Calamity

was a bit too warm like tonight. He sped out of SkyView Estates so quickly he almost nicked his car on the automated gate.

“A crowbar? We can’t actually … do anything, you know.”

“Relax,” Paul said in a we’re-just-fucking-around-so-stop-being-a-fag way. “We’re not going to do anything permanent.”

“What’s that mean?”

They were speeding along one of the main roads in town. Paul didn’t even have his unrestricted license yet; he wasn’t allowed to drive after nine. “Slow down, we don’t want to get pulled over.”

Paul laughed. “You are way to tense for this.”

“I don’t want to get arrested.”

“You called me, remember?”

“Yeah. I needed help, not a rap sheet.”

Another burst of laughter. Did he smell of alcohol?

“Were you drinking?”

Paul shook his head as if that was the most ridiculous idea. “I snuck a few of my dad’s beers. He won’t even notice. There’s a couple in the back if you want.”

“Jesus.” If they did get pulled over—he was still speeding—they’d definitely get arrested. “Maybe this was a stupid idea.”

“No, no,” he said and car swerved a bit, not too much but enough to make Tyler grab the handle on the door. “This is the perfect idea. That crazy bitch will have no idea what’s coming. Don’t worry about the crowbar and the bat, they’re just for show. We’re going to scare her so bad that she changes her mind.”

“Scare her into having an abortion?”

“A procedure’s what they call it. You sounded pumped on the phone.”

That had only been a brief time ago but it felt farther away than that. In the interim, Tyler had threatened Brendan, probably scared the kid so badly he wouldn’t sleep for days. Sasha had caused this, created him into this unstable beast that had forgotten who he was.

Tyler had wanted to tell Brendan about tonight but he had already told the kid too much. He probably would tell Dad, if he could find him, and then the truth would finally spill out. There was likely no way to avoid that. Yet, if there was something he could do, he had to at least try. Dad was languishing in misery (he’d looked like a zombie during the funeral) and throwing this Sasha shit on top of him—by the way Dad, I raped a girl from school and now she’s pregnant—would kill him. One way or the other, Tyler was sure the news would lead to another funeral in the near future. Maybe even one of those FATHER SLAUGHTERS WHOLE FAMILY WHILE THEY SLEEP killings.

Paul was right: they had to do something, try anyway. As long as the crowbar and baseball bat were only props in an elaborate play meant to scare Sasha and not bludgeons or weapons of vandalism, Tyler would go along with this. But if Paul decided to run up to Sasha’s house and smash her windows, Tyler was out. At least he hoped so.

“No violence, right?” Tyler asked.

“Don’t puss out, man. This is something we have to do. This is like Gospel or something.”

“What does that mean?”

He laughed. “I don’t know, shut up and think of something we can do.”

* * *

By the time Paul stopped the car in front of Sasha’s house, Tyler still hadn’t thought of anything. This felt too much like the last visit. Only this time they had weapons.

The house was dark. Most of the neighborhood was dark and Sasha’s neighbor was apparently asleep too, which was a relief. The guy who had been standing on his porch watching all the excitement last time might recognize them, even call the police. Paul dismissed his worries.

Now, Paul sorted through the scattered items in his backseat. “I think I have a golf club in here, too, if you’d rather use that.”

It was pointless asking why a golf club might be in the back of Paul’s car. An entire golf bag replete with a full set of irons might be buried back there beneath soiled clothing, school books, and crushed Dunkin Donut cups. “I threw the bat and crowbar on top so we wouldn’t have to waste time, but if you’d rather have the golf club …”

“No, no.”

“Okay, bat it is.” He handed it to Tyler. “Crowbar’s mine.” Tyler sat back in the driver’s seat and appreciated the thick piece of steel like it was a hand-made sword. “My dad calls this The Persuader.”

Paul’s father was a carpenter with a penchant for crude jokes. Tyler liked him immensely. It was easy to see why he would call the crowbar a “persuader.” If Tyler saw someone coming at him with that thing he’d do whatever the guy wanted.

Tyler expected a light to come on in Sasha’s house. At any moment one of the windows would fill with light and a shadowed form would fill the frame. He waited and no lights came on.

“What’re we waiting for?” Paul asked.

“Nothing. What exactly are we going to do?”

“Make some noise and leave a calling card.”

Tyler waited for an explanation.

Paul pulled a can of spray paint from the space between the door and his seat. He shook it. “You’re better with words than me, what do you want to write?”

“Kill the baby?” Tyler said in half-bewilderment. What were they doing here in the middle of the night?

Paul smiled. “That’s not bad, but let me spice it up a bit. I was thinking something like We’re not fucking around, bitch—kill the baby or we’ll be back. Real Call of Duty type shit.”

“You’re going to write all that out? Where?”

Paul thought for a moment. “You are fagging out.”

“No, I’m—”

“Who gives a shit where we write it? Do you want to end this shit or what? The bitch is a psycho and her mother’s a card-carrying witch, you said so yourself.”

“Sasha said it was all a misunderstanding, some elaborate thing her mother does. She’s not right in the head.”

“No shit.” Paul smacked the crowbar (persuader) against an open palm with a dull thwap. “Do you want to be a father or not?”

“No.”

“Then let’s party.”

Before Tyler could offer any more delays, Paul was outside and running up the front lawn. He started screaming almost immediately. It sounded more like the shouts of an angry child than a barbaric war cry.

Tyler got out of the car as well, bat in both hands, unsure what to do with it. Paul smacked the crowbar against the wood railing on the front steps. The structure vibrated. Paul hit it again and wood crackled with a deafening splinter. Another hit sent the railing tumbling over into one of the well-groomed bushes on either side of the stairs.

Tyler ran to him, grabbed his arm. “You said no violence.”

“No.” He smiled. “You said no violence.” He crashed the heavy steel bar onto the fallen railing and a piece fractured almost in half. “Shit’s rotten anyway.”

“Enough.”

Paul laughed. He shook the spray-paint bottle like he was getting ready to throw it as a bomb. “We haven’t left our mark yet.” He started spraying a message on the steps. It was impossible to see what he was writing in the dark, but Paul apparently thought it was amusing enough to keep giggling like someone whose brain has just split.

A faint flickering red light floated out from the downstairs window. Had that light been on the whole time? It was the candles on the witchcraft altar.

Tyler grabbed Paul’s arm again, hard. “I don’t think she’s sleeping.”

“What?” He glanced at the house. “The psycho’s watching us?”