Some minutes later he heard the familiar deep rumble of Mom's SUV as it pulled to a stop outside. Dad came back into the room and startled Thor by gently lifting him off the table and setting him on the floor at his feet.

Dad's touch sent shivers of revulsion through him. He was unfit to be touched. Dad should know better. Dad should leave him alone, let him die in what little peace he could find. He fled from Dad's touch, crawled into a corner, and stared at the wall.

But Dad wouldn't leave him alone. He opened a door so Thor could see Mom's SUV, with Mom sitting behind the wheel. He walked out to the car and called Thor to hop in. Thor ignored him.

Exasperated, Dad came back and put a leash on Thor and dragged him to the car. Thor offered only pa.s.sive resistance. He didn't want to go with Dad, but he wasn't about to growl or snap or show his teeth. He didn't need any more guilt. He had more than enough already.

Dad pulled Thor to the car and lifted him onto the back seat. As Dad was getting into the front seat with Mom, Thor leaped out the window and slinked off toward the bushes that flanked Dr. Warner's office. Mom closed the car windows while Dad followed him into the bushes and dragged him out. Back in the car with no escape, Thor lay on the floor behind the front seat, hiding from Mom and Dad, but especially from Mom.

Mom started the car and drove off, but they didn't go to the House of Death, as Thor had expected, but home, as he'd dreaded. He just wanted to go where no humans could see his Badness.

Dad got out and walked around the car to the pa.s.senger side. He opened the door and called Thor out. Thor stayed put. Dad muttered, "Dammit," and dragged him out by his leash, and into the house.

The cellar door opened and Dad came bounding down the stairs with his arms filled with Thor's favorite canned dog foods, dog biscuits, a rawhide bone, a tennis ball, a Frisbee, a pound of pre-cut stew beef, and Thor's dish.

Thor figured the reason he was still alive was fairly obvious: The unthinkable Badness of killing Mom's brother required further punishment. He accepted his fate, and waited for Dad to punish him.

But Dad didn't punish him. He acted as if they were still fellow members of the Pack. Dad waved a brand-new Frisbee in his face (as if Thor were in any mood to play). When Thor didn't respond, he bounced a brand-new tennis ball in front of his nose (which Thor had turned toward the wall). What could Dad be thinking?

Dad rummaged through the grocery bags and pulled something out (Thor didn't see what, since his face was turned to the wall). He came back with an inch-thick cube of red beef and waved it in front of Thor's nose. The smell made Thor's stomach turn, and he pulled his face away, stood up, and started to retch.

Dad was stunned. He'd had no idea how profound Thor's guilt was. He knew the dog hadn't eaten in days, but now he suspected Thor was deliberately starving himself.

Dad threw the offending stew meat in the direction of the grocery bags, and sat on the floor next to Thor.

"Hey, hey," he said gently, "it's okay, Thor." He tried to pet him, but Thor's flesh twitched and crawled under his touch, and the dog looked around desperately for an escape.

He withdrew his hand, looked at Thor for a moment, took a deep breath, then stood up and walked across the room to a dirty, overstuffed chair, and sat down hard. He watched Thor's heaves subside - they'd brought up nothing - and was unable to hold back his tears. He trembled and began to sob silently, only his staccato breathing revealing his pain. Then the dam broke, and he wept openly, holding his face in his hands and shaking violently.

The sound caught Thor's attention as nothing else had. He wondered if he was to blame for Dad's sorrow, too. But something inside him shifted slightly. Instead of feeling guilty for making Dad cry, he felt guilty for not trying to cheer him up.

But he stayed put.

The worst was the day Mom had come down to the cellar. Thor had hidden in the darkest corner he could find, but Mom found him. She knelt beside him and he smelled her scent, so like the scent of her dead brother. His guilt swelled until he thought he would explode. He trembled violently and whimpered out of control. Mom leaned over and put her arms around his neck. For a moment he thought she was going to kill him, but she didn't. She just hugged him tight, suffocating him with her scent, suffocating him with guilt. He started hyperventilating and she recoiled in horror at his reaction. As soon as she let go of his neck, he slithered away from her, trembling so hard that it looked like he might be having some kind of seizure, and leaving a trail of urine in his wake. Devastated, Mom quietly retreated to the stairs and didn't come back.

After that, only Dad visited him in the cellar. Every evening he came down, and sometimes during the day. For a while he took Thor on forced walks through the woods, throwing the ball and Frisbee, uselessly pointing out small animals Thor might want to chase. But Thor only wanted to go back to the cellar and lie with his nose in a corner.

All attempts to cheer him up, to make him see that no one was angry with him, failed. Dad took to putting stew meat in Thor's bowl with his dog food in case he felt like eating in the dark, where no one could see him. Thor ate nothing.

Each day was the same, only worse. Each day Thor was a little thinner and a little weaker. He looked awful. His ribs were already beginning to stand out through his fur, which told Dad he was on a short schedule. If he didn't get Thor to eat soon, there'd be no point in prolonging his agony. He would take him back to Dr. Warner and have him put to sleep.

And now it was another day and Dad was coming down the stairs again. Thor was weak and light-headed. Dad was desperate. Thor could feel his desperation.

Dad sat down on a dusty old cot without turning on the light, and sighed heavily. He'd had a drink before coming home, and another in the kitchen before coming downstairs. He looked at Thor and almost started crying. He'd tried everything he could think of to pull Thor back into the world, but nothing had worked, and he was running out of time. Thor looked so bad that he didn't want the kids to see him. He'd just had a talk with Mom, and as little as either of them liked the idea, they'd agreed to take Thor to Dr. Warner and have him put down if Dad couldn't get him to eat. It wasn't fair to let him starve like this.

"C'mere boy," he tried for the umpteenth time. Thor didn't move.

He couldn't bear the thought of killing Thor. Kill him, because he saved the family?

The thought made him angry.

"G.o.dammit, Thor, get over here!"

Thor twitched, which wasn't much, but it was a reaction. For a brief instant, it almost looked as if he was going to get up and come over.

Dad tried again, gently.

"C'mere, Thor." He lowered himself onto the floor and patted the cement at his side, inviting Thor over. Thor lay on the floor, eyes averted, but he didn't crawl away and hide.

"C'mere, Thor." A little firmer.

Thor couldn't obey. He knew Dad wanted to love him, but Dad was confused. Thor didn't deserve love. He was a Bad Dog.

Dad knelt beside him and stroked his head gently. Thor turned away from the inappropriate caresses, deeply ashamed of his reaction to the petting.

But he'd enjoyed it. Dad's touch had felt good.

Dad sat down on the cot and pointed to the open s.p.a.ce at his side.

"Get up here," he said sternly. An order, not a request.

Thor didn't move. How could Dad give him an order? Thor wasn't part of the Pack anymore. Dad had no authority over him.

And yet he felt Dad's authority. And he felt an urge, almost a necessity to obey. He resisted his feelings.

"Get up here!" Dad commanded.

Thor looked up at him.

Why do you do this to me?

"Get up here!" Dad shouted, enraged. Thor's shame took another turn for the worse. Dad had given him a direct command, and now Thor was Bad for still another reason. Disobedience.

"Get up here!"

Thor struggled to refuse. Didn't Dad understand anything? He was a Bad Dog. Why call a Bad Dog?

"I said get up here, dammit, now get up here!"

Against his will, Thor felt his legs move, felt his tail tremble. He crawled toward the bed without lifting his body off the floor.

"C'mon! Get up here! Now!" Thor reached the edge of the bed and couldn't crawl any farther. He looked at the welcoming darkness underneath, but didn't try to hide. Instead, he slithered onto the bed like a snake, turning his face away from Dad's gaze. As soon as he was on the cot he stopped and shook all over.

The two of them sat at opposite ends of the cot with about three feet between them.

"Come here," Dad said more calmly, patting the open s.p.a.ce at his side. Thor looked around desperately at the opposite side of the room, as if there might be something there to save him.

"Come on," Dad insisted.

Shaking uncontrollably, he inched toward his Pack Leader, whose word somehow still had the power of Law.

"That's it," Dad encouraged as he came closer. Dad slid over to meet him halfway and put his hand on Thor's neck affectionately. Thor moved to pull away.

"STAY!"

Thor froze. He wanted to get away, he wanted to die, but he dared not disobey. He couldn't bear to add to his Badness. Dad put his hand on his neck again and stroked it gently. Thor's shaking got worse, but he didn't move away. Dad leaned down and put his face close to Thor's.

"That's a Good Dog," he said. Thor couldn't believe his ears. His shaking continued as Dad continued to pet him.

"That's a Good Dog," Dad repeated. "Good Thor. Good Dog."

Was Dad mad? Why did he taunt him, telling him he was a Good Dog? The words stung him, and yet - somewhere deep inside, they felt good.

Thor knew Dad was wrong, must be wrong, but his hand felt so good, and his voice was so soothing. He felt awful for enjoying the affection he didn't deserve.

But Dad would not give in.

"Good Thor," he said, again and again. "Good Doggie. Good Thor."

In spite of Thor's will, his tail began to wag, which only encouraged Dad's behavior.

"Good Dog, Good Thor."

Could Dad be wrong? Dad was never wrong, never. Could he be wrong now? Thor had violated the First Law of Nature, but Dad's Law had always superceded Natural Law, hadn't it?

Dad reached behind himself with one hand while he petted Thor with the other. He picked up something next to the bed, and when his hand came back, there was a small cube of raw beef in it. The smell hit Thor's nostrils with the force of a rolled-up newspaper. It was overwhelming, the first time food had smelled good - or smelled like anything - in days.

"Good Thor. Good, Good Thor." Thor's shaking couldn't possibly get worse, but it did.

He inched a little closer to Dad. His tongue lapped Dad's hand as Dad offered him the meat. His tail wagged jerkily, out of control. His body shook, and he realized with a start that Dad was shaking too.

And he realized with a start that Dad needed him, just as Brett and Teddy had needed him when they came for him at the House of Death. He'd never thought Dad had ever needed anything from him, not protection, not even love.

But he'd been wrong. He understood for the first time that Dad needed his love, just as he needed Dad's.

His Duty was more than protecting the Pack; it demanded that he love them as well.

Fearfully, he raised his head and kissed the corners of Dad's mouth, and tasted salt.

"Good Dog," Dad said quietly, strangely.

Afraid he might be making a terrible mistake, Thor gently took the cube of meat from Dad's hand and swallowed it without chewing. His stomach lurched for an instant at the sudden appearance of food after so many days empty, but it settled down quickly, and he felt ravenous hunger.

But he couldn't ask Dad for more food yet. Not until he'd done what he could to help his Pack Leader feel better. He gently kissed Dad's hand, and nervously, tentatively kissed his chin and mouth.

Dad held Thor tighter than he'd ever held him before.

"Good Dog," he whispered hoa.r.s.ely, as Thor licked the tears from his face.

"Good Dog."

end.