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Summary
Billy could still remember the first time he had known real fear. He had been four years old.
Not one of those normal fears a four-year-old should have. It wasn't boogie men in the closet. It wasn’t wetting himself in public. Nothing like that.
It was in thinking he was going to die, long before he even possessed a full understanding of what death was. It had been that kind of primal and complete fear that pulsed through his entire body, clouding his head with a panic too thick to even be able to scream through it.
Neil had done that to him.