Life Begins (Short Story/Day 3)

Billy set out to school on Tuesday morning with a million questions on his mind. You see, for a seventeen-year-old boy to be carrying that much weight, he was doing a mighty fine job. He never thought his morning would turn the way it did. What he thought yesterday before going to bed was that he'd be hounded by nightmares till he woke up the following day.

But that was never the case. In fact, the only dream he could remember was of Sandy Mason giving him his very first kiss. The part about the kiss was true. That actually did happen. But it never took place on a rowboat. Dreams are weird like that, he thought, You never know why they come up, or for that matter, how or where they happened at all.

It was a chilly, damp, miserable Massachusetts overcast fall day. It actually sucked the big one. His hands were numb. He felt stupid because he forgot to bring his gloves.

On the other side of the street, he saw an old neighbor of his holding a cup of coffee in her hands. If he only had some money, he would offer to buy some from her. It was a silly thought. Who in their right mind would walk up to a total stranger and ask for something like that? The answer was simple. If that someone happened to be freezing and all it took was a buck or two, then why not?

He was still twelve blocks away from school. Way too long to make it there in time. Drops of rain had begun to hit the ground. So, he said screw it.

"Mrs. Ratcliff, do you mind if I buy a cup of coffee from you?"

The old lady, wrinkled her forehead and smiled through her thin lips, "What makes you think I have coffee to spare, young man? Only had enough to make this cup here."

"Oh really? What if I buy the one you're holding?"

She pondered this question for a little while. Things were tough In America. She was finding it very tough to make ends meet. Maybe selling her coffee might add fat to her hungry little piggy bank. "Come to think of it, young man, how much would you be willing to pay for this here half cup?"

"I'd be willing to give you a dollar for whatever it is you have left."

"Oh?" she said, sounding interested and ready to bargain. "Then I guess you have yourself a deal." She held out her wrinkled hand, expecting to receive the money before she handed the goods.

"Can I pay you later this week, Mrs. Ratcliff? I ran out of money yesterday. You see, I had to pay my brother off to keep his mouth shut."

He wondered at that moment why he disclosed that much information. The freezing weather does that, you know? It makes smart kids say stupid things.

"Tell you what," Mrs. Ratcliff said, "If you keep me company for five minutes, I'll let you pay me by Friday."

To Billy this sounded like one hell of a deal. He was running late anyway. So, what's an extra five minutes if he was going to be warmed up quite soon? "Ok, but only five minutes."

"Come on in the house. I need to warm this up for you before you drink it. For a dollar you might as well drink it steaming hot."

For years, Billy and his friends had wondered how the inside of the house looked like. From the outside it resembled the Disney haunted mansion. All it needed was fake spider webs and some scary characters, and it would have been the town’s main attraction. There were all sorts of stories he had heard of that house. A lot of things that went unanswered through the years. People wondered why her son disappeared. Or why her husband vanished from one day to the next. Questions like those kept the kids away for decades. Especially on Halloween when you don't know if the old lady would come out holding an ax just to scare you.

Small towns are like that. People talked. And when people did, rumors spread like fire, leaving nothing as they consumed the simple realities of life. The plain truth was, her son died in Vietnam, and her husband one day picked up his things and left. She never told anybody. Why would she? She didn’t have any friends. So people filled those holes with their own machinations, and so, life went on

He followed her to the kitchen. The smell of old furniture and the dust particles in the air gave the impression of someone living alone. Like she was waiting for her life to end so the Goodwill truck could come and take everything away.

"Have a seat, young man," she said and gestured toward one of the chairs.

'You can call me Billy. Everyone does."

"Hmmm, I prefer William. Billy does you no justice. Someone with a name like William could become a millionaire, you know. But a Billy? A Billy doesn't sound like it amounts to much."

Billy thought of that for a minute. The lady did have a point. Trivial things like that were valuable and hard to come by.

"William Shakespeare," she continued, taking advantage of his silence. "Is a fine example. Do you think anyone would have bought his poetry if his name was Billy Shakespeare?"

"You have a point, Mrs. Ratcliff. But what about Billy Clinton. I don't think he would have gotten elected if the name William Clinton was printed on the bumper stickers."

"I beg to differ," she said after she put the coffee in the microwave. "That man ended up being a disgrace. A William Clinton would have never cheated on Hillary. But a Billy? Just look at what he did."

She’s right, he thought, Maybe I should start asking people to call me William.

The Microwave beeped, and she gave him the mug. Billy took a sip and when he looked up, he noticed a gun on the table that he hadn't seen before.

He was staring at it and looked scared, so she decided to clear the air. "You know why that gun is there, William?"

Billy shook his head and found he couldn’t find an answer. He was petrified. He had never seen a gun before.

"Cat got your tongue?" She smiled with those thin lips of hers and when she did, the skin below her nostrils wrinkled. "That, I have handy just in case that serial killer in the papers decides to pay me a visit."

Billy felt the blood drain from his head. When he heard those last words, he felt like she had said them from afar. It was as if he could barely hear them. Everything around him began to spin. "Isn't he doing all his killing out by Castle Rock?"

"You just wait here, and you'll see."

She went out into the living room, leaving Billy in the kitchen alone. He began to wonder why he ever came in the house. He wanted to get up and leave. But before he could, Mrs. Ratcliff came into the kitchen, holding a newspaper in one hand.

"Here, read that," she said and placed the newspaper in from of Billy.

After he saw the headline, he thought he was going to faint at once. In bold letters, on the front page, he read:

VICTIM NUMBER 15 FOUND OUTSIDE OF BREWER'S CITY

Below those words was the picture of a man's torso with a slice across his nipples, and another one going down from the neck all the way to his navel. The Daily Brewer was dated with today's date. He now realized his life would never be the same again.

Dad knew there were 15 victims a day before the newspaper was even printed.