Prologue
The television shattered through the living room window then sank into the shrubs in front of the house. The blast echoed out to the curbside mailbox, where Treen Alee had been waiting for Shainy Billerson to return. Treen dropped their caramel sundaes, sprang off her bicycle, then sprinted towards the Billerson’s often-turbulent home. When Shainy banged through the screen door and ran out to the grass, Treen embraced her in the path of the sprinkler system.
“What happened?” Treen shouted.
“He hit my mother again!” Shainy wailed, body trembling, “Now he’s after me!”
Shainy screamed when her father kicked open the screen and lumbered out to the yard. He raised a bottle to his lips then puffed his cheeks while swishing bourbon around in his mouth. He glared at the two ten-year-olds and moved towards them. Treen pulled Shainy behind her.
“Get outta here, Treen!” he slurred, sprinklers splashing across his clothes and face. He wobbled closer. Treen moved her friend backwards.
“Leave Shainy alone!”
Mr. Billerson lunged at them, shoving Treen to the ground. He grabbed a strap on Shainy’s overalls, yanked her towards him, then dragged her over the sopping grass.
“Treen, help me!”
Treen sprang up and circled behind him. As he reached down to adjust his grip on Shainy, Treen planted an upward kick right between his legs. After a raspy high-pitched squeal, he slowly descended until his knees squished into the lawn.
Shainy fled down Davagard Lane towards the orange glare of the Rocky Mountain sunset. “Get back here!” Mr. Billerson shouted, struggling to his feet to give chase until Treen grabbed the back of his shirt. He thrashed about like a wild bull trying to shake loose the rodeo’s best rider.
Still trying to free himself, Mr. Billerson whirled around swinging. Treen ducked his backhand, grabbed onto his wrist, then tried to pull him back. He flailed his flabby arm until her hands slipped away, then shoved her off the curb into the street. He laughed, swigged, then ran after Shainy.
Treen sat up and moved her headband from her eyes. As she struggled to stand, she noticed Shainy’s mother crawling through the doorway, clothes torn, face bloodied. She realized the same could happen to Shainy and hurried over to her bike.
“Don’t just stand there, help Mrs. Billerson!” she shouted to the bewildered spectators before she peddled away.
Soaring downhill like a heat seeking missile, Treen searched for Shainy and her explosive father. She had no idea how to stop him, but she’d do anything to protect her best friend.
Treen saw Mr. Billerson jogging in the distance then swerved onto the sidewalk. She peddled furiously until she’d rolled up behind him—close enough to see a squashed pack of cigarettes sticking out from his back pocket.
Although he wheezed like he’d soon collapse, he was alert enough to notice her behind him and shatter the bourbon bottle in her path. Treen didn’t flinch, rolling right over the glass to ram the tire into his ankle. He tumbled. She veered around him. She pulled a wheelie off the curb then sped downhill again. Now she could catch up to Shainy and tell her everything would be all right.
It wasn’t long before she could see Shainy’s wavy red hair bouncing in the distance. Still, Treen had to stop her from running — especially now, before she reached the hectic intersection at the bottom of the hill. She stood on the pedals and tried desperately to get her attention.
“Shainy! Shainy, stop — I’m here!”
Too terrified to respond, Shainy continued to run towards the flowing cars. Treen pedaled faster, but Shainy ran into the intersection and disappeared into the traffic.
“SHAINY!” Treen screamed, longer and louder than the skidding cars that couldn’t avoid hitting her best friend.
Treen gasped for air. Her legs and arms froze. The bike swerved to the curb, clanged off a garbage can, then hurled her from the seat. She rolled across the pavement and crumpled to a stop behind a parked car.
Resting her cheek on the gravel of an unfinished driveway, Treen shut her eyes and imagined Shainy safe — surrounded by the walls of books inside the Alee home library, where the two of them had studied the world and dreamed of the day they’d open Treen & Shainy’s Family Fun Center. Treen would’ve driven the tour bus. Shainy would’ve flown the field trip helicopter.
None of that would happen now.
When Treen opened her eyes again, she began to gaze at a house across the street, which had lumber stacked against it. The firewood attracted her like a magnet and she rose slowly from the gravel. She ignored her scrapes and pains, wiping the pebbles stuck to her palms onto her jeans. Then, as sirens blared from every direction, she sprinted across the road towards the house.
After she’d scaled the wire fence and calmed the barking bull dog waiting below, she rushed over to the firewood, lifting an oddly shaped piece off the top. She glared at it; the crude baseball bat seemed to be waiting for her. She grasped the narrow end with both hands, took a practice swing, then hurried back over the fence.
Lumber in hand, she walked into the road to stare at the sickening chaos of flashing lights at the bottom of the hill. Trembling, she turned away from the accident, exhaled, then sprinted uphill to find Shainy’s father.
A few minutes later, Treen could see Mr. Billerson two houses away. He was sitting right where he’d fallen, staring at the ground beneath the smoke that rose from his cigarette. He reached into his pocket for a tiny bottle, then raised his head to pour more booze down his throat. After he’d finished, he hurled the bottle into the road — too drunk to realize anything.
Treen stopped a few feet away, shivering as if standing nude at the center of a frozen lake. She couldn’t feel the splinters stuck in her palms while wiping the sweat from her hands to her shirt. She thought of Shainy lying dead in the road then gripped the lumber tightly again.
Treen charged up to him. She planted her feet, raised the lumber, then swung at his lowered head. The blow launched the sweat off his face like fireworks and he shot backwards onto the grass.
For a moment, he lay sprawled out like a monstrous letter X. When he began to move around, Treen raised the lumber over her shoulder, ready to strike him again.
“Are you happy now?” she shouted, “You’ve killed her! You’ve killed her!”
Treen slung the weapon downward — onto the grass next to him. She began to cry; she could’ve hit him a hundred times but it wouldn’t bring Shainy back.
She knelt beside him. She slid the cigarette from his fingers then smothered the butt in the grass. She wiped her eyes, glared at him, then stood slowly, before staggering uphill towards home.
The next day, the Mallyview Daily reported that Shainy Billerson had died instantly. A few months later, Mr. Billerson suffered a heart attack and died in his prison cell. Shainy’s mother left Mallyview and was never seen there again.