The impossible had happened. And so suddenly, so completely unexpectedly. It was the father! Simply fantastic! Somehow he had been tracking them, he must have moved heaven and earth, he must be more cunning than he looked.
God, this kid was such a huge mistake.
No, it was all right. This wasn't the end. He just had to off this guy and get out of here, and then he would be safe. He had his absolute emergency escape route all planned. Two hours from now he could be in Tijuana, and from there down to Bogota, and back into the rain forest to hide until better days.
Again Barton swung the machete. The man cried out and jumped ineptly away, slamming into the wall behind him. Billy lay like a life-sized doll on the table.
"Why?" the man said. His face was twisted, his eyes bulging. "Why!"
"It was Billy! He wanted to come—and he was the first! I didn't hurt him. I've wanted a son all my life. I was good to him! There was just your Billy." He could not look at those anguished eyes, and turned his face away.
"You crazy, vicious bastard!"
Even though he was yelling Dad had tears in his voice. Billy did not like that. Dad was in big trouble!
There was an awful whistling sound and a snap and Dad was down. Then Barton was on top of him, snarling, and all of a sudden there was a terrible thud and Dad turned into something that looked like a pile of rags.
"Dad!"
There was no response.
He'd been smart, but Billy's father was no fighter. Now he'd finish off the child and be done with it.
But the whole closet was full of bodies!
Somebody else did that.
He chose his weapon. This would be simple, plain, quick: the butcher knife.
As he hefted it he became aware that there was something moving in the basement beyond the steel door.
Oh, God, it was opening! A huge, masked shadow loomed into the room. Another dropped down the ladder. Their plastic eyes were glistening, their guns dark blue in the light. "Freeze! Police!"
Then the blade to the heart.
Part Six
________
THE BAND
OF BROTHERS
31.
Mark Neary takes a breath, it doesn't work, he takes another, it doesn't work, he feels dizzy, his head hurts, he is in deep trouble, he knows it. "Gotta catch my breath—call my wife— get my breath—call my wife—gotta get my breath!"
"Two cc's, get it in there, OK, you have brain tissue exposed, doctor. Bleeding in the wound."
I'm lying down Billy needs me I'm spinning.
Headache!
There were men on the other side of Barton's room. They had guns and they stood by the far wall. They blocked the door.
His heart was fluttering like it was made of paper. Even when he was very still it did not stop.
He was peace, he was the dove. I am the white dove, the dove that spreads wing over the cathedral of sacred shit.
"There are too many tubes in my damn face!"
Then he saw movement, somebody coming through the line of uniformed men.
A woman, moving like a great, wary walking stick. Mother was so gray, so thin!
Her jaw was trembling. "I'm glad they got you."
You and me both!
Her arm came up, the flat of the palm, he turned his head away. "Fourteen, Barton, for God's sake fourteen innocent children!"
"Don't you hit him, lady!" The policemen crowded forward. "Just take it easy, ma'am."
"Fourteen!"
Stars exploded in his head. His face burned. The tubes came out and snaked around his face. I'm sorry, Mother! "Get her arms! Quick!"
They dragged her to the far side of the room.
My heart has fire in it.
Fire!
"The case was solved by a massive nationwide FBI-coordinated police investigation. The house was stormed on an emergency basis by tactical police force officers when it was learned that the boy's father had made an unauthorized entry."
'Momma they filled the bathtub up with blood, don't go splash in it, don't go boom! Momma I don't want no storm, it's blood! Open the drain it gonna go over my head! Momma don't go boom! Momma don't put my ferryboat in here! Momma I gotta die now, Barton says to!'
(Your brothers will help you.)
"In a related development all three are in serious condition at Cedars-Sinai Medical Center. Despite a self-inflicted stab wound to his heart, doctors are fighting to save Royal so that he can stand trial."
A woman is weeping. Her name is Mary Neary. She sits on a plastic chair in a waiting room with a gray linoleum floor and pale green walls. There are marks on the ceiling tiles from a long-ago leak. She clears her throat, takes a sip from a Styro-foam cup she is cradling in her hands.
Her daughter, Sally, is playing a word game with Dr. Richard Klass, a child psychiatrist on staff at the hospital.
The thing was, his heart didn't actually beat. It just sort of shook in his chest. If he so much as lifted his head, he began to lose consciousness.
He put out his hand, but Mother did not take it. "I've just been remembering," he said. "We sure had a great time in the old days, didn't we?"
"Son, why did you do it? Why?"
He watched a fly circling the ceiling light.
"Mother, you should have seen one of my Uncle Squiggly shows."
As if she was suddenly cold, she wrapped her arms around herself. Again she left.
"I bubble when I breathe, doctor."
The cardiologist smiled and nodded. He was thirty-six, he had five children, he was from Calcutta. He did not feel that his patient would live. For the press he remained guarded, but not blatantly pessimistic.
'Oh you opened the drain I am going down please Momma get me, get Billy, I gotta get outa here Momma, I gonna go down! I slipping, my head is in Momma, I gonna go down, my body is in, the blood is taking me Momma, I am in the drain, I am going down. Momma the devil gonna get Billy! He got claws they is long they gonna go all over me!'
(We are your brothers. We are here.)
"Mr. Neary?" "Yes?"
"Can you feel this?" "Needle in my foot!" "This?" "Tickles."
"Very good. Now, relax your neck, please. Good. Any pain?" "Jesus!"
There appears to be no lasting neurological insult to this patient, but the wound continues to heal slowly.
'Oh God why is he like this, he's like plastic, doctor, I can't get through to him, he just stares! Billy! Billy! Remember our lullaby? "Billy boy, Billy boy, where are you going, charming Billy." Sure you do, God in heaven help my poor baby!'
Barton peered into the blackness that had surrounded his bed. Had the room gotten dark, or was it him? A boy walked out of the shadows. He was an angry boy, a familiar boy. Barton knew exactly why he was here. "You'll never get me, never!"
Things were moving in the boy's eyes. How strange that looked. Barton tried to raise himself, to discern just what that was.
Worms!
Danny was this boy's name. He had long, long arms, and they opened for Barton.
No!
The boy embraced him. Oh, and it was almost like love!
(Why did you do it? Only the truth, please.)
"It was fun!"
Impaled baby.
Danny drew back and raised his hands and Barton got heavy, too heavy! His heart began rattling. Something was happening to gravity.
"This is an examination of William Neary, age twelve years and nine months, a traumatized child. The characteristic state of tonus called waxy flexibility is fully evident. The patient can be manipulated and holds postures. Mutism, stupor, apparent absence of will are all present. I do not believe, however, that this child is catatonic. I feel that this is a stress response so extreme that it mimics catastrophic psychosis. The prognosis is nevertheless doubtful."
'I gotta get outa here Momma, it dark, big spider man got his arms all around me, I do-do on myself, I goin' down the hole Momma!'
He sees his brothers for the first time. There
is no recognition.
(We will help you.)
"Help him! You've got to help him! I know he's suffering terribly, you can see it in his eyes, Dr. Klass, please!" The doctor feels he should embrace the patient's mother in order to effect some transference of anxiety.
When Barton woke up again there were more boys in the room. They came closer and closer, their hair trailing behind them, their fingernails scraping the linoleum, their faces as pure as purest light.
"Mother!"
(She went home.)
"She went home?"
"When can I see Billy?" "In a couple more days, honey."
"Christ, Mary, I'm fine. They've got me walking up and down the ward, you saw me!" "In a few days!" "Mary, what's the matter?" "Mark, please—" "He's not dead! Don't you dare tell me he's dead!"
"Sally, just hold my head for a while. I've been up—"
"Twenty hours, Momma. We can go back to the motel if you need some sleep."
"But it's helping! As long as I hold him, he seems to be better. Just let me get a thirty-second nap, just close my eyes . . ."
A sunken, wobbly remnant, she sinks elaborately to the couch.
"Doctor, she's out."
"Your mother is suffering from complete exhaustion. I think we should just let her sleep right here."
They get a gray blanket from the ward closet and tuck it around her. The life of the waiting room goes on, people arrive, sit and depart, lives are won and lost, tragedy strikes, joy descends, Mary sleeps through an entire day.
"Sir, what are you doing in here with an IV tree?"
"What room is William Neary in?"
"You can't come on the children's pavilion, you're an inpatient!"
"I'm his dad!"
"Psychiatric wing, room 2102."
Mark hurries along, pulling his tree of intravenous lines, his mind racing: psychiatric, psychiatric, psychiatric—he maneuvers himself down the corridor. Its long, waxed floors are treacherous, it makes him dizzy to walk too fast. 'Forty-eight stitches I'm surprised my head wasn't cut in two where does this hall end Jesus.'
He is so tiny! Oh, just look, look how small he s gotten! He is so quiet!
"Billy?" Why doesn't he react, his eyes are wide open. "Billy!"
What's the matter here?
The spider opens up its mouth and this man comes out wearing robe of Jesus and he got a coat tree in his hand that's funny and where'd you get those dumb-dumb glasses Daddy?
Mark Neary cannot bear the sight of his broken child. His heart is sick with woe and suddenly he is very, very tired. Like a leaf he slips to the floor, barely noticing the IV tubes ripping from his arms. The lights dim. Then there are nurses. Then he is watching ceiling fixtures go past overhead.
It will be two days before he can leave his bed again.
Barton wanted to hear a Mozart symphony. He wanted to eat a blood orange.
Danny had a green Sohio truck with lights that really turned on. When he went with Uncle Barton he made sure to bring his truck.
(You laid us on the table!)
I didn 't do that.
(Our screams made you sweat with pleasure!)
Every act of life is etched forever in the flesh of the soul.
Mary is slumped by Billy's bedside with her head in her hands. She has cuddled him, she has talked to him, she has sung a thousand songs, she has poured her very soul into his empty gaze, and now the woman is spent.
Sally is stroking her brother's head. In a hoarse voice, she sings:
"Where have you been, Billy boy, Billy boy,
Where have you been, charming Billy?"
It is clear to her that Mother cannot go on. It is also clear that she must. "Come on, Momma, let's do it together."
Listlessly Mary joins in, barely lifting her voice, placing her hand on her son's chest.
"Where have you been, Billy boy —"
He mocks them with his emptiness. "Oh, what's the use," Mary wails, "he doesn't hear a thing!"
"Momma, we have to! We have to try! Now come on!" Again they start.
'Where have you been, charming Billy?
I have been to see my wife —Momma, come on—
She's a young thing and cannot leave her mother!"
"Oh, Momma, look!" An expression has replaced the emptiness. He stares up at them with the astonished eyes of a newborn baby.
"Let's go, Momma! He is looking at us, he sees us!"
Mary sings furiously now. "Where have you been, Billy boy, Billy boy—"
"Hey in there, I see you, yes I do, little brother dear, I see you!"
They are calling him, a chant: "Billy, Billy, Billy, Billy."
Sally chokes, clears her throat. She stops.
"I gotta have a Coke, I'm dying. You want a Coke, Momma?" She jabs at the nurse's button.
Mary remembers that he had such soft hair when he was a baby, like a blond cloud sitting on top of his head.
"I ww—mm!"
"Momma, Momma listen!"
"Mmm! Uhh!"
His voice, the lips hardly moving, but his voice!
"Billy! Billy! Billy!"
"Mmm! I—ww—"
Mary couldn't understand, she wanted to understand, she bore down on him, pressing her face into his narrow, sour little face. "What, Billy, Mommy is here, Mommy hears you!"
"I want a Dr Pepper!"
Barton took his new plane out of the blue box. Oh, so beautiful! Attach the wheels! Attach the wings! Hook up the propeller to the rubber band! Put on the tail!
"No Barton, oh, no!"
"Oh, Barton, that hurts!"
Instruction number fifteen: "Wind propeller one hundred and sixty turns to achieve maximum flight."
He ran up the tall hill. There were clouds piled in the west and sun blazing in the east. The breeze went right through him, it was so pure and he was so good!
"It's hot, Barton, it's so hot!"
"Doctor," Barton said carefully, "it hurts."
"Yes," the doctor replied, smiling, "it will, for a time."
"I want a Whopper with a large fries and a chocolate shake and a fried cherry pie for dessert."
"He still likes that yuck."
"We're gonna get him just what he likes, right, Billy?"
"Right, Mommy!"
While he waited for them to come back he read to his brothers. He read The Lost World, about finding the land of dinosaurs and the jungle drums beating out the warning, "We will kill you if we can, we will kill you if we can." He said to his brothers, "If only for one second we could go back to the Jurassic and see a real Tyrannosaurus rex." Then he asked, "I wonder if dinosaurs got gas?" Maybe going back to the Jurassic wasn't such a hot idea.
Seeing the Burger King bag reminded Billy of home, and for the first time he thought of Jerry and Amanda and all the kids and hanging out together trying to out-cool each other. He also recalled the fact that he was dead-bone broke. Since he obviously wasn't going to win the American Legion Short Story Contest, maybe he should become a pickpocket.
Then they opened the bags and he bit into the Whopper and it was like being home and all of a sudden he was really very glad.
After he was finished Sally produced a small white box of her own. "You try making this on a motel hotplate!" "Divinity!" She folded her arms. "Eat some. Go ahead, I dare you."
The wind was taking his plane higher and higher. At first he was glad, but when it became a tiny black dot he grew worried, then angry. "Come back," he cried, "come back!"
They belong to the wind, they can't come back.
He jumped, he waved his arms.
He heard the voices of the women they would never love, the wailing of their unborn children.
His head fell to one side. The light of other fires invaded his eyes. He was so terribly heavy!
The sky opened like the skin of a rotten fruit, and there came forth the furious legions.
32.
Mom and Dad came into Billy's room with Dr. Klass. Billy watched them walk right throu
gh his brothers like they weren't there. He didn't like it when they ignored his brothers. But he would not stand for it when they told him his brothers didn't exist. How dare they, the liars!
But he'd made a concession. He no longer talked to his brothers when the grown-ups were around. Only he and Sally could talk to them. Since they were his brothers, they were hers, too. They were brothers to all kids.
Dad still looked really weird with his huge bandage and the one eye made gigantic by the big lens they had to put in his glasses. Barton had cut a hole in his head. Billy wished he could see in the hole, but he didn't have the nerve to ask.
Right now his dad looked scared. He looked to his mother. She was scared, too.
Dr. Klass took him by the hand. It was OK, but it still made him feel creepy-crawly when they touched him. When the nurse bathed him he had to shut his eyes and sing real loud.
"Billy, we want you to know that Barton Royal died last night just after midnight."
That was OK. No it wasn't. He busted out crying, he just couldn't help it.
Dad rolled his goofy eye at Mom. She pushed past Dr. Klass and put her arms around Billy. Mom smelled so good, Billy liked her so much.
"This is good," Dr. Klass said, "he's unloading some stuff here."
"I missed the funeral!"
As Mommy hugged him he pulled his face away so he wouldn't touch her skin. He sure loved her, but she had skin like a salamander.
"The funeral is at two-thirty," Dr. Klass said, "but we have more important things to do than go to an old funeral. You and I are gonna write another play about Barton today."
Billy Page 29
