by JR Thompson
FIGHTING FOR FARMINGTON:
DESTRUCTION IS INEVITABLE
JR THOMPSON
Harmony Series
Hidden in Harmony: Danger is Imminent
Fighting for Farmington: Destruction is Inevitable
Terrors of Troy: Despair is Inflicted
(now available for preorder)
Storms at Shelton: Deception is Inexcusable
(coming in 2018)
Standalone:
Revenge Fires Back
Let’s be real. More than likely this is not the coolest disclaimer you’re ever going to read. However, disclaimers are important because there are always people out there who really don’t understand the way life works. So… here’s the deal! “Fighting for Farmington: Destruction is Inevitable” is a work of fiction. That means the characters and the events are all made up from the author’s imagination. In some cases, the author may have experienced situations in real life that influenced his writing, but even in those cases those situations have been so distorted in this book that it would not resemble anyone involved in said situation. Soo.. this is a Christian book. That means you’re not going to find any cursing or embarrassing bedroom scenes. However, it doesn’t mean it’s gonna be a light and fluffy read. Believe it or not, Christians’ lives aren’t perfect, they do actually make mistakes, and unfortunately they face trials. Sometimes, even when folks plan on doing right, they slip and make poor decisions. That’s because they’re human. You’ll find characters you love and characters you hate. You might find yourself shaking your head at times and saying, “What a stupid thing to do! Who would do that?” You would be surprised! (Maybe you need to get out more.) But keep in mind, this book was written for your entertainment. Take it like a grain of salt. Don’t look for things to offend you – because if you do, you’re sure to find some.
Cover design by Indie Book Cover Design.
Discover more about Christian Author JR Thompson and his writings at www.jrthompsonbooks.com
All scriptures quoted and referenced in this book are taken from the Authorized King James Bible.
Copyright 2017 JR Thompson
All rights reserved. No portion of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means—electronic, mechanical, photocopy, recording, scanning, or other—except for brief quotations in critical reviews or articles, without the prior permission of the author.
ISBN: 1979799857
ISBN-13: 978-1979799850
I am dedicating this book to Mr. Conrad Willems.
His pleasant smile, wonderful sense of humor,
and strong desire to do right should be
inspirational to all who know him.
CONTENTS
1: Trespassers
2: The Favor
3: Intensifying Friction
4: Splitting Up
5: Opportunity Knocks
6: Unnerving Hearsay
7: The Byrd House
8: Following Noah
9: Detective Pearson
10: Roasted Parrot
11: A Dark Secret
12: Lessons Learned
13: Prowler Alert
14: Parenting 101
15: A Little Digging
16: Training Session
17: Left In Ruins
18: Red-Headed Angel
19: Free Money
20: Thumper
21: A Dirty Bet
22: Anaphylaxis
23: The Fight
24: Mr. Attitude
25: He Couldn’t Have
26: T.K.O.
27: Hypocrite
28: Another Chance
29: Put The Gun Down
30: Remorse Sets In
31: Awkward Moment
32: Answered Prayer
33: Turning Point
34: Blame Game
35: Fiery Double
36: Brutal Honesty
37: Uncle Brad
38: Odd Turn Of Events
39: Ashamed
40: Change Of Heart
1: Trespassers
Once again, Collin’s paranoia had crashed a Pearson family affair. Scottie couldn’t take it anymore. Slipping his bony fingers under the edge of the dark walnut dining room table, he flipped it on its end, sending his delicious home-made ice cream cake as well as several unopened gifts plummeting to the bare hardwood floor below. It was Scottie’s thirteenth birthday — was enjoying it with his family too much to ask for?
The heartbroken teen knew what everyone was thinking. He was acting like a baby. Why couldn’t he be as mature as Remington? His anger was out of control. Their criticism had been drilled into his thick skull many times before; he was sick and tired of hearing it.
Scottie didn’t care how much effort his mom or dad put into explaining things to him. No matter their words, Mr. Paranoid Collin knew it was not only the anniversary of the boy’s birth, but the celebration of his officially becoming a teenager.
There was absolutely no excuse for Collin interrupting his party due to another one of his stupid suspicions. What is it this time? Scottie contemplated. A bad guy peep in their dirty windows? Somebody tap their phone line? Maybe he noticed a footprint he didn’t recognize.
Irritation oozed from nerve to nerve, magnifying as it circulated. Scottie gritted his teeth in a last-ditch effort to keep his feelings bottled up. A blue vein surfaced in the center of his forehead. If he didn’t do something to vent some steam, he feared his brain was going to erupt like a juicy pimple. An angry shout forced his lips open. “CAN’T YOU JUST TELL HIM NO?”
“I cannot fulfill that ultimatum,” his dad replied. “The Russells have been permitting us to reside here without requiring monetary contributions. When they desire a service, it is our place to oblige. That’s precisely the methodology of things.”
Blah, blah, blah, Scottie thought. It was far from the first time he’d heard that pathetic excuse. Balling both fists, he hollered, “MAYBE IT’S TIME WE GET OUT OF THIS DUMP AND GET OUR OWN PLACE!”
✽ ✽ ✽
In the two months since relocating to Farmington, Connecticut Brock had heard nothing but grief from his family. The crackerjack house they were living in was too cramped for a hermit crab to make himself comfortable, Collin wouldn’t allow anyone a moment’s rest — habitually having flashbacks to what happened in Clayville and certain someone was out to get him or his family, and Remington had the audacity to drop in unannounced on a regular basis. The struggle was real, but Brock felt he owed the Russell family a great deal of gratitude. He found himself coming to their defense even when he could easily understand where his own family’s complaints stemmed from.
Ditching his wife and Scottie, Brock threw his heavy winter coat on and started for the door.
The all-too-familiar sound of screaming sirens penetrated his ears before he could get the door open. How probable is it for a town with a population of 25,000 people to procure such a multitude of emergencies? he questioned himself. I don’t surmise this neighborhood has had one exhaustive day of neutrality in the entire period we’ve resided here.
Smoke filled Brock’s lungs and nostrils as he stepped onto the porch. Using his coat, he covered his mouth and put his best effort into not breathing until he had shut himself up in the SUV.
Brock sputtered his way to the rickety old barn to find out why Collin’s lone security camera wasn’t functioning properly. He was sure it was weather-related, but the overly suspicious Collin feared something was amiss, claiming he had detected a person’s s
hadow on the ground moments before losing the live feed.
At least the earth is not blanketed with snow, he told himself, stepping out of the truck.
Expecting to find a chewed-up wire or something of a similar nature, Brock wandered into the drafty barn. Why his landlord even had a surveillance camera there was beyond him. The items Collin was storing were about as valuable as an ultra-thin snot-filled tissue. Oh well, Brock told himself. Each individual is entitled to his own inclination.
Inside, he didn’t find a frayed cord after all. The camera had been fully dismembered. Collin’s suspicion had been right for once — someone had been messing around. Presumably an adolescent, Brock thought, cautiously scanning his surroundings to make sure he was alone.
Everything looked normal. A pile of broken cinderblocks occupied the corner next to him, a few dozen moving boxes were scattered around all over the place, a few containers of rat poison, the sound system… Wait! The sound system? A tingle crawled up Brock’s spine.
When they left Clayville, Collin had shown him some outdated, non-working audio equipment he couldn’t stand the idea of abandoning. It didn’t have any sentimental value to it — Collin had found it along the side of the highway years ago and had always hoped to get it fixed. There it was, sitting out in plain sight on a make-shift table Brock had never seen before. The table legs were blocks of firewood, and the top was a hideous collage of scrap lumber.
Brock recalled helping Collin lug the audio equipment into the barn. If his memory served him correctly, it had been concealed by an enormous pile of boxes — not left out on a table. Upon closer inspection, he noticed the system was plugged into an electrical outlet, the speakers were hooked up, and a microphone was attached.
Hmmm, he thought. Collin hadn’t vocalized a recent visit to the farm building. His tinkering with this equipment is questionable.
Brock reached toward the power button; a sudden movement in the loft caused him to withdraw his hand. “Is someone occupying a portion of this building?” he called out. “Reveal yourself.”
Sounds of creaking boards and light footsteps overhead confirmed Brock hadn’t imagined things. The sirens, he suddenly remembered. What if an escaped convict’s out here concealing himself from law enforcement?
Brock felt his whole body beginning to tremble. He was a stout guy, but his muscles wouldn’t withstand a bullet. If by some chance Collin’s apprehensions were accurate, an enemy might have tracked them down. That could spell serious t-r-o-u-b-l-e.
Within seconds, a figure appeared at the top of the ladder. Brock watched as the young man swiftly descended the stairs before pivoting to face him.
His pale face was unreservedly void of expression. Everything about the boy’s appearance was startling: his shaggy, messed up coal black hair, the small gauge in his right ear, the stud in his lower lip. It wasn’t simply his physical features that were unsettling; it was his clothing. The young man wore an incredibly thin long-sleeved silky black shirt, a pair of loose-fitting black leather pants, and his bluish-colored feet were downright bare.
Without speaking, the homely teenager traipsed stiff-legged toward Brock, creepily staring him dead in the eyes as he drew closer.
Uh-oh, Brock panicked. My suspicion may have been scrupulous. He surveyed the area for a weapon of defense, but there was no time for that. Preferring not to make an enemy of the trespasser, Brock pretended to be thrilled to see him. “I fathom you detected our sound equipment,” he said. “Is it now operational?”
Coming to an immediate halt, the zombie wannabe smiled while his dark chocolate eyes widened. Shrugging his shoulders, he shyly responded, “Yeah,” in a slightly deeper voice than Brock had expected.
More sirens could be heard in the distance. Another reminder he could be in grave danger.
“So…?” Brock tried to buy some time so he could contemplate the situation. “You are proficient in overhauling electronics?”
Once more, the young man smiled. “If you say so.”
Brock stuck his hand out and introduced himself.
The stranger took his paw; it was as cold as ice.
“I’m Titus; Adam and Keagan are up in the loft.”
Adam and Keagan? Brock questioned. Three against one. Oh, my expectation through optimism is that these chums aren’t up to devilment. Don’t show fear, Brock. Don’t show fear. “Come on down, fellas!”
While he waited to meet his additional guests, Brock tried to ignore the eyes that appeared to be locked on his. Is he attempting to frighten me? Brock asked himself. Perhaps he’s drugged out of his head? Brock looked up at the ladder, curious as to who the kid was keeping company with.
Moments later, the other guys made their way down. One of them, tall and somewhat scrawny, crossed his arms and wore a scowl on his face. The other flexed his muscles and put himself in a fighting stance. Titus didn’t look at either of them. He just continued staring Brock down.
“Gentlemen, this is a private estate,” Brock said, attempting to sound as firm and confident as possible.
“So?” Titus responded.
“Wanna make something of it?” The young man in the fighting stance interjected.
“I am not searching for any trouble,” Brock replied. “However, I have to ask you to leave the premises.”
“And if we don’t?”
“Lighten up, guys,” Titus said. “This guy’s just protecting his effects.”
As the exchange of words took place, none of the young men took their eyes off of Brock. For a few moments, the silent tension in the barn was nearly unbearable.
“It is not my intention to be cruel, gentlemen. But my landlord is very particular about who dwells on his realty.”
“Have you no compassion, dude?” Titus asked. “We don’t have any place to go and it’s freezing out here. You’re just gonna turn us away?”
Brock took a deep breath, remembering how it felt to be run off when he was destitute of a roof over his own head. He had sympathy for the young men but feared them nonetheless.
After giving the situation some thought, Brock apologized for being so quick to judge. Slowly, the friction began to eradicate and they told Brock their stories.
It turned out Adam was nineteen and Keagan was twenty. They had both been kicked out of their homes when they had become adults and just floated from place to place. Titus, on the other hand, had run away from home and was only seventeen-years-old.
Keagan, undeniably the leader of the group, told Brock not to worry about anything. He and his buddies were about to move on anyway.
Although Brock appreciated his willingness to move the group elsewhere, he was struggling internally. Titus was barefoot in twenty-two-degree weather. None of the guys had jackets or gloves on. It didn’t feel right to allow them to wander off — especially at their ages. But two of them are legally adults. I can’t force them to stay.
Nervous, Brock cleared his throat and addressed Keagan. “For you and Adam, that is perfectly unobjectionable. You have aged out of adolescence and are unrestricted from continuing your exploration of society. Circumstances are marginally unsimilar with Titus. He’s a juvenile delinquent and you guys will unequivocally become incriminated by permitting him to reside in your company. It is imperative for me to take him inside to telephone his guardians.”
“Nah, man, it’s cool,” Keagan replied. “Just pretend you never saw us.”
To Brock’s surprise, Titus told his buds everything was going to be fine and he’d return in a few minutes.
2: The Favor
Victoria was relieved to hear Brock clopping back up on the porch. Out of breath and tired of sitting on top of Scottie, she stared at the entryway anxiously awaiting her husband’s intervention.
As soon as the door opened, a whiff of smoke forced her into a brief coughing frenzy. Through watery eyes, she saw Titus spookily following Brock through the door. Who is that? she wondered.
Scottie took advantage of the unexpected interruption
and jerked one of his hands free. “I wish that smoke was comin’ from this house. It’d be nice if it’d burn down with all of you in it!”
Victoria grabbed Scottie’s hand before he could put up much of a fight. “Nice try, kiddo,” she told him. “You’re not getting up until you calm yourself and agree to clean up the mess you made.”
Grunting and groaning, Scottie attempted to wiggle his way free, but he was no match for Victoria. She had gotten quite experienced at defending herself and their home against his attacks.
While tightening her restraint, Victoria looked at Titus. “Please accept my apologies for this awkward introduction.”
A woman’s enraged voice filtered in from outside. “You bought a new TV? We can’t afford that!”
Brock moved to the window. “Just the Harrisons again,” he mumbled.
Victoria sighed, “Big surprise there.”
“LET GO OF ME!” Scottie demanded.
“Not hardly!” Victoria replied, before facing Brock and Titus. “We’re in this position because I told him to clean up the cake and the gifts he threw in the floor.”
Titus smiled. “The little guy wouldn’t listen, huh?”
“Oh, he picked up the cake alright! Bombed it at me and darted to his room.”
“SHUT UP!” Scottie demanded. “Stop telling everybody my business!”
Victoria raised her voice above Scottie’s, “I don’t take orders from thirteen-year-olds.” Defying his wishes, she continued the story, talking much louder than she had been before. “I ordered him to return to the table, but he ignored me. So I stormed after him and Scottie plopped himself down on the floor, unwilling to get up—” Scottie interrupted his mom’s story by spitting toward her. The loogie missed her by a long shot. “That’s not going to help you get out of this any sooner, Scottie. Anyway, I physically wrestled him to his feet and dragged him back out here. The more I demanded he clean up the mess, the more he rebelled. I’ve offered him chance after chance to cooperate, but no, he’s too stubborn!”
