Chapter 4

The first light of dawn crept through the cracks in the curtains, casting a soft glow over the room. Billy stirred, the warmth of his mother’s body a stark contrast to the cold that seeped in from outside. He gently extricated himself from her embrace, not wanting to wake her, but she was already awake, her eyes open and watching him. She offered a sad smile, understanding the gravity of what they had shared the night before.

With quiet grace, Billy rose from the bed, his feet landing softly on the cold wooden floor. He tiptoed across the room, his bare skin prickling with the chill, and padded into the small adjoining washroom. The air was thick with the scent of soap and damp cloths, a stark reminder of the simplicity of their lives. He closed the door behind him, the soft click a whisper in the silence.

The ceramic basin was cold against his skin as he filled it with water from the pitcher. He washed his face and neck, the coolness jolting him awake and bringing him back to the stark reality of the day ahead. The water washed away the remnants of their shared passion, leaving him clean but not purified from the weight of their secret. He glanced back at the bed, his mother’s form still and peaceful.

Dressing quickly in the soft light, Billy pulled on his worn boots and buttoned his shirt. The fabric was rough against his skin, a reminder of the life he was about to leave behind. He took one last look at Mrs. Miles, her eyes still closed, her chest rising and falling with the steady rhythm of sleep. He leaned in and placed a gentle kiss on her forehead, whispering, “I’ll leave, Ma. But, I’ll be back, I promise,”

The chill of the dawn air hit him as he stepped outside. The town was eerily still, the only sound the distant howl of a lone coyote, echoing through the ravine. He took a deep breath, the scent of sage and dust filling his lungs, and set off towards Jimmy’s shack, the map to Sundermiota Covert hill safely in his pocket.

Jimmy’s place was indeed a small, ramshackle affair. The wood was weathered, the paint peeling away like the layers of a forgotten story. The door hung lopsidedly on its hinges, as if it had seen one too many drunken stumbles or hasty exits. Billy approached with a mix of excitement and trepidation, his heart hammering in his chest.

As he drew closer, the moaning grew louder. It was a sound that didn’t belong in the quiet of the early morning, a sound that spoke of pain or perhaps pleasure. Billy paused, his hand hovering over the door. The moaning grew in intensity, and he wondered if he should knock or simply barge in.

With a deep breath, he peeked through the crack in the door. What he saw made his blood run cold. There, in the cramped, dimly lit bathroom, was Jimmy, his skin slick with sweat, pumping into Mrs. Abbie. Billy felt a knot form in his stomach as he watched his friend’s mother, her eyes closed tightly, her body rocking back and forth in silent ecstasy. The scene was raw, unfiltered, and utterly shocking.

Jimmy’s grunts filled the air, punctuating the rhythmic slap of skin on skin. Mrs. Abbie’s hand gripped the edge of the washbasin, her knuckles white with the effort of holding herself up as Jimmy’s thrusts grew more fervent. The sight of his mother’s best friend, someone he had always trusted and admired, in such a compromising position with his own best friend, was like a punch to the gut.

Billy felt as if he had stumbled upon something sacred and forbidden. He knew he should look away, retreat to the anonymity of the dawn, but he couldn’t tear his eyes from the scene. It was a stark contrast to the tender moments he had shared with his mother, a reminder of the town’s unyielding coarseness. The intimacy between Jimmy and Mrs. Abbie was raw and desperate, a silent testament to the needs that went unspoken in the harshness of Whispering Ravine.

Mrs. Abbie’s moans grew louder, her body tensing as she approached her peak. She threw her head back, her big breasts bouncing with each of Jimmy’s thrusts. The sight was mesmerizing and repulsive all at once, a stark reminder of the town’s moral decay. Then, with a final, guttural groan, Jimmy’s body stiffened, and Billy watched as his friend spilled his seed inside Mrs. Abbie.

Mrs. Abbie’s eyes snapped open, meeting Billy’s horrified gaze. The shock of being caught froze her in place, her body still convulsing around Jimmy’s cock. For a moment, no one moved, the only sound the ragged breaths of the two lovers. Then, with a gasp, she pushed Jimmy away, the water from the washbasin sloshing onto the floor.

Billy stepped back, his hand over his mouth, the image of their entangled bodies burned into his mind. He couldn’t believe what he’d seen—his best friend and his mother’s closest friend, together like that. It was a betrayal, a violation of the trust he thought they all shared.

The sound of their cleaning had ceased, and the only noise that remained was the harshness of their breathing, echoing in the small room like a mournful hymn to their shattered innocence. Billy took a step back from the door, the coldness of the floorboards jolting him back to the present. He glanced over his shoulder, his eyes lingering on the rumpled bed, the evidence of their shared passion a stark reminder of the line they had crossed.

He raised his hand, his knuckles poised to knock, when he heard a shuffling from inside. The door creaked open a crack, and Jimmy’s mother, Mrs. Abbie, peered out, her eyes bleary with sleep, her beautifull body covered by her underwear. The smell of whiskey and sweat wafted out from the darkness of the shack, wrapping around Billy like a noose. She took one look at him, her calm expression that mirrored his own.