Silly Billy

Chapter 5

Frustrated, I stooped my way to the kitchen in need of liquid refreshment before I resumed the task of disposing of the Milton's remains; the olfactory effects of their decomposition was becoming intolerable.

I put Elliots' refusal to accept his parent's death down to his arrested development and his impaired mental state. And I guessed his talking with his mother was like a child would an imaginary friend. I reconciled myself to be more empathetic with him and was more determined than ever to secure freedom from our underground prison.

My throat was dry and I had a desperate thirst, but en route to the tap, the sight of something odd, stopped me.

Correction – the 'something' wasn't in the least bit odd, it was ordinary. How it got there was odd.

I called out, "Elliot, can you come here please?"

"Where are you?"

"I'm in the kitchen."

He bounded in with a returned boyish enthusiasm.

"What do you want, Billy?" He asked.

I pointed to the glass of orange Juice on the breakfast bar, "Did you put that there?"

He shook his head, "No."

"Then who did?"

"Father did."

I bit my tongue before my temper tore into him and I said with restraint, "I showed you, your parents are dead, you saw their remains, didn't you?"

He looked at me as though suddenly, I were the child, "Yes Billy. They are now my God parents, because they are with God now. And you are very naughty for showing me their bodies, their letter told you not to."

My blood cooled, "Elliot, who poured that glass of orange juice?"

"I told you, my father, my new father. He knew you wouldn't want something stronger because you prefer orange juice, he's poured you one before." He smiled and continued, "My new father told me that whenever you look like you've seen a ghost, I've to pour you an orange juice." He lifted the glass and handed it to me, "We're to look after each other now, Billy. I'm going to try and be more grown up so I can look after you properly," he said, like a kid pretending to be an adult.

My blood chilled as my mind wandered back to the night of my dismissal and pub visit, "What's your new mothers name?" I asked, recalling the woman who stopped me at the door.

He looked confused, "Mother, she's called mother, don't be silly Billy." His face took on an exaggerated caring expression, "She knows all about your clostro-thingy and my phigero-thingy; she says we're like two peas in a pod with our foby-thingy's."

He lifted a finger and wagged it in my face, "Mother says that, 'You owe me a prayer.'

As I began to make sense of these revelations, my heart and hope soared. Because now I knew I could confront these criminals, these misguided people, and get the hell out of here and back home to a life full of fresh air, hopes and dreams.