by Jeff Strand
They continued talking for over an hour after the sundaes were reduced to a thin layer of melted goo in the bottom of their bowls.
“I should get this out of the way,” Sarah said, twisting her napkin. “I’m not looking to see anybody right now. But I could sure use a friend.”
“So could I.”
“Anyway, you don’t want to date somebody as messed up as me. I’m a wreck. I figure you’ll probably be even looking for a way out of the friendship in a couple of weeks, so here.” She took a pen out of her purse, wrote on the back of the receipt for the sundaes, and gave the receipt to Toby: “Get Out Of Friendship Free.”
“That’s really dark,” Toby noted.
“Yet considerate.”
“I’m sure I won’t need it. We’ve only just scratched the surface of my own issues. I guarantee you, if we made a list of reasons why the other one of us should run as fast as they possibly can, mine would be longer and scarier.”
“I’ll take your word on that. I don’t think we should actually make the list, though. This dessert was going so well.”
“I agree.”
“I should get going. I promised my next-door neighbor that I’d watch her yard sale while she took the kids to baseball practice. Call me sometime, okay?”
“I will.”
They walked out of the ice-cream parlor, and Sarah extended her hand. “Very nice to meet you, Toby.”
“And very nice to meet you, Sarah.”
“Talk to you soon.”
“Absolutely.”
Toby threw away the receipt.
“I didn’t screw it up!” Toby cheerfully proclaimed. “Can you believe it? I wasn’t creepy, I wasn’t a babbling idiot, I didn’t spill hot fudge all over my shirt—okay, one small spot, but I don’t think she even noticed. It was amazing. She says she’s not looking to actually date right now, but that’s totally fine with me. She’s still getting over her husband. But I had such a good time. It’s so great to finally have a friend like that.”
I’m friend.
“I know you are, Owen, you’re my best friend. That’s not what I meant.”
Only friend.
“You are my only friend. I mean, were my only friend. I mean—you know what I mean. Don’t get jealous on me. What the hell? I’m telling you about the beautiful woman who likes me. I’m middle-aged now, and I didn’t exactly have women swarming me when I was young and virile. Just chill.”
Owen turned away from him and sat down on the beanbag.
“Oh, what, you’re going to pout now? You’re going to give me crap because I suddenly have a human friend? You need to grow up, Owen.”
Without looking back, Owen waved for him to leave.
“No, I’m not going anywhere. Which, I would like to emphasize, is my whole point. Did I abandon you when I was with Melissa? Did I?”
No response.
“No, I didn’t. And you know what, she was insatiable. There were lots of times when I came out here to spend time with you when I could’ve been getting laid like a porn star! Did you see me getting jealous when you ditched me for two years to be with your other monster buddies? Two years! If you’re so goddamn jealous of me having a relationship with my own species, why don’t you go visit them, huh?”
Toby’s shoulders fell. “Aw, shit, Owen, I’m sorry. There’s no excuse for that. It was just mean.”
He stepped toward Owen, who didn’t look back, but let out a menacing growl.
“Don’t do that, Owen. I’m serious.”
The growling got louder. Owen looked back at Toby, teeth bared.
“I’m going to leave while you get yourself sorted out,” Toby said, “but if you think that I haven’t made sacrifices for our friendship, huge ones, then you can fuck off and die.”
He stormed out of the shack. What a horrible, ungrateful friend. Owen should be happy for him, thrilled for him, not all pissy. How dare he show his teeth like that? Toby wanted to walk back in there and kick them out, like he had Brutus’s. Watch Owen spit fangs out onto the floor. He wouldn’t be so inclined to throw a jealous fit after that, would he?
Toby really shouldn’t have made the comment about visiting the other monsters. That was an awful thing to say. Cruel.
But, still, he wasn’t going to beat himself up over it. Owen was the one being unreasonable. Owen was the selfish one who didn’t want to see his friend happy if it meant getting in a few minutes less playtime.
Screw him.
Screw that stupid, selfish, murdering monster.
Toby didn’t need him. What value did he bring to Toby’s life? Some growling and some fucking hand signals? Wow, how could he ever live without that? He might not get to hear Owen’s one-word vocabulary anymore. “Toby.” What a loss.
Toby got madder and madder as he walked away from the shack—the shack that Toby had done most of the work on, thank you very much. It wasn’t an architectural marvel, but it was a shitload better than the filthy cave he was lurking in for two decades, and if Owen didn’t appreciate his efforts, then Toby would just leave him out in the woods to rot. He could sit there and tear apart his beanbag some more and grow old and die and decay right into the wood.
And screw walking away. He was going to march back there and tell that asshole that he was on his own from now on. If he wanted to be a great big jealous baby, he could find himself another best friend, somebody with absolutely no life who had nothing better to do all day long than sit in a shack with an animal.
He went back and pushed open the door. “You know what, Owen, I just want to say—”
Owen rushed toward him.
Then threw his arms around him and gave him a hug.
Toby was still pretty pissed, but he patted the monster’s back as they hugged. “It’s okay. It’s okay, buddy.”
Owen pulled away. I’m sorry, he signed.
“You should be.”
Owen looked so sad that Toby couldn’t help but feel his anger fade away. He tried to keep it—Owen deserved to have Toby furious at him—but he couldn’t.
“Everything’s going to be okay,” Toby assured him. “I’m not going to let a woman come between us. Nobody, no matter who it is, will ever come between us. We’re friends forever.”
Promise?
“Cross my heart. Hope to die. Stick a pitchfork in my eye.”
Stay?
“Of course. I’m not going anywhere, Owen.”
As he walked home, it occurred to him that he hadn’t even considered the idea that Owen might try to rip a big chunk out of his chest. They’d been friends for a long time, but…wow, that could have gone terribly wrong.
And Owen had gone on a rampage before.
Toby needed to remember what he was dealing with here: an animal. Maybe one that was closer to a human than any other creature on the planet, but still, an animal that liked the taste of human flesh.
Perhaps he needed to consider moving Owen back to the cave.
Nah. If anything, he wanted his friend to be closer, now that he’d have less free time to spend walking through the forest.
There was no magical moment.
Toby would’ve expected one. He and Sarah would be sitting on the couch, watching a movie. He’d reach into the popcorn bowl, she’d reach into the popcorn bowl, their buttery fingers would touch, there’d be a jolt of pure romantic electricity, and suddenly they’d be passionately kissing, spilling popcorn everywhere.
Or, after months of angst, Toby would confess all, tearfully explain that he loved her, that he couldn’t live without her, and that if she wasn’t ready that was okay, he’d wait for her. And she’d tearfully say that she was ready, that she’d been ready for a while now, and they’d kiss and cry together and then make love.
It wasn’t like that. For a few months, they just hung out like friends. Not dating—Sarah always paid her own way—and nothing more physical than pats on the arm and good-bye hugs.
And then they were holding hands while walking downtown
, window-shopping. They didn’t mention it, didn’t acknowledge any kind of change this might mean in their relationship—it just felt natural to hold hands, and they did it without comment.
Then quick good-bye kisses.
Then quick hello kisses.
But it still felt like friends who just happened to be affectionate. No big deal.
She studied a lot, and during that time Toby hung out with Owen. Sarah and Toby shared secrets—she told him how she’d felt watching her husband die, and he’d told her about the freakish night when some sort of escaped animal slaughtered his girlfriend—but, of course, he could never tell her the whole truth.
More kisses.
Snuggling on the couch during a movie.
She told him that she wasn’t crying over Tom as much these days, but didn’t directly relate it to what may or may not have been a blossoming romance.
She asked him what he did in the woods, and he lied. He just walked through the trees, enjoying the fresh air and solitude, getting exercise, being one with nature.
He took her with him, several times. It was a big forest. Plenty of places to go. She pretended to have a good time, but he called her out on it, and she admitted that she was much more of an indoor person, or at least preferred the outdoors without so many bugs. They laughed and happily found other things to do besides hiking in the forest.
She comforted him every time he got a rejection, which meant that she did a lot of comforting. They joked about killing comic strip editors.
When she wanted to go to an all-weekend bluegrass music festival, they went together. They sang during the drive, as loudly as they could—they loved enduring each other’s vocals, as long as they didn’t torment innocent bystanders.
Neither of them said anything, but it was understood that they would share a hotel room, and a bed.
They lay together, kissing gently, Sarah down to her bra and panties. Then the look of sadness from the support group appeared, and she pulled away from him.
“I’m sorry, I…you understand, right?”
“Of course I do.”
They held each other all night.
The music festival got rained out, so they spent the day singing in the hotel room. They kissed some more after darkness fell, and she said that she was ready.
Then she warned him that she was ending a dry spell of several years and that he might be in very serious danger.
Somehow, he survived.
1986
“What if we got married?” Sarah asked.
“Um, are you proposing to me?”
“No, I’m not trying to steal your thunder. I’m just throwing the idea out there. I love you, you love me, we want babies someday, so let’s make them legitimate before they’re accidentally conceived.”
“Wow.” Toby kissed her. “That’s the most flowery, poetic—”
“I know, I know. But I’m serious.”
“—heartfelt, romantic—”
She punched him playfully on the arm. “Enough! You know what I mean. Let’s do it. We’re not getting any younger.”
“So, what, do I just drop to one knee?”
“No. You should get a ring first.”
“How do you know I don’t already have it?”
“Do you?”
“Yes. It’s back at my place. If you’d been considerate enough to start this conversation there, I could’ve run into my bedroom, brought it out, and it would’ve been this great big romantic deal. But instead, we have to drive eight miles.”
“You’re joking, right? Do you really have a ring?”
“Yes.”
“Seriously, Toby, don’t kid around. You really truly bought an engagement ring?”
“Let’s go get it.”
He’d decided to buy a ring the weekend after they made love for the first time. He knew it was too soon, way too soon, and that he might never get to give it to her, but he wanted to have the ring.
Owen had helped him pick it out. Toby had brought pictures of the top three possibilities, and Owen had tapped his talon against the princess-cut diamond, which was Toby’s first choice, too. If he asked again with the same three pictures, Owen would probably point to something different, but that was okay.
He also had his mother’s engagement ring in his top drawer. It was a beautiful ring—much more expensive than the one he bought for Sarah. But he couldn’t give his future wife a ring that came from the finger of a woman who slit her wrists. He just couldn’t.
As they drove toward his home, Toby wondered about the impact of his marriage on Owen. They’d have to move into a new home—his house was okay for himself, maybe for the two of them, but definitely too small for an expanding family.
She knew he loved the forest. He’d just have to insist that they get a home in the same general area. He’d start researching possibilities.
He made Sarah wait in the living room, then went into his bedroom and got the ring box. He walked back to her, got down on one knee, and took her hand.
“Sarah Habley, will you marry me?”
“Oh my God! You had the ring!”
“I wouldn’t lie about something like that. So will you?”
“Yes!”
They kissed.
It was going to be wonderful. They’d get a new house, stay near the forest, and nothing would change. Maybe he’d have to visit Owen less often, but that was fine—Owen would just have to understand. He wouldn’t abandon his friend. Not ever. Nothing would change.
Nothing changed after the wedding. They bought a wonderful little house at a great price, not as close to his old place as Toby would have liked, but still acceptable. While Sarah went to classes at night, Toby spent time with Owen. He and the monster weren’t too old to make up new games, even if there was much less running around involved these days.
They’d planned to wait a couple of years before having kids. Not too long—they didn’t want to be parenting from a nursing home—but long enough to give themselves time to travel the world and for Sarah to get her degree.
One positive pregnancy test and some quick calculations showed that she’d gotten knocked up during their honeymoon.
Things did change after that. Toby didn’t go out to visit Owen on weekends—well, not every weekend. Owen understood. There were no more jealous rages.
Love her?
“I do. Who would’ve thought that a loser like me would ever get married, huh?”
As her belly swelled, Toby grew less comfortable leaving her alone. He still visited Owen, just not as often. He brought him extra treats to make up for it. Life was good. They were still best buddies.
The night Garrett Andrew Floren was born, weighing six pounds, three ounces, Toby held his son and vowed that nobody would ever harm his child.
Nobody.
For all these years, he’d allowed a monster to live in the woods outside of his house.
Not anymore.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
1987. 42 years old.
“He doesn’t have either of our eyes,” Sarah said, taking Garrett back from Toby. Toby and Sarah both had brown eyes, but Garrett’s were a beautiful shade of blue.
“Recessive traits.”
“He does have your nose, though.”
Toby scrunched up his nose. “I don’t think so.”
“Yes, he does.” She gently stroked the newborn’s forehead. “He’s so precious. Can you believe I’m sitting here saying things like ‘He’s so precious’? That’s not like me. Do you think we’re going to become those parents who show pictures of their baby to strangers and tell everybody that he’s the most beautiful baby boy in the entire world?”
Toby gave her a kiss. “I hope so.”
He walked through the woods with a clarity of vision. He’d lived a confused life—a mixed-up, crazy, confused life, but he wasn’t confused now.
Sarah had been nervous about having a gun in their house, even an unloaded one, so she’d insisted that he keep it in the att
ic. 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.”