4
He shut the freezer door.
The growling got louder.
In the hallway, a black dog at least as big as Scipio—if not bigger—stood stiff-legged, hackles raised.
If Jem had to guess, he would have said pit bull, but that thought flashed to life and then burned itself out a moment later.
He took a deep breath. He did not—even though people always tried it in movies—say, Good doggy.
For a moment, he was trapped in LouElla’s basement again. The scars from old bites seemed to throb.
Instinct made Jem move at the same time as the pit bull. The dog launched itself forward, and Jem kicked one of the tubular chairs into its path. The dog tried to stop, but the kitchen’s laminate flooring didn’t give any purchase, and it scrabbled frantically as its lunge turned into a slide.
Jem darted past the dog, but not fast enough: it twisted its head around and snapped at his leg, and it managed to catch Jem’s joggers between its teeth. Jem yanked—fabric ripped—and he lunged into the hall.
The pit bull was half a yard behind him, silent now, teeth snapping. The dog had managed to put itself between Jem and the front door. Jem spun the other direction. He slammed the primary bedroom’s door behind him. A moment later, a thud rippled through the wood, and then claws began to scratch.
“Great,” Jem said, hopping on one foot toward the bathroom so that he could raise his other leg and study the torn hem of his joggers. “Fucking fantastic.”
But he still had the comic and—
And the first aid kit he’d been using as a prop was sitting on the kitchen table.
One thing at a time.
The bathroom had a window that looked out on the backyard.
Even better, it had a big tree growing right next to it—one of those mature trees Jem had noticed earlier.
Holding the plastic baggie with the comic book between his teeth, he wriggled out the window, grabbed a branch, and swung.
Air whooshed past him. His stomach dropped.
Part of him wanted to whoop because, in spite of everything else, this was badass.
A moment later, he hooked one leg around a thicker limb and dragged himself up to straddle it. Sure, the bark had scraped the hell out of his arms and legs. But he was outside, and—
Low growling.
The pit bull stalked around the base of the tree, looking up at Jem, obviously trying to figure out how to get to him.
“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” Jem muttered when he saw the doggy door set into the basement’s glass slider.
That was when his phone buzzed.
Jem worked it out of his pocket. Tean’s name showed on the screen.
Scratching his beard, Jem answered.
“Do you want to eat lunch together?” Tean asked. “I can pick up some of those burritos you like from Alberto’s. We never get to do that. It would be fun.”
“Uh, sure. Can it be a late lunch?”
Below him, the pit bull began to bark.
“Is that Scipio?” Tean asked.
“Yes. That’s him. That’s Scipio.” It all came out too fast, but Jem couldn’t help himself. “He saw a squirrel.”
“That doesn’t sound like Scipio.”
One second turned into two. Two seconds turned into an agonizing three.
“Jem,” Tean said, “where are you?”
“Okay, first, you have to promise not to be mad.”
As best he could with a dog waiting to tear him limb from limb, Jem explained—more or less—what had happened.
When he finished, he said, “If you think about it, I’m kind of like Robin Hood—”
“I’ll be there in twenty minutes,” Tean said, his voice expressionless. “Don’t get out of the tree.”
Twenty minutes felt like a long time when your boyfriend was mad at you.
It felt even longer with that damn dog barking every fifteen seconds.
To Jem’s surprise, nobody came outside to see what was going on.
So much for home security. So much for neighbors, and family values, and a sense of community.
What was the world coming to? That would be a good thing to ask Tean when he got there.
It might buy Jem a few extra minutes before he had to shrivel up and die because he knew he’d disappointed Tean.
Again. Maybe it would be better to throw himself out of the tree and let the pit bull finish him.
He was still fine-tuning this plan when Tean popped his head above the back fence. The doc’s hair looked wilder than usual, and his eyes looked extra…pointy behind the big black frames.
Jem gave a miserable wave.
Tean looked around the yard for a minute.
“Do you have a tranquilizer dart?” Jem called.
Tean didn’t respond.
“What about one of those poles with the loops on the end like in a cartoon?”
He wished, as soon as he’d said the last bit, that he’d left it out.
Still nothing from Tean. He disappeared, and minutes passed before that mane of wild hair poked above the fence again.
This time, he dangled a cord over the fence.
Then he whistled. The pit bull spun around mid-bark, obviously startled, and sprinted toward Tean, barking with fresh enthusiasm.
Something made the pit bull stop mid-bark as it got closer to the fence.
Tean waited until the pit bull had almost reached him before moving his arm.
The cord he’d dangled over the fence twisted sideways, and the pit bull jumped after it.
Tean brought the cord back in the opposite direction, and the pit bull followed it.
This time, Tean let the dog catch it. The pit bull gave a savage yank, and Tean grunted as the force of it pulled him against the fence.
“Anytime now,” he said and tossed something over the fence.
Whatever it was, the pit bull was interested in it enough to let go of the cord, which gave Tean time to reel it in and tie something to the end of it. A moment later, he was twitching the cord left and right as the pit bull chased it.
“I’ll probably go back in through the window,” Jem called.
Tean didn’t look up from his game with the dog.
“It’s kind of a long jump, but I can make it.”
Nothing.
“It’ll be pretty badass, though,” Jem said. “If you want to watch.”
“Jeremiah.”
“I know! I’m just saying.”
Jem had to throw the comic book inside first before grabbing the windowsill and dragging himself up and through the window.
It was—in his own opinion—seriously badass.
It was also way harder than he’d thought it was going to be.
No more burritos from Alberto’s. And he was going back to the gym.
Three times a week. No, five. No, three was probably enough.
He closed the window, wiped everything down, and retrieved the first aid kit from the kitchen.
After locking the front door behind him, he returned the key to its hidden box.
Then he made his way around the row of townhouses to where Tean, kneeling on a trashcan, was still playing with the pit bull.
“All set,” Jem said. “And just to be clear—”
Tean looked at him.
Jem stopped talking.
“Good boy,” Tean said over the fence. “Here you go. A few more treats. Okay, that’s all for today.” He tore a few more pieces from something wrapped in paper and tossed them over the fence, and then he coiled up the cord he’d been using and climbed down from the trashcan.
Jem knew he shouldn’t say anything. He knew he was in deep shit.
But sometimes, the injustice was just too much.
“Hey, was that my burrito?”