A Tale from the Hills (30 page)

He was almost to the South Carolina line before he decided to stop for the first time. He needed to relieve his bladder, and a Coca-cola sure would be nice. There was a newspaper rack outside of the country store where he stopped. He picked up the afternoon edition of a Charlotte newspaper. He read about the latest shootings, and he was glad that they had finally found the sailor. The most amazing part of the story however, was the fact that they had traced the same gun to shootings as far back as his first train ride from Burlington to Wilmington. They knew almost to the day when he had arrived in Wilmington, and they knew that he came from Burlington. He had never fully appreciated up to that moment that there was a wealth of information about the waterfront killer. He was suddenly glad that he left Wilmington when he did, because he might have been living on borrowed time if he had stayed there much longer. He saved the newspaper to read in greater detail after he had stopped for the night.

*********

William was beginning to get hungry for something more substantial than snacks by the time that he had reached the resort area called Myrtle Beach in South Carolina. He had never heard of a famous person named Myrtle during his relatively short career at Mountain School, so he figured that she must have been famous only in South Carolina. Otherwise why would they give such a beautiful area such an odd name. He asked the waitress at the diner when he stopped to eat for a history lesson. Even though she said that she was a transplant to the beach from Charlotte, she knew that the little town was named in honor of the Crepe Myrtle shrub that thrived in the area. The mystery was solved. William ate his lunch and watched the ocean waves from his table by the window.

He could not get the article that was printed about him in the Charlotte newspaper out of his mind. It was the very last part of the story that bothered him the most. The editor said that he would not get a moment’s rest until the madman was caught, either dead or alive. He had even offered a sizable reward to make sure that the monster did not escape justice. He said that three small children would grow up without the benefit of a father, thanks to the heartless, merciless man with no respect for human life.

“Big fucking deal.” William whispered under hisbreath.

He had been forced to grow up without a mother, and then he had lost his precious sister on top of that. And just look how well he had turned out. Why were those children, or anyone else for that matter, any better than he was? They should find out early in life, just as he did, that the world was a tough place to live in. Nothing was easy. One either adapts to his or her environment, or they perish like the children’s father on a lonely stretch of railroad tracks. He made up his mind that as soon as he settled again, that he would write to that Charlotte editor, and tell him a thing or two about life and death. If he had a way of contacting those children, he would do that too.

When the waitress laid his check down on the table, she thought that something must have been wrong with him. He was flushed and sweating like a liar on the witness stand.

“Is anything wrong?” she asked.

“No, no, I was just thinking about something that I read in the newspaper.” he replied.

She noticed that he was reading the Charlotte newspaper.

“Oh yeah. There’s some pretty bad stuff in there, especially the story about the killer in Wilmington. He must be really crazy.” she added.

William thought for a few moments before he commented on her statement.

“But there’s two sides to every story.” he finallyreplied.

Without bothering to leave a tip, he got up, paid his tab and quickly left the restaurant. He spun gravels all over the parking lot as he speeded down the highway.

“What an oddball.” the waitress said to the fry cookas William drove out of sight.

*********

Although the Sun and ocean breezes were quite warm, William did not bother to roll the windows down in his car. He was driving southbound on Highway 17, in South Carolina, and he wanted to sweat. He wanted to feel the Sun’s heat beating down on his body through the windows of his shiny black car. He finally peeled his soaking wet shirt over his head without even bothering to ease up on the gasoline. There was something about sweating profusely that always made him feel better, especially if he was bothered by things that he had no control over. The process of sweating heavily cleansed his mind and cooled his body. He was perspiring so badly that it was pouring into his eyes and blurring his vision. He found a dry corner of his otherwise soaked shirt, but it did little to relieve his burning eyes. Rather than stop the car to dry off, he rolled down both windows. The sudden rush of air was all that it took to make him feel better, both inside and out. He felt cleansed and renewed from the story in the Charlotte newspaper, and the silly waitress was only a fleeting memory. He wished that he did not let people who meant absolutely nothing to him, get to him. How could anyone who had never walked in his shoes presume that they could make judgments about him?

He began thinking about the type of job that he would look for when he had reached his new place of residence. A lot depended upon whether he relocated on the coast or inland. If he stayed on the coast, and he was leaning heavily in that direction, he was sure that he could get a job on the docks again. If he moved inland, he wanted some kind of an outside job. He loved to feel the Sun on his body. He wanted to feel the sweat running down his back, and he liked seeing other people, especially men, sweating too. It was exciting and sensual like other thingsthat he did with men.

He bypassed Georgetown without even stopping. He knew that a shipyard was there, but the city itself was not large enough to suit his needs. It was much too difficult to maintain any degree of anonymity if the population was not at least 25,000 people. He almost decided to drive through the city to see if it was as pretty as Myrtle Beach, but he wanted to get to Charleston before it was too late to look around.

He stopped just outside of the little town of McCellanville, to fill up with gasoline and stretch his legs. The young man who was pumping his gasoline was trying very hard to strike up a conversation. He asked William where he was from, and where he was going, and what he did for a living, and an endless series of what’s, and where’s, and why’s, and how comes, and what fors. William grew quite tired of answering questions.

“Why are you asking me so many questions kid?” William finally blurted out, interrupting the boy.

“Its for school.” he said. “ I’m doing a paper for civics class about the reasons why people travel the highways.”

“What do you mean traveling the highways?” Williamasked.

“You know. Where did they start from? Where were they going? What was their preferred method of transportation? If they ever picked up hitchhikers?”

“Why do you ask if they pick up hitchhikers?” Williamasked.

“Because I need a ride to Savannah, and I figure that if I ask enough questions to enough people, that I will finally get a ride with someone that I can trust.”

“How old are you kid?”

“I’m almost fifteen. Why do you ask?”

“Why does a boy almost fifteen need to go to Savannah?”

“To see my girlfriend who moved there two months ago. I miss her so much that I can’t sleep.”

“I see you problem kid, but do you have any idea how dangerous it is to hitchhike?”

“That’s why I ask so many questions. So are you going as far as Savannah?”

“No.” William replied. “I’m only going as far as Charleston.”

There was no way that he could have bothered with the kid, even as far as Charleston. The boy had a way of grinding on William’s nerves, and he would hate to have to kill someone so young, and innocent, and ignorant of the ways of the world. He paid for the gasoline and left the boy standing beside of the pumps. The boy would never realize how lucky that he was.

William never got the chance to study the roadmap back at the service station. He hoped that Charleston was not too far away. Before he had even driven ten miles a road sign came into view. It read Charleston, 37 miles. He would easily be there before dark.

A dark cloud was approaching the city from the north. Charleston was about to get a taste of the same medicine that William Hill had prescribed for Wilmington. God help them.

***********

Chapter Eight
 

William drove toward the city of Charleston like a conquering hero, and he was more than ready to claim his prize. He could tell as he approached from its outskirts that Charleston was going to be a beautiful city. It looked old but very well preserved. It looked historic but with all of the modern conveniences of Wilmington. Natural instinct guided him toward the water. Once there, he would be able to get his bearings and come up with a tentative plan.

He found himself in a section of the city called the Battery. He was surprised and impressed by the things that he saw. People were milling around everywhere in a carnival type atmosphere. If it was this festive on a week night, he could only imagine how exciting Charleston would be on the weekends. It might prove to be a perfect place for him to get lost in the crowd and play to his heart’s content.

With all of his worldly possessions William checked into the Blue Jay Motor Court to spend a few nights. He would look for a more permanent residence after he found a job. The motel was located in a part of the old city that had once seen better days, but he was not really concerned about safety because he had the great equalizer hidden in his boot. It was well after dark by the time that he was settled in his room, but pangs of hunger sent him back into the blackness of night. At first he decided to walk to a restaurant but the only faces that he saw outside his room were black. For the first time in a long time he felt out of place and uncomfortable. Even though he was carrying his gun in his boot, he decided that it might be best to take the car to find a restaurant. He had nothing against people of color, but he was not used to being the one who was in the minority. He finally found an all night diner with almost as many white faces as black faces showing through the windows. He hurried inside, ate a quick hamburger, and drove straight back to the motel. Once he was safely inside his room, he bolted the door and pushed the dresser against it for extra security. He decided that the first thing that he was going to do the next morning was to find another place to stay, even if he had to pay more money.

He tossed and turned and when he finally did nod off, his sleep was strained and restless. As the Sun’s rays were peeping through his window the next morning, he was out of bed and getting ready to leave. The car was packed and ready before the motel’s office opened. He was glad that he had only paid one night’s rent because he did not want to wait around for a refund. As he drove out of the motel parking lot he made up his mind that if the day did not vastly improve over the night before, that he would be having second thoughts about settling in Charleston.

He drove straight to the part of the city that made him feel the most comfortable, the Battery. All of the way there he thought about Wilmington. Suddenly he missed the security of his old room at the boarding house, and the familiarity that he had acquired for the city that had been his home for well over a year. He could hardly believe that he had been there so long because the time had passed quickly. It was in that city that he came into his own understanding of the ways of the world, and his best means of dealing with his problems. If he lived to be an old man he would always look back upon his time in Wilmington as being the good old days.

He hoped that it was only the newness of Charleston that was making him feel so ill at ease. He had forgotten that he felt the same way when he first arrived in Wilmington, and Wilkesboro before that. Maybe all that it would take was a little time and patience for his feelings to improve.

He parked the car close to a crowded, bustling city park because he felt like it was a safe place to leave his belongings. He wanted to walk around so that he could get a better feel for the city first hand. He wanted to feel the heat from the Sun on the back of his neck, and to smell the pungent aromas that bombarded his nose, and hear all of the different noises that competed for his attention, and taste the salty air of the city that was close to the ocean. He would never admit that he was a bit of a romantic, but deep down he wished that he had someone like Mona to share his new experiences. Suddenly the realist side of his psyche took over and suggested with the growling of his stomach that it was time for him to get something to eat, and then look into the job situation. Even though he had enough money saved to take his time in finding a job, his frugality would not allow him to dip very far into his nest egg.

He stepped inside a coffee shop to get a quick breakfast and read the local newspaper. He skipped the headlines and went directly to the Help Wanted ads. He was pleased to find many jobs available on the docks, and wages that were higher than in Wilmington. He discoveredthe reason why wages were higher when he skipped over to the section of the paper with rooms for rent. Rentals were at least a third more expensive as they were in Wilmington, and four times more than in Wilkesboro.

As an experienced dock worker, he could expect to be paid well in Charleston. He went to the busiest dock in the harbor first. It was bustling with activity and William thought that he knew the reason. He read the newspaper every day and he knew that the world situation was getting deadly serious because of Nazi, and Fascist, and Japanese aggression. He soon found out that ships were leaving the Port of Charleston, bound for Europe and the coast of Africa with crucial supplies that could not be attained anywhere else but America. There was a constant threat of attack to the ships from the Axis powers, but especially Hitler’s Navy.

When he inquired about a job he was met with subdued interest. There were plenty of jobs available but only to applicants with impeccable records. Any kind of history of crime or mental illness or drug or alcohol abuse, or any kind of deviant behavior would automatically disqualify any potential applicants. He was asked point blank before he was even allowed to fill out an application, if he fell within any of those particular high risk categories. He of course answered absolutely no to all of the categories. Then he was asked where he was from. He said Virginia. He was asked if he would submit to having his fingerprints taken and submit to a polygraph test. Reluctantly he agreed to having his fingerprints taken, but he emphatically said ‘no’, to a polygraph test when it was explained to him what a polygraph test was. He told the man that he did not need a job that badly. It was explained to him that the reason for all of the added security measures was fear of sabotage or espionage, and even though the United States was thousands of miles away from military aggression, there was a constant fear of enemy spies and terrorists. There had already been arrests in New York and Los Angeles, and Charleston was not immune to potential criminal activity.