Billy

by Noel Morrison

Overview

Eleven-year-old Billy Anderson is autistic, bound by rituals, and greatly agitated when things happen out of the ordinary. One night the power in his home suddenly fails, causing his mother, Meg, to unleash a fury of emotions and send a panicked Billy fleeing into the cold, wet darkness.

Billy who has created his own world to keep himself safe-is now out of his element. Plunged into the unknown beyond his front door, his flight to escape his fears sends his parents into a panic. As he heads toward a church where he hopes to find candles, Billy’s mother summons the police while his father races home, only to have a traffic accident delay his arrival. Meanwhile, none of them have any idea that an unlikely hero is about to save Billy from a frightening encounter, release him from his silent prison, and send his parents on a journey of acceptance, healing, and hope.

Billy is an uplifting and emotionally moving novel about a runaway autistic boy who struggles to overcome the dangers of the night, unwittingly teaching a valuable lesson to everyone who loves him.

Product Details

ISBN-13:	9781452531434
Publisher:	Balboa Press AU
Publication date:	10/29/2015
Sold by:	Barnes & Noble
Format:	eBook
Pages:	128
File size:	147 KB

About the Author

Noel Morrison is a teacher who earned a master's degree in Counseling. He has a particular interest in young people who have autism spectrum disorder and the challenges they encounter. Noel is married with three children, loves animals, and lives in rural South Australia.

Read an Excerpt

Billy

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By Noel Raymond Morrison

Balboa Press

Copyright © 2015 Noel Raymond Morrison
All rights reserved.
ISBN: 978-1-4525-3142-7

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CHAPTER 1

Mrs. Blanche went to the whiteboard and carefully outlined a shape.

'It's a butterfly,' Simon yelled.

'Yes, but it's not quite ready yet. It's starting to change,' said Mrs. Blanche. 'When it goes through the process of change it is called "metamorphosis." Isn't that a great word to describe something as wonderful as that?' She paused for a moment and asked; 'Do any of you have butterflies in your garden?

'We had some in the back garden,' said Riley 'but Dad says that because we're not looking after things properly they're not going to come anymore. Is that true Mrs. Blanche? Are all of the butterflies going to die?'

'No, Riley. I'm sure they won't all die. They've survived all kinds of disasters and they're still here, aren't they? But it is true that some of them need our help. That's what I'd like you all to do for your homework tonight. Do a Google search on the Internet and see if you can find five different butterfly species that live in South Australia, and one of them has to start with the letter "M."'

The bell rang and the children started to pack up their books and put them in their plastic trays at the front of the room.

'Billy, it's time to pack up.'

She waited for him to leave the classroom and then went to her desk and turned off her computer. She knew as she did so that Billy would be carefully counting each step as he left the classroom.

* * *

Billy's mum, Meg, crossed the quadrangle and turned down the veranda that ran along the length of the grade six classroom.

'Hello Billy. How was your day?'

Billy said nothing and continued walking.

'We're having your favourite for tea,' she said as they walked to their car. 'Take away pizza. You can choose your three slices first. Last time Dad ate too much. Do you remember?' she asked.

Billy nodded, but was now more concerned with playing with the ball of string that he carried in his pocket. Today's colour was orange. It was always orange on Fridays. Each day had its own colour and his favourite was orange as that meant time away from school. Time away from the noise and rush, and especially the discordant sounds of the students that rang like sirens in his ears the moment he left the car out in front of the school each morning.

He walked ahead of his mother and wondered why, when she knew that they had pizza every Friday night, she needed to remind him.

She waited for the cars to clear on the busy road and then slowly eased into the traffic.

Silently they drove the three kilometres to their house and, as she carefully passed the school children on their bikes, she saw their excitement as they headed home for the freedom of the weekend. She knew it was an excitement that Billy would never share either with her or the other students.

She turned the car into their driveway and waited for Billy to get out. He had to get out first, and re-wind the wool and put it back into his right pocket. It was a ritual that never changed, and she'd learned to allow him to take as much time as he needed to arrange his orange string into a ball that was not too tight or too loose. It had to be exactly right.

'Billy, before you go inside there's something I need to tell you about Ruffles. I know that when he was a kitten he bit you and you're not that fond of him, but he's been sick for a few weeks and he may need to go to the vet. If he goes, well ...' She stopped speaking and wondered how to go ahead without Billy flying into a rage. 'He may not come back Billy. Do you understand what I am saying?'

Billy stood still and said nothing. She would try later, she decided. Perhaps after his bath and before he went to bed would be a better time?

She waited for him as he followed her to the front door. He went into the family room, plonked himself down on the couch, grabbed the remote from the faded green arm of the lounge chair and flicked on the television.

She went into the laundry to see how Ruffles was. He lay as if he hadn't moved since she had left him, and with a flash of panic she thought he may have died. She bent down and finally saw the slow movements of the cat's breathing. As she stroked his orange fur a sense of hopelessness grew inside of her. She knew that she mustn't allow herself to become too emotional. She needed all of her strength to cope with Billy and the eventual traumatic journey to the vet.

Meg went into the family room and watched Billy who was now totally absorbed in his program. She looked at his thin, white neck and pale, blond hair that tapered to a funny, swirly point at the back of his head. If only she could hold him and convey her love through her warmth and touch, but Billy had not let her touch him since he was a toddler.

When the program ended, she collected the menu for Mario's Pizza, even though there was no need to look at it. She and Rob had tried to get Billy to eat other take - away food but had always failed. It was easier to accept his choices than fight them. She checked the kitchen clock and decided to text Rob. She hoped that his mood had improved. She started to text when suddenly the power went off, and Billy started to scream.

* * *

Rebecca James left for work early on Friday morning and coaxed her aging Toyota to climb the steep, narrow road that led to the shelter. The wattles were covered in blossom, and the gum trees held droplets of recent rain that covered their aromatic leaves with watery, translucent beads.

The track led to the outer administration building, and she automatically avoided the pot hole that everyone complained about, which still remained after two years of trying to have the council fix it.

She stopped her car and as she was climbing out she saw a dog which was outside of the shelter, standing next to the wire – mesh fence. It was large and strong, with thick, taut muscles and battered, shortened ears. The wounds to its ears were old, and had healed into thickened, bloodied crusts. She watched the dog as it started to pace up and down the fence. She cautiously walked towards him and avoided making eye contact. Dominant dogs, she knew, saw this as a threat and could react aggressively.

'Good dog. Good boy. You'll be right now. Just come for a bit of a look, have you?'

The dog stopped and fixed her with a stare. He waved his tail slowly from side to side and then started to growl.

'It's okay. No one's going to hurt you. Good boy.'

She continued to walk towards the dog and the dog's growl grew even louder. The dog drew back his lips and bared his teeth. The guard hairs stood up along the back of his neck and he lowered his head. Rebecca knew that if she went any closer he could attack. She would need to find help.

She went back to her car and waited for the staff to arrive. She hoped that if she gave him enough space he might stay and not leave. She estimated the dog's weight and quickly calculated the approximate dosage she would need to sedate him. She knew she needed to be careful. Finally she heard the engine noise of the receptionist's car as it drove up the hill.

The dog stopped and looked at the car. It crouched down, flattened its ears and waited.

'It's huge,' said the receptionist nervously as she cautiously wound down the window of her tiny car. 'Is it as dangerous as I think it might be?'

'We'll need to be very careful. He's a Mastiff cross breed of some sort, probably crossed with a pit bull. The sooner he's sedated the better.'

'I'm glad that I'm not in charge of the shelter Rebecca,' said the receptionist nervously. Can you believe that I was going to be a vet like you once but I decided that it was too much responsibility.'

Without waiting for an answer she quickly opened the door to the shelter and Rebecca went into the treatment room and unlocked the white cabinet that contained the drugs. She tore the plastic wrapper from the syringe and drew up the liquid.

'Judy, we need to be very careful here. Can you watch him?'

'Rebecca, I'm sorry I can't. He looks savage and I don't trust him.'

She looked up as they heard the sound of the volunteers' van arrive.

'There's a dog walking along the fence line,' Rebecca said as the volunteers climbed out of the car. 'He's at the side near the front entrance. I'll need you just in case anything goes wrong. Once I've sedated him that should be that.'

The dog didn't move as she walked towards him. She lifted the gun, and as she did so he rushed at her with his teeth bared. She fired the dart. It missed. She fumbled with the gun and forced herself to be steady, took aim and fired. This time the dart landed in his flank, but he continued to growl and lurched towards her. Rebecca ran to the car and quickly shut the door. The dog's front paws scrabbled at the window. It refused to succumb to the drug and remained on his feet, trembling with the effort to stay upright.

At last he fell to the ground. She waited for a few moments, and then cautiously approached him. She saw the scars on the side of his body and that both of his ears were partially torn. She felt sick and angry as she realised that he'd been used for dog fighting. She waited a little longer and gently touched him with her boot. He lay still and she covered his eyes with a small blanket and went into the building.

'We'll need the stretcher to carry him, and he needs to be put in a secure pen. I'll see if he's been micro-chipped but I know that I'm being stupid to even check. Anyone who's prepared to train a dog to fight is not likely to have their dog traced back to them. Still some dogs have been stolen and used for fighting, so it's worth a try.'

She went to the storeroom, took down the stretcher and went out the front. The volunteers had barely moved and stood uncertainly near their van.

'Can you give me a hand?' Rebecca asked.

'Are you sure that it's completely out to it?'

'Yes. There's enough sedative in him to keep him under for a good fifteen minutes or so, but that's not an exact time so the sooner we get this done, and put him in a pen, the better.'

They went to the dog and struggled awkwardly as they manoeuvred the stretcher under him.

'We'll need to be a bit quicker than I thought. He's a good ten kilos more than I estimated,' said Rebecca.

'Is it safe?' asked the volunteer.

'Yes' replied Rebecca, 'but let's get a move on.'

They carried the dog inside and placed him on the stainless steel examination table.

Now that he was still, Rebecca could more clearly see the level of scarring and scabbing that ran along his flanks and up to his muzzle.

She scanned the back of the dog's neck and looked for a micro-chip.

'Nope, as I thought, he's not micro-chipped. Let's get him into a spare pen.'

At last he was lying on a hessian bed at the back of the pen. Rebecca filled up the food and water bowls and quickly checked the dog again. She listened to his heart rate, checked his breathing and then covered him in a light blanket. There was nothing more to be done.

In spite of the large dose of tranquilizer it was not long before he got to his feet. He stood in the front of his pen and waited. His hackles rose each time one of the volunteers walked by and his growl was more than just a warning. He had endured too much pain to become submissive. Being submissive was not part of his ancestry. He would never give up.

Rebecca entered a description of the dog on her computer and pressed 'save.' She then checked her daily schedule. As usual it was too full. All she could think of, however, was the massive dog. She knew he couldn't get out, but she still felt uneasy.

* * *

'Billy! Stop screaming. The power's gone off, that's all. Let's get the torches and then we can collect the candles and light them up. We can pretend that we're in a cave and we're exploring.' She tried to take his hand to guide him through the dark but he pulled away and she went to the kitchen, hoping that he'd follow her.

She opened the kitchen cupboard and felt for the torch. Soon she found its large rubber handle and quickly turned it on. Billy stood with his hand tightly grasping the kitchen door handle and his white face was made even paler by the harsh glow of the torch light.

'Would you like to help me?' she asked fumbling for the matches under the kitchen cupboard.

Billy said nothing but he took the matches from her and tried to light the largest of the candles. His long fingers shook as he found it difficult to align the flame with the candle's wick. Finally he managed to light the first candle and then, as his hand steadied a little, he lit the others. Meg felt her fear ease a little as she placed some of the candles in the lounge room and the remaining ones in the kitchen.

'I'm sure that the power won't be off for too long. What shall we do?

He ignored her and went and sat in front of the TV, waiting for his program to come on.

'Billy, it's no use just sitting there hitting the remote control. The power's off and you know the TV won't work without it.' He ignored her and continued to hit the remote, and finally threw it at the TV.

'It's only a power failure' she repeated, as he jumped up and started to bang the TV with his fists. Finally, he stopped hitting the TV., went to its back and started to pull out the cables.

'Billy!'

He ignored her, pulled out the rest of them and flung them to the floor.

Meg went to the light switch, flicked it up and down and yelled: 'See. The lights don't work. It's not just the TV. Everything's off.'

He rushed to his bedroom, grabbed his torch from his bedside cabinet, and shone it onto his aquarium. The fish swam around the gloomy tank and he saw that the filter wasn't working. He started to pull at his hair. He ran back to the lounge room and tried the TV again. He clambered around the house, opening the fridge, trying the computer and checking each electrical appliance.

'Billy stop panicking!' Meg yelled.

Meg knew that she should try to calm him, but her own emotions had started to crescendo out of control. She tried to stop her feelings of anger, but it was beyond her. She felt her own rage that for so long had sat untapped, waiting for its own expression, now overwhelm her. It rose from its black well, dark and strong.

'Why can't you grow up, Billy? Will you, just once, act like an eleven year old instead of a two year old?'

Billy looked at her, took the remote control and pointed it at her head. Slowly and deliberately he pushed the 'mute' button then ran from the room.

Meg felt too overcome with guilt and anxiety to follow him. She sat down on the sofa, her anger replaced by grief and shame.

'Billy,' she said to the empty room, 'I'm so sorry.'

She knew that she should find him, but his calculated use of the remote's mute button had shocked her. Her shock plunged her back to the time that she and Rob had first seen a psychologist about their son.

* * *

The psychologist's office was small and functional. An overly large print of Van Gogh's 'Sunflowers' hung on the wall behind a brown leather couch. Neither she nor Rob had wanted to go, but Billy's school had insisted; Billy's behaviour had become too disruptive.

At first Rob had said that he wouldn't see the psychologist, especially one that the school had suggested. Meg had argued that they had no choice. The school's request implied that if Billy didn't attend the sessions then he would have to withdraw. The principal needed to have the psychologist's reassurance that Billy would be able to settle back into the class without further disruption.

'Can they do that?' asked Rob. 'Surely as a state school he can't be excluded? Doesn't he have the right to be educated the same as the rest of the kids at the school?'

'I suppose they'd say the other kids have a right to learn and Billy is impeding their learning.'

'You sound as if you're on their side, not Billy's.'

'Rob, I'm trying to be practical. If there's even the slightest chance that Billy can be helped by seeing a psychologist then we should go. If it doesn't work, then we've tried and it might keep the school on side. We need to be pragmatic. We don't have a choice.'

(Continues...)

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Excerpted from Billy by Noel Raymond Morrison. Copyright © 2015 Noel Raymond Morrison. Excerpted by permission of Balboa Press.
All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
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