Crimes of the Sarahs by Kristen Tracy Page B

back up. Sarah B and Sarah C climb onto Sarah A’s bed.
    We all watch the door fall down. He tosses the screws onto the carpet.
    “Sarah, we are going to have a dialog,” Vance says. “No borders. No boundaries. No walls.”
    Across the hall, I can see that he’s removed the bathroom door from its frame too. I wonder if he’s removed every bedroom, closet, and bathroom door in the condo.
    “Sarah C, maybe we should put Digits in a drawer,” Sarah A says.
    Sarah C nods and hands Sarah A the cat. When Sarah A reaches into the drawer, she sets Digits inside with her right hand and pulls out a handful of silverware with her left. She hands it to me. They’re butter knives.
    “Take one and pass them around,” Sarah A says. “If he’s being serious, you’ve got to defend yourself. Don’t let him disfigure your face!”
    Sarah A keeps a knife, and I take one and hand one each to Sarah B and Sarah C. They eagerly take them. But I still have two knives. I drop the extra one on the carpet and hurry over to the bed to join Sarah B and Sarah C.
    “No, no,” Sarah C yells.
    I watch as Vance runs into the room and scoops up the extra butter knife. Then he starts releasing awful screams and stabbing at the air.
    “What were you thinking?” Sarah A asks.
    I shrug.
    “Maybe you should just have a conversation with him,” Sarah C says.
    “Yeah,” Sarah B says.
    “It’s something to consider,” I add.
    “Are you nuts? Are you all high? Do you want something bad to happen to me?” Sarah A asks. “Seriously, how can anyone converse with that?”
    Vance punches the knife in the air and screams. The veins in his neck bulge.
    “I want a dialog!” he yells. “I will not be ignored!”

Chapter 9
    My first instinct is to reattach the door. Where did Vance set the power screwdriver? I glance around, but then I realize that I don’t really know how to operate a power screwdriver. Plus, none of the other Sarahs make any moves toward the fallen door. I decide it’s best just to do whatever they do. All four of us huddle on the bed. Then we commence releasing anguished screams.
    We aren’t screaming words or anything. We’re just making high-pitched sounds. Personally, I think we sound like a flock of startled birds. Maybe seagulls or pelicans. At one point, I hear Vance screaming too. But I’m wrong. He’s not. It’s just the Sarahs. We’re freaking out.
    “Get over here and talk to me!” Vance says.
    “Holy shit!” Sarah A says. “Run!”
    We all jump off the bed and start racing around pell-mell. For some reason, none of us leave Sarah A’s room. We keep running around inside it, sort of pinballing off the walls.
    “You’re insane!” Sarah A yells.
    For a second I think she’s yelling at me, but her comments are directed at her maniac brother, Vance. This is good. She’s finally talking to him. Let the dialog begin.
    “Don’t try to dismiss my feelings by making me look like a psycho,” Vance says.
    “You think I’m making you look like a psycho?” Sarah A says. “Check out a mirror.”
    I must not be in very good shape, because all this running and excitement fatigues my thigh muscles and turns them all rubbery. How much more actual running do we have to do? Sarah A hasn’t even led us out of her room. How serious is this? Are we really in imminent danger? It’s not like we’re being threatened with steak knives.
    Breathless and red-faced, eventually all the Sarahs stop running around and gather next to Sarah A’s closet in the corner. Tragically, it’s the kind of closet that doesn’t have a door. You just walk into it. It has zero potential for operating as a bunker.
    “Talk to me!” Vance yells. “Get over here and talk to me!”
    He’s standing on top of her bed, holding the knife firmly in his right hand.
    “No,” Sarah A says.
    “But I’m your brother,” Vance says.
    “He’s a giant wad of psychiatric problems,” Sarah A says.“Somebody needs to put him in a box and study