It had peaked roofs, two turrets, two chimneys and was built of pale, gray stone. There wasn't anything else like it in Fresno. "This is ours?" I breathed as I took it in—a four-car garage was attached to one end, and a connected circle drive bordered the front of the house.
"The guesthouse is behind this one," Mom explained as Dad stopped the car and Mack and I tumbled out of the back seat.
"Can we go in?" I asked. Yeah, I couldn't take my eyes off it. It was new, and yet it felt familiar in some way.
"We have keys and a security code," Dad grinned. I'd never seen him this excited about anything before, and he'd built a ton of houses and businesses.
Double doors led into the house, and a wide, tiled entryway lay beyond that, with a double staircase on both sides, going upward to the second floor.
"Dude," Mack mumbled in awe as we walked inside.
The rest of the house was just as amazing, from the huge kitchen to the dining room and the bedrooms upstairs. Dad had a bigger study and the family room was enormous. The biggest surprise lay at the back of the house—an indoor pool.
"I can't wait to get in that," Mack breathed. The water was clear; with the pool lights on, I could see the bottom of the pool. A filter hummed somewhere, keeping the water circulating and clean. I couldn't wait to get in it, either.
"Next week," Mom said. "We have a few things left to do, but it's ours."
"What's left?" I turned to Dad.
"Some electrical and plumbing, plus a few things on the third floor. It'll be done by Monday, I think, so we can move in sometime after that."
"Do we need to pack?" I asked.
"We have movers coming—it'll happen in one day," Mom said. "I hope it's done by the time you get home from school on Thursday. We'll drive over and make sure everything is where you want it."
"Are we going to the football game next Friday?" I asked. I had mixed feelings about it; Mom, Dad and Mack were usually there, but I'd always been on the field while they watched from the bleachers.
"I think we ought to go," Dad confirmed.
"Okay." I shrugged. "Mack?" I turned to him—he might not want to go, and I wouldn't blame him if he didn't. The thing was, they'd planned the memorial service before the game, and I felt I needed to pay my respects at least, by being there for my teammates who'd died.
"If you're going, then I'll go," Mack decided.
"Good. I wanted to get the move done before that," Dad said. "Ready to get your car and go home?"
"I guess. I really like this place," I added. "It feels like home." Dad ruffled my hair and headed toward the front door.
* * *
It shouldn't have been a surprise, but still it made me so angry I could have hit something. My Honda was covered in eggs and multiple colors of spray paint. "Dude, it looks like the Easter bunny dropped his load on it," Mack muttered.
It did. Dad held onto Mom as they surveyed the damage. The last insult? All four tires had been slashed. "We'll get it taken care of," Dad said and pulled out his cell to call a towing service.
"Three guesses who did this," Mack growled. Yeah, it was a good growl—one I wished I could make. Dad talked to the tow service about picking up my car, and told them it would have to be hauled—it couldn't be driven anywhere with four flat tires.
"Trouble?" Joey drove up in Mom's Jeep—he'd dropped the others off at the house, looked like.
"Take Kiarra and the boys home; I'll wait for the tow truck," Dad said.
"I'll let Justin drive; I'll stay with you," Joey suggested.
"Fine. Justin," Dad jerked his head toward the Jeep.
"Thanks," I nodded to Joey.
"It's time for another car," Joey shook his head at my Honda.
"I think I need a tank or the bat mobile," I muttered.
* * *
I understood completely why Dad didn't want the police involved in the vandalism of my car. After all, one of them almost killed Mack—indirectly, of course. Still, it was a crime and somebody ought to pay for the damage.
I had a good guess who should do that, but felt powerless to do anything about it. I'd probably get thrown in jail if I went after Randall Pierce, and there's no telling what would happen to me after that.
"Sometimes we have to let the small things go, to preserve the greater good," Mom said, sliding a plate of brownies toward Mack and me. We'd sat at the kitchen island after we got home, but I was mad and depressed at the same time.
"My car is a small thing?" I blinked at her.
"Honey, I know it's a big thing to you, but you have to remember what started all this. Those monsters may still be out there, just waiting to attack again. Randall Pierce is trying to get revenge against innocents, when he has no idea how to combat the guilty. His father, on the other hand, failed to do his job. That was intentional. Whatever punishment he gets, he will deserve. Does that make any sense?"
"You're saying he can't blame his dad, so he's taking it out on us?" Mack said.
"In a way. He lost friends, too, in that attack, so he's going after the only survivor, plus the survivor's best friend. He hasn't realized yet that doing so will not solve his problems. He only feels the need to lash out at something or someone. He hasn't thought it through well enough to discover how his emotions are manipulating him. He may end up in deep trouble over it, if I'm not mistaken."
"That's messed up," Mack grumped before reaching for a brownie.
"Want milk?" Mom asked.
"Yeah."
* * *
My car was towed to the new house and left there; I couldn't drive it anyway, so Dad said I could borrow Mom's Jeep. I hoped Randall wouldn't recognize it when I drove it to school on Monday.
The rest of the weekend was quiet—Mack and I played Joey's video game—it was in three-D and it felt real as we made our way past warriors and obstacles to get to the prize at the end.
It wasn't easy, either, but it was fun. Joey had done a great job, but he still insisted it had a few bugs and intended to work on those. I liked it and failed to understand what it was he wanted to tweak. Grudgingly, we stopped playing it Sunday afternoon to work on an English assignment.
Mack and I dreaded going to school on Monday, although his dad said he'd come to the house after school to see Mack—he was finishing the job in Visalia and should be back in town by then.
Mack stood for a few seconds outside Mom's Jeep in the school parking lot, steeling himself to walk into the building.
"Don't worry about it," I said. "Come on, we'll be late."
Mack followed me into the building, where things hadn't changed much. I ignored Randall, Todd and the others as we walked past them, until Randall asked about my car. My temper was white-hot when I whirled to face him.
No, I'd never threatened anyone before—hadn't really needed to. I stalked angrily toward Randall Pierce, who took one look at me before turning and almost running down the hall, the noise they made sounding as if a small herd of buffalo trampled their way across the tiles. Several people poked their heads out of classroom doors to see what was going on as a result.
"Wow," Mack breathed as he watched Randall and his friends scoot away. "Why didn't we know before how easy that might be?"
I had to shake myself to get rid of the rage that threatened to overcome me. "Man, that was close," I muttered. I doubted Mom and Dad would understand if I got expelled from school for fighting, even if the fight was with the jerk who'd vandalized my car.
"Justin?" Gina Allen came up beside me and took my arm. "We'll be late for class if you don't come now," she said and led me away. Mack wore a bemused expression as he followed us to English class.
* * *
Mack and I ended up having lunch with Gina—plus several others. I couldn't have predicted that—no way. Mack was just as surprised as I that he had supporters in school; we'd thought all of them were against us.
I guess not everybody swallowed what Randall Pierce was dishing; some of them thought for themselves. Tactfully,
nobody asked Mack about what happened at Shaver Lake, and it would have upset him to talk about it anyway.
Someday, he might get to a point where he could, but he'd witnessed a lot of murders before running away. His recollection of running away wasn't exactly logical or sane-sounding on top of everything else, so I was grateful nobody asked.
"Look, it's Goober Griffin, and he's got an army. A really ugly, geeky army," Randall stopped by our table. Yes, he'd waited until we were in the cafeteria and watched closely by several teachers to do his digging. At least he was attacking me, now, instead of Mack.
The problem, of course, is that some of those teachers watching from the sidelines might agree with Randall and ignore his bullying. I hated to think that, but worried that it might be true.
"Look, it's Ratface Randall, whose grades will probably get him off the football team faster than he got on it," I snapped, standing up to defend us.
"I second that," Gina rose beside me.
"Yeah. Me, too," Mack stood. His words, however, definitely contained a growl. I'd have to figure out how he did that—it was becoming seriously cool.
The rest of our lunch table rose to show their solidarity. Randall, Todd and the other bullies decided to leave. For once, we actually outnumbered him and his horde.
"You know he'll try to get back at us—again," Mack said, shaking his head before sitting down to finish lunch.
"That's guaranteed," I sighed.
"Don't worry about him, he's a jerk," Gina said, taking her seat at my side.
"Oh, he's more than just a jerk," I said. "He's a stupid jerk. Feckless. Moronic. Ineffective. Unproductive. Injudicious."
"I'd add dense and slow to that list," Mack said. "He doesn't understand multi-syllable words, you know."
Gina laughed. It sounded amazing and was just what we needed to hear.
"If my mom's Jeep is in one piece after school, want a ride home?" I asked Gina as we headed toward calculus class after lunch.
"Yeah. I'll let Mom know she doesn't have to pick me up today." Her eyes shone and she giggled—she was excited to be riding with me. For the first time in my life, I considered that I might have a steady girlfriend.
* * *
Sure, I should have thought twice about stopping at the local hangout for a soda, but hey—it was expected if you had a girl. Besides, Mack was all for it—he wanted a Dr. Pepper.
We pulled in and placed our order at the kiosk. That went just fine. What didn't go fine was the four who waited at the end of the drive-through, blocking our way. Randall and his horde had eggs, paint and a baseball bat with them.
Honking did no good at all. They approached the front of Mom's Jeep. Eggs and paint flew while Randall took his frustrations out on the vehicle. Gina cowered in the front passenger seat as rocks joined the eggs and both headlights were broken by the bat. A hailstorm might have competed with the noise of the pelting rocks and eggs as they pounded the metal vehicle with regularity.
Honestly, I was so mad I could have taken all of them on, but the police showed up in less than thirty seconds. I have no idea how they got there that fast, but I was more than grateful to see Officers Barton and Francis get out of the first car to respond.
More police arrived as Randall and his friends began to back away. Did he think his dad's being a member of FPD, even a suspended one—would get him out of this mess?
Mack and I exchanged looks before opening our doors and getting out. Randall was resisting arrest, it looked like, while his friends stood quietly, waiting to be loaded into nearby police cruisers.
Gina got out, too, and came right to me. I wrapped my arms around her while we watched; Randall was shoved to the ground after he kicked Officer Barton. He was handcuffed after that and still fighting when he was pushed into the back of a patrol car by four officers.
"We had a call on this attack, plus the footage from the school parking lot," Officer Francis walked up to talk to us. "You all right? Do you need assistance?"
"I think we're okay," I said. "Gina?" I tilted her face up with a finger.
"Yeah. Just a little shaken," Gina's smile wavered.
"I'll need information on this vehicle to file an incident report," Francis said. "It'll help with the insurance company, too. Know any reason why he wanted to attack you?"
"Just a guess, and I have my license here," I pulled out my wallet. "Insurance stuff is in the car."
"I'll get it," Mack offered and went back to the Jeep.
"What's the guess?" Francis asked, writing the information from my license on a piece of paper.
"He's mad because some of his friends died and Mack didn't. He started out bullying him," I said. "Then his dad got suspended for putting Mack where he did at the jail. Since I was with Mack all the time at school, I got included in Randall's attack. He upped it when he egged and spray-painted my Honda, then slashed all four tires."
"Why wasn't that reported?" Barton joined the conversation.
"Because we weren't sure who we could trust on the police force," I said bluntly.
Barton cursed softly. "Son, this isn't an attack against you, your family or your friend, here. Emotions were running high when we were sent to question you, but there's proof now that Mack wasn't involved. He's lucky to be alive, the more I see of the evidence coming from Shaver Lake and Yosemite."
"I feel lucky that he's alive, too," I agreed.
"I hate that you feel you can't trust Fresno PD now," Francis said. "If you have any more problems, give me a call." He handed me a card. "Is your vehicle drivable or do you want me to have it towed?"
"I think I can drive it—it's still running and the tires aren't flat—Randall didn't have much time to do damage before you guys came. Thanks for that, by the way."
"It's our job," Barton said. "Randall knows better. I have no idea why he's blaming either of you for the circumstances in his life."
"I don't think he knows who to blame, so we became his targets by default," I shrugged. Gina blinked up at me, then hugged me tighter. I didn't mind one bit.
"I wish the kids at school didn't believe him," she said. "He said Mack was involved in that mess somehow, or he'd never have gotten away."
"That isn't true in any sense," Barton shook his head. "It's a miracle he was able to get away at all. Those kids don't have access to the forensics. What we're finding is evidence of animal attacks, just like he told us when we questioned him in the beginning. We should have paid closer attention."
All of us watched as Dad's SUV pulled up and parked nearby. He, Uncle Lion and Uncle Dragon climbed out and walked in our direction. "Officers?" Dad said the minute he reached our side.
"Randall Pierce and four of his friends attacked your wife's vehicle," Officer Francis said. "They've been arrested. I'm sorry we didn't arrive in time to keep them from doing so much damage."
"This is the second of our vehicles they've vandalized," Dad pointed out.
"I understand that. The school sent us the video footage from the school parking lot after an anonymous tip came in. We have the whole act of vandalism recorded," Barton said. "Would you like to come to the station and file a report?"
"Yes," Dad said. "Do you need anything else from my son?"
"No, Mr. Griffin."
"Justin, take Gina home. I'll catch up with you at the house. Mack's dad is waiting."
"Thanks, Dad," I breathed. I'd forgotten all about Mr. Walters meeting Mack at the house. "After I drop Gina off, we'll go straight home."
"Good. Officers," Dad nodded to Francis and Barton.
* * *
"It only took thirty seconds for the police to show up. I still can't figure that out," I said, dropping my backpack on the kitchen island with a sigh. Mom was waiting, and the first thing she asked was whether Mack and I were hurt. "We didn't even have time to think about getting out of the Jeep."
Mack's dad sat at the island, having a glass of tea and a sandwich when we got home, so he was content to let Mom ask questions.
Mack and I had a sandwich, while Mack's dad had a second one. "Did they arrest that Pierce kid?" he finally asked Mack.
"Yeah. Had to handcuff him—he kicked one of the officers and fought with the others."
"Good. Maybe they'll hold him for a while so he can't cause more trouble."
"I hope he's not at school tomorrow," I blew out a breath. "It would be nice not to see him around every corner, and even better not to have to listen to his crap."
"Mack, why didn't you tell me this before?" Martin Walters turned dark eyes on Mack, who wriggled uncomfortably.
"Honey, I know you think it'll go away after a while, but sometimes a lot of damage can be done, even if it does go away. You can't count on that," Mom told Mack. "That's why we're here—to help you fight your battles when you need that help."
"I feel the same," I said. "I'd help fight your battles, too."
"Justin's helped me fight my battles lately," Mack admitted. "I couldn't go to school if he wasn't with me."
"You'd stand with me," I shrugged. It was true—we'd stood together most of our lives. Granted things had never been this bad before, but I didn't intend for anything to be different because of it.
"Is there any way he can see Dr. Karzac again?" Mr. Walters asked Mom quietly.
"I'll arrange it if that's what you and Mack want," she said.
"I'd appreciate it," Mr. Walters said.
"He's here now, let me see if he has time," Mom said before walking out of the kitchen and down the hall. She was back in five minutes with Uncle Karzac.
"Young one, would you like to settle on your bed while we talk?" Karzac asked.
"Yeah—I'm comfortable there," Mack agreed. I watched as Mack followed Karzac toward my bedroom.
"I can't say thank you enough for what you've done for him," Martin Walters told Mom.
"I'd do anything for that boy. He feels like one of mine, Martin, and I hope you're not offended by that."
Wyvern and Company Page 5
