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

by JR Thompson

  Victoria had managed to give her report loud enough that she had been able to drown out the Harrisons’ feud. Just as she finished, however, the sound of squalling tires met their ears. Some people, Victoria thought. I can’t imagine behaving like that.

  Peeking out the window again, Brock said “Mrs. Harrison just propelled a garbage can at her husband’s automobile!”

  “That woman is a nut!” Victoria exclaimed.

  Scottie tried again to free himself while shouting, “No bigger of a nut than you are! Sitting here abusing your own son! Squashing the breath outta me for no reason!”

  Brock had had enough. “It lies within my power to compel the impudent child to comply with your directives. Let me take over.”

  Victoria had no objections. Even though she had easily overpowered the birthday boy, she was exhausted both physically and mentally.

  Brock firmly gripped both of Scottie’s arms. With a sigh of relief, Victoria released her own grasp, pushed her hair out of her face, and quickly adjusted her skirt to ensure she was semi-presentable.

  “Hi, I’m Victoria,” she announced, extending her hand toward the mysterious young stranger. “Nice to meet you.”

  Titus smiled, raised one eyebrow, and remarked, “Same here, I’m sure.”

  Victoria eyeballed Brock who nodded toward the living room. Getting the gist, Victoria led Titus out of the room and asked him to tell her a little more about himself.

  Titus’s mom and dad had been in and out of prison since he was a toddler — they were missionaries with a burden for seeing inmates give their lives to the Lord. His folks didn’t approve of the friends he associated with, had forbidden him to get the piercings, wouldn’t allow him to date until after he finished high school, “and… they just wouldn’t let me be… well, me,” Titus told her.

  The boy’s poor parents, Victoria thought to herself. They’re probably worried sick about him. Struggling to pinpoint the right words, she eventually came out with, “It sounds to me like your parents love you an awful lot.”

  “Nah, it’s not like that,” Titus countered. “They only care about their reputation. I was an embarrassment to them.”

  Victoria attempted to console him for half an hour. That’s how long it took Scottie to finally cave in and tend to his mess.

  Brock trampled into the living room and handed the phone to the runaway. “Thank you for agreeing to telephone your guardians. I desire to converse with one of them before you disconnect,” he instructed.

  Titus nodded, dialed his number, and nervously waited for someone to pick up.

  A siren blared in the distance. Seriously? A new truck just now heading to the scene? How big is this fire anyway?

  Victoria listened as the creepy runaway casually uttered, “Hi, Mom… it’s Titus.” She could faintly hear his mom’s voice, but couldn’t tell what she was saying. After a moment, Titus said, “Yeah, I’m still alive... There’s a man here that wants to chat with you.”

  Titus handed the phone to Brock, who told the lady how he had found her son in the loft of the barn and about who he was hanging out with. Toward the end of their twenty-five-minute conversation he went so far as to offer to drive Titus back to his house.

  “No, don’t do that,” his mother asserted. “He’ll undoubtedly run off again. I understand it’s a lot to ask, but is there any possibility you and your wife could let him stay with you? I’m certain he won’t remain here with his father and me, but I don’t necessarily want him running the streets with those heathens either.”

  Brock didn’t know what to say. He knew what Collin would have done. Collin would have taken the attitude that he was the man of the house and as such, he would have simply made a decision on his own —that is after he made the boy put some shoes on and shot him a lecture about how “shoes say a lot about a man.” Brock wasn’t used to operating that way though.

  “It would not be plausible for me to make any asseverations. I’ll have to converse with my spouse and with Titus and see what developments come from those communications. Would you like to converse with your offspring before we disconnect?” Brock asked.

  “No, that’s okay. He doesn’t sound like he’s up to talking. Please call and let me know whatever decision you make so we can know how to pray for him. Would you, please?”

  After getting off the phone, Brock told Scottie to go to his room.

  “Why?” Scottie asked. “I didn’t do anything wrong.”

  “Advance your scrawny embryonic rump in there, pronto,” Brock demanded. “Don’t propel me to reiterate this proclamation.”

  “Fine!” Scottie yelled. “Whatever!”

  As he angrily huffed and puffed his way out of the room, Brock took a seat. He relayed the request Titus’s mother had made. Even though Titus appeared to be listening, he didn’t utter a word.

  I’m not so sure about this, Victoria thought while eyeing him from head to toe. I’m not sure what kind of an influence he might be on Scottie. Then again… what is it the Bible says about not being a respecter of persons? “Titus, what do you think about the idea?” she asked. “Do you want to stay with us for a while?”

  “Nah. I’m good. My buds and I’ll be on our way.”

  Victoria started to try to sway him, but Brock spoke up before she could get a word out. “I can’t permit you to do that.”

  Titus’s eyes appeared to glaze over. “You can’t permit me? You’re not my father,” he scoffed. “How you gonna stop me?”

  3: Intensifying Friction

  Asudden onset of queasiness brought Titus’s hands to his belly as he crept through the empty loft. His gut told him he had been abandoned, but he did everything he could to convince himself otherwise.

  Surely the guys had hidden in the neighboring pine thicket in case Brock had called the police. Titus descended the half-rotten ladder and meandered outside. “ADAM?... KEAGAN?” he yelled in a wavering voice. “It’s cool… You don’t have anything to worry about.”

  With no answer tickling his ears, Titus wandered into the evergreens, continuously shouting their names for a few moments before swallowing a harrowing reality. Freezing in his tracks, he found himself at a loss. They left me. Those cowards were afraid of gettin’ in trouble with the law, so they bolted and left me to fend for myself.

  Slipping his hands in his pockets, Titus prowled around the barn a few more times, hoping to spot a note or some kind of sign as to where they had run off to. But there was nothing. He was alone — again.

  Without delay, the teen made his way back to the Pearsons’ place and lightly tapped on the door. He waited a few moments before knocking a little louder.

  Victoria answered with a puzzled expression on her face. “Where are your friends?”

  Clearly shaken, Titus dejectedly uttered, “Gone.”

  The young man stood silently for a moment until Victoria invited him inside. She didn’t have to ask him twice. He walked past her and invited himself to sit on the sofa.

  I’m at a loss, he reasoned within himself. The guys are not gonna come back for me. Dad and Mom are both glad I’m gone. I don’t even know these people and I have no idea why I came back to their house.

  As negativity cluttered in his mind, Brock and Scottie joined him in the living room. “You gonna be my brother?” Scottie asked.

  Titus chuckled sarcastically, “Nah, I doubt it.”

  Sitting next to Titus, Brock asked, “Are you reconsidering our proposition?”

  Titus ran his fingers through his oily hair. Peering straight ahead, he replied, “Maybe. What would the conditions be?’

  “I have not yet had an opportunity to ruminate upon that subject. We would have to decipher the intricate details as we progress. But first, it is imperative for you to be bona fide with me.”

  “About what?”

  “Have you conducted any illegal operations?”

  Titus chuckled. “Me? Why would you even ask such a thing?”

  “Well… you were occupy
ing the barn void of my assent. The atmosphere is polluted with smoke. Sirens were blaring during the moment I discovered you and your playfellows. Those chaps darted when you approached the house. Why were they so disinclined to the notion of you contacting your begetters?”

  Wow. I guess this does look kinda bad, Titus realized, chuckling again. He glanced over at Scottie and mockingly asked, “Is your dad always like this?”

  “What do—?"

  Brock cut Scottie off before he could answer. “Scottie, it would presumptively be best if you departed to your own quarters for a bit.”

  “WHY?”

  “Vamoose, Scottie!” Brock ordered.

  “WHY? Why do I always have to leave the room whenever anything important is going on?”

  Brock stood to his feet. “Scottie, you’re preparing yourself for an indefinite grounding.”

  Scottie jumped up, knocked the lamp off of the table, and stomped out of the room.

  “Sorry in respect to that occurrence,” Brock remarked. “Scottie’s slightly temperamental.”

  “Yeah, I’d say,” Titus replied. “I’m not worried about it though… What would I be allowed to wear?”

  Brock scratched his chin. “Explain your meaning.”

  Titus looked him in the eye and questioned, “If I live with you, can I dress the way I do now?”

  Brock hesitated for a moment as he looked the boy over again. “It would be my preference that you not consistently attire yourself in dark array,” he said. “To be honest, the leather doesn’t suit you exceedingly well either, but that doesn’t necessarily mean I wouldn’t permit you to appear in it.”

  Titus brought his right hand up to the gauge in his ear. “Gonna give me a hard time about my piercings?”

  “I don’t have an appreciation for them, if that’s what you are referring to. But… for now… no. I’d like to see you partially mature and to comprehend the principle that the manner in which you are presenting yourself to people is going to slaughter your future… but it’s your existence, man.”

  Titus continued interviewing Brock for fifteen minutes, spewing out question after question.

  Eventually, Brock turned the tables and started firing back at him. “Would you be amenable to frequenting church with our household?”

  Titus smiled. “I grew up in church so… sure. Why not?”

  “You would be expected to perform your fair share of labor around here. You disposed to accomplish chores?”

  “If you don’t expect me to be everyone’s maid. I’ll do my fair share, but I’m not going to be the family workhorse.”

  “Are you drug and alcohol-free?”

  Titus smirked. “No, man. I’m a pothead… completely messin’. Yeah, I’m clean.”

  Brock didn’t return the smile. “One more inquisition and I’ll leave you unaccompanied.”

  “Shoot,” Titus replied.

  “If you reside here, you’re going to be expected to adhere to our directives. If you infringe upon them, you will be expected to accept whatever consequences we deem appropriate as well.”

  “Makes sense.”

  ✽ ✽ ✽

  ✽✽✽

  Not wanting Titus to hear his phone call, Brock stepped outside. Even though he couldn’t see it, the repugnant stench of smoke attempted to choke the life out of him. He could only assume another house had been converted to ash. Pressing redial, Brock buried his face in his coat until Titus’s mother picked up.

  “Hi, Mrs.… uh… I speculate I am unaware of your name, but this is Brock, the gentleman who conversed with you earlier in regards to your son Tim… Tom… I mean, Titus.”

  “Yes,” the lady affirmed. “I guess we didn’t have much of an introduction, did we?... I’m Heather and my husband’s name is Fred. Anyway, what can I do for you?”

  Brock paused for a moment, inhaled deeply, and ambled a few steps further from the house.

  “Are you there?” Heather asked.

  “Yes, ma’am. I’m accounted for… I unpretentiously desire to bring to light that I’ve been conversing with Titus; my wife and I would envisage it an honor to authorize him to reside in our dwelling.”

  “Oh! That’s wonderful!” Heather exclaimed, sounding like a giddy teenage girl. “You and your wife are Christians, right?”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “Oh… I’m sooo excited. My husband and I will send you a check to cover some of his expenses, but don’t tell Titus about it, okay?”

  Brock nearly laughed. He treasured the opportunity to help a family in need. “That’s not quintessential, ma’am. We want to aid him in rebounding to his feet.”

  “No, no. I insist. Give me your address.”

  Brock couldn’t seem to find his way out of that one. The next thing he knew, he was giving the stranger his address without speculation as to the amount of money she would be forking out. Brock couldn’t have cared less — if she never paid a dime, he would count it an honor to contribute something back to society.

  “There is one more thing,” Heather added. “Titus is… well… I don’t believe in backbiting. Let’s just say Titus is… he can be… how can I put this nicely?... Um… a real stinker sometimes.”

  “Weren’t we all at his age?”

  “Not quite like Titus. I think part of the problem is his good looks. I’m not just saying that because I’m his mother. Titus has been able to fool people his whole life. They see his charming smile, his bright eyes, and his bubbling personality and they think he’s a little angel who’s not capable of doing anything wrong… well, again, I don’t believe in speaking badly of folks… especially not of my own son. So I’ll just say looks can be deceiving if you get my drift.”

  “Heather, your statements force me to question you regarding a certain matter.”

  “Sure,” Heather said. “I’ll help any way I can.”

  “I do not possess any knowledge as to the length of time Titus and his comrades have been maintaining occupancy in the vicinity, but Farmington has been haunted by an arsonist for a while now and—”

  A crackling sound came over the phone. “I’m sorry, I think I’m losing you,” Heather told him.

  Before Brock could say another word, he heard a beep followed by dead air. What rotten timing, he thought, before dialing her number again. It went straight to voicemail. Must have gone out of range.

  Before returning inside, Brock decided he had better call Collin with a camera update. Wiping his highly irritated eyes, he dialed his landlord.

  “Hey Brock…,” Collin answered. “What’d you find out?”

  Brock told him all about the guys. Collin’s initial reaction was the same as Brock’s had been. “Could those runaways have anything to do with all of the fires that have been occurring lately?”

  Brock wasn’t about to tell him what happened when he asked Titus’s mother the same question. Instead, he answered, “I have obtained zero misgivings. Anything is conceivable, but they fail to present themselves as the type.”

  Somehow Collin’s mind failed to be at ease. “So… I get the feeling your feathers get ruffled a bit when I ask this kind of question, but what style of shoes were they wearing?”

  Brock chuckled. “I was expecting that inquisition. The one boy was barefoot, claiming he chooses not to wear shoes. One wore sandals, with socks underneath. The third boy was sporting some older, worn out tennis shoes.”

  “Hmmm…,” Collin remarked. “Shoes say a lot about a man, don’t they? The boy that’s barefoot is probably pretty careless. The one with sandals and socks has no class. More than likely the guy in tennis shoes is quite the character — willing to trespass on private property but not shoplift a pair of shoes? Doesn’t add up. At any rate, I’m assuming you ran ‘em off?”

  “The older two have departed,” Brock informed him. Taking a deep breath, he hesitated for a moment before continuing in a softer tone, “We telephoned the juvenile’s mother and, well, to minimize an extensive story, Titus intends to resi
de with us transitorily.”

  Brock coughed a couple of times.

  “Sounds like you’re getting a bit choked up,” Collin said. “You’re not outside in all of that smoke, are you?”

  “I am. But I’m okay.”

  “Well, let’s cut this short then. Let me just make something clear here. You are not to allow any of those young men to reside with you. We were doing your family a favor by allowing you to move into our rental property free of charge. We did not authorize any additional parties to move onto the premises. We’re not running a homeless shelter here, Brock. My wife and I aren’t going to pay all of the bills and allow a bunch of freeloaders to come on board and take advantage of our generosity.”

  Brock couldn’t believe his ears. The rental property his family was living in was a fixer-upper and that would have been putting it nicely. Even though he hadn’t been paying monetary rent, Brock had invested a lot of time and effort in that property during the last sixty days — replacing damaged drywall, repairing the leaky roof, replacing rotting steps, and tearing out the grossly stained carpeting. “In excess of my contracting services, I have been waiting on your family hand and foot. I am the man of the dwelling and I’m prepared to manufacture purposed judgment calls of my own accord. Collin, you may be my landlord and even a trusted friend, but it’s not your position to apprise me as to who can or cannot abide under my roof.”

  That was the first time Brock had ever stood up to Collin — at least the first time he had done so in such a confident, bold manner.

  Collin was not the type of guy who appreciated a tenant being so crude. “Brock, I understand where you’re coming from,” he replied, “but technically it is my house you’re living in. We don’t know anything about this kid. With him being a minor and you not having legal custody of him, if something goes wrong I could be held liable. Not only that, but he was barefoot. If he doesn’t care enough about his own feet to guard them, he’s not going to protect our house either. You have no choice — tell him to hit the road.”