Dweller - Jeff Strand [99]
“I wanted to talk about your comic strip first.”
“Oh, you heard about that?”
“I’ve been following it. Marianne found it, actually.”
“I still have all of the originals except for a couple that Owen ruined. I’m going to give them all to you before you leave. You can keep them or sell them or do whatever you want with them, but I’d like you to have them.”
Garrett stood up. “That would be awesome. Thank you, Dad.”
“Let’s go! Let’s go! A wonderful monster in the woods awaits our arrival!”
Toby knew he was babbling like an incoherent old man, but he couldn’t help himself as they made the trek through the woods, their way illuminated by a lantern Owen had gotten him for Christmas, in much the same way that Toby’s favorite shoes ever were “from” Garrett when he was only two. He told Garrett all about how he’d finally gotten Rusty & Pugg published, and all about his miserable job that he couldn’t afford to retire from, and his arthritis. He didn’t talk about the other medical issues.
He also didn’t talk about the man he’d murdered. Technically Owen had delivered the killing blow, but Toby had murdered him. That wasn’t information with which to burden his son. He’d have to take that to his own grave.
Mostly he talked about Owen. That’s where he could sense he was blathering on the most, but Garrett didn’t interrupt, he barely spoke at all, apparently quite happy to let his father talk and talk and talk. That’s what old people did, he supposed.
Owen wasn’t there when they arrived at the shack, so Toby subjected his poor son to another half hour of talk while they added a coat of dark brown paint to the outside of the structure.
Movement to the side.
“That’s him,” said Toby. “Hey, Owen!”
Owen growled a greeting.
“I’ve got somebody who wants to see you!”
Garrett tensed up as Owen came into view. Toby wasn’t sure if it was fear—which was only to be expected at first—or shock at Owen’s appearance. His fur had turned almost completely gray, and small patches of it were missing all over his body. The monster looked…well, old.
Owen walked over to them, slowly, gazing at Garrett as if trying to remember where he’d seen him before.
“Does he recognize me?”
“Owen, do you remember Garrett? My son? Your friend?”
Owen stepped into the clearing around the shack, still obviously trying to place Garrett. He ran his talons along the side of the shack, a gesture that Toby found vaguely threatening—not something Owen had ever done before.
“It’s Garrett. I know you remember Garrett.”
And then Owen’s face beamed with pure joy that went beyond anything Toby had ever seen from the monster. Yeah, his smile was rather grotesque with his missing teeth, but you simply could not deny the emotion behind it.
Toby was so overcome with his own happiness that he didn’t immediately realize that Garrett had taken out a gun.
Owen howled with fright and put his hands over his face.
Toby grabbed for the weapon. He struck Garrett’s arm just as he pulled the trigger. The gun fired.
Owen roared and clutched at his side, blood spurting between his fingers.
Garrett tried to shove Toby out of the way, but Toby didn’t care if he was a sixty-five-year-old arthritic mess, there was no way in hell he was going to let anything happen to Owen. He threw a punch that connected solidly with Garrett’s jaw, knocking him to the ground.
Think how much different your life could have been, if you’d done that to Larry forty-five years ago.
Garrett pointed the gun back at Owen and squeezed off another shot. The bullet tore across Owen’s left arm.
Owen was a close target, but a target in motion.
The monster pushed Toby aside and dove at Garrett, attacking him in a flurry of teeth and claws. Toby’s son screamed in agony, and Toby screamed for Owen to stop.
There was blood everywhere.
Including on Toby’s chest. Owen had gouged him deep with his claws when he pushed him away.
“Owen, stop it!” Toby screamed.
Owen tore off a particularly meaty strip of Garrett’s flesh.
“Stop it, goddamn it!” Bleeding and hurting and terrified, Toby moved over to the carnage and