You are. You will.
Owen turned his back on the bedroom and went to the front door. Enough of this. Maybe he was crazy, but he wasn’t about to be a bad person because of it. If he was going to have a voice in his head the rest of his life, well, he’d get through it. He’d gotten through plenty of other things.
He shoved open the screen door and had taken three steps into the yard when the feeling hit. It came on fast again, like the good feeling the night before, but that was all the two feelings had in common.
This one seemed to grab his stomach and twist it. It wasn’t quite pain—not physical pain like from a cut. It was deeper than that. Harder to understand. Not hard to feel, though.
He saw Grandpa standing next to Grandma’s coffin at the funeral, ten years ago. Standing there wiping at his eyes while people came and went, putting a hand on his shoulder and trying to say nice things. He saw Grandpa later that same day, in his bedroom with the curtains pulled, lying there curled on his side, the sunlight filtered ugly blue through the heavy fabric. I’ll come out and fix you dinner in a bit, he had said. His voice sounded awful, like he was sick. Just give me some time, alright? Go out and take a walk or something. Lying in there trying not to full-out cry, and only partway succeeding.
It happened because of you, the gravel voice said.
“What?”
Her heart giving out like that. It was because of you. Because of how hard it was living with you.
That was bullshit.
Still the feeling inside him, deeper than pain and somehow worse, held its grip. It tightened. Twisted harder.
She died because of you. And he was crying because of you. Because how was he going to go on after that, without her and yet still having to put up with you?
“Shut up,” Owen said. “You’re lying.”
His whole life after that was going to be miserable. Nothing to look forward to anymore, and still all the work and drudgery of looking after you. And the fear, too. The fear of what would become of you when he was gone.
“It’s not true,” Owen said. He was gritting his teeth. Spitting the words. “You’re only me. You’re my own head screwing with me.”
Afraid not, the voice said, and a second later the feeling in his gut seemed to blossom and spread. Like a balloon full of poison had just burst in his blood. The images became more real, the way the naked girl on top of him had become more real. There was Grandpa at the graveside. Grandpa in his bedroom in the ugly light, making whimpering noises like a sick dog.
All because of you, Owen.
It didn’t seem to matter anymore that it was bullshit. He felt it anyway. Felt it all being his fault, all the pain Grandpa had inside him that he could never talk about. All the things that made his shoulders hunch down like he was hauling weight.
Go back in and break the statue. I promise this will all go away.
“He got it for her. He keeps it because of her.”
He can glue it back together. It’ll be fine.
“Why do you want me to break it?”
So I know you’ll do what I say.
“Give me something else to do.”
No. Go break it. You can tell him you just bumped into it.
“I never go in there. I won’t be able to explain what I was doing.”
You’ll have to make something up. That’s your business. Just go in there now and break it.
Owen made no move to do so. He stood there, his back to the screen door, the dirt yard blurring in his tears.
You want to feel this way all day? All night, too? You want to feel it so bad you don’t even get to sleep? I can make that happen. You know I can.
He knew. You didn’t have to be smart to know that much. His tears overran his eyes and spilled.
Go, Owen. The voice was soft now. Talking to him like a friend who cared. You’ll feel better as soon as you’ve done it. It’ll only take you a second.
Nodding now. Feeling his resistance let go. He wiped at his eyes, turned, and went back to the door.
*
In the weeks that followed, there were other tests. Most weren’t as bad as the one with the cat statue, but some were scarier, because they made one thing clear: He wasn’t going crazy. Whoever—or whatever—the Gravel Man was, Owen’s brain wasn’t making it up.
He knew it for sure two weeks after breaking the statue. It was another time when his grandfather had gone into town. The voice sent Owen into the desert on foot, with a hand shovel, to a place three hundred yards due south of the pole barn. There was a spot where three Joshua trees made a triangle, ten feet apart from each other. The voice told him to dig right in the center of the shape, and within thirty seconds he hit something hard that sounded like plastic.
It turned out to be a long rectangular case, and though he knew what it was even before he opened it, Owen took a sharp breath when he saw what was inside.
Have you ever held a gun before, Owen?