Dweller - Jeff Strand [84]
“Well, Jimmy Wilson’s dad is a pervert,” Toby said. “Naked boobies are evil. They should be banned.”
“What’s a pervert?”
“This is not appropriate dinner-table conversation,” said Sarah. “And naked boobs are not evil, they just shouldn’t be shown to an eight-year-old boy.”
“I didn’t show him any!”
“I know, but don’t talk about it.”
“The bozo brought it up!”
“I was just kidding,” said Garrett. “We went to look at some stupid moss.”
“Oh, well, I’m sorry that the moss wasn’t as exciting as your video games, your highness.”
“It sure wasn’t.”
Toby kicked him under the table.
“I’m glad you were able to keep a secret,” said Toby as he
tucked Garrett into bed. “But you really need to work on
a better cover story.”
“Will Owen be okay out there by himself?”
“Yeah. Owen will be fine. He’s been out there for a long, long time.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
Visiting Owen had always been inconvenient because of the distance. It became much worse when Toby had to walk out there, chain him up (Owen never fought against the process but made his displeasure quite clear), go back home and get Garrett, walk to Owen’s place for the visit, walk Garrett back, return to the shack, unchain Owen, and walk back home. It was ridiculous.
By the fourth visit, he just made Toby wait for him a short but safe distance back. He’d been friends with the monster since the 1960s—Owen wasn’t going to suddenly jump out of nowhere, grab Garrett and run off.
“Can I pet him?” Garrett asked, as he’d asked on every previous visit.
“No.”
“Why not?”
“Why do you think?”
“But he wouldn’t do anything to me. You wouldn’t do anything bad, would you, Owen?”
No.
Toby chuckled. “Still not gonna happen.”
“Okay, we’re going to walk up to him very slowly. Don’t make any sudden moves. Think of him like a lion in a cage.”
“He could kill any lion.”
“Yes, he could. And he could rip a little boy’s head off as easy as snapping his fingers.”
Garrett grinned and snapped his fingers.
“We’re done. You’re not taking this seriously.”
“But Dad—!”
“I said we’re done.”
“He’s probably the most talented in the class,” said Mrs. Kingston. “Look at the detail on that. A lot of kids his age haven’t progressed beyond stick figures.”
“He’s always loved to draw,” said Sarah, beaming with pride.
Toby nodded. It was a wonderful, accurate drawing, and there was a little boy who was going to get a very stern lecture tonight.
“Part of keeping a secret involves not drawing pictures of Owen to turn in for a class project,” Toby explained.
“I didn’t tell anybody he was real.”
“I realize that, but it looks just like him. What if somebody asks you how you drew it so well?”
“They already did. I said I made him up. He’s a monster.”
“Right, but…do you think the president draws pictures of secret nuclear weapon stockpiles?” Toby could feel the logic of his argument slipping away. “Just don’t draw Owen any more, okay?”
“Okay.”
“But we’ll show him this picture. He’ll love it.”
“Careful. Be very careful.”
One month and ten visits later, they walked toward Owen again. Owen stood in his chains, arms at his sides, head lowered slightly as if to say, “I’m a humble, harmless creature.”
While Garrett stayed back a few feet, Toby moved right up to Owen and stroked his fur. “Yeah, you’re a good boy, right? The best buddy ever. It’s going to be a pleasant experience for everybody. No gore at all. Is everybody calm and happy?”
Yes.
“One more time: you’re a good boy, right?”
“You’re treating him like a dog,” Garrett said.
“I’m being cautious.”
“He doesn’t like that, though. He’s smarter than a dog.”
“Yeah, and he’s also got way bigger claws and teeth than a dog, and as your father I’m allowed to be overprotective. Put your mask on.”
“This is stupid.”
“Mask.”
“Yes, sir.” Garrett put on the mask, which completed his baseball catcher’s uniform. It wasn’t as good as a suit of armor, but if Owen did lash out unexpectedly, this would help protect him from scratches. Toby would much rather have his son look like a fool than risk having this encounter