Life Begins with a... Day 2... Short Story For Fans

Billy’s eyes couldn't believe what they saw. They bulged out of their sockets and felt like they'd be a fraction of an inch from exploding. Could this really be my dad? The one that insisted on all A's? The one that took me out to Brewer’s Falls? The same dad that says I love you in every other sentence?

At school last week, Billy's friends told him something about forwarding emails. They said that people send them when it's something cool.

Could that email had been forwarded by someone else?

He couldn't tell. But of course, there was no way he could. Billy hadn't figured out how to send a goddam email yet, much less forward one. At least not yet.

What he was able to work out, was how to click on one of those pictures. The one that showed the torso of a man with a cut running across one nipple to the other, and another slice down from his chest to his navel. He figured it was a male victim because of the hairy chest. Whoever did this, he or she was making a reference to Christ.

When he clicked on the x to close the picture and tried to open the next, he heard sounds coming from the garage. Panic alarms were blaring inside his head. He felt his blood go cold and could barely feel his hands.

His mom was out to work for the day, so it had to be dad. His old man had gone out to buy himself a six-pack from the local 7-11 because the Patriots were playing that night. Think Billy, he thought, Think. Where did you find this thing? Yeah, I remember now. Dad left it in his bathroom.

Billy sprinted past the living room, leaving Jake wondering what had gotten into his brother. By luck, he arrived on time to put the iPhone on the top of the toilet.

"Billy?" his father called in his deep voice from afar. "I got you Haagen Dazs ice cream. You're favorite flavor too. Come down to the kitchen. The game's about to start."

"I'll be right there, dad!"

When Billy turned to exit his father’s bathroom, he found, to his utter shock, that his brother was by the door, staring at him. "Hey, what are you doing in there?"

This little shit caught me with my hands in the pie, Billy thought, What the hell do I tell him? "I'll give you another five bucks if you keep you're mouth shut. Now let's get out of here before we both get grounded."

"You got yourself a deal... but," Before Jake could finish, Billy grabbed him by the arm and hurried out of there like a bat out of hell.

By the time they got to the living room, they found Chuck Summers, their father, drinking the first of the night and turning on the TV. The Patriots were coming out onto the field and his dad smiled with satisfaction. After a hard day's work, it was a treat to watch the game, especially with his two favorite people in the world.

"Hey guys, grab a seat. Tonight's going to be one hell of a game."

Holy shit. Am I about to watch Monday Night Football with a serial killer? Is my world about to crumble? Could this be true?

You see, Billy wasn't sure yet if the email was forwarded or not. Maybe it was one of those things they called viral. He was only getting used to the terminology. For a kid that lived in a rural area where fun is defined by a swim in the lake or the throw of a ball, forwarding an email was something foreign to him. It was almost like learning a new word in a new language.

It's probably hard for anyone to understand that children still live in towns like Brewer's City. In fact, it wasn't a city at all. Someone added the word city to the town's name a hundred years ago in a party and it just kind of stuck. You know, it's one of those things that happens in little towns like that. But people, like Chuck's boys, still grow up in normal kind of way. Even in 2023 it still happens, believe it or not. They live out in the open, where they only do things like we used to do them in the seventies, or the eighties, or maybe even part of the nineties.

"Dad, can I ask you a question?"

There was a car honking its horn outside. It was a short one, but enough to startle them both out of their seats.

"Jake, why don't you go and open the door for your mom."

The little boy left the living room and went to welcome mommy home. He loved her so. Sometimes Billy thought he loved her more than dad did.

"So, what do you want to know, Billy."

"Have you heard about the serial killer out on 441?" Billy narrowed his eyes, trying to detect what emotion was going on behind his father's face. "You know, the one they can't seem to catch."

But Billy saw nothing in Chuck's eyes. Only a blank stare devoid of emotion. Some people are like that, he guessed. Some things slip through them like the wind slips through empty hands.

"Everyone's heard of the highway killer," Chuck answered. "He goes around dismembering his victims and drawing a crucifix across their chests."

"I didn't know that," Billy lied. He knew that some lines shouldn't be crossed. He had learned that the hard way. This time, he believed he'd done it again.

"Well son, I've only read about it in the papers, just like everyone else. I think the guy's killed fifteen people to date. Why'd you ask?"

Shit. What do I respond? he thought. And why did he say fifteen instead of fourteen. Everybody knows the exact number. Is there a new victim only he knows about? Thinking on your feet is hard. Especially when you're only seventeen. "I don't know, dad. Everyone at school's talking about it."

"Are you worried the killer might be lurking somewhere near town?"

Lurking near town? You serious, dad? You're right here in front of me. He decided to ignore that last question. Sometimes, he figured, it's best to leave some things unanswered. Especially when your life depends on it. "I read somewhere that serial killers are men that lead normal lives. You know, like they have kids or a wife they love a lot. Some of them probably love Monday Night Football just like you do."

"Why do you say it's a man we're talking about," his dad asked.

"Aren't they always men?"

"Mostly," Chuck said and paused. He placed a hand on Billy's shoulder, startling the living crap out of him. "Are you afraid something might happen to you?"

Best to let it out. "Shouldn't I be scared?"

Chuck smiled and with the tenderest of voices, said "I wouldn't worry me non, son. All the victims seem to be concentrated out in Castle Rock. We're three and a half hours away from there." He stopped to sniff something in the air. "Do you smell that?"

"Oh, mom brought us Mario's Pizza. Should I go and get you a slice?" It was hard to concentrate on anything other than the subject at hand but getting pizza sure sounded like a good alternative to talking to a maniac. Billy was so enthralled by the exchange with his father, that he didn't even notice the scent of pepperoni emanating from the kitchen.

"Of course, Billy. Go on and get me a slice. I love anything that has the word slice in it. Don't you?"

Yeah, I bet you do. Like the slice you make when you draw a cross on your victim's chests. This was getting hairier by the minute.

"Now, you go on and get me a slice and come back," his dad insisted. "The game's about to start."

Billy stood, looked at his father, and for a second there, the image of the man he called dad was slicing through the skin of his next victim. Before he shat his pants, he decided it was best to go get his father a slice. "I'll be right back, dad."