The Deconstruction of William Murderface

Chapter 2.

The Dethcopter rumbled its way high across the southern US landscape, but William didn't see the scenery passing far below, too lost in his own thoughts. He hadn't been back to Grandma Stella's house since he'd left, vowing never to return. For almost twenty-five years he'd managed to keep to that promise, but he felt drawn back, as though the ramshackle house would give him the answers he needed.

He was surprised at how quickly and unquestioningly Offdensen had signed off on the trip; almost as if he'd expected it for some time now. He hadn't encountered anyone in the halls on the way to the landing pad; not even a Klokateer. No one, except for Nathan. The front man didn't say anything, as William feared he might; didn't call him a big gay baby, or worse. He just clapped him on the shoulder in wordless understanding.

William didn't know what to make of that.

The Dethcoptor set down on a grassy field not far from the house, and for a minute, William was almost tempted to call the whole thing off. It wasn't too late. The pilot would unquestioningly obey him; they could just turn around and be back at Mordhaus within a few hours, and he could forget he'd ever come.

But almost as soon as that thought came, it passed. He felt like he'd been running all his life. Away from the house, away from his family; hell he'd even felt like running away from Dethklok at times. It was the reason he'd never been in a permanent band prior to Dethklok, preferring to work as a freelance bassist for hire. As soon as anything got too unpleasant or difficult, he could just leave. It was too easy to just turn his back and start fresh somewhere else, knowing that eventually he'd run from that too. It was time to man up and face whatever was coming.

He hadn't told Grandma Stella he was coming, but as soon as he stepped out of the Dethcoptor, there she was in the door, sitting on her scooter, her ever present spoon in hand.

"William!" she crowed. "I didn't know you were coming to see me!"

"Err...hi, Grandma," he said falteringly. It's not too late. It's not too late. But it was too late. A Klokateer deposited his bag on the ground beside him, then retreated up the ramp, rather quickly, it seemed to William. Evidently he didn't want to be around Grandma Stella either. Then the ramp lifted and the great rotors began to turn, and the Dethcoptor lifted, taking with it his last chance for freedom.

"Well don't just stand there, come in!"

Tentatively, William entered the house. It looked exactly the same as he remembered it: Same ugly wallpaper, same faded drapes around the windows. Crooked cabinets that never seemed to close right. A yellow refrigerator that hummed and clanked so loudly, it sounded like it was on its last legs (nevermind the fact that it had been on its last legs for the last thirty years.) And a delicious smell that permeated the entire kitchen, making his mouth water involuntarily.

Yes, if there was one thing Grandma Stella could do well, it was cook.

"You're just in time for supper," she said as he squeezed past her scooter. "If I'd known you were coming, I'd have made your favourite."

"It'sch...it'sch okay," he said, all the while hoping that she hadn't decided to make sausages for dinner. He didn't think he could deal with that on top of everything else.

He was in luck. She set a heaping plate of lasagna down in front of him, and he couldn't help but dig in. He kept his eyes down as she parked her scooter across from him and began on her own portion. He couldn't take the risk of pissing her off. However repugnant she may be, she was also the last living link to his parents. Even if the likelihood of getting any information out of her was microscopic.

"Now tell me...what made you come back after all these years?"

Oh, shit. What to tell her? He hadn't thought that far ahead. He couldn't tell her his real reason; he knew he'd have to approach it more carefully than just blurting it out in the middle of dinner. What to say, what to say?

"Oh, you know," he laughed almost desperately, hoping she wouldn't see right through his lie. "Juscht...visiting...Hey, are those new drapesch? They look like new drapesch."

Fortunately, it didn't take much to distract Grandma Stella when she was in a good mood. She immediately started off on a tangent about the drapes, which turned into a long, boring story that started out about her friend's experience with the drapery store and then meandered into said friend's gallbladder surgery. William tuned her out.

"Well, anywaysch!" He broke in, when he could finally get a word in edgewise. "I'm pretty tired. I'm going to bed." He got up and, ignoring her sounds of indignant disbelief, made his way to the back of the house.

With a deep breath, he opened the door to his childhood bedroom. Nothing had changed here, either. Same posters on the wall (even the Playboy pinups that he knew his grandma hated). A few issues of Bass Player magazine. Even the hidden stash of porno under the mattress was untouched. A rush of memories flooded his mind and he struggled to repress them. To some, being in their childhood room would be a comfort; a way to remember happier times. Not for him. The only memories he had of this place were crushing loneliness and depression and the feeling that someing...everything was his fault. At least then, he'd had his bass to keep his mind off things. Now he didn't have that.

He was starting to understand why Skwisgaar brought his guitar everywhere.

The cheap bed creaked and groaned as William lay down on it, reminding him that he was at the very least 50 pounds heavier than the last time he'd layed there. The lumpy mattress's springs poked him in the back. He closed his eyes and tried to force himself to sleep. Tomorrow was going to be a big day.

Tomorrow, he would start his investigation into the lives - and deaths - of his parents.