Dweller - Jeff Strand [89]
Why shouldn’t it work out that way?
Or, he could leave right now, run into the woods, tell Owen to get the hell out and not come back until tomorrow, and then return, apologize to Sarah for running off, and—
No. He’d stick with the plan that did not involve him rushing out into the woods like a complete lunatic, and just pray for good luck. He’d had enough bad luck in his life that it wouldn’t be out of the question for this particular instance to work out in his favor, right?
He wished he and Owen shared some sort of psychic bond, so he could send a telepathic message for Owen to leave.
Maybe they did share a bond, and Toby just didn’t know it. Leave, he thought. Owen, you need to leave. Leave now. Stay away.
Oh, Jesus, he was cracking up. Which was not unexpected at a time like this, but he needed to keep his mental focus. This could still turn out okay. There was no reason to let an accident—a stupid, careless accident—ruin his life.
When this day was over, he’d still have Owen and his family. Absolutely. No question about it.
He continued to pace until he heard Becky’s car pull into the driveway.
Becky made a big fuss over Garrett’s bandaged arm, though not loudly enough to wake him up. She sat Hannah on her lap and promised to take good care of her. Sarah explained that they were going into the forest to retrieve the broken board for the doctor, just so they could run some tests on it and make sure there wasn’t anything dangerous that might have entered Garrett’s bloodstream.
It was a pretty good cover story. Toby wondered if she were hiding her own monster.
They walked into the forest.
“I’m sorry I made a big deal about going out here,” Toby said. “I just don’t like leaving Garrett alone when he’s hurt like that.”
“He’s not alone.”
“You know what I mean.”
“Just take me to the shack.”
As they walked, moving at a brisk pace, Toby prayed that Owen wouldn’t be there when they arrived. He mentally pleaded for it. He continued trying to send telepathic messages to his friend, no matter how insane that was. It wasn’t that much to ask, for him to be out on a stroll, perhaps grabbing a bite to eat.
Please, Owen, please, please don’t be there when we get to the shack. Go hunting, go back to find Esmerelda, go swimming…hell, go into town and rip the guts out of another old man, I don’t care, just please don’t be there.
When they arrived at the shack, Owen was waiting for them.
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
One of the most perceptive observations Toby had heard about the aging process was that time sped up as you got older. At eight years old, summer lasted forever, and it seemed as if Christmas would never come. In your fifties, you said things like “Is it August already?” and wondered how it was possible that you were ready to celebrate the New Year when you’d just celebrated the last one.
But this moment, the moment with Sarah staring at the monster in shock, with Owen staring back at her—that moment lasted as long as Toby’s previous fifty-two years, and yet somehow he didn’t have time to fantasize about the possible ways the moment could end.
Owen looked confused, yet happy. Sarah looked terrified.
“Don’t run,” Toby said. “He won’t hurt you.”
Sarah didn’t speak. He could see how tense her body was, see that she was ready to run, just like she’d wanted to run from that support group meeting but a thousand times worse. But he couldn’t let her. Owen would chase her if she ran.
“He won’t hurt you,” Toby repeated.
Owen signed: Who?
“This is Sarah. You know Sarah. You’ve seen pictures.”
Owen spoke. “Toby.”
The horror that crossed Sarah’s face brought a pain to Toby that was worse than a monster talon plunging into his heart and wrenching it out of his chest in a bloody spray. She covered her mouth with her hands and began to hyperventilate.
Owen signed: Friend?
“Yes, friend,” said Toby, using every bit of energy he could summon to keep his voice steady. “Tell her that you’d never hurt your friend.”
Not hurt friend.
“Toby, get me out of here,” Sarah said. “Get me away from that