Beatrice Miller

 Chapter 7

 Thursday 3:45 PM

 Abigale Vallerea stands next to her best friend’s hospital bed. She looks into her closed eyes and wonders to herself, ‘what’s going on in that head of yours?’                Jimmy is in the waiting room and Bryce is sitting in the chair on the other side of the bed reading about medical reasons as to why Beatrice is asleep on this hospital bed. She just passed out. All they did was look at photos – ‘at least she was sitting down,’ Abbey thinks to herself.                Abbey has been standing next to Beatrice as long as she can remember. Remember. That’s a touchy word with Abbey because Beatrice has always been flighty – spacey. Beatrice has always been just a little off. Abbey knows it’s because of what her father did to her and the fact that her whole childhood was a whirlwind of events that a child should never have to go through.                “She’s been getting worse lately,” Abbey says to Bryce. He looks up from his magazine and meets her eyes.                “I know.”                “Why haven’t I done anything to help her?”                “Don’t blame yourself. There is nothing you could’ve done. Furthermore, you have your own life to worry about.”                “Bryce, my life isn’t very complicated. I mean, Jimmy coming back complicates it a little, but it hasn’t been complicated since childhood. What do I have to worry about?” Suddenly Abbey feels concerned that her husband assumes she has something to worry about – remembering that her husband was just caught watching Beatrice from their bedroom window. “Should I be worried about something?”                “No, dear. All I’m trying to say is that Beatrice is a grown woman and you can’t take care of her 24/7.”                “Well, I know. It’s not like she has a disability.”                Bryce stays quiet and squints his eyes. He looks over Beatrice and says, “I wouldn’t be so sure about that.”                Abbey cocks her head to the side and thinks about Bryce’s words. She thinks to herself, ‘could Beatrice have something wrong with her?’

 Thursday 11:36 PM

 Beatrice awakens to a momentary feeling of nausea. It is quickly overcome by the sight of Abbey asleep on a little chair. Beatrice looks around at her apparent place in the world. A hospital room. She’s not surprised. She has seen hospital rooms before. What does surprise her, though, is that she is the one in the hospital bed. She hasn’t been in a hospital bed since she was taken in when she was a little girl. The doctors were able to tell her that she had been raped without actually horrifying her. She was only around the age of 11, after all.                Beatrice looks closer into the room and notices that it’s just her and Abbey.                “Abbey,” Beatrice whispers.                Abigale doesn’t respond.                “Abigale,” She says a little louder. With that Abbey awakens. “What are we doing in here?”                “Bee. I’m not too sure. We were looking at photo’s and then…then you just tilted onto your back. We took you here right away.”                “What did the doctors say?”                “They haven’t ruled out anything yet.”                “Well shit,” Beatrice says. She looks around the room, suddenly wondering if she can escape. Then wonders to herself why she would even think to escape. “Can I leave?”                “No. They are going to run some neurological scans in the morning. Until then, you won’t be able to drive anyways. And yours truly will be at your side.”                “Well, that’s comforting.” Beatrice tries not to sound sarcastic, but she’s never been one for the surveillance of one's self. She prefers to be alone.                “What’s going on with you? Have you been feeling weird lately?” Abbey asks.                “Not specifically.” Beatrice thinks to herself. Abbey allows her time to think. “Well, I guess I have been drinking more than usual.”                “Were you drinking yesterday?”                “No.”                “What were we doing yesterday that could trigger this kind of stress?”                “Well, your husband grabbed me when we were alone in my kitchen.” Beatrice couldn’t control the words coming out of her mouth. They just came out. She wonders if they gave her a sort of sedative that would cause her to share filter-less thoughts.                “What?” Abbey asks. Suddenly standing.                “We were in my kitchen and he-”                “And he what?”                “He grabbed me by the waist – I think. No. Maybe it was my back. I’m sorry. I don’t remember.”                Abbey stays quiet. She looks down at the floor between her legs and puts her hands on her head. “The other night, when we were about to go to the bar, I saw him looking through your bedroom window while you were changing.”                “He was probably just looking at you.”                “No. He wasn’t.”                “How can you be so sure?”                “Because when he finally did look over at me it was like he realized I was there and then just as quick, he ducked behind the curtain.”                Beatrice thought to herself, ‘I know he watches me. I didn’t know you knew he watched me.’                They both sit in silence looking at different things, passing resentful contact to each other’s eyes. Something seems weird between the two of them and normally when something happens to the other…there is no awkwardness. But this is awkward. Bryce is Abbey’s husband and Beatrice is Abbey’s lonely friend. Beatrice knows that if said husband watches lonely friend changing, that isn’t good for any of them at any point in the triangle. Beatrice takes a deep breath and says, “I know he watches me.”                Abbey doesn’t say anything. She just walks out of the room. The door swings gently back and forth before resting at its proper position and a kind of silence fills the room. A silence that Beatrice knows all to well. It’s the loudest sound that being alone makes.                ‘What am I going to do about this?’ Beatrice thinks to herself.

 Friday 9:01 AM

 “Good morning, Miss Miller.” The doctor says as she places her clipboard above Beatrice’ bed.                Beatrice doesn’t say anything back. Just notices the punctuality of her doctor. Almost 9:00 on the dot. But not quite.                “As you may know, we were studying your brain activity while you slept.”                “I didn’t know that,” Beatrice replies, “But did you find anything?”                “No.” Replies the doctor, fairly quickly. She is short and has thick blonde hair. Beatrice notes how rare it is to have naturally blonde hair that is thick. She wonders how often the doctor bleaches her hair and how much longer the doctor has until it all falls out of her head from the chemicals burning it. She is small, but not skinny. She has short little fingers that are icy to the touch as the doctors rests her hand on Beatrice’ arm. Beatrice moves her arm out of the way with a slight look of disgust obviously crossing her face. “But I would like to suggest something to you.”                The doctors stay quiet.                “And that is?” Beatrice pries on.                “That you see a psychiatrist. I have just the one that specializes in childhood trauma showing itself in adults.”                “I have a therapist.” Beatrice states.                “We know that, yes. But we would suggest going to both of them in the meantime. It wouldn’t be very good if you were driving and then had an episode like you had yesterday evening. Your family was very concerned for you.”                “They are always concerned for me,” Beatrice says. She rolls her eyes. She’s had enough. If she’s not going to get any answers and she seems to be okay, she wants to go home. Enough is enough. “If there is nothing else to do here, doc, I would like to go home now.”                “Actually, we were hoping that you would spend one more night here.” The doctor says, standing and grabbing the clipboard again.                “Umm…” Beatrice mumbles. “No, thank you.”                “I really wish you would reconsider. Another study and we could find out what’s going on in that head of yours.”                “I didn’t even know there was anything wrong with my head,” Beatrice responds, a slight frustration dripping from her words.                “Actually, I think you did – do.” The doctor responds, now looking down at Beatrice, condescendingly, with her little squinted eyes. “Your family let me know that you have had visions or – hallucinations.” The doctor takes a deep breath, lowering her gaze and her voice. “Potentially hallucinations of the night your family went missing.”                Beatrice doesn’t know what to say. She just lays back and takes deep breaths. She doesn’t like these kinds of social situations where both parties talk in the way that a flight attendant would speak to a guest on a plane. Very curt – very annoying.                “I guess,” Beatrice responds. “I guess I have been thinking a lot about my husband and my boys.”                “Your boys?” The doctor asks, looking down at the clipboard. Beatrice gives the doctor a look that says, ‘what could possibly be on that clipboard that would help you define that information?”                “Yes. My sons.” The doctor still looks puzzled, so Beatrice continues, “my husband and my children went missing last year and I have struggled to move on or even forward.”                “Beatrice…” The doctor says, swallowing hard. “You don’t have children.”                “Excuse me? I gave birth to them. Believe me. I know I have children.”                “I’m sorry, but from your medical records, you have never been pregnant before.”                Beatrice felt a rush of anger flow through her like she has never felt before. “I would like to speak to Abigale.”                “She is on her way to the hospital right now.”

 Friday 9:37 AM

 Abigale Vallerea walks into the hospital ready to talk to her oldest friend and take her home. She spoke to Bryce earlier about what she saw and to Abbey’s surprise, he didn’t deny anything. He admitted his infatuation with wanting to watch – to be watched. She never once thought about her husband having any sort of fantasy about those kinds of things. Those…sexually adventurous kinds of things. She’s not okay with it – but she will stay with him. They’ve been through too much.

Now, Abbey worries about the fact that she is going to have to face Beatrice. Abbey knows already that Beatrice has a unique brain. One that has covered up the trials of the past and the nightmares that were her childhood. Abbey is only scared that Beatrice won’t take it as well as she is going to need to in order to go on with her life.                Mark is her husband. Mark is missing. But Beatrice never had children. She made up the boys when she started to have too many miscarriages. The doctors said she would never be able to have children after the impact it had on her sanity and her body. She’s baron. Irreversibly baron.                Beatrice never cried. Beatrice never even talked about it. Abbey always figured that that was exactly why she has visions so clear that she believes they are real. Abbey has just wanted to keep Beatrice safe from her own mind – but Abbey now knows that she can’t do that forever.

Abbey walks up to the reception desk and tells the nurse she is here.                “Go on in.” The nurse says.                “Thank you.”                Abbey walks into the room and notices Beatrice lying down, eyes closed…sleeping. Her doctor comes in behind Abbey, walks up to Beatrice on the bed and says, “She was awake. Then she fell back asleep. We haven’t been able to wake her.”                “What do you mean you can’t wake her?” Abbey asks. She walks up to Beatrice and puts her hand on her forehead, rubbing the hair from her face. Abbey thinks about how she should have been more adamant that Beatrice didn’t get those bangs. They make her look too young. “Beatrice?” She says. “Beatrice!” Abbey says louder and louder until it turns into a sort of shriek.                “She won’t wake up, Abigale. No matter how loud you call for her,” the doctor says.                “Beatrice!”

  Beatrice

 I’m awake.

-End of Part One

JR McWilliam

* - Now, this is my first time ever doing something like this. Part One is now over and Part Two is about to start - but what is going to be different about this is that the perspective is going to change. I am excited and scared and crazily ready to present to you...

There is what you wish

Beatrice Miller is a live story. It will end when we say it ends. Much like our lives. There is no plan. There is no outline.

All I know is that Beatrice is us. Beatrice is a real person to us. Beatrice is a character that will withstand the test of time. She will go on. Her story will be told.

With your help.

With your help, the story will grow, evolve, break all the rules, and ultimately create a new perspective for future writers.

Beatrice Miller is the beginning. And the end. She is a book mark. She is a book end. She is...whatever you want her to be.

So tell me...

Who is she?

JR McWilliam

 Beatrice Miller

Chapter 6

 Thursday 8:25 AM

 Bryce Vallerea can’t help but think that Jimmy’s story has flaws in it. Bryce sits with his wife’s hand in his watching her watch her estranged brother tell the story of him coming back from the dead.                Bryce had never met Jimmy. He’d never seen any pictures of him older than a toddler. Bryce never heard Abbey talk about him at all, let alone watch his wife’s eyes become infatuated with this lie that Jimmy seemed to be telling her. Something wasn’t adding up and Bryce wants to know why.                Bryce looks over at Beatrice who he notices is staring off into space. She is staring out her window clutching her coffee and seemingly contemplating nothing but the beautiful sunrise peaking around the complex outside. He thinks to himself, ‘man, she looks beautiful.’

 Thursday 8:45 AM

 Beatrice stares out the window and thinks to herself, ‘what a beautiful sunrise! The only thing that would make it better is if Mark was here to enjoy it with me.’ But then her attention comes back to the tale that Jimmy is weaving from right next to her. She looks over at him and wonders how it could be that this man has come back from the dead.                She notices, minutes later, that he left out a detail – what it was inside him that really made him run away. Beatrice has trouble remembering a lot of stuff from her past and even recent past, but something she doesn’t forget is the way Abbey and her Brother were basically inseparable. Jimmy wouldn’t have left them for any cause. Jimmy would have run back to the house and gotten help for his brothers, and he certainly wouldn’t have left Abbey alone unless he…died.                Beatrice looks over at Bryce and catches him staring at her but instead of immediately looking away, Bryce makes a face that includes rolling his eyes. Beatrice assumes Bryce means the story coming from the mouth of Jimmy. Beatrice smiles and looks back down at her coffee.                Then something happens.                Something strange.                Beatrice starts to see stars. She sees her peripheral vision closing in on her and she takes a deep breath. Another deep breath. Another. Then it all comes back. Slowly, the colors of the world come back in her vision. Instead of feeling dizzy or departed, she feels normal. Better than before the blackness. She is still sitting up. She is still clutching her coffee. She is still listening to the same story being told by Jimmy.                ‘That was odd.’ She thinks to herself. But then immediately shakes her curiosity and focuses back on Jimmy’s story. Though…he’s finished now. Abbey and Jimmy lock eyes and Abbey takes a deep breath, tears filling up her eye-sockets. Abbey looks over at Beatrice.                “If only we had stopped the boys from going to that game. I wish they hadn’t gone.” Abbey says. She proceeds to cry into her hands. Beatrice takes one of Abbey’s hands and holds it. Bryce rubs her back.                Jimmy just sits quietly. Beatrice can pick up that he is anticipating something. But she can’t pick up what.                “What are you thinking about?” Beatrice asks Jimmy.                “Oh,” Jimmy responds in an oddly immediate confusion, “nothing. I guess I’m just feeling lighter now that I got to tell my story.”                “You never told anyone before?” Bryce asks. Beatrice looks at Bryce and sees disbelief in his eyes. Beatrice and Bryce lock eyes as if to say, ‘how would he have never told anybody?’                “Well,” Jimmy stumbles on his words, “after I got as far as I could, I reached the police station in town but everybody had gone home.”                “Police stations don’t close, Jimmy,” Bryce says, his voice dripping with distrust.                “Enough!” Abbey shouts, slamming her hands on the table. “Jimmy has been through enough without your incessant questions.” Abbey looks back over at Jimmy. “Thank you for telling me what you did. I’m so happy you are home.”                Beatrice knows that Abbey is just happy with having her brother home, so Beatrice looks over at Bryce who is already locking eyes with her and gently shakes her head as if to say, ‘No more.’ He nods back.                Abbey physically shakes her feeling of overwhelm and stands, “Breakfast anybody?”

 Thursday 12:00 PM

 Beatrice does dishes at her sink and stares out the window. Contemplating so many things that it’s hard for her to pick just one focal thought. Between her missing family, Bryce staring at her through the windows, these strange blackouts, and Jimmy being alive, she can’t seem to find any peace. That’s when she feels a hand press against her back. Her better judgment knows that it’s Bryce, but she hopes it’s Abbey. But it’s Bryce.                “Are you okay?” He asks.                “I don’t know.” Beatrice replies.                “Do you want to talk about anything?”                “Please take your hand off my back. I’m fine.”                “Beatrice, I know that things have been hard lately, but you don’t talk to me, and I care about you.”                “I know. I’m sorry. I don’t know what to say or do so it’s hard for me to want to talk about anything because there just doesn’t seem to be anything to talk about.”                “It has been a year since your husband-”                “Mark.”                “Mark. Of course. It has been a while since Mark and the boys disappeared and I just figured you might need someone to talk to about it.”                “I see my therapist once a week as I’ve been prescribed.”                “I don’t think that’s the same as talking to someone you love.”                Beatrice thinks about that sentence. “Someone you love.” Who does she love? Does she love anybody? Can she love anybody anymore?                “Bryce. I don’t need to talk about anything. I’m fine.”                “It doesn’t seem like you’re fine. Like, at all. Ever.”                “Well, then I guess we will just have to give it time, now won’t we?”                “Beatrice. The boys have been missing for over a year. I think it’s time we talk about it – for your sake.”                “My sake…” Beatrice trails off, a slight sigh follows her words.                “Bee!” Abbey calls from the living room where her and Jimmy sit, looking at old photos. “Come and look at these! Look how young we look!”                “Coming!” Beatrice responds.                Bryce pushes Beatrice against the counter and slowly moves into her. She can feel his penis through his sweatpants. She tries to move back but can’t because of the edge of the counter digging into her back. She looks him in the eyes, it isn’t difficult because they are the same height. “I want you to come to me if you need anything, okay? Anything.”                “Thank you, Bryce. Now move.”                And Bryce moves back, picking up the coffee pot and pours himself a cup.

Sitting down next to Abbey and Jimmy, Beatrice takes a small stack of photos from Abbey. They are photos of their childhood homes, the playground, other students and friends at school. But Beatrice notices something about the photos. Something odd. Beatrice remembers the photos being taken. She remembers being there for the photos. She remembers the swings that resided in Abbey’s yard, but the strange part is, Beatrice isn’t in any of them. She looks at Abbey and says, “where am I in these pictures?”

               Abbey takes the photos from Beatrice and looks over them. She points to the center of the photo and says, “you are right there, silly. Are you okay?”

               “No, Abbey. I am not in this picture. Look.” Beatrice points down to the photo.

               Abbey looks up at Bryce and Beatrice notices their eyes go from fright to concern. “Honey, you are right there in the picture. Right next to Jimmy.”

               “No. I’m not.” JR McWilliam

Beatrice Miller

 Chapter Five

 Thursday 7:23 AM

 Bryce Vallerea stares out his dining room window into the window of Beatrice Miller's kitchen while drinking a cup of double-bagged black tea. He always liked the way that the strong black tea would sting the back of his throat and he would have to sip cold iced water in order to soothe it. He likes his little moments. He likes his alone time.                But he can’t help but wonder what happened with his wife. Why had she not come last night? Why won’t she answer his calls? Why would she feel the need to stay away?                He knew that she had seen him staring out the bedroom window, but she didn’t know that he was watching for Beatrice. Did she? He tries to shake the thought from his head. The last thing he wanted to do was acquire feelings for another person while being married to the one he loves the most. He has an obsession with the human body. He thought to himself, ‘I can’t help it!’                But there is something about Beatrice’ amazon-like beauty that just makes Bryce sweat in all the right –                A man is walking up to Beatrice’ door. ‘Who is he?’ Bryce thinks to himself. He leans closer to his window trying not to touch it with his greasy forehead. He watches Beatrice slowly open the door. She talks to the man for a moment.                Abbey.                ‘She did stay over at Beatrice’’ He thinks to himself, relieved that that was where she was all night. Not relieved that she is…”Jumping into this man’s arms!”                Bryce grabs his jeans and runs across the street.

  A long time ago…

 Jimmy was a sweet little boy. Everybody liked him. He was always polite, always helpful, and wouldn’t hurt a spider. He was by-far the ideal son, child. He lived in his childhood home with his two brothers and his sister. His father worked too much, and his mother drank too much. It was normal at that time. Jimmy was also in love with the girl who lived in the unit across the way – Beatrice Miller.

Jimmy would never forget her name. Jimmy would never forget the fact that she was just like him. Quiet yet strong. Shy yet kind. He was in love with her because she always seemed to be his perfect match. There she stood, holding her father’s hand just waiting for him (her asshole father, Jimmy thought) to pick her up and put her in the truck to go grocery shopping. Jimmy would long to be in the truck with her.

Jimmy knew that Beatrice’ father did things to her that was very unchildlike but what was there for a boy to do?                One day, Jimmy walked over to the house, knowing that it was her birthday, and brought her two cupcakes. One for her. One for him. Blue for her. Pink for him. He knocked on the door and her father answered. He let Jimmy in and told him to meet her in the family room as that was where she was…reading.                Upon entry to the living room, Beatrice’ father offered for the two of them to play a little game. Her father told him that they were going to play house. He sat them both down next to the new dollhouse that Beatrice’ mother had gifted her for her birthday. Beside the dollhouse were two little chairs. The kids sat one in each chair. Beatrice’ father told Beatrice to kneel down in front of Jimmy and pleasure her husband. Beatrice did as she was told. Jimmy didn’t think anything of it until Beatrice’ father told him to take his pants off. Jimmy took his pants off. But he didn’t understand why. Beatrice then proceeded to tug at his little Spiderman underwear until Jimmy started to realize what Beatrice was going to do. Jimmy had seen it happen to his older brothers too many times not to realize where this was going.                Jimmy pushed passed Beatrice and ran back over to his house. Jimmy was a fast runner and could feel Beatrice’ father try to grab him, but he bust through the door before he could grab Jimmy. Bursting through the door in fear, Jimmy grabbed his little sister Abigale and his oldest brother. On the way back to Beatrice’ house, Jimmy told his siblings what had just happened and that it was Beatrice’ birthday.                Jimmy’s brother ran through the door and grabbed Beatrice. He then gently placed Beatrice with Jimmy and Abigale, who would take Beatrice to their house. From the streetway, Jimmy heard from behind him, “Don’t you touch me you little fuck! Get the fuck out of my house!” It was Beatrice’ father. Jimmy looked behind him to see his brother stumble out of Beatrice’ house and continue to stare inside. Beatrice’ father came out, his face sun red, and stared into Jimmy’s brother’s eyes. Jimmy’s brother lunged at Beatrice’ father and started to hit him in the face screaming, “Don’t you ever come near my family again! I’m taking Beatrice until her mother gets home!”                “I wouldn’t count on that!” Beatrice’ father retorted. “I’ll be by later to pick her up! She’s my daughter!”                “Fuck you, old man! If you come near my house, I will call the police and they will take care of you themselves. Allow this to be a warning you piece of shit!”                Beatrice’ father just stared back at Jimmy, breathing heavily, his puffed chest becoming puffier. But then he just turned around and said, “fucking kid,” and slammed the door behind him.                “Are you two okay?” Jimmy’s brother asked them upon entry into their house.                “Yes,” Jimmy responded.                “Where did he touch you?” Jimmy’s brother asked.                “He didn’t touch me.” Jimmy responded. Jimmy’s brother then looked over at Beatrice and asked,                “Where did he touch you?”                To which Beatrice replied, “Today?”                Jimmy’s brother stood slowly in the middle of their living room and said, “after our game tonight, we will come home and I would like to talk to your mother.” Beatrice responded by nodding along. “Okay!” Jimmy’s brother’s face lit up from anger and shock to glee, “it is you’re your birthday and I think it’s time to celebrate!”                Beatrice’ face went from shame and looking at the floor to evolving into glee as well. Jimmy figured no one had been excited for Beatrice on her birthday since…well…ever. Jimmy and his sister, Abigale put their arms around Beatrice’ shoulders and took her into the kitchen where Jimmy’s mother was already preparing a cake for Beatrice. The Hill family was always good for a last-minute celebration.                “Hi, Sweetie!” Jimmy’s mother said to Beatrice excitedly. “I heard it was your birthday! Your cake is almost done! George, can you go get Beatrice’ birthday gifts from the playroom please!?” Jimmy’s mother called to Jimmy’s other brother  – Jimmy’s mother had thrown together a lavish birthday celebration for Beatrice in a matter of minutes after finding out that there was drama in her home. Jimmy’s mother also knew very well that her mother wasn’t there with her. She was very good at masking the concern in her voice. “Now, Beatrice, you just sit here with Abigale and enjoy some strawberry juice while I finish up.”                Beatrice smiled at Jimmy’s mother and said thank you. Beatrice turned back to Abigale and together the girls talked about their friendship bracelets. It was like Beatrice had completely forgotten what had just happened.                Jimmy’s mom came around the kitchen counter and grabbed him and his older brother by the arms, pulling them gently into the family room.                “What happened?” Jimmy’s mom asked.                Jimmy told her what happened between them. Jimmy’s brother told her what happened with her father. Jimmy’s brother also told their mother about what he was going to do when he came home from the arena and together, they would all talk to the police. Jimmy’s mother agreed.                “That poor girl.” She said. “I want her to stay here as long as she needs. She can always sleep in Abigale’s room. But I want to talk to her mother.” She said.                “Good luck with that,” Jimmy’s brother said, “she’s never home.”                “Oh, I’ll wait as long as I have to.”

  Thursday 7:25 AM

 “Can I help you?” Beatrice says to the man standing in her doorway. Her excitement of the thought that it was her husband rapidly dissipated at the realization that it wasn’t.                “Are you Beatrice Miller?” The man says.                After a second of thinking about whether to answer, Beatrice says, “Yes.”                “Okay. I know this is going to sound totally crazy and I know you may not believe me but,” the man looks down at the ground and takes a deep breath. Beatrice straightens her back and feels her peripheral vision looking for some sort of defense but allows him to continue. She doesn’t feel the same fear that she usually gets from men. “My name is Jimmy Hill. And I lived next door to you when we were children.”                Beatrice squints her eyes and stares into his. She knows exactly who Jimmy Hill is, but in her mind, Jimmy Hill is dead.                “Who’s this?” Both Beatrice and the man named Jimmy jump at the sight of Abbey suddenly standing behind them. She stretches her arms out through a yawn and makes eye contact with Jimmy. Her expression goes from lazy and half-asleep to aware and frightened. Recognition crosses her face and quickly moves towards the two of them, Beatrice grabs hold of Abbey’s hand and says,                “He says his name is,” Beatrice holds her breath, “Jimmy.” She doesn’t see the need to include his last name as it is the same as Abbey’s maiden name.                Tears fill up in Abbey’s eyes and suddenly she runs at him. She wraps her arms around his shoulders and starts to scream, “Jimmy!” She pulls away from the embrace and puts her hands on his face, gently caressing his tight beard. “But I…I don’t…what…how…”                “I know this is a lot and it seems insane,” Jimmy says, Beatrice standing in shock at this reunion, “Can we sit…and talk?”                “Yes,” Beatrice responds as she turns around to fill the pot of coffee, “please make yourself comfortable.”                “I don’t,” Abbey says, still in shock, “I don’t know what to say. I don’t know what to ask.”                “I don’t expect you to know what to say,” Jimmy says and Beatrice, though her back to him, can hear the pain in his voice and the obvious lump in his throat.                Suddenly, Bryce plows through the door at an alarming rate, staring at his wife holding the hand of a man he’s never met, at Beatrice’ dining table. “And who the fuck are you!?” Bryce shouts.                “Bryce,” Beatrice says, “Can you come in the kitchen for a moment?”                “No, it’s okay Bee,” Abbey says, standing. Beatrice can tell that Abbey fears Bryce in this moment and allows her the space to take her time. Beatrice goes back to preparing coffee. “Honey, this is going to sound really weird. But this is my youngest big brother, Jimmy.”                Beatrice notices the silence from behind her and turns around to witness the scene playing out in her dining room. She looks at Bryce and can tell he doesn’t know what to say but he breaths heavily and he allows Abbey to guide him to the chairs at the table.                The two men shake hands and Jimmy says, “I know what this looks like. But I’d like to explain myself.”                Abbey and Bryce nod their heads and watch Jimmy as he begins to tell his story. Beatrice brings four cups of coffee to the table with all the fixins, rests them down on the center of the table, and takes a seat at the last available chair.                “Abigale.” Jimmy starts. “Beatrice.” He looks between the two of them. “I remember the last day that I saw you both. It was a terrible day…”

  A long time ago…

 Jimmy didn’t feel right about leaving his little sister and the girl next door after what just happened, but it was Jimmy’s first time joining his brothers’ team and what better joy is there to a twelve-year-old boy than to find his footing in the family sport? He had to go. So, he looked into his mother’s eyes and said, “Please take care of them. We will be back soon.”                “Of course, we will be fine. Your father will be with me the whole time.” His mother responded.                Jimmy didn’t want to leave. But he had to. But he also knew that Beatrice’ mother would be home later that night for the confrontation that would follow and was sure he would make it back in time to be there to support Beatrice.                His brothers all gathered their packs and uniforms into the cab of the truck and took off down the road. The brothers all talked about the plan, what Jimmy was to expect, and how they were going to win this kick-off game and really make a name for themselves. It was also the first time that a scout would be at the game to watch Jimmy’s eldest brother play. It would be the scholarship that would change their family’s life forever.                An hour went by, driving down the dirt road but all Jimmy could think about was Beatrice. ‘How could her father do that to her?’ He thought to himself. Disgusted at the thought, he shook it away and listened in to what his brothers were saying.

The boys pulled into the parking lot of the arena and did their good luck chant together. It was the first time that Jimmy was included in the huddle and he soaked in every ounce of enjoyment he could. Finally, he was a part of the team.                The game was boring. It was as if the other team was tired and just wasn’t in it to play. But that didn’t stop Jimmy’s brothers from playing their hardest and he even saw the scout be impressed by the plays that his brother created. He wrote a lot down on that clipboard on his lap.                By the end of the game, Jimmy’s brother was shaking hands with the scout and they had big smiles across their faces. This was good. Things were good. But then the boys came back together and remembered, at the same time, what it was that they would be going home to. They hung their heads in remorse and packed the truck back up.

“What is this jack-ass doing?” Jimmy’s middle brother asked. There was a large truck following closely behind. The truck looked familiar – in a small city like the one they lived in, it was easy to tell who was who by just looking at their vehicle, but with the bright headlights it was hard to tell for sure.                The truck passed by them, slowing to match speed beside them, and then backed off again, being sure to tailgate them once more. The truck hit the back of the boys’ truck and Jimmy let out a “Woah!”                “It’s okay!” Said Jimmy’s older brother, the driver. “We just need to stay calm and we’ll be home. We’re almost there.”                But then the strange truck did it again, hitting them, and Jimmy’s brother steadied the truck on the road. The boys stayed quiet, none of them knowing what to say or do. The truck just kept on hitting them, pulling up beside them, hitting them, pulling up beside them.                Then the truck gave them one last final blow and it sent Jimmy and his brothers spinning. Their truck went up in the air and in seemingly slow motion, the brothers all looked at each other and they grabbed each other’s hands. Jimmy thought in that moment that they were joining to pray, though they’d never been to church. Jimmy was in shock. They were in shock. The items in the truck all spinning around in the air until the truck finally came crashing upside-down in the ditch on the other side of the road.                Jimmy opened his eyes and noticed first that the engine was no longer on. Secondly, he looked at his brothers who both had their eyes open but there was a lot of blood everywhere – dripping down their upside-down heads. Jimmy noticed a gash in his oldest brothers neck and to his right, he noticed his middle brother’s chest had a metal rod sticking out of it. It took a second, but Jimmy recognized it as the gear shift.                Jimmy looked outside and saw the strange truck sitting idly by, still on the road. The lights of the truck shining on them. Jimmy checked the pulses of both of his brothers and started to scream quietly at the realization that their hearts were no longer beating. They weren’t breathing. They were dead. Jimmy watched as he saw the man get out of his truck and so he took off out the back door on the driver’s side. Jimmy dove into the field that stretched into darkness beyond the truck and watched the man shield his face as the brothers’ truck exploded into a fury of fire and debris. The force drove Jimmy to fly into the air and land on his backside meters from where he was just standing. He screamed into the sound of the explosion, watching as the man got back into his truck and sped off into the night.                Jimmy didn’t know what to do. He sat and watched his truck burn. The fire enraging into something he’d never seen before in real life. He could feel the heat of the fire pushing into his face and so he buried his face into his sleeves.                Jimmy sat for over an hour without a thought in his mind. He just stared at the truck and watched as it fell apart, parts of the truck falling to the ground. He started to cry. He couldn’t believe his eyes. Then he ran off into the field. He didn’t look back once. He ran and he ran. He couldn’t get the image of his brother’s dead eyes looking back at him. He cried and he ran. He kept running because he realized something at his young age,                ‘Why would I go back? What is there for me? Nothing is going to get better for a very long time. No one needs me. Just keep running.’

JR McWilliam

*-Stay tuned for the next Chapter of Beatrice Miller...coming soon. We’ve made it! Please ask questions and tell me what you are expecting so far so that I can know where you’re at. It’ll help me weave a far more tangled web. Muahaha! Projected date for Chapter 6 - May 25th, 2019

Chapter five is...

Chapter 5 is proving harder to get right than the rest of the chapters. It is the last one before plot points start to come together and I want to get it just right.

Its crazy this feeling you get when you realize where you want your story to go, who you're telling it to, and what its major moral compass is. But I do know those things now. At least for now. Writing a novel takes its turns and twists and being sure to keep up with them is hard, especially when you think of something new and must back track.

But...Chapter 5 is almost done and soon we will find ourselves deep into a story that I hope to call my best work of 2019.

JR McWilliam

What happens when you thought your past was one way, but your present shows you otherwise?

Beatrice Miller, Chapter Five, Coming to you live later this week!

Beatrice Miller

 Chapter Four

 Wednesday 7:45 PM

 Abigale Vallerea sits at that bar table and will continue to for over an hour with nothing to do but listen to her thoughts – seeing them dance across her mind like she’s looking at the night sky with nothing behind the words but vacant darkness. Just a silhouette of her thoughts otherwise known as her gripping and violent nature to over-analyze her confrontational anxieties.                Abbey watches as her friend opens her soul to that of mindless freedom. Beatrice had started to drink before they left and basically inhaled a bottle of wine – she’s feeling nothing but freedom right now and it doesn’t bother Abbey in the slightest. She deserves this. Furthermore – as Abbey continues to think to herself – despite the music coming through the speakers trying to drown the thoughts of the building’s patrons – that Beatrice has nothing to do with her now creepy husband does when she’s not looking. At least she hopes that Beatrice doesn’t know anything about it.                The last thing that Abbey saw before coming to this…singles ridden bar…was her husbands face pressed up against her bedroom window, looking into her sister’s bedroom window, while she was changing. So, and for her to convince herself she wasn’t crazy, what else would she possibly think about?

It wasn’t long ago that Abbey had thought her husband, Bryce was cheating on her. She thought about it ‘the first time he came home smelling like a person that wasn’t someone she knew, and she knew damn well it wasn’t her. But she just wrote it off. Why? Because he is so hot, she loves him desperately, and has stuck by his side through thick and thin and hasn’t complained once about the fact that he is insufferable.’                “O. M. G.” She says to herself – out loud. “Did I just say all that?”                Yes. She did. She now can’t help but think of the fact that she may not be happy with her husband and maybe that’s why she’s feeling these thoughts right now while she watches her best friend have more fun than even Abbey has seen in many years.                After Beatrice gave birth to the boys, she had such bad post-partum depression that it actually lasted the duration between her first son being born to her pregnancy with her second – and even still it stayed long after. Beatrice needed a break. Abbey knows this. And must keep convincing herself that it is okay for her friend to be enjoying herself. So, why? Why does she have this aching feeling inside her body that wants to slap Beatrice in the face and tell her, “go back to feeling miserable and depressed so that I can talk about my own problems instead of you having fun dancing around when your husband and children have been missing for over a year!”                But she doesn’t do that. She doesn’t want to. She won’t. She’s sure of it. But she still thinks about it. Extensively.                But that’s the strange part of Beatrice not remembering what happened between her and Mark, even the boys, the night they disappeared. ‘Why doesn’t she remember anything?’                Abbey shakes her head of all the questions she has about what Beatrice knows about her own husbands and son’s disappearance.                Instead, she focuses back on why it was that her husband was looking through his own window and homed in on the bedroom of the girl next door.

 Wednesday 8:56 PM

 Beatrice can feel the night take control of her body. She pays no mind to the fact that she’s exhausted. Right now, she is dancing. She is dancing for herself and only herself. And for the fun dance partner that graced Beatrice’s spot on the dancefloor over 20 minutes ago. At least she thinks it was about 20 minutes ago. She doesn’t know. She doesn’t care. What did she have to be home for?                She looks over at Abbey to a) make sure she is still there, and b) to make sure she is having fun. When Beatrice finally catches her eyes staring back at her from the table, she realizes that she has no idea. There is a faintness in her eyes that Beatrice can see when their pupils connect that Beatrice isn’t used to. Abbey has always been the friend that is completely open no matter the situation or circumstance. Abbey has always been the life of the party. She makes fun where there is sadness and brings light to dark moments. But this. This is different. When Beatrice locks eyes with Abbey…she knows something is wrong. Beatrice uses her hands to tell her dance partner that she is going to sit down and walks across the dance floor even though her legs feel like a heavy rubber.                ‘How long could I have possibly been dancing?’ She thinks to herself, patting her legs back to life.                Beatrice sits down with a dramatic slam of her body, sweat drips from the nape of her neck, down her spine, passed the curvature of her little-black-dress, and settles right above her back-side. She breathes heavily, startling Abbey, and then asks, “How’s it going, friend?”                “Bee!” Abbey responds, “I haven’t seen you like this since…well, I can’t remember.”                “I feel amazing!” Beatrice says. She can feel that she’s had a lot to drink by how hard it is to articulate words.                After a brief, awkward pause, Beatrice asks, “Is everything okay?” Abbey shrugs her shoulders but keeps that smiling blazing on her face. “I mean, want to dance!?”                “No! This is exactly what I wanted!” Abbey responds.                Beatrice can tell that she’s lying. “Do you wanna go!?” She asks.                “Are you ready!? I’m okay to stay, as long as you want! Really!” Abbey says.                Beatrice can tell somethings up. It wouldn’t look like it to anybody that didn’t know Abbey. “I want to go! Come to my place because I don’t want to be alone!” She says. Abbey’s face brightens up.                “I would love that!” Abbey says. Beatrice can tell she’s not lying.                “Let’s get our coats!”                This is that part of a friendship that happens when both parties of the relationship will do something for the other. It is a fair trade. A true friendship. Something that Beatrice and Abbey have done since they were little girls. How could Beatrice be having the time of her life while her friend sits there being sad? “Commence more girls night!”

 Wednesday 10:02 PM

 Beatrice piles into her house, arms wrapped around Abbey’s waist. Her head flooding with thoughts; drunken thoughts, yes, but thoughts nonetheless. She had been smiling since she left the club.                “Did you see that beautiful woman I was dancing with, Abb??” Beatrice asked.                “I sure did, Bee.” Abbey responds.                “Why aren’t you more excited about my…integration!?”                “Sorry, Bee,” Abbey says. “I just have something on my mind. I can’t shake it.”                “Tell me,” Beatrice says through a vulgar hiccup. “Tell me, right now!”                “Okay.” Abbey thinks for a moment. Beatrice finds it weird because it’s so unlike Abbey to think so hard about what she wants to say. “Well, it might actually be easier if you’re a bit…inebriated.”                “Go!” They both take a deep breath.                “I want to know if you know that my husband watches you through our bedroom windows.”                Beatrice had never felt such a sobering question hit her like that. Almost immediately she is brought back to reality and sent for a ride through the ‘my-friend-needs-me’ tunnel. “What?” She says. “Seriously…what?”                            “I saw Bryce today…he was looking through our window…into your window…while you were changing. And when I went to look back at him,” Abbey takes a deep breath and continues, “he ducked down, and I didn’t see him again. It makes me think he wasn’t just looking…looking for me…he was looking…for you.”                “No,” Beatrice responded even before Abigale had a chance to continue. “No. Of course not.” Beatrice thought to herself, ‘I didn’t know he was looking at me. I just always kinda thought he might have been.’ That was information she would keep to herself for now. It wasn’t necessary. Abbey didn’t need to know…well…she just didn’t need to know anything else. There isn’t anything else to know. Beatrice was sure of it.                Now, Beatrice feels guilty because she’d always hoped that Bryce would be looking at her but only because she had a bit of a crush on him. ‘Who wouldn’t!?’ She thought. ‘Who wouldn’t have a crush on a kind, gentle, tall, caramel-skinned man that had eyes that could cut steel!?’ Beatrice kept these thoughts to herself.                “I just…” Abbey says but trails off into the glass of vodka she’d just poured for herself. “I just have a weird feeling is all. Can I stay here tonight?”                “Of course,” Beatrice says. “But shouldn’t you at least let Bryce know where you are?”                “Not if I’m thinking what I’m thinking.” Abbey says.                “Okay. Well, you can sleep with me if you’d like.” Beatrice offers.                “I would love that.” Abbey says.

 Thursday 7:15 AM

 Beatrice pours herself a cup of coffee and sits down at her dining table. She thinks to herself about how she was so free last night. So free, yet she doesn’t remember much. Had she had that much to drink?                Abbey’s upstairs sleeping away in her bed. Beatrice didn’t know that Abbey would stay the night. It had been so long since the two of them had had a “sleepover” that it was odd to find her laying next to her in her own bed. The bed she shared with her husband. ‘Is something wrong with her and Bryce?’ Beatrice thought to herself.                Beatrice’ thoughts immediately fall back to thoughts of her husband and children. Apparently, there is never a cure for an avid depression. Well, not so much a depression – more of a longing worry that really sticks to the brain. For Beatrice, it is truly suffocating to know that she will never not feel this way until the day someone comes to her door and tells her that her family is alive…or the other option. Until then, she will struggle with these thoughts that there is a possibility they are out there. The reasons are too much for her to take. Either Mark left her and, took the kids, which she doesn’t think happened because they were okay…weren’t they? Or, they got into an accident in the truck and never made it back. ‘But why were their bodies never found!?’ Beatrice slams her coffee mug down as gently as she can on the glass table.                She has got to stop thinking about it. Or she may as well just go insane. They may as well just come and take her to the asylum. No handcuffs needed. She will walk calmly and voluntarily to her lovely, clean, air-conditioned, padded room.

 Then, a knock at the door. A surge went through her. It’s Mark with her sons. She feels it. She embraces it. She’s ready. She knows it’s them. This is the moment.                She turns the knob to the door. She can see a man on the other side, his silhouette through the drapery. She pulls the door open and, “Jimmy?”

JR McWilliam

Find out who Jimmy is, what Bryce is thinking, and what Beatrice is going to do next in Chapter Five! Stick around for the new Chapter releasing at the end of April! Details to come. This will be the most dramatic and blood-chilling chapter yet...

Beatrice Miller

 Chapter Three

 Long ago…

 When Beatrice and Abbey were young girls, they lived in a complex much like the one they live in today. But it was a different kind of complex. It was for low-income families. Beatrice loved her father, and he always tried his best, but his science degree didn’t get him where he needed to go, career-wise, so he stayed home doing research most of the time while her mother worked two jobs at two different grocery stores.                Beatrice remembers sitting with her father most days when she was unable to go to school due to the lack of school payments, and the fact that Beatrice would always find herself sick with gut rot and headaches. Her father would teach her all about the way microbes would live on in any environment and how they made up parts of every living thing. She hated how her father would always get into his lectures without first teaching Beatrice the basics – but she loved how passionate he was about his research and she loved even more how passionate he was about her.                With her mother being gone most of the time for work, Beatrice knew there was something about her and her fathers’ relationship that didn’t seem quite right because she never saw her mother and father be intimate with each other – but frequently would Beatrice and her father be intimate with each other. Or rather, he would be intimate with Beatrice. She always remembered the pain that would come from his touch.                Beatrice’ childhood would become something that she would never have known different from the other kids as her mother never did put her back into school but kept her at home to sail through her grades as her father would take on the role of being her at-home teacher. She graduated high school by the time she was 13-years-old.                Beatrice had a friend in Abbey, as they’d spent only two years in single-digit grade school together and being the only kids from their grade-school that were from low-income families. Abbey would come over frequently to visit Beatrice and together they would play in the two hours of the afternoon that were pink and orange in the sky from beautiful prairie sunsets.

Abbey’s parents were similar though it was her dad that worked two jobs. Her mother stayed at home taking care of the five children they’d managed to reproduce over years of alcohol abuse and common sexual mistakes. Abbey was the youngest of the five – and the only girl. One night would be the night to change their lives forever as her four older brothers – who loved her dearly – would drive out to the football field to practice some but, unfortunately, they would never return; flipping the truck over on the side of the highway back to the city.                After Abbey’s brother’s untimely death, Abbey spent more and more time over at Beatrice’ house. Yes, Beatrice’ father tried once to get the girls to do some very unchildlike things, but Abbey was always strong-willed and by this time the girls were now teenagers, so because of the fact that Beatrice’ father was also a sort of timid man, he never did touch Beatrice in the painful way that she remembered ever again. She would always be grateful to Abbey for coming into their home and saving Beatrice from a daily routine of having sex with her father. Beatrice learned from Abbey that a man doesn’t have any power over you if you show him you have the same amount of power over him. Abbey would, from then on, be known to Beatrice as her hero.                Beatrice and her father never did talk about it. Nor did she talk about it with her mother. It was something her mother didn’t need. Furthermore, and only a couple years later, Beatrice’ father would proceed to end his own life with a bottle of pills and a symmetrical bottle of Jack Daniels. Beatrice would, from then on, never consume or come close to the rotten-apple-like beverage again.

Years would go by and Beatrice spent most of her time at Abbey’s house – they would help around the place by cleaning up and cooking meals together. Beatrice learned quickly, from Abbey’s depressed and shattered mother, how to bake the most delicious pies. It was Beatrice’ way of saying, “Thank you for not leaving me alone.”

 Wednesday 5:31 PM

 A knock at the door.  Beatrice slowly takes off her oven mitts and allows the oven to remain open, cooling the multi-berry cinnamon pie resting inside. She recognizes the knock. It was a knock that she and Abbey would use so they would recognize each other from behind closed doors as girls. 

               “Beatrice,” Abbey starts to say. She stands confidently in a silk robe and bedazzled heels. She pulls a bottle of wine out from behind her back. “Bryce is gone for the night, he has two interviews! So,” Abbey bites her bottom lip and reaches behind her with her other hand and pulls out the same brand of vodka that hides below Beatrice’ sink. “I was thinking we would have a girl’s night!”                “Oh, please come in!” Beatrice says excitedly. “I would really love that, Abbey.”                “It’s been so long,” Abbey says as she gracefully walks toward the counter in the kitchen. She sits at a bar stool and watches Beatrice continue to tend to the pie. Something Abbey has seen her do many times. “That is multi-berry…” Abbey sniffs aggressively, “And cinnamon!” A tear forms in Abbey’s eyes and Beatrice wonders if she somehow knew that Abbey would come over tonight. This pie recipe was and probably always will be Abbey’s favorite. “Bee. It smells just like hers. How do you do it?” Abbey is referring to her as Bee as she used to when they were girls. She is also referring to her mother’s recipe when she says hers.                “I always loved this pie. Mostly because it was the first one I ever tried from your mother. Remember? I came into the house and you screamed that I just had to try this pie!?”                “I will always remember, Bee,” Abbey says as she pops a cork and pours two glasses of Chardonnay. They both sit down with their pie and wine.                Beatrice looks around her kitchen. She surveys the room, learning her surroundings like it’s her first time every time. She notices Abbey’s purse sloppily placed on the kitchen counter, right where Beatrice usually puts her cell phone and smiles to herself.                “What’s on your mind, sis?” Abbey asks. Abbey and Beatrice will always call each other sisters.                “A lot. I’m glad you’re here.” A tear rolls down Beatrice’ cheek and she quickly wipes it off, annoyed that she can’t control her emotions.                “Oh, honey!” Abbey reaches across the table to place her hands on Beatrice’ but slips and knocks Beatrice’ glass of the table, falling to the wood floor and shattering. “Beatrice! I’m so sorry!” Abbey exclaims.                “It’s fine, Abbey. I’ll clean this up, and you go get another glass.” Beatrice doesn’t like a mess. Abbey creates messes. It doesn’t upset Beatrice. What else could she do with her time other than clean up messes? She smiles to herself and how bad Abbey can feel about these kinds of things. Beatrice reassures her that it’s okay.                Beatrice bends down with her hand broom and a flash of the same image of her husband and two kids right where Abbey is standing, and she gasps. Abbey returns to the table right away and sits her back down. “Please, tell me what’s going on in that head. I will finish cleaning this up.”                “You know how I used to black out all the time when I was a kid?” Beatrice starts. As a child, Beatrice would have moments that she wouldn’t be able to recall. She would try to think of things that had just happened, and she wasn’t able to pull up a memory of any kind. They would be sporadic, and they could be short or long periods of time where she felt she wasn’t there.                “Yes, of course,” Abbey replies. Her eyes now locked on Beatrice’.                “I don’t think I’ve ever stopped having those episodes,” Beatrice says.                “You may not ever stop having them, Bee.” Abbey comforts. “I think it was because of your dad, as much as I hate to say it, your brain did you a favor.”                “But I wish I could remember anything. It’s not just what he did to me. It’s everything. I don’t remember either of their funerals. I don’t remember moving any of our belongings into this house. Most importantly, I don’t remember what Mark and I were doing the night he and the kids went missing.” Beatrice takes a bite of pie and chews slowly through her tears. “I feel so helpless. I feel like I don’t know who I am anymore, and I need you to help me. You’re all I have left, Abbey.”                Beatrice notices Abbey take a minute to collect herself. She probably doesn’t want to break down in front of her as she used to do when Beatrice would have to stay at her house, as children, when her parents fought. “I am here for you. I hope you know that. I’m right here. And I have all your memories in my head. You just ask for one and I will pull it up.” They both gently laugh.                “You’re like my own personal Google.” Beatrice makes a joke. Abbey notices how long it’s been since Beatrice has been funny. And with everything Beatrice went through, she was always funny. But they both know that Beatrice hasn’t been able to be funny in a long while now.                “Bee, it hurts me to see you this way.” Abbey stops talking, poking the tip of her nose with her index finger. “Maybe we should get out of the house and go do something tonight? Tomorrow?”                “Tonight would be nice,” Beatrice replies. She notices Abbey’s surprise to her immediate acknowledgment. “I know, I know. But it’s probably a good idea. I’d love to get out of the house because every time I stay in, all I do is stare at everything and I always see…”                “See what?”                “I see them all. Right there.” Beatrice points to the kitchen floor. “I see them all laying on the kitchen floor in their own blood. They are all dead. I see it all the time. All the time. And it scares me because…is it possible that something happened to them and I just don’t remember?”                “Honey,” Abbey takes a deep breath and looks Beatrice in the eyes. “I was here the night the cops came to the house with the news. The house was immaculate, and the boys weren’t here. They weren’t. I assure you. I don’t remember what you guys did before the boys all left because I wasn’t here, but all I know is that you didn’t do anything, and something terrible like that did not happen.”                “How can you be so sure?” Beatrice says. Slowly, tears start to fall from her eyes.                “Because I just am. I don’t have that feeling something bad happened. You know I can always sense when something bad is happening.”                “Yeah.” Beatrice did trust Abbey’s sense of danger.                “Okay!” Abbey stands quickly and shocks the tears out of Beatrice’ eyes. “Let’s go get a slutty little dress on you and I will do your hair!”                Beatrice smiles and her stomach turns in a way that tells her, you shouldn’t be going out into public right now, but Beatrice ignores the feeling and allows her friend to drag her up to her bedroom and pamper her for a much needed night out. They run together, up the stairs, like little kids.

 Wednesday 6:16 PM

Abigale walks around her friend’s bedroom and waits patiently for Beatrice to come out of the closet wearing the clothes that she picked out for her. She’s nervous that Beatrice won’t have a good time, but she doesn’t let it bother her. She is here to help her feel better. Beatrice has been through so much in her life and it’s not fair. Beatrice is good people. She doesn’t deserve the painful life she was handed. So, Abbey is excited to get her out and show her who she really is again. Maybe it will help her recall memories too. If Abbey knew anything it was that sometimes a distraction can be good for the human brain to process life.                “How’s it going in there, Bee?” Abbey shouts as she sits down on the foot of Beatrice’ bed.                “One second!” Beatrice replies.                Abbey looks out the window to look at the front of her own house across the way. She notices her little flower garden and smiles to herself, sighing at the beauty she created. Then she notices Bryce’s car. She thinks to herself, ‘he wasn’t supposed to be home until late. I hope he’s okay. Her eyes move up the front of the house to her bedroom window and she sees him. He is staring into Beatrice’ bedroom. Abbey’s stomach flips and she feels dizzy. He looks so creepy. She’s never seen him in that way before. ‘What is he doing?’ She thinks to herself. She stands from the bed and walks over to the window and instead of waving at her, he drops to the floor letting the curtains sway. ‘Does he look over here in Beatrice’ bedroom often?’ She thinks to herself. She feels her face get hot. Her stomach in knots. She thinks, ‘is my husband a peep?’                “How do I look!?” Beatrice pops out of the closet in a skin-tight black dress with a slit down her left thigh and a pearl necklace around her long neck.                Abbey slowly looks around the room from the window to Beatrice. “You look incredible,” she says.                “What’s the matter?” Beatrice asks, her face flushing from the euphoria.                Abbey realizes she’s been staring blankly for too long and fixes herself. “Yes. I’m fine. I think I’m just hungry. You look so sexy. Let’s go!”                ‘But what the fuck is my husband doing staring into your bedroom?’ She thinks.

JR McWilliam

Chapter Four coming soon...

Chapter Two

Beatrice Miller

 Chapter Two

 Wednesday 6:39 AM

Bryce sits, coffee in hand, staring at the little daisy in the kitchen window of Beatrice’ house. Not from inside her house but from inside his. From his dining room, he has a perfect view of her kitchen from that window. He wonders why she would have one little flower and where the little flower came from. She doesn’t leave the house and there are no daisy’s that grow around here.                He doesn’t know why he thinks about her so much and loses so much time staring at her house. Even he doesn’t understand the importance of it all to him. But he does. He continues to. Like he watches over her. Someone has to watch over her. And he’s been doing it for years now.

 Wednesday 6:39 AM

Beatrice sits, coffee in hand, clutching it like it’s her only lifeline. It is at this point. Too much chardonnay from last night. Too much pie. Which is why there is a glass of seltzer in front of her. It’s creating a water ring on her little glass table and she doesn’t worry about it because it gives her a headache to worry.                From her dining room, she can see the light on in the dining room of Bryce and Abigale. She can’t see anything inside due to the sheer white curtains they have there draping from the ceiling. She can see that the light is on and she can see blurry images of furniture and trinkets that Abigale has been collecting her entire life.                Beatrice doesn’t know why she stares across the way so much at their house but somehow it makes her feel less alone. She watches that house come alive every day and it makes her house feel more alive as well – though it isn’t. It makes her sad, and happy at the same time.                She finishes up her coffee and seltzer and heads to the kitchen to rinse out the glasses and put them on the drying rack. She feels she’s being watched so she looks across the way at the now swaying drapes of Bryce and Abigale’s dining room window. She thinks to herself, was someone looking over here? She hopes so. If so, it means she is definitely not alone. She stares back at the little yellow daisy on the counter. How did you get there? She wonders to herself again.

 Wednesday 7:45 AM

Beatrice has lost an hour staring at the little yellow daisy. “Shit.” She says to herself. It’s time for her to get dressed. For what? She doesn’t know. No job or project awaits her. But she needs to feel ready. She needs to feel pretty. She needs to feel like she can do anything if she’s at least dressed for it. Plus, she can smell the sweat that has a subtle hint of alcohol to it and it makes her gag.

Her husband used to shower with her. He would do it all the time. She would get in and he would follow minutes later – he knew that she only needed a couple minutes to wash her hair so he wouldn’t be interrupting her system. She loved it when he would come in the shower. He was always hard when he was naked. This always made Beatrice wet. It turned both of them on to be together, naked, and wet.                He would slip his manhood into her as he pushed her up on the tile wall. He loved her breasts so he would push his face in between them as he fucked her against the shower wall. One of those shower fucks was actually the conception of one of her children. They didn’t have sex often, but the shower always made it happen. Naked. Wet. Sex.                Thinking about her husband while she washes herself always turns her on, so she takes the arm of the shower head down from the wall and she begins to masturbate. Loudly. Why not? There is no one in the house but her.                After a satisfying shower, she gets out, dries herself off, and stares at her figure in the mirror. And she wonders to herself, is my family going to come back home?

 Wednesday 7:49 AM

Abigale went to work at 7:30. She always leaves Bryce alone in the house and he has to find things to do. He wants to have a job again, but it’s been hard to find one and the one he has is so part-time that he is having trouble making any sort of money – or finding any sort of fulfillment. But he finds it okay that he gets to watch over Beatrice and help her with anything she may need. He only wishes she would ask him for anything. He needs to get into that house.

Bryce sits on the edge of the bed facing the window. He looks across the way into Beatrice’s bedroom. They never did close the drapes. Bryce used to watch Beatrice and her husband make love on the edge of their bed while he pleasured himself. Abigale isn’t much of a horny girl, so they have sex infrequently.                Now, Bryce looks into Beatrice’s bedroom and he can see the steam from the bathroom pluming out into the bedroom. He finds himself getting excited as he thinks about Beatrice washing her body and running her hands up and down her skin. He puts his hand down his sweatpants.                Beatrice walks out of the bathroom in her towel and Bryce has to run to the window and close the blinds so she doesn’t see him, but he peers through, splitting them open with his fingers just enough so he can continue watching her. A part of him thinks that Beatrice knows he watches her…and she likes it. So, he stands there as she drops her towel and starts to look at herself in the mirror. Her naked body makes it hard for him to hold back so he allows himself to feel the pleasure…

 Wednesday 8:13 AM

Beatrice stands in the mirror for minutes. She doesn’t know if Bryce can see her, but she stands there long enough just in case he is looking. She likes the attention. She likes that someone could possibly still be attracted to her aging body. The body that she stares at now in the mirror, noticing what giving birth to her children did to her. Then she puts her bathrobe on at the thought of her children. She sits at the edge of her bed and stares at nothing.                ‘I miss my family,’ she says in her head, ‘I wish they would just come home.’                The house is so quiet. It has been quiet for over a year now. It is so deafening.

  One year, two months, three days, and four hours ago…

 Beatrice finishes cleaning up the kitchen and places dinner in the center of the table. A large platter of baked spaghetti with meatballs and her perfect candied tomato sauce. She looks at the table and pats herself on the back for a job well done. Her family will be home in a minute.                She sits with a glass of chardonnay in her hand and swirls it around. She looks at the clock. It’s now been 10 minutes and they haven’t shown up. She calls her husbands cell phone. No answer.                She puts tinfoil over top the spaghetti and puts it in the oven. She turns the oven on to 175 degrees. Just to keep it from getting cold.                A knock at the door.                She closes the oven door and walks slowly to the door. She notices 2 men standing there. She opens it slowly. They are police officers. She looks passed the officers and sees her neighbors, Bryce and Abigale standing in their doorway watching tentatively.                Beatrice’s heart begins to beat fast. She can feel tears coming to her eyes. Time slowed to a snail’s pace. She looks into the eyes of the shorter officer. He clears his throat and says, “Ma’am.” She hates being called Ma’am. “We are afraid we have some bad news for you.”                Her heart starts to race. She can feel the heat rising to her forehead. Her mind feels cloudy and suddenly she feels dizzy. She watches the officers lunge toward her and grab her as she falls. “Beatrice!” She hears Abigale…and then she sees black.

She comes back to coherence and she’s in her living room now. Abigale is sitting next to her on the couch and she has a dripping cold cloth on her forehead. “What happened?” She chokes out her words.                “Beatrice,” Abigale takes the cloth from her forehead and continues to talk. “The police are here because they found Mark’s truck on the side of 22X. We don’t know where they’ve done. I’m so sorry.”                Beatrice looks at the officers, then back at Abigale. “So,” Beatrice says, “are they dead?” At the word dead she begins to sob into her hands. She can barely hear the shorter officer say,                “We aren’t sure, Ma’am.”                All Beatrice thinks to say is, “I have to turn the oven off.”

 Wednesday 8:31 AM

Today, Beatrice looks out her windows, constantly hoping that the police will show up to tell her that her family is dead. The thought that they are missing or have abandoned her are far more painful than if they were dead. At least she would be able to move on. But she hasn’t heard anything. She doesn’t know why they are missing. She doesn’t know anything about where her family is. And it kills her. All she feels is numb. All she feels is…nothing.

JR McWilliam

Chapter Three...coming soon

Chapter One

Beatrice Miller

 Chapter One

 Tuesday, 2:03 PM

Beatrice Miller stands at her kitchen sink, her back against the counter, and stares at her husband and her two beautiful children laying on the floor in a pool of blood. She feels crazy because this is the image her mind shows her every night. Even if she closes her eyes, she can still see it. So, she just stares at it until it finally goes away.                Beatrice turns back around and finishes up the last of the dishes in the sink, turning around again to survey her kitchen for any more of a mess. She wouldn’t want to leave a mess for her husband and children when they get home. She’s always been their caretaker and she knows that she is needed. She loves that she is needed. She soaks in the feeling of safety that she gets when she’s in her kitchen.                Beatrice is a beautiful woman. Ageless, like Adeline. Long, wavy, chocolate brown hair draped down the middle of her back and covering just under her mid-sized breasts. She wears a simple black dress, like one you’d wear to a funeral or a cocktail party. She has a cute nose; sparkling blue eyes – deep as the ocean. Her nails are perfectly manicured to match those on her toes. A deep red similar to that of blood. She stands tall at nearly six feet.

She grabs her purse and opens the door, standing in the way for just a moment before closing the door gently behind her.

 Tuesday, 2:11 PM

‘There she is. Beatrice Miller.’ Bryce Vallerea says in his head as he watches her leave her house. He hasn’t seen her come out of her house for weeks. The car hasn’t moved. The lawn remains untouched. “Where are you going?” He asks to himself. He watches her slowly make her way to the car, blinded by the bright sunlight above her she covers her face with her forearm and gets in. She closes the door slowly. She backs out of the drive. She stops for a moment on the road. She looks over at Bryce’s house. Bryce quickly walks away from the door.                Bryce is an average looking man with the arrogance of a male model. He stands sky high at six-foot-two. A brilliant man. He has night black hair, a magical set of dark brown eyes, and teeth that could light a theatre before curtain call. His skin is the color of caramel and he smells of pine. His hands are soft and clean like that of a man who hasn’t worked a day in his life. Childish in his speech and demeanor yet charming with his grace and mannerisms of a gentleman.

He watches her from behind the drapes as she gets into her car and says aloud, “well, at least she’s gone now.”

  Tuesday, 3:30 PM

Beatrice hands cheques to the woman across the counter. She’s been meaning to cash these for some time now. She hasn’t wanted to. It makes this all seem real if she starts to take care of these things. The doctor has ordered her to start running errands again though so she feels that she should. It’s been a long time now so it is time for her to get back to reality and start living her life. This is step one and this is all she can handle right now.                “Is there anything else for you today, Mrs. Miller?” The kind but tired teller asks her. She doesn’t really know what to say because saying no is a lie but saying yes means that she would be asking for things that don’t pertain to this teller’s job in any way. So she says nothing. “Mrs. Miller?” The teller asks again. “Are you doing okay?”                The bank teller, Abigale Vallerea, formally known as Abigale Smith, is a short but beautiful woman. She is poised and kind, courteous yet genuine. She has half blue half blonde hair, a perfect ombre’, and has a tattoo of a symbol unfamiliar to Beatrice on her neck, just below her ear-lobe. Her eyes are kind, constantly glossy, and the most beautiful shade of Grey that anyone has ever seen – combined with her half-blue hair makes her look like a winter princess.                “I’m doing as good as I can right now,” Beatrice finally looks up at her. “I’m taking it day by day. Thanks, Abbey.”                “Is there anything I can do for you at all? Woman to woman?” Abbey and Beatrice have known each other a long time. They were childhood friends and then grew apart. They worked at the bank together for quite some time but then Beatrice stopped working about a year ago. They reconnected after Abigale and her husband, Bryce, moved into the house across the way from Beatrice. When Abbey and Bryce moved in, they had no idea that Beatrice and her family lived there. It was a surprisingly pleasant surprise.                “Can I borrow your husband?” Beatrice giggles a little at this request. Abbey genuinely laughs back. She knows that it is a good thing to see Beatrice smile so she replies curtly,                “How about I bring over a bottle of our finest and you and I can sit over a couple glasses and watch Bryce take care of anything you need done around the house?” She sees Beatrice remove her gaze and try to refuse the offer so instead of letting her, Abbey gently says, “We will be there tonight after work. If you could make a delicious pie again then we can call it even. I dream of those pies.”

 Tuesday, 4:41 PM

Beatrice returns to her home with a completed checklist, a small bag of groceries – a new stack of mail – the fixins for pie baking. A bottle of white wine, Chardonnay – Abbey is bringing one, yes, but one is never enough for three people, especially with the way Beatrice and Abbey can finish a bottle of wine.                If her neighbors are to arrive after supper, she’d better get to baking that pie. Since baking hundreds, maybe even thousands, of pies in her life, this wouldn’t be hard for her. She set everything out on the kitchen counter after replacing her purse in its normal spot – perched at the edge of the kitchen counter closest to the door. That was when she noticed something out of place. A small yellow daisy, soaking up water from a coffee mug, on the right side of the sink. Someone put that there and it sure wasn’t her.                She stares at the little yellow daisy as she stands over top the ingredients to make pie. She stares at it without realizing how long she is fixated on the flower until she looks over and notices the lard had started to melt. But what else could she do but wonder how that flower got there if not her putting it there herself? No one had been in this house for weeks – not even her family. If not her, it had to be someone. Who?

  Tuesday, 6:00 PM

Beatrice looks across the way into her neighbor’s kitchen window. She notices the small family just sit down to eat supper which means she has at least another hour before they show up for fresh pie. She has decided to bake a pear and gruyere. It is her specialty. Her secret ingredient is a sugar-coated roasted garlic clove. She chops it up and bakes it into the cheese.                She hadn’t eaten anything for supper as she supposed the pie will be enough to maintain her desire for food for the rest of the evening. After all – she doesn’t want to waste the secret bottle of expensive vodka hiding under the kitchen sink by soaking it all up with something as menial as food.                She sat, glass in hand – a vodka poured gently over ice-cubes with a wedge of lime floating on top – and watches her neighbors do the dishes. She still can’t believe that a bank teller and an unemployed journalist are able to afford the same home in which Beatrice lives.

They lived in a complex. Each house the same as the next, lining a perfectly manicured and cleverly cleaned street and park. The complex was something Beatrice chose to live in when she and her husband were just about to get married. She’d chosen it because it was close to all amenities and the view from the far side was of the cityscape behind the house. The garden in the center of the complex was so beautiful she figured she would have something to paint for years to come.                It also dawned on her that all the people living there were beautiful, new home-owners, that were all young and motivated to make something of themselves. A similar mindset and way-of-life as Beatrice was in. Her husband concurred.

Now, as she sits here on this mildly rainy evening, sniffing the gorgeous smells of baking gruyere, she stares at her neighbors doing after-supper dishes together in their freshly renovated kitchen. Instead of being jealous of anything they have that she doesn’t, she feels pleased and wonders at her neighbor’s happy lives.                She then sits up as she notices them turn off the lights to come across the way – she takes the pie out of the oven and places the bottle of chardonnay in the middle of the table surrounded by 3 polished glasses. Chardonnay, as Bryce will notice, will complement the oaky taste and texture of the gruyere.

“Welcome!” Beatrice says excitedly as the two familiar friends walk through the door hand in hand – in each free hand they hold a bottle of wine and a small gift bag, respectfully.

Chapter Two coming soon... JR McWilliam

She couldn’t understand why her family was missing…

So she tried her best to ignore it.

Coming April 1st, 2019

Tuesday, 2:11 PM

‘There she is. Beatrice Miller.’ Bryce Vallerea says in his head as he watches her leave her house. He hasn’t seen her come out of her house for weeks. The car hasn’t moved. The lawn remains untouched. “Where are you going?” He asks to himself. He watches her slowly make her way to the car, blinded by the bright sunlight above her she covers her face with her forearm and gets in. She closes the door slowly. She backs out of the drive. She stops for a moment on the road. She looks over at Bryce’s house. Bryce quickly walks away from the door.               Bryce is an average looking man with the arrogance of a male model. He stands sky high at six-foot-two. A brilliant man. He has night black hair, a magical set of dark brown eyes, and teeth that could light a theatre before curtain call. His skin is the color of caramel and he smells of pine. His hands are soft and clean like that of a man who hasn’t worked a day in his life. Childish in his speech and demeanor yet charming with his grace and mannerisms of a gentleman.

He watches her from behind the drapes as she gets into her car and says aloud, “well, at least she’s gone now.”