If it been night-time, Kate wouldn’t have answered nor spy on what lay across the threshold. It was the biker.
“Sorry, erm… It‘s Bill…” He shifted awkwardly.
“I’m sorry… marm…” He looked troubled ready to leave.
An uncomfortable silence hung over.
Bill lifted his hands ready to back off.
He looked haunted close up.
“No, its okay is there something.”
She turned back to look into the house.
She knew he’d seen the pile of old books on the desk.
Kate drew the inner door closed.
He still looked unsure.
“I… erm… figured on something.” He spoke soft, gravel like.
He looked away, then back at her, straight at the eyes.
“I lost my own son… in similar way.”
She looked hard at him, and then there was that moment, that moment froze in the silence.
Bill had waited drawing on a little more courage.
He lent low to reveal what was in the bag down by his feet.
“I figured you might need some more of these.”
Kate could see a clutch of short wooden stakes.
“I’d say your son isn’t the one doing the walking…”
He broke the stare.
He’d have to say it…
“You did it once.”
Like said as if a plea…
story by John Riley