I could see it in Andy’s eyes – that wildness creeping back in, brought on by having another person scream in his face. For a moment, he reminded me of a soda can being shaken up, and I just knew he was about to burst. Then he blinked, and the other part, the real part of himself, took control.
“I… I just walked off. I was… having trouble at school…”
It sounded fake, sounded like a lie, and I jumped in and took the wheel.
“There were some bullies at school,” I said. “Older guys fucking with him, he said.”
“Watch your mouth,” Dad said, never even glancing at me. “Is that true?” he asked Andy, loosening the grip on his shirt.
He began to blink quickly, but he nodded as well, and the two gestures together made him look more like an embarrassed teen than a lying one. That was good.
“But where did you go?”
“I left last night. I was… going to get them back. Maybe egg the guy’s house or something.”
For me, it would have sounded fake, a half-baked lie that wasn’t ready for primetime. But for Andy, it sounded genuine. Dad knew, just as well as I did, how little he thought things through when he was mad.
“So,” Dad said, urging him on, “what happened?”
“They came out. I don’t think anyone saw who I was, but… they were yelling.” He looked down at his soaked shoes, and inspiration seemed to strike. “I think one of them had a gun.”
“Jesus, Andy,” Dad said, shaking his head. “You could’ve gotten killed. What happened next?”
“I just ran. I ended up in town,” he said nervously. “I was just wandering. I… I got lost. I ended up sleeping next to a dumpster off the square.”
“God,” Dad moaned. “How did you get home?”
“I walked,” he said, his voice suddenly breaking. “I… I tried to get home… I tried, I really did. I just… it was so dark…”
At first, I thought he was just finding the thread of the lie, taking it and running, the way I always did. Lying was like breathing to me, a second language I was born with, but Andy never was a good liar, and I realized he was telling the truth. He was back there now, back in that nightmarish cave, hidden in some dark corner of the earth as a creature that had no right to exist fed on the best parts of him.
“Hush,” Dad said as the first tear rolled down his cheek. “You’re home. That’s the only thing that matters.” Dad turned and looked at me with tired, watery eyes.
“What was your part in all this?”
I was as quick as ever. “I was down by the creek, just messing around. I saw him coming, so I ran up and helped.”
It wasn’t much of an explanation, but I knew it would work well enough. Dad was too beaten to dig much deeper. He led Andy back to the bathroom himself and began to help him out of the wet clothes.
“No,” Andy said, pushing him away. “I… I got it. I need to take a shower first.”
Dad didn’t fight him, but he did wait patiently outside the door. I had a sudden image then, of a man, a father, tapping his toe nervously outside the maternity ward as his wife was giving birth to their second. I imagined his face when they told him the news, and before I had a chance to change out of my own clothes, I rushed over and gave Dad a hug.
“It’s okay,” I said, parroting what he had said moments before. “He’s home, so it’s okay.”
“That’s right.”
So much had happened, so much that would make a parent half-mad with concern, and yet Dad didn’t know one-tenth of the truth. I could hear the doubt in his voice when he told me it would be okay, and I think he heard the same in mine. We loved each other. We loved Andy. And both of us, in different ways, knew it would have to get worse before it ever got better.
When Andy was finally out of the shower, Dad went to the kitchen to make some calls: to friends, cops, whoever else needed to know. I found my brother in his bed, curled up as far back into the corner as he could be, and draped with a heavy comforter. I sat on the edge of the bed, slow and careful, as if my brother were as fragile as an egg.
“You okay?”
He opened his eyes and stared back at me. “I… I don’t know.” It was the truth. I could see it all over him. “Do you think… he’s dead?”
I surely wanted to believe it, but I wasn’t any more certain than he was. Even so, I nodded. “He has to be. He was burned all over,” I said. “And even if that didn’t kill him, he probably drowned.”
He was staring at me, deep into my eyes, past them, through them, into something else entirely. “You saw him. You know what he can do. And you don’t believe that any more than I do.”
There were questions, things to talk about, but I didn’t think either of us could do it, not that night. We were spent, the pair of us. The sun was setting in the stormy sky, and soon I wouldn’t be able to hold my eyes open if I had to. In the other room, I could hear Dad on the phone while banging some pots together with one hand. He was cooking – what, I couldn’t guess, but it was more than he had done in years. Such was the plight of my family at that moment. I looked back at Andy, whose wild eyes were darting around the room, checking every corner. There was no point in lying.
“You’re right. It might not be dead,” I said directly. “But we hurt it. You hurt it. That means it’s weak. That means we can kill it.”
I wanted to say more, but at that moment, Dad burst in with a pair of plates loaded with slightly too-done grilled cheese sandwiches and Doritos. I was still wet, still soaked actually, but I slipped down onto the floor and tore into mine then and there, without another word. Despite how different Andy might have been, his hunger was unaffected, and in less than five minutes, we had cleared the plates, along with a glass of milk each. Dad flipped on the TV and we sat there on the floor, the three of us in Andy’s room, like we hadn’t done in years.
“You want more?” Dad asked when we were finished, and we did, both of us. Minutes later, we had fresh ones, these a bit more golden than the first round.
“You know,” Dad said as we ate, “the police will probably come by tomorrow. They’ll want to talk to you. Both of you, I imagine.”
I glanced over at Andy, who, after eating, had begun to look a bit more like himself. “Okay,” he said in his usual quiet tone.
“That’s fine,” I answered.
He patted Andy on one knee and patted my damp shoulder. “Look,” he said, “I don’t care what happened. I really don’t. And I know that I ain’t been the best dad ever.”
I opened my mouth to correct him, but he raised a hand.
“No,” he said. “Just hush and listen. I didn’t know how to be a dad. Not by myself anyway. And if I had anything to do with this, I mean anything, I want you both to know I’m sorry for it.”
He wrapped his arms around our shoulders and started squeezing us, his voice growing a bit shaky. “I hope you know how much I love you. And whatever… this was all about, I don’t ever want it to happen again. Do you both understand?”
“Yes,” I said.
“Yeah,” Andy said.
“Good,” he answered. “Now get some rest.”
He left us alone, and I considered shutting the door and hashing everything out with Andy. It had to be done, we both knew it, but one look told me all I needed to know. Now that his belly was full of the first food he’d eaten in a day and a half, his eyelids were turning into lead. I knew he was on his way out, so I stood up, leaving a damp spot on his bed and the floor.
“Wait,” he said quietly. “Don’t leave.”
I went back over and knelt down so we were eye to eye. “We’re safe,” I told him once more.