Dogs (14 page)

The rest of the week is the loneliest time of my life. I see Ken's doctor, who gives me prescriptions for sleeping pills that he calls muscle relaxants and for an antidepressant that he says should kick in after about ten days. Wolf Hollow is too small to have a shrink—or for anyone to want to be seen going to one—but he sets me up with one in Ramsay. She's too busy to see me right away, but she'll squeeze me in if there's “another episode.”

Aside from seeing Ken's doctor, I'm stuck at the real estate office doing homework in a storage room. There aren't any windows, so it's like being in solitary. Mom said I could work up front near her, but that would be worse. Everyone coming in would wonder why I wasn't at school. At least if I'm hidden, we can pretend I've been sick. Which is actually what Mom thinks, only she means it like sick in the head.

That's the other reason I chose the storage room and to stay in my bedroom when we're home. Every time Mom looks at me, it's like she wants to cry. “I'm so afraid he's turning into his father,” she said to Ken two nights back. She thought I was upstairs, but I was listening from the back stairwell. If she'd found out, she'd have said that proved it, that I was turning into a stalker like him.

Mostly I lie in bed and stare at the framed photo on my night table of Mom and my grandparents. I imagine the snapshot of Dad hidden underneath. Does he look like I remember? I want to know so bad, but what if, when I see his face, I get this overwhelming need to call him? A need where I can't stop myself? I mean, his number's on the back. It's right
there
.

I think about Dad a lot. There's not much else to think about, besides how I don't have any friends or anyone to trust, or how maybe I'm crazy like Mom thinks.

I mean, Jacky. What was that about? A few days ago I gave up asking him why he'd lied to me and gotten me in trouble. I gave up because, well, I was just talking to myself. He never said anything. I mean, it was like he wasn't there. And maybe he wasn't. Ever. After all, what did I know about him that I couldn't have guessed from seeing the stuff in the basement, his drawings, Mr. Sinclair's photographs, or the articles in the
Bugle
? Or that I might have made up because of stuff that happened with Mom and Dad or dreams that felt real?

If I made up Jacky, what else did I make up? That's what I wonder when I think about Dad. Like, what if the Dad in my head—the one my mom warns me about—isn't anything like my real dad at all? What if the fears Mom has about him are things she's blown up, like I blew up things I heard about Mr. McTavish?

Like that time he abandoned me in the middle of nowhere. What if it just seemed like the middle of nowhere because I was little, but it was really a park, and for
him
we were just playing hide-and-seek? Or that time he held me underwater. Maybe it
was
training. After all, I can hold my breath the length of a pool now, can't I? Or that Facebook thing. What if he just missed me and it was his only way to find me? Mom's kept him away for years. What other choice did he have? Maybe she
made
him do it. Maybe it's
her
fault. And about that time on the balcony—he would never have dropped me. He was just playing airplane. Lots of dads do. Maybe I've remembered things all wrong.

When I think that, I hate myself for blaming him about things that aren't his fault. Then I hate myself for doubting Mom. I'm a bad son to Dad, to Mom—what's wrong with me?

W
hat's wrong with me?
That's what I'm thinking again tonight, Sunday night. Tomorrow it's back to school—to Cody who wants me dead and Benjie who ratted me out and a world of everyone staring at me and whispering about me. Tweeting about me too, I'll bet.

Anyway, it's late. I'm supposed to be sleeping, but I can't. I'm at my desk, looking out my bedroom window. It's pretty bleak. The fields are chopped, the leaves are down, and the sky is nothing but clouds. After dark, all you can see is a gray spill of light from the barn that catches the edges of the fields. Tonight's worse. The air is freezing into snow sand. When the wind whips it against the windowpanes, the sound makes me tighten the blanket around my shoulders.

Dad. Mr. McTavish. The dogs. If I let myself, I could picture the dogs looking up at me from the field. I close the curtains and hear a little voice behind me. “Cameron?” I'll bet Jacky's sitting on the edge of my bed, but I don't turn around. I'm afraid I'll see him.

“Cameron? Are you mad at me? Why won't you look at me?”

What do I tell him? That I'm afraid he isn't there?

“I know I haven't been around. I'm sorry, but I've been hurting. You said things about me.”

I bite my lip and close my eyes. I see Jacky on the inside of my eyelids. “Before I talk to you again,” I whisper, “you have to answer some questions.”

“Okay.” He looks nervous.

“Where are you when you're not with me?”

Jacky pauses. “I don't know.”

“What did you do before I came?”

“Why are you asking me that?”

“Because people think I'm crazy. Sometimes
I
think I'm crazy.”

“You're not,” Jacky says. “I'd tell you if you were.”

“But what if I am and you're just…”

“I'm me, Cameron. I'm just me. Jacky.”

“No, you're something else,” I say. “You pretend to be my friend, but you tell me things that aren't true, things that get me in trouble.”

“Like what?”

“You know what—that your father killed your mother and her friend and hung their bodies in the attic; and that he called you up there and killed you too; and it's been your dark, secret hiding place ever since.”

“I never said that. See, that's why I stayed away. You told everyone lies about Father and me. I didn't see any dead bodies. Not anywhere, ever. I never said I did either. That was plain horrible.”

“Come on, Jacky. Those things were all in that dream you sent me.”

“There you go, lying again. I never sent you a dream.”

“What?” It's like I've been kicked in the gut. But it's true. I
guessed
he sent that dream, but it's not like I
knew
.

Hold up. Have I been talking loud? I get up from my chair and check the hall in case Mom or Ken is listening in, but the hall's empty. Ken's snoring lightly from his room. I close the door, prop myself up against my pillows, and shut my eyes. Jacky's cross-legged at the foot of the bed, winding the tail of his cap around his fingers.

“You're right. I'm sorry,” I say quietly. “So what
did
happen when your mother left?”

His face crinkles up. “I don't want to say. It's hard.”

“Please? I'm your friend.”

“Okay, but don't tell.” He looks down. “Father wanted Mother and me to be good. I didn't always listen though, so sometimes after I got the belt, he'd have to put me in the coal room for a day or so until I'd learned my lesson.”

“You made the lines I saw on the wall?”

Jacky nods. “One for each time I was in there.”

“That's awful.”

“That's what Mother said, but she was wrong. It served me right. Mother gave me a flashlight and paper and crayons for if I got bored. I liked drawing there, seeing the colors in the dark. It's where I kept my drawings, even when I didn't have to.”

“And your father called that teaching you a lesson?” I'm still unable to believe my ears.

“Uh-huh.” Jacky nods. “Mother had to have lessons too. Only she never learned. One Saturday Father went to an auction. I saw Mother packing a suitcase. I asked her what she was doing. She said I'd find out soon enough.”

I remember the times Mom's packed our bags.

“Father came back early. He said he knew what she was up to and told me to go to the attic and not come down till he said. I liked the attic. It was far away from downstairs, and when I was there, I couldn't hear them fight so much.”

“When Mom and Dad fought, I used to stick my fingers in my ears and hum,” I say.

“That works pretty good, huh?” Jacky gives me a shy smile, then gets all serious again. “After a while I didn't hear Mother yelling anymore and I thought maybe I could come down. Only a car drove up and there was a knock at the door. Then I heard a man yelling at Father.”

Matthew Fraser, I think, come to take Mrs. McTavish and Jacky away.

“Mother's old hope chest was in the attic,” Jacky continues. “I crawled inside and closed the lid and covered my ears and everything went away.”

“Forever?”

“No. Until Father came and brought me downstairs. He sat me on his lap and stroked my hair and told me he had some bad news. Mother didn't want us. He said he'd tried to convince her to stay, but she'd left with her friend and wouldn't be coming back. He said for me not to worry. He loved me and we'd be happy, just the two of us, only I'd have to be extra good and stay inside from now on. He said if people knew I was on the farm without a mother, they'd take me away and lock me up in an orphanage.”

“That's not true. They wouldn't.”

Jacky's cheeks flush. “Are you calling Father a liar? You're the liar.”

“You're right. I'm sorry.” I wait till Jacky calms down. “So then what happened?”

“Father took the shovel from the back shed and said he'd be working in the barn for the rest of the day and I wasn't to disturb him. ‘You stay inside,' he said.”

“Did you?”

Jacky looks away. “I was supposed to.”

“But
did
you?”

He shakes his head. “An hour later I looked out the kitchen window and saw Arty crossing his field to the woods. It was early spring; everything was in the ground. I wanted to tell him not to worry if he didn't see me, that I was okay.”

“So you went to the clearing?”

“I made him swear to keep my secret or I'd be in big trouble. He did too. I could always count on Arty.”

“Did anything else strange happen that day?”

“Late at night Father stuck his head in my room. I pretended to be asleep. A few minutes later he went outside. I heard a car. I peeked out my window and saw a car coming out of the barn. I didn't know whose it was. It drove away. Father was gone. I didn't understand. I was scared. But he was back by morning.”

I think a bit. “Do you remember any people visiting the house after that?”

Jacky shivers. “A couple of weeks after Mother left, Father saw the police coming from down the road. He called for me to run to the barn and hide in the loft while they looked around. I buried myself in the hay. It was itchy. I thought I'd sneeze. But they were in and out of the barn in no time and everything was fine.”

“But it wasn't fine, was it, Jacky?”

His eyes well. “Father got the dogs to keep people away. To keep us safe. But the dogs…the dogs…” He sobs. “It was my fault. All my fault.”

“What was your fault?”

There's a knock on the door. “Cameron?” It's Ken.

Jacky disappears.

“Everything's fine.” I get up and open the door. “I was just waking up to pee.”

“Okay then.” I can tell Ken doesn't believe me, but he goes back to bed, while I head to the washroom.

I know so much more now. Jacky definitely didn't leave with his mother. That's proof that the letter she wrote about him being with her was fake. There goes Mr. McTavish's alibi. He killed her and Matthew Fraser while Jacky was curled up in the attic hope chest.

But
what
did
he
do
with
the
bodies?

Duh. Jacky said he took a shovel to the barn. He buried them in the dirt floor of the stalls, the one place where the ground was warm enough not to be frozen. The cows plodding back and forth packed the earth hard and stopped the stench—that and the hay bedding full of pee and cow pies. Add cops who didn't think there was a crime to begin with, and Mr. McTavish dug graves to last forever.

Only
what
about
Jacky? What happened to him? Why does he say he's to blame for his dad and the dogs?

Until I find out about Jacky and the dogs, I can't say a word to anyone. Even then, who'll believe me after what happened in the attic? I wish I could go digging on my own, but there are more than a dozen stalls, and Mom and Ken would catch me before I got anywhere. Gee, that'd look good.

So what do I do?

What I do is stay up all night. Mom drives me to school. We arrive before the buses so I don't have to see anyone. The principal tells us I'm officially an “at risk” student—not at risk of getting beaten up, but for being “troubled.” He lays down the law about me being in the guidance office when I'm not in class and sends me to English after the announcements.

There are a few snickers when I walk in. Mr. Bradley tells everyone to settle down. I'm guessing he knows what's going on. The principal probably sent a memo to the whole staff, or else they heard about it over the weekend. After all, it's not like anything's secret in this town, except murders.

Mr. Bradley has me sit in the front row to keep an eye on me. Then he has us turn to chapter six of
To
Kill
a
Mockingbird
and asks a few questions about Scout's character, and life goes on.

Only it doesn't. Everyone's staring at the back of my head. They're passing notes about me. I can feel it, just like I feel the odd spitball when Mr. Bradley's back is turned.

It's like that all day. At lunch, kids watch me through the window of the guidance office like I'm an animal at the zoo. I don't see Cody, but his buddies wander by on his behalf. One points at his eyes and then at me, and mouths, “You're dead.” I see Benjie too. He's the only one who doesn't look in, just walks straight down the corridor like I don't exist.

After school, when the guidance office is locked up, I wait on the bench in the main office till Mom arrives to pick me up. I'm going crazy thinking about what Jacky told me and about the bodies buried in the barn, but mostly about Cody and his gang. They're going to get me. But when? Where?

It's been like that ever since. Two weeks of being a nutbar nobody talks to, but everybody talks
about
. Two weeks of Cody's friends tripping me on the stairs, elbowing me into lockers, and muttering in my ear about how I'm going to get it one day when no one's around. Oh yeah, and someone scribbled “Cameron Weaver Is a Dickhead” on my locker with a Sharpie. The custodians got some of it off, but enough's left for everyone to see and laugh at.

There've only been two changeups in the routine. Kids don't bother making crazy signs at me in the halls anymore. They just move against the lockers on either side when I go by. I'm like Moses in that Sunday school story and they're the waters parting. Also, Ms. Adams, the guidance counselor, makes me eat lunch in her conference room. She says she felt bad, me being on display by the main window, but it's really to make it easy to lock me inside if I start “acting out.”

Waiting for Mom after school is a bit better. So many kids are bused that the place is deserted, except for a few sports going on in the gym. It's boring though, and if Mom's late, the school's closed and I'm locked outside alone, freezing my butt off. I've told Mom about the threats from Cody's gang, but she says he wouldn't be stupid enough to try anything on school property. “Besides, you have me on speed dial,” she says.

“Like that's going to help if Cody drives up and they haul me away in a car.”

“Don't be silly,” she sighs. “Cody's too young to drive.”

“You think he cares?”

“He's not about to get himself arrested. That's crazy talk.”

So it's normal for her to think Dad wants to kill us, but it's nuts for me to think Cody could drive a car. Who's crazy?

Anyway, before history one day I try talking to Benjie.

“Go away. I've got nothing to say to you. You lied to me. You used me. You got me in trouble.” He walks off so fast you'd swear he was in a foot race.

“Please, I'm sorry,” I say, keeping up.

“Too bad. Stop following me. I don't want anyone to see us talking. It's bad enough I sat beside you on the bus.”

Home is no better. Jacky's back to hiding, too freaked by what he told me, I guess. I wish I could figure out his hiding place. That leaves Mom and Ken as the ones who'll talk to me—oh, and Grandma and Grandpa on our weekly happy calls, which are too weird to count as talking.

Ken tries to keep things light, but Mom watches me like a hawk. I'm surprised she doesn't make me use a plastic knife and fork in case I try to stab them, or wear foam padding for if I toss myself out a window.

Speaking of Ken, the only time he's been away was the weekend he drove the two hundred miles to see his kids. Is Mom really that scared to be alone with me?

“Kimberley's dance recital was amazing. I'll show you the video,” he said when he got back. “Patrick's just started Cub Scouts, and he's already got badges for knots and walking the balance beam.” Right, like they should be in
The
Guinness
Book
of
World
Records
or the Olympics or something. Then he got quiet and sad, and Mom went all sympathetic.

I wonder if Mom wishes
I
were Patrick or Kimberley. I mean, they're obviously superhuman wonder-kids, and I'm a psycho nut-job who needs to have an unofficial guard around, since I'll obviously be too much for Mom to handle when I try to burn down the barn or start devil-worshipping in the basement.

Seriously, how long is Ken staying here? I mean, he's a nice guy and all, but it's not like I can trust him. And the longer he stays, the more it seems like Mom really
is
afraid of me.

“I'm worried he's turning into his father.” I'll never forget her saying that to Ken. I know she's thought it once in a while, but to actually say it to someone besides me…

Dad. What if I
am
turning into him? Would that be so bad? Really? Once upon a time Mom loved him so much she married him. So how could he be
that
bad? Okay, maybe he messed up, and maybe I don't know all of it. But everyone messes up, don't they? I sure have. Mom has too, I'll bet. Or maybe Mom's God. She's sure been acting like it.

Besides, Mom doesn't know what Dad's like now. People change. That's what she's always told me: “It's never too late to change.” At that government place, Dad said he'd stopped drinking. And drinking was when the trouble happened. Okay, maybe not all of it, but most of it—at least the worst of it, the stuff I saw. That's what I remember anyway.

Ken's not perfect either. If he was, why did his wife get rid of him? Maybe it was just a bad match—but maybe that's all it was with Mom and Dad too. At least Patrick and Kimberley get to see Ken. Their mom doesn't hide them away and make them think their dad's a monster.

Dad
. I lie in bed and stare at the framed picture on my night table, with the shot of him hidden underneath.
Dad, what would you say about all of this? Would you act like I'm a psych case? You sure couldn't treat me worse than everybody else does.

All of a sudden, I get this need. I grab the picture frame and twist the clips on the back. The cardboard backing slides out—and there it is—the photo of Dad and me at the beach. We've made a sand castle—a pretty good one, with a moat and a wall—and he has his arm around me.

My heart races. I remember that day. It was one of our best days ever. Mom read on a beach blanket while Dad and I buried each other in sand. Then we all had soft ice-cream cones dipped in chocolate, and I got to try flippers and a snorkel mask.

Dad. He's laughing. So am I. We're happy. I flip the picture over. There's his number. He's a call away.

No. I can't.

Why not? I get that I can't see him. And I get that I can't let him know where I am. But just to hear his voice. To know he cares about me. Even just to know he's still alive. And to let him know I haven't forgotten about him. What's wrong with that?

I mean, there's got to be someone I can talk to. Who else? I can't talk to Mom. I can't talk to Ken. I can't talk to anyone at school. I can't even talk to my grandparents, not about real stuff. As for old friends, do I have any? It's not like I know them anymore. That leaves the shrink I'm supposed to meet, but no way I'm telling a stranger stuff I'm afraid to tell myself. No. Besides Mom, the only person in the whole world who
really
knows me is Dad.

Dad. I have to talk to Dad. I mean, if I can't talk to my own dad—I gulp for air. My skin tingles. I pull out my phone.

No. Stop. Talking to Dad's not that easy
.

Why not? I have an unlisted number. Mom's made sure it doesn't show up when I call out.

But
she
pays
the
phone
bill. She won't look at local calls, but long distance? To Dad's number?

By the time the bill comes, it'll be too late. We'll have already talked.

So? She'll know. Think she's upset now? Just wait
.

Okay. So what do I do? Borrow one?

From
who? No one'll lend me a phone for long distance. I can't use a pay phone either. Dad would see the number and track down the area code. Besides, Mom and the school watch me twenty-four seven except in my room.

Wait. I've thought of a way.

The next day, I see Benjie in the halls. “I need a favor.”

“Not from me.”

“Yes, from you, and I'm getting it.”

“No way.” He takes off on his speed walk.

I stay on his ear. “You ratted me out at the nursing home. But I didn't rat you to Cody.”

“What do you mean?”

“He beat on me because I didn't tell him you were the one that told me about his great-grandmother.”

Benjie ducks into the boys' washroom. I follow. We're alone.

“Look,” he says, all pale, “I hardly said anything.”

“What about her plowing into the church and leaving her car on the highway and almost burning down the house? You were laughing your ass off. What did you call her? Demento. A total whack job.”

“That's not how I meant it.”

“Think Cody will care?” I give Benjie ten bucks. “At lunch you're going into town to the drugstore. Get me a calling card for anywhere in North America. Slip it to me in math. If I don't get it, don't blame me if Cody taps on your shoulder.”