Free John Dies at the End by David Wong

pieces in the parking lot. The worst part would have been that as I was bleeding and feeling teeth breaking off in my mouth, I would’ve spent every second of the pummeling knowing I deserved it.
    So Big Jim was at the party. With Robert? What did that mean? And why was his dog there? Did he bring his dog to every party? Had he gone blind, and was Molly his Seeing Eye dog? Was it the dog’s birthday?
    I felt like an idiot. Here I was toting the animal all over town, putting myself at grave risk in the process, when I could have just left her at the party where her owner was.
    I scrambled to think of how I would approach him with all this, the soy sauce and Robert and his unnaturally smart dog.
    Wait. Driveway’s empty.
    So? Jim probably tied on a good drunk and was now sleeping it off at a girlfriend’s house.
    Bullshit. Big Jim doesn’t drink, and wouldn’t leave his kid sister at home alone all night.
    I got out of the car and motioned for the dog to follow. She didn’t. I called to her and patted my thigh, which I’ve seen other people do with dogs so I figured it must work. Nothing. I did this for several minutes, the dog not even looking at me now, sniffing around John again. I realized no amount of thigh slapping, not even an all-out blues hambone, would move this animal. I leaned into the car and started tugging at her collar. She backed off, growling, looking at me with a disdain I didn’t think canines were capable of.
    “Come on, dammit! You made me drive here!”
    Through all of this, John still didn’t stir. I think that was what freaked me out most of all. He was laying there in the uncomfortable bucket seat, twisted and slumped like a crash-test dummy. More passed out than asleep. I reached in and grabbed roughly at Molly’s collar.
    I’m going to skip past the next ten minutes and just say that I wound up carrying Molly up to the house. The plan was to tie her up around back and slip away unnoticed, but as I passed by the front door, it opened.
    Not all the way, just the few inches allowed by the security chain. I was hit by that jittery caught-in-the-act feeling. I turned, huge dog in my arms, to see the pale, freckled, utterly confused face of Jim’s sister. No sign she even recognized me, or maybe she just didn’t want to acknowledge where she recognized me from.
    Hey! Weren’t you in my Special Ed class?
    I quickly propped my chin over the dog’s back and spoke. “Um, hey there. I, uh, have your dog.”
    The door closed. I stood there for an awkward moment, feeling the odd urge to drop the animal and run. I heard Cucumber’s voice from inside, shouting, “Jim! The guy that stole Molly is here!”
    I sat the dog down and grabbed hold of her collar before she could bolt. The door snapped open again and I half expected Big Jim to show himself, his Irish copper-topped head appearing a foot and a half above where the girl’s had been. But it was the sister again, saying, “He’s coming. You better bring me the dog now. Or you can have it if you want it.”
    “What?”
    “The dog. You can have it. That one is worth a hundred and twenty-five dollars but you can have it free because it’s used.”
    “Oh, no. I don’t need a . . . I mean, uh, it’s yours, right?”
    “Jim’s. But he doesn’t like it, either. He’s coming.”
    “What, is there something wrong with it?”
    Her eyes flicked quickly from me, to the dog, and back. Is that fear ? Something make her nervous about this dog?
    You and me both, honey.
    “No,” she said, looking at her shoes.
    “Then why’d you pay a hundred twenty-five dollars for it?”
    “Have you ever seen a golden retriever puppy?”
    “Your brother isn’t here, is he?”
    She didn’t answer.
    “I mean, there’s no car here. Doesn’t he drive a Jeep or something? Big SUV?”
    She looked over, then said, “We have a gun in the house. Do you want the dog or not?”
    “I—what? No. Where’s Big Jim?”
    “Who?”
    “Jim, your