gaze came back to Phil Stubbs. “I didn’t do anything to her,” he said. “At least I didn’t mean to. But after the police car went by, and I looked down at her again, she’d stopped moving.” He fell silent for a few seconds, his eyes fixing on the nutria. He took a deep breath. “I—I guess I must have killed her.”
Stubbs said nothing, frowning deeply as he tried to figure out what to do. His first impulse was to fire the boy. Yet Michael was so obviously miserable about what had happened that Stubbs was certain he hadn’t intended to hurt the little animal. Indeed, Michael always became angry with anyone who even teased the creatures in their cages. “Well, I don’t know,” Stubbs said at last. “But if you can’t even remember what happened, I guess I can’t say you did it on purpose.”
Michael stared abjectly at the floor. “I’m sorry,” he said. “Are—Are you going to fire me?”
Stubbs considered it. Once again he remembered those strange lapses when Michael seemed to lose himself. But he also remembered how much his business had improved since he’d hired the boy. “No,” he said, making up his mind. “But I think maybe you’d better take the rest of the day off—without pay—and think about keeping your mind on your work from here on out.” When Michael looked puzzled, Stubbs went on, “I’ve seen you daydreaming before, Michael. It’s like you’ve just gone somewhere else, like you’re in some kind of trance or something. So starting tomorrow, I don’t want you working after hours anymore. Can you understand that?”
Michael nodded, finally looking up. “Are you going to tell my dad?” he asked.
Stubbs hesitated. What if Craig Sheffield demanded proof of what Michael had done? Guys could be funny about their sons—never wanting to admit their own flesh and blood could be less than perfect. And Sheffield was a lawyer, and despite the fact that he was Stubbs’s own lawyer, that could lead to trouble. Besides, when you got right down to it, Michael was old enough to be responsible for himself. “Seems to me this is just between us,” he said. “So let’s just keep it that way, okay? Now get out of here, and make sure you’re on time tomorrow.”
Michael left the office, his head still down. Stubbs heard the motorcycle roar to life, and watched from the doorway until the bike disappeared around a bend in the road. Returning to his desk, he picked up the dead nutria. He stared at it for a moment, then shook his head and tossed it out the window into an open Dumpster a few yards away.
“Get Craig Sheffield upset over a lousy nutria?” he muttered to himself. “I may be dumb, but I’m not that dumb.”
Michael gunned the engine of the motorcycle, feeling an exhilarating burst of speed as the machine responded to his command. Leaning forward into the wind, he tried to put the scene with Phil Stubbs out his mind. But an image of the dead nutria lying on his boss’s desk stayed with him. This morning, on his way to work, he’d let himself hope that Martha would still be in her cage, munching on her food and looking after her pups. Maybe nothing had happened last night at all—maybe his memory of the limp animal he’d returned to the cage had been no more real than the strange image he’d seen in the mirror.
But as soon as Stubbs had called him to the office, he’d known the truth.
Somehow, last night, he’d killed the little creature.
But why couldn’t he remember doing it?
He slowed the motorcycle, banking it into a curve.
Well, at least he hadn’t been fired, and Stubbs wasn’t even going to tell his folks what had happened. He could imagine what his father would say if he’d lost the job—the motorcycle would be gone, and he’d probably be grounded for the rest of the summer as well.
But it wouldn’t happen again. From now on he’d keep his mind on what he was doing, and not let himself be distracted by anything.
But what about today? He
Stubbs said nothing, frowning deeply as he tried to figure out what to do. His first impulse was to fire the boy. Yet Michael was so obviously miserable about what had happened that Stubbs was certain he hadn’t intended to hurt the little animal. Indeed, Michael always became angry with anyone who even teased the creatures in their cages. “Well, I don’t know,” Stubbs said at last. “But if you can’t even remember what happened, I guess I can’t say you did it on purpose.”
Michael stared abjectly at the floor. “I’m sorry,” he said. “Are—Are you going to fire me?”
Stubbs considered it. Once again he remembered those strange lapses when Michael seemed to lose himself. But he also remembered how much his business had improved since he’d hired the boy. “No,” he said, making up his mind. “But I think maybe you’d better take the rest of the day off—without pay—and think about keeping your mind on your work from here on out.” When Michael looked puzzled, Stubbs went on, “I’ve seen you daydreaming before, Michael. It’s like you’ve just gone somewhere else, like you’re in some kind of trance or something. So starting tomorrow, I don’t want you working after hours anymore. Can you understand that?”
Michael nodded, finally looking up. “Are you going to tell my dad?” he asked.
Stubbs hesitated. What if Craig Sheffield demanded proof of what Michael had done? Guys could be funny about their sons—never wanting to admit their own flesh and blood could be less than perfect. And Sheffield was a lawyer, and despite the fact that he was Stubbs’s own lawyer, that could lead to trouble. Besides, when you got right down to it, Michael was old enough to be responsible for himself. “Seems to me this is just between us,” he said. “So let’s just keep it that way, okay? Now get out of here, and make sure you’re on time tomorrow.”
Michael left the office, his head still down. Stubbs heard the motorcycle roar to life, and watched from the doorway until the bike disappeared around a bend in the road. Returning to his desk, he picked up the dead nutria. He stared at it for a moment, then shook his head and tossed it out the window into an open Dumpster a few yards away.
“Get Craig Sheffield upset over a lousy nutria?” he muttered to himself. “I may be dumb, but I’m not that dumb.”
Michael gunned the engine of the motorcycle, feeling an exhilarating burst of speed as the machine responded to his command. Leaning forward into the wind, he tried to put the scene with Phil Stubbs out his mind. But an image of the dead nutria lying on his boss’s desk stayed with him. This morning, on his way to work, he’d let himself hope that Martha would still be in her cage, munching on her food and looking after her pups. Maybe nothing had happened last night at all—maybe his memory of the limp animal he’d returned to the cage had been no more real than the strange image he’d seen in the mirror.
But as soon as Stubbs had called him to the office, he’d known the truth.
Somehow, last night, he’d killed the little creature.
But why couldn’t he remember doing it?
He slowed the motorcycle, banking it into a curve.
Well, at least he hadn’t been fired, and Stubbs wasn’t even going to tell his folks what had happened. He could imagine what his father would say if he’d lost the job—the motorcycle would be gone, and he’d probably be grounded for the rest of the summer as well.
But it wouldn’t happen again. From now on he’d keep his mind on what he was doing, and not let himself be distracted by anything.
But what about today? He
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