The Crossroads

“Are you okay?” asked Zack’s father.

“Fine and dandy, just like cotton candy.” Billy’s smile was suddenly very wide.

“Here you go.” Mr. Jennings handed Billy a check. “You sure you’re okay?”

“Oh, yeah. Never better.”

George waited for Billy to leave. Billy stood there rocking up and down on his heels.

“Shouldn’t you go cash that check? Rent the equipment?”

“Right. Good idea.”

The spirit of Clint Eberhart made Billy’s body go sit in the cab of his pickup truck and wait. Another minute. Maybe two.

When Eberhart was certain that Mr. Jennings had gone back to whatever he had been doing upstairs in the house, his angry soul forced Billy’s legs to walk down the driveway toward the woods, down to where he could hear the boys playing.

Slip down the side of the house, Billy. We’re gonna go kill the Jennings boy. Yes, indeedy. My grandson’s going to kill the sheriff’s grandson.

Billy’s feet resisted. Eberhart exerted more force.

Come on. Get a move on! Shake your bunny tail, boy!

Billy plodded into the backyard with his mouth drooping open in a dull circle. He reached the path leading into the patch of trees.

“Can I help you, mister?”

A boy with an aluminum baseball bat blocked Billy’s path.

“Who are you?” Billy asked. “Mickey Mantle?”

“Who’s Mickey Mantle?”

“Slugger for the Yankees? Led the major leagues in home runs, RBIs, and batting average back in ’56?”

The boy looked at Billy as if he was nuts.

“Tarp!” he yelled over his shoulder.

“Tarp!” several voices echoed from the woods.

“You’re not allowed back here.”

“Why not?”

“Mr. O’Claire?”

Eberhart swiveled Billy’s head back toward the house and saw Mr. Jennings.

“I thought you were leaving.”

“I’m trying to,” Clint had Billy say. “But I got turned around. Which way’s the driveway?”

Jennings pointed left.

“Thank you.” Clint made Billy whistle while he walked up to his truck. He knew he’d be coming back here soon.

Real soon.

He’d be back to take care of some unfinished family business.

He’d be back to kill the Jennings boy.