High above, a dark bird flew free as the sky, its red-brown wings spanning out as if in joyous celebration. A falcon, Dominic realized, admiring the beauty and grace of the bird and longing to fly free, too. It would be so wonderful if he—
A sharp blast exploded.
The majestic falcon dropped like stone.
“NO!” Dominic cried, taking off running.
Visions of gun-toting poachers fueled Dominic’s anger and pushed him to run faster. As he neared a meadow, he spotted a middle-aged man, outfitted in camouflage, pointing a shiny rifle skyward. The hunter took one look at Dominic, whose hard-boiled anger exploded with each pounding footstep, and blanched like he was scared enough to wet his pants. He fled in the opposite direction.
Ignoring the man, Dominic kept going—and a short while later he found the falcon. The tangle of feathers lay in a dense thicket of brush, unmoving. Dominic’s heart sank as if he’d been shot, too. A wind-blown creature flying free one moment, then gone in a blast of stupidity.
“Goddamned hunter,” Dominic swore.
There was nothing he could do, so he turned to leave—but then heard a faint wing flutter. With a start, he turned back. Taking off his shirt and wrapping it around his hand for protection, he carefully picked tangled branches away from the bird. Dominic gently lifted up the near-dead creature, joyful to feel a faint pulse of life—there was no blood or bullet hole, only ripped tail features. But the bird was limp, probably stunned by the blast.
For hours, Dominic kept the bird warm, rewarded at last by a flutter of wings and opening eyes. The bird started to panic at the restricting shirt around his feathers, but Dominic instinctively cast out a mental message of trust and safety, just as he had done with Volcano. To his amazement, this calmed the bird. And by that nightfall, boy and bird shared a deep bond, which is how Dominic knew it was time to let go.
The falcon spread its wings, rising into the sky and disappearing in one sharp screech of goodbye. Staring at the empty sky, Dominic thought about his mother, about Volcano, and now about the falcon: all gone.
He was completely alone.
*
The next morning brought rain and chills worse than anything he’d ever experienced. Dominic’s skin burned, yet he shivered from cold. He couldn’t think clearly, and wanted only to return to his wooded childhood home. But he couldn’t—even fevered, he knew this was impossible. All that was left was Uncle Jim’s ramshackle house.
He would never go back there.
The woods, which had seemed friendly, now poked and shoved and pushed him away. He couldn’t find food and hunger gnawed him painfully. He kept on walking, imagining once that he saw his mother waving at him, beckoning him to follow her on a trail. But the vision faded and the trail dead-ended at a paved road. Feverish chills gripped him and he collapsed to the ground, wrapping his arms around his burning skin.
He didn’t even hear the car until the blue and red lights were flashing around him. He couldn’t resist, and sagged into the arms that lifted him. A blanket was wrapped around his shivering shoulders, and he was bundled into a police car.
Sick, beyond rational thought, he felt the world spiral into blackness.
When he opened his eyes, Dominic hoped this was a bad dream. But the cot and diesel smells were real. He was back at Uncle Jim’s.
It was no surprise that the door was locked.
He kicked and pounded, but the door remained a sturdy jailer. There was nothing else to do but sink back into sleep … and hope to never wake up.
*
His mother’s ebony eyes regarded him lovingly as she looked at him.
“Fight, Nicky,” she said, in that soft voice he’d almost forgotten and now missed with an ache worse than hunger. “I’m sorry I couldn’t protect you. I thought my brother would care for you, but I was wrong.”
“I hate him.” Dominic snapped up on the cot, not sure whether he was speaking to a ghost or a memory.
“Hate destroys all that is good.”
“Nothing is good anymore. I tried to get away and look where I am again. Only this time I don’t even have Volcano.”
“You did a good thing for your dog, but now you need to take care of yourself. Hurry and leave before it’s too late.” Her voice rose with urgency. “Hurry!”
There was a jingle of keys, causing Dominic to jerk his head toward the door. When he looked back for his mother, she was gone. But the door was opening, filling with the large-boned, scowling face of Uncle Jim.
“You’re awake?” he snorted.
Dominic glared.
“Stupid little bastard, where the hell is my dog?”
Dominic pursed his lips tightly.
Uncle Jim stomped over to the cot and grabbed Dominic by the shoulder. “Speak to me when I talk to you, boy. I asked where you hid my dog.”
Still Dominic said nothing.
The brutal hand across his head sent him reeling backward, rolling off the cot and falling dazed onto the floor. Already weakened from fever, Dominic couldn’t even lift his hand to cover his face when the second round came. Pain was almost a friend by now, its blackness sending him away.
When he awoke again, rain was falling, soaking his clothes and dripping into his parched mouth. He was lying on the ground, outside by the dog house, trapped by a long chain to the same metal stake that had trapped Volcano. A steel shackle circled his ankle, the attached chain only allowing him to move a few feet in any direction. The only thing within his reach was a bowl of dog food.
A glance toward the driveway showed that his uncle’s car was gone, but the taunting words stayed behind: “You stole my dog, so take his place. You’re my dog now.”
At least his fever was gone, Dominic thought, with a small sense of relief. His thoughts were clearer, too, and he remembered the dream about his mother. It felt so real, as if she’d been there trying to protect him. She’d wanted him to leave—only her warning came too late. How could he leave now, with a shackle trapping him like a dog? And what would happen when his uncle returned? Would he be forgiven and released—or suffer more beatings?
Fight back, he could hear his mother saying.
But to fight, he’d need to gain strength.
“I won’t eat dog food,” he swore.
The rain stopped, replaced by sun that burned his skin and made him thirsty. He found rainwater in a dirt-crusted dish. As he drank, both disgusted and refreshed, he tried to think of a way out. But there was none. His uncle would never let him go, not unless he gave Volcano’s location away … which he’d never do.
That evening, his uncle returned and pointed to the dog dish.
“Not hungry?” Uncle Jim snorted. “Get used to dog food, unless you’re ready to tell me where that mutt of mine is.”
Dominic turned away.
“Fine. Let’s see how you hold out for one more day.”
Then Uncle Jim went inside the house and didn’t come out until he left for work the next morning.
Dominic stared at the dog food, which now resembled mud soup. He was so hungry, he could eat mud—but not dog food. The indignity of it would be a defeat far worse than hunger. How long could he hold out?
Hours later, as he came close to giving in, he heard a shrill shriek above him. Looking up, he saw red-brown feathers, and a sharp beak curved around something silvery.
When the falcon dropped the fish into Dominic’s lap, he thought he must be dreaming. But the fish was wet and real and the first solid food he’d had in days.
“Thank you,” he told the bird, who was already flying away.
A few hours later the bird returned, with something pulpy and bloody that reminded Dominic of road kill. Yet it was a gift, and he was hungry.
When Uncle Jim returned home that night to find the dog food still in the dish, he swore and stomped over to Dominic. His fist flew, but Dominic refused to cry out. Instead, he focused on the damp earth where he’d buried the food’s bones, smiling secretly to himself, flying in his
mind on red-brown wings.
The next day, sultry sun shifted into warm rain. Even with visits from the bird (whom Dominic had named Dagger because of the way he dove to the ground, slicing the sky with sharp knife-claws), the damp discomfort of being chained had weakened him. Dominic doubted he could last much longer like this, and wondered if letting go, to be with his mother, was the only way out.
But hope returned when he saw that the metal post holding his chain in place could wiggle. The combination of soggy ground and his continued tugging at it was loosening the post. If he could just lift it, the chain would slip off to freedom.
While he gnawed on a fish, feeling more animal than human, he kept working at the post. Back and forth, back and forth, pushing, pulling. Thinking of beatings and the blood on Volcano’s fur, Dominic gave the post a vicious shove—and it twisted out of the ground.
After days of exposure, abuse, and chains, he could leave the yard. And once he was inside the house, he’d find tools to cut the shackle.
The chain dragged behind his foot as he started toward the house—but a sudden noise stopped him. The familiar grind and rumble of his uncle’s car. Damn! Why now, when he was so close? With the chain still on his ankle, he couldn’t outrun his uncle.
But he could fool him—he could pretend to still be chained to the post, then escape later. Quickly, he shoved the steel post back into the ground, careful not to topple it. Then he settled back on the ground, his head hung down like the sorry dog he was supposed to be.
His uncle kicked at the untouched dog dish. “Stupid boy, why don’t you eat?” he demanded. “You’d rather starve?”
“As if you care,” he muttered, staying close to the post and hoping his uncle didn’t notice the telltale lean.
“When I get my dog back, I’ll let you go, even let you sleep and eat in the house.”
“I don’t know where he is,” Dominic said.
“Liar!” His uncle reared back with his hand, ready to strike, when a sharp cry from overhead caught his attention.
Dominic glanced up at red-tipped wings and a beak full of fish. Not now! he thought, sending a message for Dagger to go away. But the falcon had already opened its beak, and a silvery fish plopped at Dominic’s feet.
“What the crap?” Uncle Jim bellowed. He looked up at the bird, then down at the fish. “What kind of freaky bird feeds people?”
Dominic backed up, stopping only when he noticed the stake that once confined him slipping sideways. He moved closer, grasping it to hold it in place.
“Damned bird ain’t natural. I’ll take care of it for good,” Uncle Jim said angrily. He rushed into the house and came out moments later with a rifle.
“NO!” Dominic shouted. “You can’t shoot him!”
“Can’t I?” Uncle Jim lifted the gun, his teeth gleaming in an ugly smile as he released the safety. “Just watch. Then I’ll get my whip and take care of you.”
Dominic shouted again, jerking the chain so that the post flew out of the soggy ground. Uncle Jim turned angrily, lowering the gun so that instead of pointing at the bird, it was aimed at Dominic. A sadistic sneer carved hatred on the older man’s face. His trigger finger moved.
Dominic moved faster. He reached down and grabbed the long chain dangling from his ankle, then flung it like a whip. The chain lashed out at his uncle’s face. The rifle fell from Uncle Jim’s fingers, and he cried out as the chain wrapped around his neck like a metal snake. As he reeled backward, his head made an awful cracking sound and he fell to the ground, his neck twisted at an odd angle.
Dominic stared for several long seconds, certain his uncle was dead. He had no doubt his uncle would have shot him with no remorse. He’d acted in self defense, saving the bird, saving himself. But who would believe him?
He cut off his shackles, packed a bag, and placed an anonymous call to 911.
Then he shut the door behind him as he walked into a new life, with a new name, in a new place. High above, in the sky, a red-winged bird soared.
Only when he was miles away did he pull out a small paper from his pocket.
Reading the address where Volcano now lived in peace, Dominic considered going there—then decided to wait. Dominic-the-Boy wanted a family, but Dominic-the-Man knew he had to make it on his own. Then he could seek out old friends.
The woman in the wide hat had told him that they would meet again.
Yes, they would.
Someday.
Linda Joy Singleton lives in northern California. She has two grown children and a wonderfully supportive husband who loves to travel with her in search of unusual stories.
Linda Joy Singleton is the author of more than twenty-five books, including the series Regeneration, My Sister the Ghost, Cheer Squad, and, also from Llewellyn, Strange Encounters.
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