CHAPTER 49
The room was almost pitch-black.
Billy lay in bed with the warm blanket pulled tightly over his head, as though he could hide from his own thoughts. But the cold seeped into his bones. He was shivering, even though it was stuffy beneath the covers.
The silence was oppressive.
The moment he closed his eyes, Stanley’s body appeared before him, writhing in the throes of death. Billy squeezed his eyes shut tighter, trying to turn away, though it changed nothing.
He could see it all so clearly, as if he were standing there again, beside the barrel, watching a man die right in front of him.
Knock… Knock… Knock…
Billy froze.
He could hear gunshots again. Short, sharp cracks. Then the dull, fleshy thuds of bullets striking the criminal’s body. The man fell face-first into the loose snow. A pool of scarlet blood slowly spread beneath him.
Billy sucked in a breath, but it came out short and ragged. He tried again. His chest tightened further, as though something heavy were pressing against it from the inside. He couldn’t get enough air.
He clenched the fingers of his good hand into a fist. Unclenched them. Clenched them again.
His fingers were trembling.
His broken arm throbbed beneath the cast, and the pain felt almost unbearable. Billy shifted carefully, trying to find a position in which it would stop aching, but immediately froze. Every movement reminded him of what had happened. He couldn’t even pull the covers over himself properly, couldn’t turn onto his side, couldn’t find a comfortable position in his own bed.
Knock! Knock! Knock!
The sound reverberated inside his skull. With every knock, it grew louder, heavier. Billy pressed his palm against his ear, but it made no difference.
He had killed a man.
The thought wouldn’t leave him alone. He tried to push it away, to convince himself that everything had happened too fast, that he’d been scared, that he’d only wanted to protect his friends. All of it was true. He knew that.
But the man was still dead.
What if he had a family? Children? Maybe someone was waiting for him at home right now. Maybe he’d promised to be back for dinner, promised his kids they’d go somewhere tomorrow. Maybe he had a little daughter too, one who ran to greet her father every morning.
Just like Julie.
Billy covered his mouth with his hand.
He didn’t want to think about it. He didn’t want to imagine someone else’s family, someone else’s home, children who would never see their father again. But whenever he tried to stop, his imagination supplied more details, one after another.
He could have chosen not to shoot.
He could have hesitated. He could have missed. He could have done something differently.
And then…
No.
Billy pulled the blanket tighter around himself and curled up beneath it. He wanted to disappear for a few hours. To stop seeing, hearing, thinking. Just lie in the dark until it was all over.
But it wouldn’t end.
KNOCK. KNOCK. KNOCK.
The door flew open with a bang, making Billy flinch from head to toe.
“Are you deaf or what?!” an indignant female voice rang out. “I’ve been knocking for ten minutes!”
The panic receded a little, pushed aside by the sudden noise.
Billy poked his head out from under the blanket for exactly one second before a pillow hit him in the shoulder.
“Ow!” he gasped. “Julie!”
“You deserved it!” she snapped.
Julie grabbed the pillow and tossed it back onto the bed, then headed for the window. She yanked the heavy curtains apart, letting the pale evening light into the room.
Billy squeezed his eyes shut and pulled the blanket higher.
“Grandma and I have been slaving away in the kitchen all morning, and you’ve been moping around in here all day!” Julie continued. “You think being on sick leave means you can just lie around doing nothing?”
“I’m not in the mood.”
Julie turned around, her short hair swinging against her chin.
“Oh, poor baby!” she scoffed. “And who promised to help me with the decorations the day before yesterday? Who said this year would be better than last year?”
Billy said nothing.
Julie rolled her eyes.
Normally, Billy would have started arguing by now or come up with some other stupid idea just to annoy her. But now he simply lay there, motionless.
“Leave me alone, Jules,” he breathed quietly.
“Leave you alone?” Julie repeated. “Oh, I’ll leave you alone all right!”
She marched over to the bed and yanked the blanket away.
“Up you get, sleepyhead! You’ll sleep right through Christmas!”
Billy only curled up tighter, drawing his knees to his chest and covering his face with his good hand.
Julie froze, still standing there with the blanket in her hands. She had already opened her mouth to scold him again, but no words came.
Billy remained silent.
“Hey, Grumpy Bill…” she called, her voice softer now as she carefully put the blanket back over him.
She sat cautiously on the edge of the bed.
“What’s wrong?”
He stared at the wall, fixing his eyes on a barely visible crooked crack, trying to keep his attention there.
Then, very quietly, almost inaudibly, he said:
“Nothing.”
She watched his back for several seconds, as though deciding whether to stay angry or not. Then she flopped down beside him, arms and legs spread wide.
For a while, she simply sat in silence. She picked up a pillow and turned it over in her hands. Only then did she give him a gentle nudge in the side with her elbow.
“If you want to be alone… I won’t bother you. Just come out and eat later, okay?”
Getting no answer, Julie propped herself up on one elbow.
Billy gave the slightest nod.
She gently stroked his hair and got up from the bed.
She was almost out of the room when she turned back at the doorway. Her eyes had softened a little.
“Grandma’s worried about you.” She paused briefly, fidgeting with the edge of her sleeve. “And so am I,” she added more quietly.
Billy swallowed and squeezed his eyes shut.
“Sorry, Jules…” he began, but his voice betrayed him, wavering. “I… I’m fine. I’ll be out soon.”
She smiled.
“Good.”
After the door closed behind Julie, Billy lay motionless for several more minutes. His pulse was still pounding in his ears.
He wiped his damp cheek with the back of his hand. His breathing refused to settle. The lump in his throat wouldn’t go away. He carefully ran his fingers along the edge of the cast, trying to hold on to something real.
The room carried the faintest familiar smell: ginger, soy sauce, something sweet… and something fried.
Grandma was cooking.
And judging by the smell, she was making a lot.
Billy sat up in bed and fumbled for his slippers. When he stood, his legs began to tremble, and he had to grab the edge of the mattress with his right hand. He waited until the weakness passed, then straightened up and slowly made his way to the door.
The hallway greeted him with the soft glow of the string lights Julie had put up the previous evening. They were cheap and multicolored, but they still made the house feel cozier.
He paused for a moment, watching the little lights blink, then headed for the kitchen.
Voices and the clinking of dishes drifted from inside.
The closer he got, the stronger the smell of food became. His stomach gave a faint growl. Only now did he realize he had barely eaten anything all day.
Large bowls of lo mein and fried jiaozi dumplings were already on the table. Nearby, honey-glazed chicken was cooling, and caramelized orange slices lay on a ceramic plate.
Grandma stood by the stove wearing an apron embroidered with red plum branches, stirring a pot of soup. Her hair was gathered into a neat bun. Hearing footsteps, she turned around.
“Billy!” Her face immediately softened. “There you are at last. How are you feeling, sweetheart?”
He hesitated, unsure what to say.
“Better, Grandma.”
She studied him closely, clearly not entirely convinced, but she didn’t press him.
“Good.” Grandma turned off the stove and took the pot off the heat. “I’ve made you some healing soup. Your favorite, with lotus seeds and pork ribs. Have a little, okay? This soup will help you get your strength back in no time.”
“Mm-hmm.”
“And not ‘mm-hmm.’ Say, ‘I’ll definitely eat some,’” she corrected him as she headed for the table.
“How many times do I have to tell you?”
Billy smiled faintly.
Julie, who was standing by the cutting board with a knife in her hand, seized the opportunity at once.
“I told you he’d come out! He just wanted to make us worry.”
“Julie,” Grandma said in a quiet warning.
“What? I didn’t say anything!”
With an innocent expression, she went back to chopping the green onions.
“Besides, it’s Christmas today. Have you both forgotten our family rule? Everyone has to sit at the table.”
“You just made that up,” Billy muttered.
“So what? It’s a tradition now.”
Grandma chuckled softly.
“Don’t argue with your sister, little tiger.”
Billy looked at the set table, at all the dishes Grandma had spent the day preparing. Then he looked back at her.
She came closer and studied his face carefully. Then she raised a hand and gently touched his cheek with her warm palm.
“Been a hard day, huh?” she asked softly. “It’ll feel better, A-Bi, once you sit down at the table. Warm home-cooked food is healing.”
He was a grown man now, but Grandma still called him A-Bi, the affectionate childhood nickname she had always used.
Billy lowered his eyes. He swallowed, as though something were stuck in his throat, and simply nodded.
Grandma smiled and gently nudged him toward the table.
“Help your sister set the table. And keep your back straight,” she added in her usual scolding tone. “A man should walk upright, even with a broken arm.”
Julie snorted.
“Grandma, you’re right, of course, but I think we can make an exception for him today.”
“Exceptions are a sign of weakness!” Grandma replied sternly.
The string lights reflected in the glaze on the chicken. The kettle whistled softly, and oil sizzled on the stove. Billy stood in the middle of the kitchen, listening to the familiar sounds and voices.
His breathing gradually settled. The heaviness hadn’t gone away, but it no longer pressed quite so hard against his chest.
Billy went to the cupboard for plates. Doing things with one hand was awkward, and the cast on his left arm kept getting in the way. But Grandma gave him a stern look, and he obediently began setting the plates out.
Once he was done, he reached for the cutlery.
Julie bustled around nearby, arranging the festive dishes on the table and repeatedly peeking under the lids as though checking that she hadn’t forgotten anything.
“Knives on the right, forks on the left, chopsticks at the top!” she recited. “You forget every year.”
Billy rolled his eyes.
“I’m not the one who forgets,” he grumbled, slowly placing a fork beside a plate. “You change the arrangement every year.”
“That’s called a creative approach!” she chuckled, giving him a light nudge with her elbow.
He was just about to answer when the doorbell rang.
Billy froze. It took him a moment to realize someone was at the door.
“Go answer it,” Grandma said. “My hands are full.”
He wiped his palm on his jeans, even though it was already dry, and headed for the door.
The hallway was dim despite the string lights along the ceiling. Billy walked slowly, listening to his own footsteps. With every step, his heart beat harder, and an inexplicable tension built in his chest.
When he reached the door, he stopped and took hold of the handle. The metal felt cold beneath his fingers. Billy unconsciously held his breath, and his heart skipped a beat.
He slowly turned the handle.
The door opened a crack, and cold air from the hallway brushed against his ankles.
“Merry Christmas, Billy!” Renata exclaimed brightly.
Her hair was braided to one side, and a red scarf was wrapped around her neck. She held a wicker basket covered with a cloth patterned with snowflakes.
Billy blinked.
“Merry Christmas,” he breathed quietly.
His gaze shifted to Rick and Aaron, standing behind her.
“Hey,” Rick said with a gentle smile. “Looks like the rest did you some good. You’re looking better.”
Billy snorted and rolled his eyes.
“Fuck off. I’ve never looked this bad in my life.” He stepped aside to let them in. “Come on.”
Rick followed her inside and gave Billy a friendly pat on his good shoulder.
“No, I’m serious.”
Billy awkwardly lowered his eyes.
“Thanks. I guess.”
Renata raised the basket with a mischievous smile.
“We brought lots of treats. There are cookies, mandarin rolls, and… something from the guys.”
Rick held out a small box.
“This is a Christmas stollen. I confess, I bought it because I can’t cook. But it’s good. I checked.”
He nodded toward Aaron, who was coming in last.
“And Aaron brought wine. Good wine. Personally, I’d have preferred something stronger, but he insisted.”
Aaron rolled his eyes.
“I can hear you, you know,” he said, closing the door behind them.
Rick turned around and smiled a little wider.
“I know.”
Billy gave a quiet snort. The corner of his mouth lifted.
“I’m glad to see you too,” he admitted sincerely.
A stern voice came from the kitchen, and a second later Grandma Hong appeared in the doorway.
“Oh, my, my! What a lovely surprise! So many guests today!”
Renata set the basket on the cabinet by the door, then stepped forward and wrapped Billy in a tight hug.
He carefully hugged her back, burying his face in her neck and closing his eyes for a moment as he breathed in the caramel scent of her hair.
“I missed you, Billy,” she whispered.
Billy swallowed.
“I missed you too.”
Grandma clicked her tongue loudly.
“All right, that’s enough of the mushy stuff! Come in, take off your shoes, wash your hands! We’ve been cooking all day, and you’re standing there like statues!”
Julie appeared from around the corner. When she saw the guests, she froze, her eyes widening.
“Whoa!” She slowly looked Aaron up and down. “Wow, you’re huge.”
“Julie!” Billy blurted out, feeling his ears grow hot.
“What?” She rolled her eyes. “You are!”
Rick burst out laughing, while Billy dragged a hand down his face.
Julie turned her attention to Rick.
“You’re Richard Parker and Detective Lake, right? The ones I’ve heard about!”
“Yes, you can just call me Rick,” Rick corrected her.
“I’ve heard so much about you.”
Aaron raised an eyebrow.
“And what have you heard about us?”
Julie grinned broadly.
“Oooh! If only you knew! Billy talks about you two all the time. Rick and Aaron this… Rick and Aaron that…”
“I DID NOT SAY ANYTHING!” Billy blurted out, turning bright red.
