Jagger

by Kristopher Rufty

  “Good God, Jim. What the hell did you get into?”

  She looked up and gasped.

  Jagger stood in the doorway, the front of his body in the room and the rest in the hallway. He was filthy and coated in mud and blood, his fur dingy and matted into gnarly tangles. On top of his head, Ellie could make out a wound that had split his hair in an oval shape. The green puss and pale scabs revealed a massive infection. His face looked as if he’d shoved his head into a bucket of red paint that had dried into streaks across his dark hair. Light pink foam hung in thick strips from his droopy jowls.

  What happened to him? Why does he look like this?

  Ellie’s skin turned cold and her stomach cramped. It was his eyes that scared her the most. The yellow orbs looked hard and unreal, like yellow metal that oozed spoiled milk.

  For a moment, she thought he was rabid, but she couldn’t think of any form of rabies to make a dog’s eyes look like that.

  “Juh...” She gulped. “Jagger?”

  The dog’s lips lifted, baring a patch of sharp teeth.

  “You know me, boy.”

  Another growl. He stepped forward.

  Though Ellie’s body didn’t move, she flinched on the inside. “Just stay back, okay? Don’t come in here.” Jagger studied her, as if daring her to do something. “Go on. Shoo!”

  Jagger barked. The angry outburst echoed off the thin walls around her. Ellie jerked in the bed. Her heart painfully sledged inside her chest.

  “Jagger. Go on, get. Go home. Want to go see Amy?”

  The dog tilted his head, obviously recognizing the name.

  “Huh? Want to see Amy?”

  His tail lifted as if it were about to wag. Then it stiffened to a point, the hair standing firm to show his warning.

  God, he looks like he wants to kill me.

  “Stay back,” she said.

  Everyone had heard about what Jagger had done, the killings at the barn. And until seeing him now, she’d had a hard time believing it. Sure, he was a big dog that intimidated a lot of people. But never Ellie. He liked her and she liked him. She used to tease Amy about how gentle the dog was, saying he couldn’t be a guard dog if he was too busy wanting to be friends with everybody he came in contact with.

  But Ellie understood Jagger was not here looking for friends.

  Something hot and powdery sprinkled between her breasts, nearly causing Ellie to shout. She looked down at her chest and saw the dark flakes of cigarette ashes on her skin. The gray flakes had become too long and dropped off the cigarette. Slowly, she stabbed the cherry tip into the ash tray.

  With caution, Ellie moved the ash tray from her stomach to beside her on the mattress. She slowly scooted back, pinning the sheet to the front of her body with her hand. “Jagger, sit.”

  He remained standing, motionless, but his eyes turned to follow her.

  Putting her back against the headboard, she cautiously pulled the sheet up and around her shoulders. “I said go on!” She ushered him away, flicking her wrist.

  Jagger tensed, pushing back on his forepaws. She heard his claws scraping the carpet as he prepared himself to pounce.

  Ellie slowly extended her arm from under the sheet. Jagger paused, studying her motions. She lowered her arm, opened her hand. Her fingers squeezed the rim of the ash tray. She didn’t know what it was made out of, but it was hard and bumpy and would hurt if used as weapon. Ellie hoped it would be affective on a nearly two hundred pound crazed dog.

  “Just stay right there, Jagger, okay?” She reeled back her arm. “Be a good boy.”

  Jagger’s eyes lifted, watching her arm.

  “I’m sorry, boy,” she said. She tilted her hand, feeling ash and cigarette butts sprinkle down her arm. “I’m sorry.”

  Ellie threw the ash tray with all she had. It soared across the room, spinning like a disc. She could tell right away that her aim was good. The twirling gray blur was heading straight for Jagger’s face.

  Ellie was starting to get out of the bed but stopped when Jagger caught the ash tray in his mouth. It was such a natural reaction, with very little effort, that Ellie could have tossed him a piece of bologna.

  He lowered his head and dropped the ash tray on the floor. Looking up, his tongue licked his stained lips.

  “Oh...shit on me...”

  Jagger lunged.

  Screaming, Ellie flung herself sideways, pulling the sheet with her. It wrapped her body as she fell to the floor. When she landed on her stomach, Jagger dropped onto the mattress. She felt the bed shake beside her, the metal frame bumping her arm as she scurried to get away.

  Above her, Jagger reached down, roaring. His jaws snapped at her. The sheet was snagged by his teeth and pulled. Growling, the massive dog viciously shook his head with the sheet clamped in his mouth.

  Ellie bounced in the wispy cocoon, kicked at the sheet. Her legs were mummified in its tight coil. She could feel her body being dragged back to the bed. Hands slapped the carpet, fingernails trying to dig in. She felt one become lodged and snap off. The burning sensation hurt, but she ignored it as she fought to free herself.

  Jagger loosened his grip for a moment, probably to change his position for better leverage. It was all the chance Ellie needed to jerk her legs away. The sheet came with them as she flipped back. She got on all fours, and looked up. Jagger was situated the same as her, but looking down at her. Waiting to see what her move was going to be.

  Her move was to run!

  She scrambled to her feet and was heading for the door within mere blinks. She felt more than heard Jagger leap from the bed. The floor shook under her with his landing, rocking her to the side. As much as she wanted to pull the door behind her on her way out, she knew she couldn’t take the time to do so. It would slow her down just long enough for him to nab her.

  In the hallway, Ellie could hear the claps of Jagger’s jaws as he bit at her ankles, could feel his saliva spattering her heels. Screaming, she slapped along the walls on either side to keep her moving. Without their support, she’d surely fall.

  “Jim! Help me!”

  Where is he?

  In the bedroom, during her stare down with Jagger, she hadn’t thought about Jim. But now she realized how wrong his absence really was. The dog was inside the house. How could that have happened? Entering the living room, she realized Jim was most likely already dead. Jagger had gotten him first and moved into the house to get her.

  She saw her proof when she spotted the open back door. That was where she would go. Out the back, screaming for help. Sure, this was a lousy neighborhood, but there were some decent people left who’d hear her cries. They’d come help.

  Ellie veered to the left, heading for the kitchen. Her feet left the carpet and slapped the cool tile of the kitchen floor.

  And slipped out from under her.

  She saw her feet fly up beside her before the weight of her shoulders angled her down. She pounded the floor, taking most of the impact on her left shoulder and neck. Her legs swung around next to her, burning as they squeaked across the tile. The air exploded from her lungs.

  Wheezing, she rolled onto her stomach and got her knees under her. Standing up seemed impossible, so she crawled, making her way to the open door. The hazy glow from outside was like a threshold to freedom. If she could get out there, she’d be safe.

  Her hands found the frame, dropped down onto the wooden step and gripped the lip of the top plank. She saw the broken finger nail of her ring her finger, the dark blood seeping out thick and slow. A smile pushed at the corners of her mouth, arching her screams into hysterical laughter.

  She’d made it!

  Then she was jerked to a halt, her neck yanking back with a fierce pop. She felt a tremendous burst of pain in her foot when Jagger’s mouth engulfed it. His teeth pierced her calf muscle, sinking in deep. Her foot felt as if it was being sucked down a moist tunnel.

  Rocking onto her side, she looked down her naked body to see Jagger had swallowed her halfway up her ca
lf. Her foot was down his gullet and still traveling.

  Ellie screamed as she was pulled back into the kitchen.

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  The meat had been better than the man’s, but still not very nourishing to Jagger. He’d liked the meat in her legs the most. There the meat had been lean and tight, easy for him to chew, and juicy when he’d bitten into it. Everywhere else hadn’t tasted as good, and he’d sampled it all.

  Raising his head, Jagger looked around the kitchen. It was dark and empty and didn’t interest him. He lay on the floor beside the body, forepaws extended in front of him while he licked the blood from his mouth. He felt some in his nose, but couldn’t get his tongue to reach it. The lapping triggered a sneeze that shot spatters of blood across the floor.

  He shook his head, flapping his ears.

  And detected a distinctive sound not far off.

  Youth.

  His bloodthirsty mind conjured up images of torn meat, ripped flesh, and blood. So much blood.

  A growl crawled up the back of his throat.

  The sound came again, this time louder—a strident squeal of happiness, a kind of laughter that had once brought him great joy. Now it made him ache. Hardened his muscles with rage. Infected him with a yearning to kill.

  He wanted to kill everything, and couldn’t stop the cravings. Needed the blood, the meat. It was all that mattered now, all that could calm him, though the bouts of peace were brief.

  Jagger could smell the source of the sounds now. The scent was maddening, bringing him to his feet, his nose aimed forward. The familiar smells sent images into his brain that he divided and sifted as recognition took hold.

  He saw the boy in his mind.

  Running around the yard with the high grass, laughing. Jagger remembered how sad the boy seemed to be on the inside. Nobody but Jagger could really sense it, and whenever he was near the boy, he hunkered down and allowed him to stroke his back. It caused the boy to emit that sweet laughter that rattled the back of his throat.

  He would also offer his belly to the boy, rolling over with his legs spread so he could be scratched. Amy was the only other human he’d permitted this honor to. And the boy would become happy because of Jagger’s affection, truly happy, the sadness washed away.

  More laughter came now.

  Jagger’s growl loudened, vibrating his chest with its deep pulsations.

  He walked out of the trailer, leaving a trail of large prints in the dead woman’s blood.

  The boy’s scent would guide Jagger to him.

  ****

  Amy hung up the phone. Though the news she’d received was mostly good, she didn’t feel any better than before the phone call to Jacob, her lawyer.

  “No worries, Amy,” Jacob had said. “The only thing they have on you is disorderly conduct.”

  “That’s it?”

  “You sound surprised.”

  And she had been. The way she’d acted, she thought they would have hit her with a lot more.

  “Well, they said you reeked of beer,” added Jacob. “But there were no empty containers in your car and you passed the sobriety test, correct?”

  “Yeah.”

  “So no worries there. All I see happening is a hefty fine. Nothing else.”

  “And what about…Jagger?”

  There was a long pause. Then he said, “Well…that I can’t say for sure yet. Nothing’s been said about you being held accountable for his actions. I don’t see any trouble with the authorities since the deputy’s report backs your claim that Jagger was taken from your residence. But…relatives of the victims might want a payout. Especially when they realize how much you’re worth.”

  Amy’s anger had made her skin feel as if it were popping. “How could they, Jacob? I wasn’t here when Jagger was taken. I’ve even spent a fortune on obedience lessons for him, his shots are up-to-date, and he’s never done anything bad. I mean—he hasn’t before…this…” Amy had taken a deep breath. “He’s a good dog, anybody will tell you that.”

  “Calm down. I’m not saying anyone’s going to come after you. I’m just saying be prepared…just in case.”

  “But I didn’t do anything wrong!”

  “They’ll find something with legs to stand on. I mean—Jagger was outside, not on a leash.”

  “But he was behind a fence.”

  “Not one that was constructed for a dog. Not a pen. I can hear them now using that as their defense.” Jacob then altered his voice to make himself dumb. “‘But she just let him run around in her backyard, making it easy for anybody with ill motives to come by and snatch him up’.”

  The phone trembling in Amy’s hands, sweat had broken out across her forehead.

  “Like I said,” Jacob had told her, “no worries. We’ll be ready if they do come after you with their greedy hands open for cash.”

  They’d talked a few more minutes. He’d told her there shouldn’t be any problems getting her Jeep back. She would have to pay the tow fee and the impound fee, which would run her somewhere near a thousand dollars after all had been calculated.

  Amy didn’t care how much she had to pay. She wanted to get her Jeep.

  Now she sat on the couch, her feet on the coffee table and her legs spread wide. She stared at the empty beer bottles lined on the table between her open knees and felt ashamed.

  Pathetic.

  She counted nine that she had drunk all by herself last night after Ellie dropped her off. This was becoming a habit, and she was worried about herself.

  Not a good idea, going to get my car with a hangover like this.

  Her head felt sore, as if her brain had been squeezed and pulled and pounded.

  Why was she doing this? Punishing herself?

  Over a damn dog.

  That was all Jagger really was, just a dog.

  But why does it hurt so bad?

  Her body ached with sadness. The hangover probably boosted it, but mostly it was the depression and feelings of abandonment that had caused this pain. She had no memory of going to bed last night, but she’d awakened in it, wearing the red tank top she’d had on during her search for Jagger. The rest of her clothes were on the floor beside the bed, slightly damp and reeking of jail, stale beer and sweat.

  What a pity-party I had, huh?

  Amy shook her head, triggering a pounding ache behind her forehead. Wincing, she put her hand up to her temples. Her hair was damp from the shower, but at least it no longer felt sticky, like when she’d be eating pancakes and accidentally dip her hair into the syrup.

  She quietly burped and tasted the sour residue of vomit.

  Oh God…

  The burning vapors in her throat made her eyes water. And it reminded of her of the mess she’d awakened in.

  Puked myself last night.

  She’d rolled over this morning and thrown her arm into a wide, chunky puddle.

  “Oh, gross…” she’d muttered. Then she’d jumped out of the bed, holding her dripping arm away from her.

  Amy had quickly undressed the bed, carrying the giant ball of sheets and covers to the laundry room. The lid of the washer was already up, so she’d stuffed the sheets in, added the detergent and then started the machine.

  Then she’d rushed into the bathroom and taken a quick shower.

  With her hair still wet and soaking through the back of her shirt, she got off the couch. Inside the kitchen, she grabbed a trash bag and returned to the living room and began cleaning up.

  She took care of the bottles first. Once she had them all in a bag she tied it, and set the clinking white sack on the back deck. Then she returned with another bag to get the rest of the mess.

  She found cereal-bar wrappers on the floor, lots of tissues that had hardened from her tears and snot, and a pizza box with two slices left. It took her a moment to remember she’d gotten pizza last night. She’d ordered it from Krispy Krust sometime after Ellie had left and had forgotten to tip the delivery guy.

  I’m such a bitch.


  She used to get pizza and share it with Jagger. She’d sit on the couch with the box in her lap. Jagger, sitting on the floor beside her legs propped on the coffee table, would patiently wait for his servings.

  “Want a slice?” she’d ask.

  Jagger would respond with an enthusiastic slurp.

  Holding the slice by the crusty edge, she’d dangle it above his mouth. Like a baby bird, his mouth would open impressively wide enough that she could set the slice inside. Then it would gently close, so he wouldn’t catch her fingers, and chew.

  Those were our nights.

  Every night was their night, she realized. They’d spent them all together for almost four years and Amy had loved it. Sure, the dog worked her nerves sometimes, but she would rather have all the annoyances than not have him at all.

  I’ll never have him, again.

  The idea pounded her, stole her energy. She dropped onto the couch, not trusting her legs to hold her up.

  He would have to be put down, for sure.

  Amy felt something wet and warm trickling down her cheek and realized she was crying. She used a knuckle to wipe her eyes.

  No point in crying, won’t change a thing.

  Jagger was gone forever, no matter what. Might as well get used to it.

  Her body shuddered as a sobbing fit threatened to come on. She fought it away and stood up, hugging the pizza box to her side with one arm. The trash bag bumped her leg as she headed for the back door again, stepping over the now clear coffee table.

  She’d left the main door open, but the screen door was closed. Bumping it with a hip, she held it wide and dropped the bag and pizza box next to the other trash. She needed to carry it all to the trash can. Tonight was pick-up night, and she needed to make she had everything ready to go.

  Wonder what they’ll think when they hear glass rattling in so many of the bags.

  Probably think she’s an alcoholic. Like Janice.

  And most of the others that live in this neighborhood.

  Can’t beat them, join them.

  Amy hated herself. She hated how weak she’d allowed herself to become. And she knew it was mostly because of how desperately dependent on Jagger she was. She didn’t used to be like this and wondered how it had happened.