Spectre

by Shiloh Walker

  “I heard you had some excitement at your place yesterday,” she said after we ordered. She’d experimented, going with the daily special.

  I didn’t, ordering my usual—three tacos with cheese but no lettuce and a margarita. I’d never indulged in alcohol up until two years ago. Some mean bitch from the church where Mama had gone had come across Bianca and me while we were eating one Friday night. Bianca had been enjoying a margarita. I’d been drinking water. The woman had nodded at me and said, “It’s good you don’t drink. Your mama did and that’s probably why you have so many problems, bless your heart.”

  The server had come by to check on us and both she and Bianca had gaped at the woman in shock.

  Bianca had started to get up. I’d been flushed with embarrassment, but I hadn’t known what to say. Bianca had given the woman a defiant look, then pushed the margarita to me. “Tia’s only problem is dealing with people like you who have a stick up their asses. Here, Tia. Have a drink. It won’t remove the stick, but it can make them easier to ignore.”

  I’d had a drink. Now, every time I came to the cantina, I had a margarita and dared anybody to say anything to me.

  “A grouchy father who got mad when I told him his son couldn’t come back to class.” I looked at her for a few seconds, then glanced away. “The boy needs more than just art therapy—he needs the kind of help I can’t give him.”

  “Like?”

  “He’s violent.” I hated saying it. Too many people misunderstood autism and other disorders on the spectrum. Matthew had Asperger’s, like I did, but his issues had more to do with his father than anything else. I’d bet my best set of charcoals on it. The ugly attitude he had was something a child learned. And he’d learned it very well.

  “Ah. Yes, that would be a problem. Did the dad not believe you?”

  “I don’t think he cared. He learned it from his dad, after all. That’s obvious.” I picked a chip from the bowl and dipped it into the salsa. “He wanted his money back and I said no. I want to get a dog.”

  Bianca barely blinked, not fazed by the rapid topic change.

  “Why?”

  I couldn’t tell her about the issue with Mac—and through him, Tommy O’Halloran. She was one of the few people who knew I had a brother, but I never talked about him and Bianca had her own boundaries. We respected those things about each other.

  “Safety,” I said honestly. “And a dog can be good therapy, too.”

  “For you or for the kids?”

  I considered that, then said, “Both, although it was a safety thing first. But the therapy aspect came into play because of the children.”

  “So you’re going to offer pet therapy, too?” She looked amused now.

  I frowned at her. “No. But if a dog makes the kids want to pet him, that’s...well, that’s nice, right?”

  Without waiting for her to respond, I launched into a lecture, giving her facts I’d learned over that morning, once I’d woken and decided I did like the dog idea. I caught the amused, patient look in her eyes, but ignored it as I continued to list facts. “I don’t need an assistance dog, but it is fascinating how much the right sort of dog can help people on the spectrum, especially if they are capable of independence, but need an extra push. They can help their person get ready in the morning and pick up things that get dropped. The dogs can help students get to class and into their seat on time without getting anxious, and do the same for adults who have jobs outside of home. They also help calm us down. I can use that.” I thought about last night, and Mac’s call. Then the episode earlier, what had precipitated it. “If I had a dog, I wouldn’t have had problems yesterday.”

  “Well, that depends on what kind of dog you had.”

  Bianca’s voice pulled me out of my distracted state and I looked at her. “Meaning?”

  “Not every dog is going to chase away the jerks of the world, Tia.” She took a sip of water before continuing. “Some of those little yappers...”

  “Princess was a yapper,” I reminded her. We’d been in high school together. She knew how much I hated Princess.

  “Princess wasn’t a dog.” She waved a hand dismissively. “That foul creature was a hellbeast your aunt summoned. Probably her familiar.”

  I grinned. Bianca was one of the only people in the world who could make me smile.

  Bianca winked at me. “She was also stupid. She liked to go tearing off at the fence when that one couple came in, remember? They had a German Shepherd? That big pupper could have crushed her head like that.” She snapped her fingers. “What was his name?”

  “Arnie.”

  “That’s right. The guy wanted to name him Terminator and the wife said no. They settled on Arnold—Arnie. Maybe you should get a Shepherd. You seen them lately?”

  “No.” I looked away, a familiar sensation of anxiousness rising inside. “The house was sold after the fire. He... Tate, the husband. He was killed in the fire. They had another cabin, near Chalet Village. Two couples with young kids were up there. They kept trying to call them to check on them and nobody ever answered. He finally went up to see if they were okay. Dana never heard from him again. They found his body a few days after the fire. She was too heartbroken to keep either of the properties.”

  “Oh.” Bianca’s voice was soft and for a minute, neither of us spoke as memories washed over us. A couple of years earlier, wildfires from the forest around the town had all but destroyed Gatlinburg, leaving casualties and broken dreams in its wake.

  Bianca had been in town at the aquarium working when everything went to hell. I’d been in Georgia visiting Mac and she hadn’t realized I was gone. The panic we both felt when we couldn’t reach each other was still enough to give me nightmares.

  The quiet between us lingered, but unlike normal, it was uneasy and heavy. It left me feeling itchy and my heart started to beat too fast. My hands started shaking. I clenched them in an effort to still the movement but it was too late, Bianca saw. She pushed the food out of the way and covered my hands.

  “Breathe,” she reminded me.

  “I am.”

  “Breathe more.” Giving an encouraging smile, she waited until I followed the order.

  I did so, even though it irritated me. The tightness in my chest didn’t ease and she nodded at me to do it again. “Blow it out slower this time, Tia. You know how this works.”

  I glared at her even as I made myself drag in a deep breath through my nostrils, releasing it over a count of five. I wanted to be normal. I almost blurted that out to relieve the pressure in my chest, but I knew Bianca would want to comfort me and make me feel better. She couldn’t fix this and we both knew it, although she’d insist there was nothing to fix, that I was perfect the way I was. And she meant it. But nothing she could say would make me not wish I couldn’t be like other people. I just wanted to...tell somebody that. Just talk about it, so I could get it out, without anybody trying to fix it.

  The idea came into my head, settling in with the rigidity of tempered steel. “I’m going to get the dog.”

  “Ah...okay. Just like that?”

  “I’ve researched it. I’ve thought about it. There aren’t any downsides if I find one I like and that likes me. I’ll have a companion and security.” Nodding decisively, I picked up my margarita and took a drink. “How do you shop for a dog?”

  “Well...” She blew out a breath. “If you’re not looking for a companion dog, you can always try the shelter.”

  A niggling reminder in the back of my head—Mac had said he’d look into it for me, ask around. But if he was worrying about Tommy O’Halloran and dealing with Brian O’Halloran’s parole hearing, he had enough to do. Besides, a dog shelter had people who knew dogs, didn’t they? And I could research more, figure out what dogs were good for security.

  “Maybe I should go with you,” Bianca suggested.

  Pursing my lips, I studied her. “Why?”

  “Think about it, Tia.”

  I made a face at her. “You t
hink I’ll end up letting somebody talk me into adopting half the shelter or something?”

  “Well...” She arched her brows.

  “All I have to do is think about the dog hair and I’ll be fine. It might even scare me away.” I sipped my margarita and glanced around, looking for the server. I wanted some water. My gaze landed on somebody sitting at the bar. A male somebody. One with a stunning face, carved cheeks, a mouth that needed to be memorialized on paper.

  “Uh-oh.”

  I continued to stare at him. He casually glanced my way, eyes bouncing off me as if I wasn’t there, which was how I preferred it because I wasn’t sure I could handle it if such a flat-out beautiful man actually were to look at me.

  “You’ve got artist Tia face on.”

  The man got up and he was lost to view. Disappointed, I looked over at Bianca.

  She grinned at me. “Was he pretty?”

  I didn’t try to deny it. “Very.” I leaned forward, wondering if I could see him out the window.

  “I have to get back to work.” Bianca went to pull her wallet from her purse.

  “I’ve got it.” I already had the money, with tip, in my pocket.

  She scowled at me.

  “I’ve got it,” I said, giving her my best stubborn look.

  “I’ll let you get it. If you promise to wait for me before rushing off to pick out a dog. You’re going to wait for me, right? I get off at three today. You look up the local shelters and we’ll...figure something out.” She pointed at me. “And don’t go getting your heart set on going home with a dog today. You need to find one that suits you, otherwise you’ll both be miserable and I’ll cry if you adopt one only to take her back to the shelter. Which means I’ll end up adopting her.”

  “Fine.” I rolled my eyes and dumped the money on the table. “Now let’s go. Maybe we can get a back view of the guy. He was very pretty, Bianca.”

  A few minutes later, the two of us casually strolled over the bridge, admiring the man as he crossed at the light, heading away from us, a weathered-looking canvas backpack slung over his shoulder.

  We’d gotten close enough to see that the back almost put the front to shame and he’d glanced to the side once, giving Bianca a look at his profile.

  “I agree. He’s very pretty. I bet he’s hung.”

  I burst out laughing. “Probably not. He’s too pretty to have a body like that and be blessed in the phallic region.”

  “You never know.” She leaned over and hugged me. “Remember. You promised to wait for me. No dogs without me.”

  I grumbled but nodded. “I remember.”

  I SPENT HALF THE AFTERNOON loitering in town, hoping for another look at him. Gatlinburg was a tourist town, after all, and if you sat and watched long enough, you could see the same people several times in the span of a day.

  But I didn’t see him. Finally, I headed back to the grocery store to take care of that errand so I could be done before Bianca got off work. I needed food but I wasn’t putting off the idea of getting a dog. The more I thought about it, the more determined I was to have my dog and that meant I’d get her today.

  So, of course, hours later, I headed into my house with a beautiful canine.

  I named her Valkyrie because she was sort of standoffish. That made Bianca worry, but once I stared into Valkyrie’s eyes, I’d been lost. I’d never felt a connection like that to anything or anybody, except painting.

  Only this was different because Valkyrie looked at me with wide, wary eyes and once they brought her into one of the visiting rooms for us to get acquainted, she’d poked her wet nose into my hand, then let me pet her.

  She was very fluffy and I already knew I’d be cleaning hair up all the time, but watching her prowl the house, sniff at doors, I already felt better.

  Her previous owner had called her Trixie, but Trixie was a silly name for a dog, and I didn’t like it. I’d made a trip to the pet store and the staff there said she’d learn a new name since she was still young. I only had to be patient and train her. I might not always be patient, but I was determined and that could amount to the same thing.

  I had told the shelter lady that I ran art classes for kids with Asperger’s and autism and she’d given me a sad smile. Valkyrie, apparently, had been a companion for an older woman with diabetes who’d passed away a few days ago.

  None of her children had wanted the dog, although they had said she was well-behaved and loved kids. I didn’t understand why they hadn’t taken the dog, but that just meant she was mine now. I’d introduce her to the children slowly, after she got used to me.

  After we got used to each other.

  I called to her.

  She didn’t look at me.

  Reaching into my pocket, I pulled out the clicker the boy at the pet store had recommended and made it click, calling her name at the same time. Her ears went up and slowly, she looked at me. “Come here, Valkyrie.”

  She only stared so I used the clicker again and showed her one of the treats I had in my hand.

  Her tail wagged slightly.

  “Want a treat, Valkyrie?”

  Her eyes moved to mine, then to the treat.

  Slowly, she came forward, nose sniffing the air.

  I gave her the treat and as she scarfed it down. I patted her soft, fluffy, golden-brown head. “Your name is Valkyrie now.” Her ears perked and I gave her another treat. “Come on. Let’s go out back again.”

  We went outside and she relieved herself, taking what seemed like forever. How big could a dog’s bladder be?

  When she came inside, I gave her the last treat in my hand, then swung by the kitchen to get more. This time, I put a handful of the bite-sized snacks in a baggie. The boy at the store had said I could keep some in my pocket, but that was gross. No, thank you. “Let’s take a tour of the house, Valkyrie, then I’ll set up your food bowl and you can eat while I get your bed ready.”

  We walked all through the house, her padding along at my side while I talked. It was weird, in a way, hearing my own voice so much, but she seemed to listen, looking up at me whenever I stopped and cocking her head as if to encourage me. When we reached the studio where I worked with the kids, her nose went to work and she walked around, sniffing the floors, the seats. “You smell all my kids, don’t you?”

  She continued her investigation and I went over to my desk and sat down. I sometimes sat there and sketched between classes. If she was going to sniff every square inch, I might sketch her then send a scan to my brother. Maybe it would keep him from freaking out when I told him I’d already bought a dog. As I went to sit down, I froze, staring at everything on my desk.

  The hair on the back of my neck rose and it wasn’t until Valkyrie bumped me with her nose that I broke out of that frozen state.

  “Something looks off here, Valkyrie.” I racked my brain, trying to place what it was. I knew how everything was supposed to be placed on this desk, down to where I’d left my charcoals when I called it quits the last time I used them. So what was out of place?

  Valkyrie’s faint snuffling caught my attention and I looked over to see her smelling my chair. “Do you like how my butt smells?”

  She flicked her ears and walked over, nose to the floor.

  Her tail fanned the air gently and she looked placid and calm.

  I looked back at the desk, still unsettled. Something wasn’t right.

  What was it?

  Chapter 5

  Spectre

  I’d already made my decision.

  Before I’d even received the first text from Tommy, I’d known I had no interest in killing the woman for him. But his parting shot, that final message had lingered with me until I finally banished them from my mind so I could sleep. I had no problems killing. It would be more honest to say that I enjoyed killing. It was likely a gift from my father, a contribution from both his genetics and his abuse.

  Sarge had told me I wasn’t a psychopath in the way my father was and over the years, I’d come to
believe him, although if he hadn’t found me when he had, it would have been too late for me. If I hadn’t almost bled to death in an alley, if Alfonse Jordan’s men hadn’t caught up with me, then I would have kept going down that path until I was as twisted and fucked up as Walter Kramer had been.

  He’d succeeded in making me into a monster, but Sarge had caught me before I was too far down the path and he’d redirected that hot, burning anger that had driven me to accept a contract on my father.

  I wished I could say the anger was gone, lost to apathy and the serenity Sarge had tried to impart, but I’d be lying.

  In this aspect, my father had succeeded. Rage was a monster inside me, one that often slept, but certain sights, sounds, scents—that was all it took to awaken that beast. He’d been clawing at the back of my mind ever since reading the witness statements from Brian O’Halloran’s trial. If Tommy had realized what his actions would do, what he would awaken, he never would have called me.

  The thought of him getting his hands on the woman I’d seen earlier, hurting her, all to punish a cop who’d brought down serial predators, had teased the monster within into full wakefulness and the burn of anger had simmered under my skin ever since.

  The anger was dangerous.

  It had made me reckless already when I’d followed Tia Jenkins into the restaurant, and sat at the bar while she ate lunch with a friend. There was something vulnerable about her. Gentle. Compelling. But at the same time, she seemed incredibly bold and that had been surprising.

  Very little surprised me.

  She’d seen me. Whether she’d realized I was staring at her, I had no idea, but she’d spent a good minute staring at me and it had taken a level of effort not to return that stare because what was in her gaze was something I wouldn’t have expected, and something I needed to pretend I hadn’t seen.