“Tell you what, Carol,” he said to the woman. “I’ll take care of him. I’m damn tired of cleaning up after the rodent.”
Carol followed us to the back door, concern furrowing her ragged brow. “Where are you taking him?”
“For a ride.” He chuckled and kicked the door open.
The knot inside my stomach drew tighter.
—o00o—
He didn’t stop driving until I upchucked my breakfast. Had I known he would take that as a signal, I would have done it sooner.
I’d never been in a car and couldn’t say I liked it. Too much noise. Too much vibration. Too much of objects flying by at impossible speeds. Too much of too much.
I was thankful when we stopped and he pulled me out.
Until I saw the water, far, far below. Big water. Dark water. Fast water.
I stole one last look at his face before he dropped me inside the crinkly white bag. In the constriction of his eyelids, the hollowness behind his pupils, I saw my first glimpse of cruelty. It was a glance through a tunnel that led to a heart of granite.
That was when I knew that not all humans were the same. Still, I clung to the hope, however unproven, that some were good — and that I would come to know them, even as the bag closed above my head and I felt the rush of air beneath me as gravity carried me down.
Down, down, down. Down to the water.
And the end of my beginning.
chapter 3: Echo
Cold blasted through me. Infiltrated every cell, every molecule of my bodily existence. Like rubble bearing down in an avalanche, water surrounded me. Sucked the oxygen from my lungs and squeezed the blood from my heart.
When you dunk your paw into a bowl of water, water is fluid and soft. When you’re plummeting from a hundred feet up into a raging river, it is like hitting a concrete barrier at incredible speed. I was sure every bone in my body had been shattered.
Yet if that had been so, I would not have found myself kicking, struggling upward. A little pocket of air had formed at the top of the bag — and that is how I knew which way was up. But the more I clawed, the more air bubbled out through the little hole where Ed had closed the bag up. And the more I fought to free myself, the more my body yearned for oxygen.
I gulped, drawing water into my mouth, flooding my lungs. The river closed in around me and also filled me from within. I was being crushed and suffocated all at once. My heart threatened to burst. My lungs were ready to explode.
The instinct to survive took over. I felt myself pawing. One front leg slipped through the opening. I stuck my nose there, pushing. But it would not loosen. No matter how hard I tried.
I hurt. Everywhere. Outside and inside. Ears, eyes, toes, ribs.
Hurt like I had been beaten with a thorny branch and run over by a car. Every bone pulverized. My skin flayed. Arteries and veins collapsed in on themselves.
But pain, when all-consuming, propels the spirit to another plane. A place where it becomes separate from the body, then fades, gloriously, away.
It was as though I had just laid my pain-riddled body onto a giant leaf and set it adrift on calm waters. With a breath, I blew it away. Let go. Floated through a haze of bliss, my body weightless and free of pain. And drifted to where the light shone down, a cone-like tunnel to up above.
Who are you?
The voice had come from the light. The words, however, were not the language the Tall Ones had spoken. Still, somehow I knew the meaning behind the sounds. I understood.
There’s nothing to be afraid of.
“Nothing to be afraid of?” I said, although I hadn’t really said it, only thought it. But I heard my words. Heard them.
That’s right. You’re safe.
“Safe?”
You sound like an echo.
“Echo?”
Yes, Echo.
And like that, my name became Echo. Although I still wasn’t sure what it was I should be afraid of.
Of not letting go, the voice said.
“Not letting go?”
You want to go toward the light, yes?
“Yes, I do.”
Why?
“Because there is no pain there. It’s a beautiful place. Peaceful.”
It is. But you have to stay.
“Stay ... here? In the water? But I can’t breathe. I’m not a fish.”
Trust me, you wouldn’t want to be a fish. It’s very, very boring.
“Then what? I don’t understand.”
Just stay. Be you. Trust that who you are is who you’re meant to be. And trust that you are meant for someone.
The voice trailed away. I blinked at the light as it, too, faded. A silver, forked tailfin flicked before me, then disappeared. Bubbles funneled upward in its place, as a murky wash of bluish-green surrounded me. My legs pulled in toward my body, then stroked the water, pushing it behind me. Green gave way to blue. Brilliant, sparkling sky blue.
My head broke the surface. I swallowed not water, but air, and then coughed up great gobs of phlegm. Foam swirled around me. My legs, numb to the cold, kicked and paddled. The shoreline came into view, rocky banks bordered by sandy mud flats. I strained toward it, but the river carried me farther downstream. So I let it take me. Bobbing and spinning. Until at last it deposited me on a sandy strip, littered with flakes of stone.
I lay sprawled upon the damp earth, the naked arms of trees scratching at a steel gray sky above me. Water lapped at my toes, its sound a steady rhythm, growing in volume. Cold seeped beneath my drenched fur, settling deep in my bones. I began to shiver. My teeth rattled. My muscles cramped, burning with fatigue from my efforts.
I had to go ... somewhere. Anywhere. Just not back there with them, Ed and Carol. So I lifted my head, looked around.
The world tipped and spun. I felt dizzy, nauseated, disoriented. Pulling my elbows beneath me, I rested my muzzle between my front paws and watched the river flow by.
How long had I been down there, beneath the surface? Where was the bridge? And why had Ed thrown me from it? These were things, I realized, I would never know.
What I did know was that I had defied death and survived. And I was no longer afraid of what I did not know, because what we imagine might happen is sometimes far worse than what comes to be.
Trust that who you are is who you’re meant to be.
I shook my head to jar the words from my mind. They meant nothing. They were merely a dream.
And trust that you are meant for someone.
Meant for someone? A human? Hah, not likely. What reason did I have to trust any of them?
Slowly, I stood. My legs trembled from weakness. As I walked away, I swayed, my steps twisting along a narrow trail that meandered beside the river.
Pausing, I lowered my nose and inhaled. Others had been here before me. But not humans. Some other kinds of animals I did not know.
A plump form scampered farther ahead across the trail. I hunkered low to hide behind a tuft of grass. It had a ringed tail, ticked fur, and a dark band across its eyes. It stopped, gazed back at me, and chattered in irritation before disappearing into the tangle of trees that spilled down into the valley from surrounding hills. I waited until the creature was long gone before continuing on.
The sun peeked between broken clouds, but it did little to chase the cold away. The only way to get warm was to keep moving. So I did. Mile after mile. Following the river. Going as far as I could from Ed and the bridge.
The promise of food and warmth urged me on. I didn’t know where to find those things; only that they weren’t here.
Thirsty, I went to the river and drank from it. It tasted of silt and moss and decaying leaves. As I turned back to the path, a lump of fur at water’s edge caught my eye. I watched it for a long, long time. It didn’t move. It wasn’t even breathing. Whatever it was, it was dead.
Crouching low, I crept forward. I had practiced my stealth hunting moves with my siblings many times. I was the best of all of them at it. I had often pounced, but ne
ver attacked. I refused to torture them as they had me.
The closer I came to the lump, the more it struck me as odd, out of place. It had one eye, which wasn’t really in its skull at all, but attached to the outside by a few loose strands of thread. Its tail and mane were made from thicker cords, tangled and frayed. And it appeared to have no mouth at all. Large brown spots covered its yellow body, its lanky legs almost comical compared to mine.
Aware that it posed no danger, I stood over it, curious as to what it was and how it had gotten there. I sniffed it and detected only the stink of river water. Then I nudged its body with my nose to push it away from the water. When it was safely away from the river, I gently picked it up in my mouth. The neck was oddly angled. I shook it and water flew in a broad arc to patter upon the dead grass. The head flopped side to side, almost separate from the rest of it.
This was my prize, my reward for having survived. In my short life, I had never come across anything quite so fascinating, so desirable, such a fountain of joy. As I trotted along the path, I lifted my head high, proud of this thing I had claimed. It was like having hunted without having maimed or killed.
I would care for it and sleep with it. Guard it at all costs. It was mine. All mine. A source of purpose. An undemanding companion.
For a while, I forgot my hunger and weariness. Renewed, I trotted on and on, following the trail as it veered away from the river and onto a broader plain where the hills parted and the ground rose gradually.
There, at the top of the path, stood a man. Taller than the tallest Tall Ones I had ever seen. A man of middle years with tawny golden hair. He cupped his hands to his mouth and shouted toward the valley from which I had just come.
“Hannah! Hannaaahhh!”
Slowing, I looked about, expecting a ‘hannah’ to burst from the underbrush. Maybe that’s what the masked creature was? But everything all around was still. There was nothing but me and the man. No sound, no movement. Just the two of us and a bunch of trees and hills and the river in the distance.
I turned, searching for a hiding place. But just as I did so, he spied me. And started running toward me.
A recognition, a sense of ‘knowing’, sparked deep inside me. I quickly brushed it away and focused.
“Is that ...?” He tossed a look behind him and hooked his arm in the air. “Jenn, here. Hurry! There’s a dog down there. He’s got Faustine.”
Faustine? Was a ‘faustine’ anything like a ‘hannah’?
“What do you mean ‘He’s got Faustine’?” a woman’s voice called. “Where?”
“This way!”
Heavy feet tromped downhill toward me. Soon, I heard a third set, lighter and more nimble, but no faster.
Frantic, I leaped from the path to bound through grass and weeds. Cockleburs snagged at my fur. Stiff stems of broken weeds poked at the pads of my feet.
“We’ve got to find her, Dad!” the younger one screeched, her words followed by sobs.
“Don’t worry, honey. We will, we will.” But he sounded no surer than the others.
The faster I ran, the more my lungs burned for air. My time beneath the water had weakened them and filled my legs with lead. I heaved for air, but as I did so, the furry thing fell from my mouth. I was several feet beyond it before I could swing around and turn back. Just as I dipped my head to grab it again, the man appeared before me.
We both stopped, staring. I wanted my prize back, but didn’t dare risk going closer.
Kneeling, he extended a hand. His voice was soft, soothing, but carried the slightest tremor. “Please, where did you find that? Show us.”
Again, that feeling. A sense of familiarity as I met his gaze. I wasn’t sure what it meant or why I felt it.
The others came to a stop behind him, faces drawn with concern, almost scared. The younger one was a smaller version of the woman. Tears streaked her face.
“Please,” he begged again.
I didn’t understand what he wanted. Was he asking to take the thing? Or for me to come to him? Or something else entirely?
Although instinct begged me to trust him, experience told me not to. The last human I was with had done a terrible thing to me.
So I did the smartest thing I could think of.
I ran.
chapter 4: Hannah
Cold. Absolute, piercing, bone-shattering cold. Little Hannah McHugh felt it in her core. Her heart, which at first had raced in fright, now beat sluggishly. Fear had gripped her for only a moment. And then the shock of coldness snatched even that away. She simply existed — frozen, submerged, unable to move or breathe or even think.
Slowly, a question formed in her mind: Where am I?
But no answer came. No awareness. No reaction. She saw nothing. Felt nothing. Could not move.
She opened her eyes, blinking hard as tiny particles of silt scratched at them. A murky haze of green swirled around her, lightening, shifting.
What is this place? How did I get here?
She began to remember. Wandering away from her cabin in search of fairies. Following the bluebird. Kneeling beside the river. Faustine falling in. Reaching. Slipping. Plunging ...
She was in the river!
Hannah opened her mouth to scream for help. Water rushed in. Her throat constricted. She gagged. Her chest seized, trying to summon a cough, but her lungs resisted, determined to hold on to what little air they contained.
Desperate to get out, she flapped her short arms like a fish moving its fins. But an eddy was sucking her downward, pulling her farther beneath the surface. A whirlpool had been created by a bend in the river, the bottom scooped deep by countless floods.
Again, she flailed her arms and kicked her legs. The water above her grew deeper, heavier, pushing her down. She closed her eyes. This was not happening. She was not here. She was back at the cabin, safe in her sleeping bag beside the fire, dreaming. That was all.
A weight squeezed her ribs. Her lungs ached. Pressure pushed outward from within.
Once more, she kicked, extending her legs far. Her foot caught on something. She yanked it toward her — or tried to, but the thing held her firm, pressing sharply against the sides of her foot. She’d caught it between two rocks, wedged it there somehow.
Panic gave way to despair and quickly became resignation. Opening her eyes, she looked up. Saw light, white and warm. In that halo of hope, there appeared her parents’ faces and beside them Maura, smiling sadly.
Hannah smiled back.
A fish swam by, paused before her face. Its mouth opened, shaping a word: Listen.
“I am. I hear you.”
It wiggled its head up and down, as if nodding. And then with a flick of its fins, it was gone.
Tranquility filled her. Happiness. She was floating, weightless, no longer tired or afraid.
Out of nowhere, a hand clamped on her wrist and wrenched her free.
chapter 5: Echo
Caution isn’t the same as fear. To be cautious simply means being alert and careful. Which I always was. Because it kept me safe. To be afraid is to be certain of a bad outcome. And I wished to ensure a good one.
Which was why I ran. Because I would not risk my fate in the hands of a stranger. I trusted myself, not that man I did not know. The river had swallowed me, sucked me into its icy depths. But I had battled for my life and won. And for hours more I had wandered on my own, undaunted, determined. Tired, hungry, yes. But alive. A survivor.
And alone. Which suddenly seemed like not such a good thing. I missed my mother, although my memories of her were vague. For a few short weeks, she had fed and cleaned us. Indifferently, perhaps, but to us she had been our whole world. When we all got our teeth, she had dug under the fence and run, never looking back. As if her freedom meant more than caring for us.
I had heard Ed mutter, as he filled the hole, that she hadn’t been worth the trouble and it was a good thing the truck had flattened her just down the road from their house. I knew that meant she wasn’t coming back. F
or the most part, I had had little interaction with Ed, which was a good thing. He was a heartless man.
Carol, however, had shown a trace of kindness. She fed us, patted us on the head sometimes, and cleaned our pen, although not often enough. My siblings had thought nothing of rolling in their own filth. Yet I missed them now, even as smelly as they were. Missed the shared warmth of their bodies when they piled one atop the other to doze contentedly. Missed the joyful yips and growls as they tumbled and played. The way they cleaned my ears and washed the gruel from my face after mealtime.
Yes, I even missed that thin, tasteless slop that Carol had fed us after mother left. It had filled our bellies, although I suspect there was something not quite right with it, as my stools turned from firm and my bowel movements regular, to watery and unstoppable. It felt as though my insides were being scoured out with each poop — or squirt, rather. Every time Carol had to clean up those messes, she cursed at us and pushed us away. She even turned the hose on us. Still, the next time she brought the slop, we devoured it. It was better than nothing. Puppies are always growing and growing means being hungry.
Nothing was what I had in my stomach now as I ran through the woods blanketing the hills above the river. I could endure the cold as long as I kept moving, but hunger sat heavy like a stone beneath my ribs. My stomach twisted in on itself. My bowels cramped. Finding food became my sole objective. If that man, the one who wanted Faustine, were to offer me food right now, I would take it, no matter the risk, because my hunger was becoming so bad that my energy was draining rapidly away. I was already tired from nearly drowning in the river and trying to swim free and all the miles I had covered that morning. But no matter how far I went, I found nothing to eat. I tried chewing on grass, but that only made me retch. I vomited a clear fluid that tasted vaguely of river water.
I had to rest. After a while, I could go on, search some more. So I looked for a place to lie down. Somewhere safe where I could not be seen by others.
A wind began to blow, cold and damp, carrying on it the scent of rain. The sun was now low in the western sky. A blanket of clouds began to obscure its light, driving the chill of early winter deep beneath my fur. But in that fading light, I saw an outcropping of rock halfway up a hill nearby. My feet aching, my legs weary, I climbed that hill, driven by the promise of sleep and safety.
Say That Again Page 2