He held the bowling ball out in front of him with both hands. His arms began to tremble but he ground his teeth through the pain. This had to be done; there was no way around it. This one simple, yet horrendous, act would spare his family further misery. It might be murder, it might be wrong, but he had to do it if he wanted to keep his family safe and alive. This had better be what the gods wanted. The book said sometimes devils paraded as gods to make people do stupid things, even hurt the ones they loved.
It was too late to worry about that now.
To conduct a proper sacrifice, Brendan had to invoke the attention of the gods. The book relayed in specific details the entire Official Sacrificial Invocation and Ceremony. Brendan copied it down in his composition book, word for word, reread it numerous times; he knew what had to be said, but the time was so suddenly upon him that the car he had chosen—tan, old—would be past him in seconds. He couldn’t delay; he had to seize this moment now.
“For you, almighty gods, I make this offer. Protect my family from harm. May this be your will.”
He had forgotten the talisman—the sacred tool meant to really sanctify this moment. Hell, he hadn’t even thought of a talisman. What if this didn’t work? Before Brendan could reconsider, even delay for one more second, the tan car was at the bridge and he released the ball. “Help,” Brendan said. Maybe that would be enough.
At first there was nothing, only the sound of speeding cars, and Brendan thought the ball had missed the target completely, but then the crash splashed upward toward him with a terrific eruption of glass. He had hit the windshield—he couldn’t have hoped for better placement—a veritable strike. Tires screeched but not from the hit car. It kept going past the underpass, swerved onto the shoulder where the tires howled over the line of concrete indents, and then crashed head-first into a large maple tree. A lot more tires screeched and a heavy stink of burned rubber wafted up to Brendan.
He didn’t really notice the smell, however, because something had caught his eye. It was the array of bumper stickers on the back of the car. They were blurry at this distance, but Brendan didn’t need binoculars to recognize them. One read TIME FLIES LIKE AN ARROW, FRUIT FLIES LIKE A BANANA and another exclaimed, READING: EDITORS DO IT FOR MONEY.
PART TWO
“We are never so defenseless against suffering as when we love.”
Sigmund Freud
1
When his cell phone rang, Tyler was so happy to get a break from Mr. Coyle’s babbling about hot rods and Mustangs that he fumbled the phone and nearly dropped it out of his hands. It would be Paul, checking in on whether his buddy had been arrested for rape yet, but it wasn’t, and once he flipped open the phone and answered, Tyler immediately wished he had checked the screen first to see who it was.
“Tyler?” Sasha sounded calm, almost removed from emotion, if that made any sense.
“Yeah?”
“We need to talk.”
Tyler moved away from Mr. Coyle, who raised his eyebrows as if to say, Don’t mind me, I know how crazy women can be. Tyler moved toward the entrance doors. People entering would be less likely to stop and eavesdrop than the parents milling around by the lanes, waiting for their kids to start bowling.
“About last night,” she said as if Tyler had asked the stupidest of questions.
“What about it?” He should be apologetic and concerned and tell her over and over that he had thought she wanted it and oh God he was so sorry this happened. But he couldn’t contain the contempt. This bitch was going to ruin his life—you raped me—and there was nothing he could do.
“Please don’t be angry,” she said.
He snickered. She knew she had wrongly accused him. Now she wanted to formally apologize. She had realized the error of her ways and just wanted to set everything right. Hell, maybe she’d want another date. Paul had said that once the cherry was popped the bitches just went crazy for cock. Brendan thought of her breasts and smiled.
“I was just … surprised. You know?”
“I thought you wanted it.” An elderly woman glanced at him and Tyler faced the wall.
“You’re a nice guy and everything, but …”
“What?” He couldn’t soften his curtness. Why was he so angry? She was practically throwing herself at his feet, begging for mercy.
“I was really messed up last night. I wasn’t going to call you, even talk to you again. I wanted you to die.”
Did she believe he had slept soundly? He had barely managed a few hours of rest in- between moments of powerful alertness when he relived the moment in the car again and again. He punched his pillow and then used it to stifle his screams. He had taken her virginity (she had wanted it), but she could take his manhood.
“But you are a good guy, or so I thought.”
It was a set up for an apology. He let it hang there in cell-phone dead air.
“I know that you were, well, overcome. It happens to guys. That’s what Niki said. She wasn’t making excuses, just helping me reason this out.”
“Yeah,” he barely said. League play began and Tyler covered his exposed ear.
“I was really upset, Tyler. You understand that, right?” A distinct accusatory sharpness accented the question.
She hadn’t objected when he removed her clothes, hadn’t protested when he slipped a finger inside her—what the hell was he supposed to conclude? If she was going to apologize she better do it really soon or Tyler’s phone was going to end up in tiny pieces on the floor. Why were women so damn nuts? Couldn’t she see things from his perspective?
“Tyler?”
“Sure.”
“I don’t want to cause any trouble.”
He wanted to scream, Then say it was all your fault, that you misled me, or admit that you fucking wanted it! Instead, he said, “Okay.”
“You understand why I’m upset?” She reminded him of the blonde guidance counselor who spoke to every kid like he or she were five years old.
“Yeah.” Once he said that he realized he did understand why she had been upset. Lust had captured his mind for a few minutes and he hadn’t been himself in that car, but he hadn’t asked her if she wanted him or if he could do it. He had gone ahead and did it and it had felt wonderful, so fucking amazing, but if she had been screaming and crying for him to stop while he thrust away madly inside her then he was to blame, at least somewhat. He could admit that, but only because she had called him out of contrition. Had she attacked him, he would have attacked back.
“I would like to see you again.”
Despite what Tyler believed the proper way to react, Tyler’s body warmed and grew excited. Even the fear of a rape charge couldn’t control the male organ. It might even encourage it, though that was a terrible thing to suggest. “Me too,” he said.
“Can you come over?”
“Now?”
“Yeah.”
She not only wanted to apologize, she wanted to have sex again, to really show how sorry she was for her behavior. Paul was right: the bitch wanted cock. “I’m at my brother’s bowling practice right now and—”
“Can someone else take him home? I really want to see you now,” she said. Her voice begged, I’m dying for you to fuck me right now and this time I want you to really pound me.