Silas: A Supernatural Thriller

by Robert J. Duperre

  Carol Janine was born in May, almost three years after Deborah. And we weren’t done yet, because Rebecca Nicole came to us two years after that. Rebecca’s delivery was particularly frightening. There were multiple complications with the birth, and for a while I wasn’t sure if Wendy or the baby would make it. Everything turned out fine, with the baby being delivered via cesarean section, but the two-week hospital stay afterwards was more than either of us could bear. We mutually decided to both get fixed. Wendy asked me if I was sure, seeing as she’d never given birth to a son. I told her that was fine. We had three wonderful children now, which was more than enough. And besides, I already had a son.

  That’s right, Silas. Through all of these big amendments to our lives, through the moves and the fights and the children, he was the constant. We all got older, we settled down, we changed. He didn’t. He remained the puppy he’d always been, running in the backyard, chasing his stick, acting neurotic in rainstorms, showing affection when we needed it most, always staying by my side like my partner in crime. He adjusted well to the girls, but why wouldn’t he? They were simply additions to the pack, more people – albeit of a smaller variety – for him to love and receive love in return. In fact, the first word any of our girls said wasn’t mommy or daddy or even pie, but Silas. They adored him as much as I did. He was part of the family unit, as unshakable and sturdy as Mount Everest.

  Our walks together never stopped. We found different fields to traverse, different beaches to let him run across and chase Frisbees into the waves. Our weekends became grand adventures, filled with excitement and exploration. The girls always joined me, and half the time Wendy did, too. It was during one of these walks – we’d trekked all the way to Cape Cod and wandered down the abandoned fire roads, admiring the flora and partaking in some amateur bird watching – that I looked around me, at the wife on my arm, girls by my side, and my boy running on ahead of us, and realized the dream I had that night in the hotel in Brattleboro had come true. It struck me as funny. Growing up, even into my early thirties, I never wanted this; yet with laughter and joy around me, I realized what we want isn’t always what we need, and what I needed was just what I received.

  Even with the bliss my life had become, however, I never forgot those four days lost in the wilderness of that strange, parallel world. I was reminded through little things, mostly – the way Silas would lean into me and share one of our knowing embraces, the reflection of the sun off the water at dusk, when it appeared huge, red, and foreboding, the times I’d watch the nightly news magazines and see reports of missing children. Yes, those memories stayed with me like a lurking shadow, never fully revealing itself unless I turned around to face them, which I never did.

  And yet life still went on. Before I could blink, Deborah, our oldest, was thirteen years old. Our house was constantly filled with children, as Wendy had an open-door policy when it came to the girls’ friends. Business continued to grow, and we were always on the move, heading to this conference, meeting with that client, trying to argue with vendors about the excessive price of clay. We started taking vacations to far-off places every three months just to get away, often times leaving Silas in the kennel when we did so given airline restrictions in regards to traveling with pets. And yet he was always there when we got back, smiling at us with his one eye gleaming and tongue lolling, ready to leap into our arms and welcome us home. The fur under his chin had gone gray and there were bald spots on his thighs where a series of benign fatty deposits had been removed, but other than that he was the same dog he’d always been. So I’d smile when I saw him and promise that next time he’d be coming with us, to which he’d respond by licking my face and soaking the neck of my shirt with his thick, sticky drool. But sure enough, come the next vacation, he was back in the kennel again, waiting for two weeks until we got back from France or Mexico or someplace like that. He’d been around so long that I guess I took for granted that he always would be.

  That was a mistake, one I’ve never forgotten.

  71

  It was the end of November. My family and I had spent five days at a resort in St. Thomas to celebrate my forty-eighth birthday. It was a pretty enjoyable trip, and because the girls were now old enough to stay in a room of their own (which I counted as a blessing seeing as both Deb and Carol, now teenagers, had taken on the eye roll as their preferred mode of communication), Wendy and I were afforded the type of isolation we hadn’t seen in a long time. We made love fervently on that trip, our passions still in full gear even with our climbing ages.

  I couldn’t wait to get home, though. On the second day there I found a chew toy in the shape of a black lab, and I immediately bought it. Since the moment I laid eyes on it I couldn’t stop thinking of Silas, even with the amount of fun we were having. By the time day five rolled around, I hastily packed our suitcases and rushed to the airport.

  I went by myself to pick him up at the kennel, the chew toy held firmly in my hand. I walked through the doors and greeted the girl behind the counter. She passed me an odd frown and bit her lip.

  “Okay, Mr. Lowery,” she said, and disappeared into the back.

  With the chaotic echo of barking dogs filling the waiting room with an endless barrage of sound I paced around, taking in the smell of wet fur and the faint odor of stale urine underneath. It amazed me how much I relished even that, for at one point in my life it would’ve disgusted me. Now, after having lived with that rambunctious forever-puppy for sixteen years, it reminded me of everything good and wonderful in life.

  The door opened and Carl, the owner of the kennel, stepped out. Silas waddled behind him. Usually when I came to get him he’d lunge at me, tugging on the leash until his harness slipped over his shoulders. This time, the leash hung loose. His head was to the ground and he walked like he was asleep. I looked up at Carl, confused.

  “What’s going on?” I asked.

  “I’m not sure, Ken,” replied Carl. “He started acting funny the second day you were gone. He won’t eat. He’s had trouble sleeping. I would’ve called the vet, but I knew you’d be home in a couple days, so I figured I’d wait to see what you wanted.”

  I knelt down and ran my hand through Silas’s fur. It felt matted and oily. His chest rose and fell, but with a great amount of effort. I heard a bubbling each time he exhaled, as if he was trying to breathe under water. My heart beat fast, faster than it had in a decade and a half.

  “Oh shit,” I said. “Oh no.”

  “Do you want me to call Dr. Watson?” asked Carl.

  I shook my head. “No. I’ll take him home. Let’s see if sleeping in a familiar place helps.”

  That was nothing but wishful thinking, and I knew it.

  Things didn’t get better. The next day we brought him to the vet, and after the blood work came back we were told he had advanced sarcoma in his lungs. “You can take him home, if you like,” the vet told us. “Make him comfortable, pamper him. Give him his painkillers. It will be quite agonizing for him, I’m sure, but try to ease his pain as best as you can.”

  “But it came on so sudden,” I pleaded. “Why didn’t we see this before?”

  The vet shrugged. “These things happen,” he said. “That’s the thing with cancer. Sometimes it hides until the last moment. He’s probably been suffering from it for years without symptoms. If he were a person, you’d probably have found out, but unfortunately we don’t pay as good of attention to our pets.”

  Guilt overwhelmed me. I’d done this. I’d let him fade away. If we hadn’t spent so much time apart, if we hadn’t been so busy in our goddamned lives to notice, we might’ve caught it. I cursed myself the whole ride home.

  Silas continued his downward slide. For two nights we kept him at the house. I’d carry him up to our bedroom at night and lay on the floor beside him, holding him in my arms while he slept, trying to give him the same healing energy he’d given me so long ago. Nothing seemed to help. His breathing became more and more labored. His right eye was bloodsh
ot. He wouldn’t stand for more than a couple minutes at a time. He’d spend half the day moaning, in obvious pain. Even the pills didn’t seem to help. By the end of that second day, I had to brace him against me and hold up his leg so he could go to the bathroom. He was feeble and fading, and yet I couldn’t tear myself away from him. It was as if I needed to be by his side in order to take a breath.

  Finally, on the dawn of the third day, I knew what I had to do. I gathered Wendy and the girls outside. Even though we weren’t religious, we stood in a circle with Silas between us and said a silent prayer. There were tears in all of our eyes.

  “Do you want me to come?” asked Wendy as I hefted his bulky, limp form in the back seat.

  I shook my head. “No,” I replied. My voice was choppy. “I owe this to him.”

  I cried all the way to the clinic. I kept my hand on his head during the entire trip, my arm wedged between the driver and passenger seats. When we got there I parked the car and sat still for a half-hour, trying to calm myself. I still kept my hand on his head, feeling him shake every couple seconds as if dreaming. I took a deep breath, wiped the tears from my eyes, and went about lifting him out of the car. My head was swimming with so much emotion that, as I carried him through the front door, I couldn’t feel his weight in my arms.

  I stood in the room where the deed would be done and listened as the vet, an older woman named Barbara, told me how the procedure would go. “It’s a simple shot,” she said. “Just one prick and he’ll feel no more pain. Easy as that.”

  “Easy as that, huh?” I said. My voice seemed far away.

  She nodded. “Now, would you like a few moments alone? To say your final goodbyes?”

  “I think he’d like that,” I replied.

  The vet walked out of the room. Before she closed the door behind her she turned and offered me a kind, sympathetic smile.

  “You know, you’re lucky,” she said. “He was with you for sixteen years. That’s a long time for a Labrador. Be thankful.”

  With that she shut the door behind her. I stood staring at Silas as he lay on his side, eye closed and breathing shallowly, on the examining table. Be thankful for that. I shook my head. I knew the words she said were true, but I couldn’t accept them – not right then, not when my boy was dying in front of me. He’d been the key cog in my transformation. He’d protected me, healed me, been my best and most loyal companion. I didn’t care how much longer than the average dog he lived. It still seemed unfair.

  I pulled the rolling stool up beside the table and sat next to him. I held his paw and pressed my face against his. I felt his breath on my neck and started to shudder. “I love you, Silas,” I said, my voice a mockery of strength. “I love you so much. Do you know that? Do you?”

  I felt his head lift, and I pulled back. There my boy was, on his side with his head up. His good eye was open, staring at me with its kaleidoscope of bursting color. His tongue lolled from his mouth and he panted. My own eyes widened and I leaned in.

  “Silas?” I whispered.

  He whimpered in reply, but that adorable doggy grin appeared on his face once more. He licked my cheeks, my nose, my lips, and then burrowed his head into mine the way he would when waking me up in the morning. My heart soared and I squeezed his paw. He licked me one more time, looked at me with one tired eye, and then it closed. He put his head back down on the table, pressed his paw into my chest, and then let it fall limp.

  That was it. I knew it. He’d given me a sign. He’d given me permission. I called the vet back in.

  The process took minutes. I watched Barbara insert the needle into his rear leg. His breathing slowed. He whimpered one final time. I stayed beside him, my cheek pressed against his chest. I listened to his heart as it slowed and finally stopped. One last breath blew out his nose, he shuddered, and then he fell still. Forever.

  After paying my bill an assistant helped cart the plywood box that held Silas’s body to the car. When the assistant asked me if I wanted it in the trunk I said no, the back seat would be fine. Trunks were for luggage and groceries, not my best friend. I at least owed it to him to let him have one last ride, one last moment of the world rushing past the windows.

  The assistant left and I got in the car. I sat staring at the steering wheel, remembering how he used to jump in and stand against it before we’d head for our trips to the dog park. There would be no more trips like that, no more playing stick, no more snuggling by the fireplace. He wouldn’t wake me up in the morning with a nudge any more, nor would he sneak into the pantry and wolf down food when we weren’t looking. I wouldn’t see that face smile at me again. I wouldn’t feel his wet kisses on the back of my neck. He wouldn’t be a part of our family anymore.

  I completely broke down. I cried so hard my whole body convulsed. I cried until the veterinary clinic closed and the last of the workers left for the day, until night fell over Connecticut. My phone rang and rang, but I didn’t answer it.

  I couldn’t. I wanted to give this to him. I wanted to show him how much I cared, how much his death devastated me, even if he wasn’t around to see it. For as much as he’d given me in life, he deserved that much.

  * * *

  That evening Wendy and the girls stood around me as we buried my best friend of sixteen years. We drove all the way out to the town of Stafford and set him into the ground at the Mancuso farm. Old Man Mancuso himself, amazingly still alive, gave us his blessing and even supplied us with flashlights so we could find our way in the dark. “It’s the least I can do for the dog who helped save all those girls,” the old man told us.

  We buried him on the edge of the woods, the same woods where we’d discovered Bridget Cormier’s body all those years ago. After digging the ditch and lowering the plywood box into the ground, we went around and said our final words. When it reached my turn, I swallowed hard and spoke.

  “This is for Silas,” I said, “the greatest creature that ever existed. You were never a dog. You were so much more than that. My friend, my companion, my son.” I hugged Wendy close. “I love you as much as anyone in this family you were a part of. You will be missed, more than you could’ve ever known. I hope you find your way in the afterworld, and I hope you’ll be there to show me the way again when it’s my turn. I love you, gi-faht. Forever.”

  No one questioned my use of that alien term, just as no one questioned when I placed a handwritten copy of the lyrics to Blood Red Morning upon his makeshift casket. After that everyone helped me fill the ditch with dirt and we walked back to the car in silence. I think they’d all finally come to the same conclusion as I.

  Silas, the forever puppy, was gone.

  72

  JT stares at Ken as he flips open the lid to the box in his lap. Ken removes a picture and holds it out. Just as there had been for the whole last part of the story, there are tears in his eyes.

  “This is Silas,” Ken says. “Quite a looker, isn’t he?”

  JT nods, a kind grin on his face.

  “Well,” says Ken, “after burying him things pretty much went back to normal. Time went on. The girls went off to school and then got married…at least two of them did. My little Becky’s a bit of a rebel. Not sure if she’ll ever tie the knot. Anyway, Wendy’s business got better, it got worse, and then picked back up again. She got sick not so long after that and I sold off The Spinning Wheel to help pay the medical bills. Luckily, our little enterprise was worth a pretty penny. My girls will be set up for life when I’m gone, and for that I’m thankful.

  “Early on, though, I found myself starting to lose my memory of Silas. It was like he was fading out of existence in my mind, and that felt unacceptable. So I started penning this here journal.” He places the picture back inside and secures the cover. “It started out simple enough. A page here, a page there. Pretty soon the words were pouring out of me. It was amazing how much I remembered and how well I remembered it. As I said, I thought it might make a good memoir, even if folks thought it was fiction. But now I’m no
t so sure. This is my story, mine and Silas’s. I think it’s gonna stay that way.” Ken reaches over and pats JT on the knee. “Well, I guess you’re involved now too, aren’t you?”

  “I guess I am,” the young man says with a smile. “And it’s an honor to be. It’s a fantastic story.”

  “Hah! But do you believe it?”

  JT flashes the thumbs-up. “You know, I think I do.”

  For a few minutes they sit in silence, until JT finally stands up. He stares out the window, where the rising sun paints the horizon red as blood. “It’s gonna be morning soon,” he says.

  “Really? I’m surprised it’s not here already. Feels like we’ve been talking forever.”

  “That’s how it goes sometimes. Sometimes, the letting go can seem like years, and only a few minutes have passed.”

  Ken looks at him cockeyed. “What’s that mean?” he asks.

  JT laughs. He walks over to the bed and holds out his hands. Without thinking about it, Ken hands him the box. JT takes it and stuffs it beneath his arm. His blue eyes twinkle, his brown skin shines. “You’ll see. In time. But I think you’ve just proven you don’t need this anymore, so I’ll take it. Don’t worry, it’ll be in a safe place. And maybe, someday, folks will read about what happened all those years ago. Maybe one day, they’ll be ready.”

  A pervasive lightness fills Ken, even as he stares at the angelic young man, dumbfounded. He flexes his arm and feels no pain. He takes a deep breath and his lungs don’t rattle. When he cranes his neck, there are no popping sounds to be heard.

  “What’s happening to me?” he asks.

  “It’s time,” says JT. “You’re ready now.”