The Williams Decision- Part Two
A side story from Sanctuary, the first book in the Gilesian Trilogy
Dwight whistled as he left school
in the drizzling rain, looking around to see if any of the teachers could see
how much he wasn’t worried about detention.
Once he turned the corner out of
sight of the school, he sat down on the curb with his long legs extended out
from beneath him.
“Teach her a lesson, then?”
Carnegie, his friend from band class,
came out of thin air to sit down beside him on the street.
“Oh, I’m the devil all right. It
was wild. Fun, making them squirm, though.”
“Did you tell her the truth this
time?”
Dwight ground an ant beside his
jeans into the rough concrete with his thumb, and examined the pulverized
remains. “I never tell the truth. You know that.”
“Man, that ain’t true, DW…so I
guess it IS true. You never tell the truth.”
They both laughed, and Dwight got
up again.
“You coming to the park later? Maggie said she’s coming. She wants to see you.”
“Yeah, got something to do first
though.”
“Not again, man. You got to let
that go. Hanson’s not worth the beating you’re takin’.”
Dwight didn’t answer, but pulled a
loose cigarette out of his coat and walked up the hill with his thoughts.
Dwight balled up the long yellow
note he found on the polished mahogany side table in the great hall.
“Other kids get chore lists, ‘I
love you’ notes…I get yelled at.” He muttered as he chucked the
legal size sheet of paper into the corner of the room.
“Andrea? You there?”
No sound. Out shopping for dinner
ingredients, maybe. He headed to the liquor cabinet under the high ceilings and
the chandelier in the dining room.
The picture of Loyola over his
shoulder stared at him as he opened the cabinet. Dwight turned to face him
directly.
“Hey gomer, what’re you lookin’
at?”
He opened the door and pulled out
the bottle of Evan Williams.
He drank right from the bottle, and
grimaced at the kick, then closed the cabinet and grabbed the remote control,
turning on the TV to where he left off watching The Grudge last night.
As he sat in the soft English
armchair, his feet on the nearby ottoman, his mind emptied. No thoughts at all.
The bourbon turned it all off, and replaced it with a quiet, uneasy peace. At
least for a few minutes. Three, tops.
Then she arose again from the back
of his mind, and he hated her.
She knew he was drinking, he knew
it. He didn’t know how she knew. He’d sworn to himself that no one else would
find out after his expulsion from Saint Pugnacious.
It wasn’t his breath. He didn’t do
his drinking in the mornings anymore – learned his lesson on that one, for
sure.
He only tried to talk to her.
Dwight’s head fell back on the couch as he tried to recall that last
conversation.
“Hey Crystal.”
She turned her head to face him,
her eyes and face wary. “Hi.”
“What’s wrong?”
“Nothing.”
“So listen, I wanted to ask you…Do
you like art?”
“Who’s Art?”
Dwight smiled. “Not a who…a what.
Art that hangs on the wall, paintings.”
Crystal looked embarrassed. He
watched the blood in her cheeks color her face, and he could feel his fingers
reaching on their own –he imagined touching her cheeks with his eyes, his nails…
“There’s a Rafael exhibit downtown
that’s free on Tuesdays, if you wanted to walk over sometime.”
She wrinkled her eyebrows into a
question. “With you?”
“Sure.”
“Why would I want to do that?”
Dwight felt his frustration rise.
She didn’t know him at all. She’s the new kid, and already this? “I don’t know.
It’s fun? You do like to have fun, don’t you?”
Her hand pressed to the bottom of
her neck, and his eyes followed her hand. “I’m kinda busy.” Her elbow pushed a
book over the edge of her desk, as she shifted in her chair. The book fanned
out as it fell, landing pages-side down. She reached for it in the same moment
that he did, and his hand touched hers.
His eyes closed momentarily to feel
her warm fingers, soft and pliable.
When they opened again, her eyes
looked into his with…fear? “I’m not into art. Thanks anyway.”
She stood to leave, and he grabbed
her hand without thinking. “What’s with you? I was trying to be nice.”
She wrenched it from his grip. A
strength that surprised him.
“Lay off it.”
Then she ran out without a look
back or a word.
Lay off it? Why would she say that,
if she didn’t know? Would she tell anyone? His dad would kill him with religion
if he got kicked out of another school.
Dwight raised the bottle again. Her
words echoed in his head. Lay off it.
And then what happened in class
before the suspension. Like he’d lost control of his entire body. She’d shoved
his head forward into the chalkboard, making a knocking sound. That made him
mad, although…how’d she do that? From clear the way back in her chair, when he
was at least five steps away?
Something did. Something invisible
pinned him to the wall, and rubbed him all over the chalkboard. No one could
have done it but her.
She watched him the whole time.
While everyone else screamed and ran. Watched as the police restrained him and
took him to the office. The stares and whispers as he struggled between the two
of them.
Embarrassment, crushing
mortification, ran through his body again at the memory.
She’d pay for that. Good and hard,
next time he saw her.
He whispered to her in class that
karma always circles back, and she watched him, her hand on her neck again.
Then the teacher sent him to Caller’s office.
Next time, his hand around her
throat instead…
He took another swig, and looked at
his watch. Near three o’clock. His friends at the Market expected him soon. She
liked to walk close by sometimes after school to feed the ducks. This could be
his opportunity.
He capped the bourbon and replaced
it in the cabinet, and took off out the front door.
***
Hope you liked it. If you want to find out what happens next, it's in Chapter 1 of my novel, Sanctuary, available on Kindle at Amazon.
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