Knollwood Tavern was a small, nondescript bar on the edge of town that served beer, wine, and soda, along with sandwiches, fries, and onion rings.
Sean Ferguson, a heavyset, forty-eight-year-old insurance actuary by trade, sat on a stool at one end of the bar under a string of dim, clear mini-lights. He had thinning, dark-brown hair with a receding hairline, a pair of wire-rimmed spectacles that often slid down his oily-complexioned nose, a puffy red face with jowls, and pudgy red hands to match. He grimaced in discomfort as he adjusted his backside on the seat of the stool.
“Ulcer?” Lenny Zahn, the bartender, asked as he wiped a wine glass with a damp cloth.
Sean shook his head. “Acid reflux or indigestion or heartburn or whatever.”
“You should get that checked.”
“Yeah, yeah. Been to the doctor and keep going back. He just gives me something to ease the discomfort, then bills me. They all do the same thing. Give you a little something to make you feel a little better, then have you keep going back so they can make another buck every time.”
“Well, that bulging gut of yours is a telltale sign that something may be wrong.”
“It’s called ascites. It’s from drinking too much for too many years.”
“Still, you should get that checked.”
“And I should get my pancreas checked and my liver and my spleen and my kidneys and my gallbladder and my colon. I’ll live.”
“We’re closing up.”
Sean glanced at his wristwatch and saw that it was 1:45 a.m. He raised his brows. “No last call?”
“That was fifteen minutes ago.”
Reena, the bar back, went around the bar and picked up empty and half-filled glasses along with scrunched-up cocktail napkins. She dumped the napkins behind the bar in the waste bin and dunked the glasses into a sink filled with hot, soapy water.
“Okay,” Sean said as he peered around the semi-dark bar. He watched an older man in his sixties hold open the door to the exit as an older woman, also in her sixties, sauntered out the door to the parking lot. He followed her and let the door close behind him.
Sean placed a five-dollar bill on the counter and pushed it toward Lenny. “Your tip and whatnot,” he said with a tepid smile.
Lenny nodded in acknowledgment. “Thanks. Say ‘hi’ to the missus.”
“We’re not married, and you know it.”
“You should be. You’ve been together for almost ten years now.”
“Nah. It’s just a piece of paper. It might change everything, and I don’t want to change anything.”
Lenny chuckled. “Okay. Whatever you say.”
“Yes. Whatever I say. Till next time.”
“Be careful . . . and get that thing checked.”
“Yes, Daddy.”
Lenny laughed and shook his head.
Sean let the door squeak close behind him. He walked to his Buick Regal and plopped his hefty body onto the driver’s seat. “Get married,” he said to himself with a snort and shook his head. He drove out of the parking lot and made a turn onto Los Olivios Road.
Ten minutes later, he made a turn onto Sierra Linda Drive. He hummed to himself while he dwelled on the misery and discomfort of his heartburn, which burned as if a hot poker had been thrust down his throat and branded one side of his esophagus. He tried to swallow as much saliva as he could muster in order to soothe the lining of his gullet, which had been corroded by years of alcohol intake.
It could be the pylorus, Sean thought. Gosh, I hope not. I’ve got enough health issues as it is, especially since I’m pushing fifty.
He took his eyes off the road as well as one hand off the wheel for a second to reach forward and grab a bottle of water from the cup holder below the radio. His fingers grasped it as he held the water bottle in one hand and twisted off the cap with the other. With his eyes back on the road, he swallowed a few gulps, capped the bottled water, and placed it between his legs. He reached forward again to grab an opened, peeled-back roll of berry-flavored antacids that lay in another cup holder. He grabbed the antacids and looked out the windshield. He saw a solid, dark mass in the middle of the road with a pair of small, shiny white orbs that reflected back at him.
A medium-sized black dog sat on its haunches and gazed ahead as the car’s headlights reflected in its eyes. The dog was thirty-five feet away and the distance between the dog and the Buick Regal closed in pretty fast.
“Whoa!” Sean said in surprise.
He then blasted the horn and swerved to the left to avoid hitting the dog. He dropped the roll of antacids in the process, and it bounced off his meaty lap and landed on the floor by the gas pedal.
The dog still sat on its haunches in the middle of the road. It didn’t even flinch.
In haste, Sean righted the car and steered it back into the right lane of the road.
“Oh, man!” he said in a shaky voice and exhaled a tremulous sigh.
He glanced at the rearview mirror and saw the dog, stationary, in the middle of the road with its back to him, motionless and rooted to the asphalt.
“Man, oh, man, oh, man! Nearly killed that mangy mongrel! What the heck is a dog doing out in the middle of the road this late at night?”
He drove on, shook his head in bewilderment, and took long, deep breaths to slow his palpitating heart.
Thor rose and stood on all fours, then turned and walked to the south side of Sierra Linda Drive. He bounded up the curb and padded across the sidewalk and down the path to the front door, which had been ajar. He nudged it open further with his snout and sauntered into the foyer, crossed the living room, and strode upstairs into Caden’s room, where he lay on the floor in the middle of the room and dozed off.
The front door closed by itself and the latch caught with a soft click. There was a single blip on the security panel next to the front door and a lone green light came on.