I eyed the sleeping lizard snuggled in the blanket and wondered what the fuck. If I hadn’t been stone cold sober I’d have thought myself delusional when it mimed wanting food. Could its human mannerisms be a sign it belonged to someone and had escaped?
When it scooted into the house I’d imagined myself chasing it with a broom, destruction happening as it evaded capture. I blamed childhood cartoons for that visual. However, rather than go nuts trying to get it out, I ended up feeding it.
A lot.
How the fuck did something the size of a cat eat so much? And why did I allow it to snooze on the couch? Probably because outside was too damned cold and the reptile was kind of cute. Not to mention, it would act as research since I’d given my book hero a pet lizard. Funny how the addition of a sidekick had unlocked my brain and the words had flowed until my coffee ran out.
Speaking of which, I prepped myself a fresh cup and went back to my desk, my fingers flying as Brett, locked in a cell, befriended the scaly visitor and somehow taught it to undo the latch on his door.
I finished that chapter with them fleeing amidst a hail of bullets. The lizard, whom I’d name Percy, perched upon Brett’s shoulder.
Would my fans like it? Who knew. It just felt good to suddenly have inspiration again. At worst, my editor would demand I remove Percy, but at least I’d have a finished manuscript to work with if that happened.
With dawn approaching, I headed to bed, cracking a giant yawn. I might have slept right through to dinner if not for the nightmare.
The same one as every night. Me, lying atop a roof, flat on my belly. Eye pressed to my scope. Finger on the trigger. Waiting for my orders.
“Shoot.”
The robed figure that entered the room never stood a chance. Only after I fired did I realize something was amiss. The target is too short. Our informant had been fooled. The decoy I took out turned out to not be the terrorist we’d been after, but a boy dressed and veiled to look like him.
It appeared the terrorists had been tipped off about the hit. As the other soldiers and I fled, racing on foot for the rendezvous point, the ambush struck. Explosions. Gunfire. Screams. Blood. Pain. So much pain and not just from the chunk torn out of my leg. My fellow Marines, friends, brothers, falling like dominoes. I could still taste the acrid dust of desperation as I crawled for cover. I made it only seconds before I passed out and woke buried in a pile of bodies.
With faces I knew.
Flesh rigid in death. The bugs already swarming like something out of a horror movie.
The tiny slaps on my face had me shaking my head, muttering, “No, no, no,” until I woke abruptly, sweating like a pig with my heart racing, my leg aching, and staring eyeball to eyeball with the lizard.
A lesser man might have screamed. I’d seen worse.
Its paw remained on my cheek as if to calm me.
I offered a gruff, “Thanks for waking me up.”
The lizard cocked its head before patting its belly.
“Hungry again, eh? Let’s see what we can wrangle.” The distraction proved welcome.
The little creature stiffened when I scooped it from my chest and rose, holding it tucked against me. It relaxed when I placed it on my shoulder then clung to me as I headed downstairs, proving that the scene that I’d written in my book would actually work.
We hit the kitchen, which glowed with sunlight, the late morning sun beaming through the windows. A peek in the fridge showed a few eggs and a rasher of bacon left, which, along with some toast, made a nice breakfast. The lizard got most of it.
Since I’d suspected it might be a bottomless pit again, I’d cooked seven eggs, nine slices of bacon, and toasted the rest of the loaf of bread.
The little bugger dug in and put my three eggs, two toast, and three crispy slices to shame. When I brought out the jam and slathered some on a piece of bread for both of us, it didn’t take a genius to figure out the lizard liked it because, next thing I knew, it tried to stick its head in the open jar. When it didn’t quite fit, a long tongue emerged to scour the glass.
Guess I’d better add jam to my next grocery delivery. Might have to double my food order if the bugger stuck around. Had to say, I kind of hoped it did.
I leaned my forearms on the table and stared at it. “You need a name,” I declared.
It chittered in reply, the cadence reminding me of words. An insane comparison to make. I must be more starved for companionship than I realized. Then again, I used to talk to Buster, who used to woof back in reply.
“I called the lizard in my book Percy.” I pointed to it and repeated, “Per—cy.”
It shook its head and held out its paws, once more talking in reptile.
“Don’t like that, hunh. We’ll figure something out if you stay. But first thing, I should probably wander into town and see if anyone’s reported a lizard missing.” Because I knew the heartache of losing a beloved pet.
