He considered going against Deke’s wishes and calling 911 after all. He could request paramedics come out and take a look at Deke. Would they examine the blood, too? Deke hadn’t looked hurt—he certainly hadn’t been bleeding from anywhere that David could see—but that blood had come from somewhere.
In the end, he decided not to call. Instead, he checked in on Deke before leaving the house. The big man lay like a beached whale on his mattress, one pasty leg dangling over the side of the bed. His snores were immense, thunderous rumblings. For a moment, David considered flipping on the lights . . . but he feared what that light might reveal of Deke’s bedroom. Before he could chase the thought away, he imagined Deke sprawled out across a mattress sodden and black with blood, carpentry nails driven into the hardwood floor like booby traps.
“Deke?” It came out in a whisper.
Deke’s only response was a guttural snort.
“Okay,” David said. “Good night.”
He left the house, thumbing the lock on the side door before pulling it closed behind him. The hunger he’d felt for hours had fled, leaving in its wake a sickening hollowness. He knew that when he went to sleep that night, he would see that bloody stew floating in Deke’s toilet behind his eyelids. All of a sudden, the thing with the geese seemed trivial.
When he got home, Kathy met him in the foyer. In a pair of gold silk pajamas and her hair pulled back in a ponytail, she was already made up for bed.
“Where’ve you been?”
“I stopped at Deke Carmody’s house,” he said, stepping out of his shoes. “I caught him wandering around outside in his underwear.”
“What?”
She followed him into the bedroom, and he told her what had happened as he undressed. Once he finished, he said, “What do you think? Should I call someone? Paramedics?”
“Maybe it’s cancer.”
“What is?”
“All the blood,” Kathy said. “He could be sick.”
“Maybe. But what about the other stuff? The condition of his house and the nails in the windowsills?”
“Early stages of dementia?” Kathy suggested.
“Since when?”
“It’s just a guess.”
“I don’t feel good about this. Not at all. I should call an ambulance or something.”
“If he asked you not to call, then you should respect that.”
He considered this for perhaps five seconds.
Kathy said, “Maybe he’s going through some medical issue and doesn’t want anyone to know. You just happened to find him—”
“Standing outside in his underwear, yeah,” David finished.
“Does he have any family that you know of? Someone we could call?”
“I have no idea. Even if I knew that he did, I wouldn’t know how to get in touch with anyone.”
Kathy sighed. “I’m just not sure what to tell you except that, for now, you should respect his wishes and not call anyone.”
“Yeah,” David said, though he wasn’t sure he actually agreed.
“It’s probably an illness. When was the last time you were over at his house?”
“Not for a while.”
“Isn’t he on disability?”
“For falling off scaffolding at a construction site,” David said. “Nothing to do with cancer. Or dementia or anything like that.” Or with a bowlful of blood, was what he wanted to say. “It was so weird, Kath.”
“Then go check on him first thing in the morning. But if the man doesn’t want you prying into his private business, you have to respect that.”
“Do I? I’ve got no responsibility beyond that?”
“No.”
“Even if it is dementia and he doesn’t know what’s good for him? And that he might be putting himself in harm and not even realizing it?”
“You’re hypothesizing. Talk to him tomorrow and figure things out then. He might have a clearer head by then and be ready to talk to you. You’ll have a better picture of what you’re dealing with, too, and can make an informed decision.”
“Spoken like a true therapist,” he said, exhausted.
“That’s what I am,” she said. “Wait till you get my bill.”
He smiled at her. “Okay. You’re right.”
“Are you hungry?”
“I was,” he said. “Now, not so much.”
“I was going to go to bed. Would you rather I stay up with you for a while?”
“No, hon. Get some sleep.” He kissed her forehead.
In the kitchen, he began to fix himself a turkey sandwich, but then thought of the geese, and decided to go for some ham and cheese on white bread. It wasn’t that he was hungry, but he knew he had to eat something. After the first bite, his hunger returned, and he not only devoured the whole sandwich, but a handful of Doritos and a Coke, too. Just as he finished, Ellie appeared in the kitchen doorway.
“Hey, Little Spoon,” he said, getting up from the table. “What are you doing up so late?”
“Bad dream,” she said.
“Monsters?”
Solemnly, Ellie nodded.
“Come on,” he said. “Let’s tuck you back in.”
The bedsheets were in a ball at the foot of the bed, the comforter on the floor. As Ellie climbed into bed, David gathered up the blankets, then tucked Ellie beneath them. He smoothed back the hair from her forehead, then planted a kiss there.
“You were there,” she said. “In my nightmare.”