Practically stumbling down the stairs as he has almost any day he has had to leave his makeshift prison that has become his apartment, he grasps the railing. It’s bad enough when anyone within a mile seems to know exactly what you are up to; you don’t need to have a yard sale right here in front of your own apartment building. The sun hurts, and it seems to be peering bright from the direction of the package store. Now Josh needs to turn that direction and fight his way through that sun to get another couple of days’ worth of courage.
More people stare down towards him from the direction he just turned. You would think that someone accused of brutally murdering someone that just happens to carry as much muscle as Josh would make people want to not look his way, but it doesn’t seem to affect the people around here, to Josh’s growing disdain. His anger towards the people of his own community and their self-righteous ability to assume his guilt probably will drive him to insane temper, and perhaps something to be guilty of, but not today, not yet anyway.
Eighty five steps to Route 1 and a right turn. The only walking he has done for a while and now he has the amount of steps memorized. Now there is real traffic as he turns right and within a few second the first person yells “MURDERER” at him as they drive by. How many people drive this section of Route 1 daily just to have a chance to poke the freak? “WHY DON”T YOU KILL YOURSELF?” More tidings, he’s walked a little further than normal before someone actually threw something at him, but he doesn’t make it the whole way without the pleasure. He probably never will again.
His hands stay firm in his pockets as he fights the urge to pick up a rock and repay the old jerk who threw the cigarette at him and yelled “DIE,” but it gets harder every day. The package store is another sixty four steps past the street, where he almost got hit a few days ago. Actually he didn’t think the person was trying to hit him, he was just so busy yelling at him out the window that he lost track of the brake and gas. He did hit the brakes as the bumper grazed him. Thirty two steps and we just have an angry store clerk to deal with.
Stopping dead in his tracks Josh looks over at the newspaper box where the Boston Heralds sit waiting for some kid to come along, buy one and grab them all to sell on the corner. He’s obviously not out of school yet, but the headline on the paper catches his attention. “Beauty and the Beast; The evidence against Josh Ferland piles up” of course the fact that they have been calling the whole “thing” the “Beauty and the Beast Murders” infuriates Josh all the more, depresses him under it all, and of course creates the middle school animosity that he feels just leaving his apartment.
The picture underneath the headline starts the tears welling up in his eyes. How many times is that image going to be pounded into his head? The worst thing he had ever seen. The full color end of his happiness, when he walked into JFK park where he had spent most of his childhood, and laying there in a pool of blood was Carrie Lynn, and he completely loses his composure standing here on the side of Route 1 for everyone to yell at and throw things.
Of course the people driving by were treated to something altogether different as the hulking hero of the last Super Bowl ripped the newspaper machine from the ground bending the pole that it was chained to, and launched it into the sidewalk. Then dropping to his knees Josh Ferland began to wail like a baby with his face fallen into his hands. No it appears nobody wants to see or ridicule this.