Never Let You Go (Never #2)

by Monica Murphy

  She’s gone.

  “I knew I shouldn’t have let her stay in the yard for that long,” Katie says with a sob, burying her face against my chest. I hold her close, offering murmured words of encouragement, but my heart feels like a stone, heavy and gray.

  Guilt swamps me, too. It was more my idea to leave her out there than Katie’s. I tested the fence, figuring it was in decent shape and she couldn’t bust through any of the boards. She’s not that strong of a dog. There weren’t any holes beneath the fence, either, and she’s not much of a digger. She had the back porch, her new doghouse, and her food and water dish. There was food still left in her dish, making me think she’s been gone for a few hours at least.

  That realization doesn’t give me much hope that we’ll find her.

  “Do you think someone took her?” Katie asks a few minutes later.

  I think of the night when I thought I saw someone out in the woods behind the house. Mrs. Anderson calling the cops. If there were thieves in the neighborhood, what would they want with a mutt like Molly? It makes no sense. She just got out. That had to be it.

  “I don’t know, baby.” I wish I could offer her comfort, but she’s inconsolable. Hell, I wish I could break down and cry like a baby, too. I love Molly. I don’t like the idea of her being out there alone. What if she was hit by a car but she’s still alive, suffering on the side of the road? What if she’s stuck in someone’s backyard? The possibilities are endless.

  Endless.

  “Maybe she just ran away,” I suggest, wincing at the incredulous look Katie shoots me. She shakes her head, her lips thinned into a tight line.

  “No way. Why would she leave? She had it made with us. Anything she could ever want.”

  “She’s still young, just around a year, according to the vet. She might be inclined to take off if she was tempted,” I point out.

  “Who would tempt her?”

  “It doesn’t have to be a who. More like a what.” Maybe a cat taunted her and she decided to somehow get over the fence and chase it. I’ve seen stranger things.

  Hell, I don’t know. I’m just scrambling for suggestions.

  “What if . . .” Katie pauses and licks her lips, her eyes full of so much sadness the sight makes me ache to comfort her. But how? Nothing I can do will make her happy unless I can conjure up Molly, and that’s not happening. I wish it would. “What if she got hit by a car and she’s on the side of the road? What if she’s still alive but hurt?” The tears come back, harder this time. She put my very fear into words.

  “Let’s go look for her,” I say, and Katie silently agrees.

  We drive around the neighborhood, along the busier streets surrounding Katie’s house, but there’s no sight of Molly whatsoever. I suggest making a missing poster, glad that my laptop is back at Katie’s so I can work on putting one together as soon as we get home. But all the while Katie is quiet, tears continuously running down her cheeks accompanied by muffled sobs. She’s cried so much, rubbed at her eyes again and again, that her tears no longer streak black with mascara. She’s cried all of her makeup away.

  We arrive back at her house over an hour later, both of us exhausted and sad. She turns to look at me, her expression suddenly filled with fierce determination as she clenches her hands into fists and rests them on her knees.

  “What about the woods?” she asks quietly.

  “What about them?” I glance toward her house, hoping to see Molly curled up on the front porch waiting for us, but she isn’t.

  “Maybe she’s out in the woods. We should go look.” She unclenches her fists and reaches for the door handle. I reach for her instead, stopping her mid-action. She glances down at my hand on her arm, then looks up at me, frowning so hard that little furrow is between her brows. “What?”

  “Slow down. Let’s make a plan first.”

  “Plan for what?” Good question. I just think she needs to calm the fuck down. “Our dog is out there somewhere, Will. We need to find her. She could be out in those woods, hurt and defenseless, and a wild animal could come upon her. She’d have no way to win a battle like that, especially if she’s injured.” She jerks her arm out of my hold and opens the car door, practically jumping out of it.

  I follow after her as she reenters the house and goes to her bedroom. She’s changing out of her clothes with grim determination, kicking off the black flats on her feet and stepping out of the skirt she’s worn all day before pulling on a pair of jeans that were left draped across a chair. “What are you doing?” I ask her.

  “Wearing something better for searching through the forest.” She snaps her jeans closed and then grabs a pair of socks out of her dresser drawer. “Are you going with me?”

  “Do you want me to go with you?” She’s been acting weird all week, but now I know why. Thanks, Lisa Swanson. And now that Molly is missing—granted, I’m not happy about this, I’m just as torn up as she is—she’s acting like a woman possessed.

  She sits on the edge of her bed and slips a sock on each foot. “Yes. I’ll need your help, Will. I can’t go out in those woods alone.”

  “Katie.” She doesn’t acknowledge me, just bends down to grab a pair of black Nikes and puts one on her foot, tying it into a stranglehold of a knot. “Katie, listen to me.”

  But she doesn’t. She’s so caught up in her worry, in her mission to search, she’s unable to focus on anything else. I go to her, falling onto my knees in front of her and reaching for her face, cupping her cheeks with my hands and forcing her to look at me.

  “Take a deep breath,” I tell her, my gaze never leaving hers. Her eyes are wide, damp and red from all the crying, and she looks like she’s barely holding it together. “We’re going to find her. But you need to calm down. You’re so frantic you’re not thinking straight.”

  She closes her eyes and takes a deep breath, letting it out slowly. I press a kiss to her lips and she reaches for me, clinging to me as I wrap her up in my arms. We hold each other silently, her tears dampening my shirt, and then I slowly withdraw from her, holding on to her shoulders and giving her a little shake. “Do you want to do this? I can go by myself if you’re too tired . . .”

  “No,” she says firmly. “I want to do this. I have to help you.”

  We put on heavier coats and cut through the space between two houses where there’s no fence. It’s the path kids take to go into the forest, where they smoke or drink or do whatever it is that teenage kids like to do in secret. I know I went to many a party when I was a teen in woods very similar to this.

  I have a flashlight that Katie keeps in her bedside drawer and she has a bigger one that’s stashed in the kitchen. We call Molly’s name, our voices echoing among the towering pines. The light wind that’s blowing ruffles the branches, making me turn every time one of the heavier branches snaps and weaves, but otherwise we hear nothing.

  We see nothing.

  Katie’s determined to go farther in, but after about an hour I tell her we need to stop. It’s too late and we need to get rest before we start our search again in the morning.

  “I need time to make the missing poster, too, so we can start distributing that in the morning as well,” I tell her as she reluctantly turns around and heads back toward her neighborhood.

  She nods, but it’s like she’s not really listening. “What if we can’t find her?”

  “We will,” I say firmly, but she stops in the middle of the trail, reaching out to shove at me.

  “But what if we don’t?” She’s yelling, her voice is shrill, and I take a startled step backward, shocked that she would push me. “What are we going to do then?”

  “If we don’t find her, then we mourn her loss,” I say carefully. “And maybe, eventually, we find a new dog to replace her.”

  “God, what are you? Some sort of heartless monster?” She’s crying again. Hysterically this time, looking so ravaged, so destroyed over her lost dog. Our lost dog. I love Molly and I’ve felt close to crying a time or two tonight,
but Katie’s acting like this is a life-or-death situation. Like everything hinges on us finding Molly and our entire world is going to fall apart if we don’t.

  I try to ignore the pain her words cause me. She’s just upset. Worried over Molly. “Katie, seriously, you need to calm down.”

  “I don’t want to calm down. I want to find my damn dog! Now!” She takes off, running down the trail, headed deeper into the woods, and I chase after her, confused by the way she’s behaving, scared that her overreaction could hint at a deeper, more internal problem she’s experiencing.

  “Jesus, Katie, you need to stop! Come on! Be reasonable!” I yell. I pick up speed and run after her, catching up to her quickly. Snagging her around the waist from behind, I pick her up so her feet are dangling in the air. She kicks them against my shins, struggling against my hold, but I grip her with all my might.

  She’s not going to get away. Not again. She needs rest. A good night’s sleep so she can calm the fuck down and think rationally again.

  “Put me down.” She fights to get loose, even smacks her balled-up fists against my forearms, but I won’t let her go. “She could be out there all alone, you know? Crying and begging for someone to find her. I know what that’s like. I know how scary that is and I can’t stand the thought of her being alone. I can’t . . . I just can’t stand it.”

  Realization dawns. I’m an idiot. This is partially about the dog, but more about Katie. How she felt when she was alone, locked up in that disgustingly hot and smelly shed. How scared she was. What my father did to her. She’s putting herself in Molly’s place and freaking out all over again.

  “Hey,” I whisper against her cheek. “Hey, I’m here for you. I’ve got you, okay? You’re not alone. We’re going to find Molly. I promise.”

  She slowly relaxes within my arms, her head leaning back against my chest, her hands and arms going lax. I turn her within my embrace and clutch her tight, holding her to me, her face pressed against my chest, her arms around my waist. I let her get it all out, every last tear and sob and exhausted sigh. We stand in the middle of the trail in a dark, quiet forest, the only sound the wind whispering in the trees high above us as Katie once again purges her tattered soul for all she’s lost.

  And all I can do is helplessly comfort her as best I can.

  We walk back to my house in silence, Will clutching my hand like he’s never going to let it go, and I let him. I need the comfort, the solid feel of his long fingers curled around mine, reassuring me that he’s always going to be there for me no matter what.

  How could I have doubted him? How did I let Lisa Swanson and her stupid worries get into my head like that? He loves me more than anything in this world. If anyone has my back, it’s Will. No one else does, not like him.

  But right now he can’t take my sad feelings away. No one can, unless they’re the ones who bring Molly back to me.

  I can’t believe she’s gone, and it doesn’t look good. Where could she have gone? How did she get out of the backyard? So many unanswered questions. And it’s not like if we do find Molly that she’ll be able to tell us where she went. For the first time in my life, I wish I could speak fluent dog.

  If I weren’t so upset I’d almost find that thought funny.

  We draw closer to my house when I see Mrs. Anderson standing out in front of hers, wearing a thick, bright blue robe, her arm raising when she spots us and waving frantically.

  I let go of Will’s hand and run toward her, my heart racing, hopeful that she has Molly. Mrs. Anderson’s hand flutters over her chest and when I get even closer, I can hear her voice as she yells, practically hopping up and down.

  “I found her, I found her!”

  I stop and turn my head toward where she’s pointing to see Molly sitting in Mrs. Anderson’s front yard, her expression wary as she keeps licking at her bloody hind leg.

  I gasp at first sight of her leg. It looks like someone . . . tore it apart? The fur is gone, and I swear I can see muscle and flesh and bone. “Oh God,” I cry out as I start toward her.

  Will is there, grabbing my arm and stopping me from going to her. “Hold on,” he whispers. “She might be seriously hurt and on the defensive. We need to approach her carefully.”

  Since when did he become such a pet expert? I listen to him, though, letting him go to Molly first. She is, after all, his dog.

  He kneels down in front of Molly, talking low, his voice even and soothing. Molly doesn’t flinch, just leans into his offered hand, and he pets her, his head bent as he checks out her wound. I wait with Mrs. Anderson, holding my breath when Will tries his best to examine the horrific wound on Molly’s leg. When he tries to touch it she whines, baring her teeth in a little growl. Will immediately retracts his hand, rising to his feet and turning to look at us.

  “Is there an emergency vet in the area? I know it’s a holiday, but we should really try and take her in. This wound is beyond what we can do for her,” Will says, his voice shaky.

  “What do you think happened to her?” I ask as Mrs. Anderson whips her phone out of her robe pocket and no doubt starts the search for a twenty-four-hour vet clinic in town.

  The expression on Will’s face is grim as his dark gaze meets mine. “It looks like she was . . . shot.”

  The phone call comes on my smuggled-in cellphone. It’s a constant problem within the prison system, and half the time it’s brought to us by one of the prison guards. It’s harder for death-row inmates to gain access to a phone so freely, but every once in a while one falls into my hands, and when that happens, I kind of go ape shit.

  As in, I call everyone I know on the outside. They’re never shocked to hear my voice and I appreciate that, but then again, anyone I tend to call is someone who used to be on the inside like me. I’ve made a few friends during my time here, and some of them have gone on to be released.

  I’ve always made friends real easily. It’s just part of my charm.

  My phone is on vibrate and I answer it quickly, nestled deep in the darkest corner of my cell. Luckily enough, the guard made his almost hourly passing just a few minutes ago, so I’m good for a while. Unless something crazy happens and he’s called out to break up a fight or some stupid shit like that.

  But that rarely happens.

  “What happened? How did it go?” I ask by way of greeting, eager for details. I had this guy, a cousin of one of my fellow inmates, do a particular job for me. And I want to know how it went.

  “Fucked up, man. That damn dog bit my hand,” the guy—his name is Bruce—mutters irritably. “Hurt like a motherfucker.”

  “So what exactly did you do to that damn dog?” Bruce has been watching Katherine Watts’s house, spying on her from his perch deep in those thick woods behind her house. He’s even taken photos and sent them to my phone. It’s been quite interesting, getting that taste of Katherine and my son together. The stupid dog they seem to dote on. Bruce noted that from the start.

  So I told him he needed to take care of that dog as a little Thanksgiving present. When he’d texted that they left the dog alone in the backyard, I couldn’t have asked for a better gift to be thankful for.

  “Little bitch got away from me so I shot her. Hoped to kill her, but she’s fast and took off running,” Bruce explains. “I don’t know where she ended up.”

  “Did you hit her?”

  “In the leg. Didn’t slow her down, though.” Bruce coughs, the sound wet and disgusting, making me wince. He’s a shady character, but he’s all I’ve got right now so I have to settle. “They were looking for her.”

  “Who?”

  “Your boy and his girlfriend. They were searching all around the neighborhood for that stupid-ass dog when they got home. When they headed for the woods where I was staked out, that’s when I had to run,” Bruce says.

  “So you have no idea if they got the dog back yet or not,” I say, my voice flat, my irritation on a low simmer. Fucker was supposed to end that dog once and for all. I paid him already, though I
knew there were no guarantees.

  “I was going to head out there in a bit but it’s raining like a son of a bitch. I don’t much reckon you want me to sit out in the cold rain just to see if they found their fucking dog or not, do you?” Bruce asks.

  “Don’t bother, asshole. Thanks for nothing.” I end the call, shoving the phone back in its hiding spot.

  Inside I’m simmering with anger. I can’t believe he didn’t kill that damn dog. Oh, she might be dead; maybe she wandered off somewhere deep in those woods to die alone. Dogs do that sometimes. But that isn’t what I wanted. Not by a long shot.

  No, I wanted to rub their faces in their precious dog’s death. I wanted them to see her strung out, hanging from a tree in the front yard, the carcass cut up, disemboweled, with blood everywhere. I wanted them both to remember what it feels like to love something so deeply, only for it to be torn away from you, and then torn apart.

  I wanted them to suffer and feel pain. Like I’ve suffered and felt pain since I was locked away in this fucked-up prison for life.

  Well, fuck that. I’ve sat inside here for too long, relying on others to do my dirty work for me. I’ve plotted. I’ve planned. This weekend is when it’ll happen. I’ve been working toward this day for months and no one knows. Not a soul. Won’t they be surprised?

  It’s finally my time to break free.

  “I don’t leave until Sunday, but I can still change my flight if you want,” I tell Katie as she buzzes around the kitchen, going to the sink and filling the coffeepot with water from the tap before she sets about making us a fresh pot. “If you need me to stay here with you and help take care of Molly I can fly out first thing Monday morning.”

  “I can handle it.” She smiles at me from over her shoulder before she resumes her coffee making. “Don’t change your flight. You don’t want to start off this project on the wrong foot. Go. We’ll be fine here.”