Say No More

by Sasson, Gemini

  say no more

  A Faderville Novel

  N. GEMINI SASSON

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Say No More (A Faderville Novel, #1)

  prologue

  chapter 1

  chapter 2

  chapter 3

  chapter 4

  chapter 5

  chapter 6

  chapter 7

  chapter 8

  chapter 9

  chapter 10

  chapter 11

  chapter 12

  chapter 13

  chapter 14

  chapter 15

  chapter 16

  chapter 17

  chapter 18

  chapter 19

  chapter 20

  chapter 21

  chapter 22

  chapter 23

  chapter 24

  chapter 25

  chapter 26

  chapter 27

  chapter 28

  chapter 29

  chapter 30

  chapter 31

  epilogue

  author’s note

  acknowledgments

  about the author

  books by N. Gemini Sasson

  Further Reading: Say That Again

  Also By N. Gemini Sasson

  This book is dedicated to all the old dogs, good dogs, and misunderstood dogs.

  And to all the loved ones watching over us, waiting to see us again.

  SAY NO MORE

  A dog’s love is forever.

  After five-year old Hunter McHugh witnesses the farming accident that takes the life of his father, Cam, he stops talking — to everyone except his dog, Halo. When Hunter runs away and gets lost in the Kentucky wilderness, it’s up to Halo to find him. Just as she’s about to give up, Halo gets help from an unlikely source: Cam’s ghost.

  Halo is no ordinary dog. Not only does she see ghosts, but she can talk to them, too. If only she could tell Hunter that death doesn’t mean an end to being around the ones we love, maybe she could help him find his voice again. Unfortunately, she may never have the chance.

  Parted from the only family she has ever known, Halo must find her way home. The problem is she doesn’t know where home is anymore.

  Say No More is a heartfelt story of love, hope, and the enduring bond between a boy afraid to speak and a dog that can’t.

  SAY NO MORE

  Copyright © 2014 N. Gemini Sasson

  This is a work of fiction. The names, characters, and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise without the prior written permission of the Author.

  For more details about N. Gemini Sasson and her books, go to:

  www.ngeminisasson.com

  Or become a ‘fan’ at:

  www.facebook.com/NGeminiSasson

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  Ebook Cover Design by http://www.ebooklaunch.com

  prologue

  A thousand scents surround me: honeysuckle and hyacinth, grubs burrowing through damp earth, stagnant water mingling with black muck at pond’s edge ... and bacon frying. I lick my lips and swallow. It’s all I can do to not put my nose to the air and explore until I discover their source.

  But I have to stay here. It’s almost time.

  I have something very important to do. I’m waiting. For him. And I’ll be here when he comes. The first one he’ll see.

  It seems like it’s been forever, yet I can remember every detail about him, as if I left him only minutes ago.

  Tender shoots of spring grass tickle my feet. I lower my head until my chin rests on the ground and nibble at them while I wait. After all, I don’t know how long it will be.

  To my right, a beetle scampers down a blade of grass before disappearing into the dense carpet of green. My ears perk. I swear I hear its tiny feet rustling. Or maybe that’s the sound of its jaws sawing away on moist stems?

  The barest of breezes tugs at my hair. There is a fluttering inside my nostrils. I lift my head, inhale. It’ll rain soon. I know it before I hear the low rumble in the sky or see the clouds darkening on the horizon. I’m not scared of the thunder here. I became that way when I was old. In The Time Before This. But now I’m young again. Here, there is excitement in everything, wonder in the familiar.

  Rising, I look toward the top of the hill where the great oak stands. Its boughs are twice as thick around as my middle. Its crown spreads far, every branch densely cloaked in leaves of green. In sunlight, it shields me from the heat. In rain, it keeps me dry. When the wind kicks up and the air cools, there is a little pocket in the earth between the sprawling roots where I have dug a hole and can curl up. Here, no one cares if I dig. It is expected.

  The walk is long and steep, but my bones do not weary. I am young again. And I would climb a hill ten times as high, ten times over, ten days straight, just to see him one more time. My heart leaps at the thought.

  He’ll come. I know he will.

  As I reach the top, a squirrel darts forth and stares me straight in the eye. My heart quickens. Her gray tail stiffens above her back like a bottle brush, then flicks to the side. Whiskers twitch nervously. I crouch in the tall grass, watching, patient. Boldly, she races forward and plucks an acorn from the ground. She clutches it to her chest, as if to say, “Mine, mine, mine.”

  Stupid beady-eyed creature. I don’t want the acorn. I can think of tastier things. Squirrel, for one.

  I lift a foot, creep forward, pause, step again. Her tail quivers. My head low, I move through the grass. So close now I can smell the wood scent on her fur and —

  “Halo! Haaaloooooo!”

  In a blur, the squirrel whips around and scrabbles up the furrowed bark of the oak, the knobby acorn stuffed in her tiny mouth. She stops above the first bough, gazes down at me, and huffs her cheeks in triumph. Then with another arrogant flick of her tail, she ascends in a spiral, and I lose her form in the tangle of branches and scattering of leaves. Far above, baby squirrels chatter in greeting.

  “Halo?” the Old Man calls. “What’re you doing up there, girl?”

  At the base of the hill, the Old Man stands, gripping a shepherd’s crook. It’s merely for show. I suppose it makes him feel important, like he’s in charge of things, but I don’t really need him to tell me what to do. At least not as much as he thinks.

  He walks partway up, tapping the bottom of the crook along the ground as he goes. Here, he doesn’t need it to lean on. His steps are slow but sure. His spine, once bent, is now straight and strong. He reaches the top of the hill, his breath barely audible, but a sheen of sweat glistens above his brow.

  My belly low, I slink to him, then sit and wait obediently. Gone from his face is the mapwork of blue veins beneath papery skin, although there are still creases around his eyes from squinting into the sun for so many years. He reaches his hand out, lets it hover above my head. I sniff his fingers. They’re still spotted with age, but they’re no longer gnarled. He scratches gently behind my ears.

  I lean against his knee as his fingernails tickle my neck and then my back.

  “Come on, Halo. We have to move the sheep before the storm blows in.”

  Silly man. There are no coyotes here. They have their own heaven, separate from ours.

  He steps away and pats his leg, but I don’t move. Doesn’t he understand? I’m waiting for someone. What if he finally shows up and I’m not here? I can’t leave my post. This is my job, my responsibility, my duty. Mine alo
ne. My honor depends on it.

  The Old Man frowns sympathetically at me. His shoulders lift in a shrug, emphasizing the wrinkles in that same old tatty shirt he always wears. I’ve always loved the smell of it and hated whenever he washed it. I hate the smell of soap. And shampoo. Things should smell as they’re meant to, not like almonds or coconut milk or baby powder.

  “We were quite a team, weren’t we, girl?” His mouth curves into a grin. Crinkles form at the corners of his eyes.

  “All the ribbons, the belt buckles . . .” His voice softens as he reminisces. “All those titles . . . But they don’t really mean a thing, do they?”

  No, they don’t. They’re only things: colored scraps of cloth, metal discs, letters on a piece of paper. What matters were the many hours we spent in the field gathering the sheep, the cold mornings when we tiptoed into the barn to check on the new lambs, the times he let me ride in the cab of the pick-up next to him. I worked hard then, but I was happy. So was he. There was pride in a good day’s work.

  “You were always there when I needed you, Halo. Always. That’s what matters.”

  “It is,” I say. “And you were there for me.”

  Nodding, he turns to go, the wooden staff trailing behind him. The grass ripples in a rising wind and the bleating of sheep carries across the valley. Do the simple creatures ever tire of being afraid?

  I gaze across the river, over the arc of many colors that is the bridge to here: the Other Side. There’s no one there. Yet. If I hurry, I can help the Old Man and be back before the boy comes.

  And he will. Because I’m waiting. Like any good dog would.

  chapter 1

  Warm hands encircled my ribs and lifted me up. Too sleepy yet to open my eyes, I sniffed the air. I knew the scent. She was the one who cared for my mother. The one who filled her water dish and brought her bones to gnaw on. The one who piled us in the basket and laid down clean blankets in our box, then put us back one at a time, as she kissed us each softly on the head and said our names.

  Next to my mother, I loved Lise best. More than playing with my brothers and sisters. Just slightly more than the warm, yummy slop she put on the plates for us to lap up. Even more than naps — although right now, I was very, very tired.

  I’d had a hard day, you see. I climbed on top of my brother Scout and fell out of the box. Then I wandered around for a long, long time on the cool, slippery floor, searching for my mother. My legs, not being very strong yet, slid in all directions until they splayed out from my body and my chest hit the floor. I tried to get up, but the same thing happened the next time. I tried again and again, with the same results. I grew more frustrated with each attempt, and yet more determined, even though my coordination was poor and my legs were wobbly. I decided to give it one last try, wiggling my body and bracing my front feet before me.

  I was sitting. This was good. I tucked my hind feet beneath me and pushed my rear end up. I was standing!

  But only for a second. My front legs careened from beneath me. My chin whacked the floor. That was when I started to wail. It seemed like forever before my mother came. She nuzzled me, licked me from end to end, and finally lay down beside me. Somehow, I squirmed my way to her belly and ate my fill. My tummy full, I dozed off. Later I awoke, aware of the soft, fuzzy blanket beneath me and my brothers and sisters pressed to either side of me. I was too big by now for my mother to carry in her mouth, so it must have been Lise who put me back.

  It was Lise’s arms in which I was now cradled. Her fingertips stroked my bare tummy. She stopped. I kicked my legs and groaned to let her know I didn’t like it when she quit.

  Ever so slightly, she squeezed me. “Oh, Halo. You’re so demanding.” She caressed my belly, my ribs, the insides of my legs. It felt so good. How wonderful to have a human who could do these things for you.

  She let out a long sigh. “And why are you the one who always gets in trouble, huh? Nobody else has been out of the whelping box and yet you’ve managed it five times in just the past two days. I thought for sure it was a fluke, a lucky accident, but no, I think you’ve gone and figured it out. I’ll be keeping an eye on you, Miss Halo. You’re giving me gray hairs already, and I’m not even thirty.”

  She was praising me. I could tell by her voice. It meant I was a good puppy. Better than good. The best. And she loved me more than the others. That was easy to see. That’s why I kept getting out. So she’d come and praise me for being so smart. The others were lazy and fat and dumb. But not me. I was different. Better. Clearly, I was her favorite.

  Lise hooked her thumbs under my front legs and held me up. I turned my head to the side and yawned to let her know I needed to finish my nap. Later, when I wanted her to hold me and talk to me, I’d cry out. But right now I needed to rest. Ignoring my signal, she twisted my body sideways and touched her nose to mine.

  “Hey, sleepy head,” she said, her breath stirring my whiskers. “I have a special feeling about you.”

  I blinked, forced my eyes open. Her face swam fuzzily before me. Pulling her head back, she tilted it thoughtfully and stared at me for a long time. So long my eyes almost drifted shut again before her voice startled me into alertness.

  “At least you’re quiet.” She swung my pudgy back legs from side to side. “Most of the time. Well ... for now.”

  On cue, one of the other puppies let out a loud, shrill bark. Lise shook her head. It was Tar, the big nearly solid black girl. She was always barking. I found it annoying. Sometimes I bit her in the haunch to make her stop.

  Grunting, I squirmed in Lise’s hold, then went stiff. She took the hint — finally — and set me back down, close to my mother’s front paws. I crawled up next to Mother’s ruff and curled into the softness of her fur.

  “You’re a good mama, Bit,” Lise said to my mother. “I have a hard enough time running after one, let alone seven. I don’t know how you do it.”

  What a wonderful, glorious world it was. We had each other to play with, Mother to clean us and feed us, Lise to give us kisses and tummy rubs. What more could we ever need or want? What more could there possibly be?

  —o00o—

  I hung with my front paws hooked over the edge of the box. What was this ... this thing in front of me? I looked up, and up, and up. It was tall, whatever it was. I wedged my nose between the cold wire bars and pushed. Nothing. I pushed harder. It wouldn’t yield.

  Did Lise put this here? And why? How was I supposed to explore when I couldn’t get out?

  My legs growing tired, I let go and fell on my rump. Where was Scout? I had used him to climb up only a minute ago.

  Sharp teeth pierced one of my back feet. I whipped around to see Scout bowing before me, his front lowered to the ground and his butt raised in the air. His little stumpy tail wagged back and forth. The bobtail was a trait of our breed, the Australian Shepherd. He scooted back, growled at me, then charged.

  I raised my chin and let out the biggest, meanest bark I could muster. Oblivious to my warning, Scout barreled into me. I toppled over backward. His weight pinned me to the floor, crushing the air from my chest.

  Enough of this! I rolled to one side, dumping him on his back so that his fat legs stuck up in the air. He couldn’t keep attacking me when my back was turned. It was going to stop now.

  So I pounced on him, planting my front feet on his round, heaving chest. His legs stiffened. He tried to twist sideways, but I had him trapped. I lowered my face, bared my teeth, and barked relentlessly.

  Yawning and stretching, Cooper and Tar sat up, then tottered toward us, curious, yet not bold enough to join in. Mickey, Jet, and Ruby slept on, unaware of the brawl unfolding.

  Scout quivered. His legs relaxed and folded. He turned his head away and I took this as a sign of submission, although I stood there a few moments longer, glaring at him menacingly. I was superior. Next to Mother, I was the boss of everyone.

  My hackles raised, I barked again, elated at my triumph. Suddenly, my other brother Cooper looked up from
the puppy pile next to Mother, his bum wagging back and forth. He focused his gaze on something above me. What the —?

  A hand clamped on the loose skin at the back of my neck, hoisting me up. I stared into Lise’s eyes. They narrowed in anger. She shook me once, firmly.

  “What am I going to do with you, little one? Escaping the whelping box, causing fights . . . Maybe you just have too much energy?” She blew out a breath, stirring the yellow bangs from her forehead. “Come on. Time for new adventures.”

  She tucked me in the crook of her elbow and we walked past the two big boxes that made noise. Washer and dryer, she called them. Yesterday, she dropped a sock when taking a load out. I found it and when she didn’t come to get me right away, I chewed a hole right through it. I hadn’t meant to. Chomping on it felt good to my achy gums. She wasn’t happy, but why leave something on the floor if it’s not for the dogs? If she doesn’t want to share, she should take her things with her and guard them more closely.

  The door squeaked as Lise shouldered it open. Gently, she lowered me to the floor. It was slippery, like in the other room, but this room was much, much bigger. I stood unsteadily, wary of moving too fast, as I took everything in. The walls were lined with wooden boxes with built-in doors. Curtains fluttered around an open window.

  I sniffed the air. Smells curled inside my nose. Glorious smells. My tummy grumbled. Food!

  I took off toward the tall, shiny box — source of all the wonderful smells — trying to dig my nails in, but the floor was slick. A tangle of chair and table legs loomed before me like a forest of ancient trees. I veered left, but another column of wood blocked my way. A quick spin to the right and I avoided it, only to have a third appear out of nowhere. I planted my front feet to stop myself, but just kept sliding, sliding —

  Bam!

  I lay sprawled on the tile floor. My head was ringing. And I’d jammed a toe. My foot started to throb. I let out a long, pitiful howl to let Lise know I needed attention — now!

  “Oh, Halo.” She stooped before me. “If you can’t manage not to hurt yourself in the kitchen, how am I ever going to let you outside?”