Dweller - Jeff Strand [88]
“Yeah.”
“The doctor will make it all better.”
“Owen licked the blood.”
“What?”
“Owen, when he picked me up, he licked the blood.”
“Who’s Owen?”
“Our friend in the woods.”
Toby could barely focus on the road, but he tried to keep himself calm, even as he screamed Fuck! in his mind over and over.
“Toby, what’s he talking about?” Sarah demanded.
“Nothing—he’s delirious. It’ll all be okay, I promise.”
Garrett’s eyes closed.
Garrett said nothing about the monster in the forest as the doctor stitched up his wound. With the blood cleaned off, the gash didn’t look as…well, it still looked bad, but Toby’s mind had flashed through scenarios involving amputation.
Toby noted with grim humor that Garrett had been brave throughout the ghastly stitching process, but still cried when he had to get a tetanus shot “just in case.”
He’d have a nasty scar, but he could move his fingers fine and there was no permanent damage beyond the cosmetic. He’d be fine.
The drive home was long and quiet.
It was still early afternoon, but Garrett was exhausted and wanted a nap. Sarah called her friend Becky and asked if she could come over and watch Garrett and Hannah for a bit.
“Why’d you do that?” Toby asked, as Sarah hung up the phone.
“Who’s Owen?”
“Nobody. An imaginary friend. We play around with him.”
“When Becky gets here, I want you to take me to where he got hurt.”
“It’s an old shack we found. I never should have let him near it—the blame for this is entirely on me. I promise you, first thing tomorrow I’m going to tear the place down, make sure no other kids get hurt. Bad judgment on my part. I’m sorry.”
“No, Toby. I want to see it today. I want to know what the hell you two are doing out there.”
“We’re goofing around! Playing make-believe! There’s nothing wrong with that. We’re not hanging out with some crazy old blood-licking man named Owen—we like to pretend that we’re fighting monsters.”
“Becky will be here in ten minutes.”
“Call her back. I’m not leaving my son after he just got hurt. Look, how many times do I have to apologize for this? Don’t you think I feel terrible?”
“I don’t want an apology. I want to know exactly how our son’s arm got ripped up.”
“I told you, he was leaning against some wood—”
“Stop it, okay? If that’s the real story, then fine, I’ll yell at you for being an irresponsible dad and we’ll be done with it. But you’re going to show me that fucking shack.”
“Don’t curse around Hannah. I can’t believe you don’t trust me.”
“You’re right, I don’t.”
Toby paced around the living room, frantic. What was he supposed to do? Refuse to take her out there? She wouldn’t give up. If she knew they were hiding something, she’d be absolutely relentless.
He wished he hadn’t said it was a shack. If he’d said that Garrett injured himself on a branch, he could’ve just taken Sarah anywhere. But he’d thought about that during the drive to the emergency room, and he wanted to keep his story as close to the truth as possible. If he said a branch and Garrett said a shack, they’d be screwed.
What could he do? What could he do?
What the hell was Sarah going to do when she found out about Owen?
Okay. Calm down. It’s going to be…
A disaster. A total nightmare of a catastrophe of an Armageddon.
Way to think positive.
No. Maybe there was a solution. Well, not a solution, but a way this could work out. Owen didn’t spend all day and all night in the shack. In fact, daytime was when he did most of his hunting. Toby had shown up countless times when Owen wasn’t there. So it was entirely possible that he could get lucky and Owen wouldn’t be home.
“See, sweetie? Here’s the shack. Yeah, I see the boards and tools. We were just trying to fix the place up. Yeah, I should have told you about it. No, I don’t think it was responsible to let him play out here—but to be fair, I was with him the whole time. Well, yeah, that includes when he hurt his arm, but it’s not like he was running around rusty nails without parental supervision. I agree, I’m a total dumb-ass and bad dad. It’ll