Free Loss by Jackie Morse Kessler

edge of the park, Billy sees a white horse. Not a merry-go-round horse, either, but a real live horse, about a million feet tall and so white that it’s like staring at the sun. Billy grins in delight.
    “Tell me,” says the Ice Cream Man, “would you like to ride the white horse?”
    Stunned by his good fortune, Billy nods.
    “All you have to do is agree to wear the Crown when the time comes.”
    Billy scrunches up his face as he tries to understand the Ice Cream Man’s words.
    “Will you wear the Crown, Billy Ballard?”
    Billy says, “A crown. Like a king?”
    “This Crown,” says the Ice Cream Man, motioning to his forehead.
    Billy squints, and now sees there’s a thin silver band nestled over the man’s eyebrows. Even looking hard, Billy can barely see it, thanks to the man’s long greasy hair and his misshapen forehead. It’s like the crown is being eaten by the man’s terrible face.
    “Why?” asks Billy.
    “Because I’ve picked you.”
    “Why?” Billy asks again.
    The man in white smiles. “Because it makes more sense to pick my predecessor now than to have the Pale Rider do so post mortem.”
    Billy knows with crystal-clear certainty that even though the man is telling the truth, he’s also lying.
    “Omission isn’t the same thing as lying,” the Ice Cream Man says with a sniff. “But it’s your choice. Either agree to wear the Crown when the time comes and get a ride on my fine white steed, or say no and run back to your meager little life.”
    Billy looks at the horse. The huge animal seems to be smiling at him, like it’s trying to tell him that riding on its back would be the best thing in the whole world.
    “What do you say, Billy?” The man’s voice is smooth now, not at all like the rough voice he’d used back in the playground. Hearing the man speak makes Billy think of a glass of cold milk. Or maybe vanilla ice cream, the soft kind that swirls into a point. “Do you want a ride on the horse?”
    Biting his lip, Billy nods.
    “Do you agree to wear the Crown when the time comes?”
    Again, Billy nods.
    “You have to say the words, Billy. Say that you agree to wear the Crown.”
    Staring at the white horse, Billy says, “I’ll wear the Crown.”
    The Ice Cream Man grins, and Billy feels the calmness inside of him begin to erode. There’s a pit in Billy’s stomach, and it’s white and filled with bugs.
    “Excellent,” hisses the Ice Cream Man. “Come here, Billy, and I’ll get you saddled up . . .”
    The man in white reaches out to Billy, and Billy sees that the man’s gloved hand is twisted into a monster’s claw. The last shreds of calm are torn away as Billy opens his mouth to scream . . .
    ***
    “No!” Billy cried, throwing himself back to avoid the Ice Cream Man’s touch. The cold spot on his forehead vanished, and warmth flooded through him. He stood, shaking, panting for breath.
    A dream , he told himself as he shivered. Just a dream!
    “It was no dream, William.”
    Billy looked up to see the Pale Rider leaning against the bed rail, hands stuffed in the pockets of his faded blue jeans. His hair hung almost artfully in front of his eyes, casting them in shadow. “It’s amazing to see just how far you people go to lie to yourselves,” Death said idly. A smile teased his lips—just a hint by the corners, almost too subtle to be seen. “Imagine how much you could accomplish if you stopped insisting on denial as the norm.”
    It was Death’s bemused smile that nudged Billy over the edge. He’d been elbowed, slammed, and tripped, that last in front of the girl he still dared to dream about, not to mention countless others in the pizzeria. He’d changed his grandfather’s adult diaper and put up with monosyllabic insults from the man who’d stepped in when his father had stepped out. He’d gotten through all of that because that was his life and that’s what he did: He got through it. He hated it, but he understood it.
    But then Death had shown