Nobody ever visited him, so whenever there was a knock on his door, Billy's suspicions would multiply instantly. He looked through the spy-hole and couldn't fathom what was going on, as there was nobody there. He shook his head, angry that his idleness had been rudely interrupted possibly by kids playing, knock the door and run away—a game he had played for a number of years himself, if the truth be told—and he went to walk away, only for his foot to be resting on what looked like a brown envelope. Not more money!
Over the years Billy had received envelopes of money, especially since he fell on hard times, by unknown sources. Although some would revel in such generous offers, Billy felt uncomfortable receiving the cash and felt it was a little eerie. He didn't want to have a huge amount of cash lying in his apartment, so he decided to use the money to set up a trust fund for Joseph. So far, there was seven thousand in the boys account, although only Billy knew of this.
He bent over to pick the envelope up, and knew straightaway that it wasn't money that was inside, as it felt too heavy. Determined to solve the mystery, he walked back into his living room and sat down with the envelope in his lap. He stared at the envelope for a few seconds and decided to open it before his mind threw all kinds of macabre situations at him. He carefully opened the brown envelope as if there was a chance it was filled with anthrax. He couldn't believe what fell out.
It was his Rotary watch and a message. The message was a folded bit of plain paper with a scribbled message in blue ink.
It read: Didn't realise you were Billy Jones. Spent the money. We are sorry.
Billy released a muffled laugh and waggled his head from side to side, placed his watch back to its rightful place, on his left wrist, and began watching the TV. He wasn't bothered about the money, if he was really desperate he could have dipped into his son's trust fund.
Chapter Eleven
Billy had remained in his apartment, and finally decided on Wednesday morning that he needed some air. Like a cancer, his melancholy grew and began mentally eating away at his sanity. He needed to get out, as his sanity needed to breathe. He needed a shower; he stunk. He hadn't been washed for days, but his laziness forced him to put a coat on top of his clothes instead. Maybe that will hide the smell?
He opened his door to exit his premises, and just by luck, his new neighbour was getting out of his apartment also.
"Good morning," his neighbour said with a genuine smile.
"Morning," Billy mumbled, taken aback that somebody actually spoke to him.
Billy trudged down the stairs slowly one by one and could feel the man gazing at him while he remained stood by his door.
Billy stopped walking. "Anything wrong?" he asked, without turning to look at his new neighbour.
"I think we need to talk," the man announced.
"Oh?'
"Please," the man said almost pleadingly.
Billy screwed his face in confusion, and leisurely began to walk back to the top of the stairs. Once he got to the top, he stood close to his neighbour and glared at him, not threateningly, but he wondered if he knew the man.
The young man held out his hand. "My name is Gary. Gary Anslow. I moved in a few weeks ago."
Billy still gazed at the young man who looked like he was still in his teens. Despite his previous beating, Billy felt that the teenager wasn't a threat and thought he could take him even if he was. The young man was a nervous wreck.
"This better be good," Billy snapped, and opened his apartment. "In here."
Gary shyly walked into Billy's scruffy apartment, and looked around unimpressed how the man lived. His living room looked a mess; the sink in his kitchen had dishes sitting there that looked to be days old. The apartment had a strong odour to it, as if it needed a window to be opened and for fresh air to be pumped into the place.
Billy never offered Gary a drink; he just needed to know what he wanted.
Gary sat down in the armchair sitting underneath the window without asking Billy's permission. Billy didn't seem bothered about his new neighbour's rudeness, and sat down himself on the end of the couch so he was as far away as he could be from this new mysterious individual.
Billy exhaled impatiently. "Well? So what do you have to say, Gary Anslow?"
"I just wanted to meet with you."
"I don't know what you're on about, but my patience is getting a little thin." Billy combed his greasy short brown hair with the fingers of his left hand.
"I need to know what happened at the school, I—"
"Jesus Christ!" Billy snapped, and got to his feet sharply, ready to usher Gary out of his apartment. "Have you moved in next door on purpose? What paper are you working for? Aren't you guys bored of this yet?"
"I'm not working for any paper?" Gary spoke tearfully. "I didn't even know you lived here until I saw you. I haven't been living here long, you see."
"So what do you want to know?
"Did he suffer? Did you see him suffer?"
"Who?"
"My brother, Steven Anslow! My four-year-old brother!"
Billy sat down slowly. It seemed to take forever for his backside to touch the couch.
He had been so wrapped up in himself for years that he had given the other families hardly any thought. Sure, he thought about the three children that were killed, and the many hundreds of people who could have been affected by their deaths. He had forgotten that their families 'sentence' was more than likely tougher than his own.
He did occasionally think about the children that were unharmed physically or the ones that were injured. Were they possessed with nightmares afterwards? Were they scared of the dark? Did they have to plead their parents to leave the light on when it was bedtime? Of course he had thought about the others, he just didn't think about them as much.
Gary wiped the tears from his face with the sleeve of his coat, and shrugged. "I only know what's come out of the police report, and the public inquiry. But they didn't go into detail, y'know, how the children died. I'm asking if Steven suffered because you was there."
"Why after three years, you want to know that? Why would you want to put yourself through that? It must be hard enough to lose your brother, but to bring it all up again—"
"I need to know. Was he in pain? Did he say anything before? I know it must be hard for you—"
"No." Billy blew out his cheeks. "It's not hard for me at all, Gary. You know why?"
Gary shook his head.
"Because I'm used to it. I play the same scene over and over again in my head, three to four times a day, every day. So speaking about it isn't a problem. I didn't want to speak to the press because they were handing me out ridiculous amounts of money to go into gory details to satisfy the morbid curiosity of their readers. What would the parents think of me then? Cashing in on their dead, injured, their mentally scarred? I'm lucky to a certain extent. My Joseph had a few nightmares at first, but he never suffered like most. He had no physical scars, and he didn't need counselling—"
"I just need to know. For days I think to myself: Did Steven suffer? Was he scared, did he call out for his big brother, his mummy?" Gary broke down.
Unmoved and robotic like, Billy stood up and walked to the kitchen to fetch a box of hankies that sat near the second-hand cooking utensils he never used. He entered back into the living room and placed the box onto the side table next to Gary. He then sat back down to his original sitting area and position.
"So what do you want to know? If your little brother suffered?"
Gary nodded.
"Your brother was stabbed once in the chest. I'm not gonna lie to you, but if that was me, I could imagine it being painful, I could imagine it being terrifying! Is that what you wanna hear?"
Gary tearfully threw his arms up in the air and shrugged his shoulders; he reached for a hankie out of the box and blew his nose. "I just wanted some kind of...clarity, I dunno. It said in the report that you had a...feeling something was wrong when you dropped your son off."
Billy glared at the broken Gary, and said, "Look, the guy that did this—"
"Jamie Thompson."
"Yeah, he had some kind of breakdown. His wife left him, she took the kids with him, and about a week later something up here," Billy pointed to the temple of his head, "just snapped!"
Billy added, "No one will ever know what went through his head. His kids went to that school as well. The theory is, and it's only a police theory, that he went there to kill his own kids to punish her, but it obviously didn't work that way."
"So what was this...feeling that you had?"
Billy sighed, and rubbed his left itchy eye with the two fingers of his left hand. He threw his arms outwards as if he didn't have an answer. "It was a normal day. I walked Joseph to his class as normal. We were a little late that morning, so we were in a bit of a rush. I walked out of his classroom and headed for my car. I then sat in my BMW and began messing with my iPod."
Gary looked, his eyes narrowed as if to say: Did he say BMW?
"I used to be a lawyer." Billy smiled at his puzzled visitor.
Gary look wide eyed with amazement.
"I never always used to live like this y'know." Billy looked around his untidy apartment. "Anyway, that's when I saw him.'
"Jamie Thompson?"
Billy nodded. "As bold as brass. Stomping his way to the entrance of the nursery section of the school, where my boy...and your brother were playing. His body language didn't seem right. Don't know whether it was intuition—not too sure that's just a woman thing, but I got out my car and walked back to the school. I returned back into the reception area of the nursery.
“It was then I started to hear that horrible high pitch screaming. A noise only a cluster of frightened four-year-olds could make. It was awful. I ran as hard as I could down this white corridor; the door seemed to take forever to get to. I burst through the doors and saw the maniac stabbing and thrashing his way through the class. I hesitated for a second, and then jumped on him. We struggled; I drove the knife into his chest. I then looked around looking for my son."
Billy paused for a few seconds and looked at Gary, who was hanging on every word.
Said Billy, "Think of the most horrific scene you could imagine, times it by ten, and you're not even close to what I saw there that day. Your brother was the first child that I noticed; he just lay there motionless with his wound. I don't know what his last words were. I didn't get there in time. A little blond girl also lay dead."
"Katie Wherton," Gary nodded, and reached for another hankie. "Where did you find your son?"
Billy ignored the young man's question and continued to speak. "She had been repeatedly stabbed in the back. And there was young Craig Miller. I used to speak to him and his mother everyday when I used to drop Joseph off; he was Joseph's best friend. He had his throat cut. He lay on his back, his eyes wide like doll eyes, the blood still seeping quickly out of the wound. It was horrific, and of course another three were stabbed and slashed, and a teacher was slashed across the face and hands, as she was trying to protect the children.
Gary spoke, "I remember afterwards, I was sixteen at the time, hundreds of people stood outside that police station when you were being questioned. I remember seeing the cameras. Then you stepped out of the police station and the whole crowd erupted. People were trying to get a piece of you, I think you were guarded by about ten officers when they took you to their van."
"It was actually twelve, but who's counting?" Billy scratched his head, and continued to talk. "My family had to spend weeks in a hotel because of the media. Then we were under police guard for months before the press and other wackos started getting bored. I lost my job, my wife, but at least I still have my son."
Gary blew his nose, and folded the tissue and used it to wipe his eyes.
"You going to the school memorial on Friday?" Gary questioned.
"Nah, never do." Billy shook his head. Quickly changing the subject, Billy asked, "You wanna drink?"
Gary nodded, and was clearly disappointed that Billy had no extra information for him about his little brother, but at least now he knew.
Chapter Twelve
It was a beautiful March Friday morning. Only one solitary white cloud was ruining the blue sky, and while the temperature was still moderate, the sun shone the best it could to heat up the small town Billy had lived in all his life. The solitary cloud quickly skated across the blue background, as if the sun herself was trying to hurry it along.
Friday had come around quickly for Billy Jones. It was a day he was dreading, but bizarrely the actual day seemed just as painful as any other day. The build up seemed to be more counter productive toward his body emotionally, rather than the actual day itself. It was the third anniversary.
Although a little tired from his four hours sleep, he showered and shaved before his walk, and was strangely dressed in a suit. It was an old suit, but a suit all the same.
Billy had walked the few miles to his old house, enjoying the fresh wind that gently stroked his face lovingly. He exhaled slowly and decided that he needed a cigarette before he knocked the front door of his house to calm his heart rate down. He lit up a cigarette and Billy took a slow drag on it. The ember winked life-red against the warm morning backdrop. He exhaled, thinking about what he was about to do, as the smoke floated up and swirled into the atmosphere.
He knocked audibly on the front door with little hesitation, once his cigarette was crushed beneath the sole of his foot. Lisa opened the door; she was dressed and had her coat on. She looked stunned to see him. He said nothing. Her eyes flitted towards his, but they fell short of a reunion.
"Billy?" Lisa gazed at her ex-husband, finally breaking the silence. He looked handsome, and for the first time in a very long time, he looked attractive to her.
"Hi." Billy glared down at his shoes and saw the dirty scuffmarks at the front. "Damn!" He bent down and spat on his finger to clean the dirt off. Then stood back up, almost childlike.
"What do you want?"
He blew out a breath. "I'm coming with you. To...to the memorial."
"Really?" Lisa put her hand on her chest and her eyes filled a little, giving them a glassy look. "That's wonderful."
"Right, are we ready to go?" A voice bellowed from the kitchen area.
Peter Gregory appeared at the door and put his hand on Lisa's shoulder.
"You're a day early, Billy boy," he scolded. "It's Saturday tomorrow. We're off to the memorial."
"Billy's coming as well," Lisa announced.
Peter's face looked drenched in disappointment. "Really? And where were you last year, or two years ago."
An uncomfortable silence suffocated all three adults, and neither one of them could muster the energy to break the silence. To Lisa's surprise, Billy finally did.
"Where was I?" Billy snarled. "I tell you where I was. I was at my place trying to come to terms with seeing three children carved up like pigs." Billy spoke coldly, glaring at Peter. "I was trying to come to terms with the fact that I nearly lost my son, and trying to get my head around the fact that I've also killed a man."
Peter's face frowned and his head lowered a little, almost ashamedly.
"Why don't you come with us?" Lisa asked Billy.
Billy replied, "Well, that's why I knocked the door. I wanted a ride."
Peter shook his head and snapped, "Wait a mi—"
"Quiet, Peter!" Lisa interjected angrily, and turned to her boyfriend. "Peter, I love you, but three years ago, this man standing here saved the lives of dozens of children, including Joseph, who you adore." Lisa turned to her ex. "I know the incident has messed you up Billy, and you may never get over it, but I'm so glad you were there, I'm so…"
Peter held Lisa and allowed her to sob gently on his neatly pressed shirt.
Peter looked up to Billy; Billy's head was cowered with embarrassment. Like most people, he was a humble person, and praise was the last thing he wanted off anyone.
"If you're embarrassed
now," Peter quipped with a friendly smile. "Wait till you get to that assembly hall." Peter then looked at his watch. "You know what. I've just realised I have a client, I'm not gonna make it."
Lisa looked flabbergasted, and began to dry her eyes. "But Peter—"
Peter shushed Lisa. "I think you should take Billy with Joseph today."
"You sure?" Lisa began to spill tears.
Peter nodded.
*****
Lisa's car pulled up at the school car park. It was typical. There was a never a space available. Billy looked at the school; the nursery section was attached to the primary school at the front, and Billy got out of the car.
Hand in hand with his son, he walked up the concrete steps that led to the entrance, the same steps he saw the knife wielding man walk up three years previous. He hadn't been back since the incident; the place hadn't changed at all.
His heart began to gallop. This surprised him, as he felt fine before he left his apartment, but he began to feel the way he did for the first anniversary where he stayed in his new apartment and smoked marijuana all day. It was his way of dealing with it. Billy stopped walking with Joseph and stood still and stared at a beautiful young oak tree, which stood near the garden, opposite the car park.
"The school planted that two years ago," Lisa said. "On the first anniversary."
Billy lowered his head and nodded. He held out the door and was surprised to see the school so quiet, apart from two security men standing at the entrance.
"It's so quiet," he said with a whisper, as they walked into the foyer.
Lisa half giggled. "That's because we're nearly five minutes late, we'll just hang out the back."
"What usually happens?"
Lisa shrugged, and noticed that her ex-husband was beginning to shake. "Erm, the parents of the children get up to make a speech. They do prayers, songs...you get a mention every year."
Billy felt his face flush with embarrassment, and took a look through the double doors that opened up into the brilliant white hallway that led to the nursery. It looked different, it had been re-painted, plus it was covered in children's paintings and drawings. They had by-passed the nursery section of the school, and headed for the assembly hall that was situated in the middle of the establishment.