Sheep and Wolves Read Online Free Page B

and suppressing coughs.”
    “It tastes good,” my son says.
    I smile and look at my wife, like I often do when I smile. But she’s asleep. Her hands rest on her lap, gripping a hairbrush. I smile again and turn my attention to the road.
    A lost kitten poster flutters on a streetlight up ahead. I stare.
    Suddenly, a chthonic force seizes me and squeezes my chest.
    The voice says, “You are doomed.”
    I am doomed.
    Fear closes in on me from all angles.
    The light is red, but I can’t move. My right foot remains pressed against the pedal.
    It may look like I’m in control, but I’m not. I’m helpless.
    “Stop doing this to me, Jade,” I say.
    “Don’t blame me,” Jade says, sitting in the back seat with my son.
    This is how it happens. These are the moments before the truck hits. These are the moments that last an eternity.
    “Why did I go through the light?” I say, crying, frozen. “Why didn’t I stop?”
    “Because you weren’t paying attention,” Jade says. “You were looking at that poster, thinking about your childhood cat, Snappy.”
    “Should they die for such a little mistake?”
    “No. But they did. They will again if you keep this up.”
    “I don’t know how to stop!”
    “You can’t stop.”
    There is no escape.
    I see the presence in the approaching truck. He’s the shadow of a man. A void that I created because I didn’t know how to stop.
    Now I do.
    I slam on the brakes, and the truck comes to a screeching stop, just in time to avoid hitting my car, my family, and me.
    I’m back in my car now, driving, safe.
    “I’m sorry,” I say. “I’ve been away for so long.”
    My wife laughs. “We’ve seen you every night, Tomas.”
    Jade touches the back of my head. I remember. My wife is right. I’ve dreamt of them hundreds of times since they left the world.
    I want to say, “I love you,” but for now I vomit out the window, and leave a trail of green behind us. A green that eats away at the asphalt and seeps deep into the ground.
    That was me.
    Now he’s gone.

Baby Edward
     
    There’s more than one way to kill a dream.
    My dream is a baby boy named Edward and he’s not allowed in the house. He lives in the VW Bus in my backyard. I keep the windows closed and the doors locked, which doesn’t serve any real purpose, obviously. But I like to keep the key on a chain around my neck. I like to wear it under my dress shirt, coat, and tie. When I first put it on in the morning, the metal’s cold against my chest. By the time I’m tapping at my keyboard, inventing new ways to politely coerce resources from suspecting citizens, I’m cold on the inside. Anytime I want, I can put the key in the lock, twist, and end this. But I don’t.
You might ask, where’s the mother during all this? Well, I hate to burst your predictable bubble, but there is no mother.
    I made Edward.
    And he’s mine.
    Mine.
    *
    Harboring resentment is a great way to meet women. Try it. Sit down in your least favorite bar, let your eyes glaze over, frown, and put up your walls. The kind of walls you’d need to contain a plague, because most likely, that’s what you are.
    Now, see who comes knocking.
    “Hi,” Annabelle says.
    I’m not psychic. She’s wearing a nametag.
    Well, maybe I am a little psychic.
    “You’re Ed,” she says.
    “How do you know that?” It’s ridiculous, but I look down at my shirt to make sure I’m not wearing a nametag also.
    “I remember you,” she says. “About ten years ago I was visiting San Francisco and I heard you sing. We talked for about thirty seconds before I left. I wanted to talk with you more, but I was intimidated and shy. It’s strange. I’m not usually good at remembering faces.”
    “Why did you want to talk to me?”
    “Because your songs touched me, Ed. I told you that. Remember?”
I don’t.
    Honestly, I don’t even remember being in San Francisco.
    “I remember,” I say.
    “You don’t have to lie to me.”
    “Sorry.”
    She laughs. Maybe the