by Adam Wik
“No. I can’t. I’m grounded. I have to go right home after school.”
I couldn’t understand why she sounded so angry.
“Is this ‘cause you got home late last night?” I asked. “I can have Mom call your dad.”
She might as well have not heard me. We walked the rest of the way in silence. I couldn’t understand it but it seemed like she went out of her way to avoid me the rest of the day. I didn’t have much chance to worry about it though. As it got closer to last bell all I could think about was my meeting.
I didn’t see Sarah leaving after school, but I guess with how she was acting that didn’t surprise me. I checked my phone. Three thirty. I was going to be early. It only took me a few minutes to get there, so I ordered a coffee and sat down. The waiting felt like forever, and I thought about going and walking around the block once to calm down. Before I could get up, he came in.
He was wearing the same wrinkled tweed suit from the auction. He had thrown a tie on, probably to look more sane, but it only accentuated his disheveled hair and rumpled suit making him look less sane than ever. I waved as he scanned the room. He practically ran to the table to sit.
“You’re the one with the sword?” he asked.
“Yeah.”
“Why a kid?” he muttered to himself. He took a deep breath and pushed his thin—rimmed glasses back up his nose.
“Look, I’m going to tell you something extremely important. It’s going to sound crazy. I realize that, but you have to hear me out, ok?”
I nodded. I didn’t like where this was going.
“The sword is cursed. Honorbound. If you draw the blade from its sheath you cannot return it there until it has taken a life. The longer you wait the more impatient the sword gets. Accidents will keep happening, until…” He looked away.
“Until what?”
“Until it takes the life it requires from you.”
I didn’t know what to say. “You’re crazy. Completely crazy.”
He slammed his fist on the table. “This is not crazy! I’ve seen it!” He paused until everyone stopped staring and returned to their drinks. “Alfred. My colleague Alfred Stamford, that thing killed him.”
“Stamford?” The name sounded familiar. “You mean the guy that got…”
“Beheaded?” He winced. “Yes. We found out about the curse too late, by then bad things had already started to happen. Accidents. Each one was worse than the last. We tried just drawing blood, sacrificing animals, none of it worked. Alfred refused to kill anyone, and he died for it. The same thing will happen to you.”
We stared at each other in silence. He was crazy. He had to be crazy. A curse? It was ridiculous. Even so, there were whispers in the back of my head. I swear I had put the sword away. The broken desk, the vase, the grisly end of this Stamford guy. I shook my head.
“So, you’re telling me that if I don’t kill someone, I’m going to die?”
He nodded. I stood up from the table.
“I can’t believe I ever started to buy into this. You want me to kill someone. You’re insane.”
I slipped by him and stormed to the door. I heard his chair sliding over the bells of the door but I was outside before he could follow me.
It was a good thing Sarah hadn’t come. I decided not to tell her about any of this as I stomped off the curb into the street. Then I heard the horn.
I remember the next few moments in clips, like watching a slide show. I see the giant flat face of the city bus bearing down on me. I’m hit in the back by something, hard. I see a corridor of dark blue sky between the buildings. I hear screeching tires, and a wet thud that I’ll never forget. Then I was getting up off the sidewalk.
The bus was stopped where I had just been standing. Its face and the street around it were painted in crimson. The man in the tweed suit lay crumpled and broken before it. His glasses were at my feet.
That bus was going to kill me. That bus was going to kill me and he shoved me out of the way.
A crowd started to gather as the driver and passengers poured out of the bus. I didn’t know what to do. So I ran.
I had never run like that in my life. I didn’t stop the whole way home. There was no time to wait for the elevator, my feet only touched every third stair. I barely got the key into the lock. Only once I was inside, my back pressed against the door, did I let myself breathe. Could it be true? Could everything he said have been true?
The apartment was quiet. Mom must’ve been working late or running errands. I needed to tell someone. I needed advice. I needed Sarah.
This time I took the elevator to catch my breath. When the doors opened, I thought I heard yelling from down the hall. The door to Sarah’s apartment was cracked open. I started to knock then heard a crash from inside. I shoved the door open and ran in.
Sarah was curled up on the floor in the living room, sobbing. Her hands were covering her face but I could see a trickle of blood creeping through her fingers and dark purple bruises welling on her arms. Her dad stood over her, fists clenched. An end table lay on its side behind them, the lamp and the rest of its contents scattered across the floor.
Her dad turned to me when I ran in.
“What do you want?” he yelled.
His voice was thick and heavy, and I could smell the alcohol on him from the hallway. I tried to find something to say, but nothing came out. He lurched over to me and grabbed me hard by the back of the neck.
“This is none of your business.”
He threw me into the hallway. The door slammed shut behind me and I landed face first on the carpet. My stitches throbbed. I don’t think I really felt the pain though. All I could see was Sarah. Her sobbing. The blood leaking between her fingertips. The bruises. The look in her eyes.
I was in my room. I don’t remember if I took the stairs or the elevator, but there I was, in front of my dresser. In front of the sword. My knuckles went white as they tightened around the hilt. I do remember the trip back up, I took the stairs two at a time.
I could hear him yelling again. I rattled the door. He had locked it. There was a thump and another wailing sob. My good foot came up and slammed the door, tearing the chain off its mounting and ripping a chunk from the frame. I didn’t know I could do that.
Her dad eyed me as I stomped back into the living room, blade in hand, and he laughed.
“Oooh, the big man went and got a knife. You gonna cut me big man?”
“Don’t touch her.”
He sneered.
“Or what? You gonna stop me? I know you. You ain’t got the balls.”
My eyes met Sarah’s and her dad started laughing again.
“Besides,” he said, “she’s my property. I brought her into this world, and I can take her out.” He snatched the lamp off the other end table and lifted it over his head. Sarah cringed, waiting for the blow. It never came.
My shoulder slammed into him first, then the point of the sword slid between his ribs. Our momentum carried us into the wall. When we hit, the sword kept going until the guard met his chest. I let go of the hilt and jumped back. My heart was pounding. What had I done?
Her dad was still breathing, barely. The blade had gone completely through him pinning him to the wall. The red stain on his shirt crept larger and larger. Sarah pulled herself up into a sitting position. I yanked hard on the hilt and her dad slid to the floor as the blade came free. I couldn’t explain it, but the blade was clean. Not a drop of blood on it.
He started laughing again, between ragged gasps.
“I guess you did have it in you. And all for what? For that?” He glared at Sarah. “You’re the reason she’s dead. You know that? If it weren’t for you, my Allison would still be alive.” He spat blood at her. “I wish you were never born you disgusting little bi—”
I didn’t let him finish. My swipe opened his throat clean back to his spine. Blood splashed across the wall and dotted the couch and ceiling. He didn’t laugh after that. I dropped the sword on the floor
and went to Sarah. I wrapped my arms around her and held her until she stopped sobbing.
What had I done? Sarah had stopped sobbing, but now I was shaking.
I had murdered someone. What was I going to say? I was protecting Sarah? It wasn’t me it was this cursed sword of mine? I was going to spend the rest of my life in prison. I told Sarah to wait there and ran down the stairs to our apartment.
I slammed the sword back into its sheath and threw the whole thing into the back of my closet. I would’ve tossed it into the dumpster then and there, but if the police dug through it they would find it. I’d do it later. My chest was heaving by the time I was back in Sarah’s apartment.
She was standing over the bloody body of her dad, kicking it as hard as she could. I grabbed her and spun her around and she latched on to me again.
“Thank you,” she whispered into my shoulder. “What are we going to do now?”
I went over the story I had come up with. We would call the police and tell them that we were here when a man broke in.
“He attacked us,” I told her, “he beat the two of us and tried to drag you off. Your dad tried to stop him and the guy pulled out a knife and… did that. Then ran off.”
Her little brother would be home soon, so we went through the details of our story as much as we could before we called the police.
“Wait,” Sarah said as I was getting ready to call, “you don’t look like you got in a fight.”
She was right. I picked the fallen end table up off the floor. I had to do it before I lost the nerve. With a deep breath I slammed my face into the table top. I always thought cartoons were kidding when they show characters seeing stars. They aren’t.
When the room stopped moving, I called the police.
The killing had taken seconds, but it felt like hours. The rest of the night was a blur. The police and the paramedics came. They treated our injuries and questioned us. Mom was called, and she sped back from wherever she had been. Maybe it was just because I knew I had done it, but it didn’t seem like they questioned us very much. Maybe it was my shaking or Sarah’s bawling. Who knows.
When her brother got home from his friend’s house and found out what happened I thought he would never stop screaming. Mom held him for hours until he finally got too hoarse to continue.
Sarah and her brother didn’t have any living family members in the area, so child services were called and they were supposed to be taken to a temporary foster home. Somehow, and I’m still not certain how she pulled it off, Mom talked them into letting her take care of them until they could track down family out of state.
I have no idea what time it was when I finally collapsed into bed. I hadn’t even bothered to change out of my bloody clothes. As sleep swept me away my last thought was that it was over. How wrong I was again.
The next few days were pretty quiet. We were let off school for the rest of the week, but Mom had to take us to the police station a few more times to give statements. Sarah and I didn’t talk about what happened. I think we told the story so much that both of us were starting to really believe it. At least, by day.
By night I saw him in my dreams. His throat was open, but he was still laughing. I’d swing and swing and swing until there was nothing left. He still laughed. I didn’t get much sleep.
By Monday morning things were feeling like they were back to normal. Sarah and I walked to school together like always. We didn’t talk much on the way, but it wasn’t awkward. We understood. We didn’t need all the words anymore.
Our walk may not have been awkward, but school was. The stares. The whispers. Everyone being unnaturally, uncomfortably nice. I guess it didn’t really bother me though. Let them walk on eggshells, I thought, in a month we can all forget any of this ever happened. I wish it’d been that easy. Nothing’s ever that easy. I didn’t even get a full week of peace.
Sarah and I were laughing when we walked into the apartment. I can’t remember what about, something stupid from school I think. Who cares, we were laughing again. I saw Sarah’s little brother watching cartoons. Then I saw the sword.
It was sitting out on the mantle above our fake fireplace. An arched wooden stand held it on display in all its shining glory. One tier held the sheath, the next held the naked blade.
I froze when I saw it. Sarah kept going, then stopped when she saw the look on my face.
“What’s wrong?” she asked.
“The sword,” was all I managed to croak out.
She looked at it on the mantle. “You don’t think. They can’t know…”
Mom came around the corner from the kitchen before she could finish.
“Welcome home guys, how was school?”
Neither of us answered. I was fixed on the sword, Sarah glanced back and forth between me and Mom. Mom followed my gaze to the mantle.
“Do you like it?” she asked. “I was cleaning up your room and I found it in the back of your closet. You shouldn’t treat your present that way.” She walked over to it. “I know I told you not to take it out but, with everything that’s happened, I thought this might cheer you up a bit.”
“You took it out?”
“Yeah. I thought it looks better that way. Don’t you?”
“Why? Why did you do that?”
“You don’t have to shout.” She looked a little hurt. “Don’t you like it?”
I wanted to scream. I wanted to cry. I wanted to throw that thing through the window. What was I going to do? She took it out of the sheath. My Mom was going to die. I pressed my palms to my temples, trying to stop the room from spinning. Mom and Sarah both called after me as I slipped into my room and slammed the door. What could I tell Mom? She’d never believe me about the curse. I still had trouble believing it.
“Hon, are you ok?” Mom knocked on the door behind me. “Let us in.”
I got up and opened the door.
“Sorry, it’s… I like it. I’m just still kind of… stressed.”
Mom didn’t look completely convinced, but she let it go.
“Alright. Let me know if you want to talk, ok?”
She went back off to the kitchen. Sarah stayed behind. She watched Mom turn the corner then closed the door.
“What was that about?” she asked. “They’re going to get suspicious if you keep this up.”
I had forgotten, I never had the chance to tell her everything that had happened. She didn’t know about the curse.
“It’s not that,” I said. “It’s Mom. She’s… in trouble.”
“What do you mean?”
I started at the beginning, with the auction. I told her everything — the sword not staying in the sheath, the accidents, the meeting, the bus. She took a moment to process it all.
“You can’t be serious.”
I stared back at her.
“You can’t be serious. This is crazy. You don’t seriously believe the sword is cursed, do you?”
“I don—”
A crash from the kitchen cut me off. When we ran in Mom was sitting on the floor holding a hand to her head. One of the cabinets was smashed into the counter and cans of food were scattered all over. Sarah’s little brother clung to her side.
We pulled Mom up and sat her back down at the table. When she pulled her hand away from her head you could already see a large purple lump swelling up beneath her hair.
“I can’t believe that stupid thing, broke right off the wall,” she said. “Gave me a good hard whack coming down.” She poked at the swelling on her head and winced.
“Are you ok?” Sarah asked. “Should we call a doctor?”
“No, no. I’ll be fine. Just some headache medicine and an icepack.” She got up and pulled a bag of veggies from the freezer. “I would really appreciate it if you three could clean up all the cans for me, though.”
We went to work picking everything up while Mom went and laid down on the couch to ice her head. It didn’t take us long to finish. As soon as the last one was picked up I dragged Sarah bac
k into my room while her brother went to watch TV with Mom.
“Do you see?” I said. “Mom took the sword out and now the accidents have started. We have to fix this or…” I didn’t want to say it. I didn’t want to think about losing Mom.
“So you want to murder someone? Who? How can you even say that?”
“Be quiet, Mom will hear. I don’t know. I don’t know what to do. I can’t just let Mom die. I don’t know that I can just murder someone though. I didn’t even mean to with your Dad I just…”
She squeezed my hand.
“No. No he deserved it. He deserved worse. Don’t you dare regret that. I just wish it had been me holding the sword.”
“So what do we do?”
We sat in silence, thinking. Sarah spoke up first.
“We can’t just murder some innocent person. We can’t. It’s gotta be someone who deserves it. A criminal.”
“How are we going to do that? We don’t know any criminals, and there’s no way we could get to someone after they’ve been arrested.”
She sighed. “You’re right. Let’s take some time and think about it, this is too much for me right now. We’ll work something out tomorrow.”
We didn’t talk about it the rest of the night, or at all in the morning. I couldn’t focus in school. There had to be someone who deserved to die, but who. I knew, deep down, I didn’t really care who. Mom’s life was more important to me than anyone else’s. I couldn’t tell that to Sarah though, she would’ve thought I was a monster.
The walk home was mostly silent. We had plenty to say, but were terrified of someone overhearing us. Mom was gone when we got back to the apartment, so we sat down to planning.
“Alright,” Sarah said, “we need to find someone who deserves this. I think we should do as much research as we can online, see if there’s anyone on the wanted list around here or someone who’s had a lot of repeat offenses. We’ll track them down and plan out how we’re going to do it.”
“What if we can’t find any?”
“If we can’t find anyone like that, then we can use the registered sex offender database and make it one of them.”
I nodded. It was as good a plan as any I could come up with. We were about to head to my room to start our hunt when the phone rang. I picked it up in the kitchen.