The next morning she was gone.

Toby lay in the cave, staring at the ceiling. There were no stalagmites. Any good cave was supposed to have stalagmites. Or was it stalactites that hung from the ceiling, and stalagmites that grew from the floor?

It didn't matter. The cave didn't have either.

This sure was a small cave. No wonder Owen left. You couldn't live in a tiny little cave like this for your entire life.

1977.

"I was told this job had upward mobility."

"It does."

"It does not! I'm still scraping rust stains off the floor!"

"You don't just climb the ladder automatically. It needs to be earned."

"I have earned it. I work my ass off here. Three people who started after me have moved out of The Pit."

"It's not all about hard work. Part of it is attitude. You want to work your way into an office, you need to start shaking some hands and building some skills. I've watched you, Floren. Sitting by yourself in the lunchroom is no way to work your way out of The Pit. What else are you good at? I don't know. Show me."

Toby knelt in front of Melissa's tombstone.

"I don't even know what to say to you. I'll just sit here and be quiet, if that's okay."

"Sleepin' in a cave, oh yeah, I'm sleepin' in a cave. I'm feelin' pretty brave, 'cuz I'm sleepin' in a cave. I think..."

What rhymed with cave? Fave. Pave. Save. Rave. Wave.

"I think it is my fave, to be sleepin' in a cave. The path outside I'll pave, so I can get inside my cave. My money I will save, 'cuz the rent's really cheap when I'm sleepin' in a cave, except when I've still got a mortgage payment because I still usually sleep at my real house. About it I will rave, the love for sleepin' in a cave. When you walk outside please wave, to me sleepin' in a cave..."

"He's only been here a week! How did he get out of The Pit before me?"

"Are you kidding? Look at his hair!"

"You should bash your head against the wall until it's completely splattered," Larry suggested. "I mean, hit it really really hard. I bet if you put your mind to it, you could crack that skull in under five hits. Go on, prove me wrong." hard. I bet if you put your mind to it, you could crack that skull in under five hits. Go on, prove me wrong."

Nick giggled. "Put your mind to it. That's kind of funny."

"Ha! I didn't even plan that! Go ahead, Toby, put your mind to it and splatter your mind! I want to see your thoughts trickling down the wall."

"Both of you, go away."

"I don't think we're going anywhere for a while."

"Of course I'll take you back," said Mr. Zack. "You're always welcome here. You know that."

"Thank you, sir."

"You don't have to call me sir. Who put those crazy ideas into your head? Sir. When I hit a hundred years old, you can call me sir. Until then, it's Mr. Zack. This is great timing, because guess who just announced that he's retiring?"

"Who?"

"Mr. Koerig. How would you like to become a butcher?"

Toby knew that spending this much time in a cave was unhealthy, both physically and mentally. Even prehistoric cavemen probably didn't spend this much damn time in caves. It was a sign of a sick, sick brain.

He couldn't help himself.

He just knew that if he waited long enough, someday Owen would walk through that cave entrance.

And one day, he did.

CHAPTER E EIGHTEEN.

"Where in the name of fuck have you been?" Toby demanded. "You selfish, inconsiderate, uncaring dickhead. Do you think I can even describe what I've gone through waiting for you?"

Then they hugged.

"I can't believe you're back. You haven't gone completely wild, right? You're not going to kill me?"

Owen gave him the thumbs-down sign.

"You still remember! Can you talk now? Do you speak fluent English? Where have you been? You've got a lot of explaining to do."

Owen signed: Home. Home.

"Yeah, you're home now. Or are you just surprised that I'm in your home? I've taken pretty shitty care of the place, as you can see." Owen's eye seemed to have healed just fine. His arm had a bare patch and a scar where the bullet had hit it, but there was no indication that he was having any problems using the limb.

Owen tapped his belly.

"You're asking me for food? Fifteen seconds after you get back? Get your own damn food."

Owen tapped his belly, then pointed at Toby.

"You want to give me me food? I don't want to eat anything you would scavenge. Where the hell have you been?" food? I don't want to eat anything you would scavenge. Where the hell have you been?"

Owen repeated the food food gesture. gesture.

"Don't get impatient with me. You're the one who's been gone for a couple of years. You want me to get food?"

Yes.

"Food for me?"

Yes.

"So you want me to get food for myself? You mean pack food, like for a trip?"

Yes.

"Why?"

Come with me.

"Are we going somewhere far?"

Yes.

"Okay, I'll go home and get some stuff. Will you still be here when I get back?"

Yes.

"Do you promise?"

Yes.

"What are you going to do while I'm gone?"

Sleep.

"Fair enough."

Toby filled his backpack with food, mostly granola bars that had probably gone stale in his pantry but which he assumed were still edible and nutritious. They were certainly a lot healthier than the crap he'd been eating for the past couple of years. He refilled the thermos with water, and double-checked the first-aid kit that he always carried. He'd used up quite a few of the Band-Aids from chips of cave wall hitting his arms and face, so he added a few more from the bathroom supply.

Toilet paper, a poncho, a spare set of shoes, and he was ready to go.

There was a carton of chocolate ice cream in the freezer. Owen would love that. He probably hadn't enjoyed a treat in years. But it would melt before Toby got back to the cave, and he didn't want to drag an ice chest out there along with his heavy backpack.

And, most important, Owen didn't deserve ice cream. Why even consider such a thing? What Owen deserved was a great big punch in the nose.

Still, he was elated to have him back.

He hiked back out to the cave, half expecting Owen to have abandoned him again. But the monster lay on the ground, curled up, fast asleep. Toby lay down next to him. He couldn't fall asleep-he still had concerns about his personal safety-but he did snuggle with the monster until sunrise.

As they walked, Toby realized that he'd regained his appreciation for the beauty of the forest. Sunlight streamed through the canopy, illuminating a world of green. Birds chirped. Flowers bloomed. The entire forest was filled with the potential for discovery, for adventure.

And, yeah, it all sounded like a bad greeting card, but Toby didn't care. Despite a lack of sleep, he was wideawake. He was as excited about this journey as if he held a skull-and-crossbones-adorned treasure map, leading him to the location of a long-buried pirates' stash of gold, silver, and jewels. He was in a cobweb-filled corridor of a pyramid, avoiding poison-tainted death traps while seeking the sarcophagus of an ancient emperor. He was seated in the cockpit of a plane he'd built himself, flying over the South American jungle, searching for a lost tribe.

Owen led, of course. Sometimes Toby spoke to him. More often, he remained silent, lost in happy thought.

He got tired more quickly than Owen, and insisted on more rest breaks. When Owen balked, Toby reminded him of the whole "gone for two years" issue and Owen relented. They never rested for very long. Toby was too excited to resume their journey.

As darkness fell, Toby built a makeshift shelter out of some branches. It was about as makeshift as you could possibly get, but it only collapsed once during the night. This time, Toby had absolutely no trouble falling asleep. He dreamed of his mother making him a peanut butter and strawberry jelly sandwich, her wrists unscarred.