Calamity

Tyler glanced down the hall like it might be suspicious if anyone saw Brendan enter Tyler’s room. He stepped aside and Brendan entered. Tyler shut the door, walked to the window. His hands flexed open and closed repeatedly. He parted the blinds and peered outside. “What’s your idea?”

“I know you don’t want me help, but … I think you should at least listen to me.”

Tyler checked his watch. “I’m listening.”

“Are you waiting for someone?”

The blinds snapped into place and Tyler spun around. His eyes darted from Brendan to the door and back again. “I told you too much. I’m sorry for that. I never should have. Your twelve, for God’s sake, you don’t even know the cock-trapping ways of women. You will one day. Be aware. Be really fucking aware.”

Brendan took a step backwards. He couldn’t help it. Tyler hadn’t been angry earlier when he explained what happened, but now rage pulsed in his wide eyes and throbbed in his clenched jaw.

I told you about those people, the religious guys.”

“Nut jobs.”

“The one guy, Dwayne, thinks he can help.”

“Totally fucking absurd,” he mumbled. “Ridiculous.”

“Are you okay?”

Tyler blinked and seemed to see Brendan for the first time. “What’s the idea?”

“These guys know how to help people. They know how to solve problems.”

“The cure for my problem is not something you want to know.”

Brendan swallowed. Something else had happened since their first discussion. Tyler had called the girl, tried to solve the problem and it had backfired. There was no time to dillydally, as his teacher last year used to say. “Who is she?”

“What?”

“The girl, the one says you raped her.”

“Fucking slut.”

“What’s her name?”

He checked his watch again. “Goddamn bitch.”

“She lives in Trailer Trash Town, right?”

He stopped, glared at Brendan. “You need to go to bed. Now.”

Brendan started to back up out of the room. Tyler approached him quickly like a predator leaping at its prey. His arms grabbed Brendan’s shoulders. “Go to bed and don’t say anything to Dad. You got that? Not one fucking word.”

Fear blanked out Brendan’s mind and he thought he was going to pass out or have a heart attack or something. What had gotten into him? Tyler shook him and somehow Brendan managed to shake his head up and down. Then he was shoved out into the hall and Tyler’s door shut in his face.

Brendan stood between two doors. Behind one was his suddenly crazed brother; behind the other was his comatose mother and his aunt. Dad had vanished after the funeral and when he came back he was different, crazy. He had gone into his bedroom and a huge fight erupted with Mom. Things were thrown. Aunt Steph said it was going to be okay, but she kept crying and staring at the tissue in her hand. Dad left eventually, vanished somewhere in Mom’s car. That was a few hours ago. The family was falling apart. Soon there’d be nothing left.

* * *

When the headlights of Paul’s car splashed across the front of the house, Brendan narrowed the gap between the blinds through which he was peering. He could barely make out Tyler’s figure as he bounded down the front steps and slid across the front lawn. Brendan couldn’t see his face—maybe Tyler had put on a ski mask. A few moments after Paul arrived, he was gone again with Tyler aboard.

Brendan wasted no time returning to Tyler’s room. He quietly shut the door behind him and tiptoed across the room, though he was sure Mom was asleep for the night and Aunt Steph probably was, too.

Tyler had taken his cellphone with him, of course, but Tyler’s laptop lay on his bed. He hadn’t shut it down or put it to sleep for the night. He’d been too distracted bashing women to concern himself with the proper care of his computer, not that he was especially good with it on normal days.

Brendan clicked the Safari icon and hoped he could get really lucky for a change. When the Apple homepage opened up, Brendan typed in the address for Hotmail. He crossed his fingers and stifled a cheer when the page opened into Tyler’s private e-mail account. Tyler assumed no one would touch his computer and he was right, and lucky for him, his trusting ways might be the key to saving him from the mess he was in. And probably making worse right now.

There were several folders that might contain what Brendan needed. They had different names: Kelly, Kristen, Allie, Shelby, Steve, Paul, and then topics: Bio, Eng, Work, and something called Free Range. He clicked on the folder for Allie (might as well start alphabetically). All the e-mails were from Paul. In the most recent, Paul wrote, “Let that bitch go. She’s a ho. Ha. Allie’s hot. I got pot. Need a blow. Fuck that ho.”

The next folder—Kelly—actually had an e-mail from Starstruck489@gmail; it read, “Tyler, you’re a great guy, but we really wouldn’t be a great couple. We’re different. See you in school. Hugs!” The other four e-mails in the folder were from Paul. Brendan didn’t need any more of his clever rhymes.

Brendan moved the arrow to the next folder, but then he saw a more promising folder labeled, PSYCHO. The first was from Paul. He had written simply: “You’re fucked. Just joking. We’ll fix this.”

Farther down the line of e-mails, including ones Tyler had apparently written to himself, was a message from SKarras17@newmail. Sasha had written: “Going to a movie is fine with me. It’ll be fun just to go out, you know? ” Then she rambled on for a few paragraphs about how unfair their math teacher (“Mr. Sux,” she called him) was and how his mustache made him look like “a creeper.” It was signed, “See you soon, Sasha.”

There were no other e-mails from SKarras17. In an e-mail from Tyler to himself (entitled, Get the Date), Tyler wrote: “Hey, Sasha. I was just wondering if you thought we could go out some time.” Several lines beneath that, he wrote, “Too lame? More forceful? Seductive? WTF bitches want?”

He felt bad for his brother. He was barely scraping out a social existence and his effort at dating had turned into a rape charge from a psycho.

Brendan chuckled, just once; he couldn’t help it. Maybe he’d take his brother’s advice and stay away from those cock-trappers.

Regardless, he had what he needed. Now, it was time to call Dwayne again.

* * *

“Karras?” Dwayne asked. “You’re sure the girl is Sasha Karras?”

For a moment, Brendan thought he had done something wrong, but his logic was sound: the e-mail was signed “Sasha” and the address was SKarras17. This wasn’t rocket science.

“Yeah, I think so,” Brendan said.

“That’s incredible.”

“Why?”

“Because He really does work in mysterious ways.”

“Who?”

“God.”

PART THREE

“Anger cannot be dishonest.”

Marcus Aurelius

1

“There’s a baseball bat in the back,” Paul said, “and a crowbar.”

Tyler took off the ski mask; it had seemed like a good idea a few minutes ago but now he felt ridiculous dressed in all black. Paul was wearing his usual: jeans and a blue Carhartt jacket. Paul’s father worked outside a lot and always dressed in clothes with the name Dickie’s or Carhartt. Paul wore this jacket religiously, even when it