Alex.No pondering names, there, butsomething to worry about nonetheless.The boy had seemedincreasingly distant since Mark had started volunteering at thefarm.Instead of being able to support the teen, Mark seemed to beirritating him.Maybe just a generational thing—a need forindependence without adult supervision.Or maybe something moreserious.Mark should try to sit down with the kid.Alex wascertainly always happy to discuss his feelings.
But, first things first.Mark stumbled to thebathroom for a quick pee, then splashed some water on his face.Andthen, as he had every day for longer than he could remember, hereturned to his bedroom and fell to his knees beside the bed.Hisbody might have been a bit creakier than usual, but his spiritstill knew what it needed.
His daily offices were familiar without beinga dull routine.Saying the words was a ritual as special as anyperformed in the church, and every phrase of his prayers was ameditation.As he prayed the stiffness drained from his muscles.Hehadn’t realized he’d been frowning until he felt his brow smooth.He said “amen” out loud and let the word spread out through theroom.He could imagine its power seeping through the doors andwindows of his apartment, out into the street, and then on and on—awave of love and acceptance that could wash the sins from the wholeworld.
Then his stomach rumbled, and as he clamberedto his feet he felt his muscles tighten again.The transition fromprayer to daily life was always harsh, but it was even worse whenhis physical health wasn’t as robust as his spiritual state.
Lucas had warned him, he reminded himself ashe headed for the kitchen.They’d checked the weather report andseen rain in the forecast, and Lucas had said that they needed toget the cut hay baled and into the loft if they could do it.Andthey had, with Alex’s strangely surly help, although they’d lefttwo of the wagons parked inside without unloading them.Lucas hadsaid there was no hurry on that, since they wouldn’t need thewagons until they’d cut another batch of hay and let it dry andthey wouldn’t be able to do that until the weather itself driedup.
Mark looked out the window as he turned onthe coffeemaker.Grey and drizzling.Not weather that inspired anyof the world’s more positive emotions.He thought of Lucas out atthe farm, working with the animals that seemed to prefer to beoutside regardless of the weather.Elise wanted their habitats tobe as close to the wild as possible to make the transition back tonature less challenging.It was logical, but on a day like this itwas probably pretty miserable too.
Mark ate a bowl of cereal while the coffeebrewed, then poured himself a travel mug.He’d showered the nightbefore, washing brownish-green leaves out of every crease andcrevice of his body and watching the dried grass partiallyrehydrate before it washed away down the drain.He wouldn’t bothercleaning up now, not when he was just going back to the barn.
And hewasgoing back, he realized.Hehadn’t really planned it, but somehow he knew that was what he wasgoing to do with his day.Spending time with the animals—andwith Lucas,a tiny part of his mind whispered to him—wasbecoming another calming ritual for him.He’d go to the hospitalfirst to check in on his father, but then—
It was hard to understand what happened next.One moment he was looking absently out the kitchen window while hemused about his plans, the next he was jumping back in alarm as thewindow shattered in toward him, the glass raining down onto hiscounter in an almost musical explosion.And something larger andheavier was falling in as well.Mark stared at it as his mindcaught up to events.His chest hurt and he realized he’d still beenholding the coffee carafe and had splashed himself.There was arock on his counter.Broken glass.Burning.He reflexively tossedthe carafe toward the sink where it shattered on the antiqueporcelain, an anticlimactic echo of the larger destruction.
Someone had thrown a rock through his window.He took another step backward, resisting the urge to turn and run.This was deliberate.Someone had…
The knock at his door had him jumping backtoward the window.But the knock was tentative, not aggressive.Andhe recognized the female voice that quietly called, “Mark?Are youokay?”Annie.His neighbor.
“I’m fine,” he said as he crossed the roomtoward her voice.
“Don’t open the door!”
He froze.“What?”
A pause, and then, “No.I guess…I guess youhave to.I’m sorry, Mark.”
“So, wait.I should open it?”
Another pause.“I think so.Yes.”
He set down the travel mug he hadn’t realizedhe was still holding and pulled the door open.It was the sightthat hit him first, but the smell followed soon after.
“I’m sorry,” Annie said.“I thought I couldclean it up and you wouldn’t have to see it.But maybe you want tocall the police…”
Faggot.Smeared on his door.In thick,brown… “It’s dog shit,” he whispered.The smell was unmistakable.“Dog shit.Somebody…”
“What was the crash?Are you okay?”
“My window.Somebody…” Somebody had attackedhis home.Had they seen him standing by the window before theythrew the rock?They must have.It was grey outside and he’d hadthe kitchen light on, and they must have been fairly close in orderto have enough power to shatter two panes of glass…
“Someone broke your window?”Annie lookedlike she wanted to cry.“Mark, you have to call the police.I’llclean this up, or Dave will when he gets home from work.We’ll takecare of that.And the super can fix the window.I’ll go get him.But, Mark, you have to call the police.”
Mark nodded.Of course he did.This was acrime.A series of crimes, he supposed.He stared at the word onhis door, and wondered why he was so reluctant to involve theauthorities.
“We need security cameras,” Annie was saying.“And people need to stop propping the damned door open!Or lettingpeople in.I mean, what’s the point of a security door if you don’tuse it properly?”
Annie was obviously focusing on the practicalaspects of the situation, and that made sense.Mark should try tofollow her lead.But he couldn’t help wondering why, not how.
“Mark?”Annie rested her hand gently on hisupper arm.“Do you want to come to my apartment and call fromthere?There’s coffee on, or I could make you tea…”
Mark thought of his shattered carafe andlooked down to see the brown stain on his light blue shirt.“Theymight come back,” he said.“I don’t want you to be involved ifthey—”
“Oh, I’d like to see them fucking try!”Shesnorted.“But they’re cowards, sneaking around in the dark.Theywon’t come back in the daylight.”She frowned at him.“Besides,you’re calling the cops.Right?”
How to explain his reticence to her when hedidn’t quite understand it himself?“I don’t want to be a victim.And these people—whoever did this—they expect me to call thepolice, right?To be afraid and to hide behind someone else’suniform…”
