by Jason Starr
“How are you losing me?” he said. “I’m right here.”
But he wasn’t there. This hairy meat-eating man who chased Frisbees in the park and bear-hugged his friends was a total stranger.
“I just want to go back to the way things were,” she said. “I’ll take all of our old problems over this. I just want my husband back.”
The rest of the evening she didn’t say a word to him. She was hoping that giving him the silent treatment would send him the message that she was seriously upset, and hopefully he’d come to her and let her in on what was going on. But he didn’t seem to get the hint at all. When Jeremy was asleep he came into the bedroom and said, “I want to have sex with you.”
Alison lost it and shouted, “Why do you keep talking to me in that weird way?! Can you just stop it, for God’s sake?!”
Simon, seeming shocked and offended, didn’t answer and went into the bathroom, probably to masturbate. In frustration, Alison flung her pillow against the headboard and then pounded it a few times with her fist. She couldn’t believe they were having marital problems again.
Exhausted from the long, stressful day, she shut off the light and fell asleep. She woke up to Simon’s loud screaming. Disoriented at first, she wasn’t sure what was going on, then realized she must have been asleep for a while because Simon was in bed, tossing and turning violently, yelling, “No! No! God, no! Noooooooo!”
“Wake up.” Alison shook him. “It’s just a dream. Wake up.”
Then he screamed louder than she’d ever heard him scream before. It was a scream of total terror.
“Simon, can you hear me? Simon.”
He was still screaming, wailing, “No, no! Please, nooo!” and now Jeremy, in his room, was screaming, “Daddy! Daddy!”
Alison shook Simon, pleading with him, but nothing helped.
Jeremy was crying hysterically. “Daddy! Daddy!”
Alison shouted,“I can’t take this anymore! I just can’t!” as she rushed out of the bedroom.
SEVENTEEN
Simon’s dream:
He was hungry, in the dark, and couldn’t see anything, but he could smell everything. He smelled trees and cold, fresh country air, but most of all he could smell his next meal.
His meal was coming toward him. He waited silently, for the right moment, and then he was moving extremely fast, practically flying. He leaped toward his meal, biting into the delicious flesh, feasting on it. Mmm, it was the best meal he’d ever had. He wanted to keep eating forever. He couldn’t get enough of it.
Then he was running again in total darkness. Although he couldn’t see a thing, he could see everything. He was already hungry again. He heard something far away and he stopped and listened more closely. Was it an enemy? No, it was a meal, but he knew he had to be quiet or the meal would escape. He was quiet for a long time, watching his meal in the dark. Then he wasn’t there anymore. He was removed, watching himself, but he wasn’t himself, not the self he knew anyway. He had the body of a human, but he was also a ferocious animal with sharp teeth and claws. He was devouring his meal, warm blood splattering everywhere.
He woke up screaming, relieved to be in his bedroom and not in that pitch-black forest. Alison was holding Jeremy in her arms. Jeremy was extremely upset, sobbing.
“What’s going on?” Simon asked. “Is he okay?”
“You scared the hell out of him,” Alison said.
Simon said, “How did I—” Then he remembered being in the forest, seeing himself as a vicious animal. “Sorry,” he said. “I was just having a nightmare, that’s all.”
Jeremy was still crying. Simon got out of bed and said, “Let me hold him.”
Alison backed away and said, “It’s okay, I can take care of it.” She turned to leave, adding, “Maybe you want to sleep on the couch tonight.”
Simon didn’t understand why Alison was so angry with him. Just a couple of days ago, everything seemed so great, and suddenly she was unhappy again, complaining, turning him down for sex. He wanted to talk to her about it but knew he wouldn’t be able to resolve anything now, in the middle of the night, while she was so cranky, so he took his pillow and went out to the couch.
He couldn’t sleep, though; the nightmare was too fresh in his mind. The first part, when he was hungry, searching for a meal, felt exhilarating; but the next part, when he felt removed from the scene, watching the animal-like version of himself, was terrifying. He didn’t know why it seemed so scary—it was just a dream, for God’s sake.
Then, with a sudden revelation, he thought—I was the wolf. The first attack in the dream had been the wolf attacking Tom, and the second attack had been the killing of the deer in the woods. Simon wasn’t exactly an expert in dream analysis, but it seemed logical that the dream had to do with repressed guilt. He felt guilty about all the anger he’d had toward Tom, and the dream was some kind of perverse fantasy. This was the only explanation that made any sense.
But understanding the dream didn’t make it seem any less terrifying. It had seemed so real that he’d actually felt like he was there, biting into the salty flesh, and he was afraid to fall back asleep, fearing that the nightmare would resume. This wasn’t the only reason he couldn’t sleep, though; he also had an annoying erection. It had been two days since he and Alison had last had sex, but it seemed like eons ago. He had no desire to masturbate, though. He wanted to make love to his wife, not a fantasy version of her.
Eventually he fell asleep, but the nightmare repeated. It was even more vivid now. It was clearly an attack on Tom. He could even see Tom’s face and hear his screams. The attack on the deer was more vivid as well. The deer flesh was tougher than Tom’s; Tom had been a fattier, more satisfying meal.
In the morning Alison was still in a bitter mood and barely spoke to him. He felt bad about the distance between them lately, but he had no idea how to make things better. He’d tried to talk to her last night, but he couldn’t understand her anymore. If men were from Mars, she was from a different universe. He knew that trying to discuss it would be pointless and only widen the rift, so he decided he wouldn’t mention anything until their next marriage counseling appointment.
Simon took Jeremy downtown for a play date with the guys in Battery Park. In sharp contrast to how awkward he’d felt around Alison lately, when he saw the guys he felt instantly calmer, at peace. The guys just seemed to get him in a way that Alison didn’t.
While Simon was hugging Charlie, Ramon said, “Everybody wants a piece of the hero today.”
“What do you mean?” Simon asked.
“You didn’t see the papers today yet?” Ramon went to the bench and grabbed a copy of the Daily News and held it up so Simon could see the picture on the front page of Charlie, grinning, with his arm around an attractive blonde. The headline was simply:MY HERO
“Charlie pulled a woman out of a fire yesterday,” Ramon said.
“Eh, you know how the papers are,” Charlie said modestly. “They blow everything out of proportion.”
“Out of proportion? You went into fire, man.” Then Ramon continued to Simon, “Paper says if he didn’t go in, in like a minute, the lady would’ve died. He had to break down the front door to get her, and it had like three locks on it. He busted the door down by himself.”
“It was no big deal,” Charlie said. “Any guy on my team would’ve done it.”
“Yeah, but they didn’t do it,” Ramon said. “That’s what makes you a hero.”
“We’re very proud of Charlie,” Michael said. Then he said to Simon, “You’re proud of Charlie.”
The silence seemed to drag on as they all looked at Simon, waiting for him to respond.
“Of course I’m proud of him,” Simon finally said.
Michael seemed pleased.
“Thanks,” Charlie said to Simon. “That means a lot to me, man.”
“And you saved a beautiful woman’s life; I’m sure she’s gonna be very thankful,” Ramon said. “You got her number, I hope.”
<
br /> “Of course,” Charlie said, smiling.
Ramon put an arm around him, pulling him close, and said, “That’s my boy, that’s my boy.”
After the playground the guys took the kids to a nearby McDonald’s. The kids had Happy Meals and the dads had Angus burgers. Simon had planned to get two burgers, but the smell of fried meat whetted his appetite even further, so he ordered four burgers and a bottle of water. Ramon and Charlie also had ordered several burgers each, but Michael bought eight.
They sat in the middle of the restaurant with their overflowing trays. Simon was aware of people watching them, but he was too focused on the food to really care. Michael removed the burgers from the sandwiches and stacked them up into a large pile of meat. Charlie and Ramon did the same, and Simon, realizing that it would be much more pleasurable to eat the meat on its own, also stacked his burgers.
He couldn’t chew the meat fast enough—he just wanted to get it all into his body as fast as possible. The other guys were downing their burgers. Simon was aware of people from other tables looking over at them, but he didn’t care. All he could think about was how hungry he was and the meal in front of him, and nothing else mattered. It reminded him of a feeling he’d had recently, during the nightmare, when he saw Tom—his meal—in front of him. As Simon swallowed a large chunk of burger, he saw a flash of himself as the man-wolf, sinking its teeth into Tom’s neck, and he gagged as the meat got caught in his windpipe.
Charlie was up first and seemed to be instantly behind Simon’s chair, ready to give him the Heimlich maneuver, but Simon was able to cough up the meat on his own.
“I’m okay,” Simon said between coughs. “I’m . . . I’m fine.”
“Don’t worry, Charlie’s trained in CPR,” Ramon said. “You ain’t gonna die from no Angus burger when we got a hero fireman around.”
At the next table, Simon saw that Jeremy was looking over, frightened.
“It’s okay, don’t worry,” Simon said. “Daddy’s going to be fine, I promise.”
Placated, Jeremy went right back to talking and laughing with his friends.
Simon coughed a few times, continuing to recover, then said, “I guess I was eating too fast.”
Michael seemed confused, as if he didn’t hear him, maybe didn’t understand him.
After a swig of water, Simon resumed eating, more slowly. He was okay at first, but then he was back there, digging his teeth into Tom’s neck. It was even clearer before and so real, more like a memory than a dream. He gagged again, but not as bad as before.
“You sure you’re okay?” Charlie asked.
“Yeah,” Simon said. “Fine.”
Simon managed to finish the rest of the burgers without further incident, but he was still shaken up. The other guys had finished eating as well.
“You’re afraid,” Michael said to Simon.
Simon, who’d become used to Michael’s abrupt and direct style of communication, said, “Yeah, actually I am. How could you tell?”
“Fear is weakness, like love.”
Simon squinted, trying to figure out what Michael was talking about. When it was clear Michael wasn’t going to elaborate, Simon said, “I had this weird dream last night.”
Three sets of eyes were suddenly fixated on him, waiting for him to continue.
“I dreamed that I was, well, a wolf,” he said. “Or not really a wolf. I had wolf features—the teeth and claws and, I guess, fur, but otherwise I was myself. Anyway, I dreamed I attacked a man and killed him, and then I attacked and killed a deer.”
Simon had purposely left out any mention of how the dream was related to what had happened to Tom. The guys were looking at him blank-faced, as if waiting for the punch line of a joke.
“That was it,” Simon said. “I woke up screaming.”
“It was a happy dream,” Michael said.
“No,” Simon said, “it was terrifying. Well, that isn’t really true. Part of it was terrifying, at the end. At the beginning I wasn’t happy or scared.”
“You were strong in the dream,” Michael said.
Simon had felt powerful in the dream.
“Maybe,” he said. “But not strong in a good way. Strong in a scary way.”
It felt weird, being psychoanalyzed by a dad from the playground in a crowded McDonald’s. Simon didn’t know why he’d brought any of this up.
“Oh wow, look at the time,” Simon said, checking his cell. “We should be heading back uptown.”
In front of McDonald’s the guys hugged good-bye, and then Simon jogged toward the Upper West Side, pushing Jeremy in the jogging stroller. As usual, the exertion calmed Simon, and the nightmare about Tom wasn’t upsetting him as much. The great thing about nightmares was that they didn’t haunt you forever; they were eventually replaced by new nightmares. He just had to live his life and let go.
A balding middle-aged man in a dark sport jacket was standing near the doorman’s desk, watching Simon as he entered the lobby. The way the man was looking at him, Simon wondered if he knew the man from somewhere, although he didn’t look at all familiar. Simon smiled instinctively, but the man didn’t smile back. Instead the man glanced to his left toward James, the doorman, and must have gotten some sort of signal or acknowledgment from James because then he said to Simon, “Excuse me, Mr. Burns?”
Simon stopped and eyed the man more closely. He still couldn’t place him. “Sorry, do I know you?”
The man flashed a badge and said, “Dan Dorsey, Bernardsville Police Department. Can I have a word with you, please?”
EIGHTEEN
Unable to process what was happening, Simon first thought that this had to be some kind of misunderstanding.
“I’m sorry,” he said, “I think you have the wrong address.”
“Are you Simon Burns?”
“Yes, but—”
“Can we sit down for a moment?” Dorsey gestured with his jaw toward the leather sofa and matching chair at the other end of the lobby.
“I think you have the wrong Simon Burns,” Simon said.
“Unless there are two Simon Burnses at this address, I don’t have the wrong Simon Burns.”
Realizing a misunderstanding was out of the question, Simon asked lamely, “What’s this about?” as he saw a flash of himself biting off a chunk of Tom’s face. Then his knees buckled and he almost lost his balance.
Dorsey reached out quickly and grabbed Simon’s arm and asked, “Are you okay, Mr. Burns?”
“Yeah, fine,” Simon said. “I just think I might be coming down with something. I’ve been feeling kind of queasy today.”
“Come sit down for a few secs,” Dorsey said. “This shouldn’t take long.”
“I’m here with my son,” Simon said, tilting up the stroller.
Dorsey glanced at James, and James said, “Yeah, I can watch him, that’s fine.”
Reluctantly Simon left Jeremy with James and joined Dorsey at the end of the lobby. Simon’s brain was churning, trying to figure out why the police could possibly want to talk to him. They must have somehow figured out that he was in Bernardsville the night Tom was killed. Had they found his shoe in the woods? If they had, Simon had no idea what explanation he would give for why he was there other than the truth. And why not tell the truth? What did he have to hide?
Dorsey sat in the chair, so Simon sat across from him on the couch, saying, “I still don’t get what this is about.” Then he realized he probably shouldn’t sound so naïve, so he added, “I mean you said you’re from Bernardsville. This doesn’t have to do with my old boss, Tom Harrison, does it?”
“Yes, as a matter of fact it does,” Dorsey said.
“I’m confused,” Simon said, thinking, He has the shoe. He must have the shoe.
Suddenly he had that taste of blood in his mouth again. He felt dizzy for a second or two, but it passed.
“Do you own a wolf?” Dorsey asked.
“Excuse me?” The question sounded so odd he wasn’t sure he’d heard it cor
rectly.
“A wolf,” Dorsey repeated. “Do you own one?”
“No,” Simon said. “Of course I don’t own a wolf.Why would I own a wolf ?”
“Some people own them as pets illegally,” Dorsey said. “But you say you don’t own one, so—”
“I absolutely don’t own one,” Simon said, knowing that Dorsey must have had a very good reason to come all the way to Manhattan to question him, and the only reason that made any sense was that he’d found the shoe. Simon was considering whether he should bring up the shoe on his own, just be honest and straightforward. Was there a reason not to be honest and straightforward?
“I assume you don’t have access to a wolf?” Dorsey said. “Maybe a friend’s wolf?”
“No,” Simon said. “Of course I don’t have access to a wolf. What kind of ques—”
“Were you in New Jersey the night Tom Harrison was killed?”
Simon hesitated. He was going to tell the truth, just blurt it out, but then he heard himself say, “No, I wasn’t.”
“Then can I ask where you were that night?”
“That was last Friday night, right? I was in New York, staying at a friend’s.”
Dorsey nodded slowly—knowingly, or was he just thinking? Simon had no idea what he’d do now if Dorsey said he had the shoe. He wanted to tell the truth, admit he was there, but at the same time he couldn’t shake his memories of the nightmare he’d had and his overriding feeling of guilt. Maybe he had something to hide after all. He’d blacked out that night, so how did he know that he wasn’t there in New Jersey? He’d been angry at Tom and had motive for wanting to kill him, so maybe he’d gotten hold of a wolf and brought it with him to Tom’s house that night? It was absurd, of course, but not any more absurd than waking up in the woods naked. How could he rule anything out?
“The reason I’m asking,” Dorsey said,“is someone thought they saw you near the house.”
“Saw me?” Simon saw a glimpse of the nightmare—his animal self biting into the delicious flesh. “That’s crazy.”