There's no time to kill between the cradle and the grave
Father Time still takes a toll on every minute that you save
Legal tender's never gonna change the number on your days
The highest cost of livin's dyin', that's one everybody pays
So have it spent before you get the bill
There's no time to kill
--
from No Time To Kill by Clint Black

I re-bundled Isaac in his coat and scarf. It was still August, but we were having a weird cold snap and wouldn't take any chances. Pulling my own heavy black coat over my shoulders, I grabbed the flyers with my injured hand and winced. Aunt Melinda noticed.
"How'd you do that?" she asked slowly. I flashed a sheepish smile.
"Burnt it on lunch," I said mildly, and pushed Isaac towards the door. I could feel Aunt Melinda's eyes on me as we left.
"Be careful," she called after us. There was something in her voice that scared me; like she knew something was wrong, but what exactly wasn't clear. I took Isaac's little hand in mine and tossed over my shoulder,
"Sure will, Melly. We'll be back later."

I glanced at the flyers with a sigh.
"First stop, the Morgans." I made a face down at Isaac, who mimicked it.
"Yuck," he said, and stuck out his tongue. I snickered as I ruffled his dark hair.
"Exactly." I looked at the trailer disdainfully. "I really don't want to deal with Nikki and Candy today."
"Want me to bite 'em?" Isaac asked helpfully. I blinked in surprise, then laughed at the thought of the cheerleaders being chased by a little boy. But something in the back of my mind told me he wasn't joking. I shook my head.
"Nah, not right now. Maybe later, if they give us trouble." We walked up to the front door of the trailer and knocked. There wasn't an answer at first; I knocked again. "Mrs. Morgan?" I called when no one answered. "Are you home?" The door opened. There stood my two least favorite people in the trailer park -- Nikki and Candy Morgan, both fully decked out in their cheerleader outfits and so glossed up I thought I'd go blind.
"What do you want?" Nikki sneered. I gave her a tight smile.
"To talk to your mom for a sec. I've got a flyer to give her." I waved the flyer around for emphasis. Isaac glared up at them from behind me; lately, he had taken to hiding behind my leg and gripping my jeans like he'd go flying off if he let go. Candy rolled her eyes and popped a bubble of her pink gum.
"And you brought the little monster along with you?"
"Watch it, Candy Cane," I said calmly. I'd known the Morgans only since we'd moved here, but they did everything they could to make my freshman year a living hell. But this year I'd be a sophomore; wiser, wilier, and willing to pay them back for every rotten thing they'd done to me.
"How mature," Nikki said drily, and eyed the hand that held the flyer. It had a big red welt from where Isaac had bitten me. "Did he do that?" she asked dully, pointing. I narrowed my eyes and slipped off my jacket. It was getting a little warm.
"Sure did," I said, my lip curling. "And if I have to put up with much more of your crap, he'll do it to you too." To add to that statement, Isaac made a little growly noise from behind my pant leg. Candy backed away a little -- she always was a coward -- but Nikki just rolled her eyes. I patted Isaac's head in approval, then looked back at the girls. "Can I see your mom-- please."
"Whatever," Nikki said thinly, and whirled into the house. "Mo-o-o-om!" Candy lingered at the door, watching Isaac warily.
"Something's not right with that kid," she said in a low voice, then followed her sister. I felt Isaac grip my jeans tighter and instantly hated her for saying that.
"You've got it all wrong, bitch," I replied quietly. "Something's not right with you." Cheek pressed against my leg, Isaac nodded.

After talking a few moments with the grossly overweight Mrs. Morgan, we headed towards the Smith's trailer.
"Those girls," I said through clenched teeth. "Someone needs to give them what they deserve."
"They're not very nice," Isaac observed softly. The pretty brunettes appeared before my mind's eye again, pointing and saying that there was something wrong with him. I shook my head and tried to keep my temper under control.
"No, they're not. I should've let you bite them." Then I paused and reconsidered. "Isaac," I said slowly, "why did you bite me this afternoon?" He shrugged his little shoulders.
"I wasn't done playing." That was said as if it explained everything. "I was mad at you." I nodded a little.
"Oh." Isaac was silent for a moment. Then he wiggled his little hand into mine.
"I'm not mad at you anymore," he said helpfully. I smiled down at him, though still a little wary.
"Good." I squeezed his hand gently. "C'mon. We'll talk to Mrs. Smith, head to the VFW Club, and then we can go home."

Mrs. Smith took less time than Mrs. Morgan. She was an elderly lady and only minor on the creepy scale -- a big achievement in our neighborhood. Mrs. Smith was almost normal, aside from her weird obsession with Frank Sinatra. Every time I visited, I had to listen to at least three of Ol' Blue Eyes' greatest hits. This visit, however, I got away with only one. Halfway through the chorus of 'Witchcraft', I noticed that Isaac had disappeared.
"Isaac?" I called slowly, and his dark-haired little head poked around the corner.
"Yes, Mary Mary?" He smiled sweetly. I squinted a little, but took his shoulder and gently pulled him back to my side.
"Where were you, honey? It's not polite to leave during Mrs. Smith's favorite song." The elderly woman was frowning at his disappearance, and I was eager to get him back in her good spirits. Isaac clung to my pant leg the moment he got there and grinned innocently up at Mrs. Smith.
"I was playing with the doggies," he said, and the old woman smiled. She certainly did have a lot of dogs -- seven, at least.
"Oh, that's nice," Mrs. Smith said pleasantly as Ol' Blue Eyes finished up his song. "I'll be sure to come to your yard sale, dearie."
"Thank you, Mrs. Smith," I murmured with a polite smile. I gave Isaac a little push towards the door. "We'll be happy to see you there. And really, it was nice to listen to Mr. Sinatra." The old lady clasped her hands and sighed dreamily.
"It was, wasn't it?" I nodded, keeping my forced grin, and hurried Isaac outside.

Nearing the end of our journey, the next stop was the VFW Club -- a definite 10 on the weirdness scale. Sure, we're supposed to honor our veterans... but these veterans were eccentric old military men who sat around and plotted the destruction of the Nazis. I couldn't bear to tell them that the Nazis had already been destroyed. Besides, it was just too funny.
"Hello," I called, knocking on the door with my free hand. Isaac wouldn't let go of my left, so he volunteered to hold the flyers for me. A knobby-looking old man poked his head through the door, glanced around, and beckoned.
"Hurry," he said in a dry whisper. "There could be spies watching." I smothered a smirk with my hand and slipped in, pulling Isaac along behind me.
"Commander Matthews," I said with a salute. "I bring news from the other side." The old man at the head of the table full of old men took the flyer from me.
"Another yard sale," he said with a scoff. I smirked, unable to hide it this time.
"Who knows? Maybe you'll run across some enemy intelligence. Nazis are attracted to things like that." A glimmer went through his eye. Matthews straightened a little.
"Thank you, Private. You're dismissed." I lingered by the table, pointing at the models on it. That was another weird thing. Just like all the military guys in the movies, the VFW Club had a battleground model, complete with tanks and planes. They even caught fire when you pressed a button. Not a smart thing to have, I thought. If the fire should spread or something combustible got too close to the flame, none of them would make it. Think about it-- a flaming trailer full of old guys. Who can rush?
"How are the plans going, Commander?" I asked with false concern. Matthews puffed his chest out proudly.
"Very well. We'll hit those Nazis hard, and then -- on to the Japs!" The table erupted into weak, cough-ridden cheers. I almost lost it right there. Biting back laughter, I nodded.
"Indeed, sir. Let me know the moment things head our way." I saluted again, then glanced down at Isaac. He looked rather fascinated with the models, and his tiny fingers were creeping towards the button. I stopped his hand just in time. "Don't touch, sweetheart." I flashed the table of old men a grin and hoisted Isaac up, balancing him on my hip. "Knock down a couple of Nazis for me." Turning, we headed out the doorway. Isaac waved cheerily over my shoulder.

"All righty," I said, smiling at Isaac. "We're gonna stop up at the park office and drop off the rest of the flyers. Then we're going home." Isaac nodded his approval. I bounced him a little on my hip. "You wanna walk the rest of the way?"
"Yes, Mary," he said sweetly. I lowered him to the ground, ruffled his hair, and took hold of his hand.
"Okay, then. Shall we race?" But I didn't hear his answer. A long, bloodcurdling shriek filled my ears. I jumped visibly and tightened my grip on Isaac's little hand. "What on earth?" It was coming from behind me. I glanced around wildly, and finally glimpsed the source: Mrs. Morgan, waddling towards me with a face white as chalk. She was still screaming.
"You!" she shrieked, and sobbed once. "You did this!"
"Did what?" I yelped. My hand tensed even more around Isaac's. Mrs. Morgan staggered closer, clutching something in her own hand.
"Why did you do it?" She sobbed again. Her screaming was drawing a little crowd. "WHY?!"
"Do what?" I shouted, becoming panicked. Mrs. Smith came out of her trailer, and I heard Frank Sinatra singing dimly. She was soon surrounded by even more people, ever curious about the world around them and wondering why the fat lady was yelling her head off. I swallowed thickly. "I don't even know what you think I did!"
"My girls are dead!" Mrs. Morgan screamed. I felt my heart dive into my chest.
"Nikki-- and Candy--?"
Someone needs to give them what they deserve.
"Oh, good," she said drily, and gave a hysterical laugh. "Glad to see you remember them!" My hand had to be crushing poor Isaac's, but he didn't complain.
"Why do you think I did it?" I asked, voice wavering. The crowd had started to gasp and whisper. "There's no proo--"
"Here's your proof!" Mrs. Morgan shoved the thing she was holding at me. It was a jacket -- big and black -- my jacket. I stared at it in confusion.
"I was at your house this morning," I said slowly. "You know I was. I talked to you. I must've left it there. This doesn't prove--"
"LOOK AT IT!" Her shriek startled me. I looked at it.

It was covered in blood.

I felt a dry heave creep up my throat, and I covered my mouth with my free hand to force it back down. The crowd gasped and whispered even more. Some of them had started to filter towards the Morgans' trailer. The door hung open, and I could glimpse a few things inside. A mess of brown hair. An unmoving hand. A once white-and-red cheerleader's outfit -- that was now mostly red.
"Mrs. Morgan," I said, my voice a hoarse whisper. "Really, I didn't, I couldn't--" And then I stopped. I felt what color that was left in my face drain. The boy, something dark in my mind whispered. The boy. "Isaac?" I asked in a small voice, staring down at the little face by my pant leg. He was smiling.
"I did what you asked," he said pleasantly. I heard noises dimly: people gasping, talking, screaming; the opening and slamming of trailer doors; Mrs. Morgan finally surrendering to the shock and breaking down into hysterics. And all the while, Isaac just stared up at me, smiling sweetly. I opened my mouth to say something -- or perhaps it just fell open.

And that was when the VFW trailer exploded.

Isaac was still smiling.