Chapter 36

When John stirred awake he was still sitting on the couch. A dim kind of light illuminated the apartment, he aware that it was daylight but unsure of the exact hour. John was still dressed in his trousers and shoes but he only wore a thin undershirt, his dress shirt having been given to Billie. Sometime during the night he had thought he'd seen her shivering and wrapped the fabric over her shoulders. John looked toward her. She was sleeping soundly and still wearing the shirt. It was a relief for him to see the peace on her face, even in sleep, compared to the emotions he'd witnessed the night before.

He had woken up to a new day. A new life. Billie now knew about him, the real him, and nothing would be the same. The night before he'd come so close to loosing her; for a time he thought it would undoubtedly happen. Now, there she was, still by his side.

John managed to stand though her body still somewhat entangled with his. She was not woken, he thinking the hysterics the night before must having entirely worn her down. His arms fitted under her body gently, rising her limp figure from the couch. It could have looked like a scene from a movie- the hero rescuing a tortured damsel. He walked the short distance to the bedroom, laying her upon the bed. He ought to have woken her but he wouldn't. Instead he decided to walk about the apartment again and freshen himself for the day ahead.

The travel Billie's body had undergone from the sofa to the bed was enough to wake her. It was slow at first, and it must have been her laying upon a new surface that roused her. When she first came to she blinked several times, coming to realize she was on the bed. It took several more moments to remember the night before, the horror and the relief of it all, and how the last place she remembered being was the living room couch. John was not by her side. She was resting above the sheets and she felt the fabric of the loose shirt over her arms. Billie managed to look out across the room.

The shadow of him was seen on the other side of the room, walking in and out of the doorway to the bathroom. He was stretching his limbs, seeming to just be waking himself. Billie sat up against the pillows. This small movement was enough to gain his attention, John sauntering back into the room slowly. His eyes were steady on her but Billie was looking toward his chest, it barely covered by the shirt, and she noticed his suspenders that dangled loose against his thighs.

Standing near the bed he drew his hand into his pocket, revealing a gold pocket watch and glancing to the face. "It's after ten," he told her. "You should have been in school by now."

His voice was soft, not authoritative. He knew his duty that day, given to him by others, was to have Billie in school and make sure she was home at a regular time. He was not all too eager to fulfill this, hence his lackadaisical attitude toward the situation. There would be repercussions for them if they did not abide, and now Billie understood a deeper level of danger. Before, the idea of merely being in "trouble" from others in their life was her biggest concern. Now, that was subsidiary compared to the idea of law enforcement and John's circumstance.

"I don't want to go to school," she uttered quietly. Her gaze circled slowly around the room. She looked for a clock, one either hanging on a wall or resting atop a desk. There were none, not even on the end table closest to her. The table held a single drawer and it was open barely an inch. Something glinted from inside. Billie neared the edge of the bed and casually drew the door open. It was an impulsive kind of action, as if she were searching his things for more secrets, but even if John assumed this Billie considered herself to have a valid right to do so anyway.

A tiny gasp escaped her as the drawer was opened. It held one single item- a gun. John watched carefully as she reacted. There was a plain yet significant realization that crossed her face, along with other emotions he could not decipher. Billie did not doubt his identity. She completely believed he was John Dillinger, the criminal, the myth, but each new bit of evidence was proof and that was still alarming. She had been so blind. "It's been here all along," she said with a breath.

John starred, his head bent slightly. He took several steps closer to her wondering what she felt, if he should intervene, or even if he could. "Yes."

Her eyes did not leave the little weapon. The gun had been there the first night they'd lain together. The truth was only inches away from her, not to mention starring her in the face from all angles, but she had failed to receive it. Slowly John sat down on the bed next to her. He looked from her eyes to the small pistol. It was a .41 Rimfire considered a double derringer. "Sometimes I keep it in my sock," he told her casually. It was the smallest of his firearms. The super-automatics were larger and traveled in suitcases, and his Colt pistol was bigger than the Remington but still small enough to camouflage on his person.

She would get used to the guns, along with other things. John even had a quick thought that he would give Billie the .41 for her own protection. He'd teach her how to handle it and he would feel slightly better when parted from her. He would not do so immediately for even as she looked at the gun there was a hint of fear in her eye, but soon, when she was ready.

They shared a small smile. He was constantly overwhelmed by her beauty, he studying the curves of her face in the close proximity. John reached out a hand and touched a strand of her hair that dangled near her chin. He stood, leaning into her and placing a kiss on her forehead. It was a quick action though filled with sincerity and the man stepped away, heading back toward the bathroom. He didn't get too far when Billie spoke.

"I don't need to go to school..." she said lightly, her mind obviously filled with the previous matter. At this comment John did turn on his heal and a more alert expression twitched on his face.

"Billie-" he began but she stopped him quickly. She already knew what he would say- he would go off on some tangent about how important her schooling was, that he didn't want anything to get in the way of that. She had been through that debate within her own mind already.

"No, I don't need to go," she said again, putting emphasis on the word. She held his eye steadily and began to explain to him that she had gathered enough class credits to graduate. Her family had moved many times from their Wisconsin reservation to Milwaukee and presently Mooresville, Indiana. She had attended schools all that time, gathering more than enough of the requirements. If she wanted to she could stop right that day.

John listened to this, sitting back down next to her. Billie was a brilliant girl, he would admit and even bet that her knowledge far exceeded his own, not only in academics but life itself. What John lacked in morals or even general sense he felt Billie made up for, tenfold. Still, he knew that she had opportunities and that was one thing John had more or less given up. She was capable of much more than the life she would have by his side.

"Billie," he called again, and this time his voice was heavy with seriousness and hesitation. "I...I'll only bring you down, doll. You can do a whole lot better for yourself than me. I'm corrupting you..."

Her brow furred slightly. The night before he had told Billie that being with him was not a mistake, and now it was as if he were falling back on those words. She was aware of what was happening and what she was doing. She arched up and toward him, placing her hands on his shoulders. "You've already corrupted me," she told him and for a moment that signature smirk touched his lips. "Being with you is my decision. You want to be with me, don't you?"

His expression softened even more. "More than anything," he said into those blue eyes. One of Billie's hands came to rest against his cheek, looking at him intensely.

"Then corrupt me all you want."

A little grin spread across John's face before closing the space between them, he kissing her with a passion that made them fall backward upon the pillows.