Billy is s a manny, one of a growing number of male nannies working in London, today. His first charge is as unconventional as his career choice, but Billy embraces it. Sadly, one silly mistake, leads to a sorry situation.
Silly Billy is a fan ficti...
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Conflicting emotions cruised through me: relief at having my sight back and not being set alight, confusion as to how I got here, and totally wierded out by the odd man who attended to me and claimed to be Elliot.
While he tidied away the bowl and swabs, I studied him surreptitiously. He was deathly pale and thin, like he may be under-nourished. His hair was cut into a long eighties mullet style and his brightly colored clothing also reflected that era. When you factor in the plastic collar constantly hitting his face, he made for a very strange sight.
When he left the room, I scanned the space. It was a low ceilinged room, dimly lit and windowless. A creep of claustrophobia crawled over me and I tensed.
A second bed lay opposite; in contrast to my creepy cartoon bedding it was covered with plain black satin sheets and had an ornate back board.
I'm just over six feet tall, and when I looked up at the ceiling from the bed, I estimated I wouldn't be able to stand straight up. This observation caused claustrophobia to claw at me and once again I tried to move my legs; but they remained inert.
Throwing the farcical cartoon sheets to the floor, I examined my legs. I was as I went to bed the night before, fully clothed. My jeans showed no signs of having been tampered with and I felt no pain.
Deep breaths helped to control my claustrophobia from erupting into a full-blown attack.
The man re-entered the room, "You broke her rule and covered my dolls face. She glued your eyes closed," he said, giggling boyishly.
His giggles were disconcerting, but I pushed the freakery aside and asked, "Who is she?"
He looked suddenly bemused, "Mother, who else would it be?"
"Do you mean Mrs Milton?" I asked.
"Of course. Mother knows I'm frightened of covering my face; which is why I wear my collar. She's very strict on punishment for people who cover my dolls face," he said, with a sad look.
As he spoke I searched his face for answers: he was definitely a man in his forties, yet his body was boy like: small, perhaps barely over five feet tall."
"So, your name's Elliot?" I asked.
"Of course. I already told you that, you're silly, Billy."
Sitting up, I was forthright, "I was told you died in a fire many years ago."
He looked bewildered, like a child trying to figure out an adult perspective, "There was a big fire up there, but it didn't make me die. It made me reborn down here." Then he smiled and shook his head, "How can I be dead when I'm talking to you. You're very, very, silly, Billy."
My temper rose along with my voice, "STOP SAYING THAT!"
He jumped and began to shake, "I'm sorry, I didn't know that was naughty," he sniveled. When I saw his tears begin to fall, I was filled with a guilty compassion, "No, no, I'm sorry Elliot. I didn't mean to make you cry, it's just that I'm dazed and confused at the moment, that's all," I said, soothingly.
