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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.

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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

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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,

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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

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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

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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,

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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

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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

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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

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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.

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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

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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

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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

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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

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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,

15

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

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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

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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

18

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

19

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.

20

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.

21

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.

22

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

23

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

24

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.

25

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.

26

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?”

27

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.”

28

“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.

29

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

30

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

31

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.

32

“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.

33

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

34

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

35

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.

36

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.

37

“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

38

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

39

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

40

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

41

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.

42

****************************************************************

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.”

43

“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

44

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

45

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.

46

“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.

47

“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.

48

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.

49

“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

50

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

51

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

52

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

53

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.

54

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

55

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

56

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,

57

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.

58

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

59

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?”

60

“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

61

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

62

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.

****************************************************************

The bell rang and the field was off. Billy, on Whirlwind,

lurched to the inside. He tried to stay directly off the rail,

63

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

64

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.

65

5

“-Weadle!” Billy heard his name. “Weadle!” There it was

again. Billy opened his eyes and slowly lifted his head. “You

66

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.

67

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.

68

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.

69

“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

70

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.

71

“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

72

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.”

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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.

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“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.”

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“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.”

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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.

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“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.

****************************************************************

He’d never quite smelled air like this before. The salt

practically stuck in his nose hairs. He could tell the ocean was

78

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

79

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- “

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“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

81

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

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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.

83

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.

84

“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

85

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.

86

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

87

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

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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.

89

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

90

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

91

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

92

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.”

93

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

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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

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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.

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“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.

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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

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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

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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

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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

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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.”

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“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

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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

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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

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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.”

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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

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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?”

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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

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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

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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.

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“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

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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.

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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

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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.

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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.”

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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.”

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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.”

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“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.

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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

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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

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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

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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-“

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“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.

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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

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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.”

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“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

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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

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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

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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.

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“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

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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.

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“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.

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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

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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.

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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

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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.

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“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.

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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

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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

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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.

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“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

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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

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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.

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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

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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.

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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

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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

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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.

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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?”

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“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

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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

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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.

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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

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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.

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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

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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.

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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.

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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.

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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

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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

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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

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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

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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

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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

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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

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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

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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

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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.

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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

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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

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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

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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

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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?”

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“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.”

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“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.”

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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.

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“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.

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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

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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.

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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

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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

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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

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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

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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

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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.

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“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.

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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.

****************************************************************

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

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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.

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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

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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.

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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.

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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.

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“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,

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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.

195

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.

****************************************************************

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

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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.

197

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

198

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

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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

200

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

201

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

202

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

203

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

204

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

205

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.

206

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

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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

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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

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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

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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

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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.

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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.

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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

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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.

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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

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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.

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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

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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

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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

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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.

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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.

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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,

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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

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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

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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.

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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.”

227

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.

228

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

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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

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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.”

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“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

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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?”

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“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.”

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“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.

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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,

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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.

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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

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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.

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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.

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“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.”

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“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

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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.

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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

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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.

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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.

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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

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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.

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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

249

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.

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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

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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

252

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.

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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

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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

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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

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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.

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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

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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.

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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

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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

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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

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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.

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“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.”

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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.

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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

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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.

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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

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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?”

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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.

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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.

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“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.

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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

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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

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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

275

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?”

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“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.

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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,

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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

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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

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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.

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“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.

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“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.

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“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.

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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.

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“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.”

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“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

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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

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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

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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?

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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

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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-

292

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.

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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

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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.

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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

296

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

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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

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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

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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

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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,

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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.

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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

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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.

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“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

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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

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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.

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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

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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

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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

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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

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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.

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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

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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

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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

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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

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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.

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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.

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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

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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

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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.

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“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

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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

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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.

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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?”

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“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.”

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“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.”

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“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.”

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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.

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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.

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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

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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

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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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