Where are you from?
You probably never heard of it. This place called Dark Pines. It’s a small town in Ontario, Canada. Population sweet F.A.
What is your main purpose in life?
Purpose? Look, I don’t need to be psychoanalyzed. What’s the purpose of your life? I mean, what kind of question is that? Did the Army ask you to say that?
Okay, so, fine. I guess if I had to pick one thing, it’d be standing up for people who can’t stand up for themselves. I can’t stand bullies.
Who is your greatest enemy and why?
Patrick Cleary. He was my bully, growing up. Everyday him and his idiot friends would pound on me, I mean really go to town. I was small back then, just a hair over five foot. And this guy, Patty Cleary, he was a giant. Towered over everybody. He was even taller than some of the teachers.
Then there was that one day… You know what? Next question
Do you think you can ever reconcile with this enemy?
Dr. Baswell thinks I ought to. He thinks I’ve been getting in fights, getting myself into trouble, railing against authority and all that crap, that all this time I’ve just been trying to get back at Patrick. I dunno, maybe he’s right. We’ll see, I guess.
Do you have a love interest?
Doesn’t everybody? You wanna get into specifics, yes, I have had a thing for this one girl… since we were kids, yeah. But she wouldn’t remember me. I’m a small town boy. You know, when they sent me home from Afghanistan I figured she’d’ve moved on to bigger and better things. I thought she’d travel the world… God, she was smart.
But you know, I heard she’s still around. Working at the Hometown Proud, I heard, bagging groceries. I guess you never can tell what’s gonna happen to people. Life doesn’t always work out the way we plan, does it?
What is your weapon of choice?
Is that a trick question? If you mean when I was in the Army, I preferred my Army issue Browning 9-mil.
Did Dr. Baswell talk to you? I mean, did he say anything about…?
Forget it. Next question.
What makes you happy?
Music. Was it Shakespeare said music soothes the savage beast?
I like all kinds of music, but those tunes from when I was young, it’s like they’re frozen in time, you know? You put on a song you used to listen to, for better or worse, it takes you right back there.
Do you have a code of honor?
Let he who is without sin cast the first stone. (Chuckles morosely.)
What makes you angry?
Injustice. Really pisses me off, man.
If you could change one thing about yourself, what would it be?
I just… I wish I wouldn’t get angry so easy.
What do you think is your greatest strength?
My greatest strength? Probably the same as my greatest weakness.
What do you think is your greatest weakness?
The anger thing. Sometimes it has its benefits, though.
What do you think is your enemy’s greatest strength?
Patrick? I dunno. Impervious to alcohol? (Laughs.) I mean, I heard he’s been gunning for me all this time. He knows I’m back home. So I guess his greatest strength is the element of surprise. That, and from what I heard, he’s like a rabid dog these days. He does not back down from a fight.
What do you think is your enemy’s greatest weakness?
Stupidity. And anger. Hey, you think maybe we’re too similar, him and me, and that’s why he hates me?
I think Uncle Tim might say I’m onto something here. Some kind breakthrough. Uncharted water.
Name one person you admire.
Tim Baswell. He’s been Dark Pines’ only shrink for as long as I can remember. Used to travel all over the world on the job, and bring me back all this neat stuff. I used to want to be just like him. But life doesn’t work out the way we plan, right?
Name one person you trust.
One person? Myself.
Excerpt from “Beware of Dog”
Running. Running in the dark.
When the light had come back, they’d been parked at the Bagram Airfield detention facility in Parwan Province, Afghanistan’s Guantanamo, 550-something kilometers, 340-something miles away. He’d been out for over 9 hours. The sun had bored holes in his skull through his eyes, and as his Marine friends had escorted him to the building, other soldiers pushed their own detainees past a makeshift schoolyard, where unused children’s toys gathered more dust with every sandstorm. Now, he remembered the single sunflower growing in a field of gravel, trudged down by their boots, before springing back hopefully toward the desert sun.
Running again. Running along Danber Avenue, like he’d done that day when he was 12. And now he stood in front of her house, Catherine Priest’s house, and the lights were on, and a cute little hatchback was in the drive as a cool, light rain began to patter against his hot skin. The Priests’ backsplit was at the end of a cul-de-sac, and there was nowhere else to go but up to the door.
You could take the lane, Dean-o.
Not a fucking chance, he thought back.
The bungalow on the left side of the lane was gone, ditto the one to the left of that. The two houses had been junked, and a larger one had sprung up in their place. The Priests’ big wooden fence, its slats so close together they were almost impenetrable, was gone. Dean had noticed this the moment he’d turned onto Danber. There was only wide-open yard, the Priests’ dog likely long dead. If they had another dog now, it was either well-trained or wearing one of those awful shock collars. Beyond the yard, with its barbeque and picnic table and giant, rich green pine, the parking lot was gone, too. In its place was a public playground with newish plastic equipment. Past that was Anderson Road, and just two blocks east from there was Dark Pines Elementary. Unless that was gone, too.
The lights were on in Catherine’s house. A television flickered blue in the living room. No movement inside. It was 8:34 AM. Dean caught his breath and let the rain cool him, thinking it over. Breathing deep. The adrenaline still churning. The time was now… or never.
Fuck it.
Dean strode to the door. He was reaching for the little brass knocker when it opened inward. The man in the doorway nearly jumped out of his wits.
Christ—she’s married.
“Jesus, you scared me,” the man said. He was about Dean’s age, maybe a few years older, and vaguely handsome, even if a bit pudgy and pasty in a British lord sort of way. He wore a plush robe and fuzzy slippers at the ends of his hairy, skinny legs. The man checked out Dean’s muscular frame, gave him a puzzled look. “Are you the new paperboy?”
“No, I…” Defeated. “I’m sorry, I think I must have the wrong address.”
“Who are you looking for?”
Dean briefly considered making up a name, but he said, “Ca-Catherine Priest? Are you—? Is she—?”
“Nope, you’ve got the right place, all right.” The man seemed suspicious. “Friend of hers, are you?”
Dean nodded meekly.
“She’s still sleeping right now. Would you like me to tell her you dropped by, or…?”
Dean looked at the living room window. The furniture was all different than what he’d seen through her windows back when they were kids…. Classier. Had that been her influence, or her husband’s? “No. That’s okay.” He turned from the door, descended the stairs.
“Well, okay then,” the man called after him, bending for the newspaper. “Have a good one.”
“You too,” Dean said, not turning, running out into the swelling rain.
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