Baad Dog Read online

  “Go, fetch,” he said. He threw the ball across the yard toward the petunia patch that ringed the oak tree. Normally Queenie would take off on a dead run. This time Queenie trotted leisurely after the tennis ball. She scooped it up, brought it back and again dropped it at his feet. The odor wafted up to him, yet aside from the smell, everything seemed good.

  It was then that he noticed the eager panting and tongue lolling she usually exhibited were gone. These things he would surely miss because without them the mechanical dog seemed more like a machine than his beloved Queenie.

  Hopefully it’s just a temporary memory loss, Harry thought. He tossed the tennis ball again, farther this time, the ball landing in some bushes, and again Queenie trotted after it. Retrieving the ball, she dropped it at his feet and silently stared up at him. Truth be told, it appeared to Harry as though the mechanical dog was glaring up at him, but that was silly.

  *

  The kids were thrilled.

  When Ariel got home from school and saw Queenie standing in the living room, a smile that stretched into forever blossomed on her face. She ran to the dog, hefted her up into her arms and began dancing around the room. “I knew you’d be okay. I knew it, I knew it, I knew it.” Jackson danced along beside her, patting the mechanical dog on the head.

  “You’re thtinky,” Ariel said and put the dog down.

  Jackson began laughing. “Queenie’s stinky, Queenie’s stinky,” he sang.

  “Yeah,” Harry said. “She does smell a little.”

  “We should give her a bubble bath.”

  “No, Sweetie, no baths. Queenie runs on batteries and batteries lose their power in water.

  “A bath will kill her?” Ariel asked, her eyes going wide.

  “Well…” Harry said, again skating around the subject of death. “It would be bad for her. So no water on Queenie you two. Got it?” Both children nodded.

  Ariel looked down at Queenie. “You need a tea party,” she announced. “Come on.” Queenie obediently followed her.

  Jackson trailed along, calling “I love you, Queenie, even if you are stinky.”

  Neither of the children noticed anything different about Queenie’s behavior. They were over the moon at having their playmate back.

  While the kids were playing in Ariel’s room, Harry stayed within ear shot for a while, listening for anything strange or out of the ordinary. After fifteen minutes of hearing Ariel bark out orders to Jackson and the dog about proper tea party etiquette, he began feeling foolish.

  What’s the damn thing going to do anyway, kill them? He laughed at the thought. Queenie was fine. She may have been a little wonky, but she was fine. They’d dodged a bullet. The overcharge hadn’t destroyed her battery; it had merely altered her in ways that were nearly imperceptible. Aside from the odor, all was good.

  Chapter Four

  Harry awoke with a start, his eyes jamming open. He thought he’d heard someone call his name. He sat up in bed and looked over at Pam who was sleeping soundly with her blinders on. He gazed at the clock. Two forty-five a.m. He hadn’t been asleep that long. He could have sworn he’d heard a voice calling him—a loud, scratchy whisper.

  He’d obviously dreamed it, but now Harry was wide awake and on high alert. Perhaps the dream was his mind warning him that something was wrong in the house, or with the children. He sat quietly and continued to listen. He heard nothing aside from the occasional creaks of the house settling.

  An urge came over him to check on the kids. He needed to do it now. He gingerly got out of bed, careful not to wake Pam. No sense alarming her about a voice in my head. He eased into the corridor, and down the hall enveloped in a cloak of silence. First stop was Jackson’s room.

  He entered and found Jackson splayed out on his bed clutching Buzz Lightyear in one hand and Woody in the other. He’d kicked off the covers, but was sound asleep, breathing easy.

  Harry sighed, looked over at the closet where the monsters used to live. The closet door was wide open, something that used to terrify Jackson. Harry moved to the closet and gently closed the door. He moved to the bed, removed Buzz and Woody from Jackson’s death grip and tucked his son in. His mind silently signaled the all clear.

  Next stop was Ariel’s room. Her door was partially closed, the way she liked it. He gently pushed it open. Ariel was a very light sleeper, just like her mother, and he went in easy so as not to wake her. When Harry pushed in, he didn’t see her. His breath caught as he stepped further into the room, eyes dancing in the dark.

  Ar—”

  Ariel lay in the corner, sprawled on the floor near her tea service. She was sound asleep atop a mountain of princess dresses. Jackson’s picture book, No, David! lay open on the floor beside her, open to the image of David from the story playing with his food.

  When Harry saw Ariel soundly sleeping, he let out a long sigh, and realized he’d been holding his breath. He moved into the room and gently picked her up. Ariel’s eyes fluttered open.

  “Hi, Daddy.”

  “Hey Princess. What on earth are you doing down here?” he asked as he carried her to bed.

  “Queenie needed a bedtime story.”

  “Oh.” Upon hearing Queenie’s name, Harry felt a strangeness begin tickling in his belly, as the fine hairs on his arms seemed alive and sensitive. “Did Queenie ask you to read to her?”

  “No, thilly. Dogs can’t talk, not even mechanical ones like Queenie.”

  Another soft sigh as Harry realized he was being silly thinking such a thing. “I don’t want you getting out of bed in the middle of the night, Ar. You gave me a real scare.”

  “Sor-ry,” she said. It came out Thor-ree, her little face twisting into a pout.

  Harry lightened the mood. “You know, if you’re sleeping under all those dresses your fairy godmother won’t be able to find you when she comes looking.”

  The frown vanished and Ariel began to giggle. “I’ll call her name.”

  “You don’t know her name. She’s like Rumpelstiltskin. By the time you figure out what her name is, she’ll be gone and you’ll lose all your wishes.”

  Ariel released a wave of giggles. “I’ll chase after her.”

  “Just stay in your bed, Ariel. Okay?” Harry said, ending the game.

  “Okay, Daddy.”

  Several minutes later, Ariel was all tucked in, and Harry was back in his own bed without waking Pam. As he lay in the dark, he realized he hadn’t encountered Queenie on his trip through the house. He wasn’t going to get up again and risk waking Pam just to see what his mechanical dog had gotten into.

  She’s all right. It’s not like I left her on the charger too long, he mused, and had to smile over the fact they’d dodged a bullet with Queenie coming back to life. Now they needed to dodge another with the Somali incident.

  Everything’s going to work out just fine, he thought, and closed his eyes. He didn’t hear Jackson’s closet door as it slid back open.

  *

  On Thursday morning, Good Morning America did a long piece about the Somali incident. On Friday, The Today Show interviewed family members of the slain Americans. CBS was dedicating Sunday’s entire hour of Sixty Minutes to the Somali incident. The story was pushing into its third week. It wasn’t going away as Harry had hoped—it was lingering.

  The following Monday morning, Catherine called.

  “Tell me it’s over,” Harry squawked into the phone.

  “I wish I could, Harry. I’m calling to alert you to a change in the winds. It seems the network is having second thoughts about a series about space pirates.”

  Harry was quiet for a long time. It was as though his life were flashing before his eyes. He had been in the fire, then was pulled out, and now it appeared he was back in the fire again.

  “Harry?” Catherine called.

  “I’m here. I’m thinking. Is there anything we can do?”

  “I’m trying to get you a meeting with Barry Anger, the network head. You need to remind him why they fell
in love with space pirates in the first place.”

  “I can do that,” Harry assured.

  “I know you can. Hang in there, Harry. It isn’t over yet. I’ll be in touch.”

  That night at the dinner table, Harry was preoccupied, lost in thought trying to figure out the best way to spring the change on Pam without alarming her too much.

  “Eat your dinner, Daddy, or you won’t grow up to be big and strong,” Ariel said, jarring him from his reverie.

  Harry looked down at his plate. His meat loaf, mashed potatoes and green beans were untouched. “Like you?” he asked and smiled.

  “Yes,” Ariel said and stuffed a gloppy forkful of mashed potatoes in her mouth. “I’m going to grow up to be a powerful princess,” she said with her mouth full.

  “Are you okay?” Pam asked when she noticed Harry hadn’t touched his food. “You’re not coming down with something, are you?”

  “No, I’m fine. I’m just thinking,” Harry replied.

  “Anything you’d like to share?”

  There was nothing Harry wanted to share just yet. What he wanted to do was change the subject. He glanced over at Jackson and saw the boy feeding a green bean off his plate to Queenie under the table.

  “Jackson!” he squawked. “What are you doing?”

  “Nuthin’,” Jackson responded sounding every bit as guilty as he was.

  “What did you do?” Pam asked, looking over at him.

  “Nuthin’,” Jackson repeated, on the verge of tears.

  “He was feeding the dog under the table,” Harry squawked.

  “The mechanical dog?” Pam asked, shooting Harry a raised eyebrow.

  “Bad dog!” Harry said. He reached under the table and snatched Queenie up. She was chewing the green bean, her jaws hinging up and down like a living Pacman. He started to pull the green bean from her mouth, but there was something about the way she was looking at him as she chewed, something that made him change his mind.

  She’s a mechanical dog, a computer, Harry mused. Yet looking at her, it seemed as though she was staring back with defiance, daring him to put his hand in her mouth. Harry drew his hand back slowly.

  “You can’t give Queenie food, Jacks,” Pam said soothingly, hoping to stave off an all-out crying jag. “We’re lucky to still have her after her battery was overcharged.”

  “She eats food now,” Jackson said. “She told me so. It’s good for her teeth.”

  Harry, who had been on his way out of the kitchen with Queenie tucked under his arm, stopped short. “Queenie can’t talk, Tigger. So stop saying she talks and STOP FEEDING HER!” he cried out, his words coming in a hot, angry rush. Jackson immediately burst into tears.

  “She says she gets hungry,” Jackson whined.

  Harry saw his wife and daughter staring at him. All of a sudden he was the bad guy. “I… I didn’t mean to raise my voice,” he spluttered, realizing the pressure of his secret was getting to him.

  He took Queenie out to the garage, and set her down by the work bench. “Stay out here for the night, Queenie. I’ll come and get you in the morning.”

  He stared down at her. They had looped a car freshener around her neck, a silly attempt to deal with Queenie’s caustic odor. The freshener did little to mask the odor, yet as time had passed, they’d gotten used to it.

  Queenie peered up at him. There was no tail wagging, no tongue lolling, no eager panting, just cold, dark eyes staring back. Harry recalled Pam’s words the day Queenie had come back to life. She’s… calculating, Pam had said. At the time, it seemed to be the ridiculous outburst of a dog hater, but now as he stared down at his mechanical dog, she did seem to be thinking, calculating—fuming, actually.

  “You got Jackson in trouble, you know that? Anything you want to say for yourself?” he asked. Harry knew the mechanical dog had no speakers. To his knowledge, no language interface had been installed, and yet here he was waiting for her to say something.

  After a few moments, Queenie lowered her head and hibernated, the light in her eyes going dim.

  That night as they lay in bed, Harry brought up the idea of spending some time in the mountains. He presented it as a weeklong getaway, nothing to be alarmed about.

  “Catherine says I’ll be getting back to work in about a month. And you know how it is once production begins. I’ll be running around like a headless chicken for six months. Let’s look at this time off as a blessing and grab some family time.”

  Pam rested her book on the night stand and regarded him with serious eyes. “So… everything’s okay then?”

  “Yeah. Things are looking good. Catherine’s arranging a meeting with me and Barry Anger, the network chief, to nail down the direction of the show. Once we do that, we should be good to go.”

  Pam sighed and rubbed his arm. “I’m glad it’s finally getting behind us.”

  “Yeah, me, too,” Harry said, feeling a bit guilty. But hey, there was no sense in both of them having sleepless nights, and he knew that once he had the network meeting, things would be back on track.

  “How soon are you thinking of leaving for the mountains?”

  “Right after my network meeting. I’m hoping to have that locked down in the next day or two.”

  “We’ll have to take the kids out of school,” Pam said. Harry didn’t hear any reluctance in her voice. She was merely stating a fact.

  “It’s kindergarten and the third grade. How much are they going to miss, really?”

  Pam laughed. “We haven’t been up to the cabin in a while,” she said getting a faraway look in her eye.

  Harry moved in closer. “I know. You know the mountain air brings out the best in me, don’t you?”

  Another soft laugh. “I think you mean beast. I remember it bringing out the beast in both of us,” Pam said with a smile.

  “I like the beast in you,” Harry said.

  They began kissing, gently at first, their sweet kisses turning passionate and needy, as if someone had turned up the gas in their souls. They made love, and this time was better than the last. When they were done, Harry rolled over and fell into deep, satisfied sleep. He was awakened a few hours later when he heard his name being called.

  “Haa-reee.”

  His eyes fluttered open. He didn’t move. He didn’t get out of bed to check on the children this time. He lay still, listening to see if he’d hear it again, wondering if it had been his imagination. Of course it was. It had to be. After several minutes he accepted it was a dream.

  He tried falling back to sleep, but sleep didn’t come. He was too worried about the future. He lay there listening, and watching, and hoping he could right their listing ship, until the sun came up.

  Chapter Five

  When Harry went out to the garage the next morning, Queenie was gone. He gazed around, got on his hands and knees and looked under the car. There were very few places for her to hide in the garage and Harry checked each one: cabinets, an old trunk, even the boxes of winter clothes.

  The mechanical garage door was down and the door leading to the house had been closed. There was no way for a dog to get out without help.

  He found the family in the kitchen. The kids were complaining they wanted Froot Loops for breakfast instead of oatmeal.

  Anybody see Queenie?” he asked, keeping his tone even.

  “You put her in the garage, Daddy,” Ariel said.

  “I know where I put her, Ar. Have you seen her?”

  “Queenie’s missing?” Ariel asked, her voice rising with alarm.

  Judging from her reaction, it was a safe bet Ariel wasn’t the culprit who’d let the dog out. Harry’s eyes moved to Jackson. “Hey, Tigger, have you seen Queenie?”

  Jackson looked at Harry, then Ariel, then Pam. “No,” he said, his gaze diving for the floor.

  “Are you sure?” Harry asked. “Were you worried about her, and maybe let her out of the garage early this morning?”

  “It wasn’t me,” Jackson said in a small voice. “She got o
ut of the garage all by herself.”

  Harry shot Pam a quick glance and noticed the warning in her eyes. Don’t yell at him. “So, you did see her?” he asked, steadying his voice.

  Jackson began shaking his head back and forth. “I didn’t do it. I didn’t.” He was on the verge of tears.

  “It’s all right, Jackson. We believe you,” Harry said, although how could he believe the boy? Dogs don’t have opposable thumbs. They don’t have thumbs at all. They can’t open garage doors all by themselves, even intelligent computer dogs like Queenie. “You do know lying is bad, right?”

  Jackson nodded.

  “What do you think Tigger from the movie would say about stuff like lying?”

  Jackson stared at him for a moment, his lower lip quivering. “He’d say don’t be ridick-ourous.”

  “That’s right, he would, because lying is ridick-ourous, isn’t it?” Harry said, forcing a smile.

  Jackson gave another quick nod of his head.

  “She’s not in the house. Do you know where she might be?” he asked, again trying to sound like fun Daddy.

  Jackson gave a quick shake of his head, and Harry realized he wasn’t going to get anywhere with the boy.

  “I’m going to look for her outside,” he announced, heaving a sigh as he left the room.

  He moved through the house. His ears were stinging. Lying was something you had to nip in the bud. Jackson would need a talking to. But first, Harry had to find his dog. He threw open the front door and stepped out onto the walkway. “Queenie!”

  The street was quiet. Some neighborhood kids who were waiting across the street for the school bus, waved at him.

  “You guys see our dog, Queenie?”

  “No, Mr. Palmer. She’s not out here,” one of the kids called back.

  Harry went back through the house and into the backyard. By now the entire family had gotten involved.

  “What do you think happened to her?” Pam asked as Harry moved through.

  “I don’t know what to think,” Harry replied, although he thought Jackson knew exactly what had happened to Queenie.