Will's Way Read online

  Will’s Way

  by Lee Ann Sontheimer Murphy

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  Publisher’s Note: This is a work of fiction. All characters, places, businesses, and incidents are from the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual places, people, or events is purely coincidental. Any trademarks mentioned herein are not authorized by the trademark owners and do not in any way mean the work is sponsored by or associated with the trademark owners. Any trademarks used are specifically in a descriptive capacity.

  He missed sunshine and although he could enjoy it any time he liked, Will didn’t. Instead, he embraced night and had become, for all practical purposes, a creature of darkness. On the rare occasions he ventured out by day, he wore a dark hoodie that covered most of his face. In winter, he wore a ski mask to conceal his features. He’d been mistaken for a would-be bank robber on one occasion and questioned by suspicious law enforcement officers on several other occasions. Each time, he had revealed his scars and put a swift end to speculation.

  Will did his grocery and other necessary shopping at stores open twenty-four hours on Mondays, the one night his radio show didn’t air. His neighbors never saw him and he hadn’t ever spoke to any of them. No one phoned Will on a regular basis except his father once a week from distant New Mexico. His boss at the radio station knew better than to disturb his solitude. The other staff members seldom saw Will and he could count how many times they had on one hand. Most of the time, no one, except the evening announcer he relieved at midnight and the early morning drive time host who went on air at six a.m. interacted with him. If the station manager, an old Marine buddy, needed to communicate, he left a note in Will’s mailbox or called after he signed off.

  Over the past two years, his show – The Midnight Special – had won a few broadcast awards and gained its own fandom for his ‘Will Midnight’ persona. At home, Will brooded and mourned the life he’d lost but the moment he went live on air, his true personality re-emerged. He chattered and pattered, played an eclectic blend of tunes, and took calls. The Midnight Special was part talk show combined with his carefully selected play list and his style of news. He aired stories he found interesting and talked about them. Some topics were taboo to callers, though. Will refused to talk religion, politics, war, military subjects or anything about his life. He preferred positive over negative, happy over anything heavy.

  Tonight held a significance he would never share with his listeners or anyone else, a dark anniversary he preferred not to remember but would never forget. Three years ago today, his old life ended and he almost died over in the sandbox. Sometimes he thought it might have been better or even wished he had. Images of the routine patrol and the roadside bomb in the Afghanistan desert crept into his consciousness and he shoved them out. If he started thinking about that evening, the flames that had burned his skin, or the months he spent stateside in various hospitals and burn units, he’d lose his composure. As he’d trained his brain to do, he dumped the trash so he could focus on now.

  “Hey, Will, what’s up?” Taylor, the evening announcer said as Will strolled into the studio.

  “Same shit, different day,” Will replied as he faked a smile. “How’s life?”

  Ever an amateur philosopher, Taylor grinned. “It is, man, it is.”

  As the second hand of the studio clock swept toward midnight, Taylor rose and Will took his seat. He cued his signature song, the classic version of Midnight Special by Credence Clearwater Revival, and opened the mic to give the top of the hour station ID. “Its twelve midnight,” he intoned. “The witching hour, children, and you’re listening to radio station…”

  Will gave the call letters and played the song. As soon as CCR’s tune faded, he went live. “Good night, folks, and welcome to The Midnight Special. I’m going to play a little music, talk until my tongue bleeds, and take your calls. Let’s get things started with Grace Potter and the Nocturnals.”

  Taylor waved as he departed, leaving Will alone in the studios. The first three callers were mundane. One nattered about how full and lovely the moon had been earlier. Another wondered if anyone had a good homemade bread recipe to share and the other yapped about his recent ghost-hunting experience. When the incoming lines didn’t light back up immediately, Will played several more songs before she called. Samantha.

  “Go ahead, you’re on the air. Talk to me, honey.”

  Her voice poured into his headphones with power and glory. Samantha ranked among his most frequent callers and although he’d never admitted it, she held his top favorite listener position. Will liked her voice, always the perfect combination of hot, sweet, and creamy in a way that reminded him of Irish coffee. She talked about happy things with wonder and appreciation, loved music and books, talked about beautiful sunrises and sometimes quoted poetry. He’d often wondered what she looked like and tried to imagine her face. He figured with a voice and outlook like hers, she must be attractive. If he wasn’t disfigured, he would’ve tried to meet her, maybe even date her. Hell, he’d even dreamed of having a relationship with Samantha or would have, once but it was out of his reach now. Since his appearance rivaled The Phantom of the Opera’s for total horror, Will’d never tried to find out her full name or anything about her. It’d be pointless and probably hurtful to pursue Samantha. He’d rather never try than be rejected. He savored their conversations, though, the closest thing to personal interaction he had in his life, now.

  Tonight, however, her tone lacked its’ usual lilt. “Hi, Will, this is Samantha.”

  “Hey, Samantha” he said with true pleasure. Her nightly calls were the one thing left in life he could anticipate with delight. “So, tell me what’s happening in your corner of the world?”

  Her hesitant reply stunned him. “Today turned out to be one of the worst days of my life.”

  His heart apparently wasn’t as impervious to pain as he’d thought because her words twanged his heartstrings with a harsh, discordant note. Maybe there was something ominous about the date, he thought, since his worst nightmare became reality three years ago on the same day. Hers, however, he reasoned, couldn’t be anywhere as terrible as his. “I’m sorry to hear that, Samantha,” he said, his glib announcer’s tone shifting into his real voice. “What happened? If you want to talk, I’m here to listen.”

  “I found out I’m losing my job,” she said, in a voice as cracked as a shattered windshield. “The bank where I work has been bought by a bigger institution and they’re closing our branch. I came home to find out the rent on my apartmen
t is going up next month and without a job, I won’t be able to afford it so I’ll have to move but I don’t know where. I’ve got to find another job, too.”

  “Honey, that sucks. You got hit and I hate it but bad things happen to too many good people.” Like me. I didn’t deserve to get my face and half my body scarred beyond recognition. This life I’ve got sure as hell isn’t anything I dreamed about. “But you’ll make it, through. My grandma always said, where there’s a will, there’s a way.”

  “I know, I know,” she said and he heard thick tears in her voice. “It could be so much worse. I could be seriously injured, you know, disabled or something. Someone I love could be dead or dying. I could’ve lost everything I own in a fire or tornado. I really shouldn’t complain but right now, I’m feeling sorry for myself. I probably shouldn’t have called your show tonight.”

  She tap-danced too close to his reality for comfort and his gut reaction was uneasiness. Will wanted to say something glib and quick, then hang up and move onto the next caller. Right now, he needed to hear something cheerful or meaningless, anything to banish pain and darkness. He knew both too well. Words formed on his tongue but when he spoke, they weren’t the ones he used.

  “I’m glad you did, Samantha. You sound like you need to talk to somebody and I’m here for now. You’ll want to dump onto your best friend or sister or mom or someone too, I’m sure.”

  Samantha snorted and made an odd sound, half a laugh, almost a sob. “I don’t have much of anyone left,” she said. “My mom and sister are both dead, my closest friend went to Alaska with her new husband, and I moved here to make a fresh start. My co-workers are about all the social interaction in my life and the bank closes in two weeks. Right now, you’re about the closest thing to a best friend I have.”

  Don’t go there, he thought. His guts twisted with compassion. But, as much as he liked her nightly calls, he lacked the capacity to get involved, to care, or be anything to anyone. Besides, if he allowed her to get emotional and personal on air, he’d have callers start doing the same. And that was just not happening. “Okay,” he said. His chipper announcer tone returned. “I need to take a commercial break so hold on.”

  As soon as the spot for a local truck dealership blared across the airwaves, he flipped a switch so they wouldn’t be on the air. “Samantha?” he said. “Honey, I know you’ve been hit hard and need to talk but I doubt you want to break down on live radio. Listen, why don’t you call me on the other line in about thirty minutes? I’ll give you the number and we’ll talk while I play an interview I’ve used before with the guy who swears Bigfoot is an alien. Okay?”

  She muffled a sob. “Yeah, sure,” she said. “Thank you, Will. I can’t tell you how much I appreciate it.”

  He played a second commercial, gave her the private station number and took two more calls while he rooted out the old interview. He introduced it and by the time his listeners were hopefully glued to their radio dial, Samantha called. He’d half hoped that she wouldn’t but when she did, he took the call. He knew it wasn’t anyone else – the Caller ID display offered her entire name, Samantha Callahan. Will hadn’t known her last name until now.

  “Hello, Will.” She sounded nervous, a little, and he liked that. Although relieved she’d called, he worried he might’ve gotten into more than he wanted or needed. “It’s me, Samantha Callahan.”

  “It’s nice to ‘meet’ you,” he said. “I’m Will Nichols.”

  She laughed. “I kinda figured it wasn’t really Will Midnight.”

  “Naw, that’s just for the show. So, go ahead, talk to me.”

  “Are you sure? I’m feeling a little awkward.”

  So was he but he invited her. Will said. “Yeah, go ahead. Tell me about your job or anything you’d like.”

  Samantha sighed. “Well, I should’ve expected something like this to happen but no one ever does, I guess. I thought banking would be a secure field to work in but apparently not.”

  “Are you a teller?” He did all his banking through the ATM so he wouldn’t have seen her even if she worked where he banked.

  “No, I’m a loan officer.” She named the bank, one he’d often passed. “I started out as a teller, though.”

  Although she began with a little hesitation, he drew her out and thirty minutes later, Will had heard her life story. He knew she’d moved to Joplin after her mother and sister perished in a multiple car accident on the freeway in St. Louis and learned she’d been raised in Jefferson City, Missouri’s state capitol. The more he listened and offered a few words of encouragement, the more Samantha talked. By the time he ended the call to go on with his show, Will knew her much better than before and Lord help him but he wanted to know more. He’d like to hear every tiny detail about her life, see old pictures in an album, and flip through her high school yearbook. She cried a little during the call and sneezed several times. “It’s late,” he said. “And you’ve got to work in the morning, right?”

  “I do but then I always have. I don’t sleep near enough. Thanks for listening, Will. I’m still upset but not as much. You’ve helped me to see everything will work out, somehow. I just don’t know how yet.”

  “I’m glad I could help. Call in tomorrow, okay? I want to know how you’re doing.”

  “I’ll do that and thanks again, Will. I think I’d lost it if I hadn’t had you to talk to tonight. Good night.”

  “Night,” he replied. After the call ended, he missed the sound of her voice in his ear. He lit a cigarette, then curled his fingers around it, and watched the smoke curl upward as he thought about Samantha. He chain smoked, one after another, for the rest of the show. The next host would bitch about his ‘unhealthy habit’ but when he lacked a real life, Will found it hard to give a shit about smoking. Who would care if he suffered any health problems from it? No one would, nobody at all.

  It wasn’t until he signed off and headed home that he realized talking to Samantha had prevented his thoughts dwelling on his dark anniversary. He hadn’t thought about the date or what happened again after she called the show. If he’d made it through the hours so far, there wasn’t any reason to think about it now and so he didn’t.

  He thought about Samantha instead.

  ***

  Samantha called the next night, on air, but afterward, she called in and they talked, between callers, during breaks and music, for hours. Although he’d known her as a caller for some time, almost two years, their conversations took their interaction from casual to friendship.

  “So how’s the general mood at the bank these days?” he asked, days after the calls had become a regular nightly event. She still called the show but then she almost always called back to talk privately. He’d come to depend on the calls and Will thought so had she.

  “Sad,” Samantha said without hesitation. “Everyone’s worried about their future. I have it better than most because I’m not supporting a family. It’s just me. I’d hate to be concerned how to feed my kids or buy new school clothes or shoes like some of my co-workers. I always wanted a family but right now, it’s good I don’t have one.”

  Once, he’d wanted a family too, a wife to come home to each day, kids to cuddle and watch grow. “Sometimes it’s better to fly solo.”

  “I guess you don’t have a family either.”

  He hated to talk about it and would have gotten rude with anyone else. But his reply to Samantha was honest and calm. “No, I don’t. My dad’s in Arizona but I don’t hear from him much and there’s little love lost.”

  They shared tidbits about their days, Samantha giving more than Will. She told him about things at work, shared jokes she read or someone told her, and described her co-workers until Will could imagine each one well. He admitted to loving heavy metal music and confessed AC/DC ranked among his favorite bands. Each night, he learned a little more about her, things she liked, what she didn’t. When she told him she hated smoking, he cut back how many cigarettes he smoked and renewed his efforts, abandoned over in
the sand box of Afghanistan, to quit.

  One night, he asked her if she would manage financially after her job ended and she hesitated before she replied. “Thanks for asking,” she said. “No one else has. They think because I’m single, it won’t matter but it does. I’m getting a small severance package and then I should be able to draw unemployment, at least for awhile. And I do have a savings account so I’ll be okay, unless I can’t find another job. Ask me again in six months or so.”

  “I will,” he promised and knew he would.

  By the time her job ended, they had become close friends in every way, as much as possible for two people who’d never met. Hell, he’d never felt so connected to most of the girlfriends he’d ever had and although he preferred to ignore the fact, Will cared about Samantha. If things were different, he’d want to build a real relationship with her.

  But he didn’t dare, not the way he looked so he settled for what they had and dreamed of more, knowing it would never come to pass.

  ***

  His apartment above a garage in the north part of town offered both space and privacy. His routine seldom changed. When he came home, he showered, ate a meal more suitable as dinner than breakfast, often steak and eggs or reheated chili, then hung out for awhile before he slept. Sometimes he watched old movies on television or listened to music or read. After a month of talking to Samantha every night off air, four weeks of knowing her full name, Will summoned up enough courage to see if he could find her on Facebook. His page featured a Marine emblem instead of a photo and he used it to keep in touch with some of the others from his unit. His thirty-odd Facebook friends were mostly fellow Marines plus a few cousins and two old friends from high school.

  Finding Samantha’s page proved to be easy. He had it up within minutes and although he couldn’t access most of it, he stared at her profile picture. Yeah, sure, he’d expected her to be pretty but Samantha Callahan turned out to be lovelier than he’d imagined. Soft brown hair curled around her heart-shaped face as she smiled into the camera. It appeared to be a candid shot, not posed. Her eyes were a rich hazel color, and her full lips were a deep pink. Any notion he might’ve conjured up about meeting her or attempting a real life friendship died. She’s too damn gorgeous and she’d run in horror from a freak like me.