Fighting for Farmington: Destruction is Inevitable (Harmony Series Book 2)

by JR Thompson

  The next hour and a half was filled with sounds of boards banging into each other, loose nails pinging in a bucket, and the occasional reminder to Scottie to get himself in gear. Somewhere around 6 pm, Brock received a call on his cell phone and sauntered back to the car to speak in private.

  Desperate to win the bet, Titus encouraged Remmy to keep working while he went over to check on the subject of their wager.

  Remmy kept working, but couldn’t help but to watch and listen to what was transpiring on the other end of the lot. Scottie was raking up what was left of some nails on the ground. Titus interrupted him, “Your dad’s up at the car right now. You can take a break if you want to.”

  That is so low, Remington thought. He knows Brock told him not to take any breaks. He’s trying to cheat to win the bet and he doesn’t even care if Scottie gets in trouble for it.

  Remington was thrilled when he heard Scottie reply, “He’s probably watching.”

  Good job, Scottie! Way to see right through that one.

  Titus didn’t give up easily. “I wouldn’t be so sure. Check it out; he has his back turned.”

  Scottie shifted his gaze and sure enough, Titus was right. Brock wasn’t paying attention to anything but his phone call.

  Don’t do it, Scottie. Please don’t do it, Remmy thought.

  Scottie grabbed a few more nails and dropped them in the bucket.

  “So why’d you do it anyway?” Titus asked him.

  Scottie stood perfectly still. “Do what?”

  “You know what I’m talkin’ about. Why’d you destroy this place?”

  Scottie lowered his eyes to the ground. “I didn’t.”

  “Right,” Titus chuckled sarcastically. “Who did, then? The Easter Bunny?”

  Remmy knew exactly what Titus was up to. Now he’s trying to get him to surge into a fit of mania. I can’t believe how far he’ll go just to win a stupid bet. Unbelievable.

  Scottie wasn’t going into a rage, but his temperature was definitely rising. In a hateful, cracking voice, he asked, “How would I have a clue who did it? I was in the house just like everyone else!”

  You’re about to fail, Remington thought, taking notice that Brock was in the process of wrapping up his phone call.

  Unfortunately, Remmy wasn’t the only one who noticed. In a last-ditch effort, Titus picked up the bucket of nails and flung it around, scattering them everywhere.

  “What’d you do that for?” Scottie asked.

  Titus didn’t have time to answer before Brock’s voice boomed, “WHAT’S TRANSPIRING DOWN THERE?”

  Titus replied, “Scottie threw another temper tantrum. He wasn’t workin’ so I came over here and told him to get to it and he started throwin’ things around. You got off the phone just in time.”

  Oh, that dirty liar! Remington thought. I’m gonna tell Brock what really happened… but if I do… no, I’m just not gonna do it. I don’t have to be a nerd for the rest of my life. If Scottie gets in trouble, it won’t hurt me any.

  “That’s not what happened!” Scottie yelled.

  Remington watched as Brock took the paddle off the hood of the car and approached the two boys on the other end of the lot. “Scottie, I forewarned you I am not going to tolerate any furtherance of your naughtiness. Just because I meander away to partake in a telephone call—”

  “Dad, I didn’t do it! He’s lying.”

  Brock wasn’t in the mood for conversation. Using his left arm, he forced Scottie to bend over and laid five hard swats on him with the paddle. “That was for loafing.” He issued three more and announced, “that was for denying the truth.” He added three final licks and said they were making false allegations against Titus.

  Remington felt ashamed. Not only did Scottie just get a whipping for something he didn’t even do, but now I lost the bet and I’m gonna have no choice but to pay the price.

  22: Anaphylaxis

  It was midnight. Remington’s eyes hadn’t strayed from the clock since hitting the sack two hours before. He didn’t want to sneak out of the house, but he had lost the bet — even if Titus had double-crossed Scottie to win. Quietly slipping out of bed, he threw on his tennis shoes and a thin jacket. Knowing his mom was a light sleeper, he decided it wouldn’t be wise to chance exiting through the front door. Instead, he ever-so-graciously slid his window open and jumped out.

  The boy’s heart was throbbing. I can’t believe I’m doing this, he told himself. He was doing it though. After dawdling several blocks, he met Titus at the building site as planned.

  “I didn’t expect you’d actually show,” Titus told him.

  “I’m here. What are we gonna do now?”

  A mischievous smirk appeared on Titus’s face. “I’m glad you asked, man. Follow me.”

  The two strolled another block or so before coming upon a dimly-lit bar with boarded-up windows. “We can’t go in there,” Remington argued.

  “We’re not, man. Just trust me, okay?”

  Remington slipped his hands into his pockets and mumbled, “Sure.”

  As they approached the establishment, a wild looking woman in her mid-twenties pulled up in a hot-pink convertible with black eyelashes painted above the headlights and sporting heavily tinted windows. “Hey cuties,” she spoke, stepping out of the vehicle. “A little young to be hanging out at a saloon, aren’t ya?”

  “Got us there,” Titus answered. “Hey, could I get you to do us a favor?”

  “Depends. What kinda favor you hopin’ for, honey?”

  “I’ve got a twenty-dollar bill here, but they won’t sell me any alcohol on account of me being a minor. I was wondering—”

  “Sure thing, hon. No problem,” the woman volunteered, holding her hand out for the cash.

  Reluctantly, Titus handed it to her. The lady told them to wait across the street so it wouldn’t be so conspicuous when she returned with the beers.

  “What are you doing?” Remington asked once the woman was inside.

  “Seeing what we can get into. What else?”

  Remmy removed his hands from his pockets and crossed his arms. His eyes grew as wide as quarters. “I don’t like this — not one bit.”

  “A bet’s a bet man. You lost and now you gotta pay up. Chillax a little. Will ya?”

  Remington thought he was going to throw up. He couldn’t believe he had allowed himself to get into such a terrible situation. Sneaking out was bad enough. But drinking?

  It wasn’t long before the woman came back out with three open bottles of beer — one for her and one for each of the guys. Titus and the wild woman banged their bottles together and exclaimed “cheers” while Remington hoped he was having a horrific nightmare.

  “Come on, buddy. Don’t be shy,” Titus told him, raising his own bottle in the air toward Remington.

  Remington, not knowing how else to respond, met Titus’s bottle with his own and reluctantly said, “cheers.”

  Titus wasted no time in taking a sip. The woman wasn’t letting the grass grow under her feet either, but she didn’t only take a sip. She started chugging and had one-third of the bottle down in a matter of seconds. Both of them stood still, watching Remington. “What are you waiting for?” the woman asked.

  “I’ve never drunk before… I’m a little nervous.”

  “Oh, that’s normal. I was nervous my first time too. But once you’ve had your first swig, you’ll be hooked! Come on… Drink some, fella... Live a little,” she pressured.

  Remington pressed the bottle to his lips and started to barely wet his whistle to make both of them happy. When he did, Titus grabbed the lower end of the bottle and turned it up, forcing a generous amount of beer into his mouth. Remington choked and began coughing his head off. The woman smacked him on the back and laughed, “That’s some powerful stuff, huh fella?”

  Remmy didn’t agree. He considered it downright nasty. Nodding his head, he responded with a touch of sarcasm, “Yeah. Amazing.”

  “Chug some more then. This time s
ee how much you can take in at one time.”

  That pukey sensation in Remmy’s stomach was worsening by the second. I am an idiot. This is not me. What am I doing here? Raising the bottle, he took a long swig, chugging down as much as he could before coming up for a breath of air.

  The woman and Titus both laughed as if it was the funniest thing they had ever seen. That is until Remington put one of his hands up and began rubbing his throat. “I don’t feel too well,” he moaned. “It’s getting hard to breathe.”

  “Hard to breathe?” Titus replied. “I don’t remember feelin’ that way after my first drink.”

  “Me either,” the woman agreed. “Are you exaggerating? If you don’t like the taste, say so and you don’t have to drink anymore. I’ll take what’s left.”

  Remington began wheezing and brought his other hand up to his throat.

  “Whoa!” Titus exclaimed. “What’s goin’ on? Why’s he acting like that?”

  “Are you alright, fella?” the woman asked.

  Remmy endeavored to answer her, but he could scarcely get a word out. With profusely watering eyes he was in panic mode. A car driving past came to a screeching halt and a middle-aged woman called out, “Is everything okay? Do you all need some help? I’m a nurse.”

  Titus’s entire body began to tremble. “Ma’am, please don’t report us. We made a big mistake and we’re sorry.”

  “Have you boys been drinking?”

  “Yes, ma’am. Please don’t call the law.”

  “Let’s not concern ourselves with that right now. Let me have a peek at this guy,” the woman insisted, nearly sprinting out of her car.

  Placing two fingers on Remington’s wrist, she checked his pulse before instructing him to open his mouth. He did, but before she could get a close look, he snapped it shut again.

  “This boy’s having an episode of anaphylaxis,” she concluded.

  “What’s that mean?” Titus asked.

  “He’s having a serious allergic reaction to something — probably the alcohol. He needs help and I mean now.”

  “People can’t be allergic to alcohol,” Titus argued.

  “Listen to me. We don’t have time to debate. This boy’s life hangs in the balance.”

  The beer-buying woman appeared as though she was about to have a panic attack of her own. “If we call 9-1-1, we’re gonna be in terrible trouble.”

  The nurse repeated the sentiment that Remington needed immediate intervention. “Do either of you have any Benadryl or anything for allergic reactions?”

  Fortunately, the woman who had brought them the beers consistently carried an EpiPen in her purse. She whipped it out in no time and the nurse administered an injection to the panicked teen. Within a matter of minutes, both his rapid breathing and out-of-control pulse calmed down to a manageable level.

  Once things had deescalated, the nurse upset everyone by saying, “Folks, I’m sorry. As much as you don’t want to hear this, I have to call an ambulance. This boy needs to be checked out to make sure he’s gonna be alright.”

  Titus and Remington stared at each other. “You okay, buddy?” Titus asked.

  “Peachy,” Remmy replied.

  Titus looked at the nurse, glanced over his shoulder, returned his eyes to Remington, and then said, “Awesome... Let’s make a break for it!”

  With that, Titus made a mad dash into an alleyway and Remington stayed right on his tail. The concerned citizen hadn’t had time to catch their full names or to find out where they lived. They could only hope Remington would be okay and not have a relapse once the injection wore off.

  23: The Fight

  Titus was impressed to find Ericka practicing her guitar when he meandered into church a wee bit early Wednesday evening. As she had done before, she paused when he traipsed through the door. She smiled nervously as Titus approached her.

  “What’s the matter?” he asked.

  Instead of answering, Ericka began strumming the guitar while keeping her eyes practically glued to her fingers as she played.

  “Ericka?... Is everything okay?” Titus asked a second time.

  Ericka didn’t raise her eyes, but a voice suddenly thundered from behind him. “WHAT PART OF ‘STAY AWAY FROM MY SISTER’ DO YOU NOT UNDERSTAND?” Steve’s face was full of anger as he awaited a response.

  Titus moved his eyes toward Ericka, expecting her to come to his defense. She continued watching her fingers and strumming her guitar as if she was in the sanctuary all alone and the world around her was silent.

  “My sister doesn’t date knuckleheads who’ll end up hurting her. She’s not gonna get involved in a relationship with the likes of you,” Steve insisted.

  “With all due respect, I believe that’s between your sister and me,” Titus replied coldly.

  “You have no idea who you’re messing with here, dude. I’m tellin’ you one last time, LEAVE… MY SISTER… ALONE!”

  Titus shrugged his shoulders and with a menacing grin turned toward his angel. “Do you want me to leave you alone, Ericka?”

  Ericka remained speechless — it was almost as if she had gone deaf. Titus turned back toward Steve, only to have a fist land square between his eyes. The force combined with the unexpected shock of being physically assaulted in church knocked Titus backward, causing him to stumble and fall into a pew. Before he had time to get up, Steve grabbed him by the hair atop his head and threw him to the floor where he proceeded to kick him in the face.

  “STOP IT!” Ericka shrieked, finally coming out of her trance. “Leave him alone! He didn’t do anything to you!”

  Titus rolled to one side only to have Steve lift his foot high in the air and stomp on the left half of his face. Ericka grabbed a music stand and repeatedly bludgeoned her brother in the back and ribs with it while screaming at him to stop and to leave Titus alone.

  Pastor O’Malley came through the back door just as Ericka clubbed Steve in the back of his knees. “That is ENOUGH!” he yelled, rushing to the front of the church and tackling his grandson to the ground. Steve swung at Pastor O’Malley and Titus scrambled to his feet. Together, he and the pastor were able to physically pin Steve to the floor.

  After several minutes of pure hysteria, a parishioner entered the church. Seeing Steve held down, the bruises and cuts on Titus’s face, and Ericka sobbing wildly, she pulled out her cell phone and frantically called the police. “Hi, I’m over at Central Baptist Church. Pastor O’Malley and another young man are holding a teenager down on the ground. I believe there’s been some kind of a fight or something. We need help over here right now.”

  Overhearing her phone call, Steve went into another fit of rage and began trying to free himself with all of his might. Pastor O’Malley overpowered him — between him and Titus, there was no way he was going anywhere.

  “GRANDPA!” Steve screamed. “She called the COPS! If you don’t let me go, they’re gonna haul me off to JAIL! You love me too much to let that happen, Grandpa. Let me go! PLEASE!”

  For several minutes Steve continued fighting his restraints as well as yelling, screaming, and using inappropriate language. More members were coming into the church and several gathered around in case the pastor needed help. It wasn’t long before three police officers barged into the facility.

  “What seems to be the problem?” one of them asked.

  Ericka whimpered through her tears, “My brother attacked Titus because he didn’t want Titus talking to me.”

  The officer turned to Titus. “Why didn’t he want you flapping your gums to the girl?”

  “I don’t know,” Titus replied. “Honestly… I have no idea.”

  Pastor O’Malley spoke up in his defense. “Officer, I doubt there’s any logical explanation for my grandson’s behaviors. He has a quick temper and I believe he’s been experimenting with drugs. To the best of my knowledge, Titus hasn’t done anything that would have led to this attack. I’m willing to testify in court on behalf of the victim.”

  “GRANDPA!... Wh
at are you doing?” Steve yelled. “You’re gonna take his side? You don’t even know him!”

  “I’ll testify as well,” Ericka agreed with tears streaming down her face. “This is the final straw! My brother needs help and I’m willing to do whatever it takes to see him get the assistance he needs.”

  Two of the officers placed Steve in handcuffs and dragged him out of the church. The third officer stayed behind to obtain official statements from Pastor O’Malley, Titus, and Ericka. He told them they could expect to receive notification of an upcoming hearing via certified mail.

  Once the officer left, Pastor O’Malley apologized to Titus and the entire congregation for what had taken place. Then, he turned to Titus and asked, “Son, what can I ever do to make this up to you?”

  Titus didn’t miss a beat. With a blood-dotted smile, he suggested, “You could talk Ericka’s dad into lettin’ me call her on the phone.”

  ✽ ✽ ✽

  The dinner table at the Pearson household was thoroughly silent as plates were filled with fried chicken, mashed potatoes, green beans, and fresh corn on the cob. The appearance and aroma of the food were delicious, but an unsettling eeriness lurked in the air.

  Without as much as waiting for someone to be called on to say grace, Titus shoveled a heaping spoonful of mashed potatoes in his mouth — that’s when he noticed. “What are you staring at, pipsqueak?” he growled at Scottie.

  “That’s what I’m trying to figure out.”

  “That’s enough, boys,” Victoria scolded. “Let’s discuss something meaningful, okay?”

  “Like what? How Titus got a beat down at church while ago?” Scottie asked.

  Titus glared at him through squinted eyes. He wanted to tell him to shut his trap, but for whatever reason he kept his own mouth closed.

  Brock took a bite off of his corn cob and as he did, a smidgen of butter flew across the table, making an emergency landing on Scottie’s eyebrow.

  Titus and Victoria both chuckled, but Scottie didn’t see anything even remotely humorous about it. With steam boiling up and nearly rolling out of his ears, he grabbed a handful of potatoes and chucked them at his dad’s face. Sliding his chair back from the table, Brock shot Scottie a glare that should have sent shivers down his spine.