CALM

001.

001.

THEY WERE MURDERERS.

The four boys huddled in the large garage of the house on 2047 Newcomb Avenue were murderers, savages, boors. Their hands soaked in deep red blood; the same blood that ran deep through their own veins. But only now, it came from the boy that laid in the middle of all of them.

Theodore Winthrop, the eldest of the four boys — by only a few months, could hear his mother's voice now. The anger, the agitation.

Winthrops were tall, blonde, and wealthy. They became politicians, their names carved in golden plaques, had universities named after them. Greatness was engraved in his pedigree. They were not murders.

He raked his dried blood-soaked hands through his blond hair, flakes coming off adding highlights of red. He smiled humorlessly, his white teeth shining underneath the dim lights of the garage.

He looked to George Hearst, the second oldest of the four boys, to say something but the only thing that came out was a hollow whimper.

George's hands shook uncontrollably, and the only thing there was his blue, scared eyes to look at them. Theodore watched him. George's breathing heavy and unpaced. He could smell the panic radiate off of him.

"Snap out it," whispered Theodore.

His head snapped up like a German shepherd hearing an intruder; his blue eyes dropping the temperature in the garage. His deep voice shook as spoke to him, "Don't tell me what to fucking do right now, Teddy."

Theodore diverted his eye and looked to Simon Van Der Meer — the third oldest in their group. Simon's eyes were red from the tears that tore through him like a hurricane. He had shaken his head repeatedly throughout the thirty minutes they had been in the garage and he made a random wince every few minutes. Theodore couldn't tell if it was due to his Tourette's or the intense amount of stress they were all under at the moment.

Simon glanced up to look at Theodore. The Van Der Meer looks had passed over him. He was just a few inches under six feet, a disappointment to his mother and father for unreasonable reasons, and had inherited a bush full of brown hair instead of a blonde.

"I honestly don't know how you're so calm right now," spoke Simon.

Theodore looked down at his bloody hands. "I'm not."

He laughed a dry laugh. "Well, you're a damn good actor. Should talk to George's mother."

"Shhh." Elias gave the two the evil eye and placed his finger on his lips to reinforce it.

Elias Chadwick, the youngest and the unspoken leader of the group, leaned against the concrete wall that was filled with an assortment of tools. He murmured into the cheap phone that he had bought only an hour prior to this. Even though he spoke in a soft tone, all the boys could hear his tone dripping with the classic Chadwick politician voice.

Theodore flickered between all of them:

Theodore

George.

Simon.

Elias.

They had done this.

Theodore.

George.

Simon.

Elias.

They had done this to him.

Theodore.

George.