Stuart wasn’t sure whether to add more or less rat poison to the old man’s beef stew. Jake wasn’t sure whether to add it at all.

“We can’t break a blood promise,” Stuart reminded his best friend. “He hurt us. And he enjoyed doing it. We promised to get him back.”

Jake stared at the tin of poison. The label said Rat-Xtinct. Old Man X-tinct now. If he went along.

“We were kids,” Jake reminded him. “We are grown now.”

“He was grown when he whacked our asses with a baseball bat.”

They had found their old teacher, tracing him to the rest home after Jake’s mom was admitted. Jake looked right into his eyes. The old man had no recollection. Dementia.

“There’s nothing of him left but a breathing body.”

When Stuart found out they came up with a plan. Easy enough to sneak some poison out of the supply closet. It took some planning to get it into his stew that night.

“He said we were losers,” Stuart said.

“Maybe we are,” Jacob said. He tossed the rat poison into the trash.

“We need to let it go. He’s gone.”

“No vengeance?”

“What’s the point?”