Read Part 2

Six Weeks Later

For some reason, Malcolm was feeling old these days.

Maybe it was having three teenagers in the house. One hid in his room all day, every day, and had to be dragged home to do a simple chore in the garden. One was a little girl who'd grown up too fast and was taking a very active interest in boys lately. Only one of them actually did as he was told, and a couple of times lately, Malcolm thought he'd smelled alcohol on Aaron's breath.

They were definitely growing up too fast. There never seemed to be any time to spend with them nowadays.

But for the moment, there was work to be done, and as Malcolm looked out the window onto a yard dusted by December snow, he mentally reviewed the day's chore list: fence repairs; fresh straw for the hogs; drive to Bloomington for tractor snow tires ... it never ended. Maybe that's why he was feeling so tired lately.

He stepped into the mudroom to put on his boots, and that's when he tripped over the debris from Rita's latest charity case.

Ever since Gabe Mullins had gotten out of the hospital, he'd moved in with the Baptist pastor in town. The stupid old man had it coming — living in the boondocks all alone when he could barely see or hear. Mullins hadn't even been able to give the sheriff a description of the kid who knocked him down, that's how bad his cataracts had gotten.

Apparently, however, being dumb and stubborn wasn't a sin. So the pushover Baptist women — like his wife — were waiting on the geezer hand and foot. Their pastor, always an expert at getting out of the work he'd taken on for himself, told the Ladies' Bible Study it was the "Christlike" thing to do; caring for the "aged and infirm." Which was why there were piles of dirty laundry that smelled like old man cluttering his mudroom.

Malcolm was not in the mood for this. As soon as he picked himself up off the floor, he grabbed a handful of old flannel shirts and tossed them into the garbage. That would teach Rita to leave her mess around his house.

He stomped out onto the porch, and the sharp predawn air snapped him awake. His boots crunched over the fresh snow into the yard; he tried to refocus on the day's agenda ... until he saw the Taurus in the driveway.

He'd let Aaron take it last night for a date with some new girl he wanted to impress. Aaron promised to take care of it, but apparently, that did not included turning off the headlights. The weak beams gleamed faintly off the driveway snow.

Malcolm walked over to the car and pulled on the door handle — locked. That battery was almost dead from the look of it. He kicked a tire in his temper; cursed under his breath — the morning was officially shot to pieces. After he jumped the car, someone would have to drive it up to the highway to recharge the battery ...

Well, Malcolm decided, that someone wasn't going to be him. He walked back up the porch stairs and kicked the door open. Aaron was going to be an early riser today: Malcolm refused to clean up his 17-year-old's messes.

* * *

Jessica knew she couldn't stay in the bathroom much longer. Yes, it was six in the morning on a Saturday, but if Aaron had done his usual boozing, he'd be in and out of here every hour to pee. And if Dad heard any noises from the kids' bathroom and knew she was there ... well, that would be trouble.

Yet she'd figured this was her best chance of a little privacy, and she'd been waking up around this time most mornings to puke anyway. So half an hour ago, after she'd worshipped at the porcelain throne, she silently went back to her room and took out the little package she'd been hiding in the bottom of her closet. Then she stole into the bathroom, locked the door ... and with trembling hands, tore a pregnancy test out of its box.

Now, she stared again at the faint blue line on the plastic stick. She'd done the test twice, just to make sure, and after that, she'd puked again. No doubt about it: She was definitely "preggers," as Mom would say. Except she doubted that Mom would use that cute little word when it came to her daughter getting knocked up.

It had to be Greg Hawkins. Sure, she'd fooled around with a bunch of guys; it kept them coming back. But she'd always been smart enough to stop before anything really happened — except once.

The night when somebody had beaten up Mullins, she'd had a bunch of beers. She and Greg had run in opposite directions, but met up again in the field and drank some more. Then they got in his car and kept messing around, picking up from where they left off in the barn ...

This was not supposed to happen.

Well, she knew from Savanna that there was a place in Peoria that took care of things. Obviously, Greg would have to give her the money. He had a job, and if he got stubborn, she'd threaten to tell his good Christian parents what he did at Mullins' barn every week or two. But she still needed to figure out how to get away without telling Mom or Dad: That would be a problem.

Suddenly, someone was pounding on the door. Jessica literally leaped up from the edge of the tub and concealed the pregnancy test under her T-shirt. A moment later, she opened the door to her bleary-eyed brother.

"What're you doin' up?" Aaron mumbled.

"Had to pee."

"Well, be careful," her hungover brother said grumpily. "I guess I left the lights on in the car, and Dad's furious with the world."

"So what's new?" Jessica said carelessly. Her brother closed the bathroom door, and she walked back to her bedroom.

She didn't realize until she reached the door that she'd left her other pregnancy test lying on the sink.

* * *

Aaron called after her almost immediately — before she could shut her door; before she had any chance of feigning sleep. "Jessica, come here," he barked.

Jessica walked slowly towards him, mind searching desperately for some kind of excuse —

Her brother physically pulled her into the room and slammed the door. "Who's the father?" he asked roughly.

Jessica looked down at the floor tiles. "None of your business."

"You want me to go tell Dad? Right now?"

Jessica's mind raced — there was a chance her brother would keep his mouth shut; maybe even help her. "Greg Hawkins," she mumbled. "That last night at Mullins' ..."

Her brother was silent for a long moment. Then he suddenly seized her by the wrist; pulled her face directly in front of his. She involuntarily cried out; could smell his booze breath —

"What were you thinking?" he spat through clenched teeth. "I warned you about him ..."

Jessica was terrified: she'd seen her brother's temper before. He'd done some scary stuff, like when Bruce Landon started flirting with Savanna —

"Aaron, you're hurting me —" She tried to pull away.

Her brother shook her. "What happened?" he demanded.

"We just got carried away — in his car, 'cause we were drinking —"

"He gave you booze? That idiot gave my sister —"

Jessica's mind ran wild. She'd been drinking heavily for over a year; Greg didn't have to talk her into anything. But her brother didn't know that, and she didn't know what he might do to her now, and if she could blame Greg —

"Yeah, he had a bunch of beer in his car. He kept giving it to me —"

Aaron swore. He roughly released her; she slumped back onto the edge of the bathtub. Aaron gave the vanity a vicious kick.

"He gave you beer? While you were alone, in his car?"

Actually, Jessica had been the one who grabbed the beer when she ran out of the barn, and later, she was the one who suggested they get in the Pontiac to "warm up," knowing full well more making out would follow ...

But to Aaron, she only nodded.

"I'm gonna kill him," her brother said, matter-of-factly.

"Aaron, don't do anything dumb —"

"I'll just pay him a visit —"

"Aaron, please don't — it's not his fault —"

"Forget about him." Aaron waved his hand dismissively. He pointed to her stomach: "What are you gonna do about that?"

Jessica took a deep breath. "Um ... this girl at school, she told me there's a place in Peoria ..."

"Good. As soon as I charge that battery for Dad, we're going."

"What — to Peoria?"

"If you tell 'em you're broke, they do it for free."

"But Aaron —"

"Dad'll let me take the truck if I tell him we're going to that dumb youth group thing. Mom's been guilting me about it all week."

"But — now? Today?"

"You better believe it." He brutally yanked the door open, almost pulling it off the hinges. "I'll be back in an hour or so. Get a shower."

Aaron slammed the door behind him.

As soon as he left, Jessica vomited for the third time that morning. She couldn't believe this was actually happening to her.

She couldn't believe what she was planning to do later today, either.

* * *

Last night at dinner, Dad was saying how Aaron was the most responsible member of the family, and he was practically a man already. Aaron went to bed feeling like he'd turned a corner with Dad; maybe he could have an actual relationship with his old man.

But this morning, Dad was only interested in ripping a strip off him about the Taurus. He told Aaron he'd never borrow the car again, and was there nothing between his ears anyway, and this just went to show Aaron was a dumb juvenile delinquent. Then Aaron had trouble pulling the truck around close enough to the Taurus, and Dad told him he'd never be anything but a migrant farmhand — that was his father's worst insult. He thought his annual fall laborers were morons.

Aaron was about to snap back until he remembered the truck: He'd never get to borrow it if he didn't shut his mouth. So Aaron just wiggled the vehicle into position and jumped the battery while Dad peppered him with cuss words.

Dad immediately hopped in the truck and went to Bloomington for tractor parts. But he did say Aaron could use it later, so long as he was going to that church thing. Dad might hate church, but he figured — so long as they didn't overdo it like Danny — that it would keep his kids from becoming heathen reprobates.

If only Dad knew the real plans. His parents both thought abortion was killing cute little babies: It didn't get any more heathen than that.

Aaron, of course, had different views. The time Savanna got scared that she was pregnant, he would've been perfectly willing to vacuum a blob of cells out of her womb himself. What kind of life would the kid have had, anyway, being born to a couple of teenagers?

Thankfully, it was a false alarm — but it did make Savanna cut him off from making out. That's when he broke things off: Aaron saw little point in a girlfriend without benefits.

But now, Savanna was ancient history. He had more pressing matters on his mind, like Jessica and Greg Hawkins. They needed dealing with today.

For that matter, so did Dad. Aaron snatched his gun and headed out back.

* * *

Inside the reeking humid warmth of the main pig barn, a few of the animals still slept, peacefully burrowed in the straw. Most were up and rooting around in their enclosures, or eating leftover feed scattered on the floor. Aaron smiled wryly — these poor dumb creatures had no idea they were headed for slaughter.

Yet his old man cared about these idiotic pigs more than his own kids. Dad was always in the barn, or talking about the sow with a new litter, or making Aaron slave away with a shovel after a truckload of swine took their last trip down the highway. It was ridiculous how much he cared about walking slabs of meat. Dad was a big believer in "humane treatment," so he rarely so much as yelled at his animals.

But he could cheerfully call his firstborn a migrant farmhand and an idiot, all before breakfast.

That's why Dad was going to pay: Aaron would get him right where it counted. He saw a pregnant sow in the third pen, one of the big ones Dad was planning to show at the fair with her litter.

She'd never know what hit her.

He raised the shotgun to his shoulder and sighted down the barrel. The sow continued her with breakfast as Aaron aimed directly for the head. Up in the house, they'd just think he was shooting squirrels ...

The sow dropped to the ground as the barn resounded with the sound of the shot and the squeals of a thousand frightened animals. She lay on the ground twitching for a few moments, the last gasp of a dying nervous system — and lay still.

Aaron calmly walked over to the carcass and kicked it with his boot: definitely dead. But then, almost without thinking, he continued kicking; continued as though it was his father lying there on the ground; as though this was finally a vent to all his frustrations. He didn't stop until the sow was a bloody mess.

He stopped for a few minutes to catch his breath. Then putting on work gloves, he dragged the carcass behind the barn and chipped away frozen soil to bury it in a shallow hole.

Dad would certainly notice one of his prize sows missing — but pigs were escape artists. He'd be too busy looking for holes in his perfectly-tended barn to ever suspect Aaron was involved.

It would be tempting to deal with Greg Hawkins the same way, but there was too much chance of getting caught. Some threats, however, ought to keep him far away from Jessica for good. His gun would come in handy for that.

Then as Aaron laboriously gouged a hole in the tundra, he realized that he knew just where to find Greg tonight. Since the sheriff started watching Mullins' farm, the kids had been moving around to different places for their weekend festivities. This time, somebody'd had the idea of using the Baptist church.

With the pastor out of town, there'd be nobody anywhere near the place. Since it sat on a side street on the edge of town, it was the perfect place for a party. It was also the perfect place to get Greg alone in the dark.

But first, Aaron needed to drive Jessica to Peoria, and Dad would be home with the truck soon. Aaron tossed some perfunctory dirt on top of the dead sow, then headed to the house for a shower.

* * *

Danny woke up around 10 in a good mood.

That had been rare for a long time. But just in the past week couple of weeks, Danny was getting used to feeling something besides despair. After all, since the night at Mullins' barn, nothing had ... happened. He was starting to believe maybe the strange force inside him; the thing that made him want to hurt and destroy — maybe it had left for good. Since his afternoon praying at the church, and then coming home with Aaron to spade the garden, he'd been remarkably free from guilt. Even getting grounded for two weeks was cathartic, somehow, as though he was paying a penalty for his misdeeds.

He'd started going with Mom to visit Mr. Mullins at the parsonage. Danny hadn't told the old man what he'd done, he just didn't have the courage. But he'd cheerfully washed his dishes and helped Mom with the laundry; it felt like some kind of atonement. Mr. Mullins was an incredibly nice guy, and still remembered Danny from the times they'd prayed by the altar at church.

His guilt ran high occasionally, but it seemed to be lessening as time wore on. After all, he, Danny, would never beat an old man within an inch of his life — not this new Danny; the one he'd resolved to become. He wouldn't let his worst instincts overwhelm him; he wouldn't ever cause harm again. The leaden guilt that had dragged him almost underground was slowly lifting.

This morning, empowered by his good mood, Danny quickly got up and took a shower. He pulled on an old T-shirt and headed downstairs, where his mother was rinsing dishes.

"Danny! You're up early." She smiled at him.

Of course he was. Until the past few weeks, he'd been so wracked with shame that he couldn't sleep, and frequently didn't appear downstairs until afternoon on Saturdays. But now, everything was different. "Guess I'm just in a good mood," he said with a smile.

"I'm so glad, honey," said Mom, reaching out to give his arm a squeeze.

"Where is everybody?"

"Aaron and Jessica went up to the service project with church. God's working on them, Danny!" Mom beamed.

"They both went? That's ... great." Danny was surprised — neither one had set foot through the church door in years. "Is Dad here?"

"He's in the barn. Do you want anything for breakfast?"

"I'll just get a bagel." He reached into the cupboard. "You got anything going on, Mom?"

"Just cleaning. I'm finally hitting the attic."

"Want some company?"

"Danny, you don't have to do that. You're already a big help with Mr. Mullins —"

"Don't have anything better to do. I can carry boxes and stuff."

"Well, honey, if you want to ... why don't you pull down the steps? I'll be up in a couple minutes."

Danny nodded and headed for the stairs. This helping thing — the pastor called it "serving" — felt pretty good. In fact, he resolved, this was going to be his new goal: to serve whomever he could. He'd help his Mom with caring for Mr. Mullins and cleaning the attic; he wouldn't run off when Dad gave him chores; he'd try to be an aid to anyone who needed him ...

Thoroughly pleased with his new outlook on life, Danny went into Aaron's room and pulled down the attic trapdoor. Then he sat down and munched his bagel, waiting for Mom.

* * *

All the way home from Peoria, the truck cab was silent. Aaron stared blankly at the road; his thoughts seemed to be elsewhere. Jessica could only focus on what had just happened.

The procedure had been ridiculously simple. She'd been afraid it would hurt really bad, or take a long time, or she'd end up in the hospital and have to call Mom. But in reality, the paperwork took longer than the surgery. She wasn't even knocked all the way out. They just gave her these happy pills, then the doctor ran a tube inside her. She got cramps for a couple minutes, and that was it. Simple and quick — she and Aaron were back on the road after only two hours in Peoria.

What she hadn't anticipated was the guilt that slammed into her like a semi.

The pamphlet at the clinic said "most women's strongest feeling after terminating a pregnancy is relief," and maybe that was true, but it wasn't working for her. Mom always said babies were people, and she'd suspected for a couple weeks she was pregnant, but when she'd actually done the test this morning, she was so scared that ... well, she leaped to the easiest answer. Still, if Aaron hadn't scared her, she might have decided not to go, and maybe she would've told Mom ...

But it was just a bunch of cells they took out of her, like cancer or something. And it was her right to decide, like they said in health class, and the whole pregnancy thing was a stupid accident from too much booze. Greg Hawkins was an idiot, so the baby probably would've been retarded or something.

But then she started wondering if the baby might've looked like her, and thought about holding it in her arms, and knew the guilt was there to stay.

Aaron glanced over at her; finally broke the silence. "You OK, Jessie?"

He hadn't called her Jessie since she was about six. She just nodded; couldn't speak.

"You can go see Danny as soon as we get home."

"Maybe," she muttered. She hadn't done that in months ... but this was definitely a good time.

After 20 minutes of silence, they finally pulled into the driveway. Aaron left the motor running and motioned to his sister. "I got somewhere else to go," he said. "Tell Dad you had to come home early from the church thing because you were feeling sick."

She nodded mutely: The "sick" part was true enough.

"I'll be home late."

She nodded again, and opened the pickup's door. He gently reached out and grabbed her arm.

"It's gonna be OK, Jessie. You did the only thing you could."

"Yeah."

"Go see Danny," Aaron suggested. "Best thing you can do."

Jessica nodded, but couldn't trust herself to say any more. She climbed out and slammed the door behind her.

Continue to Part 4

* * *

Want to get more from the story? There are questions for thought and reflection on Part 3 of "No Good Deed" at writingbygeorge.com.