then there was a wet rip as Brutus’s cheeks tore apart and a crack as the top half of his head was wrenched backward.
Owen released his grip, and the dead beast dropped to the ground.
Another wail.
Toby swung the flashlight beam around. Esmerelda and Scruffer stood there. Scruffer moved first, but within seconds both of them were cradling Brutus’s limp form.
Owen stared at them. He raised his palm over his eyes as Toby flashed the light in his face. Toby thought he’d caught a glimpse of a tear.
Toby took Owen by the wrist and quickly led him through the woods, away from there.
“I’m sorry,” Toby said, after they’d gone far enough that the howls of sorrow could no longer be heard. Owen said nothing.
It was a long journey home. They were both tired and hurt and, though Owen became slightly more communicative after their first afternoon nap, the monster seemed depressed.
Toby wondered if Owen would have followed him back to Orange Leaf had Toby’s plan to sneak off in the middle of the night been successful. He liked to think that Owen would have. And at least then it would’ve been Owen’s choice, instead of the way it was now, where he was banished from a society with a known population of three.
“We’ll really fix the cave up nice,” Toby said. “We’ll dig our own pond. How long can that take with claws like you’ve got? We’ll build ourselves a luxury resort right out there in the woods. What do you want to call it?”
Stop.
“Stop what?”
Stop talk.
“Fine. Whatever.”
“I know you’re busy being all sad and stuff, but I would like to take a moment to point out how unbelievably cool it was when you ripped that thing’s head in half,” Toby said.
That seemed to cheer Owen up a bit.
“Do you know what makes you such a good friend?” Toby asked. “The fact that without you, I’d be dead now. I’m not talking about you saving my life, because I definitely would have done that for you if our roles were reversed. Oh, yeah, I would’ve grabbed that thing by the jaw and tore its chin right off, mark my words. But what I appreciate most in our friendship right now is your animal instinct, because I never thought that this whole voyage was supposed to be a one-way trip, and so I wasn’t leaving any bread crumbs to mark my way home. I’d be dead right now. Completely dead. Wolves would be snacking on me, and forest monkeys would be tossing my clothes around. So thank you, Owen, for your innate sense of direction.”
Yes.
“Damn, but you’re a good conversationalist. Time to change your bandages.”
“Know what you need? A last name. I think you’ve earned it. Owen Smith? Owen White? Owen Jones? Owen Death-TeethBiter? When we get home, if we ever do, we’ll just march right into city hall and demand the necessary paperwork to give you a last name. How does that sound?”
“Are we there yet?”
No.
“Are you sure?”
Yes.
“Are we there yet?”
No.
“Are you sure?”
Yes.
The thermos was long empty, and they hadn’t found a stream or a pond or any water at all since yesterday. Toby was no longer sure that Owen was taking him back the same way. This could be really bad.
The sound of a car driving past.
Toby rushed up ahead, and emerged from the forest next to a paved road. He recognized the graffiti on the CURVE AHEAD sign, and returned to Owen.
“We’re fifteen miles off,” he announced. “I really wish you could hitchhike. I take back my compliments about your sense of direction.”
They continued walking through the forest together, following the road but staying deep enough in the woods that no passing vehicles would see the man and his monster.
The cave did not actually glow with an otherworldly golden aura, but it seemed to for a moment. Toby changed Owen’s bandages again, gave the monster a hug, and then left him to get some desperately needed rest.
When Toby got home and looked at himself in the mirror, he nearly ran screaming from the house. Wow. That must be what feral people who’d been raised by wolves looked like.
He showered until the hot water was gone.
Then he slept.
Then he tried to figure out how exactly he was going to explain his absence from work.
“I don’t believe you,” said Mr. Zack, folding his arms in front of his chest.
“What?”
“I’m sorry, Toby, I don’t believe you.”
“How can you not believe me? I’m all beat up!”
“Because when people are in car accidents, they call. Not necessarily the first day, but by the seventh day they usually think to pick up the phone.”
“I was in Maine!”
“They have phones in Maine. I’ve seen them. If you bring me a note from your doctor in Maine that says that you were in such bad shape that you couldn’t even make a phone call, or ask somebody to make a phone call for you, then I’ll reconsider. Otherwise, I have to follow my gut instinct that you’re lying. I’m happy to cut you lots of slack, you know that, but I can’t have people working for me who are unreliable. You can goof off and mouth off and boink your girlfriend in the stockroom, but…” He trailed off. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have brought her up. That was horrible.”
“It’s okay.”
“But you understand what I’m saying, right? You can’t disappear for a week and expect a job to be waiting for you when you get back.”
Toby nodded. “I understand. I’m sorry.”
“I’m sorry, too.”
Toby sat on his couch, newspaper open to the classified ads. He’d circled a couple of items, but there wasn’t anything that came close to singing out to him.
He skimmed the ads again, just in case there was something amazingly exciting that he’d missed.
Nope.
He flipped back to the funny pages. Yeah, the comics were way more interesting than the classifieds. Even the ones without punch lines like Gasoline Alley.
He liked to draw. At least, he used to.
Maybe it was time to restart his hobby…
C HAPTER T WENTY G LIMPSES
1978
“And here in the last panel, he says, ‘Glub, glub,’ as they dunk him into the toilet.” Toby pointed to the carefully rendered artwork. “What do you think?”
No.
