[ WP ] scientists have invented a serum that allows animals to speak . Your dog was recently given the serum , but it appears the treatment has not worked . Your cousin , whom you have n't seen since your youth , comes to town to visit . As the door opens , your dog suddenly whispers in your ear : `` run . ''

**Realistic Fiction featuring characters from the Isla Vista massacre two years ago... ** 
 
 I turned immediately on my side, from where I'd been lying down trying to adjust his collar. `` What?'' I cocked my head incredulously. 
 
 `` Run.'' 
 
 `` Hi, James!'' I hear an enthusiastic voice lisp from around the hallway. My skin is crawling, and I do n't know why. 
 
 `` You wait til now to tell me this?!'' the words hiss at Buddy through gritted teeth like steam from a pressured pot. 
 
 `` James... you there? James? James Ellis?'' the voice cautiously probed. I could hear footsteps retracing themselves around the entryway, uncertain. I did n't want to say anything. Buddy and I were close, the way anyone would be if you cleaned their shit up after them every day, or ate their gym socks for breakfast. But that serum should have worked months ago. 
 
 `` Okay,'' I growled, `` First. Why have n't you said a single thing in the last two months. Second. I grew up with Peter. That guy was like family.'' 
 
 `` Does n't it surprise you,'' Buddy growled back while my jaw dropped with shock, `` Peter has n't said a word to you in ten years. Then last week, Elliot stabs three people, then shoots two and murders himself... and Peter comes out on media looking so sad and shocked - the big phony... yet suddenly, when a newspaper writes an article mentioning Elliot's diary notes of his father's cruelty to him, and you being asked to stand as witness in discerning motive for the Isla Vista killings, Peter comes crawling out of the woodwork and finds you without you even being on social media? Does that surprise you?'' 
 
 `` I mean.....'' 
 
 `` James! I can hear voices. What's going on? What are you doing?'' Footsteps slowly began trudging down the hallway. Boots. They were heavy steps. I did n't remember asking Peter to walk through my house, or inviting him in. 
 
 `` Run.'' 
 
 `` James!'' Peter's face lit up with a grin from ear to ear. `` It's been how long?'' he said as he reached down to give me a hand and pull me off the floor. I hesitated, then saw Peter's eyes flit to Buddy, who backed away slowly, then back to me. His brow pinched in curiosity between eyes that looked for too much information in my face to be a mere friendly reunion. 
 
 `` Yeah,'' I muttered, extending a hand and letting Peter pull me to my feet. It was an awkward hug, something I could tell he did n't want to do, because he just draped his arms over my shoulders, not pulling me into a bear hug the way he used to do when I was little. If he were n't gay I'd have thought he was preparing to kiss me. Evidently he was a little frustrated that I was n't excited to see him, but whether he was frustrated that his act was n't working, or that he hypothesized I had just become a jerk was n't clear. 
 
 `` So,'' he threw his arm behind me and walked me to my kitchen in a chipper but high-pitched voice. `` How've you been?'' 
 
 `` Good, good. I just started a fitness program...'' 
 
 `` James Ellis Fit, right?'' he said as he pulled a chair out from the table and motioned me to sit in it. I was tempted to tell him to stop doing this, this being my house and my chair, but I let it go and just sat down. 
 
 `` Yeah.'' 
 
 `` Good program. Saw it on late night tele last week. You looked ripped, man,'' he eyed my chest and arms as he sat down across from me. There was n't anything on the small, round table except a small red and white checkered tablecloth. 
 
 `` Thanks,'' I could feel my doubts being disarmed slowly. `` And you? I heard you just wrapped up the Hunger Games. How was that?'' 
 
 `` Oh, it was good. As Elliot may have told you -'' 
 
 `` Elliot and I have n't spoken in two, maybe three years,'' I said coldly. Peter's face fell, but he immediately smiled again trying to keep up appearances. 
 
 `` Well,'' he laughed in a pathetic sort of way, `` I know you two were friends growing up, so I just wanted to... you know...'' 
 
 `` You were talking about your movie?'' 
 
 `` Oh yeah, right!'' Peter chuckled, and the fakeness of his enthusiasm was so evident now that he had to know I knew. 
 
 `` Why are you here, Pete?'' 
 
 `` What do you mean?'' he seemed troubled with the directness of my gaze. 
 
 `` Pete, you're a busy man, you've never had time for me let alone your son. Elliot was insane, but he was n't dumb either. Just why are you here?'' 
 
 `` Well,'' he stroked his chin looking down at the table. The room was eerily quiet for about five seconds, the truest seconds I'd felt since he walked in though. Then he sighed and relaxed his arms on the table, sitting upright, and facing me full on. `` The AG has depositioned you to testify next week at the hearing, and I wanted to visit to make sure you tell the truth.'' 
 
 `` And why would you need to do that? Are you saying I'm a liar?'' 
 
 `` No,'' he laughed again in that pathetic anti-social, creepy way. `` I'm just saying... I want to come here to... encourage'' it looked like he'd just discovered the word for the first time in his life, and was happy as a pirate finding buried treasure,'' to encourage'' he emphasized, `` you to be impartial and fair in your account of Elliot's childhood. 
 
 `` You mean the years when you abandoned him for Soumaya?'' I could see his skin start to crawl, and he scratched beneath the collar on his designer polyester bomber. I could n't hold back now. Elliot was a mass murderer, no question about that, but you do n't just become a killer out of nowhere. And the things I heard and saw... `` When over and over again she attacked and ridiculed him in front of you and his family, and you took her side every single fucking time? Those times? Or the time when she kicked him out of your house, and you did n't so much as lift a finger to intervene for him? You think maybe that has something to do with the loneliness he felt all his life? Or maybe you were just too wrapped up in your documentaries and film career to wonder if maybe you were n't the model father you portray yourself to be on CNN. Is that it?'' I was leaning forward, intense, right fingertips pressed against left fingertips with elbows propped on the table. It felt good to say the truth. 
 
 Pete however was n't recoiling anymore. There was something odd about the way his cheek muscles moved. It was almost like he was holding back hatred. I expected him to be troubled by these accusations, but it seemed he was more troubled by something that was going on inside him. And immediately I knew. I knew where Elliot came from. And I knew where the killer inside him was born. My stomach dropped ten stories, and as I remembered Buddy's advice, Pete drew a tanto knife from his belt and laid it on the table in front of him. 
 
 `` I was hoping it would n't come to this,'' he mourned, pretending to be the victim of my own cruelty, the same way Elliot had pretended all those women were at fault for rejecting him instead of taking responsibility for his social awkwardness and the trauma that put a chip on his shoulder. Both these people, father and son, were evil down to the bone, and would stop at nothing to maintain their egos: Elliot the god of sexual justice and Peter the famous director.... 
 
 Suddenly Peter winced and doubled to the side, crying out in rage and pain. `` Run!'' I heard Buddy gargle through spit and blood. I backed out of my chair and stumbled backward into the cabinet, sending china plates and bowls shattering to the floor. Buddy whined in pain as Pete grabbed the knife and plunged it under the table out of sight. For a split second, I wanted to lunge forward and save him who was giving his life for me. But then I heard again through another whine, `` Run! You run! Go!'' And I remembered how important it was for me to testify, that it would destroy this man more than anything I could do to him physically here and now. So I grabbed my jacket, turned, and fled out the door. 
 
 `` You come back here you son of a bitch, do n't leave me like this! Your fucking dog attacked me, you saw that! I'll sue......'' I could hear him raging behind me. I knew his leg was too mauled for him to pursue me far, so I darted out to the parking garage and leaped into my Bugatti, fired up the engine, and shot out like an 80s nightclub laser toward the Santa Barbara skyline, where i'd hide somewhere until the hearing next week. And as I hit the highway, I felt warm tears wet the front of my shirt as I remembered how good those years were with Buddy and how much I'd miss him.
