The Weight of Him(85)

“If you’d listen to our vision—”

“If you don’t get out of here this second, you won’t have any vision left,” Christy said.

Adam looked at Billy, a wild, wounded look in his eyes. “Tell him.”

“Just go,” Billy said, drained, disgusted. He should have listened to his first instincts, shouldn’t have gotten so caught up in a film at any cost. That cold feeling went at his chest and stomach. So much seemed to point to what he should have seen and done, but hadn’t.

After Adam left, Liam led Billy and Denis to the living room. Billy and Denis remained in the doorway, unable to move deeper into the room. The smell of lilies choked the air, their scent undercut with the rotted taint of stems left too long in water.

Beth stood in the center of the room, facing the two shrines at either side of the fireplace, the memorial on the right dedicated to John, and the newer one on the left dedicated to Rosie. In each, a large, gold-framed photograph held pride of place, the children smiling, their faces bright. Beneath, a fake candle burned a sickly yellow. All about, a mound of cards, dried flowers, holy medals, saints’ statues, plastic vials of holy water, and various smaller photographs of the two teens.

The TV, presumably moved from its usual place against the wall, stood in front of the fireplace, angled toward the doorway. There was something about the TV standing alone and out of place, blocking the dead hearth and facing the threshold, unwatched, that struck Billy as so much sadder than the two shrines. Liam rubbed his hand back and forth over the top of the displaced TV, as though dusting it with his palm. Beth followed Billy’s gaze to her husband’s hand in motion. She then looked at the large photograph of her daughter. “We all have our own ways of trying to keep them alive, isn’t that it?”

Billy dug his nails deep into his palms, to stop himself from breaking down. Beth’s blue-veined hands rushed to her face. “Both of them. How could we have lost both of them?”

Liam’s hand froze on top of the TV, the pain in his face awful to witness.

“It wasn’t your fault,” Billy said, the hairs stirring on the back of his neck. “It wasn’t anyone’s fault.” He spoke with an utter and almost frightening conviction, as though someone else were talking through him.

Beth inhaled and wiped at her eyes and cheeks with the flat of her hands. Liam looked from her to Billy, his lips parted and his face loose.

“It wasn’t our fault,” Billy said, his eyes filling.

Denis placed his hand on Billy’s back, his chin quivering and his eyes watery. Billy wondered how he’d never seen before that Denis also needed to feel forgiven. “It wasn’t your fault,” Billy said, gently shaking Denis’s shoulder.

*

Billy and Denis struggled to the van—neither of them fully recovered from the rush of emotion and adrenaline that had beset them inside the Hallorans’ living room. Billy could barely pick up his feet and propel himself forward.

The van’s engine revved, Adam scowling behind the wheel. Billy turned around. Beth, Liam, and Christy remained standing in the open doorway. Billy thought of his miniature village, of whisking the three of them away from this place and putting them in that other world, reuniting them with the two lost teens.

With a final parting wave, he followed Denis into the van. Adam reversed out onto the road and the former family of five watched them drive away. Billy held the trio in the side mirror, mindful of the two empty spaces.

Adam rammed the driver’s door with the side of his fist. “Why the hell didn’t you back me up?” He hit the door again, harder. “They could have been persuaded.”

“You lied to me,” Billy said, quaking.

“He said he’d think about it,” Adam said. “I figured once he met us—”

“You trespassed on that family,” Billy said. “Went against every common decency. What in hell is wrong with you? You’ve been through this yourself. You should know better. And they lost not one but two of their children, and just yesterday, practically.”

“I thought you were with me,” Adam said. “You’re the very one who said this was a war to be waged. Well guess what? War comes at a price—” His voice cracked. “I cleaned my nephew’s head off his bedroom walls. To get people to understand that, to feel that, you have to hit them hard. Through the camera, you have to blow up their heads, too.”

“Let us out,” Billy said, rattling the door handle.

“What the fuck?” Adam said.

“You heard him,” Denis said. “We’ll make our own way from here.”

“We’re in the middle of nowhere,” Adam said.

“I’d rather walk the two hundred miles home than sit in this van for another second,” Billy said, sickened far beyond any of the worst binges he’d ever inflicted on himself. “I’m sorry for what you went through, I am, but, Jesus, man, you can’t go around tormenting people.”

Adam pulled up in a squeal of brakes. As Billy exited, Adam muttered, “See how far you’ll get without me.”

“Would you like me to give him a thump?” Denis asked.

Billy looked up at Adam, the filmmaker’s face twisted with temper and pain. All the anger left Billy, blanketed by a great sadness. “Leave him.”