Bentley Little - The Association

"Removed," Barry repeated.

"What do you think they mean by that?"

Barry looked at him. "What do you think?"

"My God," Lupe said, and her voice was shaking. He thought she was about to cry, but when he looked up at her he saw lines of anger hardening her face. It was rage that was making her voice quiver, not fear. "Someone has to teach those racists a lesson."

"I have the will and the way," Jeremy said. He looked at Barry, the form crumpled in his fist. He dropped the paper on the floor. "Let's go. Let's pay a little visit to Mr. Jasper Calhoun."

Calhoun's house looked even more fortresslike than it had before, its intimidating size and dark gray walls contrasting sharply with a green expanse of sloping lawn--an artificial imposition on the natural landscape that the C, C, and Rs should have prohibited. As before, a cold breeze blew here, ruffling his hair, and if he had not known that it was impossible, he'd have sworn it originated from the windowless residence.

They stood for a moment on the road.

"God, that's a monstrous house," Jeremy said.

"In more ways than one."

"That, too. But I'm just shocked it's so big. If I recall correctly, there are size limitations on structures in Bonita Vista. Although maybe this thing was grandfathered in."

"Mike Stewart said that Calhoun lives alone. He has no family."

"Why does he need all that space, then? What could he possibly use it for?"

Barry didn't answer. It was a question he didn't want to think about.

They walked down the perfectly maintained path past an apple tree, past a plum tree, past a birdbath. The silver Lexus was not in the carport, so there was a good chance the president wasn't home, but they continued on anyway, | up the wooden steps of the wraparound porch to the door.: Jeremy rang the bell, and a muffled gong sounded from I somewhere deep in the house.

Barry turned his head slowly, looking around. The yard was silent, empty.

Jeremy rang the bell again, but after another minute it seemed obvious that no one was home.

The slits to either side of the door were narrow windows, and Barry cupped his hands to shield the glare, pressing his face against the one on the right, but the smoked glass was so dark he could barely see the outline of the closed mini blinds inside.

What did Calhoun need all that space for?

They walked back up the path to the street, and Barry sensed the weight of the house behind him. It felt as though he was being watched, as though the house were some sort of giant sentient creature all hunkered down and waiting to pounce, and he had to fight the urge to run back up the lawn to the street.

He did not notice until they reached the pavement that neither of them had spoken since stepping onto Calhoun's property, and he wondered if Jeremy had been as anxious as he himself had been. He felt better now that they'd reached the street, but he was sweating, as though he'd just had a particularly close encounter with some sort of predator.

They started walking back toward Barry's. Jeremy was the first to speak. "You know me," he said. "I'm not one of these touchy-feely guys. But I'm telling you that place gave me the creeps."

Barry nodded.

"You think they could be in there? Dylan? Chuck and Danna?"

"I don't think they are," Barry said, and he found that it was true.

He could easily imagine his Mends chained to the wall in some dungeon like room within that monstrosity, but it didn't feel right to him. He had no doubt that there were things within that building that were equally horrific, that he would prefer not to know about or see, but he didn't think Chuck and Danna were there, and for that he was grateful.

Where did he think they were, then?

His gut instinct was that they were gone, that they had left Bonita Vista, either on their own or via some forced evacuation, and though he had no evidence to back him up, he told Jeremy his feeling.

"I've been thinking that, too," his friend admitted. "They drove Dylan off, and they might've done the same to Chuck and Danna; although what could have happened between bedtime and morning that would make them just pack their things and go, without telling any of us, is a mystery.

I personally think it's more likely that they were kidnapped or dragged off or somehow forced to leave. But you're right. The association probably wouldn't want to keep them here. Their goal would be to get rid of them." He paused. "Get rid of us." "Maybe Lupe's right,"

Barry said. "Maybe you two should go back to California. Before something bad happens to you."

"I hate the idea of letting them run me off." Jeremy looked over at him. "Besides, we came out here to help you."

But he didn't rule out the possibility.

They walked the rest of the way home in silence, each lost in private thoughts, "I still think the best way to attack them is with lawsuits," Jeremy said as they reached the driveway. "Because even if they win, it's a nuisance. They have to hire a lawyer, have to make the effort to fight the allegations. It takes time and money and resources, and maybe it takes the pressure off the people here a little bit."

"It might also give us other ideas and help us find some chinks in the armor."

"That, too."

They were halfway to the house when Mike pulled up in his pickup. He got out of the truck, leaving the engine running, and handed Barry a large manila envelope. "I was told to give this to you." He held up his hands in a gesture of innocence. "I'm just the messenger here. I

don't know what's in it."

"Told by whom?" Jeremy asked.

"I'm just the messenger." He shrugged, gave Barry an apologetic look, and retreated back to his pickup. Maureen and Lupe were coming out of the house, walking down the porch steps, and before anyone could say anything more, Mike drove off without another word.

"What's that?" Maureen asked, walking up.

"I don't know."

Barry spread open the clasp and opened the envelope's flap, pulling out an eight-by-ten sheet. It was a photograph. A photograph of a dark-skinned man being tortured by unseen assailants. The picture had clearly been taken in Bonita Vista--the sweep of pines leading south to the canyon lands could be seen in the background--and had been taken fairly recently: there was the hood and front end of a new Honda Accord visible on the left half of the photo.

The man was being flayed alive.

Barry stared at the picture in horror. A section of the mans shoulder had been peeled away, and the deep flowing crimson beneath a perfectly square flap of exposed musculature contrasted horribly with the dull darkness of his skin. The man's eyes were wide and crazed, his mouth open in a twisted, agonized scream, and there was blood dripping from his lips.

All of his teeth had been knocked out.

The only signs of the individuals performing this atrocity were two pairs of gloved hands holding the victim's bare arms and the blurrily silhouetted head and shoulders of another man facing away from the camera and holding up an exceptionally long pair of shears.

Barry's salivary glands had stopped working, his mouth was cotton dry.

Both Jeremy and Lupe looked sick.

He turned the picture over. Stamped on the back in red ink was a description of the photo: "Punishment Administered for Violation of Article IV, Section 8, Paragraph D."

Lupe started crying.

Jeremy rushed to put his arms around her.

"I'm sorry," she sobbed. "It's just... I'm sorry."

"It's okay," Maureen reassured her. "We understand."

"I guess I'm not as tough as I thought."

"It's okay," Jeremy told her. "Don't worry." He glanced over at Barry. "Sorry, dude. The war's won. We're leaving, we're out of here, we're gone. And if you're smart, you'll do the same."

The Bonita Vista Homeowners' Association Covenants, Conditions, and Restrictions Article IV, General Provisions, Section 8, Paragraph D: