Authors: Jeff Strand
He made Sarah wait in the living room, then went into his bedroom and got the ring box. He walked back to her, got down on one knee, and took her hand.
“Sarah Habley, will you marry me?”
“Oh my God! You had the ring!”
“I wouldn’t lie about something like that. So will you?”
“Yes!”
They kissed.
It was going to be wonderful. They’d get a new house, stay near the forest, and nothing would change. Maybe he’d have to visit Owen less often, but that was fine—Owen would just have to understand. He wouldn’t abandon his friend. Not ever. Nothing would change.
Nothing changed after the wedding. They bought a
wonderful little house at a great price, not as close to his old place as Toby would have liked, but still acceptable. While Sarah went to classes at night, Toby spent time with Owen. He and the monster weren’t too old to make up new games, even if there was much less running around involved these days.
They’d planned to wait a couple of years before having kids. Not too long—they didn’t want to be parenting from a nursing home—but long enough to give themselves time to travel the world and for Sarah to get her degree.
One positive pregnancy test and some quick calculations showed that she’d gotten knocked up during their honeymoon.
Things did change after that. Toby didn’t go out to visit Owen on weekends—well, not every weekend. Owen understood. There were no more jealous rages.
Love her
?
“I do. Who would’ve thought that a loser like me would ever get married, huh?”
As her belly swelled, Toby grew less comfortable leaving her alone. He still visited Owen, just not as often. He brought him extra treats to make up for it. Life was good. They were still best buddies.
The night Garrett Andrew Floren was born, weighing six pounds, three ounces, Toby held his son and vowed that nobody would ever harm his child.
Nobody.
For all these years, he’d allowed a monster to live in the woods outside of his house.
Not anymore.
1987. 42 years old.
“He doesn’t have either of our eyes,” Sarah said, taking Garrett back from Toby. Toby and Sarah both had brown eyes, but Garrett’s were a beautiful shade of blue.
“Recessive traits.”
“He does have your nose, though.”
Toby scrunched up his nose. “I don’t think so.”
“Yes, he does.” She gently stroked the newborn’s forehead. “He’s so precious. Can you believe I’m sitting here saying things like ‘He’s so precious’? That’s not like me. Do you think we’re going to become those parents who show pictures of their baby to strangers and tell everybody that he’s the most beautiful baby boy in the entire world?”
Toby gave her a kiss. “I hope so.”
He walked through the woods with a clarity of vision. He’d lived a confused life—a mixed-up, crazy, confused life, but he wasn’t confused now.
Sarah had been nervous about having a gun in their house, even an unloaded one, so she’d insisted that he keep it in the attic. He’d pointed out that an intruder would be unlikely to let him climb into the attic to retrieve his weapon for the purposes of self-defense, and she’d argued that the idea of guns in their bedroom scared her more than the idea of intruders, so he’d conceded.
That was fine. He didn’t need to defend his wife and son in their home. He was going to get rid of the threat before it came to that.
Owen was his best friend. For most of Toby’s life, he was his
only
friend. And that, ladies and gentlemen of the jury, was one fucked-up concept. Best buddies with a snarling, flesh-eating monster? He’d have to be insane.
Owen would not be coming to his house in the middle of the night. Owen would not be looking in Garrett’s crib. Owen would not be reaching out with a single talon, perhaps to lovingly stroke the infant, perhaps to slit his throat. Owen would not be doing to Garrett what he’d done to those other two people.
Or what
you
did.
No. Toby’s secret was long buried, something that could never happen again. Owen was a monster. If Toby allowed Garrett to come to harm because he let that creature lurk out there, hungry, then Toby might as well kill himself.
Up the arms, not across the wrists.
He had to do it tonight, while Sarah was still in the hospital. Tomorrow, she’d bring home the baby.
Owen stood outside the shack when Toby approached. Toby stopped about twenty feet away and shone the flashlight on the monster’s face.
Owen made a rocking gesture with both hands:
Baby
?
“Yes. Sarah had the baby.”
Picture
?
“No. I took a bunch but I haven’t got them developed yet. Maybe tomorrow.”
He raised the gun and pointed it at Owen, ready to squeeze the trigger instantly if Owen attacked. Owen didn’t attack or even cry out—he just looked sadly at Toby.
“I’m sorry,” said Toby. “I really am. You’ve always been there for me, but I have a son now. You don’t know what it’s like, and I can’t even explain it right—it’s this feeling
where I’d rather die than have something happen to him. I can’t let that happen. I’m sorry.”
“
Toby
…”
“I can’t let you live, Owen. I can’t put my baby at risk.”
Owen signed:
No.
“You could hurt him.”
Not hurt baby.
“You killed Melissa. She was everything I had and you killed her. I’m not going to let you take Garrett away from me. I hate that it has to be this way, but it does, and I’m sorry, I hate myself for this…”
Shoot him
, Toby screamed inside his mind.
Stop talking and shoot him, goddamn it
!
Owen signed:
Ice cream.
“What?”
Ice cream.
“Are you asking for a last meal?”
Yes.
For a moment, Toby wanted to do it. Go home and make Owen the biggest, sloppiest, most chocolatedrenched banana split ever constructed. He deserved a last moment of happiness before Toby executed him.
But then he shook his head in disbelief. “You know I can’t do that. Please don’t make this hard for me.” Jesus, what a dumb thing to say. As if Toby were getting the short end of the stick here.
There was nothing else to say. He needed to pull the trigger and begin a normal life.
His finger wouldn’t move.
Attack me
, he thought.
Rush at me with those claws. Make me do it. Give me no choice.
Owen just watched him.
At least look scared
!
At least freak out
!
Do something to create a moment of frenzy that I have to end with a bullet
!
Nothing. No mercy.
“We’ll always be friends,” Toby said. It was another
stupid thing to say. They wouldn’t still be friends when Owen lay dead on the ground because Toby shot him in the fucking head, now would they?
Owen signed:
Please.
“Don’t.”
Not hurt baby.
“I can’t put Garrett in danger.”
Not hurt baby.
“You killed Melissa.”
Not hurt baby.
Toby lowered the gun.
“God, we just keep having horrible moments, don’t we?” he asked. “We’ve known each other almost our whole lives and I keep pulling guns on you.”
He couldn’t kill his best friend. Who gave him the most comfort when he was bruised, bloody, and humiliated from the beating by Larry? Whom did he confide all of his secrets to? He loved Sarah, loved her deeply, but did they share the same bond that he shared with Owen?
Owen understood him.
Owen knew what he’d done. If Sarah ever found out that he stabbed two kids to death, would she stay with him? Even if he explained that they were awful, mean bullies who made his life a living hell, would she stay with him if he described his moment of blind rage, mimicked the sound of the blade as it plunged into Larry’s chest?
Not a chance in hell.
But Owen did.
He’d have to be insane to give up a friendship like that. Certifiably insane to lose his confidant. Completely bonkers to murder the one friend with whom the grisly past was shared.
He didn’t have to lie to Owen about the prostitutes, the way he did to Sarah. “Sex for money? God, no. Do you see any green splotches on my penis?”
If you thought about it, really dug deep, got to the core
of the matter, with Sarah he had to lie about his own best friend. He couldn’t tell her about Owen! Even without the gore-drenched aspects, he couldn’t tell her. What would she say? “Gosh, Toby, it’s so sweet that your best friend is covered with fur and has flesh-piercing jaws. Why not invite him over for brunch?”
She’d never understand.
He had secrets he could never tell her. What if he killed Owen, and then she found out about the murders? Or even the friendship? He’d be alone again.
Alone forever, this time. Who the hell else was he going to find?
Hurt Owen, his only friend for so long?
Madness.
Toby cried, apologized, begged for forgiveness. He hugged the beast, promising that it would never happen again, insisting that all of the emotional turmoil had messed with his head, but that he would never do anything to hurt Owen, not ever, and that no matter what, he swore that the two of them would be friends.
Not hurt baby.
“I know you wouldn’t. God, I’m so sorry.”
Ice cream.
Toby chuckled and wiped his eyes. “Yeah, Owen, I’ll get you some ice cream.”
1988
“Aw, c’mon, Garrett! Why would you do that to me?”
“What’s wrong?” asked Sarah, peeking into the bathroom.
“He pooped on the new diaper while I was changing it! That had to be on purpose. There’s no way he just happened to be about to go when I changed the diaper.”
“You don’t think so? He poops eighty-five thousand times a day. Why wouldn’t one of them be while you’re changing the diaper?”
Toby recoiled. “Have you ever smelled anything so foul? Maybe he has some sort of digestive problem or something. That can’t be natural.”
“You’re acting like your own feces have a flowery aroma.”
“I’m not sayin’ my poop don’t stink. I’m saying that his poop smells worse. Just come in. Come closer.”
“No, I’m fine out here.”
“It’s like, I’m worried it’s going to dissolve through the sink. It’s that nasty. I think it’s a specially formulated kind of baby food designed by the government to keep people from having more kids.”
“It’s not working. I’m pregnant.”
Toby froze. “What?”
“Kidding.”
“I’ll fling some of this at you.”
“Then I’ll be leaving. I’m proud of you. You’re a good daddy for facing the stinky poo menace.”
“Do you remember that time in our life, long ago, when we talked about other things? I don’t recall the subjects, exactly, but I have this vague recollection that there actually existed conversations that weren’t related to diaper contents.”
“No idea what you’re talking about. Sorry.”
“Okay, this is going to be a challenging concept for you to grasp, but I need you to work with me.” Toby held up the jumbo-size bag of beef jerky. Owen sniffed the air and reached for it.
“No, no, not yet. What we’re going to discuss today is ‘rationing treats.’ There’s no way I’ll be back here for at least a week, and I want you to have some tasty snacks while I’m gone, so you need to learn how to not eat this entire bag in one gulp. What I’m going to do is set the pieces of jerky in different places, and when you feel like a treat, you’ll pick a single piece and enjoy it. If you gobble it all down, there won’t be any treats for a few days. Do you think you can handle that idea?”
The lesson in rationing treats was a failure.
1989
“Toby! I can’t believe it!”
“Mr. Zack! Hi! How are you enjoying retirement?”
“Never worked so hard in my life. Janet has me remodeling the entire house, now that I’m a lazy bum and not working for a living.” Mr. Zack cooed at Garrett in Sarah’s arms. “Wow, he’s a handsome little lad, isn’t he?”
“You say that like you’re surprised,” Sarah said with a grin.
“Nothing surprises me less! So, Toby, I keep checking the newspapers for you!”
“Yeah, I’m still working on it.”
“What was that one you were in?
The Cocktail
?”
“
The Blender.
It ended up going under.”
“Did you get your ten bucks?”
“Five bucks. No.”
“You keep working at it. Those successful youngsters, they have meltdowns. When you make it big, it is going to be the sweetest fruit you’ve ever tasted, and you’ll be able to give your lovely wife and your lovely son a life of luxury.”
“We do okay,” said Sarah with a smile. “He’s doing great at the newspaper, and I’ve started selling songs.”
“Songs? You sing?”
“I write them.”
“That’s great! Anything I would’ve heard?”
“Do you listen to folk music?”
“No, I sure don’t, but I’ll start. Hey, I think your son is about to spit up, so I’m going to bid you adieu, but it was great talking to you.”
Garrett puked all over Sarah’s shirt.
Larry and Nick stayed away. Toby thought about them a lot, but in the past tense.
“Like that—just like that!” Sarah urged as Toby thrust into her. “Oh, yeah, that’s perfect—right there—oh, yeah, right there—don’t stop—oh, God, I’m gonna come—if the baby doesn’t cry I’m gonna come—!”
“
Dear Mr. Florren
…”
Toby crumpled up the rejection letter and threw it against the wall. “It’s one
r
, asshole!”
1990
Owen lay on the floor. His fur was moist and his eyes were glassy.
“Do you think it’s…I don’t know, the flu or something?” Toby asked. “Do you get the flu? I don’t know what to do here, Owen. It’s not like I can call a vet. Do you feel really bad?”
Yes.
“Have you thrown up?”
No.
“I’m going to make some calls and find out what I should do. I won’t say who I’m calling for. I’ll just, I don’t know, find out what they would do for a gorilla with your symptoms.”
Stay.
“I’ll stay, but I can’t stay for very long. You know I have to get back. You’re not dying, right? If you’re seriously ill, I’ll stay and see what I can do, but I don’t think you look that bad.”
Though he tried to hide it, Toby felt queasy. How long did forest monsters live? Owen had a lot of white and gray hair now, but so did Toby, and he planned to be around for at least another half century. Owen couldn’t be dying, could he?
“On a scale of one to ten, how bad do you feel?”
Sick.
“I know that. Give me a number.”
Sick.
Toby sighed. “Okay. I’ll stay with you.”
“Where were you?”
“I lost track of time.”
“How do you lose track of time when you’re outside? It’s dark out!”
“I walked farther than I realized, and I turned back when it got dark. What’s the big deal?”
“I was
worried
, that’s the big deal! I don’t like you wandering around the forest in the daytime, much less at night. What if you got hurt?”
“I didn’t.”
“I know you didn’t. But what would happen to Garrett if you did?”
“You’d write a hit single about your loss and make him rich.”
“Did you really just say that? You really just made that joke?”
“No—I mean, I did, but it was thoughtless. You’re absolutely right. I got lost in thought and wasn’t paying attention. I promise it won’t happen again.”
“I just got scared, you know?”
“I know.”
“You got me in all kinds of trouble,” Toby told Owen. “I hope you’re feeling better.”
Yes.
1991
“Guess what time of the month it is, and guess what I missed…?”
“Okay, how about Toby for a boy, Sarah for a girl?”
“Nah,” said Sarah. “I don’t like having two people in the same household with the same name. It’s okay for a boy, I guess, because you could call him ‘junior,’ but what do you call a girl who’s named after her mother?”
“She could go by her middle name.”
“Then why not just make her middle name her first name?”
“You’re right. How about Owen for a boy?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“Other kids will make fun of him. They’ll say, ‘You’re Owen us money!’”
“I bet they won’t.”
“Sorry. Veto on Owen.”
“Michael?”
“Maybe.”
“Hannah for a girl?”
“Do you know anybody named Hannah?”
“No, I just like the name.”
“Me, too. We’ll keep it in mind.”
“You see, Garrett, when a mommy has a baby in her tummy, sometimes she acts all weird, and it’s best to give her anything she wants. This helps daddies stay alive.”
1992
“It was a girl!” Toby announced.
Owen smiled.
“I hope everyone in this house is ready, mommies and sons included, because it’s time for…
Tickle War
!
Rrrraaarrrr
!”
“Can I get one?” Garrett asked, eyeing the puppies in the cages at the pet store.
“Maybe when you’re six,” Toby said.
“That’s forever!”
“You say that now. It goes fast.”
1993
“Look what came in the mail today!” said Sarah, waving the envelope.
Toby took it from her. “Wow. I didn’t think there were any still circulating. It’s even my old address.”
“Open it.”
“What is it, Daddy?” Garrett set down his tentacled alien action figure and hurried over to join the excitement.
“Nothing. It’s just Daddy’s dreams being crushed.”
“Don’t talk that way around him,” Sarah said.
“I’m just kidding.”
“He doesn’t know that.”
Toby tore open the envelope and handed the letter to Garrett. “Do you want to read it?”
Garrett enthusiastically grabbed the letter. He looked at the words and frowned.
“Sound it out,” Sarah said.
“
We re
…
reg-ret
…”
Toby sighed. “Let’s give him some Dr. Seuss.”
“Guess who got a gold star today?” Toby asked Owen.
Owen reached for the drawing, but Toby put it behind his back. “Sarah will kill me if you rip it. I just wanted you to see it. Look at that. He’s pretty good, don’t you think?”
Yes.
“You’re not just saying that, are you? I’m biased and all, but let me tell you, I was at the open house and I saw what the other kids had up on the wall, and there was some
shit.
Look at that hand. How many six-year-olds do you know who draw knuckles? I didn’t have any talent chromosomes to pass on, so I don’t know where he got it, but this kid’s a freakin’ Rembrandt. Gold star. Right there, baby.”
He held the paper behind his back again. “No, seriously, Owen, you can’t touch it. But it’s impressive, right? It’s not just me? I need you to provide a neutral opinion because Sarah and I are flipping out over it. Of course, he did also
wet his pants during recess, but when you have immense talent you can’t always focus on bladder control.”
1994
“Oh.”
“You have more to say than ‘oh,’ right?”
“It just took me by surprise, that’s all. The way you said it. No buildup.”
“Like they say in the newspaper business, don’t bury the lead, right?” Sarah was practically bouncing with excitement.
It was, to be fair, outstanding news. A children’s television show wanted her to join the staff and write new songs each week. An incredible opportunity. She could go from being a waitress with a few songs that occasionally got radio play on local stations to a full-time songwriter.
“But it’s in Chicago.”
“Well, yeah.”
“I’d have to quit my job.”
“Yes, you would. You don’t have any great love for that job. You never have.”
“We’d have to pull Garrett out of school.”
“Yeah, and he’d go to school in Chicago.”
“He’d have to make new friends.”
“He’s six. He hasn’t formed lifelong friendships yet.” Sarah stared at him in disbelief. “Why are you giving me crap about this?”
“I just don’t want to move.”
“Why? What ties do you have to Orange Leaf?”
“I’ve lived here my whole life.”
“And…?”
“That’s not enough?”
“Of course it’s not enough! This is a dream come true. I realize it doesn’t pay that much, but I’d get to write songs for a living. That’s what I’d do instead of bringing people
ketchup and extra napkins. I thought that you’d want to grab the suitcases out of the garage and start packing.”
“Well, I don’t.”
She looked at him with such hurt that Toby wanted to fall to the floor, clawing his eyes out in a fit of self-loathing.
“Are you jealous?” she quietly asked.
“No.”
“Then why?”
“I don’t have a job there.”
“You’d find one. That’s not an answer. It’s not like we’re moving to Antarctica—it’s Chicago. It’s two states away.”
“I can’t leave Orange Leaf. It’s my home.”
“Your home is with Garrett, Hannah, and me, wherever we are.”
“We can’t leave.”
They didn’t speak for a few moments, as her shoulders began to quiver and tears streamed down her face. “You’re really going to take this away from me?”
Toby couldn’t answer her.
She called and declined the offer.