Good Dog

by Dan Gemeinhart

  Brodie’s tail found its wag.

  “Yeah,” he said, stepping toward the people, trying to look into their faces, trying to read them for clues. “Yeah. You’re right, Patsy.”

  A pair of sneakers went into the box, a couple of pairs of socks. A jacket from his closet. The box was almost full. Brodie couldn’t have stopped his wagging if he’d tried.

  “That’s it,” the police officer said, looking around the room. “Let’s get out of here.”

  Brodie scooted out of the way as the skinny man picked up the box and headed toward the door. But then the man stopped in the doorway.

  “Wait. There’s one thing he asked for.” The man’s eyes roamed the room. They stopped on the table beside Aiden’s bed. He walked over and picked up the picture. The one of Aiden and Brodie.

  “Yep,” the man said. “Him and his dog. This is the one he wanted.” His voice was quiet, his eyes on the picture. There was sadness in the lines of his face, in the whispery tiredness of his voice. Brodie liked him right then. He liked him a lot.

  The man looked around at the messy room. It was full of clothes and books and old toys. A video game system sat on the floor, plugged into an old TV. He looked up at the police officer.

  “All this stuff. And the only thing the boy asked for was this picture of him and his dog.”

  And Brodie? Brodie? Brodie’s heart soared when that man said those words. But, believe me, soared doesn’t cover it. Not even close. His heart glowed to a gold more glorious than any Forever. It shone brighter than all the blue skies and green fields and sunny days of anywhere and everywhere put together.

  Because Brodie? He’d been walking in darkness too long. Hope had become a thing in the distance. And the sureness of love had almost—almost—begun to be replaced by the memory of love. And memory without sureness can pretty quickly turn into something terrible: doubt. And doubt? Doubt is no friend to a lost and wandering soul. Which was, of course, exactly what Brodie had been.

  But then? But then that man said those words.

  And all that darkness was gone.

  And hope wrapped itself around him like sunlight.

  And the sureness of love was like blood in his veins and beats in his heart.

  His boy. His boy hadn’t forgotten him. His boy, somewhere, was thinking of him. Waiting for him.

  You. Me. Together. Always.

  In death, just like in life, sometimes there is a reaching out: one soul stretching across the darkness toward another. It can be a scary feeling, if you’re the one doing the reaching. A lonely feeling. But when, out of the blackness, you feel that other soul reaching out to you, too? Well. That is the best feeling. Believe me. At the end of it all, maybe, it is the only feeling.

  And right then, Brodie could feel Aiden. He could feel him reaching out across the distance between them. Just like Brodie had been reaching for him.

  Brodie followed the man and the police officers back down the hall.

  The monster still waited in the living room, meanness and anger painted across his face.

  “That’s it, sir. We’ll get out of your way now,” the officer said.

  “That’s Aiden’s stuff,” the monster said, eyeing the box. “Be sure it gets to him. Don’t lose it or mess with it or anything.”

  The officer blew out a tired breath.

  “We won’t, sir. We’ll bring it all to Aiden.”

  The monster narrowed his eyes.

  “Where is he?”

  The officer’s voice, when he answered, was tired.

  “You know we can’t tell you that. And I’d remind you that you are bound by a court-issued restraining order to not get within five hundred feet of your son. Aiden’s temporary foster parents have a description of you and your vehicle, sir. You get within five hundred feet of them or Aiden, and you go back to jail.”

  “You got no right to take my son.”

  The officer, who had opened the door and was already stepping out onto the porch, stopped with a jerk.

  He looked back at the monster. And, for a moment, there was almost as much anger on his face as on the monster’s.

  “You killed that boy’s dog,” he said. His voice was low and cold and quiet but terribly, terribly hard. “Kicked him to death right in front of him. And you broke his nose and blacked his eye. If the neighbors hadn’t called us, who knows what would have happened. You don’t have the right to call him your son. Sir. You’re lucky the judge even let you out on bail. I wouldn’t have.”

  The monster was seething. He was rocking on his feet and flexing his fingers. But even he knew better than to push it.

  So all he said was, sulkily, “He’s my boy.”

  The officer opened his mouth to say something more, his eyes flashing mad. But then he shut his mouth into a tight line and shook his head, one time, side to side. His eyes were as hard and sharp as bullets.

  Because that officer? He was a good man. And he knew what the monster had done. And there were lots of things he wanted to say. But he was wearing a badge.

  So all he said was this: “You stay away from that boy. Five hundred feet.”

  And then he stepped outside and closed the door.

  Brodie and Patsy were left standing in the room with the monster.

  Brodie knew he needed to follow the officers and the man with the box. He knew he needed to run through the door and hop into their car.

  But he stood, looking at the monster. Words echoed in his head, haunting words about noses broken and eyes blacked … words he didn’t want to hear, bruises he didn’t want to see. The words made him want to run, run out the door and hop into the police car and get to his bruised boy’s side as fast as he could.

  But he didn’t. He stood there, watching the monster.

  Because Brodie? He’d spent years living with that monster. He’d learned to watch the monster’s eyes and how he held his body and the way he clenched his jaw or tightened his fist. He’d learned how to tell the good days from the bad, the gentle moods from the dangerous. Before he’d known about words or angels or souls he’d known that monster.

  And Brodie didn’t like what he saw in the monster’s eyes when that officer closed the door. He didn’t like the way he tightened his fists and clenched his jaw.

  “We going after them?” Patsy asked.

  “Go,” Brodie said, not taking his eyes off the monster. “Watch them. See which way they go.”

  “What do you mean? Don’t you wanna—”

  “Go, Patsy!”

  Patsy looked at Brodie for a second, but he wasn’t taking his eyes off Aiden’s dad. She trotted out through the door.

  The monster walked over to the front window. He pulled the curtain back, just a sliver, and peeked out. His jaw clenched. Unclenched. Clenched. He was breathing loud through his nose. He rubbed roughly at red-rimmed eyes.

  Brodie heard car doors slam outside. An engine rumbled to life.

  Brodie knew he had to run. He knew he couldn’t let his chance at finding Aiden slip by.

  From outside came the gravelly crunch of car tires pulling away.

  Brodie was one breath away from bolting through the door and chasing the car.

  But then? But then the monster muttered something under his breath. The words he spoke were only for his own ears. He didn’t know there was the glowing ghost of a dog with raised fur and bared teeth right behind him, growling at his back. But there was. And Brodie heard the words, too.

  They were: “I’m gonna get him. I’m gonna get my boy back.”

  And then the monster reached down to the couch and picked up his car keys.

  The monster eased open the front door a crack and peered outside.

  The police car had left. But its taillights still glowed red at the stop sign at the end of the street.

  Patsy stood on the sidewalk, her tail swishing anxiously, her eyes on the car.

  The monster stepped outside and closed the door behind him. He crept to the edge of the porch, stayi
ng in the shadows. His eyes were dull and glowering and locked on those taillights. The monster didn’t know it, but a truehearted ghost dog followed at his heels.

  When the car turned right and disappeared around the corner, the monster jolted into motion.

  He lurched down the stairs, keys jangling in his hand. His car was parked against the curb—a car that Brodie remembered well. Rusty and run-down, with cardboard duct-taped over a missing window, and an engine that sputtered and coughed and dripped black oil like blood wherever it drove. The car door swung open with a creak and he heaved himself inside. Brodie followed him close, a growl in his throat and a snarl on his lips.

  Brodie’s heart was full, and not a good kind of full. It was full of fierceness and ferocity but also full of fear.

  “What’s going on?” Patsy asked. “Aren’t we gonna follow them?”

  “He’s going after him,” Brodie said. “He’s going after my boy.”

  Patsy looked from the monster to Brodie.

  “That ain’t good,” she said.

  “No. It ain’t.”

  The monster started the car. The engine revved ragged, but it ran. Through the window, Brodie saw him light a cigarette. Brodie hated cigarettes.

  “What’re you gonna do?” Patsy asked, looking down the street.

  “Whatever I have to,” Brodie answered. And then he hopped through the dented side of the car and into the backseat behind the monster.

  The car was filthy, full of old fast-food wrappers and empty cans and rumpled-up clothes. It reeked of cigarette smoke.

  Patsy flew through the door and joined him just as the monster hit the gas and the car roared away.

  The monster was festering and furious. He muttered under his breath as he drove and his body was tight and jerky with anger. He puffed at his cigarette like a dragon.

  But, like all of the scariest monsters, he wasn’t dumb. He drove carefully. He eased the car up to the stop sign and crept to the intersection, just like he’d slipped out onto the porch. He leaned forward over the steering wheel, searching for the police car.

  He must have seen it. Because he smiled. A hungry smile. A monster’s smile. Fast and sour and then gone quick.

  But he didn’t move the car forward. No. He waited.

  Because the monster? He was hunting. And hunting monsters don’t want to be seen.

  Finally the car jerked forward and they were off, driving under the streetlights.

  “Listen, Brodie,” Patsy said. There was an odd tension to her voice, a high pitch of energy. But Brodie? He was too focused on the monster and his broken boy to notice. “There’s nothing you’re gonna be able to do. You know that, right? Why don’t you just hop out and howl and—”

  That horrific shadowy memory flashed again in Brodie’s mind: the fear, the danger … and then him running away, abandoning Aiden, and Aiden’s terrified voice begging him to come back.

  “Never.” Brodie spat the word like a bark. “This monster attacked my boy, Patsy. He hurt him. Bad. And he’s going after him again. I’m never leaving.”

  The monster was driving slow. They turned onto a different street, a busier one with more traffic. The monster kept his distance from the police car, far ahead of them in the night. Cars passed them as they drove. The monster barely blinked. The monster never took his eyes off the police car’s taillights in the distance, and Brodie never took his eyes off the monster.

  “This ain’t your fight anymore, mutt. You’re gone. Let them work it out. Get out for good while you can.”

  Brodie’s eyes flashed hot over to Patsy.

  “This is my fight, Patsy. But it’s not yours. If you wanna leave, go for it. But Aiden will always be my fight.”

  You. Me. Together. Always.

  Away. And Back.

  Patsy seemed to think about it. She looked out the window at the passing darkness. She shifted on her feet. She looked at Brodie, then away, then back again.

  And Patsy? She looked like she really wanted to stay. And she looked like she really wanted to go.

  But Patsy? Patsy stayed. With doubt in her eyes and three meager soul lights circling her patchy fur, she stayed by Brodie in the monster’s car.

  There were more turns. More cars passed them. The monster was patient. He drove with terrifying focus. Outside, the snow began to fall harder. Big feathery flakes, falling white through the blackness. The snow hit the grimy windshield and melted. The monster turned on the windshield wipers and they swept back and forth, back and forth, streaking the melted snow into wet smears.

  Patsy paced in the car, looking out at the night and the snow and the cars around them.

  They took another turn, and the monster spat out a curse word.

  Then he said, “Hilldale Heights? Of course.”

  Brodie stretched to see out the front window. They’d pulled onto a wide, three-lane bridge. At the far end, twinkling through the falling snow, were the lights of houses. A car passed them and zoomed ahead across the bridge.

  “What’s Hilldale Heights?” Brodie asked.

  Patsy was circling even more anxiously now.

  “It’s a neighborhood. Other side of the river. Up on the hill overlooking town. Bigger houses. Your boy must be there.” She was looking forward at the car that had just passed them, then back at the road behind them.

  Suddenly, she stopped pacing.

  “We need to get out,” she said. “Now.”

  “What? Why? We’ll lose him!”

  “No. We’ll find him—there’s nothing else on the other side of the bridge but Hilldale Heights. But we gotta get out. Here. On this bridge.” She crouched on the seat, ready to leap, and looked back over her shoulder at him. “Come on.”

  “Why, Patsy?”

  “There’s no time to explain. Trust me. Have I steered you wrong yet, mutt? Come on!”

  She leapt. Her tail disappeared through the side of the door.

  The car kept humming along.

  Brodie looked at the door. He looked at the monster, still driving with his sinister stillness.

  Brodie wanted to stay with that monster. He wanted to follow him straight to his boy.

  But Brodie? Brodie had a good soul. Believe me. He did. And good souls want to trust. They do.

  Even when they shouldn’t.

  Brodie took two running steps and jumped through the door.

  He landed with running feet and kept his balance.

  The monster’s car rumbled away, spewing exhaust and dripping dirty oil. He watched the monster thunder off into the night toward his boy.

  Patsy stood a ways back, under the glow of a streetlamp that rose up off the bridge’s railing. She wasn’t looking at him. The snow, so heavy a moment before, had stopped falling. There was only the starless dark of a clouded sky, and the yellow light of the streetlamp, and the grinding crunch of the car speeding away across the bridge.

  Brodie trotted over to Patsy. She still wouldn’t look at him.

  “What’s going on?” he asked.

  “You trusted me,” she said. Her voice was hollow. Empty.

  “Yeah,” he said. “So what are we—”

  “You’re an idiot,” she interrupted, but there was no bite to her voice this time.

  Behind him, Brodie heard a low growl.

  He spun around.

  Two hellhounds stood in the freshly fallen snow on the bridge. Thump. Skully. Their black eyes were steely and unblinking. Just like the monster’s.

  “Whoa,” Brodie said, taking a step back. “Patsy. Run.”

  “Oh, she ain’t running,” a familiar voice said.

  Brodie spun again.

  It was Darkly. And Smoker. They were jogging up behind Patsy. Patsy, who still wouldn’t look at Brodie. Patsy, who didn’t even flinch as Darkly and Smoker trotted up and stood on either side of her.

  “She’s right where she wants to be,” Darkly said. His gray tongue slopped at his gleaming teeth. His shoulders rippled with the ghosts of muscles. His eyes
were all kinds of evil and hungry and triumphant. “And you, hotshot, are right where we want you to be.”

  “What’s going on?” Brodie asked.

  But Brodie? Brodie had a terrible idea that he knew exactly what was going on.

  “What’s going on, tough guy, is that you’re about to lose your soul.” Darkly stepped slowly forward as he spoke. “There’s no getting away this time. Thanks to Patsy.”

  Brodie backed up as Darkly approached, but he knew there was nowhere to go. He was in the middle of the bridge with hellhounds at either end.

  “Patsy?” He looked at the cat in disbelief.

  Finally, Patsy met his eyes. But only for a moment. Then her eyes flickered away.

  “I’m almost out of shine, mutt. What did you think I was gonna do? Just go dark again?” Patsy tried to spit the words. She did. She tried to make her words angry, tried to make her voice tough and hard. She did try.

  But Patsy? She failed. Under that thin layer of anger, that painted-on toughness, her voice just sounded sad and sick.

  Brodie took another step back, looking desperately around for an escape path that he knew wasn’t there.

  “What do you mean, go dark again? You’ve still got shine left, Patsy. It’s not too late!”

  “You think that’s her shine?” Darkly scoffed. “Nah, she took it, just like we’re gonna take yours. Ripped it off a little gray kitty she helped us corner. Cute little thing. Of course, that little kitty’s gone dark now. Last I saw her she was trying to tear shine off of rats in the alleys downtown. Thanks to Patsy there.”

  “I didn’t make her go dark,” Patsy snarled, her tail swirling. “I took … just enough. She had plenty still when I walked away.”

  “Yeah. You walked away, all right, once you got yours. Didn’t want to watch us finish what you started, huh? Thanks for serving her up, though. Just like this one.”

  Brodie suddenly spun and darted to the side, trying to get around the hellhounds behind him. They were ready, though, and cut him off with bared teeth and snapping jaws. Brodie backed up to the guardrail at the side of the bridge.