The Coming

By Jason John Tyler

The moon was full, and the stars were shining brightly through the haze of this night. Speed strained his eyes. In the mist, there stood a shapely woman, on a cliff’s edge. She called out someone’s name. In each hand, she held a tiny black book with their blood speckled pages flipping in the wind.
“Christine! Emma! Christine!” she called, “I’m coming, my babies!” and she leaped over the cliff's edge, taking the books into the emptiness below. Along with her screams she flew, and the darkness swallowed her whole.
Speed closed his eyes, and Tabatha placed her hand over her mouth. Running past Speed and Tabatha, the two headless women did not stop at the cliff’s end. Like insane swine possessed by a demon of darkness, they ran over the edge. The screams from their decapitated heads and the roar of their chainsaws followed as they fell deep into the blackness of what could've been nothing, but something was hiding in the darkness. Something sinister.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Jason John Tyler
• Release date: May 13, 2017
• ISBN: 9781370055289

Jason John Tyler

Jason John Tyler settled in Tulsa, Oklahoma a few years ago, finding Tulsa to be caring, friendly and most inviting. Originally born in Johannesburg, South Africa, Jason always says, "If you add a few lions, elephants and ostriches to Oklahoma you'd think you were living on the awesome wild plains of The Highveld." Brushing up against the Great South African Escarpment, The Highveld carpets an impressive plateau that moves upward reaching over three thousand meters above the Southern Oceans of Africa; giving way to the majestic Drakensberg Mountains and their dragon-like peaks where-from the dragon, within their Southern Dutch name, stems. Whenever the urge to tell a story arises, Jason sits down and writes - for his own pleasure. He is an avid reader and lover of well told stories. When Jason is not writing, he reads or thinks up adventurous poetry on the gorgeous midwestern hills of Green Country, Oklahoma.

Book preview

Acknowledgments

Prologue

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Chapter 33

Epilogue

Last Words

Author’s Note on The Coming

The Author's Words on Writing

Other Works by This Author

Things That Go Boo and the more terrifying Things That Go Boo in Broad Daylight...

THE COMING

BY

JASON JOHN TYLER

Copyright

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means without the prior written permission of the publishers, except by a reviewer who may quote brief passages in a review to be printed in a newspaper, magazine, or journal. The final approval for this literary material is to be granted only by the author.

Copyright © 2017 Jason John Tyler

Edition: Original Uncensored Author's Cut (A horror novel by Jason John Tyler titled, The Coming)

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, and incidents either are the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

Library of Congress Copyright / United States Government Copyright / Publish-Main: Independent / Jason John Tyler Copyright © 2017 / Word Count 110,000 / Printed in the United States of America / Suggested Retail price: eBook $3.99 / Mass Market Paperback $8.99 / Trade Paperback $13.99 / Hardcover $19.99 / Audio Book 13.99 / The Coming / Author: Jason John Tyler / Kindle ASIN: B071P3X19L / BooksInPrint Createspace ISBN-13: 978-1546692904 / ISBN-10: 1546692908 Smashwords, Inc. ISBN: 9781370055289 /

Publisher:

Smashwords, Inc. & Createspace

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

This eBook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This eBook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

Dedication

To my beautiful wife, Carolyn Tyler, whom I love dearly, and to my sister-in-law, Nancy Tyler Delk. Thank you for your love, support, and encouragement.

Acknowledgments

The love and assistance provided by my wife, Carolyn, could never, in a million years, be matched. I also offer my thanks to my father-in-law, Bobby. Some special thanks go out to my friends and family abroad. Here, I express my great appreciation to my family, the Tyler family, for their support. You have all helped to keep me on track, and this has assisted in bringing this tale to life.

Prologue

"In the beginning, when you are happy, there is a hint of a smile. When you are sad, sadness sits by your side. With anger, hatred comes knocking. In love, there is love. In the end, those eyes, they lock themselves on you. Walk out, and they continue peering from the other side, through brittle walls, through time’s raging worlds of the ever-changing. And when all is gone, those eyes; that determination, it lives forever."

Tan, tan.

You’re the man,

Take a chance

Tan, tan.

Tell me if you can,

Tell me at a glance.

-The Little Book of Forgotten Sorrows

In all hope and sadly-lost-but-never-forgotten dreams, it was a hot day; and the screams of the child—her child—made the heat seem that much more unbearable. Billy was finally out of her womb and on the bloody floor where Mother Hatherby lay breathing heavily, her dress stained and wet, and her legs red from the birth of her first child.

Shibley, damn you! she shouted. Shibley, get in here and pick my child up. Shibley.

From behind the curtain, a tall man stood peeping at her. Shibley’s face was blood drained.

Mother Hatherby? Flushed, he reached his large hands over and pulled the curtain. Mother Hatherby, are you all right?

For God’s sake, Shibley, come in here and pick my child up and show him who his father is.

Shibley shouted, A son! He rushed forward, almost stepping on Billy. He bent over and lifted Billy from the ground. At that moment, he noticed something strange.

What is it, Shibley? Your face.

Mother Hatherby. Push! Father Shibley shouted, and Mother Hatherby pushed out Slade. Oh, my fuck, Mother Hatherby said, not another one.

My sons, Father Shibley said. My boys. He stood tall over Mother Hatherby. Billy and Slade were in his arms with their blood-drenched umbilical cords dangling from within their mother’s vagina, out to their tiny tummies. My sons, he said.

Fuck. God be damned, said Mother Hatherby.

THE COMING

Chapter 1

Mary Delphine was on her haunches in front of Michael. His face was expressionless. He knew what she was about to say. He could feel it in her body language, in her lack of expression. He could sense something was not right. She looked cold and distant—scared—and he did not like it one bit.

Michael—Mary pulled him closer— I’m not sure if you can fully understand what I want to tell you, but please try to understand.

Michael’s six-year-old hands began to tremble in hers. He could feel a lump in his throat. Something was crying deep within himself, with a burning in his chest, a warm endless burning hurting his soul.

Michael, I have to give you away. I can’t keep you anymore.

Michael looked at her with watery eyes. He tilted his head like a sad dog, and his feet started to stamp the floor in protest, short little thumps but nothing too extravagant.

It was as though he knew what his mother had to do. The stomping was more to hold down his pain as he tried to keep his tears, but they came. I’m sorry, Mommy, he said.

To him, a memory came of Mary rolling him up in a rug and placing him on top of the closet. He remembered her showing him her finger on her lips, one that said do not make a noise. One that said please do not or daddy will kill us all. Michael recalled not crying as he heard his mother getting knocked from one side of the house to the other. He remembered the time he held his breath in between his mother’s screams, believing somehow Mommy would still be there to feed him. Michael remembered her returning with bad marks over her body and blood; there was lots of blood.

Michael closed his eyes and said again, Mommy, I’m sorry.

Oh, my baby, she said and threw her arms around him, please don’t say sorry. It’s me who’s sorry, baby. You never need to apologize for anything. She held him closer. Together tears rolled down pale cheeks where at some point they intermingled becoming one, dripping onto the blue velvet carpet above the hardwood floors on which they stood. In the warmth of the room, before seeping through the gaps in the wood beneath, their tears evaporated, dissolving into a nothingness of empty.

Michael, I promise. I will return. She hugged him tighter.

Mommy, I can’t breathe.

Mary loosened her hold on him. Not wanting ever to let him go, she stood up and backed off slightly. Michael stood in front of her and raised his right hand, showing her his palm. She extended her right hand, and their hands touched. He could feel the warmth of her palm and the racing of her heartbeat sending waves of love through her hand to his.

Michael, Mary considered his eyes and said, my sweet baby, you may not understand what I have to say here, but I believe something in you will always remember this, and one day it will be brought back to you, and you will understand it all. Michael, my darling, stay focused. Keep your eyes on your dreams. Keep your chin held high and never let anyone step on your toes. Do this with love and heart, sweat, and tears. Hurt no one. As they did you, do them with love. Swap, there is no way for, a way can be made. Throw away can’t and keep can. Throw away won’t and keep will. Drown impossible and water possible. Lose never in the woods and find always hiding in the shadows of what will be. Then whether you want it or not, your dream will become not only possible but also inevitable, and whether you like it or not, you will get there. But you must want to get there, and if you do, you will. Mary held her tears, barely able to get her last words out.

Mommy, I love you, he said. I will always love you. And I understand.

How could he possibly understand? she thought. How could this boy, this sweet boy of mine, know so much at such a young age? It is wrong. She closed her eyes and shook her head. Her mouth was dry, and now her throat throbbed in sorrow’s palpitations of pain.

Gertrude, Mother Hatherby’s close friend from child services of Virginia, was standing to the side, watching it all and taking it in. It’s time, Mary, Gertrude said in a stern voice. You need to leave. We will take it from here.

I know but one more hug. Mary bent over, going on her haunches again. She took Michael around his waist, placing her head on his chest. Michael, if you remember nothing else, remember these words. Always remember these words; darling, I love you more than anything in this world, with all my heart and with all my soul. I always have, and I always will.

I love you too, Mommy. Always.

On his left cheek, Mary kissed Michael. She stood up, turned around, and walked out of the room, closing the door behind herself. She was gone.

Michael looked over at Gertrude. He was taking in spurts of short breaths filled with heartache, pain. Gertrude took Michael by the hand and secretively led him into another room where a strange lady sat waiting. Here he is, she said to Lola Thorndike. You better tell your sister. She owes me one. And you better get him out of here before Mary changes her mind. They sometimes do, you know, change their minds.

Lola Thorndike straightened her back and considered Michael’s eyes. Stretching her hand over, she said, Come on now, you have to stop this crying nonsense and dry your eyes. It’s time to meet your new mommy and daddy.

Michael closed his eyes. He did not want a new mommy, and he did not care about having a daddy. He wanted Mary, whom he believed to be his real mother. Daddies did not matter. Daddies only beat mommies up, thought Michael; but Mary, Mommy, he thought, she was gone, and he felt alone. Although she said she would return, something in his heart felt this was the last time he would ever see her in his life again.

Michael extended his hand for Lola to take, and she took it.

From now onward, you will be called Billy, Lola muttered. Did you hear me, young man? she asked firmly.

As he walked off with her, Michael said yes softly but loud enough for Lola to hear. She glanced at him, proud, and she smiled an awful ungodly smile. His whimpering stopped but not from within. His throat hurt with tears trapped deep in his soul where he cried not for himself anymore but for his mother.

Lola could not see this because from here on in Billy showed no emotion as his heart wept harder and harder. The beat of the throbbing rhythm in this new emotionless sorrow of his—all his—hurt Billy’s throat more. Here he stood in the kind of sorrow that often swallows the hearts of the world, disguised as beautiful through a smile in the silence of true pain and true love—not sexual. This was a different kind of love.

That special kind that cannot be given freely or taken away. Truer than true could, in all eternity, ever be. If there was such a thing as truer, in the warmth of a heart of hearts where love’s feelings stir, this was it; his love for Mary, whom he believed to be his real mother, would never die. And even if Mary did not ever return, this he knew and this he would always know. Though she deserted him, he would always hold this last memory of her soft face, warm hands, and trembling words close all the days of his life.

The Laguna Palms Spa Hotel was filling fast, and Mary Jane Delacroix was running around like a crazy person. She was hired by Jupiter Manning to run two of his hotels. One was in Santa Monica, and the other was in Laguna Beach. They were both small hotels, around 160 rooms each, and they were quite different from each other. The hotel in Laguna was an island-style hotel with royal palms. It was set off Ocean Drive with a view of the Laguna Hills on the one side and Laguna Beach on the other.

The hotel in Santa Monica was a European-style hotel, which attracted guests from England, Germany, Italy, and France. Its Old-World charm lured in many artsy types: screenwriters, journalists, and novelists. Here was where Billy first met his friend, Tiger.

Billy was staying at a Santa Monica youth hostel, an international boarding house with a two-week maximum stay. After overstaying his two weeks, due to leave, he asked the reception how he could stay longer. The girl at the reception desk told him should he wish to stay any longer; he would have to take a job at the youth hostel; something he was considering. Doing this entailed cleaning showers and toilets and vacuuming and tidying for three hours daily to cover the cost of his bed. The girl said the hostel reception would arrange a bunk bed for him if he agreed to do this. Billy decided to take up the challenge.

Before getting to Los Angeles and before settling in at a youth hostel in Santa Monica, Billy traveled much. After he escaped from the clutches of his foster parents, Mother Hatherby and Father Shibley, in lovely Virginia, he decided to travel to New York. He always dreamt of going to New York. When he got there, stepping out of the airport for him was like stepping into a whole new country.

The city of New York was a concrete jungle, striking and scary. Exciting, but for Billy, it was too big, too soon. Instead, he detoured to Pennsylvania, where he stopped over in a town called Eastern. He planned to stay with his dad’s friends. Friends Father Shibley never met in person.

Father Shibley spoke over CB radio to people across the entire world. He would send postcards to these people, and sometimes they would become friends. Father Shibley, Billy’s foster dad, was up one night, calling out on the CB radio from Newport News, Virginia when he came across Tom and Madeline doing the same thing. They hooked up over the airways and became the greatest of friends.

They stayed friends for many years after that. Later, Billy’s grandma got into the CB radio communication network, and she too became great friends with Tom and Madeline. She would exchange teaspoons as mementos instead of postcards. It would later be through his grandma that Billy would get to meet Tom and Madeline. Years after they started the radio communication thing, Billy was born along with his brother, Slade. They were born a few minutes apart. Two handsome un-identical twins his mother, Mother Hatherby gave up for adoption.

A woman by the name of Mary got Billy for a bit, and she called him Michael, but because of her abusive husband Frank, Mary was forced to give Michael up. Someone else got Slade, and Mother Hatherby, the bitch she was, did not care who got who. At the time, she wanted to rid herself of them both. Then one fine morning, Mother Hatherby got it in herself to do everything in her power to get Billy back, to get both her boys, and she did.

Long after regretting her decision to give them away, Mother Hatherby wangled her way into getting her boys to keep, to use to her advantage. And upon getting them back, since she gave them away at birth, she made up her mind never to tell them she was their real mom. She was the mom that did not want them from the very beginning. She did not think, when she gave them away, how useful these boys would be to her in the long run, but when she realized their worth, when she realized these boys could keep house for her, she got them back—and she kept them.

This was an intense situation that allowed Billy to grow up in complete insanity, along with his brother, Slade. Once Billy was old enough and able to fend for himself, he ran away, escaping the madness, in search of happiness. Although he wished to leave all along, he did not know he would eventually find himself leaving forever. He was not aware when his grandma cried to see him go, when he cried himself, this would be the last time he would ever get to hug her. The last time he would get to be with her and enjoy her like his grandma ever again.

Although he did call often, it was never the same as being around her and loving her, in person. Billy's relationship with his grandma was special. She was the sanity within the insanity; she taught him how to love and what love was. He would climb into her bed every morning, and he would cuddle with her. He loved her like no one he ever loved in his life, and she loved him the same.

Billy landed in New York at JFK International Airport from Norfolk, Virginia, on a one-way ticket. Once he was out of the airport building, standing on the road running past the arrivals gate, he got on his knees and kissed the ground. Billy loved every part of America. It was his home and the place that, he believed, loved him.

America was the place that was good to him—that never saw him wrong. Yes, America was where his heart was. He did not care whether he lived in the town of Eastern or the sprawling metropolis of Los Angeles or the ever-so-charming Hilton Village or Chicago or Miami. To him, all of it was home. America, the land of love and the land he loved with all his heart.

From New York, he traveled to Eastern, Pennsylvania, to meet with Tom and Madeline. Billy’s grandma informed Madeline he was on his way. Madeline was so excited to be seeing someone from the family. A family she befriended and loved for so many years over the radio.

Billy took the Grandhopper bus from New York to Eastern Pennsylvania. He felt safe because there was someone who would be picking him up in Eastern, someone who knew his family for years. The Grandhopper dropped Billy right in the center of Eastern, a magical town full of old red brick buildings and steep-roofed houses. Billy got off the bus and started looking around. The town looked like it went through a great storm. Although magical in a way, it was also critically weathered, dark, and cold.

Billy knew what to look out for; Tom and Madeline described their car to Billy. Less than a few minutes after finding a pay phone and after calling Madeline, Billy saw them arriving as they pulled up on the other side of the main part of the intersection. They parked and waited for him. Billy waved at them. Meanwhile, from one of the old buildings above the intersection came the cries of some crazed woman.

At first, Billy thought someone was in trouble; but upon looking, above the traffic lights, he saw a black woman standing behind a dirty, broken window. She appeared to be wearing white, off white, and she appeared to be waving at him. Maybe when he signaled Tom and Madeline, she developed this strange notion that he was waving to her up there.

What Billy could not see lying on the dirty floor next to her stomping bare feet was a little black book with a single drop of blood on each of its pages. The light turned green, and Billy started to cross the road. The lady on the foul floor in the old building above, behind the dirty, broken window, started to dance and holler with excitement.

As Billy crossed the road, he took one last look. He saw the woman ripped her top right off.

She was dangling her large breasts through the dirty, broken window, shouting at the top of her voice, Yes, you know what you want, don’t you? Come and get it, baby. Come and get it!

Billy crossed the road quickly, and upon reaching Tom’s car, he knocked on their front window. Billy was smiling with a song running through his mind. The words Tease me. Tease me, baby. Until I lose control. Tease me with your body and your soul… danced in his head. From above, the woman swung her well-worn banana breasts harder, catching her left nipple on the broken pane of glass.

Billy heard the voice of an old woman talking.

Tom, it’s Father Shibley’s son. Pat’s grandson, Billy. Tom, there is some crazy nut out there. Do you hear that? Best to be on our way. Madeline held on to the steering wheel so tightly her knuckles went white. Tom. Billy. Hold on. Tight, said Madeline. We’ll be out of town in a moment. Wide-eyed, Billy held on. Madeline floored the accelerator, and they sped away.

Oh, pleased to meet you. Tom reached, and Billy leaned over and shook his hand.

Sorry, Billy. Couldn’t get out and give you a hug. Our town is not what it used to be. We are not as young as we used to be either. I will give you a hug when we get home.

That’s okay, Madeline. Nice to meet you.

Likewise, Madeline said as they rode off to Tom and Madeline’s trailer deep in the woods.

On Christmas Eve, dark magic crept into Hilton Village, a small town near the coastal city of Virginia Beach and it did not leave until it claimed the life of an innocent young boy. After dusk, darkness swallowed what light existed as it closed in on the land. When Billy’s brother, Slade, and Slade’s friend, Willie arrived at Kyle’s house, Kyle, Slade’s snoozing cousin, pretended to be snoozing once again. Kyle was the eager beaver of the three teenagers who always landed up being the party pooper. He spoke a lot of what he could do in dangerous situations and of how brave he could be, but when it came to doing something dangerous or scary, Kyle almost always backed away.

On the other hand, Billy’s brother, Slade, proclaimed to be the most courageous of the three. Slade, with his gumboots on, and Willie—with his good luck charms, a blue Saint Christopher pendant, and a yin yang around his neck— stood outside Kyle’s house, throwing stones up at Kyle’s bedroom window.

Come on, fuckhead, Slade whispered, we don’t have all night.

Give him a chance, Slade, said Willie. I see his bedside lamp shining. Look, there’s a shadow moving.

Willie and Slade braced themselves, hoping they did not wake Mr. Cohan, Kyle’s father. The shadow at the window stood still for a second, and then it waved at them. It was Kyle. Slade took a deep breath and sighed. Fearing his father would be aroused, Kyle, in reluctance, opened the window and whispered. He said he would be with them shortly.

Don’t forget the shovels! Slade shouted up at him. No time to catch lightning bugs tonight, thought Slade.

Slade always knew what to do next, how to stay out of trouble, and, at the same time, how to have a rave of the century. Once Kyle was down, they headed for the shed, grabbed a shovel each, and began to make their way through, to the other side of the river lands, toward the Lake Maury area. It took them about an hour to trek through the extravagant foliage. Mapping their course, they kept close to the river’s boundary but far enough away to avoid its slippery banks.

Upon reaching its far west end, they climbed the hill that followed, moving toward a forest-filled spot commonly known as Nolan’s Trail. Slade took a moment to wonder if his brother, Billy, would ever return from Pennsylvania. He felt safe with Billy around. No matter how bad things got at times, Billy always made him feel good. Billy gave him hope. Slade clenched his fists and breathed in as an icy wind crept toward the trail, slicing through the damp grass lying in an open field below. When the three boys reached the forest-filled spot, the wind howled and entered, rubbing hard against the trees, causing the trees to ruffle under the moonlight as they whispered and screeched in their attempts to resist its force.

The wind subsided as though frightened by the strength of these lofty trees. Their old trunks whipped, whispering in triumph. Tall and strong against the wind, they stood. Now the wind adhered to the majestic majesty through which it traveled. Subsiding, the wind became a chilly breeze. In protest, the breeze dashed around and about amid the towering trunks.

Upon reaching the trail’s end, the breeze burst free; and in defiance, the wind howled its way down the hill, away from the trail, and through to the other side of the river lands of Newport News. On the crest of the hill, in front of them, the gang of three could see the forest’s end. They stood in awe, staring ahead. Each held a shovel in hand. The trees, which added life to the surrounding area, peered down at the gang below.

It’s as if the trees own this land, said Slade.

Yes, said Kyle. Breaking the tension, he took his shovel, set it between his legs, and raised his hands.

He frowned and opened his eyelids wide. Facing Slade and Willie, he made his voice deep and shaky and said, Yes, the trees gazed down at their land as fear— He paused and swallowed. As fear, a creature of the night, a noble predator in search of the destruction of happiness—

Willie and Slade laughed. Come on, Kyle, said Slade, imitating Kyle’s expressions.

Let me finish, Kyle protested.

Allow the man to finish and let’s be done with it, said Willie.

Kyle’s face contorted. He raised his hands again. As fear, a noble predator in the destruction of happiness, he repeated, readied itself to begin in its quest to devour its prey.

For a few seconds, they were silent, and then Slade interrupted the silence. Trying to ignore Kyle’s words, Slade said, It’s almost twelve. Midnight is near.

And a full moon is above us. We must begin, Willie added while raising his left hand and placing it on his chest above the yin yang, which hung around his neck together with the Saint Christopher, all on the same silver chain-link necklace. These lucky charms, one given to him by Billy and the other from his grandma, followed Willie everywhere he went. Even in the shower and to the beach. On those skinny-dipping moonlit nights at Riverside Beach with Kyle, Joshua, Billy, and Slade (nights of great memories past), even then, Willie’s lucky charms were never removed.

Kyle agreed. Pressing business lay ahead, and there was no time to waste. The townsfolk marked Slade's foster mother, Mother Hatherby, with a top-side-up cross, which they placed over her grave. Her grave was easy to find. The three boys walked down the hill toward the marked spot where Mother Hatherby lay and began digging. Fresh in her grave, thought Slade. Three weeks ago, death struck Mother Hatherby with all its might, leaving her six feet below the ground.

They said although buried, she was not dead. Slade did not believe this. No. Not Mother Hatherby. She was a healthy old hen but not that healthy, not healthy enough to resurrect herself, thought Slade.

She may have dressed in black, and she may have looked like a witch, but she was neither a witch nor Jesus Christ. Couldn’t be if she tried, thought Slade, but she was Mother Hatherby, his foster mom whom he hated for all she did to him and his brother, Billy, and that was a whole lot. As they soon would discover, this was enough for him, for them all.

Driving through Pennsylvania was a dream come true for Billy. He loved the sharp rooftops. It reminded him of something out of some magical fantasy novel he read a while ago. He loved the hills, the mountains, and the factories with their stacks and steelworks. It was industrial and residential too. For him, it was cozy and green and homely in a big way. He loved it all.

Upon reaching Tom and Madeline’s trailer, Madeline waited as Tom got out. In her car’s driver seat, she turned to face Billy.

Billy, there is something I must tell you.

From outside, Tom banged on the window. Are you coming, precious? he said.

Madeline sighed and got out.

Billy got out and made his way to the trunk. Tom was there already, looking at Billy strangely. Madeline saw what was happening and rushed up to Tom.

Tom, this is Billy, Mother Hatherby’s son.

Tom’s expression changed from angry to pleasant. He extended his hand to Billy.

Billy took Tom’s hand and said, It’s good to meet you, Tom. I’ve heard much about you from my grandma. Billy was talking loudly.

Well, I hope it was all good, said Tom. Your grandma is a beautiful woman. Tom let out a kind, generous laugh.

She sure is, Tom. She sure is. Billy began to feel as if he entered the twilight zone. Something did not seem right.

Madeline walked up to Billy. Step back, young man, she said. Let me have a look at you.

Billy took a step backward.

My, you have grown into such a handsome young man. Good for you. Madeline stepped toward Billy, threw her arms around him, and gave him a big old hug.

Once they settled, Tom gave Billy a grand tour of their trailer home. He showed Billy where he was to sleep and where he was to keep his bag. Then they sat at the kitchen table and spoke of their longtime radio friendship with Mother Hatherby, Father Shibley, and Billy’s grandma. They spoke of how they, during the times of her hardship, via CB radio, arranged a place for Mother Hatherby to be safe.

Tom and Madeline also spoke of how Mother Hatherby and Father Shibley hid their affair from everyone in the church. They spoke on and on, conversation starved, saying this, that, and the other, talking about this, that, and the other. Unusual, unconventional things said would pop out here and there too. Things Billy brushed off quickly, thinking these people were just old people who talked too much.

He thought they didn’t know what they were saying. How could they? Thought Billy. A radio friendship and what’s a fucking radio friendship? How could they know all they professed to know?

Billy wondered, but when it came down to it, he did not care much about it. He was too grateful to be away from Mother Hatherby and Father Shibley. He was glad to be free and safe.

Billy got more and more tired as they spoke. Finally, he decided to hit the sack. He went to his room and lay a blanket on the floor. He thought of Mary and Christine and closed his eyes for a few seconds, reveling in the emotions within.

He opened his eyes again. There was no bed in the room Tom gave him for the night. Billy did not mind the floor. He was happy to have a roof over his head. Billy was pleased to be in a safe place with people who made him feel comfortable.

Around about three, in the early