by Sue Pethick
The dog began to prance on tiptoe, its yellow eyes showing white along the edges as they rolled in Kieran’s direction.
“Shh, it’s all right,” the boy said. “Try to hold still.”
He did a quick survey of the snare, trying to find the best way to cut the dog loose. The rope had been tied to a sapling that someone had bent over the trail and held down with a stake just large enough to keep it from snapping back up until an animal disturbed it. Kieran had seen snares like that in his Boy Scout Handbook, but they were for catching smaller animals, not something as large and heavy as a dog this size. Why hadn’t Rex been able to break the sapling and get free?
Then Kieran saw the sapling, broken and lying on the ground nearby. So, it hadn’t held. Then why was Rex still caught? Following the rope higher, the boy found his answer. When the sapling had sprung back, Rex must have leapt up, leaving enough slack in the rope for it to catch on the branch of a sturdier, mature tree—the branch from which it now dangled. As Kieran’s gaze traveled from the branch down toward Rex, he gasped.
He was wearing a collar.
The sight of the leather strip around the dog’s neck staggered him. After all this time, he thought, why had someone put a collar on him? Was it the person who set the snare, or had Rex belonged to someone else all along? In that instant, Kieran felt as if his dreams had died. Nevertheless, he thought, he couldn’t let Rex die with them.
In spite of its exhaustion, the dog was continuing to struggle, and Kieran knew he’d never be able to get close enough to cut the rope near the noose. He’d have to shimmy up the tree and cut it there. Taking a moment to search the trunk for likely hand and footholds, he tucked the knife back into his pocket and started up.
It didn’t take long. Kieran’s knife was sharp, and Rex’s struggles had frayed the rope to half its original thickness. A few minutes of determined sawing and the dog was free. As the rope fell, Rex collapsed in a heap on the ground. Kieran shimmied back down the trunk and hurried over to take a look.
The hair around the dog’s neck had been worn away, and the nails on its back paws were torn and shredded from hours spent scuffling on the ground, trying to stay upright. There was blood on the collar, but Kieran couldn’t see much more than that. As he came closer, the dog opened its eyes and let out a piteous moan. The thought of what might have happened if he hadn’t gotten there in time sent chills through Kieran’s body.
“It’s okay,” he said. “You’re free now.”
He reached forward tentatively and set a hand on the dog’s back, patting it gently. The animal closed its eyes and seemed to sigh in thanks. Kieran glared hatefully at the collar. If it hadn’t been for that, Rex might have gotten himself free.
“I’ll bet that thing hurts, huh?” he said, moving his hand closer to the dog’s neck. “Would you like me to take it off?”
Kieran’s fingers shook as he touched the collar, waiting to see what the dog would do. When it didn’t try to bite him or cry out in pain, he started gently pushing the leather through the buckle.
“Here,” he said. “Let’s just see what your neck looks like without it.”
As the collar opened, Kieran grimaced. The skin on Rex’s neck was raw and bloody; not something that would heal on its own. He’d have to get him to a vet or the wound might become infected. Kieran folded the collar, stuffed it into his pocket, and looked around. He had to get Rex out of there, but how?
He stepped back and patted his thighs encouragingly, hoping Rex would be able to stand up and walk out on his own, but the dog didn’t move. Kieran even took the meat loaf out of his pocket and waved it in front of his nose, hoping to entice him onto his feet, but the animal refused. The boy began to despair. Rex was too big for him to carry, and he had no way of caring for it by himself. He had to get help.
He bent down and gave the dog a solemn look.
“You stay here, boy,” he said. “I’ll be right back.”
CHAPTER 23
It was the coldest December Bolingbroke had seen for half a century. Roads were slick, icicles hung from the rooflines, and forecasters on the television were giddily predicting snow. As Travis drove his brother to Charlotte that morning, though, he wasn’t thinking about the prospects for a white Christmas. He was thinking about Renee.
Why had she run off without telling him why she had to leave or even good-bye? And more importantly, why wouldn’t she answer his calls? If there’d been some kind of emergency, surely she would have said so, but Marissa told him that Renee had gotten no call and received no message from anyone.
“One minute, we were just chatting like old pals,” she said. “Then she looked over at where you and Hank were talking at the bar, and she just . . . bolted.”
Travis had left messages on her phone, hoping she’d return or at the very least let him know she was okay, but as the evening wore on, he gave up trying and assumed that once things were settled, she’d let him know what had happened. Instead, she’d left him in the dark, and now the concern he’d felt was turning to anger.
What the hell was going on?
It didn’t help that this was the day he had to drive Hugh to the group home. His brother had been in a state since he woke up, pacing the floor and mumbling to himself. Travis had anticipated that there’d be a certain amount of anxiety surrounding this visit, so he wasn’t really surprised. What he hadn’t counted on was that Max would choose this morning to run away. Hugh had let him out to do his business when they first got up, but when it was time to leave, the dog was no longer in the yard.
At least he has a collar on, Travis thought. If anyone finds him, they’ll know who to call.
Hugh was sitting in the passenger’s seat with his shoulders hunched and his head bowed, staring at his fingers.
“You okay?”
Hugh shrugged.
“I’m sorry I let Max out.”
Travis shook his head.
“I already told you: Max’s running off had nothing to do with you. If you hadn’t let him out of the house, I would have. It’s what we always do in the morning, right?”
Hugh nodded and looked out the window.
“Don’t worry,” Travis said. “Chances are, Max will be at the house when I get back. Just go and have a good time like we talked about.”
Hugh chewed his thumbnail.
“You’re not mad?”
“No. I’m not mad. I’m just a little upset about last night. A friend of mine had to leave early, and I haven’t heard from her, so I’m a little worried.”
“Trav?”
“Yeah?”
“Can we stop at Starbuck’s? The sign said there’s one at the next exit.”
Travis stifled a yawn, grateful for Hugh’s keen eyesight. After the night he’d had and with ice on the roadways, he needed to be wide awake if he was going to make it to Charlotte and home again safely.
“Good idea,” he said. “I could use one myself.”
Hugh stayed in the car while Travis went in and ordered. Standing at the counter, waiting for his name to be called, brought back memories of having coffee with Renee. She’d just cut his hair, and he’d been congratulating himself for taking her to Mimesis. As enjoyable as it had been, talking with her at the school, it wasn’t until she was called away that he realized just how much he’d liked her. So much so that he’d had a hard time concentrating as he sat in Hank’s office afterward. His mind kept drifting back to Renee and regretting that she’d left without his getting her number. Since then, there hadn’t been a day that she wasn’t on his mind, and he was certain she felt the same way about him. That’s why her odd behavior was so maddening. What had changed?
Whatever it was, he thought, there’d better be a good reason for it.
* * *
Max was still missing when Travis arrived home. He checked with the neighbors on either side, but they hadn’t seen him, nor had the woman who lived in the house behind his property. He slipped on a pair of boots and his parka and started
walking the area, calling the dog’s name and peering into the places a dog might hide. An hour later, he was back home, calling the vets in the area to see if anyone had brought in an injured dog. No luck there, either.
Travis walked the perimeter of his property, checking to see where Max had gotten out and to find out if he had, once again, left his collar behind. He found the spot under the fence where the dog had dug his way out, but at least there was no collar. If the worst happened and Max had been badly injured or—God forbid—killed, there would at least be some way to notify him.
A car pulled up to his next door neighbor’s house as Travis walked by. As soon as it stopped, the doors flew open and a family of five tumbled out, the three children scrambling toward the front door where their grandparents waited with open arms. Watching the scene unfold, he felt his throat constrict. As much of a relief as it would be to have Hugh out of his hair for a while, the thought of being alone so close to Christmas was depressing.
He wondered what Emmy was doing. Had she found someone else, or was she—like he was—alone? He should call, he thought, then shook his head. Their last conversation had ended in a fight, and things had been said on both sides that he knew he regretted, even if she didn’t. The truth was, he knew the two of them were better apart and that there were sound reasons why things hadn’t worked out, but there was something about being by himself at Christmastime that made him feel almost homesick. Without Emmy, without his parents or even Hugh, he felt emotionally adrift in a vast sea of indifferent humanity.
Travis felt his phone vibrate, and his heart leaped. Finally, he thought, thrusting a hand into his pocket. Whatever Renee’s excuse was, he’d already forgiven her.
He glanced at the caller ID, and his face fell.
“Hey, Savannah.”
“Hey, Trav. How you doing?”
“Fine,” he said, scanning the area. “Just out looking for Max. Stupid dog ran off this morning, and I can’t find him.”
“Oh, dear. Anything I can do to help?”
“No thank you, but I appreciate the offer.”
He turned up the driveway toward his house, the anticipation of the warmth inside making the outside feel all the colder.
“So,” he said, “what’s up?”
Savannah sighed dramatically. A sure sign that she was feeling sorry for herself.
“Have you got any plans for Christmas Eve?”
“Not at the moment, why?”
“Neither do I, and it’s making me feel awfully blue. If you don’t get a better offer, would you mind if I came over there and spent it with you? I just don’t think I can face it alone.”
If you don’t get a better offer?
Travis could certainly identify with the way she was feeling. Hadn’t he just been dreading Tuesday night? Given his parents’ deaths and Hugh’s absence, his own mood was understandable, but it wasn’t like Savannah to be so unsure of herself. If his mother was right, though, and she and Marissa had had a falling-out, then maybe there were others keeping their distance as well. As hard as it was to believe, he thought, Savannah Hays might just be as lonely as he was. For the first time in his life, he found that he actually pitied her.
“Of course,” he said. “I’ll see you then.”
CHAPTER 24
“Hurry, Grandpa, hurry!”
Kieran capered like a spooked horse as he led his grandfather toward the place where he’d left the dog. Wendell grumbled and pushed another broken branch out of his way. The boy had been hysterical when he came home, crying and pointing as he jabbered on about an injured dog in the woods. The woods, for God’s sake! He’d barely had time to put his coat back on and grab his car keys before the boy pulled him out the front door. For now, he’d just do what Kieran wanted, but once this crisis was over, the two of them were going to have some very strong words.
“Slow down, will you?” Wendell gasped.
As he struggled forward, he searched the ground in front of him for trip hazards and poison ivy. The weak December sunlight was quickly fading, and the heat radiating from his face had fogged up his glasses.
“Where the hell is it?” he said. “I can’t see a goddamn thing in here.”
“He’s up there, see?” Kieran said, pointing. “Where it’s lighter.”
Wendell shook his head and pushed on.
Of all the damned fool things . . .
Another few yards and they were at the edge of a clearing, in the middle of which lay what looked to be a moth-eaten grey rug—the shaggy kind that was popular back in the sixties. Then Kieran ran up to the rug and it moved: A large, misshapen head rose up from one end and an enormous whip of a tail at the other. Wendell lunged forward, his heart pounding.
“Stop! Don’t let it bite you!”
The boy shook his head.
“No, Grandpa. Rex and I are friends, see?”
Kieran squatted down and started patting the giant head as the large tail thumped the ground. Wendell stopped and squinted at the foggy scene.
“Well, I’ll be damned.”
He took off his glasses and wiped the lenses clean, then stepped up for a closer look. The dog turned its head and regarded him with solemn yellow eyes.
“What are we going to do?” Kieran said.
Wendell surveyed the area—the hairless stripe around the dog’s neck, the bloody noose, a broken sapling tied to a severed rope, the destruction left by an animal desperate to get free—and despaired. The animal had been fighting for its life, probably for hours. There was no way it could walk out of there on its own, and he was reluctant to try and carry an animal that might turn on him. No, he thought. Better to call Animal Control. If the dog survived the night, they could pick it up in the morning. If not, then they’d have to be content to let Nature take its course. It would be a hard lesson for Kieran to learn, but it wouldn’t be the last in this life.
The dog had settled its head back on the ground, content to let Kieran pet it, and Wendell grimaced. It wasn’t going to be easy convincing the boy to leave it behind. It seemed very gentle for such a large animal, and surprisingly calm, given its circumstances. It seemed to have formed some sort of bond with Kieran, too; something he wouldn’t have thought possible, given the boy’s odd behaviors.
Wendell frowned. What odd behaviors?
Thinking back, he realized that Kieran hadn’t counted a single step since they’d left the house, nor had Wendell seen any tics or heard any unusual sounds from the boy. This, in spite of his obvious agitation. And now, there he was, sitting on the cold ground, his pants crumpled and soiled, as calm and accepting of the situation as the dog was. Wendell felt tears sting his eyes as a sudden determination came over him. Injured or not, there was something about this dog that had freed his grandson—at least temporarily—from the prison of his disorder. An animal who could do that deserved his gratitude—and his help.
He took a deep breath. Finding a veterinarian on a Sunday would be impossible, and the family couldn’t afford the emergency clinic’s fee. His friend Ted Coburn, however, was a retired vet, and Wendell thought he might be willing to take a look. Even if he couldn’t treat the dog himself, perhaps he could let them know how badly it was injured. He just had to figure out a way to get the animal back to his car without getting either his grandson or himself hurt.
Wendell stepped back and pursed his lips, trying to estimate the animal’s weight. If it had been a beefier breed, like a Rottweiler, it would have been too heavy for him to carry, but this one was mostly fur, its body long and lean. Wendell was no weightlifter, but he had no problem carrying bags of manure through the yard for his vegetable garden. If Kieran could cradle the dog’s head and shoulders, he figured the two of them could grapple the thing out to the car and drive it over to Ted’s place.
“Come on, bud,” he said. “Let’s see if we can get this guy out of here.”
* * *
If someone had shown up with a strange dog at his door, Wendell thought, he’d have been
speechless. Ted Coburn, however, acted like it was an everyday occurrence. When Kieran told him where he’d found the dog and what had happened to it, Ted had quickly sized up the situation and brought out a scaled-down gurney that he kept in his garage for just such occasions.
“I still see a couple of old clients on the side,” he confided, by way of explanation.
The three of them wheeled the dog inside, through the house, and onto a sunny back porch where Ted’s wife sat knitting in front of a space heater. It wasn’t until Ted dragged a lamp closer to the gurney and turned it on that she even bothered to look up.
“This is Wendell and his grandson, Molly. They found a dog half-hung in the woods.”
Molly smiled pleasantly.
“Would you gentlemen like some sweet tea?”
Kieran shook his head.
“No, ma’am.”
“I’m good, thanks,” Wendell said.
“Very well.” Molly smiled and went back to her knitting.
Ted was examining the dog’s neck.
“These abrasions look bad,” he said, “but they’re not really serious. I can give you some salve that should clear them up. What I don’t know is, what kind of damage may have been done to the structures below the skin. He can move his limbs, so it’s probably a safe bet that the spine is intact, but hanging there would have put a good deal of stress on the spinal nerves. He may be experiencing weakness or tingling in his legs or other parts of his body; I just don’t know.”
Kieran’s face was the picture of despair.
“You mean Rex might be paralyzed?”
The man’s face softened.
“I don’t think it’s likely, son. Rex is moving his tail and legs, even if he’s not ready yet to stand. With a little rest and some anti-inflammatory medicine, your dog will be back on his feet in a day or two.”
Kieran gave the man a guilty look.
“He’s not my dog,” he murmured.
“Kieran found him when he was playing in the woods,” Wendell added. “He just thinks he looks like a Rex.”
Ted gave the dog an appraising look.