Twisted

But—”
    Ron slammed the phone into the cradle, nearly tearing it from the wall.
    “Honey,” Doris began. He ignored her and as he started for the door she took his arm. She was a strong woman. But Ron was stronger and he pulled away brusquely. Pushed open the screen door and started across the dewy lawn to the park.
    To his surprise, and pleasure, Harle didn’t flee. He stood up out of his crouching position and crossed his arms, waiting for Ron to approach.
    Ron was athletic. He played tennis and golf and he swam like a dolphin. One hundred laps a day when the country club pool was open. He was slightly shorter than Harle but, as he gazed at the boy’s prominent eyebrows and disturbingly deep-set eyes, he knew in his heart that he could kill theyoung man. With his bare hands if he had to. All he needed was the slightest provocation.
    “Daddy, no!” Gwen screamed from the porch, her voice like a high violin note, resonating through the mist. “Don’t get hurt. It’s not worth it!”
    Ron turned back, hissed to his girl, “Get back inside!”
    Harle was waving toward the house, “Gwennie, Gweenie, Gwennie . . .” a frightening grin on his face.
    Neighbors’ lights came on, faces appeared in windows and doorways.
    Perfect, Ron thought. He makes the least gesture toward me and I’ll kill him. A dozen witnesses’ll back me up. He stopped two feet from Harle, on whose face the grin had fallen away. “I got sprung. They couldn’t make it stick, could they? Make it stick, make it stick, couldn’t make it stick. So I. Got. Sprung.”
    “You listen to me,” Ron muttered, fists balling at his side. “You’re real close. You know what I mean? I don’t care if they arrest me, I don’t care if they execute me. You don’t leave her alone, I’m going to kill you. Understand?”
    “I love my Gwennie, I love her, love her, loveher, loveher, lover, loverloverlover. She loves me, I love her she loves me I love she loves I love she loves she loves sheloves shelovessheloves-shelovessssss . . .”
    “Come on. Take a swing at me. Come on. Coward! Haven’t got the guts to mix it up like a grown-up, right? You make me sick.”
    Harle uncrossed his arms.
    Okay, here it comes . . .
    Ron’s heart flexed and an ocean crashed in his ears. He could feel the chill adrenaline race through his body like an electric current.
    The boy turned and ran.
    Son of a bitch . . .
    “Come back here!”
    He was racing down the street on his lanky legs, disappearing into the misty dusk, Ron close behind him.
    For a few blocks.
    Athletic, yes, but a forty-three-year-old’s body doesn’t have the stamina of someone’s half that age and after a quarter mile the boy pulled ahead and disappeared.
    Winded, his side cramping fiercely from the run, Ron trotted back to the house, climbed into his Lexus. Gasping, he shouted, “Doris! You and Gwen stay here, lock the doors. I’m going to find him.”
    She protested but he ignored her and sped out of the drive.
    A half hour later, having cruised through the entire neighborhood and finding no sign of the boy, he returned home.
    To find his daughter in tears.
    Doris and Gwen sat in the living room, the shades down and curtains drawn. Doris held a long kitchen knife in her strong fingers.
    “What?” Ron demanded. “What’s going on?”
    Doris said, “Tell your father.”
    “Oh, Daddy, I’m sorry. I thought it was best.”
    “What?” Ron strode forward, dropping onto the couch, gripping his daughter by her shoulders. “Tell me!” he cried.
    “He came back,” Gwen said. “He was by the bush. And I went out to talk to him.”
    “You did what? Are you crazy?” Ron shouted, shaking with rage and fear at what might have happened.
    Doris said, “I couldn’t stop her. I tried, but—”
    “I was afraid for you. I was afraid he’d hurt you. I thought maybe I could be nice to him and ask him please just to go away.”
    Despite his horror, a burst of pride at her courage popped inside of Ron Ashberry.
    “What happened?” he asked.
    “Oh, Daddy, it was terrible.”
    The feeling of pride faded and he sat back, staring at his daughter’s white face. Ron whispered, “Did he touch you?”
    “No . . . not yet.”
    “What do you mean, ‘yet’?” Ron barked.
    “He said . . .” Her tearful face looked from her father’s furious eyes to her mother’s determined ones. “He said that when it’s the next full moon, that’s when women get a certain way