keep it in the attic. He’d pointed out that an intruder would be unlikely to let him climb into the attic to retrieve his weapon for the purposes of self-defense, and she’d argued that the idea of guns in their bedroom scared her more than the idea of intruders, so he’d conceded.
That was fine. He didn’t need to defend his wife and son in their home. He was going to get rid of the threat before it came to that.
Owen was his best friend. For most of Toby’s life, he was his only friend. And that, ladies and gentlemen of the jury, was one fucked-up concept. Best buddies with a snarling, flesh-eating monster? He’d have to be insane.
Owen would not be coming to his house in the middle of the night. Owen would not be looking in Garrett’s crib. Owen would not be reaching out with a single talon, perhaps to lovingly stroke the infant, perhaps to slit his throat. Owen would not be doing to Garrett what he’d done to those other two people.
Or what you did.
No. Toby’s secret was long buried, something that could never happen again. Owen was a monster. If Toby allowed Garrett to come to harm because he let that creature lurk out there, hungry, then Toby might as well kill himself.
Up the arms, not across the wrists.
He had to do it tonight, while Sarah was still in the hospital. Tomorrow, she’d bring home the baby.
Owen stood outside the shack when Toby approached. Toby stopped about twenty feet away and shone the flashlight on the monster’s face.
Owen made a rocking gesture with both hands: Baby?
“Yes. Sarah had the baby.”
Picture?
“No. I took a bunch but I haven’t got them developed yet. Maybe tomorrow.”
He raised the gun and pointed it at Owen, ready to squeeze the trigger instantly if Owen attacked. Owen didn’t attack or even cry out-he just looked sadly at Toby.
“I’m sorry,” said Toby. “I really am. You’ve always been there for me, but I have a son now. You don’t know what it’s like, and I can’t even explain it right-it’s this feeling where I’d rather die than have something happen to him. I can’t let that happen. I’m sorry.”
“Toby…”
“I can’t let you live, Owen. I can’t put my baby at risk.”
Owen signed: No.
“You could hurt him.”
Not hurt baby.
“You killed Melissa. She was everything I had and you killed her. I’m not going to let you take Garrett away from me. I hate that it has to be this way, but it does, and I’m sorry, I hate myself for this…”
Shoot him, Toby screamed inside his mind. Stop talking and shoot him, goddamn it!
Owen signed: Ice cream.
“What?”
Ice cream.
“Are you asking for a last meal?”
Yes.
For a moment, Toby wanted to do it. Go home and make Owen the biggest, sloppiest, most chocolatedrenched banana split ever constructed. He deserved a last moment of happiness before Toby executed him.
But then he shook his head in disbelief. “You know I can’t do that. Please don’t make this hard for me.” Jesus, what a dumb thing to say. As if Toby were getting the short end of the stick here.
There was nothing else to say. He needed to pull the trigger and begin a normal life.
His finger wouldn’t move.
Attack me, he thought. Rush at me with those claws. Make me do it. Give me no choice.
Owen just watched him.
At least look scared! At least freak out! Do something to create a moment of frenzy that I have to end with a bullet!
Nothing. No mercy.
“We’ll always be friends,” Toby said. It was another stupid thing to say. They wouldn’t still be friends when Owen lay dead on the ground because Toby shot him in the fucking head, now would they?
Owen signed: Please.
“Don’t.”
Not hurt baby.
“I can’t put Garrett in danger.”
Not hurt baby.
“You killed Melissa.”
Not hurt baby.
Toby lowered the gun.
“God, we just keep having horrible moments, don’t we?” he asked. “We’ve known each other almost our whole lives and I keep pulling guns on you.”
He couldn’t kill his best friend. Who gave him the most comfort when he was bruised, bloody, and humiliated from the beating by Larry? Whom did he confide all of his secrets to? He loved Sarah, loved her deeply, but did they share the same bond that he shared with Owen?
Owen understood him.
Owen knew what he’d done. If Sarah ever found out that he stabbed two kids to death, would she stay with him? Even if he explained that they were awful, mean bullies who made his life a living hell, would she stay with him if he described his moment of blind rage, mimicked the sound of the blade as it plunged into Larry’s chest?
Not a chance in hell.
But Owen did.
He’d have to be insane to give up a friendship like that. Certifiably insane to lose his confidant. Completely bonkers to murder the one friend with whom the grisly past was shared.
He didn’t have to lie to Owen about the prostitutes, the way he did to Sarah. “Sex for money? God, no. Do you see any green splotches on my penis?”
If you thought about it, really dug deep, got to the core of the matter, with Sarah he had to lie about his own best friend. He couldn’t tell her about Owen! Even without the gore-drenched aspects, he couldn’t tell her. What would she say? “Gosh, Toby, it’s so sweet that your best friend is covered with fur and has flesh-piercing jaws. Why not invite him over for brunch?”
She’d never understand.
He had secrets he could never tell her. What if he killed Owen, and then she found out about the murders? Or even the friendship? He’d be alone again.
Alone forever, this time. Who the hell else was he going to find?
Hurt Owen, his only friend for so long?
Madness.
Toby cried, apologized, begged for forgiveness. He hugged the beast, promising that it would never happen again, insisting that all of the emotional turmoil had messed with his head, but that he would never do anything to hurt Owen, not ever, and that no matter what, he swore that the two of them would be friends.
Not hurt baby.
“I know you wouldn’t. God, I’m so sorry.”
Ice cream.
Toby chuckled and wiped his eyes. “Yeah, Owen, I’ll get you some ice cream.”
C HAPTER T WENTY-FOUR G LIMPSES
