“No talking or yelling or anything like that while I’m not talking to you. We don’t have neighbors, anyway. All that bullshit will do is annoy the fuck out of me and make me take your cookies. Understand?”
“Yes, Sir.”
I wish I dared risk reaching in and ruffling his hair, because I suspect he’s got a raging case of skin hunger, but this stray and feral dog still poses too much of a bite risk for me to do that.
“If I see any signs you’ve tried to get loose, you’ll get punishment. Worse, you might make me rethink not wanting to hurt those little boys. Don’t make me do that. I have cameras on you, so I can see what happens.” Again, that’s a mindfuck, but it might help keep him compliant.
He nods. “Yes, Sir.”
I take an unopened bottle of ibuprofen from the bag, show him it’s sealed, open it and shake three tablets out, and then toss them to him. I won’t leave the whole bottle with him because I don’t trust him not to deliberately OD on them in an attempt to kill himself.
“You can sleep,” I tell him. “You can sit here. You can stand and move around as far as the chain allows you to. Youwillkeep this bathroom clean, though. You can use the toilet, so there’s no excuse to shit or piss yourself.” I glance at my watch. “It’s almost noon. I will bring you more food by six. Don’t eat all your cookies.” I want to test his self-control as much as I do his obedience.
I step back to close the door.
“Thank you, Sir.”
That pulls me up short. I pause, studying him for a moment. “You’re very welcome,” I gently say before I ease the door shut and secure it.
* * * *
Hearing the full story from Eddie about how he and Carter came to be—and inevitably came apart at the seams—and the lasting damage Elsa Pfeiffer and Coltrane Cunningham wrought on both their psyches, makes me see the man in an entirely new light.
It also convinces me the decision to turn Eddie into my pet is not just the right decision, but it’s the only decision I can make.
I have a soft spot for strays. Sue me.
I spend the next few hours putting the house into order for long-term residence, doing research, and planning my next steps. A few times, I hear the sink tap run, and the toilet flushes twice.
He doesn’t knock or make any noise other than that.
When five o’clock rolls around, I take Eddie a hot dinner of a large bowl of chicken noodle soup, another large bowl of steamed vegetables, and a huge hunk of fresh bread from a local bakery with butter already on it. I find him sitting on the floor where I left him.
“Good boy! Don’t move.” I set the food—in plastic bowls, thank you very much—on the floor just inside the door where he can reach them. “Wait for the soup to cool a little so you don’t burn your mouth. You have to earn utensils.”
He nods. “Thank you, Sir.”
“It’s five o’clock.” I shake out four more tablets from the bottle of ibuprofen and leave them in the bowl with the bread. I tell him the time so he understands I came back an hour earlier than I told him before. I want him learning to trust that I mean it when I say I’m not going to hurt him, and that I will take care of him, and also that I can be unpredictable in good ways.
He’s smart enough to have learned from the earlier kick that I can be unpredictable in bad ways, too.
“Show me the cookies.”
He holds up the package, and from the empty spaces in the plastic tray, it looks like he only ate two.
“Good boy!” I say, my tone light and pleased. “You can have three more with dinner.”
“Thank you, Sir.”
“You’re very welcome.” I don’t want to address him as boy because I’m not yet sure how Elsa and Cunningham addressed him, and it’s too early to start calling him pet.
This must be done in stages, but it sure as hell helps to have him pre-trained, in some ways.
Thank you, Carter.
* * * *
I come back two hours later to find Eddie’s not only finished his meal, but he washed and dried the bowls and left them neatly stacked by the door.
