Page 6 of Real

“Stay there until I open the garage from inside,” he tells me.

I don’t know how long I slept. I simply stare at him as he climbs out of the car and walks toward the entrance of an enormous house surrounded by a foggy gray sky and huge boulders of the same color.

I know I should stay inside, but I wonder if the ocean is beyond the fog. It takes me a few tries before I successfully open the door, then I step onto a gravel driveway. It’s just as isolated Dorian’s estate without another house in sight. Candlewick’s shoes are too big on my feet and flop awkwardly as I meander around to the back of the house. A thick wind blows against me, pushing me farther and farther until the clouds break and I realize I’m standing atop a cliff as high as a mountain. Below me, a dark ocean crashes toward the base of the cliffs, foaming white along its edges. It almost seems angry.

“Buddy!” H’s voice sounds alarmed.

I spin around and run for the driveway. The wind whips the hood off my head just as I round the corner. H’s shoulders sag with relief.

“We need to figure out how close the neighbors are before you go wandering around, okay?”

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s all right. There are some big windows inside that look out on the coast. You can see the ocean from there.”

The garage door is open, and H’s small yellow car is parked inside. I follow him up a flight of cement steps into a sprawling kitchen with big, gleaming countertops. Just like H promised, the adjoining dining room has floor-to-ceiling windows that display the cliff and angry waves beyond.

“Makes you feel small, doesn’t it?” H says.

Again, the question is different than all the others I’ve been asked today. It’s a question one human would ask another.

“Would you like some breakfast? I could cook you something,” I offer.

H considers me for a moment. “Are you hungry?”

Not “Do you eat?” or “How does your body process energy?” but “Are you hungry?”

“I can’t digest food. I only drink water,” I explain.

He doesn’t seem surprised by this. Sometimes my answers made the police gawk at me like an animal in a zoo.

“It’s kind of you to offer to cook for me, but I have arms and legs. I can cook for myself.”

“I’m sorry. I just wanted to help—”

“Thank you. But you don’t need to worry about taking care of me, Buddy. Just relax.”

If I don’t need to take care of him, what am I supposed to do? I already slept. What about him? He was driving half the night. It’s seven o’clock in the morning. He must be exhausted.

“I can prepare a bed for you. Freshen up the sheets?” I offer.

He smiles. “I can freshen up the sheets myself.”

“But I can do it.”

“I know you can, but you aren’t my servant. In fact, I’m here to help you.”

That idea is strange. The way H is treating me in general is strange. Even Candlewick was wary of me when he found me in my closet the first time. It took weeks before he became certain I wasn’t a robot or a sex doll.

H is already acting like I’m made of flesh and blood.

“Tell you what,” he says. “I still feel too keyed up from the drive to sleep. Maybe you could watch some TV with me. I could use the company.”

“Okay.”

I liked watching TV with Candlewick. He was generous with his affection when we laid in bed watching movies or soap operas together. I know that’s not how it will be with H, but it’s definitely better than sitting on the shelf in an evidence room.

“I saw a den on the other side of the house that had a TV. I don’t know what you and I are going to do with all this space. Seems like a waste.”

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