'Look at this,' he sobbed. 'Look what he did. He ruined them.' Elizabeth tried to soothe him. 'Timmy. Calm down, sweetie. Your father is very angry right now, and he's had a long day.'
'I don't care. It isn't right.'
'Honey, did you really say that about your grandfather?'
'Yes.'
'But why? Can't you see how hurtful that is to your father? How wrong it was to make up such a horrible story?'
'It's true!' Timmy looked up at her with redrimmed eyes. 'See for yourself. His grave is sinking.'
'That's normal, Timmy. Graves settle after a few weeks, especially if it rains like it did last night. You can't make up lies like that.'
'It's not a story, and he didn't need to do this.' He continued smoothing the comics. 'I hate him. I'll never forgive Dad for this.'
'Timmy, that's not true. You love your father, and he loves you very much.'
'If he loved me, then why won't he listen? Why did he do this?'
'You have to look at it from his perspective.'
'Why? Why do I have to? Because I told the truth?'
'But you didn't, Timmy. You're telling stories. Fiction. You're confused right now. Upset with all that's happened.'
'No, I'm not.'
Randy walked back into the room with a huge cardboard box in hand. He sat it down on the floor and then, without a word, he began dropping Timmy' s comic collection into the box. Timmy gasped. The comics folded and bent as they were dumped inside.
'Dad, what are you doing?'
'Something I should have done a long time ago. Elizabeth, pull those long white boxes out from under his bed.'
'Randy, I'
'I said to do it.'
She took a deep breath and complied. Not once did she look up at her son.
'What are you doing?' Timmy asked again. 'What is this?'
'Follow me.'
Randy turned and stomped down the hall, hefting a box under each arm. Timmy ran after him, demanding to know what was going on. Elizabeth trailed along behind them, carrying the last box. When they reached the kitchen, Randy set down a box, opened the basement door, and motioned for Timmy to go through.
'Downstairs.'
Timmy did as he was told. His father's voice was cold and emotionless. He'd never heard it sound this way before.
His parents followed him. When they reached the bottom of the stairs, Randy made Timmy sit down on a wooden stool that he pulled out from under his workbench. He sat the boxes of comics next to him. Then he pulled over a large, empty trash can and put a fresh garbage bag inside it. Only then, after he' d finished this task, did Randy finally speak.
'Elizabeth, go back upstairs.'
'Randy, don't do this. Please. You know how much he loves those books. Please? I'm sure he didn't mean it.'
Silently, Timmy prayed she'd convince his father to stop before it was too late. Randy sighed. 'Honey, do as I asked you to. Please, just this once? This is hard enough.' They stared at one another for a moment, and then she turned and went back upstairs to the kitchen. She shut the door behind her. Randy pulled out another stool and sat down facing his son.
'Dad…'
'Timmy, I love you. I need you to know that.'
His voice cracked. He paused, taking a moment to compose himself, and then continued.
'Sometimes it's hard, being a parent. When you have a kid, it's not like buying a new car or an appliance. There' s no instruction manual, and you get so scared of making a mistake. Get scared of screwing your kid up. Your generation has it pretty easy. You don
't have Vietnam or the Depression to go through. But it' s still tough, these days. We want the best for you. Your mom and I have tried very hard to give you the things we didn ' t have at your age. Things like good food and clothes. Your bike. That Atari in the living room. And you deserve them. I meant what I said earlierI'm proud of you. But this lying has got to stop.'
'I'm not lying, Dad.'
'You know very well that story isn't true. Don't act like you don't know what I'm talking about. I' m going to give you one last chance, Timmy. One last chance to take it all back.'
'But, DadI…'
His father sighed. His shoulders slumped.
'Okay. I didn't want to do this…'
'What?'
'I'm grounding you for disobeying me this morning. Yes, I know you boys found Pat's car, and that' s a good thing for all concerned. But you still disobeyed me. You went beyond the boundaries your mother and I set for you.'
'We had to. We were'
'I don't want to hear any more lies. It doesn't matter. You're grounded for a month.'
'A month? But that's half my summer vacation!'
'I'm sorry, Timothy. You should have listened.'
'But the ghoul'
'There is no such thing as monsters, Timmy! Stop it. Stop making up bullshit stories!' Flinching, Timmy reared back on the stool in fright. His father's anger seemed to roll off him in waves, almost tangible.
Randy picked up the first comic book, Avengers Annual #10. His hands shook. Timmy's eyes grew wide.
'Don't speak, Timothy. Don't say a word, because all you're doing is lying more. I gave you a chance. And don't you dare look away. If you look away, I' ll ground you for another month.'
'Dad,' Timmy sobbed, 'please don't do this. I'm sorry. I'm sorry!'
'I'm sorry, too, son.'
He tore it in half, slowly. A single tear rolled down his cheek.
'No,' Timmy screamed, 'please, Daddy, don't. Please? I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm' The torn halves were tossed into the trash can, followed by an issue of Man›el TwoinOne.
'Stop it, Daddy! Please, just stop.'
'It's too late for that.' An issue of Fantastic Four was next. Then a mint copy of Justice League of America that Timmy hadn't even had a chance to read.
'I hate you,' Timmy screamed. 'I hate you and want you to die.' More tears spilled from both of their eyes as Randy tore up a copy of The Defenders. And another.
And another.
And an hour later, when the boxes were empty and his entire comic book collectionhis entire childhoodwas destroyed, Timmy still had plenty of tears left. There is no such thing as monsters, his father had said, but his father was wrong. Timmy was looking at one, and at that moment, he hated his father far worse than he'd ever hated Barry's.
Chapter Twelve
Doug pedaled down Laughman Road. The spokes on his wheels hummed quietly as the tires went round and round. His bike' s white reflectors flashed in the darkness when the moonlight hit them. He sped by Catcher 's driveway, but if the Doberman was awake, he didn' t give chase. Breathing a big sigh of relief, Doug coasted on. He'd woken, plastered in sweat, as his mother's mouth closed over him. Somehow, she'
