Part III Assignment: The first chapter introduces the antagonist, Bill.
"Before you embark on a journey of revenge, dig two graves" - Confucius
BILL
Bill’s loving mother is talking in his head again, hurting his feelings.
You fat little girl.
Bill winces.
Mother always wanted a girl.
He shifts his box of glazed donuts from his right hand to his left and reaches into his pocket for the keys to the van. He crosses the parking lot. The California sun catches the dents and scratches of the van’s white paint—battle scars from his mother’s reckless years behind the wheel. The rusted sliding door hangs crooked on its rails, and the Jesus Loves You bumper sticker she stuck on the front bumper is peeling at the corners. He hates her van. He’s not stupid. He’s not fat. He’s not a stalker. Not really. He knows what it looks like, though. White and windowless, the van is a stereotypical stalker-mobile. The kind that makes mothers hang onto their children’s hands tighter when they pass by.
He had no choice. It was the only car the leaders had ever made available to Mother and him.
His mother’s voice sounds inside his head again.
You fat little girl.
He opens the driver’s side door and hurls the donuts inside. The box bounces off the opposite door, pops open, and its sweet, fatty contents spill onto the floor.
The bench seat wheezes when he sits down.
Bill puts his head against the steering wheel and prays for silence.
His prayer goes unanswered with the buzzing of his phone.
Leon’s name flashes on the screen.
Bill swipes up on his phone to reject the call, glances at the clock, and then back at the screen. His maps app says he’s twenty minutes from the target’s home. After he gets there, he’ll need maybe another hour or two before the women head out for their bachelorette party.
The first donut he pulls off the floor while driving to Clinton Street has dirt embedded so deep that it won’t come off. He’d grab another one, but the others rolled out of reach. He can’t waste any time because Leon will kill him if the women leave before he gets there.
He shoves the dirty donut into his mouth. The grit crunches and grates against his molars as he chews.
You’ll eat anything, won’t you? You fat little girl.
He glances at the donuts piled up on the floor, out of reach, just on the other side of his hatchet. Screw it. He needs another one. He needs all of them. He abandons the steering wheel and doubles over his belly to reach them. The van careens to the left, making his donut grab more difficult, but he scoops up the rest anyway and regains control just in time to avoid plunging off the road.
He shoves one of the dirty donuts into his mouth. Then another. And, another. He doesn’t stop until every last morsel is gone.
Clinton Street runs through the pathetic city of Centerville like any other suburban street in northern California. Ranch-style homes from the 1970s sit on quarter-acre lots with faded paint and patchy front lawns desperate for water. A few houses sport cracked solar panels, drooping basketball hoops, and children’s bikes. Other houses have overgrown gardens and peeling trim. The homes of older fools. It’s nothing like the trailers in Bill’s neighborhood. Everyone there must care about their community and show it by maintaining their home. He thought it would be nicer here, especially since the houses are real, but these people don’t seem to care about each other. Of course, he’s had this thought everywhere he’s been. There is no love in suburbia.
Home is where love lives, and he wants to go home.
Clinton Street ends in a cul-de-sac where a community mailbox cluster stands, its metal dulled by sun exposure. Bill pulls up next to the mailbox and eyes the blue house across the way.
“You have arrived,” his maps app says in its soft, feminine voice.
There’s the silver Lexus, parked right in front of the house.
Now, if he only knew exactly who—
His phone buzzes.
“Hey, Leon,” Bill says, coating his voice with enthusiasm.
“Tell me you have your eyes on her.”
“Well, I’m right across—”
The house’s front door has popped open and four women are now strutting down the sidewalk. Tight leather miniskirts and black leggings. Silver necklaces, earrings, bracelets, and hair done up in ways Bill has only ever seen in magazines.
They pile into the Lexus.
“Following them now.” Bill’s throat is dry. The donut dirt didn’t help. “Can you describe her again? Which one is she?”
“Christ, Bill. We’ve been over this.”
“Sorry.” He coughs a little. Clears his throat.
“You’re unbelievable.” Leon’s exasperation cuts like a jagged piece of glass. “She’s brunette, late twenties, about five-seven. She wears a silver charm bracelet on her left wrist. Don’t you remember her?”
“No.”
“Do you see her?”
“They’re all inside the SUV now.”
Leon makes a strangled huffing sound.
Bill waits for the Lexus to go about a block away, then begins to follow. The chug and rattle of Mother’s van grates on his nerves. He scans for donuts on the floor. He shouldn’t, but he wants another one.
“Don’t screw this up,” Leon says. “We’ve come so far. We’re almost there.”
“I want to go home.”
“Oh, I know. You miss your mommy, don’t you?”
“Go to hell.”
The Lexus makes a sharp turn and pulls into a gas station.
“That struck a nerve.” The pleasure in Leon’s voice burns Bill, but he can sometimes ignore these jabs. Do you see her now?”
Bill drives past the first entrance and pulls into the next one. He parks and gazes at the Lexus. He’s not stupid. He knows what this must look like—him sitting in his white stalker van, watching fancy women pump gas. Two brunettes and two blondes. Both brunettes sport silver bracelets. Which one is Susan?
A magnificent car wash lies beyond the Lexus—the Super Shine Car Wash. High cinder block walls form a tunnel over what he imagines to be an array of sophisticated cleaning machinery, ready to wipe away the sins of yesterday and make his mother’s voice vanish. Better still, this car wash has a garage door that can be pulled over the entrance. It’s a good distance from the store and even farther from the pumps, backed by a thick wall of pine trees on the other side, separating the lot from the nearest road. Without a doubt, Bill could walk in and out of this place without anyone noticing. He makes a mental note of the power line entering on the left side of the building.
“Bill?” Leon shouts from inside the phone. “Are you there?”
This car wash seems larger than the last one. It’s grand.
“Bill?”
“Hold on. We’re at a gas station. They’re almost done getting gas.”
Bill prays.
He prays for the women to enter the car wash.
It looks like his prayer will be answered this time. They’re headed for the car wash entrance.
“I’ve got to go, Leon.”
“Wait. What? Now? Out in the open?”
“Don’t worry. No one will see.” Bill’s voice drops an octave. “They’re going into the car wash.”
“No!” Leon shouts. “Not in a car wash. Not again!”
Bill’s heart rate spikes. He hangs up the phone and pulls the van around to the other side of the car wash, careful to position it between the trees and the car wash exit, out of view of the store.
He exits the van, hatchet in hand, and turns a full circle to make sure no one sees him.
He glides up to the car wash exit, dancing lightly on his feet as if he isn’t over three hundred pounds. As if he’s not about to do Leon’s bidding for the last time but rather, his own bidding.
This has to be the last time.
He can’t take being away from Mother any longer. Like all the other cities he’s been to, Centerville sucks.
He’s got to get back home and be with Mother in person.
He’s got to get back home because—if he doesn’t—he’s certain he will lose his mind.
Part III Assignment: The first chapter introduces the antagonist, Bill. "Before you embark on a journey of revenge, dig two graves" - Confucius BILL Bill’s loving mother is talking in his head again, hurting his feelings. You fat little girl. Bill winces. Mother always wanted a girl. He shifts his box of glazed donuts from his right hand to his left and reaches into his pocket for the keys to the van. He crosses the parking lot. The California sun catches the dents and scratches of the van’s white paint—battle scars from his mother’s reckless years behind the wheel. The rusted sliding door hangs crooked on its rails, and the Jesus Loves You bumper sticker she stuck on the front bumper is peeling at the corners. He hates her van. He’s not stupid. He’s not fat. He’s not a stalker. Not really. He knows what it looks like, though. White and windowless, the van is a stereotypical stalker-mobile. The kind that makes mothers hang onto their children’s hands tighter when they pass by. He had no choice. It was the only car the leaders had ever made available to Mother and him. His mother’s voice sounds inside his head again. You fat little girl. He opens the driver’s side door and hurls the donuts inside. The box bounces off the opposite door, pops open, and its sweet, fatty contents spill onto the floor. The bench seat wheezes when he sits down. Bill puts his head against the steering wheel and prays for silence. His prayer goes unanswered with the buzzing of his phone. Leon’s name flashes on the screen. Bill swipes up on his phone to reject the call, glances at the clock, and then back at the screen. His maps app says he’s twenty minutes from the target’s home. After he gets there, he’ll need maybe another hour or two before the women head out for their bachelorette party. The first donut he pulls off the floor while driving to Clinton Street has dirt embedded so deep that it won’t come off. He’d grab another one, but the others rolled out of reach. He can’t waste any time because Leon will kill him if the women leave before he gets there. He shoves the dirty donut into his mouth. The grit crunches and grates against his molars as he chews. You’ll eat anything, won’t you? You fat little girl. He glances at the donuts piled up on the floor, out of reach, just on the other side of his hatchet. Screw it. He needs another one. He needs all of them. He abandons the steering wheel and doubles over his belly to reach them. The van careens to the left, making his donut grab more difficult, but he scoops up the rest anyway and regains control just in time to avoid plunging off the road. He shoves one of the dirty donuts into his mouth. Then another. And, another. He doesn’t stop until every last morsel is gone. Clinton Street runs through the pathetic city of Centerville like any other suburban street in northern California. Ranch-style homes from the 1970s sit on quarter-acre lots with faded paint and patchy front lawns desperate for water. A few houses sport cracked solar panels, drooping basketball hoops, and children’s bikes. Other houses have overgrown gardens and peeling trim. The homes of older fools. It’s nothing like the trailers in Bill’s neighborhood. Everyone there must care about their community and show it by maintaining their home. He thought it would be nicer here, especially since the houses are real, but these people don’t seem to care about each other. Of course, he’s had this thought everywhere he’s been. There is no love in suburbia. Home is where love lives, and he wants to go home. Clinton Street ends in a cul-de-sac where a community mailbox cluster stands, its metal dulled by sun exposure. Bill pulls up next to the mailbox and eyes the blue house across the way. “You have arrived,” his maps app says in its soft, feminine voice. There’s the silver Lexus, parked right in front of the house. Now, if he only knew exactly who— His phone buzzes. “Hey, Leon,” Bill says, coating his voice with enthusiasm. “Tell me you have your eyes on her.” “Well, I’m right across—” The house’s front door has popped open and four women are now strutting down the sidewalk. Tight leather miniskirts and black leggings. Silver necklaces, earrings, bracelets, and hair done up in ways Bill has only ever seen in magazines. They pile into the Lexus. “Following them now.” Bill’s throat is dry. The donut dirt didn’t help. “Can you describe her again? Which one is she?” “Christ, Bill. We’ve been over this.” “Sorry.” He coughs a little. Clears his throat. “You’re unbelievable.” Leon’s exasperation cuts like a jagged piece of glass. “She’s brunette, late twenties, about five-seven. She wears a silver charm bracelet on her left wrist. Don’t you remember her?” “No.” “Do you see her?” “They’re all inside the SUV now.” Leon makes a strangled huffing sound. Bill waits for the Lexus to go about a block away, then begins to follow. The chug and rattle of Mother’s van grates on his nerves. He scans for donuts on the floor. He shouldn’t, but he wants another one. “Don’t screw this up,” Leon says. “We’ve come so far. We’re almost there.” “I want to go home.” “Oh, I know. You miss your mommy, don’t you?” “Go to hell.” The Lexus makes a sharp turn and pulls into a gas station. “That struck a nerve.” The pleasure in Leon’s voice burns Bill, but he can sometimes ignore these jabs. Do you see her now?” Bill drives past the first entrance and pulls into the next one. He parks and gazes at the Lexus. He’s not stupid. He knows what this must look like—him sitting in his white stalker van, watching fancy women pump gas. Two brunettes and two blondes. Both brunettes sport silver bracelets. Which one is Susan? A magnificent car wash lies beyond the Lexus—the Super Shine Car Wash. High cinder block walls form a tunnel over what he imagines to be an array of sophisticated cleaning machinery, ready to wipe away the sins of yesterday and make his mother’s voice vanish. Better still, this car wash has a garage door that can be pulled over the entrance. It’s a good distance from the store and even farther from the pumps, backed by a thick wall of pine trees on the other side, separating the lot from the nearest road. Without a doubt, Bill could walk in and out of this place without anyone noticing. He makes a mental note of the power line entering on the left side of the building. “Bill?” Leon shouts from inside the phone. “Are you there?” This car wash seems larger than the last one. It’s grand. “Bill?” “Hold on. We’re at a gas station. They’re almost done getting gas.” Bill prays. He prays for the women to enter the car wash. It looks like his prayer will be answered this time. They’re headed for the car wash entrance. “I’ve got to go, Leon.” “Wait. What? Now? Out in the open?” “Don’t worry. No one will see.” Bill’s voice drops an octave. “They’re going into the car wash.” “No!” Leon shouts. “Not in a car wash. Not again!” Bill’s heart rate spikes. He hangs up the phone and pulls the van around to the other side of the car wash, careful to position it between the trees and the car wash exit, out of view of the store. He exits the van, hatchet in hand, and turns a full circle to make sure no one sees him. He glides up to the car wash exit, dancing lightly on his feet as if he isn’t over three hundred pounds. As if he’s not about to do Leon’s bidding for the last time but rather, his own bidding. This has to be the last time. He can’t take being away from Mother any longer. Like all the other cities he’s been to, Centerville sucks. He’s got to get back home and be with Mother in person. He’s got to get back home because—if he doesn’t—he’s certain he will lose his mind.