Twisted

because of their, you know, monthly thing. The next full moon, he’s going to find me wherever I am . . .” Her face grew red in shame. She swallowed. “I can’t say it, Daddy. I can’t tell you what he said he’d do.”
    “My God.”
    “I got so scared, I ran back to the house.”
    Doris, her strong-jawed face turned toward the window, added, “And he just stood there, staring at us, kind of singing in this sick voice. We locked the doors right away.” She nodded at the knife, setting it on the table. “I got that from the kitchen just in case.”
    She loves me, I love her she loves me I love she loves I love she loves she loves . . .
    His wife continued. “Then you came back and when he saw the car lights he ran off. It looked like he was headed toward his folks’ house.”
    Ron grabbed the phone, hit the speed dial.
    “This is Ron Ashberry,” he said to the police dispatcher.
    “Yessir, is it the boy again?” she asked.
    “Hanlon. Now.”
    A pause. “Hold, please.”
    The sheriff came on the line. “Ron, what the hell’s going on tonight? I’ve had four calls from your neighbors about this thing, shouting, people running around.”
    Ron explained about the threats.
    “It’s still just words, Ron.”
    “Goddamn it, I don’t care about the law! He said the night of the full moon he’s going to rape my little girl. What the hell do you people want?”
    “When’s the full moon?”
    “I don’t know, how would I know?”
    “Hold on a second. I’ve got an almanac. . . . Here we go. It’s next week. We’ll have somebody at your house all day. If he makes a move, we’ll get him.”
    “For what? Trespass? And he’ll be out in, what, a week?”
    “I’m sorry, Ron. It’s the law.”
    “You know what you and your law can do? You can go straight to hell.”
    “Ron, I’ve told you before, if you take things into your own hands, you’re going to be in serious trouble. Now good night to you.”
    Ron jammed the phone into the cradle hard again and this time it flew from the wall fixture.
    He shouted to Doris, “Stay here. Keep the doors locked.”
    “Ron, what are you going to do?”
    “Daddy, no . . .”
    The door slammed so hard a pane cracked and the fissure lines made a perfect spiderweb.

    Ron parked on the lawn, narrowly missing a rusting Camaro and a station wagon, lime green except for the front fender, which was the matte color of dried-blood-brown primer.
    Pounding on the scabby door, he shouted, “I want to see him. Open up!”
    Finally the door swung open and Ron stepped inside. The bungalow was small and it was a mess. Food, dirty plastic plates, beer cans, piles of clothes, magazines, newspapers. A strong animal pee smell too.
    He pushed past the diminutive, chubby couple, both wearing jeans and T-shirts. In their late thirties.
    “Mr. Ashberry,” the man said uneasily, looking at his wife.
    “Is your son here?”
    “We don’t know. Listen, sir, we had nothing to do with him getting out of that hospital. We was all for keeping him there, as I think you know.”
    “What do you mean you don’t know where he is?”
    “He comes and goes,” his wife said. “Through his bedroom window. Sometimes we don’t see him for days.”
    “Ever try discipline? Ever try a belt? What is it, you think children should walk all over you?”
    The father gave a mournful laugh.
    His wife said, “Has he done something else?”
    As if what the boy had done wasn’t enough. “Oh, he’s just threatening to rape her, that’s all.”
    “Oh, no, no.” She clutched her hands together, fingers dirty and bedecked with cheap rings. “But it’s just talk,” the woman blurted. “It’s always just talk, with him.”
    Ron whirled to face her. Her short black hair was badly in need of a wash and she smelled of sour onions. He muttered, “It’s gone past the talk stage and I’m not going to put up with it. I want to see him.”
    They glanced at each other and the father led him down a dark corridor toward one of two bedrooms. Something—old food, it seemed—crunched under Ron’s feet. The man looked over his shoulder, saw his wife standing in the living room and said, “I’m so sorry for all this, sir. I truly am. I wish I had it in my heart to, you know, make him go away.”
    “We tried that,” Ron said cynically.
    “I don’t mean a hospital or jail.” His voice fell to a whisper. “To go away forever. You know what I mean. I’ve thought about it some. She has