Hillary remained silent as she followed Miss Billie down the road toward her house.
“You don’t talk much, do ya? That’s okay, I understand. But I gots a feelin’ we’s gonna be good friends, you and me.”
Hillary doubted that. She didn’t need any friends. She didn’t want any. She just wanted to find her way to Maryland. Still, maybe Miss Billie would be her ticket. She’d befriend the old woman, get her to feel sorry for her, feed her all sorts of sob stories then manipulate her into buying her a one-way ticket ‘home’ to Maryland. If all else failed, she’d put her butchering skills to use.
“Yes-siree, good friends. How old are ya anyways?”
“Sixteen,” Hillary replied, which was close enough to the truth.
“Sure, that sounds ‘bout right,” Miss Billie commented. “Fifteen, sixteen. Either way, too young fo’ the streets. Say, wha’cha got in that big bag of yours?”
Hillary pulled the bag closer to her side and scowled.
“Don’cha worry, child, I ain’t gonna steal yo’ bag. But I gots one impo’tant rule. You come in my house, you leave any drugs you gots outside, got it Cailyn?”
“Caleigh,” Hillary corrected her. “I don’t do any drugs.”
Hillary looked insulted.
Miss Billie chuckled lightly.
“You done passed my first test...honesty. I called ya the wrong name on purpose ta see if ya made up that name. Guess it’s Caleigh after all. And you don’t look like no druggie ta me. Just a little girl down on her luck. Miss Billie gonna help ya out some. You’ll see. People say I’m sort of a miracle worker, I am. Can get through to all sorts. Not that I’s comparin’ myself to The Lord or anything, no siree, no blasphemy from me. I’s just sayin’ you should thank yo’ lucky stars you ran into me, is all.”
Yeah, good luck for me, bad luck for you, Hillary thought, forcing a smile across her face.
“I think you’re right, Miss Billie, you and I are really going to get to know one another.”
“That’s the spirit, Caleigh. You wanna talk ‘bout anything botherin’ you?”
Caleigh shook her head.
“That’s okay, in time you’ll open up.”
Or maybe I’ll open you up....
“It ain’t much further now, just ‘round the corner there,” Miss Billie said, pointing to a row of dilapidated houses.
Seeing the grimace on Hillary’s face, Miss Billie added, “It ain’t a pretty sight, but it’s home.”
The two of them walked on in silence for the remainder of the way to Miss Billie’s house. Miss Billie’s house was the last house—the one at the end of the street. The plastic siding was faded, with many of the panels cracked and stained. The sagging roof was missing many of its shingles. The windows were dingy and the concrete porch steps were crumbling. It looked like an abandoned house and Hillary was hesitant to step forward.
“You needn’t worry, child, it’s nicer inside, you gonna see.”
Hillary shrugged. It would be better than sleeping in an alley with her back against a brick wall or dumpster. She followed Miss Billie up the steps and to the front door. She half-expected the steps to crumble underneath her weight but they were sturdier than they looked. Miss Billie unlocked the door and stepped aside, allowing Hillary to enter first.
The smell left little to be desired, though Hillary had smelled far, far worse things. It was a musty, damp sort of smell. Hillary was surprised to see that, despite the smell, the house was clean, tidy and well furnished. It was small but cozy.
“You can stay with me fo’ a while ‘til ya gets yo’ life straightened out,” Miss Billie generously offered. “I’m used ta havin’ kids livin’ with me fo’ a stretch o’ time while they figure things out. I like the company. Come.”
Hillary followed Miss Billie to a small room with freshly-painted light yellow walls. It was furnished with a twin-sized bed, dresser, and night stand. There was a dingy rug beside the bed. The mattress was bare but looked relatively clean.
“You can sleep in here,” Miss Billie said proudly. “I’ll bring ya some clean sheets and a blanket. Maybe you should go an’ wash up. I hate to say it but you stink, child!”
A shower sounded like heaven to Hillary.
“I don’t s’pose you have a change of clothes in that bag o’ yours do ya?”
Hillary shook her head. During the entire car ride to Raleigh, she had cursed herself for not packing some clothes and personal items.
“Tell ya what, you can use my robe for now. It gonna be big on ya, but you can just tighten the band ‘round that tiny waist o’ yours. Tomorrow I’ll getcha a coupla things from the thrift store downtown, my treat.”
Hillary was genuinely moved by the woman’s kindness.
“Thank you,” she said shyly. “I really do appreciate it.”
“You can repay me by getting yo’ life back on track. Now c’mon, take a shower ‘fore you stink up my whole house!”
Hillary smiled. The house was already stinky. It smelled like old people.
Hillary followed Miss Billie to another bedroom, no doubt Miss Billie’s. It was bigger and furnished with a pretty matching black lacquer bedroom set. The walls were painted a bright cerulean color and there was a mural depicting angels hovering above a church on the wall across from the bed.
“My foster son painted that for me. Was only fourteen when I plucked him off the streets. He’d get high on anything he could get his hands on. His mama was a druggie too and he didn’t have no daddy. I brought him here and he stole from me the first night before runnin’ off in the morning. Came back later the next day to ‘pologize and beg for another chance. So I took him in again, I did and wha’d he go an’ do? Steal mo’ stuff. I knew it wasn’t his fault. They was a good boy deep down in that hoodlum body o’ his...was just the drugs makin’ him bad. So I talked to him. I hugged him. I gave him my love and guidance. And ya know what? In two weeks’ time that boy was clean and wholesome again. I sent him to my good friend Marvin McDonald who owns a fruit stand on the outskirts o’ this here city. He been working fo’ Marvin ever since. One day he come back with a sack o’ paints sayin’ he wanna do somethin’ nice fo’ old Miss Billie. I said, Jamal, you don’t gotta do nuthin’ fo’ me, you being off the drugs is somethin’ nice for me…it all I needs.”
While she talked, Miss Billie pulled opened the top drawer of her lingerie chest and retrieved a thin cotton robe. She handed it to Hillary.
“Now you ain’t gonna go stealin’ from old Miss Billie, will ya baby?”
Hillary shook her head, “No, Miss Billie, I don’t steal.”
Often...I just kill.
“I ain’t worried. Usually just them druggie kids that steal from me ‘cause they brains so fried, ya know, just breaks my heart. Come, the bathroom is just down the hall here.”
Miss Billie led Hillary to her small, but clean bathroom. The walls were covered with dull blue ceramic tiles. A few of the lower ones were broken. There was a pedestal sink beside the toilet, which was draped in white lacy lid and tank coverings. The bath mat was plush and dark blue. The shower curtain was made of plastic and had religious words positioned at various angles from top to bottom.
Hallelujah, Hillary mocked.
“You gonna feel much better when yo’ clean. Take a towel from the shelf in the corner there,” Miss Billie said before shutting the door and leaving Hillary to bathe.
Miss Billie made a note of the fact that Hillary carried the shopping bag into the bathroom with her. She wondered what she kept inside. She would respect the girl’s privacy and not go snooping. The young teen didn’t seem like a drug addict or prostitute or foul-mouthed delinquent. She was far more easy-going than most of the souls she had taken in to help. She was just a little lost lamb and Miss Billie would help her find her way.
“Poor misguided soul,” Miss Billie mumbled as she made her way to the kitchen to begin cooking supper.
When Hillary emerged from the bathroom nearly a half an hour
later, she joined Miss Billie in the kitchen. The shower had been blissful. Hillary spent several minutes just letting the tepid water run down her body. She was glad to find liquid body wash instead of a bar of soap on the stainless steel caddy hanging over the shower head. She wasn’t too fond of the scent of lavender, but beggars couldn’t be choosers.
“Yo’ just in time ta help with the salad,” Miss Billie said, handing over some bags of produce.
“Ya know, ya don’t gotta carry that bag everywhere ya go. Whatcha gots there is yo’ business and I ain’t gonna go pryin’ about.”
Hillary nodded and set the bag down by the entranceway. She would keep an eye on it to make sure that Miss Billie didn’t get too curious. She could just imagine the woman’s reaction if she saw all of the knives and tools of torture. She would see them soon enough, when the time was right. Hillary didn’t trust Miss Billie. What kind of a person allows young kids to crash in their home? What would she ask from Hillary in return? Hillary needed a good night’s rest. She would stay one—maybe two—nights with Miss Billie, then kill the meddlesome bitch, take whatever money she had and be on her way.
As Hillary prepared the salad, Miss Billie looked at her approvingly.
“You wanna tell me yo’ story?”
“I don’t have a story,” Hillary replied softly.
“Sure ya do. Where’s you from?”
“Maryland.”
“My, oh my, you a long way from home, child,” Miss Billie said, shaking her head disdainfully. “What brings ya all the way here ta North Carolina?”
Hillary had only thought so far ahead as to say she ran away from her home in Maryland, hoping that Miss Billie would offer her a ticket back there. She didn’t give any thought as to what she would say about why she ran away. Miss Billie took Hillary’s silence as her unwillingness to discuss the issue. She understood. It was hard for troubled youngsters. She wouldn’t push the subject. In time Hillary would tell her everything she wanted to know. In the meantime, she would be patient and kill her with kindness.
“That’s okay, child, I ain’t gonna get nosey. How ‘bout I do the talkin’ and you do the liss-nin’ fo’ now? I gonna tell ya why I ran away when I was just a little younger than you. Ya see, I grew up in Alabama. Back then things were a lot diff’rent...really racist, ya know...much mo’ worse than now. Seem like the Klan and them racist white folk were always botherin’ my family. They killed my pa, they did. Didn’t none of ‘em even pay the price neither, came ‘round the house the next day a-smirkin’ an’ boastin’ an’ threatenin’ the rest o’ us. I was the oldest of fo’ kids, the only girl. I looked after my brothers while my mama went out to find work. Again, back then things was diff’rent. Them white folks weren’t hiring no negro woman. My pa’s brother saw fit to move in with us, help my mama out. My pa’s brother saw fit to help himself out too...with me, if ya knows what I mean.”
Hillary, who had been listening intently to the old woman tell her tale, dropped the knife from her hands and turned to face Miss Billie. She was visibly shaken.
“Oh, don’t ya feel bad for Miss Billie…that was a long time ago. Anyhows, I was so scared, I was. I didn’t tell my mama for a whole month. And ya know what my mama said? She said, ‘Wilhemina Lorraine Marshall, you wanna starve? Uncle John be takin’ good care o’ our fam’ly, don’t ya dare go talkin’ crazy ‘bout him, ya hear me girl?’ Course, back then, kids knew better than ta argue with they’s mamas. I didn’t mention it again. ‘Bout a month after that I had enough. I packed my valise and off I went. Never looked back. I dunno what happened to ‘em after I left, but I figured they gonna be better off with one less mouth ta feed anyways.”
Hillary hadn’t yet picked up the knife beside her feet. She stared speechlessly at Miss Billie with doleful eyes.
“Oh, Caleigh, sweet child...did the same thing happen ta you too?”
Hillary ran from the kitchen, grabbing her bag on the way to the front door. Miss Billie followed behind her, struggling to make her old bones keep up.
“We don’t gotta talks ‘bout it, I’s sorry child, I didn’t know. Please don’t leave.”
Hillary stopped at the front door, her back turned to Miss Billie. She had promised herself that she would never cry again, that she would never be so weak. Yet she felt the overwhelming urge to cry as all those painful memories she had suppressed came rushing back to her.
“C’mon child, supper’s just ‘bout ready, I knows ya gonna like Miss Billie’s rice and chicken. Don’t ya go now.”
Hillary thought about her days trapped at Dr. Morrison’s house, the way he had raped her in a drunken rage, the way she had made him regret it. Her depressing thoughts quickly dissolved as Hillary grew incensed. She turned so abruptly that Miss Billie jumped with a start.
“Oh my stars! Oh, child, ya scared the bejesus out o’ me,” the rotund old lady cried, clutching her chest with her age-spotted hand. She stared into Hillary’s feral eyes and felt pangs of fear grip her heart. She didn’t look like the same girl who had just stood beside her chopping vegetables for the salad. She looked unholy. Suddenly, Miss Billie wasn’t all too keen on having Hillary stay for dinner. She took a step back, her hand still over her heart. Hillary could see fear shrouding her face.
“What’s the matter, Miss Billie,” Hillary said fiendishly. “You don’t look so well.”
“Now I don’t wants no trouble child,” Miss Billie said softly, hoping to ease the tension with her calming voice. “I’s been nuthin’ but good ta ya, don’t ya go doin’ me wrong now. I ain’t mean ta upset ya with my ramblings, I just—”
“I’m not upset, Miss Billie, I dealt with my problem...it’s all behind me now.”
Hillary had a weak smile on her face. Her eyes began to soften. Miss Billie began to feel silly, believing that she had overreacted, possibly even insulted the poor young girl. Hillary looked sweet and innocent once more and Miss Billie was convinced that it must have been a trick of the lighting to make her appear so vicious.
“I’s sorry, child, don’t know what came over me. I gets to talkin’ ‘bout my past and I lose my mind. Won’t happen again, you gots my word. Come on, now, let’s go get supper on the table.”
Hillary followed Miss Billie back to the kitchen. The surge of rage that had overcome her just moments before had dissipated. For a moment, she had considered killing Miss Billie. She wasn’t quite sure what made her change her mind. Maybe she was just too weak from days of improper sustenance.
“You wanna set the table?” Miss Billie asked, handing Hillary a set of plates and silverware. “They’s napkins on the sideboard.”
Hillary did as she was told. Miss Billie joined her a minute later, carrying two large bowls. Hillary caught a whiff of the chicken stew and her stomach rumbled loudly.
“Someone’s hungry,” Miss Billie teased as she began to serve the food.
Hillary wasted no time. She shoveled the food into her mouth as Miss Billie watched in amusement. She continued eating hastily as Miss Billie bowed her head and said grace. Her dish was empty before Miss Billie took her first bite.
“My, you sure was hungry,” Miss Billie said with a light chuckle. “Well go on, help yo’self ta more, they’s plenty left.”
There was one thing that Hillary was certain about Miss Billie. She hadn’t lied about how delicious her rice and chicken tasted. Maybe it was the near-starvation affecting her senses but Hillary thought it was quite possibly the best thing she had ever eaten. She wasn’t shy in filling her plate a second time. It made Miss Billie happy to see her eating so well. She would nourish the girl’s body first then work on nourishing her mind.
After the meal, Hillary helped Miss Billie with the dishes. She was never one for doing chores but felt that it was only fair to earn her keep while she was there. Afterward, while Hillary sat on the couch watching television, Miss Billie placed clean sheets and a blanket on her bed. She hurriedly made the bed, not wanting to leave the young teenager by herself for too lo
ng. There was something about the girl that rattled her. She couldn’t quite figure out what it was. She seemed harmless enough. Still, it was always better to be safe than sorry. She’d keep her eyes on her, keep her out of trouble. Even with her fleeting moments of doubt, Miss Billie still believed that Hillary was a good soul in need of kindness and direction. She had dealt with kids who were downright nasty and intimidating. Next to them, Hillary was a summer breeze.
Miss Billie made a quick detour to her bedroom to grab her needlepoint fabric and threads. She wasn’t really one for watching television, so it would occupy her time as she sat in the living room with Hillary.
“Whatcha watchin’ there Caleigh?” She said as her pear-shaped body slowly descended onto the love seat.
Hillary shrugged. “I don’t know what it’s called, some stupid teen show.”
“Well if it’s stupid, maybe ya should find somethin’ else to watch. Like ‘Little House on the Prairie,’ that there is a good show, ya know, real good show. Or even that show with that doctor woman.”
Hillary had no idea what the old woman was babbling about. She had been content to watch the stupid teen show irrespective of the fact that its depiction of popular, rich, happy teenagers filled her with intense jealously and resentment. Why couldn’t her life had been peaches and cream instead of hell and misery?
“You know that one, the medicine woman? What’s her name again?”
Hillary stared blankly at the woman. She looked down at the shopping bag on the floor beside her. She gave a quick thought to shutting the woman up for good, but decided against it. There was something about the woman that she liked, even if she spoke weird and incessantly. Perhaps it was their shared experience. They had both been shamefully violated at a tender age. Yet, unlike herself, Miss Billie had overcome her hardship and found the strength to live a productive life.
“Miss Billie,” she said sweetly. “Can I ask you something?”
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