Monster Chapter 10

The problems of victory are more agreeable than the problems of defeat, but they are no less difficult. —Winston Churchill 

“Mommy, can we ride the merry-go-round?” Jane pulled at Mom’s shirt. 

“I already said you could go on one ride,” Mom said. “But how about we let the crowds die down a bit first?” 

Nick watched Jimmy and his family picking their way through the jam of people. The rodeo had ended. The first stars pricked their way through a purple and darkening sky.

He needed to get on with the business at hand. 

“Nick can come too.” Now Jane was tugging at his shirt. “He can ride the pink elephant next to my unicorn.” 

He couldn’t focus. Too many things happening at once. “You go without me.” 

“Oh, come on,” Mom said. “It’s only a three-minute ride. It’ll be fun.” 

“My stomach is acting up again . . . I need to get to the bathroom.” 

“We can wait for you,” Mom said. “If you don’t want to ride, you can at least watch. Your sisters want you there.” 

Jimmy was out of the arena. His parents too. None of them were in sight. Nick’s breathing came faster. He didn’t have time for merry-go-rounds. For plastic elephants. A little boy was about to die. That was the most important thing right now. 

“I don’t . . . ” He felt his face grow hot. His anger rising. “There’s always a crowd at the porta-potties and I may need a minute. My stomach isn’t feeling so good. I’ll find you when I’m done.” 

A hurt look crossed his mother’s face, and Nick felt a pang of guilt. 

But he had to find Jimmy, and he had to keep him safe. He had to know he could do this thing. 

Jane started whining, and Mom had to grab Beth to keep her from wandering off.  

He turned and left, veering toward the portable toilets. Once there, he stood in line for a count of thirty seconds, then left, walking toward Jimmy’s trailer. 

A thrill of excitement shot through him like a thunderclap. He felt alive, like at the beginning of a race. He’d saved the boy once, and he would save him again. 

Nick found the family where he’d hoped—next to their horse trailer—and he slipped between two vehicles, close enough to hear the family’s conversation. 

“—of you, honey. You did good tonight.” Big Cowboy’s voice was soft, but it carried to where Nick stood. “We’ll be back up first thing in the morning.” 

“I don’t want to go home,” Jimmy sounded tired. “I want to stay here with Mama and Katie Lou.” 

“Yeah?” Big Cowboy’s voice shifted, as if he’d squatted down next to his son. “And who’ll tend to your bunnies if you stay here? We’ve got chores to do at home. Chores tonight and chores tomorrow. Go on, now. Hug your mama and tell her good night.” 

Nick looked around to make sure he was still alone, then got down on his hands and knees and looked under the trailer. Three pairs of boots, two large and one small, shuffled around for a moment. Then two sets of boots walked away from the trailer. Nick gave the two cowboys a few seconds’ lead and then stepped out from between the trailers. 

Jimmy’s timer bobbed above the boy’s head as he walked. An accident could occur at any moment. Nick had to stay close. 

Twenty-one minutes. 

Nick followed the two cowboys through the parking lot, through the fairgrounds, and to a second parking lot across a crowded street. Cars inched their way through a compact jam. Big Cowboy put his arm around Jimmy’s shoulders in a protective gesture. 

Sixteen minutes. 

Nick stopped short and muttered under his breath. In sixteen minutes, Jimmy and his dad would be in their car, driving home. He couldn’t save Jimmy unless he went with them in their car, and he couldn’t likely do that. 

He continued after the two figures and touched his right pocket—he felt keys and his knife. He could try to follow them in Mom’s car . . . but then what? Run them off the road? What if he caused the accident that took Jimmy’s life? And what about his mom? She’d be looking all over for him. 

Too many questions. Too many problems. But he couldn’t imagine giving up.  

“Are you following us, son?” 

Nick almost ran into Big Cowboy, who had stopped and spun in the gravel. Nick came within inches of the man’s face before he could skid to a stop. Big Cowboy stood his ground. 

The man’s eyes gleamed dark. Muscles worked under a jaw thick with stubble. His lower lip bulged where a wad of chewing tobacco sat tucked away. 

Nick backed up and Big Cowboy spoke. His words were low and cool. “I saw you back by our trailer earlier tonight. And now here you are again. Is there something you need?” 

Jimmy looked up from behind his father. “That’s the man who grabbed me,” Jimmy said. “He grabbed me by my shirt and pulled me to the ground.” 

Big Cowboy’s eyes became slits. 

Nick shook his head. “No, no. I didn’t . . . I mean . . . ” In his panic he couldn’t find the words to explain. No one knew Jimmy had been in danger.  

Big Cowboy turned his head without taking his eyes off Nick. “Son, go get in the truck.” 

Jimmy’s timer read thirteen minutes. Could Nick stall that long? The man in front of Nick looked fierce. Nick could smell stale tobacco on his breath. 

“You have about ten seconds to tell me how long you’ve been following us.” He spit dark liquid to his left. “And why you touched my boy.” 

It took all his will not to step back. Step back and run. Nick swallowed and returned the man’s gaze. A few people walking to their cars looked over at them, but no one intervened. 

“I . . . I know what it must look like, but it’s not what you think.” Isn’t that what a guilty person said? “I was just standing there . . . I was tying my shoes, and your son was close by. Those horses were galloping, and Jimmy started running toward them. I think he wanted to see what—” 

“You know his name?” In a flash, Big Cowboy had Nick by the front of the shirt. For a split-second Nick watched as the man fought against his anger. Nick saw it on his face and he saw it in the code above Big Cowboy’s head. A frantic spin of symbols. Then the code aligned and fell into place. The man had decided.  

Big Cowboy’s fist cocked back, then shot forward. The bones in Nick’s nose snapped—a sound like grinding glass inside his head. Pain exploded and washed over the front of his face. 

Hot blood poured out of his nose and streamed over and around his chin. Nick gasped, coughed, then spied Jimmy. 

The boy’s face glowed red as he stared at his father and Nick, brake lights on his face. Small. Fragile. Then the red light changed to red and white.

Reverse lights.

“Jimmy!” Nick shouted, the name sounding more like Dimmy as blood pooled in his broken nose. “Look out!” 

Big Cowboy, who had pulled back to strike Nick again, turned. The car was already moving. 

“Son!” The pitch of his voice was high and full of terror. 

The back bumper hit Jimmy on the right shoulder, pushing him to the ground. The car didn’t stop or slow, and Jimmy disappeared under the machine. 

Oh god. 

And then Big Cowboy was there. In a single motion he smashed his fist against the trunk sending a sharp thump reverberating through the night air. His other hand reached behind and below the car, dragging Jimmy out from under the vehicle. 

Unhurt. The little boy was unhurt. 

Nick kept his eyes on Jimmy’s timer. The symbols flickered, shifted and then disappeared. The symbols that made up Jimmy’s life thread still spun red, out toward the misty void. 

Another heartbeat and the timer flared back into view. He calculated them in his head.

Forty minutes. 

A flash of frustration. Helplessness. Nick tasted blood and wiped his sleeve across his mouth and chin. It came away bright red. Every beat of his heart sent a pounding throb through his face. He wanted to collapse in the dirt. He wanted to leave. To find his mom and go home. He wanted to somehow hide from the pain. 

Leaning against the front fender of a car, Nick took off his jacket and pressed the cloth against his nose. 

The near-accident had drawn a crowd. An elderly woman got out of the car and made a fuss, waving her hands in the air and saying oh my goodness over and over again. 

She apologized a dozen times. She hugged Jimmy with shaking hands. Jimmy made a face when she did and pulled away. 

Bending over, Nick put his hands on his knees and let blood fall onto the dirt. His head felt light. 

A prickling on the back of his neck—it was so acute it felt almost physical. He stood up straight. He looked around, and then up. Nothing appeared out of the ordinary. Nothing appeared wrong. 

But the feeling was there. Against the back of his head. Behind him, no matter which way he turned. He felt like somebody had turned their attention—their undivided focus—directly on him.  

Somebody had become aware of him. 

A patrol car arrived, and an officer stepped out. He had a barrel chest and a mustache. He spoke to the woman and spoke to Big Cowboy who pointed at Nick. The officer checked Jimmy and, finding no injuries, let him remain with his dad. 

The cop took a few steps toward Nick. “I’ll need to talk to you in a minute, all right, son? I need you to stay right here.”  

Nick’s nod sent a fresh burst of pain through his whole head. 

The officer dispersed the crowd, sending people to their cars or toward the fairgrounds. He spoke with a clear strong voice that told the people he didn’t want any nonsense. Finally, waving his hand like an airport worker guiding an airplane, he directed the woman out of her parking stall and her tail lights merged in with the rest of the traffic. 

Only then did the policeman turn back to Jimmy’s father who stood by his truck. Jimmy’s father spoke quietly to the policeman, pointing again at Nick during the conversation. The officer looked over at Nick, and then continued to listen. After a few moments, the patrolman came over. 

“How’s the nose?” 

My nose is fine came out, “By doze is fine.” 

“Have you been bothering this gentleman and his son?” 

“No, sir. At least, that wasn’t my intention.” 

“He says you followed him. That you grabbed his son earlier in the evening.” 

Anger sparked—deep down inside of him. Nick had saved this boy’s life—not once, but twice. “There were horses,” he said. “They were . . . they’d broken loose and were charging. Right next to us. I thought the boy was going to jump into their path. I stopped him the best way I knew how.” 

The policeman stared at Nick, and Nick found the courage to stare back. He spoke the truth. 

“Have you been drinking?” 

“No, sir.” 

“I’m going to need to take your name and address, and then I think it’s best if you get on home.” 

Nick looked over at Jimmy. Thirty-eight minutes. “I need to find my family first. They’re at the fair. I’ll find them, and then we’ll leave.” 

Big Cowboy called over to the policeman. “Do you need anything else from me? We’ve got to get to Declo tonight.” 

The officer never broke eye contact with Nick. He spoke low enough so that only Nick could hear. “Do you want to press assault charges?” 

“No.” 

The officer called over his shoulder. “You’re free to go. Have a safe drive.” 

Declo. A ninety-minute drive. In thirty-eight minutes they’d be just outside of Snowville. A wreck. Maybe a deer darting in front of their truck. Maybe Big Cowboy would doze. The exact chain of events leading up to Jimmy’s death were already in motion. Already set in stone. 

He hesitated. Maybe he should press assault charges. Delay the two from leaving. Would that work? That would put them on the road later. Break whatever chain of events would lead to Jimmy’s next death. 

But he’d already saved Jimmy’s life twice. If he saved the boy a third time, it would only reset the timer again. It would only make the boy’s last hours miserable. 

Let him go home. Let him fall asleep in the cab of the truck.  

With luck, he’d never wake up. 

Big Cowboy opened the door to his pickup truck and helped his son climb inside. When the door closed, Jimmy looked over at Nick and waved. Or maybe he was waving at the policeman. 

It didn’t matter. It was over, and Nick had lost. The timers could not be beat.

Big Cowboy climbed behind the wheel. He slammed his door shut. Headlights flared, and the engine roared to life. 

The policeman asked Nick to spell his full name. Nick gave the spelling to him, along with his address and phone number. He kept his eyes on the truck. It rolled past them. The top of Jimmy’s hat was just visible through the open passenger-side window. 

The policeman stepped to his patrol car, got inside, and keyed information into a laptop. 

Nick looked back to the truck. Big Cowboy was almost out of the parking lot. A right turn onto the road, and then another right turn to head toward the freeway. The second right turn would bring them back toward Nick and the patrolman. 

The ride of death had begun. A single chain, pulled taut.

Nick put his hand in his right pocket, palmed his pocket knife, and brought it out. 

The policeman returned. “Were you following the boy earlier tonight?” 

Nick lied. “No.” 

“But you did touch him?” 

The truck turned and stopped at the stop sign. 

“Yes.” 

The truck pulled out onto the road.  

Jane. 

“But you say it was to stop him from running—” 

Nick surged forward, locking his elbows and shoving the patrolman with both arms. He kept his right hand in a fist, the closed knife still held in his grasp. By the time the officer hit the ground, Nick was already running. 

Toward the truck. Toward Jimmy. 

One last time.