Money Back Guarantee

by Hunter Shea

  Dwight unscrewed the sprinkler so he could drink greedily from the hose, cold water splashing across his face as he lapped it up. There was no water on earth crisper and more thirst quenching than that from a summer hose.

  “That’s it, I’m going out there.”

  The phone rang just as she was about to leave the kitchen. She picked it up on the second ring, knowing it was probably some telemarketer who she’d give the brush off, though there was always a chance it was Gavin or her parents.

  “Hello,” she said, sounding more chipper than usual. She really wanted to get out there and join Dwight in the fun.

  “You shouldn’t have done that,” the cold, flat voice said.

  “What?”

  “That wasn’t very nice.”

  “Who is this?”

  “It wasn’t yours to destroy.”

  “Destroy?”

  Rosemary’s chest tightened. No. It couldn’t be.

  “Did you really think you could get away with it? It wasn’t meant for you.”

  Her hand gripped the phone so hard, her knuckles cracked. “Look, I don’t appreciate you calling me and speaking to me like this. Who do you think you are?”

  “We take customer complaints very seriously.” There was a pause where all she could hear was heavy breathing. “Very seriously.”

  “I know where you’re calling from. Let me speak to a manager.”

  There was a low, filthy chuckle. “You thought you got away with it, didn’t you? Poor mommy. You can’t protect him forever.”

  She thought she was going to pass out, the sudden rush of blood to her head overwhelming.

  “I’ll…I’ll call the police.”

  “You’ll have enough on your hands. Right…about…now.”

  She leaped out of her skin when the door opened. She dropped the phone. It slapped against the wall, twisting on its coiled cord.

  “What did you do?”

  Dwight held one of the stacks of cardboard that had been his replacement submarine. He dripped all over the floor, his hair in his eyes.

  Rosemary was stunned speechless.

  “Why didn’t you tell me they sent me another one? And why did you destroy it?”

  “I…I did it to protect you, honey.”

  He threw the cardboard at her feet. “You did it because you’re mean. You were happy when the first one was destroyed.”

  She reached out to him but he stepped back several paces, as if her touch were acid. “No, no, no, that’s not it at all.”

  “You’re a liar. You didn’t tell me anything. That makes you a liar.”

  Rosemary didn’t appreciate being called a liar, but the phone call and this sudden confrontation with her son had her on her heels. All of her mothering skills fled her in the moment. She was on the verge of tears, seeing the hurt in Dwight’s eyes, hearing the accusations from his mouth.

  “I never want to talk to you again,” he said, bustling past her. He flicked her hand away when she went to touch his shoulder, to calm him down and try to somehow explain in a way he’d understand. It was probably a good thing he left, because her brain’s inertia wouldn’t have been able to come up with two coherent sentences in a row.

  Dwight stomped up to his room and slammed the door. She heard the bedsprings creak as he threw himself onto the mattress.

  She couldn’t take her eyes off the tied-up pile of painted cardboard. If she could incinerate it with a glance, she would have reduced it to ash.

  The tinny sound of laughter sent icy footsteps down her spine. She looked at the phone, spinning clockwise by her ankles. Reaching over to pick it up, she reluctantly put the receiver to her ear. The laughter stopped, as if whoever was on the other end could see her.

  “Don’t fuck with us. We mean it.”

  Her lips were moving, no sound coming out of her mouth, when the phone went dead. As if in a trance, she slowly hung up, pulling a chair out so she could sit staring at the cardboard.

  What the hell had just happened?

  She was scared and angry and sad that she’d hurt Dwight. It was all too much. Rosemary buried her face in her hands and cried.

  A terrifying thought snapped her out of her crying jag.

  The man on the phone had known exactly when Dwight was going to come into the house, upset with his discovery.

  Which meant that man was outside, watching them. She got up so fast the chair skittered across the floor. She rushed from window to window, searching for any sign of a man nearby. After checking, she shut each set of blinds until the house was cocooned in darkness.

  Just because she didn’t see anyone didn’t mean they weren’t out there. Maybe he was sitting in that blue van across the street, the tinting on the windows so dark she’d need to be Superman to see through them.

  As much as she wanted to run up to the van and peer inside, she couldn’t bring herself to do it. She was too afraid to even touch the knob on the front door. Grabbing Gavin’s softball bat from the closet, she hunkered down in a chair in the living room, senses on high alert.

  But if he was in the van, how did he call her?

  Was he in one of her neighbor’s houses?

  She shivered at the thought.

  Dwight clomped about in his room, slamming things on the floor.

  She checked the clock. Gavin wouldn’t be home for another two hours.

  It would be the longest two hours of her life.

  Chapter Seven

  After a thorough search of not just their yards but every car parked on the street, Gavin returned drenched in sweat, his tie loosened, the top buttons of his shirt undone, stray chest hairs poking out from his undershirt.

  “You see anything?” she asked, still clutching the bat. The moment Gavin had walked in the door, she’d told him everything in a frantic burst. At first he’d had to ask her to slow down and repeat herself, his mind trying to catch up with everything. After the second iteration, he’d told her to sit tight and lock the door while he went outside to look for the man.

  “Nothing. Except for George walking his dog. Whoever it was must have taken off right after the call. Damn coward. Does Dwight know?”

  She shook her head. “He’s been in his room the whole time.”

  Gavin wiped the sweat from the back of his neck. “Well, that’s one good thing.”

  “What do we do now?”

  “I’m calling the cops. I’m not letting some psycho threaten my wife and lurk around my house. This is why I told you I should have a gun.”

  She didn’t want to get into the old gun argument again. Not now.

  He got a beer out of the refrigerator, thought better of it, and put it back. “If they come here for a statement, I don’t want them thinking we were drunk and imagined the whole thing.”

  While he dialed 911, she hoped Dwight stayed upstairs a little longer. She didn’t want him to overhear anything.

  Gavin took charge, explaining everything to the police as calmly and succinctly as possible. Rosemary wasn’t sure she could have done it even half as well. Her nerves were a jangled mess. Her husband had always been at his best when things were at their worst.

  After five minutes, he thanked them and hung up. Then he went back and got that beer.

  “Are they coming?”

  “He said there’s no need. If there are any more calls or if we spot someone around the house who shouldn’t be here, we should call again and they’ll send someone right away.”

  “Shouldn’t they tap the phone or something so they can find him?”

  Gavin smiled for the first time since getting home. “I’m pretty sure they don’t think this rates a wiretap. Though I’d give anything to find where the call came from and wipe the floor with his face.”

  He wrapped a strong arm around her, rubbing her shoulder. “I’m so
sorry you had to be the one to get the call.”

  “You have nothing to be sorry for.”

  Gavin tensed and said, “Hey, bud. Just in time to order Chinese.”

  Dwight eyed them suspiciously, but said nothing. Rosemary couldn’t help but notice that he avoided her gaze.

  “I’m not hungry,” he said.

  “Bud’s not hungry? Call a priest. I think we have one of the signs of the apocalypse.”

  Gavin did his best to release the pressure in the room, working harder than a Catskill comedian on free appetizer night. Dwight was too upset to play along. He simply turned and walked back up to his room.

  “Wow. He’s pissed,” Gavin said.

  “I guess he has a right to be.”

  “Uh-uh. No way. Not after the way that asshole spoke to you. The last thing we want is our son playing with anything from that . . . what’s it called?”

  Just saying the name formed a cold fist in the pit of her stomach. “AdventureCo.”

  He put down the beer and hefted the bat.

  “Well, if AdventureCo knows what’s good for them, they’ll have had their fun and are long gone, never to return. Because if I catch any of them around here, it’s going to get ugly.”

  Rosemary shivered despite the cloying heat.

  Things were already ugly.

  * * * *

  Despite Gavin being on watch, Rosemary barely slept. She wasn’t sure what kept her up more—the hurt in Dwight’s eyes over what she’d done or the terror she felt from yesterday’s phone call. The sheets were a tangled mess. The overhead fan did little to cool her down. Her skin felt like it was on fire.

  Gavin had called his boss last night, leaving a message that he wouldn’t be in today. He stayed downstairs all night in the dark, waiting to see if the mystery man from AdventureCo returned. She’d heard him prowling about all night, but he’d been quiet the past hour or so. The sun was just peeking over the horizon, an orange glow emanating past the edges of the closed blinds.

  There was no point trying to sleep. Rosemary got up and went to the bathroom. She’d make Gavin a lumberjack breakfast, complete with pancakes, eggs, sausage, and home fries. He’d earned it. She hoped a full belly would help him sleep during the light of day.

  “Chow time for the sentry,” she said as she walked into the living room. She expected to see Gavin passed out in his favorite chair or on the couch.

  He wasn’t in the living room. She went to the empty kitchen, then the garage. No Gavin.

  Peering out through the blinds, she checked to see if he was making a pass around the house. When she was at the living room window, she noticed his bat propped up against an end table.

  “Gavin?”

  She went upstairs, wondering if he’d gone to check on Dwight. Her son lay sprawled out on the bed, mouth hanging open, a line of drool going from his cheek to his Star Wars pillowcase.

  Even though it made no sense, she checked the attic.

  Her husband was nowhere to be found.

  Trying to steady her nerves, she went back downstairs and made pancakes. Maybe he went out to get the paper. Bond’s Stationery Store was just six blocks away, and Gavin sometimes walked there when he was up early to get a paper, a cup of coffee, and the latest issue of Popular Mechanics. All manly stuff.

  That’s where he is. Stop being a worry wart.

  The house was locked up tight. No one had broken in and kidnapped Gavin. Even if someone had tried, she was sure Gavin would have made enough noise to wake the dead.

  After making a dozen pancakes and getting the home fries sizzling in the pan, she couldn’t swallow her heart down her throat. Even if he’d gone to Bond’s, he should be back by now.

  What was she supposed to do now? If she panicked and called the cops and Gavin came back from wherever he’d gone, both he and the police would be pissed at her.

  But what if he doesn’t come back?

  How long did you have to wait before someone was declared missing? Was it twenty-four or forty-eight hours? She couldn’t remember. How long had Gavin technically been missing? Would it start from the moment she stopped hearing him move about downstairs, or now, when she realized he wasn’t here?

  Rosemary’s head spun. She plopped into a chair, ignoring the home fries, smelling them start to burn. The smoke alarm went off. She fumbled to get the batteries out. Footsteps thumped down the stairs. Dwight shuffled in, rubbing his eyes.

  “Are we on fire?”

  She fought to keep her voice calm and steady. “No, it’s just your mother burning breakfast.”

  He saw the pancakes and licked his lips. She set him up with two, coating them with butter and syrup. He dug in, talking to her as if yesterday had never happened.

  At least that’s one thing off my mind, she thought. But it had only been replaced by grave concern for her husband’s whereabouts. Her son didn’t ask where his father was because Gavin was usually at work by now.

  “Is it really supposed to rain today?” Dwight asked through a mouthful of sweetened fluff.

  “Um, that’s what they said on the news last night.”

  “Oh man, that means no swimming. I hate rainy days in the summer. They’re so boring.”

  She gave him a shaky smile. If only he knew how not boring today would be if his father didn’t come back home.

  He finished his pancakes and went into the living room to watch TV. Rosemary cleaned up after him, noticing the slight tremble in her hands.

  “Gavin, where the hell are you?” she whispered to her reflection in the windowpane over the sink. “Please get back here and let me know you’re all right.”

  She bit her lip to hold back tears. Dwight laughed at something on TV. Rosemary felt like screaming.

  Chapter Eight

  “Can I go to Jimmy’s and read comic books?”

  “No!” Rosemary snapped. She’d been nervously sipping coffee, staring at the front door, waiting—no, pleading for it—to open.

  “Why not?”

  She saw the bundle of comics tucked under his arm. Outside, there was a light drizzle, the darkening skies portents for worse to come.

  “Because I want you home today.”

  “Why?”

  “Because I said so. And that’s final.”

  Dwight looked as if he were about to protest, but the sharp glare he got from his mother stopped him cold. Instead, he snorted and marched back up the stairs.

  “Guess I’m back on the shit list,” she said. No matter. There was no way she was letting him out of her sight today. Since breakfast, she’d gone to his room to check on him at least ten times. All he did was act out scenes from The Empire Strikes Back with his figures, getting more and more irritated that she kept barging in on him. At one point, she went to his desk to look at the plastic tank that contained the Amazing Sea Serpents she’d bought for him at Woolworth’s after much begging. The tiny wriggling balls of gray were disgusting. She kept waiting for them to die so she could toss the whole thing out. His room was starting to get a funky smell from them.

  Normally, she would have flushed them, but after everything with her destroying his replacement sub, she let it be . . . for now. In a couple of days, she’d need a mask just to be able to stand in the room. It was amazing how Dwight didn’t seem to notice the rotting funk.

  Now it was almost noon and Gavin had been gone for six hours. It was time to call the police. She couldn’t wait another second.

  Just as her fingers touched the phone, it started to ring, the vibration traveling up her arm. She snatched it up.

  “Gavin?”

  A woman replied, “I’m calling to confirm a delivery.”

  “A what?”

  Her doorbell rang.

  “Thank you for your time,” the woman said and hung up.

  Rosemary dropped the
phone and raced to the door. What if Gavin had gone out and gotten hurt? Maybe he’d been run over by a car? That could be the police at her door.

  She threw the door wide open.

  It wasn’t the police.

  It wasn’t anyone.

  Just a tall box standing erect like the monolith in that 2001: A Space Odyssey movie.

  She didn’t have to look at the label to know what it was and where it was from.

  Stepping around the box, she looked up and down the street for any sign of the person who could have left it there. The rain was beginning to pick up. The wet street was devoid of cars, other than the few familiar ones parked on either side.

  How the hell could someone have rung the bell and vanished without a trace so quickly?

  Breathing heavily, her hair drenched, she walked back to her porch, kicking the box over. The edge landed in a small puddle, splashing rainwater on her legs.

  “You son of a bitch.”

  She brought her foot down on the box, hearing the satisfying crunch of the submarine inside breaking. She kicked and stomped it until her legs were sore, the box a mangled mess.

  Slamming the door, she leaned against it, tears burning as they rolled down her cheeks. She would have to drag the box to the garbage so Dwight didn’t find it . . . again.

  Or would AdventureCo find a way to make sure he saw what she’d done?

  She couldn’t help feeling as if they were being watched, even in the house.

  When the phone rang, her bowels turned to ice. Slowly, she made her way to the handset, bringing it close to her ear but not allowing it to touch her skin, as if it would bite.

  “I told you not to do that, you dumb bitch.”

  She couldn’t control her trembling. She was unable to speak. Snot poured from her nose as she silently wept.

  “Now that makes two,” the gravelly voiced man said.

  Rosemary took a great breath and spat out, “Who the hell are you? I don’t care what you told me. I’ll destroy everything you send.”

  There was that chuckle again.

  “You don’t get it. Take a deep breath, sister, and listen to my words.”