hung low on this floor and at the sides were low enough for even Billy to bump his head if he weren’t careful. The thought occurred to him to get out of the doorway. He didn’t want to silhouette himself, although, now he thought that if anyone were in here with a gun, they’d already shot him by now. Still, he decided it was worth it to check things out, at least to know what he had available to him for the fight and for when he found his grandparents.
He got down on his hands and knees and crept through the rows of bags. They were stacked in perfect, neat, orderly rows. It was pitch dark inside right now. He reached out and felt one of the bags and it seemed to be stuffed with some sort of medal objects. It must be farm supplies, he thought, then wondered if it might be something that could help him out later on. He thought of the man who owned this barn and decided not to go taking whatever he thought he needed for now. That man had nothing to do with this and he shouldn’t be expected to pay with part of his livelihood.
Billy finally reached the end of the row he was traveling down. When he reached the other side, he leaned up against the wall and stood up. The bags were stacked almost as tall as he was. He stood silently for a moment and couldn’t hear anything. He didn’t feel like they could be in this barn. He just didn’t sense them, but he did feel like it could provide a good hiding place with ample opportunities for escape if he wanted to bring his grandparents here after he’d gotten them free from their captor.
Looking along the wall, he saw another door. He guessed this led out to a platform that had steps leading to the ground just like on the other side. He grabbed the doorknob, then thought twice. This was the side facing the building furthest from the road. He guessed they must be in that one, and if they were, he was sure the man would notice the second Billy opened this door.
He turned back around, scurried along the side to an open window. Looking through it at the building, he couldn’t see anything. It was just too dark, but then, he saw it. It didn’t register at first what it was, it had come and gone too quickly. But, then it came again, and then again, and again everything thirty seconds or so. It was a small orange light. He could see it through one of the windows on the bottom floor of the furthest building. He couldn’t figure at first what it was, but then it hit him like a ton of bricks. He’d seen his father emit the same type of light on nights when he’d sit outside on the porch with the lights out. He was glad when he’d do that business on the porch, because it would stink too much inside. The light was the embers from a cigarette. His grandparents’ captor was marking his spot now with his own disgusting habit. With the next streak of lightning, Billy counted the number of windows from the right and made a mental note. Three. That put them almost in the exact middle of the building.
He scrambled back through the second floor of the building and burst through the door on the other side. He would sneak across and see if there was a door on the end of that other building that he could get through. He may be able to sneak in undetected. The captor had made this too easy, Billy thought, then he reminded himself not to get too sure of himself yet.
When he’d gotten to the bottom of the stairs, the rain began to pick up. The ground was slick with thick mud and it made a sucking noise as he lifted each foot. Luckily, the rain was coming down hard enough now that he didn’t think he had to be too careful about noise. Coupled with the noise from the wind and the thunder, he was sure he was okay. He slipped and slid his way to the upper corner of the building he’d just been in and began calculating how he’d get to the other building without raising awareness on the part of the captor.
Lightning flashed and he figured there was about thirty feet between the two buildings. That was ten yards. That was a first down on Sunday afternoons. He thought he could make it. But, he only had one chance. Pass, run, or punt? Well, I’m definitely not punting, he thought. Run.
He didn’t even think about it. He just went. Pumping both arms and legs as quickly as he could, he streaked between the two buildings. The lightning never came and it was so dark, he was afraid he’d run straight into the building, making a revealing thump. But, he didn’t. He reached the side and felt the coarseness of its wooden façade. He kept moving with his hand on the wall and eventually he ran into what he’d hoped for. A doorknob. He could flank them.
He grabbed it with both hands and slowly began to turn. His heart sunk. Even when he tried it again, the knob sat still. It was locked.
The sky released another crack of thunder and the rain picked up. Billy welcomed the noise as cover for any sounds he was making that might alert the captor. He stood for a moment, then crept along the outer wall of the building, watching his footing in the slick mud and grass. He hoped he would find another door on the back of the building, but when he got there he saw only what looked like a garage door and there was no way he could open it without giving himself away. The back wall ran about one hundred feet and had a few windows. He scooted along the wall and kneeled below the first window. Running his fingers along its lower edge, he looked for any kind of a device to open it but found none. He listened for a short while and could barely make out a voice that sounded like his grandmother. She was obviously upset and pleading with the man. He wondered about his grandfather. He hadn’t heard from him yet but he sensed that it had to be him that was in there.
Knowing he had to hurry, Billy made his way to the corner of the building. He poked his head around and was overjoyed when he saw a stairwell leading up just like the one on the other building. He ran to the bottom of it. Before going up the stairs, he noticed he was standing on a bed of gravel. Without thinking about it, he bent down, picked up a handful of small rocks and shoved them into his pocket. Then, he carefully made his way up the stairs. He held the rail and placed his feet deliberately so as not to slip. He was half way up when he heard a tearing sound, then a crack and the step he was on gave way, falling to the ground below. He’d placed the weight of his body on his other foot and barely escaped falling himself. He regained his balance, pulled his foot up through the opening left by the stair that vanished and took a breath. He hadn’t fallen, but the noise he’d made was horrendous. He knew the captor had to have heard him. He tried to think, had there been any thunder, lightning? Anything that could have covered it up? In the heat of the moment, he didn’t know. He could only recall the step breaking and his panicked actions when it fell through.
He figured he might as well go for it. Instantly, his legs were in motion and he ran to the top of the stairs. When he got to the door, he grabbed the doorknob, but then wondered if the man would be inside waiting for him if he’d heard the sound? But, he thought, would the man even know there was a stairwell over on that side of the building? How much would the man have had the time to figure out about the building? Billy decided it couldn’t be much. The man was carrying his grandfather and holding his grandmother. He couldn’t have gone searching the building for its intricacies in order to lay out his strategy. He guessed if this man were a heavily armed bank robber he only had one strategy, barricade himself and fire away at the sign of danger. Billy took a breath and turned the knob. It opened. If the man had locked the other door, then this was a good sign. It must mean the man didn’t know this door was here. Why wouldn’t he have locked it otherwise? The thoughts streamed through his head and he pushed the door open, trying hard not to let it squeak.
He wished it were light outside. The inside was just as dark as the other building. He just hoped the layout was the same. If so, he still wasn’t sure how to get downstairs from here. Then, he began to get worried that the man would hear him moving about and begin shooting up through the wooden flooring. Could the bullets reach him, he wondered. Of course, he thought, or at least, I’d better treat it like that. He knew he had to be extremely careful.
As the lightning flashed around him and lit up the second story, he saw load of burlap sacks stacked three or four high. A thought occurred to him. He wondered how they had gotten up there. There has to be another way up here than that stairwell, he thought. He kept to the side of the building opposite to where he’d seen the captor taking his smoke. Every other step he thought he could hear a faint squeak, then believed he was just imagining it. Finally, when he neared the end of the room, he came to a railing. There it was. A hole to the bottom floor. Running down the opening from the ceiling of the building to the floor was a thick rope, attached to a pulley at the ceiling. This was how the sacks had gotten up to the second floor, and this must be the way he was about to get down to the bottom floor.
He waited for another bolt of lightning to provide him with more information. There it came. He first barely made out a tearing noise, as if someone were ripping fabric, then the electricity made it through the sky and arched above the building. The open window near this end let the light in. Almost as quickly as the light came, it left. His eyes had picked up the scene, but it took a second to register. In his memory banks he pulled out that the rope started in a tangle on the floor down below, ran up to the pulley and back down to the floor. He could use it. There was also something else, something on the opposite side of the opening. It was shiny and long. He couldn’t figure exactly what it was, but he knew something was there. He made his way around to it. Up close and in the faint light he could barely make it out to be some sort of pry bar leaning upright against the wall. Elated to find some sort of protective device, he quickly reached for it. Perhaps, too quickly. His eyes had played a slight trick on him and caused him to overshoot his mark. Clumsily, he knocked the bar down. It banged hard and was obviously very thick and strong, but hollow inside. It made a ringing sound. Billy froze. Within half a second he sensed he was in true trouble.
“Who’s there?” he heard a gruff voice call out from below.
No sense in wondering if he’d heard. Billy decided he needed to move. If he knew he was here, he may as well risk being heard again.
“Someone there?” the voice called again, although it seemed much more angry this time.
Billy reached for the pry bar, scooted as fast as he could back around the opening and rolled out of the opening and toward a pile of the burlap sacks. He couldn’t have been any faster. He first heard the clank, then the deafening roar of automatic gunfire. He felt wood splinters rain down on him, then the cacophony of sound provided by the bullets ripping up through the second floor registered. The captor was blindly shooting in hopes of getting whomever he thought was here. After what seemed like an hour, but surely lasted only seconds, the noise stopped.
“That should do it,” he heard the man say.
Billy sat pressed against the pile of sacks. He realized the fronts of his legs were beginning to hurt from pushing himself up against the pile so hard. Then, the adrenaline started to flow. He felt a warm sensation in his stomach and he began to shake. He gave himself a moment to allow himself to calm back down.
The man was touchy, Billy thought. Could the captor be as scared as he was? His voice had sounded hurried, panicked. Billy thought a man who was cool and collective wouldn’t have wasted quite so many rounds on something he wasn’t sure was there when it was almost a definite fact that he’d need them later when the police arrived. He wondered how he could use this to his advantage.
He still had the bar in his hand and with the next streak of lightning it didn’t appear to him as though the rope and pulley assembly had been damaged in any way. The thought of going down there right then with that man and worse yet, with that gun, frightened him to near paralysis. I’ve got to put it out of my mind, Billy thought. I’ve got to move on anyway.
Above him, the rain moved in gusts and resounded off of the aluminum roof. He stood up entirely, stretched out his tired body and began to move toward the opening. Billy grabbed both ropes with the pry bar still in his right hand and swung out to the middle of the opening. His feet hung about twenty feet above the floor below him and he began letting himself down quickly. He’d seen other kids climb the rope in gym class with both arms and he’d always given it a shot with his one arm, but he’d never been really successful. Now, he moved with ease. Within seconds he was on the floor and scrambled for cover behind another sack of burlap bags. Billy sat still once he reached a decent hiding space and recalled that there had been little to no noise created by the pulley and rope, or at least he couldn’t hear it over the rain falling on the roof.
Is it truly possible the man hasn’t seen me? Billy wondered. A noise came from where he expected the captor to be. It was a woman crying, followed by a gruff voice telling her to be quiet. He then heard a third voice begging him to stop for the woman’s sake. It was his grandfather. He was conscious. But, Billy couldn’t tell if he would be any help in his rescue plan. He decided not to count on him.
From his vantage point he could tell the three were barricaded behind some of the burlap sacks right next to the open window on the front of the building. With the next crack of thunder and lightning, Billy poked his head out from around his cover and got a good look. His grandmother and grandfather were tied up, lying under the windowsill. Lining the wall with them were about ten bags that Billy knew held the money. The man must have had to have made more than one trip to the car. Then, sitting on the floor, propped up against a pile of sacks that sat about half a dozen feet from the window was the captor. He wore a black fedora, still had an unlit cigarette in his mouth and had rolled the sleeves to his long sleeve white dress shirt halfway up to his elbows. In his hands he held what Billy recognized from old movies as a Tommy gun. When the lightning had ceased, Billy pulled his head back in and moved carefully to the next stack of sacks in case the man had seen him.
He weighed all of his options. He could sneak up behind him and whack him on the head. If, and it was a big if, he knew, he could get that close to him without him hearing him.
He could run at him and attempt to overpower him, but Billy knew that would be almost impossible. He then thought of the rocks he’d picked up on his way in. He wondered if he could use them as a diversion and toss them off the wall from his position right now. Could he get the man to stand up long enough for him to take care of the rest of the job? It would have to depend on the man falling for it and then Billy would have to be as accurate as possible. If he couldn’t complete it successfully, however, he decided he’d have to revert to option two and hope he was strong enough to overtake him. He hoped he wouldn’t have to find out. Maybe, too, Billy thought, the bullets won’t really stop me.
He reached into his pocket, felt the coarseness of the pebbles and played with them between his fingers. Then, he thought of the pry bar. It was heavy and well balanced. Could it be of some use? In this world anything could be possible, he thought.
He stood, knowing he had the cover of darkness only for so long. He pulled his hand out of his pocket with several pebbles. A large crack of thunder exploded over the building, followed by a bright flash of light. The captor was bathed in whiteness. Billy took his shot. He tossed one of the pebbles, hitting the man square in the back of the head. The man whipped around, a look of shock and amazement on his face. He pulled his Tommy gun to his shoulder and began to lift the barrel but he was too late. Billy threw the pry bar like he’d seen Indians throw their hatchets in old cowboy movies. The round metal bar twirled furiously in a straight path toward the man. His eyes were as wide as silver dollars when the end of it hit its mark on his forehead. He fell to the floor as if someone had poured him there. Billy ran toward him and pulled his Tommy gun away from him. The weapon easily released from the man’s fingers.
It had all happened so fast that Billy had been able to shut out the screams of his grandmother, but now he was aware of them.
“Who- who are you?” she asked hysterically.
“I am your grandson,” Billy said. It just popped out. He wished that he hadn’t said it.
“My grands-“
“Just forget it,” he interrupted her. “Come on,” he ordered her, grabbing her by the wrist and lightly pulling.
His grandfather was groggy and didn’t seem ready to move on his own. Once his grandmother stood he handed the gun to her and said, “Hold this. If he moves, shoot him.”
The lady took the gun but the look on her face revealed that she was by no means prepared to have to fire the weapon at anyone.
Billy knelt down by his grandfather and picked up his arm. Like a flash he rolled his body up and threw him over the back of his shoulders in what he knew was called a fireman’s carry. They’d practiced this in P.E. class, pairing up and having races. No one had ever picked Billy as his partner because of his handicap, which Billy always argued didn’t have much of an effect on this task, but no one was arguing now. He felt powerful as he stood up with his grandfather.
“Come on,” he said and began to walk toward the back door that had been locked earlier. “Bring the gun,” he said to his grandmother. The lady stood still for only a moment longer, looking at the captor, then Billy, then back to the captor. It had all happened too fast and was taking time to register with her. Finally, she began walking in his direction.
When they got to the door, Billy balanced his grandfather and grabbed for the doorknob. The lock turned easily and within seconds he’d maneuvered everyone out of the door into the wet grass and mud. The rain had begun letting up and the wind had died down. Without telling her his plan, Billy just started walking with his grandfather. He didn’t want to discuss it with her, knowing a discussion would just slow them down.
His grandmother followed. She pulled the door closed behind them, warming up to the fact that they were now in escape mode and determined not to give the captor a trail to follow. Billy moved toward the road with his grandfather who was beginning to whisper words to him. It was obvious he’d lost a lot of blood, but he’d make it.
“Where are we going?” he got out.
“I’m getting you out of here,” Billy answered.
“I- can- walk,” he stuttered through.
“I don’t mind carrying you,” Billy reassured him.
His grandfather stopped talking.
Behind him, his grandmother kept a watch on the door every few steps. Billy felt comfortable with her now. She was obviously over the shock and ready to assist him in the escape.
Now, he wished he’d thought to tie the captor up. It was too big of a risk to go back now. The man was knocked unconscious, but Billy knew he wouldn’t stay that way for long. As they crossed the grass to the road, Billy craned his neck to look at the car. The headlights still shone into the distant beyond. The trunk and the passenger side door were open. He wondered if it would start. He hadn’t even thought to look earlier and see if the keys were still in it.
“Don’t bother,” he heard his grandmother say. “He stalled it after we spun and he knocked you off.” The two of them stood still, looking at the car. “He couldn’t get it started again. That’s why he took us to the buildings.” She then stepped closer to Billy and pulled up his shirt. “I still don’t know how you survived getting shot.” Billy looked down. He hadn’t even noticed it. There were several holes in his belly leading up to his chest. He hadn’t felt them and they seeped little blood. When she dropped his shirt back down he saw what looked like tiny holes in its front. He couldn’t believe he hadn’t noticed them.
He was standing still when he heard his grandmother say, “Well, come on. We’ve got to go.” He looked up for her, but she was already leading the way toward the road. She was toting the gun now like she knew exactly what to do with it. He about called to her and told her to shoot the car up, but decided not to. She was already too far ahead and they had to get moving. When the captor awoke, he was going to need his weapon and chances were he’d be looking for them.
The cool night turned warm real quickly for Billy with his grandfather on his back. His legs began to feel like jelly, but he continued to push. His grandmother was now about fifteen feet ahead of him and stopped every so often to turn around and urge him along. “I can walk,” he’d hear his grandfather say every so often, but Billy knew as well as he did that he didn’t mean it. His leg was in too bad of condition to get along on his own. He’d just slow them down.
“How far are we from anything?” Billy asked his grandmother when she’d slowed down enough for him to catch up.
“A ways,” she said.
He loved that answer. That meant there was no need in asking anymore. Just keep walking. They’d make it, he promised himself that.
When they’d gotten around a sharp bend at the bottom of a fairly steep hill, they both stopped in their tracks. One look at his grandmother and Billy knew she’d heard what he had heard. The engine to the car. He’d gotten it started. Billy started walking again as fast and hard as he could, but he could hardly breath as it was. Now that he knew he’d been shot, his mind was also playing tricks on him. He was imagining that the holes itched and ached. They were becoming a hindrance and he had to put them out of his mind. He looked at the side of the road and wondered if they could just hide. His grandmother had gotten the same idea, but the sound of the engine was getting louder and louder. He was getting close. They’d have to decide on their plan quickly.
“In to the tree line,” his grandmother shouted to him. She waited on him, making sure he would make it, and as Billy was entering the sparse line of trees, the headlights appeared from around the bend. Billy turned, then froze. They were about twenty feet from the road itself, but he didn’t know if that was enough to seal them off from the captor’s line of sight. Both of them held their breath and were relieved when he came even with them and continued on at the same speed. Billy began to turn back toward the woods, but his heart jumped when he heard the screeching sound. He jerked his head back around and felt nauseous when he saw the brake lights. The car was stopped.
His grandmother began running toward him. “Quick. Into the woods,” she said. “Drop Michael. We’ll hide him.” Billy knew that was not an option. If he left him and something were to happen to his grandfather, all of this would be for naught.
The adrenaline would give him the energy to deal with the captor with his grandfather on his back. He could not leave him.
In the short distance, the car began to move in reverse. He was coming after them.
Billy felt the wet branches brushing off of him as he maneuvered his way through the young trees. The underbrush was beginning to get thick and he didn’t know how much deeper they’d be able to go. He followed his grandmother.
“The gun,” Billy called to her. “Can you use it?”
She stopped, turned to him and gave him a look that said, “No more than you could.” Billy understood. Playing hero and saving his grandparents was one thing. Shooting a man was another. They’d have to find some alternative means of getting out of this jam.
He held tightly to his grandfather and bulldogged his way through the underbrush and the thick network of young, low branches in front of him. His grandmother was picking the way and he hoped she knew what she was doing. He didn’t know if she actually had a plan or if he should be coming up with something. He heard the car stop, but the engine still rolled. Then, he made out a resounding dull metal thud, the sound of a car door being shut.
The captor weaved his way into the woods. After a few steps inside the line of trees, he began to slow down, looking for a possible ambush. Up ahead, Billy’s brain was working on overload, trying to come up with an idea when his grandmother stopped, turned and held out a hand to stop him.
“I’m going to give him the gun,” she said.
“What?” Billy asked.
“I said, I’m going-“
“I heard you,” Billy interrupted. “Are you insane?”
“Let’s let him choose between it and us. Follow me,” she said. She turned ninety degrees and headed straight back out of the woods to the road. When they got to the short grassy area Billy could hear the car idling. He began to get an idea for what his grandmother was planning. But, they’d have to act quickly because he could hear the captor stumbling back up out of the woods himself.
Billy and his grandmother were still below the captor in relation to the car. There was no way Billy could beat the man to the car with his grandfather on his back. The man was nearly out of the woods himself when his grandmother turned to Billy and handed him the gun. “Drop Michael,” she said. Billy did as she asked. “Throw it.” She handed him the gun and pointed back into the woods.
Billy grabbed the machine gun, held it up for the captor to see and gripped it like he’d gripped the pry bar back in the building. The thought crossed his mind to shoot the rest of the bullets out before he got rid of it, but that scared him to death. He’d never shot a gun before and he was nervous just touching this one. Holding it over his head, he reared back and threw it with all his might into the dense woods. It ripped through small branches and the underbrush. Its path sounded clear and Billy was sure it made it a decent ways into the woods before he stopped hearing it crash into things.
The captor was furious. He started back into the woods, knowing if the police came, the gun was far more important to him than Billy and his grandparents were. He was so intent on retrieving the weapon that he took his eyes off of them. Within seconds, Billy had his grandfather back over his shoulders and they were running to the car. Billy was about fifty feet from it when his grandmother reached it ahead of him. She jumped in, and threw it into drive. It moved without hesitation. Billy could hear the captor screaming behind him. The man now realized his mistake, but Billy knew he wasn’t far from that gun. His grandmother pulled the car up to them and slammed on the brakes.
Billy ran around to the passenger side and opened the door. The captor was within ten feet of the gun and got down on his hands and knees to search for it. Billy dropped his grandfather and tried to lift him up into the car. The captor’s hand slid over something hard and slick. The Tommy gun. He stood up. Billy pushed hard and got his grandfather in the car. The captor took aim, couldn’t get a clear shot for a thick oak tree in the way and began sidestepping. Billy jumped in the car on top of his grandfather. The captor was yelling, “No. No. No. Stop!” and found a clear avenue. Billy’s grandmother stepped on the gas pedal before Billy even had the door shut. As they sped off Billy could hear the shot from the gun. Bullets ripped through the roof of the car and then shattered the back windshield, but none of them found his grandparents. In the distance Billy could barely make out the man coming out of the woods, but they were speeding away now and there was no way the he’d be able to reach them.
20
As they drove away, Billy felt like he was being lifted off of the ground. The night turned into what he thought was day, but then he just realized light splotches were replacing the darkness, taking away any color. He was being lifted from the dream. Bright streaks of light shot by him. His grandparents were disappearing before him and so was the car. He felt the world spinning and then heard someone calling his name.
“Billy.”
“Billy.”
“Billy. Wake up. Time for school.”
He opened his eyes and almost screamed when he saw his mother. The light to his room was directly behind her head, bathing her in a corona of light, making her look like an angel. He pushed himself off of the bed, confused, then realized he’d done it with both arms. He looked at them and almost cried. They were both there.
His father entered the room. “Good morning, Billy,” he said with a smile on his face.
Billy could hardly contain his excitement. He didn’t want to look foolish to them, but at the same time, doubt started to creep back into his mind.
Had he gone back and changed the events of the past in his dreams, he wondered. If he’d saved his grandmother and grandfather, his own father would have grown up with happy parents. The man wouldn’t have been raised by an angry, alcoholic mother. So, he wouldn’t have drunk either, meaning he wouldn’t have gotten into the car drunk on the night Billy was to lose his arm.
Billy looked at his arm again. Nope, he thought, they must not have had the accident.
He jumped from his bed and hugged his mother. She was warm and filled him with happiness. He couldn’t remember a time when he’d been happier. His mother pushed him away slightly, but held him tightly by the arms and looked at him. His dad came over to him and grabbed him by the shoulder and said, “Let’s go you two, time for school.” Billy’s mom let go of him and turned around and walked out. He sat back down on his bed and smiled.
“Billy!” he heard his father’s voice. But, it wasn’t the same tone he’d heard him just using.
“Billy!”
“Billy! Get up!” Billy jerked awake. When he opened his eyes, he realized he was sitting up on his bed. His room was dark and had a cold feeling to it. His dad stepped in and hollered at him to get ready. This man was unshaven and gray looking, not like the father he’d just seen. Then another thought occurred to him. He let his eyes slowly move to his arm. It was gone. It had been a dream. A cruel one.
His day at school was difficult to get through. He had never felt lower. There was a purpose behind it all, he was sure, but he just didn’t know what it was. He wanted to disappear from life. There wasn’t much reason for his being here, he thought. Dottie was gone and he had to avoid Suzan. He had decided the only reason he would have wanted her around was to have someone to talk to, but he couldn’t have that because Steve would kill him if he saw him talking to her. Suzan didn’t seem to get that. She had passed him several times in the hall and was friendly, but he just politely said, “Hello,” and got on his way. In Mrs. Gringle’s class he was able to keep his head buried in a book and not look at her. He was thankful she sat behind him where he’d have to make the effort to turn around and look at her.
After school he made his way home with little incident on the bus with Frank. He had been too interested in his Gameboy to bother with Billy. When he got home, he found his dad asleep on the couch. “Wake up, Dad,” Billy said without thinking about what he was doing.
The slug of a man began to stir and Billy wished he could take back what he’d just done.
“What do you want?” his dad asked, rolling over and facing the opposite direction.
“Why aren’t you at work?” Billy asked.
“What difference does it make to you?”
“You are going to lose your job, Dad.”
“They know I’m sick. I called ‘em.”
“How many days is that this month, though?”
“Why do you care?” his dad asked, rolling up on his side and looking back at Billy out of the corner of his eye.
“I just don’t want you to-“
“You just keep your self out of my business, you hear? I ain’t gonna get fired. I can take off days when I’m sick.”
“Big difference between being sick and being drunk, Dad,” Billy said barely audibly.
“What?” his father asked, but he knew the gist of what he said. “I ain’t drunk.”
“You were last night.”
“Why don’t you quit mumbling. Speak up, boy, if you got something to say,” he was practically sitting up, now. Billy took a few steps back into the hallway.
“I’m just saying,” Billy said, “we can’t afford for you to lose your job.”
“Oh, we can’t, huh? You know all about our situation or something?” Billy was beginning to wonder if his dad was drunk again right now. “I got it all under control.” He stood up, teetered, then began moving toward Billy. “You don’t got to worry about nothing.” He stumbled in Billy’s direction and there was no doubt in the boy’s mind that his dad was drunk now. He was glad he hadn’t taken his coat off yet. “And, you certainly,” his father continued, “don’t got to tell me about whether I should be drunk or not.” He was pointing his finger now, and Billy knew that pretty soon it would find its way into his chest. He kept moving back and decided when the man began waving his arms about, it was time to get out. He pushed back through the hallway, by his father and ran out the front door. When it slammed behind him, the man was leaning against the naked wall of the hallway, still pointing his finger and mumbling about how his son should show more respect.
It was getting cool outside and the sun was finding its way to the horizon. Billy didn’t work too hard to consider where he was going. He just knew. Dottie lived about three miles away and he knew he’d be able to walk to her house before it was dark. He’d actually missed her for the past few days and after the confrontation with his father, he knew she was the only one he could talk to who would make him feel better.
It only took him about thirty minutes to get to her house. Her mother wasn’t even concerned when she opened the door to his knock. She just let him in and stepped aside so he could find his way to her room. As he walked down the hallway, he decided it was only right if he knocked on her doorframe, which he did. “Yes?” he heard her say.
“Dottie?” Billy said.
He could tell she was slightly shocked to hear his voice. He heard the bedsprings squeak and listened to her footsteps come close to the door before he moved again. When she stepped outside of the room, Billy’s eyes met hers and it was obvious to her that he was in pain. She stepped aside and let him enter her room. She followed him back in the room, leaving the door open. Billy was sure her father would never accept it being shut with the two of them inside.
“What’s going on?” Dottie asked.
“Not much.” His response was out of habit. It was obvious to Dottie there was something wrong, and Billy knew that, but he just couldn’t help starting out that way. Throughout his life it had been so rare for anyone to truly care about his well being that he often answered those polite questions used in greetings untruthfully. They don’t really care how I feel, Billy would think, so why should I tell them the truth.
However, this time, the truth was evident to Dottie.
“Something’s wrong. Give it up,” she commanded.
Billy sat silent.
“Did you walk here?” she asked.
“Yeah.”
“Why? What’s wrong?”
“I’m just tired of my dad.”
“Did he hit you?” she asked.
“No.”
“What did he do?”
“He’s just drunk again,” Billy started and proceeded to tell her about their conversation.
“Well, you probably did the right thing, coming here and all. Are you going to go back tonight?”
“I don’t know.” Billy hadn’t considered that. He couldn’t hardly ask Dottie if he could stay with her. “I guess I have to go back,” he said.
“No you don’t. You can sleep on my floor.”
“And tell your parents what? I can’t tell them the real reason I came tonight. When I came in I told your mom I needed to ask you about math homework. I don’t even have books with me. She has to suspect something is up, but I can’t tell her my dad’s drinking stories.”
“She doesn’t even think about stuff. She’s so busy watching her Inside Edition that she’s probably already forgotten you are in here.”
“Sometimes you give your mom a hard time, but you should be thankful you’ve got her,” Billy said.
“Whatever,” Dottie responded.
“You know, something I’ve been wanting to tell you, something I’ve wanted to tell someone is about the dreams I have.”
“They’re no secret,” Dottie said.
“Yeah, well, I think my mom’s put the dreams in my head.”
Dottie just shook her head, neither denying his assumption, nor confirming it. Billy knew this wouldn’t sound too crazy to her.
“I found a journal a while back. It was full of stories my mother had written before she died. All of the stories matched dreams I have had at one time or another.”
“Had you read them before?”
“No. I just found the book in the attic.”
“Do you think maybe your mom told you the stories before she died and you just remember them subconsciously?”
“I don’t know,” Billy admitted. “I’d never really considered that, but I think I would have been too young. I don’t remember her telling me the stories at all.”
“Is there anything in there about you conquering your dad?” Dottie joked.
“No. But,” Billy stopped and considered whether he should tell her this part, “two of the dreams I’ve had came true.”
“What do you mean?”
He proceeded to tell her about the superhero dreams and about how he read the stories in the newspaper each of the days following the dreams.
“I don’t know about that,” Dottie said. Maybe you saw the stories on the news or something and didn’t remember it.
Billy puckered up his cheeks and looked away from her.
“Don’t get me wrong,” she backtracked. “It’s not that I don’t believe you. It’s just that there has got to be some logical explanation for all of this. I mean as much as we’d like to believe it, I don’t think it is really all that probable that you have some kind of connection with some other world that lets you control this one through your dreams.” Dottie kind of laughed to let him know how ridiculous it sounded.
“I’ve had dreams about my mom, now,” Billy said. “She tells me she is going to help me with my father.”
“Well, maybe she is,” she said. She considered how she wanted to tell him her next thought, then she just came out with it. “It could be that she is helping you, but that is just it- she is helping you-“
“You think I’m crazy,” Billy interrupted her.
“No, I- I just think you know deep inside that something has to click for you. I think that you know you have to change somehow to get the world to stop stepping all over you.”
Billy stood up. “I don’t let the world step all over me,” he said.
“Yeah?” Dottie asked. “Then why have I been stuck in this house for the last five days instead of in school with you?”
Billy stepped back and looked at the Creed poster on the wall. “You know I didn’t need you to help me with that.”
“Okay,” Dottie said.
“I would have been fine.”
“I’m sure you would have. I just got carried away.”
“That can be your problem,” Billy agreed.
The two were silent for a while, Dottie sitting on her bed and Billy standing.
“I just want a normal life, you know,” Billy finally said, “and, I guess I’m silly enough to think my mom is going to help me get that.”
“I think she is talking to you- through the dreams and the journal and all,” Dottie said. “Your problem, again, is that you are waiting for her to actually come and fix things for you.”
Billy sighed.
“The thing is,” Dottie continued, “she is helping you, she’s just not going to do it for you.” She stood up as Billy walked toward the door of her room. He was obviously on his way out. “You’ve got to change your world, Billy,” she said when he was half way down the hallway, headed for the front door.
Almost as an afterthought, after he’d gone out and politely said his good-byes to her parents, she added, “But first, you’ve got to accept it.”
21
Billy went back home that night. His father was already asleep. When he went into his room, he pulled out the journal one last time. It felt warm in his hand. He thought about Dottie and Suzan, Steve and Frank. He thought about his father. He thought about his mother and his grandmother and grandfather. Then, he looked at his one good hand, had a thought and opened the book to where his mother had left off. There, he began writing a story about a boy who had had enough. He wrote about himself. As the pen moved across the page, he could feel his heart expand. He swore he could feel himself growing inside.
Steve and Frank were no longer enemies. He knew that now. They were two catalysts for what he was about to become. Had they never treated him poorly, he never would have learned to become strong. They had toughened him, whether they realized it or not.
And, Dottie had pushed him in this direction. He knew now that his dreams were only mirrors of the way he wished he could act. In his dreams, he had the strength of Dottie. Now, he would pull that strength from the dreams and he would live with it.
In the journal, he wrote of himself and he had the spirit of the boy from all of his dreams. He wrote himself into a whole being.
Finally, at about two in the morning, he snuck out to the kitchen for water. As he walked back by the kitchen table, he saw the previous day’s newspaper. He picked it up and took it to his room.
As he sat on his bed and looked at the newspaper, he knew the article he read was not one of which he’d yet dreamt. But, he knew that world existed. The headlines told of war in far off lands from Iraq to the Sudan and the soldiers that lost their lives trying to restore the freedoms of those who didn’t even know their names. And, he reminded himself that there were problems everywhere- that his problems were inconsequential to the overall scheme of things. He’d been born into this and it was his job to become stronger so he could handle it. The world was weakened by those who did not accept their roles in it he told himself. However, there were strong links. Those were the ones who took it for what it was worth and made the best of it. He didn’t need his dreams. He didn’t need his mother’s help, only her inspiration. It was his job to make his world work for him. His father was too weak. The man hadn’t really even tried from the time he was a young child, but he’d never really had the inspiration. No one had ever shown him how to deal with his problems. No one had really cared. And, Billy was given to him to show him how.
It was just now that Billy realized his role in life was to first save himself, then to save his father. He looked at the headlines again and momentarily saw the millions of faces affected by those stories, the lives lost, the lives saved. Then, he saw his father and himself. They were only two, he thought, but it was a start.
He couldn’t put together in his mind where it had all started. He thought Dottie must have had a major role in it. She’d told him over and over what he was just beginning to understand, but for some reason, he hadn’t really listened to her until now. It was his latest dreams. It was his mother and his grandmother. If he’d gotten Dottie’s message a lot sooner, he’d never had those dreams, never met his grandmother, so it was good for something. They were all just big pieces of a huge puzzle and now that he’d gotten them out of the box, he could put them together. He guessed Dottie was less like one of the pieces and more like the glue that would hold it all together, because, now he would make sure it wasn’t taken apart. He’d hold his life together. And, he’d be strong for those people who needed some help of their own. Now, he held the strength of Dottie, his mother, his grandmother, and, when he was finished with him, he’d have the strength of his father, because he knew the man had strength. He knew he had a soul. And, he knew that somewhere, deep down inside of him, the man had love. And Billy would bring it to his surface, and make him forget his past and show him how beautiful his present could be. It may take him years to get it, Billy thought, but he was going to try. He was not going to give up until he had a true father. He was done feeling sorry for himself. He was done placing limitations on himself. He was ready to move on. And, for the first time in his life, he felt like he had the strength to do it.
When Billy awoke his father that morning, the man saw something he’d never truly seen on Billy before. He couldn’t quite figure it out at first, but then he realized that he was looking at the color of Billy’s eyes. He’d never seen them like that before. “You need to get up for work,” Billy had said.
The man had grunted at him and tried to roll over. Billy had placed his hand on his shoulder and firmly said, “Now.”
His dad had looked up and seen the blue of his eyes. It was a color he hadn’t seen in a long time. It was the color of Billy’s mom’s eyes. He hadn’t said anything, only sat up. It was like he’d been given no choice. It was the first time Billy had looked directly at him- the first time he’d seen that color since his wife had died. And, somewhere, deep down inside his heart, he was glad it was back.
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