The Heart of William Churchill: Book One

By Meredith Black

William has a pure heart, despite being surrounded by much pain and suffering. At fifteen years old, he watches helplessly as his mother is tortured and murdered by his best friends father. Worse yet, he suddenly begins seeing strange signs that frequently forewarn of danger, cause him temporary blindness, and make him realize he is powerless against the sins of others. He is placed in an orphanage and when he leaves a few weeks after his eighteenth birthday, William has hopes of leaving the memories of the town behind. But as he visits his abandoned childhood home one last time, he has no idea that a pair of eyes are watching him from inside the house. An accusation that uncovers an astonishing discovery and a newfound romance lead to a constant chain of disastrous events throughout Williams young adult years.

In this intense psychological thriller, a young man is overwhelmed by the secrets that have been buried in his past and discovers it is more difficult to leave them behind than he ever imagined.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Archway Publishing
• Release date: May 8, 2013
• ISBN: 9781480800410

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Copyright © 2013 MEREDITH BLACK.

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ISBN: 978-1-4808-0040-3 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-4808-0041-0 (e)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2013904790

Archway Publishing rev. date: 06/27/2013

CONTENTS

Chapter 1: Fifteen Years Old

Chapter 2: Eighteen Years Old

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter :5 Twenty-Two Years Old

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

About The Author

There is some good in the worst of us and some evil in the best of us.

— Martin Luther King Jr. (1929-1968)

CHAPTER 1

Fifteen Years Old

William slowly lifted the paper in front of his face. He smiled and whispered, Masterpiece. Finally achieving the drawing of his cat, Skippers, he hurried down the hallway to show his mother. He knew what she would say: So what? or Good. Now write, ‘Take Damn Cat,’ underneath it and post it on some telephone poles. Or she might not say anything at all. She’d probably be satisfied with just a glance full of disappointment, knowing that dagger could cut deeper than words.

But as he entered his mother’s room, she lay on the bed asleep, with a burning pillow next to her head.

"Mom!"

She didn’t wake up. William ran to the kitchen, grabbed baking soda that had been left out on the counter, and ran back to his mother. His eyes grew wide as he saw that the flame was now touching the ends of her long hair, and was just seconds from reaching her scalp. He poured the baking soda over the pillow and the fire died.

What the hell? His mother was awake now, angrily brushing the baking soda from her face.

William picked up the cigarette that his mother had apparently dropped when she fell asleep. She looked at it and then stared accusingly at her son.

Why couldn’t you just let me burn? She was angry, but William knew that she wouldn’t get up and follow him. He walked out of the room, stopping to pick up the drawing that he had dropped from panic. Quietly shutting the bedroom door as his mother continued to scold him, he wondered how stupid of a son he must be. Why save her, when she didn’t want to live? Why save her, when she didn’t care about her own son?

He saved her, because she was his mother. And he loved her.

How stupid of him.

Back in his room, he placed the drawing of Skippers in his sketch pad. The white and gray striped cat was lying on his bed, purring softly despite the turmoil that just happened in the other room.

His cell phone rang.

Elijah, his best friend, answered on the other side.

Dad just left.

Mom’s taking a nap.

He’ll wake her up.

William hung up and dialed nine-one-one.

When the operator picked up, asking for his location, he said nothing. He looked up at the ceiling, which had tiny Styrofoam balls mixed in with the white paint. Popcorn, was what it was often called. They moved around the ceiling now, swirling along with each other.

They made signs. He didn’t understand what they meant, but he suddenly thought of cult members in black hoods that burned innocent people, claiming everyone were a sinner and they were in the right.

The signs twisted and writhed, until they finally began to merge into one another, becoming bigger signs and turning black. William saw nothing but them, and then the signs filled his vision, making him completely blind. He panicked, reached out in front of him, and didn’t see the wall that his hands felt. A whimper escaped his throat, and he moved a few steps backward, tripping over his own feet and falling to the floor.

His vision came back, the signs slowly retreating and turning back into ceiling popcorn. His small bedroom looked the same as he looked around, the only thing different was Skippers. The cat was standing up on the mattress and regarding him with a wary look. William let the breath he had been holding burst from his lungs.

He had dropped the phone. The female voice of the operator sounded like the buzz of a bumblebee. He hung up just in time for Elijah to call him.

The police are on their way. I can hear them.

I’m leaving now.

The air was freezing as he stood on the front porch of Elijah’s house. On the twenty-minute walk from his own house, he had seen two police cars push seventy mph in the opposite direction. He hoped Elijah’s father, Mr. Pope would be there when the policemen arrived.

Because he had only heard the screams from his mother, he never knew for sure what Elijah’s father had been doing to her every evening for the past week. But he hoped, prayed, that the policemen would hear them too and save her. Elijah’s father had no clue that the woman he had been torturing had a son, a son that had been his own son’s best friend since kindergarten. William always shut himself in his closet, and the man never bothered to look for something he had no suspicions about. His mother was too burned out from drugs to bother calling the cops or fighting back. He didn’t even know how Mr. Pope found his mother, or why he enjoyed her physical and emotional pain.

The door to Elijah’s house always opened too easily, having been broken by his father’s anger almost a year ago. Elijah had picked up the wrong kind of milk from the general store.

William’s best friend was lying on the couch, having had the flu for over a month. At least that was what his father said it was. William knew that it was probably something worse, Elijah’s sickness seemed to be purely from a weak immune system, but Elijah’s father never took him to the doctor, which was half an hour across town.

Elijah propped himself up on the couch when he heard the door open. Slowly and with difficulty. William went to help him, but Elijah put his hand up to stop him. I got this, he mumbled as he wrapped a worn and stained blanket tightly around himself.

They waited in silence for a few minutes.

I want him to go to prison, Elijah wheezed as he exhaled a long breath, and then Social Services will take me away. They’ll put me in a good home and I’ll eat all of the macaroni and cheese I want.

William listened patiently, though he had heard this plenty before. He hoped the same thing for himself, but he was more worried about his mother.

Shaking those thoughts away, he asked Elijah what was wrong with his face. Red, flaky blemishes were scattered across his forehead, cheeks, and around his nose.

I have no idea, but I feel like my face is on fire.

William considered stealing his mother’s car and driving Elijah to the doctor. He wouldn’t get his license, though, for another year, and he had never driven before.

William had also noticed the dark circles underneath Elijah’s eyes.

Have you been sleeping?

Only a couple of hours during the night and about an hour in the afternoons.

Before William could reply, the front door literally flew open as it soared across the entrance hallway, knocking against the opposite wall and landing with a loud thump.

"Damn it! Elijah’s father screamed in anger, Where are you, boy?"

William grabbed Elijah’s hand, pulling him up from the couch. Before his father could reach the living room, they quietly ran to the next hallway, hiding in a coat closet that stood between the two bedrooms. As William was shutting the door behind him, he abruptly went blind again. Not slowly like before, but like a dark wall had been slammed directly in front of his eyes. It was easier to bear since they were in a dark closet, and he tried not to panic for Elijah’s sake.

They held their breaths as they heard grunts and objects falling over, the man was probably drunk and running into things.

"Boy!"

Elijah stifled a cough. William placed his hand over his friend’s face, whispering for him to breathe slowly and deeply. But Elijah’s sickness had caused him to be claustrophobic in small places like this. He looked around the dark closet, his eyes wide. It was becoming difficult to breathe.

William continued to whisper to him, knowing it was impossible for the man to hear him over all the noise he was making, searching through the house for his son.

It’s alright. Close your eyes and cover your head with your arms.

Elijah followed his directions, knowing that this technique always worked when he was in a state of panic. As he knelt on the floor and hid behind his arms, he mentally told himself that he wanted to be in this small place. He was here of his own will. He was not trapped.

He was not trapped.

He was not trapped.

As William constantly reminded him to steady his breathing, Elijah’s father stomped through the house. Cabinet doors and drawers opened. Mr. Pope was sidetracked from looking for his son.

Where is it? Come on, where is it? the man mumbled to himself, sounding exasperated.

Hopefully, William prayed, whatever he was looking for now wouldn’t be in the closet they were hiding in.

But just as this thought had crossed his mind, footsteps thumped loudly towards the closet. Elijah lifted his head, now holding his breath, which he knew was terrible for the condition he was in.

The doorknob rattled.

The man on the other side grunted in relief as the footsteps backed away from the door and headed to the bedroom on the right of the closet. Elijah’s room.

A drawer opened, then was slammed shut again.

William felt Elijah shaking next to him, and he hoped it wasn’t a sign of his friend’s claustrophobia returning tenfold.

More footsteps, then silence. It sounded like Mr. Pope had walked out the front door, though there was no door to shut to give them a confirmation. After just a few moments, William could see the crack of light coming through the door’s hinges. His sight had returned.

They waited a little while longer, long enough for them to count to four hundred and thirty-two, before opening the closet door.

Peeking his head out, William saw no one. What he did see was a disaster. From what he could see of the living room from where he now stood in the hallway, it was a wreck. Papers were flung everywhere, drawers were left open and some had even been thrown across the room. A glass of soda that had been left out on the old and scuffed up coffee table had been knocked over. An ashtray lay upside down on the floor, peppering the tan carpet with old ashes.

Elijah was still shaken up as he looked at the mess. He took it.

Took what?

The gun.

William had no idea what he was talking about. Gun? What gun?

Pistol. Dad put it in my desk drawer. He must have forgotten where it was ‘cause he hides it in different places all the time.

Why your room?

Elijah’s eyes were dewy, like he had just finished crying and were letting the tears dry without disturbance. The blemishes on his face were a startling crimson against his pale skin.

Because…

He rubbed his eyes now.

Because it’s the last place someone would look.

Like a cop?

It’s an unregistered pistol. He uses it to threaten.

Threaten who? William asked.

Anyone who gets in his way. He’s used it on the Arabic guy that runs the convenient store up the street.

That was your dad who made the clerk give him ten boxes of cigarettes and two hundred dollars? William had watched it on the news about a month ago.

Elijah nodded as he leaned over like he was sick to his stomach, with one arm clutching his midriff, the other to his forehead.

And then it clicked, William realized who he would be using the gun on.

Elijah! Would your dad go back to the house so soon after the cops leaving?

I don’t know. Probably. You know how he does stupid things when he’s angry, his eyes widened, William, I’m so sorry!

For a brief second, William thought the whole situation ironic. Elijah was apologizing because his father didn’t get arrested.

William grabbed his cell phone out of his coat pocket and dialed nine-one-one again.

He told the operator the address of his home and to send the cops back. If a woman was there, alone and unharmed, then they needed to wait. The operator spoke, but he hung up on her.

Elijah, I’m going to leave for a short while, just to keep an eye on the house. Call me if your dad gets back before I do. William walked to the entrance hallway, glanced at the front door lying smashed on the floor. He turned and saw Elijah still standing in the living room, amongst all the debris, looking small and frightened. He wished that Elijah could come with him, and that he could take his friend away from his angry father, but Elijah was sick and it was safer for him to stay here. William knew that if his father did come back, he would not harm his son. He only hurt Elijah when he was sober, completely ignoring him (and William when he was over) when he was drunk.

William hurried out into the cold to save his mother. The police had failed him, and he knew it was up to him now.

He had been afraid to call the police before today, having read books and seen movies when murderers and robbers always conquered over the cops. The cops even got in the way sometimes and ended up making the situation worse. In one book William had read when he was twelve years old, the crook, named Jonah Roberts, was set out to ask his girlfriend to marry him. He had just been released from prison, a place he had been for twelve years. He had all intentions of the proposal to Anne going well, until her lover of the past two years, Jerry, saw him knock on her door. Jonah had flowers in his hand, but hiding in a bush across from Anne’s house, Jerry called the police to tell them he had a gun.

When Anne opened the door and saw Jonah, who she thought would never get out of prison for grand theft auto, she was left with no choice but to let him in and offer him dinner. In the middle of their meal, when Jonah got down on one knee and reached into his pocket to retrieve the ring his grandmother had left him, the police barged in. They aimed guns at him, told him to show his hands, one having still been in his pocket.

Jonah got pissed and shoved the girl he loved out of her chair, grabbing the steak knife that sat beside her plate. He held it to her neck, whispering in her ear, You called the police? He was deeply hurt by the notion that she didn’t trust him.

He slit her throat. The cops arrested him and took him away. Jerry ran to the house, feeling triumphant until he saw Anne lying on the floor with wide and empty eyes, blood circling her neck.

Running against the stinging bite of the wind, William’s mind slipped away from this story as he asked himself why he had finally called the cops. What was so different about today? Was he just becoming more courageous over time?

He also wondered if he needed to get his eyes checked. Twice within an hour, he had lost his vision. It was strange being blind, no matter how short of time it lasted. He was surprised at his ability to still comfort Elijah, and that it did not hinder his other senses, whatever it was. In fact, his other senses seemed to be extra sensitive while he couldn’t see. He hadn’t noticed the first time, but he did the second time while they were hiding in the closet. He could still calm Elijah and keep him safe, even when he was handicapped by some unknown cause.

He slowed his pace as he neared his house, and hid behind a car parked across the street. There was no sign of Mr. Pope, but William didn’t believe for one second that he had beat the man here. Only one policeman was there now, disguised in an unmarked Sedan and parked in front of the next house. Through the windshield, William could see the cop’s head lying on the door panel.

He was asleep.

William couldn’t believe it, but the cop was conked out on the job. He had only called the operator about fifteen minutes ago, which barely gave the cop enough time to begin thinking about taking a nap. William wondered if this cop had stayed here when the others left, before he had even placed the second call.

Beneath his foot was a small rock, only a quarter of the size of his palm. He picked it up and threw it as hard as he could at the Sedan. The rock hit just below the driver’s window. Jumping up in alarm, the cop pulled his gun out and hurried out of the unmarked car, leaving the driver’s door open. Instead of wearing a police uniform, he wore slacks and a tie. When the wind blew the front of his coat back, a badge could be seen clipped to the belt of his pants.

The cop picked up the rock and glanced around.

That was when William saw Elijah’s father coming from a row of bushes that lined the front of a neighbor’s house. The man drunkenly staggered forward for a few steps, then broke out into a clumsy run towards the cop. He had come from two houses away, on the same side that the cop was parked on, and from where the cop stood and was looking, he didn’t see the rugged man charging for him. In the next moment, William’s vision was gone.

He didn’t give his next move a thought. He was acting out of desperation.

He jumped out from behind the car, where he knew he was in clear view of the policeman, and yelled, Behi—!

The cop didn’t look behind him, because he had pulled the trigger before any warning could be called out to him. The police academy had taught him quick reflexes, and he used his perfected skill now. On the other hand, he wasn’t supposed to pull the trigger. He wasn’t supposed to kill on contact, especially before he could even see who he was aiming at.

A kid. He had shot a kid.

He grabbed his receiver and yelled into it, 687 Garret Street! I need an ambulance now! He ran to the kid, who was lying still on the ground. The bullet had went into the kid’s leg. The cop, whose name was Bill Harley, wrapped the wound with a handkerchief he had in his back pocket. The kid, looking to be about seventeen years of age, was already losing a lot of blood.

What’s your name, buddy? he asked, trying to sound calm for the kid’s sake. Bill hoped he wasn’t in any pain yet, knowing that it sometimes took a few minutes for the nerves to feel anything with a bullet wound.

Oddly, and it actually crept the cop out a little bit, the kid looked at him with blank-looking eyes and said, William, with not an once of pain in his voice.

Can you feel anything?

No, William rolled his head to the side, trying to look down the road, but all he saw were the grayish-black shadows behind his eyelids. A few more seconds and the street slowly became visible. Where is he?

Where is who?

Mr. Pope.

Bill stared at the kid for a while before he remembered that William had yelled a warning before he was shot. He stood up and looked around the street, but saw no one.

There’s no one here, he knelt back down by the kid’s side.

William’s eyes grew wide, he knew where Elijah’s father had gone.

The house. William tilted his head back at an awkward angle, towards his home.

Bill understood enough to know that this was the kid who had called the police station. He grabbed William up into his arms and took him to the Sedan, where he would be safe until the ambulance arrived.

Gently laying him on the back seat, Bill told William to keep pressure on his leg. The kid nodded, hardly seeming scared for himself, and watched as Bill approached the house with the gun at his hip. William’s leg was beginning to hurt. He was so worried about his mother that he barely let it bother him.

He could hear sirens now. Up the street, an ambulance and two police cars were hurrying towards him. He opened the back seat door so they would know he was in there. A policeman parked right beside the Sedan and waved the paramedics over. When they carefully lifted him out of the seat, William’s vision once again filled with the signs that quickly merged into darkness altogether.

Are you the one who placed the call? The policeman asked William as the paramedics lifted him into the back of the ambulance.

William nodded, They’re in the house.

The cop looked at the house they had been called to earlier, then hurried towards it, drawing his gun and following the two other uniforms who had already figured out what was happening. He went straight towards the front door, while the other two went around the back of the house.

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Bill cautiously entered the front door of the house, carefully distributing his weight on the creaky floorboards. It was a house just like any other in the neighborhood. Old, small, and dirty. Very similar to Bill’s own house just a few blocks over. A community with a crime rate 65 percent higher than most didn’t necessarily mean higher pay for the jurisdiction workforce.

So far, in the living room, he saw no one, but he did smell something burning. He quietly arrived in the kitchen, making sure the gas stove and the toaster were turned off. They were.

He stopped and listened.

Not a sound.

His foot hit something and he moved back to find a dead white and gray cat. Its neck had been broken.

Keeping his gun leveled in front of him, he moved to the hallway. There were three doors: two on the left, one on the right. They were all closed. He went to the first on the left. A junk room. Hundreds of books, just a few baby toys, a rusted adult bike, and cleaning supplies were scattered about the unfurnished room. He quietly shut the door and went to the one on the right.

He heard something. A whimper?

Bracing himself and holding in a deep breath, he opened the door.

The man turned, moving his aimed pistol towards the cop. He was short, no more than five foot four, with a greasy face and a