Sheep and Wolves Read Online Free PDF

while.
    “Let me go!” I say.
    He doesn’t.
    I kick the Bus as hard as I can, and it must startle him, because he lets go.
    I kick the Bus again before walking away.
    Minutes later, I’m in bed all patched up.
    “What happened to you?” Annabelle says.
    “I accidentally smashed my finger with the car door.”
    “I’m sorry,” she says. Relieved.
    *
    Annabelle whistles while putting on her leg. She’s tone-deaf.
    “Do you ever feel it?” I say.
    “What?” she says.
    “Your leg. The missing one. What’s that called when you can feel it?”
    “Phantom limb. Yeah. My phantom used to be really painful. It felt like my leg was on fire almost all the time.”
    “I’m sorry.” There’s no relief in my face.
    “Nothing really helped until I started using the mirror box. It’s exactly what it sounds like. A box and mirrors. I put my good leg in one hole and my phantom in the other. With the mirror, it looked like I had two good legs. So I moved the phantom in sync with the reflection of my good leg and tricked part of my brain into believing I was controlling the phantom. The reason why my phantom hurt in the first place was because my mind considered it stuck. I had to set it free.”
    By now we’re in the kitchen. The key against my chest feels colder than usual. Or maybe I’m running a fever.
    “What happened to all the food in the fridge?” Annabelle says.
    “I accidentally left the door open and a lot of it went bad.” I pause. “No, that’s a lie. I can’t keep lying to you. I’ll show you what’s going on.”
    “Good,” she says, as if she’s been waiting for these words. Maybe she has.
    I take her hand, and lead her out of my present, into my past. We walk over the neatly-trimmed lawn, past the pawn-shaped fountain and the gnome-infested garden, to the corner of the yard exploding with weeds and wildflowers. It may only take a few moments to get here, but it’s not an easy path to travel with someone else. I squeeze Annabelle’s hand to keep myself from running away. She doesn’t complain.
    “In there,” I say. I point. “He’s in there.”
    The windows of the Bus are tinted, so she leans in close, and cups her hands around her eyes.
    She’s looking in more than a car, you know. I lived in this car. And even died a little.
    When she returns to face me, she says, “It’s just a guitar.”
    “You’re a guitar,” I say.
    “What?”
    “Sorry. I was being defensive.”
    “It’s OK.”
    There’s nothing wrong with her eyes, you know. She’s just not looking the right way.
    I want to tell her about Edward. I want to take off my bandages and show her my wounds. I want to let her hold my key. I would do these things, but there’s a big problem.
    I’m not on stage. A hundred thousand fans aren’t singing the words with me. I’m only Ed.
    So we go back inside.
    Through the tinted glass, I see a dark form scampering about the seats. He’s growling.
    “No,” I say. “No more food, Edward.”
    But he’s not a good boy, like I used to be. He doesn’t know when to stand down. So he slams his head against the wall, over and over.
    “Stop that, Edward,” I say.
    He yelps with every blow.
    Blood thrashes my innards.
    “I’m not going to help you anymore, Edward,” I say. “You’re nothing but a nuisance.”
    He won’t stop. I hear cracking.
    I punch the window with my bad hand and scream.
    At this point I realize that he’s not trying to get my attention. He’s after Annabelle.
    When she peeked in before, he must have seen the kindness in her eyes. He knows she would feed him.
    “It’s no use, Edward,” I say. “Annabelle slept through the last earthquake, and she’ll sleep through you.”
    I smile, because I think I have him. I think, for a few fleeting moments, that he’s going to lie on the seat, close his eyes, and suck his thumb.
    Instead, he begins devouring the seats. His sharp little teeth tear at the upholstery, lacerate the metal, mutilate the seatbelts.