Free Billy Summers by Stephen King Page A

or even Elvis is looking in, they must see the dumb self going slowly. Struggling for every sentence. At least he doesn’t have to deliberately misspell words; the ones the computer doesn’t correct automatically it underlines in red.
    At four o’clock he saves what he’s written and shuts down. He finds he’s looking forward to picking up the thread tomorrow.
    Maybe he’s a writer after all.
5
    When he gets back to Midwood, Billy finds a note thumbtacked to his door. It’s an invitation to have ribs and slaw and cherry cobbler at the Raglands’ down the street. He goes because he doesn’t want to be seen as standoffish, but with no enthusiasm, expecting an after-dinner conversation over cans of suds having to do with commie college kids this and dirty immigrants that. He is stunned to discover that Paul and Denise Ragland voted for Hillary Clinton and can’t stand Trump, who they call “President Crybaby.” Proving once more, Billy supposes as he walks home, that you can’t judge a man by his wifebeater.
    He’s already been sucked in by a Netflix show called Ozark and is ready to start the third episode when his cell phone—his David Lockridge cell—dings with a text. George Russo, ever the concerned agent, wants to know how his first day went.
    DLock: Pretty well. I did some writing.
    GRusso: Good to hear. We’ll make you a bestseller yet. Can you drop by Thurs night? 7 PM, dinner. N wants to talk to you.
    Nick is still in town, then, and probably in Vegas withdrawal.
    DLock: Sure. But no H.
    GRusso: Absolutely not.
    That’s good. Billy thinks he could live long and die happy if he never saw Ken Hoff again. He turns off the TV and goes to bed. He slips easily into sleep, and at some point just before dawn’s prologue, he slips just as easily into a nightmare. Which he will write down tomorrow, as Benjy Compson. Changing the names to protect the guilty.
6
    The man my ma lived with came home with a broke arm. I guess he must have went to the hospital first because it was in a cast. My sister was trying to bake cookies and she burnt them. I guess she forgot to keep track of the time. When that man came home he was plenty mad. He killed my sister and I don’t even remember his name. He started yelling as soon as he came in. I was on the floor of the trailer, putting together a 500 piece jigsaw puzzle that when it was done would be 2 kittens playing with a ball of yarn. I could smell the booze he was drinking even with the smoke from the cookies and found out later he got into a fight at Wally’s Tavern. He must have lost because he had a black eye too. My sister
    Catherine was her name, although that’s not the one he’ll use—almost but not quite. Catherine Ann Summers, just nine on the day she died. Blond. Small.
    My sister Cassie was at the table we ate off, coloring in her book. She would have turned 10 in 2 or 3 months and she was looking forward to being in 2 figures instead of just 1. I was 11 and suppose to be looking out for her.
    The boyfriend was yelling and waving at the smoke which only just started before he came in, asking what did you do what did you do and Cathy
    Billy deletes that fast, hoping nobody is looking right then.
    Cassie said I was baking cookies I guess they burnt I am sorry.And he said you are a stupid little bitch I don’t believe how stupid you are.
    He open the oven door and more smoke come out. If we had a smoke detector it would have gone off but we didn’t have one in our trailer. He picked up a dish towel and started flapping it at the smoke. I would have got up to open the outside door but it was open already. The boyfriend reached in to get that cookie sheet. He grab it with his good hand but the dish towel slipped and he burnt his hand and spilled those cookies that were in shapes I helped Cassie cut out and they went all over the floor. Cassie got down to pick them up and that’s