Billy Read Online Free PDF Page B

coming by at nine."
    His father laughed. "He came. You told him to leave you alone."
    "I've gotta just put this one sequence together, Dad. I've got all the tracks laid, it's just a question of linking—"
    "It's the end of the day, Birdman."
    "I'm not tired."
    "You're never tired."
    "So let me finish this. I want to talk to that bird."
    "Formula for long life, says Chinese sage: bed, sleep and sweet dreams."
    Hand in hand they went upstairs.
    Barton was lying in the yard under a twisted old tree. The moonlit shadows of its limbs made crooked fingers in the grass. When the basement light finally went out he sat up. But there were still lights on upstairs. Didn't these people ever sleep?
    It was a beautiful night, and every so often he would raise his eyes to watch the moon through the branches of the tree.
    "I see the moon and the moon sees me, high up in the old oak tree ..." On his nights of boyhood the breeze would come fifty miles from the sea, bringing with it the magical scents of the ocean mixed with night-blooming flowers.
    Barton would dream of evil green waves and the ocean giant  the Bible called Leviathan. Whisper-quiet, Leviathan would come up from the depths of his dreams . . .
    The last of the lights finally went out.
    Earlier he'd watched the boy playing with his computer. There had been terribly complex images on the screen, and music, such music, wild and beautiful. He had watched that lovely face concentrating, seen the graceful curve of his neck, the softness of his boy's hands and the laughing, gentle eyes. He was the most perfect boy Barton had ever seen. Just absolutely perfect.
    He wondered how this boy was punished. Probably just talked to, the lucky little bastard!
    Barton would be laid in his mother's lap. The purpose of the ritual was to correct and teach. There was love in every blow, Barton knew that. Dad would never help him. Dad would never tell her to stop, tell her it hurt too much.
    Dad had been so weak at the end, Barton had just laid his hand over his nose and mouth. He'd had to do this to see if his father was still alive.
    Barton had called to his mother, who was in the shower. "Mother, Dad has died."
    Dad had never come to his bed in the night.
    And he hadn't smothered Dad.
    He stood up, took three deep, hungry breaths and moved toward the house. His feet whispered in the dewy grass.
     
    Billy dropped his clothes into the hamper. As always, there were a number of issues connected with the shower. First, how long. Second, how hot. Naturally the most desirable situation was very long and very hot. But Billy knew the risk of depriving his mother of her hot water. She also showered at night, and could become dangerous if this happened. "Since you wanted such a long shower, take mine, too."
    "But it's cold, Momma."
    "I know."
    He wanted her to have her small pleasures. She saw to so many of everybody's needs. Given Dad's profound lack of technological skills, it was she who assembled the toys of Christmas, she who had connected up the Amiga and taught him the  rudiments of it. Basics like food and clothing came from her, and she also was the one who understood that his mind was on a major growth curve. She had introduced him to The Catcher in the Rye when Dad was still promoting Tom Swift and His Amazing Underwater Toaster Oven.
    Billy lathered himself efficiently with Ivory. He took special care with his underarms, for he had noticed again today a musky odor lingering around him during the noontime heat. As he washed, he touched his privates.
    Amanda.
    He almost collapsed. The merest flickering thought of her made his penis leap to life. It stood before him in the spattering water, and he checked to make sure the door was locked. What would his sister do if she saw this? Call the police, probably. What—would—Amanda—do?
    You would end up wearing a bicycle around your neck, young man. Boy, if this thing wasn't working yet, it sure was about to start.
    Amanda ... to walk with her, hand