CHAPTER SIX
Martin’s Decision
Martin feels himself being shaken and opens his eyes.
“What?” he mumbles, disoriented.
“Time to get some work done,” Mr. James stands over him in shorts and a tee shirt.
Martin grumbles and turns to grab his cell phone.
“It’s six am, Mr. James. Why do I have to get up so early?”
Mr. James shrugs. “I figured you’d want to get in some practice.” Mr. James tosses a basketball to Martin and turns to leave.
“Meet me downstairs in twenty.”
•••
Martin wipes the sweat from his brow with his left hand as he dribbles the ball with his right. Mr. James is good. They’ve been playing for hours and neither one is showing signs of fatigue.
“This is game point, Martin,” Mr. James smiles. “You gonna fake left? You gonna fake right?”
“Stay out my head,” Martin smirks. Mr. James is fast, despite his size, and Martin finds it difficult to dribble past him. He takes a step back and Mr. James goes for the ball. Martin switches to his left, then bounces it behind Mr. James. He runs to pick up the ball, but Mr. James quickly turns and grabs the ball before Martin can get to it.
“Let me show you how it’s done,” Mr. James taunts.
Martin shakes his head. “I don’t need advice from you, old man.”
“Oh no?” Mr. James smirks. “Watch and learn, son. Watch and learn.”
Mr. James looks straight into Martin’s eyes as he dribbles the ball. Martin grabs for the ball, but Mr. James switches hands and dribbles right past Martin for a slam dunk.
“It’s all in the footwork,” Mr. James winks as he tosses the ball to Martin.
Martin scowls and grabs the ball. He walks over to the check point and waits.
“You want to play again?” Mr. James asks.
Martin nods his head.
“Okay,” Mr. James shrugs and checks the ball. Martin tries to get the ball past Mr. James, but is unsuccessful. After losing the ball to Mr. James several times, Martin grabs the ball and slams it against the garage door.
“Hey!” Mr. James frowns. “Martin, that’s not good sportsmanship.”
“I don’t care!” Martin frowns. “You keep making that same stupid move, and I can’t get the ball past you!”
“Martin, relax,” Mr. James shakes his head. “You want me to teach you the move?”
“I don’t want you to teach me anything!” Martin scowls and storms back into the house.
•••
Dinner is unnervingly quiet. Martin watches Mr. James and barely touches his food. Mr. James eats as if nothing’s wrong. Martin wonders if he’s playing some silent mind game.
It doesn’t matter. Martin has plans of his own.
Martin excuses himself early, complaining of a stomachache, but waits by his bedroom door, listening for Mr. James’ movements. It’s not long before the house is completely silent, and Martin calls his friend, Max. It’s a little after midnight, but Martin knows Max will be up.
“Hey Max, I need you to do me a favor,” Martin whispers into the phone. “Can you pick me up?”
“Sure, man, but aren't you over at that preacher's house?” Max asks.
“Yeah, but don't worry, he's asleep.” Martin reassures him. “Meet me in half an hour about a block from here, okay?”
“I'll see you there.”
Martin creeps down the stairs as quietly as he can, stopping several times. To Martin, each step sounds like an explosion in a quiet forest, though the stairs are carpeted, and he is wearing tennis shoes. Martin slowly opens the back door in the kitchen, the door furthest from Mr. James' bedroom door. Before he walks out, he looks inside one of the kitchen drawers.
He'd seen Mr. James put a Swiss army knife there earlier after using it to unlock a rusty trunk. He finds the knife and continues out the door. He quickly goes through the back gate and down the dark alley to the next block where he agreed to meet with Max. When he finds him Max is finishing a can of beer, leaning against his car.
“So what are we up to tonight?” Max asks as he drops the empty can to the ground.
“You know where Johnny lives, right?” Martin asks him.
“Uh, yeah.” Max hesitates. “Why?”
“We're gonna pay him a little visit,” Martin answers with a smirk.
Max looks quizzically at Martin and then smiles. “I was wondering if you were gonna let him get away with all that talk.”
Martin frowns. “What did he say?”
Max continues with a slight slur, “He says he’s gonna finish what he started on Monday, and he won't take it easy if you tell him you’re a preacher now and don’t want to fight.”
“What?” Martin has never heard anything so stupid.
“Yeah, the rumor is that preacher guy is gonna make you a preacher. Um, you aren't gonna be a preacher are you, Mart?” Max looks at him with genuine concern. Martin can tell his friend is drunk.
Martin laughs. “Max, what are we about to do? Go ask Johnny if he wants religion?”
Max laughs. “ That's good to hear. Your parents are already pretty weird. I just wanted to make sure they didn’t get to you too.”
“It was kind of harsh for them to kick you out of the house, though. I mean, if it were me, I'd hate my parents for the rest of my life. Of course, I hate them anyways. Parents don't know jack.” Max scowls and kicks the empty can away with his foot.
“Yeah,” Martin frowns.
Martin and Max get into the car. Max puts the keys in the ignition, but the car doesn’t start.
“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Martin glares at Max.
“Come on, you piece of junk!” Max cusses at the steering wheel and makes several attempts to get the car engine to turn over.
“How much gas do you have in the tank?” Martin asks.
Max looks at Martin and shrugs sheepishly.
“Max!” Martin groans.
“It’s not my fault my parents are cheap!” Max defends himself. He tries again to turn over the engine, but is unsuccessful.
“Forget it,” Max shrugs. “We’re not going anywhere.”
Martin shakes his head. “Move over, Max.”
Max switches seats with Martin and hands him the key. Martin turns the key in the ignition and pumps the gas as the car idles. It finally revs to life and Martin hoots.
“Next time put some gas in your car, moron.”
Martin drives, with Max in the passenger seat, to the East side of Mogis Hills. They park on the street behind Johnny's house.
“Did you bring the stuff?” Martin asks.
“Yeah,” Max replies, pulling out two ski masks. They park the car and walk quietly to the side of Johnny's house. They hear shouting, followed by glass shattering.
“What was that?” Max looks over at Martin, uneasy. “Maybe we should forget about the whole thing?”
Martin shakes his head. His hand glides over his back pocket, where the small knife is. “There’s no way I’m letting Johnny go. You have no idea what this guy’s put me through, Max.”
Both boys watch quietly as Johnny storms out of his house, cursing and kicking at the ground. He begins walking down the street in the opposite direction.
They decide to follow him on foot and come back later for the car.
Johnny seems oblivious to his surroundings. He almost crashes into two parked cars and doesn’t respond to greetings from other pedestrians. Martin and Max watch a safe distance away as Johnny goes into a convenience store. While Martin keeps his eyes on the door, Max looks up and down the street.
“Hey check this out,” Max points to a group leaving a restaurant a block away from the store. The entire group is dressed in black. Some of the women are wearing veils around their faces.
“I think it’s a funeral,” Max whispers.
Martin rolls his eyes and pushes Max further back, into the shadows. “If you can see them, they can see us, M
ax. Step back. Besides, they don’t have funerals in restaurants”
Max moves back but continues to watch the group as they wait outside. “You know what I mean. Hey, that looks like Mrs. Miller.”
Martin frowns. “I don’t care, Max. We’re here for Johnny.”
“I’m gonna get a closer look,” Max takes a step closer to the group and Martin pulls him back.
“What’s the matter with you, Max?” Martin glowers. “You’re gonna get us caught!”
“I was just-“ Max stops as the door to the convenience store opens and shuts. They both duck down as they watch Johnny exit.
“Idiot!” Martin hisses.
“Sorry,” Max replies quietly.
They follow closely behind Johnny as he walks to the park. Johnny wanders around the playground for a few minutes before settling onto a bench. Max looks at Martin, waiting to see what he wants to do next. Martin pulls out the knife he brought with him and looks at it. Max looks at the knife, too, and then looks nervously at Martin.
This is it, Martin’s hand trembles as he feels a sudden panic. He closes his eyes and thinks of the embarrassment Johnny has already put him through. His parents are ashamed of him. Why else would they have sent him away? He has to spend the rest of the week with a man he can’t stand, listening to him harp over and over about the same things. All because of Johnny.
Martin shakes his head, resolute. This is what he wants to do. He'll make Johnny suffer. Martin grimaces and fingers the knife. His hands tingle and his anger rises to the boiling point. He welcomes the rush of adrenaline that follows.
I'll kill him, he thinks. He doesn't realize how loud his thinking is.
“What did you say?” Max asks in alarm. Martin swallows and stares at the knife. Max looks at Martin intensely.
“I think that was Mrs. Miller. Back there. She works with my mom and she just lost her son.” Martin stares at the knife, but says nothing. Max places his hand on Martin’s shoulder.
“I know we were gonna scare him, Martin, but...”
“Max, if you’re not with me I don’t want you here!” Martin growls.
Max looks at Martin, confused. “Martin, what are you talking about?”
Martin feels his heart rate increasing and he pushes Max to the ground, much more forcibly than he intended.
“Get out of here, Max!” Martin hisses. “If you’re gonna chicken out, I’ll do this myself!”
Max looks up at him. “He's not worth it, man.”
Martin grabs Max’s shirt. “I said get out of here!” he growls. He releases Max’s shirt with a shove, and Max staggers back. Max reaches his hand out to Martin.
“Don’t try to stop me!” Martin warns. He takes the knife and swings it at Max’s hand. Max instinctively pulls it away.
“Martin…” Max takes a long look at his friend, shakes his head and backs away.
As Max disappears into the night, Martin feels a mix of emotions. What if Johnny spots him before he can get to him? He wants Max to have his back, but now Max is gone.
Martin pulls the ski mask over his head and focuses in on Johnny, rage building as he looks back on his suspension, the lectures, the relocation, and the sermons. Johnny has this coming to him. If he wants to finish what they started on Monday, Martin will give him a chance to show what he’s made of.
The same thing everyone else is, Martin thinks morbidly. Martin imagines kicking Johnny's bloody, lifeless body one last time before leaving him right there in the park. He imagines how good it will feel to finally even the score.
His mouth goes dry as the words of Mr. James fight their way into his thoughts. “You lose control often enough, and you'll wind up making mistakes that you can't reverse.”
Martin shakes his head stubbornly. Knife in hand, he makes his way towards Johnny. He takes a step off the curb, heart beating, palms sweating, mind flooding with images of Johnny’s blood on his knuckles.
A screech and a honk yank Martin out of his fantasy, and he falls backwards as a squealing car turns the corner. The car veers right to dodge Martin, but the rearview mirror catches his jacket pocket, spinning him around. Martin loses his balance and lands on his left shoulder. His head scrapes the pavement and his teeth dig deep enough into his tongue to draw blood.
Martin watches from the ground as the owner of the car stops, shouts a curse and backs up. Martin, realizing he still has a ski mask on, takes off down an alley in a panic. Somewhere along the way he realizes the knife is no longer in his hand.
Martin’s head is dizzy and he feels like he’s suffocating. Another step and it would have been Martin’s blood on the ground. Had he been so focused on Johnny that he didn’t see the car? The streets were clear, how could he have missed it?
His adrenaline wanes, giving way to shock and nausea. Martin stops running, pulls off his ski mask, and vomits. An erratic sob overtakes him and his legs go weak. What is he doing here? His parents were right, Mr. James was right. He’s out of control.
Martin places his hands on his head to still the dizziness. He needs to talk to Mr. James.
Martin swallows a lump in his throat and manages to find his legs. He walks back to where Max parked his car, but there’s no sign of it when he gets there.
It’s after two in the morning. Out of options, Martin begins walking back to Mr. James' house. After walking for half an hour, a familiar black car pulls up beside him.
“Get in,” the driver orders.
Martin feels a wave of dread but does as he’s told. He puts his head down and avoids eye contact. They pull into Mr. James' driveway and walk quietly into the house.
“Sit.” Mr. James points to a chair in the living room. Martin chances a look at his face, but only briefly. He can’t tell if he is angry, worried or disappointed, but he is certain he’ll find out soon enough.
“Well?” Mr. James frowns, waiting for Martin to explain himself.
“I um...” Martin’s eyes mist over. “I’m sorry,” is all he can manage to say before breaking down in sobs. Mr. James’ face softens, and he pulls a chair beside him and sits down.
Mr. James waits for Martin to calm down. When he does, Martin tells him everything that happened. He breaks down several times in the process, but Mr. James is patient and lets him get through it. When he finishes Martin apologizes again.
“I shouldn’t have snuck out,” Martin frowns. “I’ve been fighting you all week, Mr. James. All this time I thought I was in control. I thought I knew best. Instead, I almost got myself killed.” Martin shakes his head, overwhelmed. “That car came so close...”
“Martin, understand that none of this took God by surprise. He knew exactly what you would do, and He was looking out for you. Tonight could have ended so much worse than it did.”
Martin sits down and puts his head in his hands. “I wanted to get back at Johnny so badly. I knew it was wrong, but I let myself lose control anyway. How did you do it, Mr. James? How did you get past all your anger? I know I’m responsible for my actions, but I didn’t choose to be like this, Mr. James. Anger is all I know.”
Mr. James nods and grabs his bible. “Martin, let me show you something.”
Mr. James flips the pages of his bible to 1 John 1:9.
“In this verse we’re told ‘if we confess our sins, He is faithful and just to forgive us all our sins and cleanse us from all unrighteousness.’ Once we realize that the things we’re doing are wrong and confess those things to God, He forgives us. And not only does he forgive us, he takes those things away. He takes away our desire to do them, and he gives us power to refuse to do them.”
“Are you saying I can choose not to be angry?” Martin asks.
“I’m saying that if you give yourself to God, you’ll be able to choose whether to let anger take you to a place you don’t want to be. Martin, when I shot Rick I was beyond rage. I was so wrapped up in anger that even if I wanted to stop myself, I couldn’t. I had given that anger permission to take me as far
as it wanted to go, and I was a slave to it. But when I repented and turned my will over to God, I stopped being a slave to my anger. I didn’t stop getting angry, Martin. Sometimes I still get angry. But now, because of what God’s done in me, my anger cannot force me to do anything. I can still choose to go down that path, but I no longer want to.”
“Mr. James, I don’t want to be controlled by my anger anymore,” Martin looks up at Mr. James. “If this is God giving me a second chance, I want to take it. I don’t want to be like this.”
Mr. James nods and he and Martin bow their heads in prayer. Mr. James encourages Martin to speak to God himself as they pray.
“Lord,” Martin begins, “Thank You for sending your Son Jesus Christ, to save me from my sins. I know I've made some bad choices, and I know I don't deserve Your love.
But I also know that I need You. Please come into my heart, and change it. I need your help with my anger. I don’t know how to control it. There’s so much I don't understand, God, but please show me what You want me to do. I give my life to You. Thank You, God, for the gift of salvation. Amen.”
Mr. James smiles as Martin wipes the tears from his face. “Get some rest, Martin. This marks a new beginning.”
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