Billy Bob And Billy Jean

I lived in a small duplex in the Surrounding San Diego area for a time with a girlfriend name Jazelle, she wore her blond straight hair in a long ponytail that reached down to the small of her back and wore fringy leather vests and hip hugger bell bottom jeans with a peace sign sewn just above the bottom left cuff. She was a serious thrill seeker, loved surfing, sex in sleeping bags, and jamming on the back of my bike. We were by all standards the perfect match made in Hell, destined to be together for weeks. I knew that she might not be the right one for me when one day we encountered a minor mishap; the front forks on my chopper snapped on the freakway (here name for it not mine) while traveling about eighty five miles an hour in the fast lane. After dropping the bikes frame to the asphalt and skidding into the center divider spewing sparks like it was the 4th of July I scraped myself from the bike seat and with trembling hands, legs and torso stepped back and assessed the situation. I noticed right away as I fumbled and failed to light a cigarette that the road had ground away the bike frame and eaten into the engine block, fluids were leaking onto the blacktop like the choppers own blood, and life had seeped from the engine until it was obvious there would be no resuscitation for this sad puppy. As I shook from the realization that death had just narrowly missed grabbing us by the nape of the neck and hurling our limp bodies into the oncoming traffic, I looked over to Jazelle to see her jumping up and down yelling “Far freaking out man! That was so righteously bitchin’!” It was that very moment that I realized something needed to change in my life.

Soon after the near death experience, I presented Jazelle the bad news, explaining that I realized I wasn’t good enough for her and that she should move on to someone more worthy; like, I don’t know, a secret agent or a shark hunter, someone who might have a minimal chance of survival while being around her. She was, much to my surprise tearfully shattered. I secretly suspected that Jazelle would leap at the opportunity to be free of me and be gone in a split second. But she told me she really wanted to make our relationship work and she did this with a completely serious face. She told me she would prove she could be just as fun at home as she was on our road trips and somehow after gazing into those solemn sincere eyes I held my resolve in check and agreed we should rent a place giving cohabitation a chance. I know I wasn’t thinking with common sense, after all, if I couldn’t deal with her part time, what chance would we have together ALL the time?

Well this ill thought plan was put in motion, we found the small duplex in my price range, and could have had the whole house for a little more money per month, but we had plenty of space, and frankly I couldn’t afford the extra cash after replacing my recently departed chopper. Jazelle set up housekeeping, decorating our home in Post 60’s hippy fashion with macramé plant hangers, Indian rugs hung on the walls accented with posters and neon paints, avocado furniture in the front room, tangerine dining set in the kitchen. Waterbed, lava lamps, strobe lights flashing in rhythm to Janis Joplin on the stereo, black lights shining on love beads hanging across the doorways, we were one cozy little family.

In fact it was kind of sexy. For a while… then Jazelle started with the incense, which wasn’t bad really, then she began hanging talismans and dream catchers all about the house. Finally, out came the ouija board. That was a little creepy, and Jazelle was showing signs of captivity syndrome, all twitchy and nervous and yes getting just a little too bitchy for comfort. I am an easygoing kind of guy, I let a lot flow off my back, but I was at the point where something had to be said.
When I confronted her, Jazelle broke down in tears quite atypical of her usual hard-core personality and said that she was afraid of the house. “How can you be afraid of a house?” I asked, and she said that things were happening while I was away playing Navy and that she didn’t want to be alone in the house any more. Well that was weird even for Jazelle. I was at a loss for words. She said she could prove it and brought me to the kitchen table where she had the Ouija board set up. I examined the board; it was crafted with Egyptian styling, a trademark stamp depicting the board as manufactured by the Kennard Novelty Company and a copyright by Elijah Bond dated 1891. To each corner were faded stencils of icons, to the upper left, a sun, to the upper right a crescent moon, and in the bottom left and right corners a single star in each. With arched stenciling there were two rows containing the entire alphabet, below that in a straight progression were the numbers one through zero. Just above the line of numbers was the crystal pointer which rested directly over a skeletal “joker” looking pattern that although faded or maybe because of the fading, oddly appeared to be laughing in a most disturbing manner.

“You see?” she cried out.

“I see an ouija board thing, so what of it?” I asked fairly exasperated and just a little shaken over Jazelle’s sudden change of personality.
“The pointer thingy! It’s…it’s pointing to the symbol for death! My death! Your death, our death...I don’t know, death!”

Well I spent most of that evening calming her and after a couple of wrong turns managed to get her to see the foolishness of her fears and settle down. I took her out to dinner then brought her home, tucked her in bed and promised everything would be just fine then slipped into the front room to get some needed privacy and rest. I was not accustomed to playing caregiver, at least not on this level, and although what she said made no sense to me, I could tell she was deeply disturbed by something. I put some music on and let the earlier events of the evening slide off of me like so much baggage. The entire day onboard ship had been stressful enough, this was way beyond the call of duty. By the end of the cassette, a weight lifted from me and I was floating in the twilight of calm and stress liberating bliss. I was too mellow to even change the tape, I just sat back enjoying the quiet hassle free moment.

I heard a cupboard slam shut in the kitchen. I must have dozed off for a moment there and Jazelle had gotten up. I groaned and raised myself from the couch and headed for the kitchen. “Whatcha doing honey?” I asked as I came around the corner. No one was there. Now that was weird. I must have really been out and dreaming some funky shit, I thought to myself. I turned to go back into the front room when behind my back I heard the cabinet door under the sink slowly creak open. I turned with a shock and watched as the door gently rocked on it’s hinges and laughed at myself for being so jumpy. I reached into a drawer on the other side of the kitchen and grabbed a screwdriver and some WD-40 to fix the lazy cabinet door once and for all. When I turned back to the sink, the door was closed. Now I understand about unbalanced doors with loose hinges forced by gravity to swinging open, but how do you explain it swinging shut again? Obviously there is one, I was just at a loss to figure it out that night. I went to the fridge and pulled out a beer, thinking I really needed a case of this stuff at that moment. I returned to the couch, put another tape in the stereo and kicked back, mulling over the peculiar events that had just transpired. I settled down and drank my beer and feeling much better as I finished the last drop from the can, I was thinking another beer might be in order.

Just then the cassette stopped in mid song. Cursing my bad luck just knowing the stereo deliberately devoured my favorite tape again I grumbled and started to get up from the couch one more time. As I stared at the silent stereo I heard an awful clamor in the kitchen, and the front room plunged into darkness. I stood there trying to recall where I kept the flashlight for such emergencies when a pair of headlights shining through the window lit up the room. It was an eerie bluish haze that spanned the area, but there was enough light to make out some details. I walked to the kitchen, still wanting a flashlight and was pretty sure the breaker box was located there as well. As I came into the room, my foot brushed against something shadowed in the dark, startling me into keen awareness of my surroundings. I searched with my foot and tapped against what felt like a small box, probably Screaming Yellow Zonkers size. So that was the commotion I heard in the kitchen? Some rodent attacked the munchies supply on the counter? I laughed at myself, Jazelle sure picked a night to freak out, she had me on edge and susceptible to my rather enormous imagination. I found the flashlight and went over behind the table and locating the breaker box I reached for the switch. To this day I don’t recall if I actually flipped the breaker or not for at that very moment all the lights came back on and I was staring at the kitchen floor. Every single box, can and bagged item from the cabinets were scattered all over the ground. Once again horror chilled me to the core, freezing my actions for several moments. My mind just could not wrap itself around the sinister event that had just taken place in my home. Grabbing a broom for defense and a beer for courage I stood in the middle of the room taking in all the damage. A cabinet door swung closed, and others just sway lazily on their hinges, innocent enough looking to make me reconsider my diabolical assumptions, and sit down at the table and finish my beer.

“Pretty funny joke” I proclaimed out loud to the joker skeleton laughing absurdly at me from his Ouija resting place. Of course I realize if a sly mouse can attempt to hijack my Zonkers, then it doesn’t seem so far fetched that a pack of wily rats might have tried knocking over the entire kitchen surplus taking advantage of the brief plunge into darkness and scurrying away the moment the lights came back on. I got to hand it to them for ingenuity but tomorrow the traps come out. It just then occurred to me that there were headlights at the window earlier, and I wondered who could be there. It wasn’t that late yet, at least not in my world, midnight was not an unlikely time to find visitors at my doorstep. I am nocturnal by nature, although there weren’t a lot of acquaintances that kept the same hours as I did it left me to ponder over who the mysterious night caller might be as I reached for the front door. Damn, I didn’t hear anyone pull away, but the car was definitely gone.

“Oh well,” I thought to myself, “I ain’t much in the mood for company anyways, but it sure would have been nice to have some help putting all that stuff back in the cabinets. Good thing for the rats nothing was gnawed on or I would have bypassed the humane traps and went for the back snappers.”

After stowing all the gear and squaring away the kitchen, I gulped down one last beer, I decided to quit while I was ahead and turn in for the night. I quietly snuck into bed not wanting to wake Jazelle, and most certainly not feeling up to answering any questions about recent events. I felt her warm breath as she snuggled up to my shoulder and I settled into a shallow sleep filled with wicked dreams. The remainder of the night passed all to quickly and I was up and rushing to get ready for work and worrying that I was going to miss revelry again. I kissed Jazelle gently on the forehead, normally I would have kicked her ass out of bed when I rolled out, just because I could, but this morning I thought that she needed her rest after yesterdays anxiety attack. Besides, I wasn’t sure what I would find when I slipped into the kitchen to make coffee. Much to my relief, everything was in its proper place.

At lunch I was ordered by the Lt to go downtown to the Public Library and collect some information in the microfiche department from Miss Darling. I could imagine a spinsterly gray haired old woman tending to books slightly older than she herself and figured if I played my cards right, I could probably finish off the afternoon with this one job. The Lt had been informed his inventory was ready for pick up, but mistakes happened, and one mistake was sending me on a task so close to the pool hall downtown. I jumped in the ships assigned jeep from the carpool and cruised on over to the old town district then parked in front of the pool hall walking the half block to the library. As it turned out mistakes did indeed happen and the Lt’s order was in but had not been brought up from the archives yet. I was sent down to one of the lowest sublevel basements by the quite matronly librarian, and as I thanked Miss Darling with a smile and a wink, she sharply corrected me in a hushed librarian manner.

“Mizzzz Darling is in the lower basement and you will quietly report to her this instant!” Ouch, the only thing missing was for her to wield a ruler and she would be the spitting image of the cover girl on this months Mad Magazine.

I marched heavily down the stairs several flights, descending into dustier, darker, mustier surroundings with each level. Finally I reached my destination. It was poorly lit and hazy in the grimy storage room, and as I looked about, all that was visible to the naked eye was not the orderly rows of shelving that neatly bore the support of the Dewey Decimal System, but half filled boxes and stacks of magazines that had fallen over from aspiring to reach far too high. A lone desk, bare of any familiarity save for a computer terminal and a single microfiche machine sat in the center of the room paired with an empty chair that had seen better days. I called out in a bare whisper, “Miss Darling, ma’am?” and received no reply. I wandered among the stacks of yellowed newspaper bundles scattered across the floor and softly called her name again. After the previous night, anything could spook me, and of course I had to find myself alone beneath tons of aged concrete in a dark and dismal room cut off from the entire world.

“May I help you?” A firm but tender voice rang out from the unnatural silence.
I jumped at once, and croaked in a nervous murmur “ I, I am here to see Miss Darling, uh pardon me, but do you know where I might find her?”

“You already have” came the melodic voice “and there is no need to whisper down here, no one but the dead can hear you.”

At that moment a youthful vision of splendor appeared from behind several large stacks of belligerent magazines, wearing a knee length light blue dress that put curves in all the right places, her tawny gold hair was tied with two baby blue ribbons making cute pig tails that captured the preciously scarce light in the room and accented her sapphire blue eyes that were slightly hidden behind oversized glasses set in a thin frame and resting low on her button nose. I cleared my throat and explained that I was sent to retrieve certain microfiche information requested previously by my Lt and was here to offer my services in any way that I might be of assistance. Suddenly I had forgotten about the pool hall, the previous night or what day it was for that matter, all I could see or think about was that lovely girl standing before me.

“Are you ok?” I heard. “You spoke to me but all I got was something about reprieve civilian fishes pitied by the rest and you need my systems’?”

Damn my nervous mumble. “ I said I was here to collect some microfiche information for my Lt.” I stammered, “And offered my assistance if you need It.” There I got it out.

“Oh,” she smiled “you must be the Navy guy. Are all you sailors so shy?” The day was just getting better and better.

“No ma’am,” I replied, “ Shyness is my specialty, I have worked strenuously for years to perfect my own personal form of shyness and quite frankly anyone you meet out there trying to be shy was probably trained by me.”

“ Shy but not modest, a peculiar combination of traits.”

“ Those are two shining attributes to my personality, but not the strongest traits to my character Miss Darling.” I said leaning against her desk. I swore I could sense it slip just a fraction under my grasp.

“Then I hope patience is one of your ‘stronger’ attributes as I am still searching for some of the information your lieutenant asked for, and please call me Sam.”

“Sam?” I asked. “That is such a coincidence, you can call me Darren.” I smiled back at her, I felt a little foolish afterward for the slight play on words, since she obviously never watched an episode of Bewitched, and now she didn’t know my real name. After my fumbling first impression, maybe that wasn’t such a bad thing after all.

She dropped a stack of papers on her desk and started back to the rear of the room telling me to have a seat and make myself comfortable. I swung around the desk and started sifting through the assorted paper work and realized the Lt was searching for historical references to our ship. I wondered if it was official business or some trite hobby he was absorbed in that brought me here. I finished an article about a family picnic held at Balboa Park in honor of the returning Destroyer Escort, my returning Destroyer Escort and was wondering why I hadn’t heard about a picnic for ship’s personnel when I noticed the next article down, An Ode to Billy Bob and Billy Jean. The title was pretty corny, but the subtitle grabbed my attention; Duplex murder/suicide Friday night. I looked at the ancient date of the article and read further. The Crestmore duplex apartments located in the lower east section of San Diego was the scene of the subsequent arrest of Jackson Pole, a known dealer of drugs and prostitution for the apparent slaying of person or persons not yet divulged to the press. Pole, a 34-year-old felon is being held without bail pending further investigation. The suspect has been under investigation for fraud, extortion, drug peddling and prostitution for several months. This follow- up story reveals the shocking truth of what happened within the walls of the fateful Crestmore home. The Crestmore home is the very house that has a diabolical history of death and tragedy for more than 120 years.

The introduction though disturbing and written years ago had a ring of familiarity, so I read further;

Billy Bob and Billy Jean were married right out of High School. Both were raised on small Indiana farms and Billy Bob joined the Navy just like his two older brothers. After Boot Camp Billy Jean came out to San Diego and shared a small efficiency home with her husband for a short time until he was shipped out for a six-month tour of duty. After Six months Billy Bob’s tour was extended and Billy Jean was left at home very bored and quite lonely. She met a man who took her out dancing, to exotic parties and introduced her to drugs. Before she knew what happened, Billy Jean was getting high, sleeping around and running ‘errands’ for her pusher boyfriend. After 18 months overseas Billy Bob finally returned home and one hot August evening showed up at their doorstep with flowers and chocolates and a reservation to the most romantic resort he could afford. As he got to the front of the house he left his car running and dashed straight to the door, fumbling with his keys he could not get the right one to work, so wanting to surprise his lovely bride, he ran around to the back of the house, slipped open the bedroom window and crawled in.
Misfortunes often step into people’s lives whenever dire circumstance allows and this was certainly one of those tragic occasions. Billy Jean was passed out on the bed with her pusher boyfriend Jackson Pole who was awakened when he heard some commotion and in a fit of fear and desperation, or perhaps in cold calculating deliberation shot Billy Bob to death as he came through the bedroom window.
The police came and arrested Jackson Pole for involuntary manslaughter and knowing this man for his reputation wished to God they could do more. They searched the crime scene well into the night and most of the next morning for evidence of drugs or paraphernalia but found nothing. The boyfriend wasn’t a stupid man, just ruthless and coldhearted. The car that Billy Bob left idling in the drive glared its accusing headlights into the front room of the house, its engine idling in vain until finally after overheating it too died, leaving the headlights to run off the battery well into the early morning when the car was towed away. With what little evidence there was bagged and tagged and sent down to forensics, the investigating officers returned to their station to file reports and Billy Jean was left alone in an empty house.

Billy Jean was crushed by the tragic events that had unfolded the previous night. Riddled with guilt and mentally distraught she tore through the house looking for something to calm her down, knowing Pole had cleverly hidden his stash somewhere where the cops wouldn’t find it, she searched well through the rest of that day searching for relief from the pain that tore into her heart and soul relentlessly. Reflecting and retracing Jackson’s steps in a moment of clarity, she recalled the pusher boyfriend spending a lot of time in the kitchen after shooting Billy Bob. She went through each and every kitchen cabinet meticulously until she came across a box of rat poison that she found in a cabinet under the sink. She emptied the contents into the basin and discovered a baggy containing a syringe and a plentiful supply of uncut heroine. Not knowing or perhaps not caring of the potency of this drug, she sat down in the front room after injecting a massive overdose and waited. Waited for emotions to fade far away, waited as she sat without sensation for her life to fade even further away. Perhaps it was the drugs, maybe it was the guilt, but the last thing she saw before she slipped into deaths comma was a pair of headlights shining into the front room.
Her body was discovered days later when a detective came by to follow up on some questions about the tragic murder of Billy Bob. He found Billy Jean collapsed in the drive in front of the house, her body covered with chocolates and roses.
I sat in that deep clammy cellar and waited for the feeling to return to my legs, I sat still, silently oblivious the world outside. I could hear my own heartbeat pounding faster than a drum solo; I felt the blood slowly leaching from my face back to other needy extremities that had been without for far too long. I could not focus my gauzelike gaze from eyes that were blurred and distracted, I could feel how close to unconsciousness I had come and slowly shook my head from side to side in denial.

“No,” I thought to myself,” “this isn’t possible!”

“Here you go, that’s everything, and I must say you have that shyness thing down to a tee. Most boys who come down here won’t leave me alone unless I agree to a date. I rather like your approach. You may have my number.”

She passed me a slip of paper and I folded it up in my hands with the article that was already there. I absently pushed them into my pocket and offered a feeble thank you and walked out. I couldn’t get out of that cave fast enough. I ran up the stairs, I ran away from my fear, I ran out into the sunlight and drove straight back to the Naval yard without so much as a thought of the pool hall, or anything else for that matter. My mind was locked in neutral. I was afraid to think anything, afraid to relive the information that slammed into my mind with the force of a fleet invasion. I was afraid of the truth, afraid of the past, afraid to go home.

I sat in my shipboard office compartment and stared at nothing, I sat there in silence, I sat in stillness, I sat alone too terrified to assess the information I had obtained. I sat and thought of nothing. I have no idea how much time slipped away, how long I sat there, but at some point my Lt turned up and said, “There you are! Did you get what I asked for?” I faced him and placed the papers in his hands. “Is this everything? Did she find all I requested?”

“Yes sir,” I responded finally. “There was also an article.” I hesitated. “An article about a picnic…” I searched my pockets and pulled out the half folded half crumpled paper and held it out to the Lt. “ It says there was a family picnic for the ship sir.” I offered.

He took the paper giving me a suspicious look and I told him “There was another article about the apartment I live in written by Steve Carroll I believe his name is and it had some pretty gruesome things to say about that house.”

“I know that name,” Responded my Lt “He’s a ghost chaser, thinks of himself as some kind of Kolchak or something, I wouldn’t listen to anything he has to say.”

I thought about what Lt said and realized I was just being irrational. It is funny really, when you think about all the coincidences that led up to my hysteria, but in the sensible light of day it all really did seem like a fools dream. Come on dead people reliving their worse nightmare at my expense? It is laughable now that I look back on it, all right? I’m just glad no one was around to catch me playing the neurotic simpleton. I figured this was a story I would keep to myself for many years. After all the family already had too much ammunition for holiday get-togethers as it was.

By the end of the day I was back to my old self and was seriously considering using a phone and calling Sam. Tonight Jazelle and I needed to have a very long serious talk. It was her freaky superstitions that got me all worked up in the first place. I kick started my new bike and hugged the wind as I road home, and then bracing myself for an emotionally draining evening I walked through the front door.
I was received by the blur of a vision charging straight towards me, I flinched and pulled back expecting a blow, but it was the old hyper Jazelle leaping into my arms and smothering me with kisses.

“I am so sorry about last night, lover. I don’t know why I got so worked up. We have a lovely home and I want to spend the rest of my life with you!” she assaulted me with another barrage of kisses and hugged the very breath from my lungs.

“I’m glad you are feeling better…” I started to say.

“You are the most wonderful man in the world you sexy thing and I am going to show you how much I approve of you tonight!” she wiggled and giggled in her flirtatious way and said “The flowers and chocolates are the sweetest thing anyone has ever given me. How did you know that roses are my favorites?”

She held me close and I couldn’t breath. She planted kisses on me and I couldn’t feel them. She leaned into my ear and whispered “Honey, there’s a car coming up the drive, are you expecting anyone?”