Billy Summers

by Stephen King

Which is okay, Billy thinks. She’ll listen to me. I hope.

He reflects again that Alice is a different girl from the one he brought in out of the pouring rain. On the way to being a better girl, and if what he’s planning goes wrong and she’s damaged more than she has been already, that’s on him.

He hugs her. Alice hugs back fiercely. He expects her to say be careful. He expects her to tell him again not to die. He expects her to ask him one more time, maybe plead with him, not to go. She doesn’t. She looks up at him and says, “Get what’s yours.”

Nick does, and Billy is so totally amazed by what he hears—and horrified, that too—that he loses track of time.

The slogan on his shirt, the very Vegas slogan that he didn’t get to show Frank but called out to Frank’s mom, is IF YOU WANT TO PLAY, YOU HAVE TO PAY. Someone else needs to pay: Roger Klerke. He’s a very bad man.

When he pulls in, Alice is waiting for him at the head of the space where the old truck was parked. She hugs him as soon as he’s out of the car, really throws herself into it. No hesitation. He hugs back the same way.

She’s in love with you and she’ll follow you as long as you let her and if you let her you’ll ruin her.

Maybe he’s his better self out here, Billy thinks. He knows that Alice is.

Look at that, Billy thinks. Would you look at that.

Billy never meant to stay so long. It’s Alice’s doing. She tells him that he needs to finish his story. Her words are one thing.

Alice tries for sweet and demure, then dissolves in a fit of giggles.

“What if Klerke tells Giorgio he’s not interested?” “We’ll go anyway and I’ll find a way in.” “We will,”

Then he thinks of what Alice has been through, and what Klerke has done to girls even younger than this one, and realizes it might not be his decision to make.

Alice thought she saw it, but Billy sees only a few charred remnants. Maybe, he thinks, the site is still haunted.

“If you have a problem with her carrying, speak up.” Billy shakes his head. “One thing, Alice. If you need to use it, use it. Promise me.” Alice promises. “Okay, now give me a hug.” She hugs him and starts to cry.

I have come to love you, Alice.

There’s a lot about Cathy. He tells her not to bake the cookies, to wait until Ma comes home to help her.

He talks about Peggy Pye, the girl from the foster home where he stayed after his mother lost custody. He says paint is the only thing holding the goddam house together.

And he’s with her, at least for now.

“Maybe he deserved to be hurt, but when you give pain it leaves a scar. It scars your mind. It scars your spirit. And it should, because hurting someone, killing someone, is no little thing. Take it from someone who knows.”

He coughs and blood flies from his mouth.

More coughing. More blood.

“Robin? Is that you?” “Yes.” “I love you, Robin.” “I love you, too, Billy.” “Let’s go down cellar and see if there are any apples left.”

She stops, because the rest of it is hard to say out loud even when she’s alone.

The book is Thérèse Raquin, by Émile Zola.

She stands looking across the gulf of cold air between this side and that, hands in her pockets, thinking she could create worlds. Billy gave her that chance. She is here. She is found. June 12, 2019–July 3, 2020