But if that had been the end, Justin wouldn't have thought of him so
much. It was years after his dog's death that he saw him again,
standing in the front yard, ready to chase a ball if it ever got thrown
again. Justin had gone to the window, certain that his eyes were
playing tricks on him, then more certain that they weren't. Roosevelt
just stood there, waiting.
After Justin had summoned the courage to go outside, Roosevelt had led
him the half-mile west to the new elementary school, up to the
east-facing double-doors that opened into the kindergarten. Inside,
the darkness seemed not merely a lack of light but more of something
alive, spreading outward from the room and into the playground, toward
Justin. He felt fixed to the spot, unable to do anything but shake, as
Roosevelt let out a long, slow howl beside him.
He could not remember how he got home. He was sitting in his
easy-chair, looking outside at the darkness. No Roosevelt. No vision,
nothing. But his shoes were on, the soles stuck with wet grass.
Justin had trouble getting a few hours' sleep that night.
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