CARTER'S VANGUARD: WILLIAM CARTER
II
Chapter 15 - By Christopher Patrick Lydon
Sunday was a day Will would never forget.
It had started out simply; he had gone through his customary
morning ritual, leaving Andrew to sleep soundly in the bed as he showered
and got dressed. As much as he wanted to just crawl back into bed with his
boyfriend and be smothered with love, he had too much to accomplish that day.
So instead he paused in the doorway of the bedroom, hand on the brass doorknob,
just watching Andrew sleep off the effects of his drinking the night before.
He shook his head as he went downstairs, picking his way across
the carnage that had once been the living room. The furniture was still pushed
back against the walls, and empty cans, glasses and pizza boxes were littered
everywhere. He contemplated just slapping a biohazard sign on the door and
moving.
Much to his dismay, when he went to make himself a cup of coffee
he discovered all the coffee cups had been used the night before, and he didn't
relish the thought of cleaning one out after he had looked into one to see
the cigarette butt floating there. He sighed and set it down; he could grab
a cup of coffee from the gas station when he walked over to Lisa's place.
It was probably safest for him that way.
He paused as he heard a sound, frowning to himself as he walked
over to the small laundry room that adjoined the kitchen and throwing open
the door.
Jared blinked up at Will from where he sat on the laundry basket,
Cynthia's hand in his as she sat on the washer; both of them smiled at him.
"Hey," Jared said with a dopey smile.
"Hey?" Will said, puzzled.
"We were just talking," Jared explained. "What
time is it?"
Will glanced at his watch, "Almost ten."
Jared blinked, "Oh crap, I'm late for church, my parents
are gonna kill me..." He got up rather hurriedly, "Great party Will;
thanks," he looked over at Cynthia, "for everything."
"All part of the service," Will said with a meaningful
look as he stood aside to let the pair of them out.
* * *
It was raining when Will finally got his coffee--large, fat
droplets that were coldly refreshing on that quiet Sunday morning. He was
glad he was wearing his leather jacket; even though it was early summer, when
it rained it was cold. He had his hands wrapped around the paper coffee cup,
enjoying the rain plastering his hair to his head and soaking slowly through
his clothes.
He was English, a creature born in the dampest, wettest place
on earth. He smirked and started to murmur aloud the lines to a poem his father
had taught him when he was small:
"There's an isolated, desolate place I'd like to mention,
Where all you hear is "Stand at ease!", "Slope arms!",
and then "Attention!"
It's miles away from anywhere, by jove it is a Rum-un,
A man lived there for forty years and never saw a woman".
He grinned as he crossed the street, feeling himself stepping
to the march rhythm of the poem.
"There's lots of tiny wooden huts dotted here and there,
For those who live inside them, please offer up a prayer,
It's mud up to your elbows, you get it in your eyes,
But you've got to go, no matter what your size".
He sipped his coffee and continued to grin,
"There are soldiers living in these huts, and it fills
my heart with sorrow,
With tear-dimmed eyes they said to me, "It's Catterick Bridge tomorrow",
Inside these huts they say there's rats as big as any goat,
Last night a soldier saw one trying on his overcoat."
He nodded to an old woman pushing carrying her shopping bags,
as he lively stepped to one side to let her past, continuing the poem again,
"To breakfast every morning is just like Mother Hubbard,
You double round the hut three times, then dive into the cupboard.
Sometimes they give you bacon, sometimes they give you cheese,
Which marchesjup and down your place, 'Slope arm!' and 'Stand at ease!'".
He neared the top of Lisa's street, thoroughly enjoying the
rain and his memories of home,
"At night you sleep on boards and straw, just like a herd
of cattle,
And if perchance you turn yourself, your bones begin to rattle.
And when you hear Reveille blow, it makes you feel unwell,
You knock the icebergs off your head, and wish the bugler-well!"
He climbed the steps to Lisa's porch and leaned in to ring the
bell,
"Now when the war is over, and we've captured Little Willie,
To shoot him would be merciful, but absolutely silly.
Just send him down to Catterick, among the rats and clay,
I bet it won't be very long before he fades away."
"Who fades away?" Lisa asked, puzzled, as she opened
the door on him.
"Kaiser Wilhelm," Will said with a shrug. "Never
mind..."
"Is that William?" Mrs Highbury asked, coming into
the hall from the kitchen, her apron smeared and a touch of flour on her blouse.
No doubt she was baking again. The smells of fresh muffins baking caused Will's
mouth to salivate at the thought of her infamous chocolate chip muffins.
"Well, don't just stand there," Mrs. Highbury admonished.
"You're soaked; come in and dry yourself off..."
Will shrugged as he came into the house and stepped out of his
shoes, "A little rain never hurt anyone."
Mrs. Highbury ignored him, as she often did when he tried to
protest against her mothering nature. She, like Jared's mother, had developed
a tendency to fuss over him. After all, they figured, no one else did so why
not? It was in their nature to take care of wounded birds, lost kittens and
the occasional single man.
She handed him a towel and had him scrub his hair dry, and Lisa
giggled when he emerged from the toweling with hair sticking up in all directions.
He gave her one of his looks and calmly requested a comb.
Satisfied that he no longer resembled a golliwog he joined Lisa
in the kitchen, her mother already pouring him a cup of her famous coffee
and setting a fresh muffin onto a plate for him. He enjoyed coming over to
the Highbury's, he was always spoiled bloody rotten.
"So how was the party last night?" Lisa's mother asked,
returning to her baking.
"Pretty good," Will replied, tearing into the muffin
and watching a trail of steam rise from its insides. It was so fresh that
it was still piping hot; he grinned across the table happily at Lisa who shook
her head, no doubt thinking what a big kid he could be at times.
"How'd Jared do with Cynthia?" Lisa asked, a mad glint
in her eye. Yet another weakness of women everywhere, the constant need to
play matchmaker. A single person just wasn't happy unless they were pared
off with someone. Lisa was exceptionally bad; even though she herself was
single, she went out of her way to set people up.
"Well," Will said with a shrug, "they spent the
night talking in my laundry room."
"That's so romantic..."
"Huh?" Will blinked in confusion. "I'd hardly
call being squeezed into a laundry room all night with Brody's dirty underwear
romantic..." Mrs. Highbury was looking at Will disapprovingly, "Not
that they were doing anything," Will hurried to explain, his cheeks flushing.
"They were both fully clothed."
"I certainly hope so," Mrs. Highbury said with a sniff,
pouring muffin batter into the baking tins.
"Nothing untowards went on at all last night..." Will
blushed again, remembering Andrew taking him upstairs... "Well, certainly
not in the laundry room..."
"William Carter!" Mrs. Highbury admonished in a scandalized
tone. "This is the Lord's Day, don't make me drag you down to Father
Fitzpatrick for confessional!"
Will grinned at her, "I don't know what I'd have to confess
over, I'm pure and innocent I assure you..."
Lisa couldn't contain her own fits of giggles as she slid off
her chair; even Mrs. Highbury had to pause her baking because she was laughing
so hard. Will simply crossed his arms and looked unimpressed, "What--I
have a reputation now?"
* * *
Fed, Will and Lisa made their way up the road to the small cottage
at the end of Lisa's road. A pretty little bungalow with a well-cared-for
garden, brightly painted siding and a porch swing. It was a beautiful house,
and Will was impressed with how a building reflected the occupant. Mrs. Casey
was one of those women who seemed to just care about everyone.
It was still raining, and Will was glad to dash up the steps
to the shelter of the porch, shaking himself off as he looked down at Lisa
running a few steps behind him. They chuckled at each other's bedraggled state
as Will reached out to pull the bell cord.
They waited.
"Do you think she's in?" Lisa asked curiously.
Will shrugged as he leaned around the porch a little to get
a view of the small red Honda parked on the white gravel driveway. "Her
car's still here."
Lisa frowned as she went and sat down on the bench swing, "So
what do we do, wait?"
"She could be at church," Will offered, pausing as
he noticed the mailbox hanging beside the door with envelopes sticking out
of it. There was no mail delivery on a Sunday; they had to have been sitting
there a couple of days.
"But it's the afternoon," Lisa said, dismissing his
thought.
Will nodded. "Stay here," he warned, as he hopped
down to the garden and set off for the driveway.
"Where are you going, Will?" Lisa asked, standing
up.
"I'm going to check the back, stay there," he said,
turning the collar of his jacket up against the rain as his shoes crunched
on the loose gravel. He was feeling uneasy, and he looked back at Lisa who
was watching him intently.
He rounded the back of the house, looking at the sodden washing
on the line, his brow furrowing; that was odd. Nothing else seemed amiss,
the tomato plants in the garden hung with ripe fruit. A cat sitting on the
back step mewed at him indignantly.
His unease was growing as he stepped up the steps to the back
door, trying the handle as he let himself into the house. The cat shot past
him, causing him to jump, and he shook himself off; he was just being paranoid.
The inside of Mrs. Casey's house was just as well cared for
as the outside. Her kitchen was meticulous; the only thing out of place was
half a sandwich on the side that was going moldy, as if it had been sitting
for a few days. Wherever Mrs. Casey had gone, she had left in a hurry. The
smell from the rotten sandwich was terrible.
He drew up short as he entered the living room, his shoulders
falling as he saw her. Lisa's sharp gasp dragged him out of his shock. She
must have followed him around to the back and into the house. He caught her,
quickly turning her head away.
* * *
"And what relation are you to the deceased?" the police
officer asked.
Will sat stone still, his arm wrapped around Lisa, sitting on
the porch of the house. She had a warm thermal blanket around her to keep
her warm despite the fact she was soaked to the skin.
Will digested the question a second and blinked to look up,
"I'm... well, I was assisting her up at the school."
The police officer nodded, reaching out to hold the door open
for the coroner to wheel out the stretcher, Mrs. Casey covered respectfully.
Lisa gasped again, and began to sob into his shoulder, Will rubbing her back
comfortingly as he rubbed his own face with his other hand.
"What made you suspect something was wrong?" the police
officer pressed, squinting at his little black notebook.
"I, well she hadn't been to work for a few days,"
Will said. "I was concerned and stopped by to see if everything was okay."
The policeman nodded compassionately. "I understand, from
the looks of things she's been... Well, it looks like it happened some time
a week ago," he said hesitantly. "Should I call your parents?"
Will pointed up the street, "Lisa lives just over there;
I can help her home."
"Very well, Mister Carter," the officer nodded. "I
may have some more questions for you."
Will nodded and gave him his phone number, helping Lisa up and
walking her across the road past the small crowd of neighbours attracted to
the flashing lights and commotion at the end of their street. Mrs. Highbury
was waiting to take Lisa from him, looking at him in concern. Will shook his
head, refusing her silent offer of comforting, turning up the collar of his
coat again and walking back for home, suddenly very aware of mortality.
