Billy Austin (A Gathering of Lovers Book 1) Read online

  Billy Austin

  Books by Dan Glover

  Lila’s Child: An Inquiry Into Quality

  The Art of Caring: Zen Stories

  The Mystery: Zen Stories

  Apache Nation

  The Gathering of Lovers series

  Billy Austin

  Lisa

  Allison Johns

  Tom Three Deer

  Justine

  Yelena

  The Mermaid series

  Winter's Mermaid

  Mermaid Spring

  Short Stories

  There Come a Bad Cloud: Tangled up Matter and Ghosts

  Mi Vida Dinámica

  Billy Austin

  A Gathering of Lovers

  Dan Glover

  Published by Lost Doll Publishing

  Copyright 2011 Dan Glover

  All rights reserved

  All the characters in this story are fictional. Any resemblance to the living or the dead is coincidental.

  If I could taste one sip of an answer,

  I could break out of this prison for drunks.

  I didn't come here of my own accord, and I can't leave that way.

  Whoever brought me here, will have to take me home.

  Rumi

  Table of Contents

  Chapter 1 – Witness

  Chapter 2—Wolf

  Chapter 3—Rage

  Chapter 4—Nightmare Mansion

  Chapter 5—Rebirth

  Chapter 6—Before and After

  Chapter 7—The Wait

  Chapter 8—Remembrances of Things Future

  Chapter 9—Tavern by the Sea

  Chapter 10—Secrets

  Chapter 11—Loving Lisa

  Chapter 12—Going Home

  Chapter 13—Allison Wonderland

  Chapter 14—Carnival

  Chapter 15—Sunshine in a Bag

  Chapter 16—Mona Lisa

  Chapter 17—Drunk Again

  Chapter 18—The Forsaken

  Chapter 19—Old Friends and Family Secrets

  Chapter 20—Little Boy Found

  Chapter 21—Frogs

  Chapter 22—Bereft

  Chapter 23—Jem

  Chapter 24—Yelena's Secret

  Chapter 25—Tom Rides to the Rescue

  Chapter 26—Father Knows Best

  Chapter 27—Jack and Justine

  Chapter 28—Cooking

  Chapter 29—Soul Offerings

  Chapter 30—Trip to Nowhere

  Chapter 31—Food of the Gods

  Chapter 32—Allison in Love

  Chapter 33—Free

  Chapter 34—I Do

  Chapter 35—Hello to Jell-O

  Chapter 36—Apparitions

  Chapter 37—Pearl Ann

  Chapter 38—Hell's Cellar

  Chapter 39—Silk Scarves

  Chapter 40—Helen

  Chapter 41—Allison Too

  Chapter 42—The Ancient One

  Chapter 43—Saving Billy Austin

  Chapter 44—Bumps in the Night

  Chapter 45—Home

  Chapter 46—Encounters

  Chapter 47—Stray Dogs

  Chapter 48—Taken

  Chapter 49—The Plan

  Chapter 50—Going to Hell

  Chapter 51—Safe

  Chapter 52—Prophecy

  Chapter 53—Goodbye Insanity

  Chapter 54—The Perfect Life

  Chapter 55—Doing Right

  Chapter 56—Voices

  Chapter 57—A Gathering of Lovers

  Finally, someone let me out of my cage.

  Chapter 1—Witness

  Oscuro milked the doctor's dreams of celebrity just long enough to flee his prison.

  He had heard from other inmates—no, Alex, we call them residents here—that sometimes the doctor allowed weekend furloughs to those who made progress on their journey toward eventual recovery and return to society. Oscuro questioned those who had been granted such leaves from the institution and discovered a commonality to them all. Dr. Myers was using each subject as a case study for his books that he spent all his nights writing.

  Oscuro's plan had almost worked to perfection. He successfully convinced the doctor at Didi Hearsh—the institution where his father's attorney had him transferred to avoid a murder trial—that his continued improvement hinged upon his being released for weekend furloughs to his home in Malibu Hills. Dr. Harry Myers was an old family friend... one who had personally lobbied the governor of Mississippi in order to facilitate Oscuro's release to Didi Hearsh.

  His name had been Alex in those days... a name Oscuro still relished yet one better relegated to the burn pile of life what with his present circumstances as a fugitive from justice. He doubted he would ever again be able to use his family name other than among intimate friends and lovers and he counted that as a tragedy.

  From their daily talks—deigned therapy—he knew the good doctor had visions of selling his screenplays to Hollywood, the ones based on Alex Johns and his life before and after he came to the institution as well as upon other patients interred there. Though the therapy sessions were designed to help Alex Johns adjust to the reality of his crimes they also served as valuable lessons in the doctor's likes and dislikes, his delusional desires.

  "Thank you for seeing me today, doctor. I just couldn’t think how I could wait until next week to talk. I hope you didn’t have to break any plans on my account. I have these thoughts..."

  They normally had their session on Tuesdays. Today was a Saturday. Oscuro knew Dr. Myers normally took the weekends off... for him to come into the institute just to see him was a coup of sorts.

  "You're welcome, my boy. And thank you for your concern. My first and foremost responsibility lies with my patients here. As soon as I got your note requesting this session I rearranged a few things so I could be here today. I have to say I'm rather alarmed by your regression of late, Alex."

  Dr. Myers sat behind an enormous table that served as his desk alternately gazing down at a notepad and up again. It seemed to be made of solid maple but Oscuro knew enough about fine furniture to recognize it as veneer. If the doctor was able to sell his book to a publishing house he might well be able to afford a desk more to his tastes.

  "Is there something troubling you? Tell me more about these thoughts that you are having."

  "Sometimes I just feel so alone, doctor. It's like the walls are closing in on me. I start thinking I'm completely and utterly alone... that no one on earth cares about me. I'm thinking of ending it all. I haven’t decided how but the thought has its appeal."

  He said it as mournfully as possible without any trace of self-pity. It wasn’t difficult. Oscuro cared about nothing, not even himself. At the same time, however, the fires of freedom were burning inside him. He yearned for the day when those barred doors were thrown open to unleash him upon an unsuspecting world.

  "I have found that when the mind begins to recover and the medication relieves some of the more odious symptoms of mental illness, certain black thoughts surface. I'm glad you feel confidant enough in our relationship to bring this to my attention, Alex.

  "It might be appropriate at this time to look into a symbiosis of treatment possibilities, including a reevaluation of your medication dosages. You may be developing a tolerance to... let me see... we have you on lithium as well as quetiapine. We might try cutting back on the lithium and see if that makes a difference in your mood swings, Alex.

  "I've been going over our latest talks. You were doing so well up until just a few weeks ago. In the past a change of scenery has seemed to help my patients over that rough patch that occurs after being sequeste
red here for so long. Perhaps now is a good time to consider weekend furloughs, Alex... supervised, of course."

  "Oh no, doctor. I couldn't trust myself. Please don’t force me to leave just yet. I need some time to get used to the notion."

  Oscuro had studied enough psychology to know if he agreed too readily to the good doctor's suggestion of a furlough that it would be summarily denied. Instead, he became visibly alarmed at the mere mention of it, twisting a lock of hair as if it soothed him to do so. He had cultivated that act as one of a long list of manias that afflicted him.

  Tardive dyskinesia usually surfaced as a symptom of long-term usage of anti-psychotic medications. Oscuro knew better than to try and fool the doctor by palming his medications—frequent and unannounced blood tests were mandated here—so he instead plotted to allow the doctor himself to think it appropriate to gradually wean him off the more hideous drug regimens they forced down his throat on a daily basis.

  "Please don't make me go away from here... please doctor. I need you."

  Smugness at how easy it was to manipulate the doctor rolled over Oscuro like a breaking wave on the ocean of id. A book might well be written someday... but not the one Harry Myers anticipated. Rather, Oscuro ventured to speculate if he might pen his own autobiography if he ever got free of this screaming hellhole.

  "No one is going to force you into doing anything, Alex. We'll keep working on your medication adjustment and see what transpires in the next few months. How's that suit you?"

  "Oh, thank you, doctor. I knew I could count on you. You're my only friend, you know."

  Oscuro had worked on that speech for hours in front of the mirror, getting his inflection and tone of voice perfect. He knew from their long discussions that Dr. Myers was proud to be a student of neuro-linguistic programming. By carefully acting out facial patterns to match his tone of voice Oscuro knew he could convince even the most ardent cynic of his sincerity.

  He understood how the left side of the face was most indicative of tell-tale signs of unspoken desires. It took Oscuro a good long while to train his facial muscles to voluntarily respond in ways that would influence Harry Myers into believing what he wanted to believe: that Alex Johns was responding favorably to both the medications he was on and to the therapy sessions especially tailored for him.

  The tic below his left eye was particularly arduous to master and the one Oscuro was perhaps most proud of. By combining that with the incessant hair twisting—even when he was alone in his room he knew hidden security cameras recorded his every move—he was able in time to assure himself that his scheme was succeeding admirably.

  "I'll always be here for you, Alex. Don't hesitate to confide in me. Now... if there's nothing else on your mind..."

  Oscuro knew Harry Myers was in a hurry to leave. He thought what a terrible poker player the doctor must be what with the easy way he had of giving away his every emotion. If there was time Oscuro dabbled with the idea of fleecing Dr. Myers but that would have to wait for another lifetime.

  Chapter 2—Wolf

  Billy Austin woke screaming.

  He discovered he was riding in the back seat of a Greyhound bus… it smelled of split milk and urine. He felt faintly nauseous and wished the window would go down enough to allow a breath of fresh air to dispel the turmoil raging in his stomach.

  It wouldn’t budge and he was afraid to make too much of a fuss. The bus driver had given him weird looks when he got on back in Oklahoma. Billy wasn’t sure if it was because he boarded the bus in front of Eastern State Hospital or if the man simply disliked his disheveled appearance.

  They called it a hospital but everyone knew what it really was: an asylum for the criminally insane. Billy didn’t remember the first time he had been incarcerated within its moldy walls... he assumed he'd been there all his adult life.

  He had just dreamed of a girl for whom he felt responsible and whose life he held in his hands. Her name escaped him as well as her face but from the fast-fading memory he sensed he once knew her well and would again. The girl didn't bring on the scream… rather the terror he felt was that of a daggered darkness welling up beneath her that frightened Billy as it threatened to engulf them both.

  He had once been someone else. It no longer mattered to him who he'd been. They called him Billy Austin so he assumed that was his name. Some part of him sensed he had many names but he didn’t care to examine that thought too closely lest madness was to creep over him once more.

  For just an instant between sleep and awakening Billy thought he was still wandering the haunted hallways of the asylum with clanging metal doors and cages for windows and that he merely dreamed he was on a bus. He recalled a doctor explaining to him that he was insane. The doctor told him the place where he was interred was called an institution.

  Billy thought how calling it something else made it sound better than it was. He didn’t understand the doctor or what he said. Insane… what could he mean… insane? They must have mistaken him for someone else.

  “What’s wrong, mister?”

  A skinny boy watched him sporting darkling skin and spindly Popeye the Sailor kind of arms—thick forearms and skinny uppers—with a shock of black hair falling over his forehead and big brown eyes sunk deep into his face; he was standing and peeking over the back of the seat in front of Billy.

  “Did you have a bad dream?”

  “Yes, I did.”

  Billy rubbed his eyes wishing he had a splash of water to feed his face. It had dawned a chilly December day… his toes were cold and his head hurt… and now that late afternoon had arrived the day had yet to gather any warmth. Billy rubbed the bone behind his left ear with the fleshy part of the base of his left thumb for a bit of relief from the visceral pain blossoming there. The pain dulled but his head kept hurting.

  “Sorry for hollering like that.”

  “I have bad dreams too.

  The boy's teeth were crooked top and bottom and Billy sensed they'd stay that way. The clothing he wore betrayed a station in life where braces were as out of reach as the moon.

  “I wake myself up screaming sometimes… what were you dreaming about, Mr.?”

  “A girl in the dark.”

  Billy fumbled through the ashes of the fast-receding dream hoping to snag a tattered remnant.

  “She held my hand so she wasn’t afraid and suddenly she vanished. I couldn’t see her any longer so I called out. But she didn’t answer… I screamed for her. That’s when I woke up.”

  “Do you know the girl?”

  “I think so… but I can’t remember her name right now.”

  “Yeah… that happens to me too. When I first wake up I remember my dreams really well but then I forget them…”

  “Johnny… you know what I said about talking to strangers.”

  The sharp female voice sounded angry from the other side of the seat.

  “Turn around now and leave that nice man alone.”

  “Yes ma’am.”

  The boy turned obediently, waving his fingers to Billy in a twirl as he disappeared from view.

  As Billy came fully awake, he thought how much like a dream his life had become. He remembered going to sleep one night not too long ago. He was ten years old and they were living in one of the succession of abandoned houses his mother found. They would stay until someone—the city, the real owners, other derelicts—would force them to leave.

  One day he remembered waking up in a strange place. He had no idea where he was but it appeared he was in some kind of trouble. He lay on a gurney with leather straps holding his arms and his legs firmly in place.

  “Do you remember attacking your wife? Do you recall cutting your wrists, Billy?”

  A man was standing over him studying him as if he were an experiment gone awry and he was there to fix it.

  “You’re lucky to be alive… most people die from those type of injuries.”

  “I don’t remember.”

  It didn’t bother Billy to lie. Don’t tel
l him, said the wolf. He’ll use it against you.

  “We can’t help you unless you first help yourself, Billy.”

  The man was holding the clipboard that hung from the end of Billy’s bed. He wore a white shirt with a black tie, gray dress pants, and a white frock. The pin holding the man’s tie to his shirt looked glittering and sharp.

  “Are you a doctor? Can you tell them please untie me? I’m much better now. But I can’t move.”

  “I’m Doctor Grimes, Billy. I’m not a medical doctor… I’m a psychiatrist… I don’t think it’s a good idea to remove your restraints just yet, Billy. We’re going to start you on a treatment regiment… let’s see how that works and then we can talk about untying you.”

  He’s lying to you. Billy looked around the room to see who spoke before realizing he hadn’t heard the words with his ears. They’re going to lock you up. You’ll never get out. They’ll keep you in a cage like that wolf… you remember the wolf… don’t you? You’ll be that wolf. You are that wolf. They’re going to keep you here forever.

  “Shut up.”

  Billy said it a little too loudly while squeezing his eyes closed and rocking back and forth like the wolf. His head hurt and he wished he could rub the bone behind his left ear where the pain emanated.

  “Just shut up…”

  He said it again before he realized he was speaking out loud.

  “Who are you talking to?”

  The doctor was looking at him oddly and jotting something down on a paper glued to the clipboard. He looked frightened.

  “There’s no one else here but me… do you hear voices, Billy?”

  Billy stayed quiet. He sensed whatever he said would go against him.

  “That’s okay, Billy… we’ll have time to talk later. Get some rest.”

  In the fog that had become his life, two orderlies dressed in white came to his bedside. Removing the straps holding him down they transferred him to a wheelchair; wheeling him to an elevator which brought them down to a cement-walled room in the basement, they pointed at a gurney and said, “Please lay there.” They secured him onto the hard cold metal table with more leather straps holding his arms and ankles in place, a strap over his chest, a strap over his stomach, and one over his forehead so that he couldn’t move at all. Billy kept trying to wake up but he couldn’t.