A thunderous crash smashed through the trailer. The front of the SUV burst through the trailer wall, obliterating the front door. The trailer screamed and shuddered. Carpet burned my elbows, and I wrapped my arms around my head. Glass shattered. Books and wood and plastic flew everywhere. The SUV snarled like a demon. Thad gunned it again, and the SUV shoved farther inside. The ceiling creaked and cracked. Dad’s bookshelves collapsed. Blood and fear pounded in my ears, and sharp exhaust filled my nose. I scrambled to my feet. The trailer had a back door, but we never used it because it was stuck shut.
Gears ground. Thad shoved the SUV in reverse, and it pulled out of the trailer. Siding screamed along its sides. The trailer shifted and came off the cinder blocks that held it up. Everything dropped a foot. Water burst out of the kitchen sink as the pipes broke, and I caught the sick scent of stove gas. Groceries jolted out of the cupboards, along with the dishes. The hole partly collapsed, and the roof sagged toward it. Across the debris I saw my phone on the kitchen floor. Thad was still backing up.
I lunged across the debris. Cold water sprayed over me. Thad slammed the SUV into drive. I dove again and made it past the hole half a second before the SUV smashed into the trailer again only a yard away from me. The floor shook and the walls groaned. It knocked me to the floor again. Oh god, oh god, oh god, oh god. Where was Dad? Where was Peter?
Thad blasted the horn. The sound bellowed through the wreck that was my only home, and radiator fluid, sweet and poisonous, leaked across the floor. Through the car window I saw his face, a mask of twisted rage. My phone was only inches away. I rolled over, and pain sliced white-hot across my arm. Broken glass. Blood gushed toward my elbow—so much of it. The sight made me dizzy.
The engine roared again, and the SUV’s tires spun and chewed up the flimsy floor. I grabbed the phone. Blood made my fingers slippery, but I managed to poke 9-1-1.
Thad backed the SUV up a third time. It took a chunk of the trailer with it, and I lost my balance again. More pain shot down my arm, and I dropped the phone.
“Nine-one-one. What is your emergency?” said a tinny voice from the floor.
“Help me!” I shouted. “My name is Kevin Devereaux! He’s trying to kill me.”
“Can you tell me where you are, sir?”
The hole was open. Thad had backed away. I made a choice. Ignoring the 9-1-1 operator, I scrambled out of the hole, trailing hot blood. Thad saw me and floored it. The SUV lunged at me, snarling like a tiger. At the last second, I dodged out of the way. Air brushed past me, and something smacked my back—the side-view mirror?—and I was on the ground. Jesus Jesus Jesus. Pine needles stuck to the warm waterfall of blood that poured down my arm, and stupidly I thought about Cheez Whiz. The SUV crashed into the trailer a third time. I scrambled backward, trying to regain my feet. The driver’s-side door opened, and Thad half fell out. A cut on his forehead dripped blood down his face. The ground under me swayed a little. Loss of blood? Freaking out? Both?
“Thad,” I said. “You don’t need to hurt me.”
“You hurt me, Kevin.” He picked up a chunk of wood like a club. “I had everything fixed, and you wrecked it. I’m gonna wreck you.”
He stood over me with that club, ready to bash my brains out. I reached out, clawed the ground around me, and closed my hand over something cold and hard—a piece of metal. Red anger thundered over me. The tiger roared in my head and clawed at my ears. Everything that had happened to me in the last days, months, years bellowed inside me, filling me with hot lava and molten lead. Strength raged in me, and all the pain and fear burned away. I gripped the metal tightly. With two swipes, maybe three, his bit of wood would be nothing. The fucker who had broken my home, wiped out my life, would be dead. The metal was power in my hand. I aimed for Les’s kneecaps.
I froze. Les? Wait. Who was I fighting?
The tiger boomed inside me and demanded to be used, to attack. Thad had destroyed my home, blamed Peter for murder, fucked up my whole life. He deserved to—
What? Die? Yes. Oh yes. I was going to kill him. Like he had killed Les. Like Dad had killed Mark Brown. Like I had almost killed Robbie Hunter. Like Thad meant to kill me. How many people did anger need to kill?
Something shifted inside me. It had to stop. It had to stop with someone, somewhere. I swallowed. It could stop with me.
The tiger tried to roar again, but I turned my back on it. I turned my back on anger. The tiger tried to roar one more time, but I wouldn’t listen, and the roar died. Deliberately I dropped the piece of steel. The tiger faded into a pair of slitted eyes that closed and vanished.
“I won’t fight you, Thad,” I said. “We have to stop. Just stop. Once you start stopping, we can all quit forever.”
I was half-babbling, not quite sure what I meant, only sure I didn’t want to be angry anymore. The rage was draining away, the lava cooling to hard rock. As it retreated the slicing-hot pain came back to my arm, and dizziness rocked the ground under me.
“You’re a cowardly shit!” Thad snarled. Spittle from his lip landed warm on my cheek, but I was too unsteady to wipe it away. He raised the club higher. “You took everything. You’re a fucking corpse, Devereaux.”
He swung, and I made myself roll. My arm screamed in agony and left a puddle of blood behind me. Thad’s club smacked into it, spraying scarlet. I shoved myself backward, dirt and pine needles grinding into my skin.
“Thad,” I said. “This isn’t right. It won’t make anything better.”
“Hell it won’t!” He kicked me, and the blow landed on my wounded arm. Fiery pain lashed all the way down to my bones. I screamed. Thad kicked me again, this time in the side. I was going to die.
I lay on the ground at Thad’s feet like Robbie had lain at mine last year, looking up at Thad the way Robbie had looked up at me. And in Thad’s eyes I saw the same fear and hate in him I’d felt in myself the night I beat Robbie, the same fear and anger I felt when I yelled at Peter’s mom, the same fear and anger I felt about Les. Thad and I were alike. We were both so scared we were alone.
We’re alone.
And that was it, wasn’t it? All along I hadn’t been angry at Robbie or Peter’s mom. I’d been afraid I was alone. But Peter had shown me that there were other guys like me. Dad had shown me that my family loved me. Wayne had shown me there was a whole world of people who would accept me. Detective Malloy had shown me that other people got hurt the same way I did, and they could get through it. I wasn’t alone. And if I wasn’t—
“Thad,” I said, “you aren’t alone. I know what it’s like. My dad went to jail and my mom left, and I’m scared about that all the time. I know how it feels. The whole world is against you, and you think everyone hates you because of what your mom does, but it’s okay. There are lots of people out there who are going through the same thing. I’m one of them. You’re like me. You don’t have to deal by yourself.”
Thad raised the club again. I tried to back up some more, but I was tired and too dizzy. My side hurt. White coals of pain burned my arm, and my vision was getting blurry. Faint sirens screamed far away. I looked up at Thad and said the only thing I could think of.
“I’m sorry, Thad,” I said softly. “I know it’s awful. I’m sorry. But you aren’t alone. I’m here, even if you do want to kill me.”
Thad clenched his jaw and started to bring his arm down. I braced myself for more pain, said a silent goodbye to Dad and to Peter, and hoped they knew how much I loved them. The club came down—
—and smashed the ground next to my head. I stared in shock. Thad smashed the club against the ground again and again and again, screaming more and more with every blow. Then he dropped the club and went to his knees, sobbing. The sirens grew louder. Water trickled from the wreck behind us and made a stream under the pine trees. I crawled through it to Thad and managed to get my good arm around him. The bones in his shoulders felt light and hollow.
“It isn’t fair,” he said between sobs. “It isn’t fair.”
&nbs
p; “It’s okay,” I told him. “I’m here. You aren’t by yourself.”
The first police car pulled into the driveway.
ACT III: SCENE III
KEVIN
TURNS OUT the cops figured out where I was from my name, just like the Morses had. I ended up in the hospital with a bunch of stitches and a blood transfusion. It was kind of creepy watching that red bag empty into my arm, knowing it was someone else’s blood.
Detective Malloy was with me, taking notes, when Dad arrived. He burst into the room with a wild look on his face and all but crushed me in a hug. I yipped about my stitches, and he let go. He was crying. Did everyone in my life have to do that? But I was secretly glad he was being a drama dad over me.
He made me tell him everything from the start, even though I’d just told it to Detective Malloy, and when I was finished, he hugged me again, but more carefully. I asked him what the damage to the trailer was.
“The gas company got the gas shut off, and we turned off the water, but the trailer itself is totaled,” Dad said quietly. “I don’t know what we’re going to do, Kev.”
“There might be some social programs to help,” Detective Malloy said.
Dad shook his head. “I’m a felon on parole. There aren’t any programs for me.”
Malloy said, “Maybe we can—”
Right then Peter burst in. He didn’t speak, just hugged me like Dad did, and I had to warn him about my stitches too. I inhaled his scent and touched his hair and felt light and clean as sunshine now that he was here. Then he kissed me, and I kissed him back.
“Infinity,” he said. “Are you okay? Do you need anything? Something to drink? A snack? More blood? I have lots.”
I laughed at that. “I’m filled with O-positive goodness for now.”
“You’re my hero.”
“I am?” I was a little red from him kissing me in front of Dad and Detective Malloy.
“You got the charges dropped.” Peter’s eyes filled with ecstasy, and he hugged me again, carefully. “You’re…. I can’t say how fantastic, Kevin. The nightmare is over. Thank you. Just… thank you.” Then he started to cry, which made me want to cry.
Then I saw Mr. and Mrs. Morse. They were hanging back in the doorway. Had they seen Peter kiss me? I braced myself for shouting, but I was too tired, and suddenly I didn’t care what they thought.
Dad spoke for me. “What do you two want?” he demanded. “I don’t have a job, and our home was destroyed. We’re sleeping in the back of my truck when Kevin gets out of here. There’s nothing else for you to take.”
“It’s not like that, Mr. Devereaux,” Peter said quickly.
“He’s right, Jerry,” said Mr. Morse. “May we call you Jerry? I feel like after all we’ve been through—”
“We’re here to thank Kevin,” Mrs. Morse blurted.
“You are?” I said stupidly.
“You saved Peter,” she said, and her eyes were bright. “That’s…. It’s everything to me. To us.”
“What about all that other stuff you said?” I couldn’t help asking.
Mrs. Morse came into the room and carefully, slowly approached my bed. I was wearing a hospital gown, which was basically a pillowcase tied around my neck, and her nearness made me uneasy. But she only touched the back of my hand.
“I was startled and angry and surprised, and I suppose I still am,” she said, and her voice grew unsteady. “But I was wrong, and so were the things I said and did. I’m sorry. You are the light of my son’s life… and you saved him. Thank you.”
“See, Kev?” Peter said with that heart-wrenching smile. “Save me from false arrest and you’re in.”
Everyone laughed a little at that, but before I could respond, the doctor came in. She was a short Indian woman with a long black braid and a stethoscope around her neck. The room was getting crowded. “Everything looks fine,” she told me, “but we’d like you to stay overnight for observation.”
Dad looked concerned. “Um… how much will this set me back, Doctor? I mean, if Kevin needs it, we’ll find a way to handle it, but—”
Mr. Morse stepped forward. “Doctor, could my wife and I talk to you for a moment? In the hall?” The three of them left.
“What do they want?” I asked.
“Heroes,” Peter said, still grinning, “don’t pay hospital bills.”
APPARENTLY THEY don’t pay for anything else either.
First, though—Thad. I don’t know exactly what happened to him. Yeah, he was arrested and stuff. He did kill Les, and he tried to kill me, but I still felt bad for him. I mean, he didn’t really try to kill me. After I got done freaking, I figured that out. If he had really wanted to kill me, he would have done something more direct with a knife or a gun. He wouldn’t have smashed into the trailer with an SUV.
Anyway, Thad was arrested and charged with Les’s murder and a bunch of other stuff related to wrecking the trailer and attacking me. He was going to juvie, but that’s all I really knew. That and the Morses were paying for Mr. Dean to handle his defense.
His mom’s drug problem was dragged into the open during the investigation, and she was charged with child neglect and endangerment and ordered into rehab. Joe, Thad’s older brother, was put into foster care.
All this created a lot of ruckus behind the scenes at The Importance of Being Earnest. We had to open in two weeks, and Iris said we couldn’t delay anything—another Teen Scenes show was scheduled to take the theater the day after we closed. So we had to figure out what to do.
Thad had been playing my butler, Lane. Ray Nestorovich was playing Jack’s butler, Merriman, a very small role, so Iris offered him Lane’s role and asked Wayne to step in as Merriman. It would be a little weird having an adult onstage with us teens, but Merriman only showed up a couple times. Ray had to work his butt off to memorize the new lines and blocking, but he was ready by dress rehearsal, and everyone was impressed. Iris said the challenge made him really grow as an actor.
Joe insisted he wanted to stay in the play. He had lost his family, and he didn’t want to lose the play too. We were all extra nice to him until he told us to stop doing that, but he did have a couple of freak-out tantrums like mine. Wayne ended up talking him down, and he was able to hold on as Dr. Chasuble in the play.
Our trailer was a total loss. Dad and I weren’t even supposed to go back in to salvage stuff because it was dangerous, but we did anyway. There wasn’t much. Just about everything was broken or flooded or buried. I was moving carefully because of my stitches, and all I managed to get out were some clothes, a couple of stuffed animals from when I was little, and the photo of Robbie Hunter. The glass in the frame was cracked. I looked at it for a long time, started to knock on it, then set it back down in the rubble. My nightmares about Robbie were gone. I could leave him there.
I rescued my bike too. It had been parked in the yard, and Thad hadn’t even come close to hitting it. I was glad about that. If we had been in the Old West, my bike would have been my horse, and losing it would have been even more crushing.
We stood in the yard and stared at the ruined trailer, side by side. Dad and I had lived there ever since he got out of jail and Mom left. A lot of stuff had happened in that little trailer.
Finally Dad and I tossed our stuff into the back of his truck, and we drove off. I watched the trailer disappear into the pine trees in the rearview mirror.
“We’ll never see the place again,” Dad said.
“I don’t care,” I said, lying. “I don’t.”
“Yeah.” Dad touched my shoulder. “Me neither.”
No matter how crappy it is, home is home, right?
We drove around the edge of Ringdale and finally arrived at our apartment. It’s a nice one, with two bedrooms and two bathrooms—I have my own—and a laundry and a swimming pool. It turns out when you buy property with a house on it, even if the house is a trailer, you have to buy insurance for it. If the trailer is destroyed, the insurance company pays for a place for yo
u to live until everything is fixed. That was awesome news. The funny part came when the insurance company tried to say Dad was just a tenant, not the owner, so the company didn’t actually have to give us anything, but Mr. Morse asked the insurance guy to repeat the name of the insurance company. The guy ended up saying “Morse Insurance” three times to Mr. Morse before he got it. There was probably a pile of shit bricks under his chair when he figured that one out. And we got a cool apartment.
The Morses also offered Dad a foreman job—a for-real one—here in Ringdale. His first project? Building a house on a piece of pine-tree property the Morses had just bought on the east side.
“Once it’s done, we’ll turn the deed over to you,” Mr. Morse promised. “Call it your signing bonus.”
I could see Dad wanting to turn it down, but he didn’t. Instead he shook hands with the Morses and made plans to meet with the architect. I’ve never lived in a house that had blueprints before. I’m excited. Still an east-sider, but now I’ll be in an actual house. With his first paycheck, Dad bought me my own cell phone and new shoes. Peter’s sister Emily went shopping with us. Since that was a Thursday, Emily clapped her hands with glee and picked out a pair of purple ones. I like them.
A few days ago, I also went to the community center and asked to see the lady on the card. Her name was Natalie Hernandez, and just like Detective Malloy and Wayne said, she didn’t charge me anything. Natalie—she told me to call her by her first name—was a plump woman who had the word Mom practically written all over her. Even though I’d told more than one person what Les did to me, I still couldn’t bring myself to tell Natalie right off. At the first appointment, I could only tell her that I was sad and angry a lot. At the second appointment, I told her someone had attacked me. At the third one, I told her Les had raped me. She didn’t look shocked or judgy or even surprised. She only nodded and, just like Malloy, said I was brave for telling her and asked if I wanted to say more. And I did. I think it’s helping. Les doesn’t tell me I’m a little pervert anymore.
The Importance of Being Kevin Page 22