by Lilly Wilder
I remember exactly what he said. Someone killed Thor. We found Thor years ago, as a small pup, hiding underneath a cardboard box in some alley. I remember, it was raining horribly, a little downpour and we were all just looking to park somewhere and get out of the rain. Then, I heard someone whimper from the alley. I went to check it and Dex of course called after me, but I kept on going. I found him shivering with cold. He was hungry as a wolf and I had half a sandwich on me, so I gave it to him. I stayed there, fixing his box a little, so he’d at least be dry while eating. He ate it in one go, then his eyes pierced mine with the saddest look of pain. I petted him a little, then turned to go. But he was there, by my feet, getting closer, as if he knew that I could protect and love him. He followed me all the way to my bike and I put him inside my leather jacket. I still remember what Dex said when he saw me with a puppy in my arms.
“They’ll think we’re all pussies, because of you.”
I couldn’t have cared less. Still don’t. We brought him here and he spent the rest of his life with us. He loved everyone here, that much was obvious. But we had a different kind of a bond. A deeper one. What I felt for him wasn’t just love. It was so much more and I think he felt the same way. He would have died for me, for any of us really. That’s what a good dog he was.
When I reach Dex’s shack, I see everyone is already there, outside. They’ve made a circle and I guess that Thor’s poor body is in the middle. I swallow heavily, as they see me coming and Norick and Finn move aside to let me pass. Dex is now standing opposite me, Thor’s body between us. He is lying on his side, eyes closed. There doesn’t appear to be any injury on him, not one that I can see anyway.
“What happened?” I ask, trying not to look at the body of my dear friend.
“We just found him like this,” Norick tells me, as I turn to him.
His pale face with an occasional orange hair where a whole bush load of them should be, looks even paler now. The dark circles around his eyes reveal that he hasn’t been sleeping well lately. I can complain of the same, really.
“Well,” I start kneeling down, “maybe it was just his time. He was how old?”
I press my hand on his belly, I check his paws. Then, someone’s answer takes me by surprise.
“We found him exactly 13 years ago,” Dex is the one who replies and I give him a puzzled look. “He was just a puppy, a few months old, no more than a year, tops. So, that makes him about 14 years old.”
It takes me a few moments to compose myself, as Dex is the last person I expected to have the exact reply to my question. No one else speaks. The air is tense for some reason. I feel that if I had a knife, I’d be able to cut through it.
“That makes him pretty old,” I reply, feeling my throat get a little dry. Why does this feel like a competition as to who loved the dog the best? “What makes you think someone harmed him?”
“Check his neck,” Dex squeezes his answer through clenched teeth.
I do as he tells me. Pressing my fingers into the soft indentation on his neck, then feeling the bones, I realize something horrific. My fingers are shaking, but I check again, just to make sure. There’s no doubt about it.
“His neck is broken,” I say it out loud, but my words don’t surprise anyone. It seems everyone already knew this.
I get up and clean the dirt off my knees, not because I was all that dirty, but more because that provides me with a few precious moments which I could use for composure. I see Dex raking his fingers through his hair, disheveling it a little. He looks like he hasn’t groomed himself properly in a while. Long beard and hair are one thing, but even then, it requires care. His hair looks greasy, shiny.
“You know what that means, right?” he tells me.
I’m not really sure. He has some idea what happened. That much is obvious. But he expects me to be in his head and know what that is. I simply give one nod. That could mean anything. He looks appeased by it.
“It has to be the work of Leo’s guys,” Dex finally reveals what he’s been thinking.
“You think they’re here?” Zarael gets involved.
“Nah, not anymore,” Dex shakes his head. “They did what they came to do. This is just a warning. Worst is yet to come.”
“What are we going to do?” I ask, trying to focus on him, so I won’t have to look at Thor.
I want to wrap my arms around him and tell him one last time that he’s a good boy, that he’s the best boy a group like us could ever have and that I hope he had a good life with us. But, I don’t. I can only hope he already knew this and died without too much pain. That’s all I want for him, to have died painlessly, in an instant, which allowed him to cross over from this horrible place and into doggie Heaven where he can play ball and get treats all day long, for eternity. That thought almost makes me cry, but hearing Dex’s hoarse voice bring me back to reality.
“Nothing for now,” Dex explains. He is talking more slowly now; he doesn't look angry. “We stay on track. We ride two days from now, we need to get the girl out of here. We can’t have her in the middle of this. Then, when we come back, we’ll deal with Leo and his boys.”
There is some commotion, mumbles here and there and a few nods. We all agree. Usually, everyone agrees with Dex. He isn’t known for his democratic views, but he does take our thoughts and wishes into account. I’d be lying if I said he didn’t. As for this particular situation, he’s right. It’s not a good idea to do anything now, while Isabel is still with us. Once we take her home, Leo can focus on exacting his revenge on us and no one else. I take one more glance at Thor and I feel like a steel hand is clenched tightly around my heart, squeezing out all of the joy. I see the same pained look on the faces of all my brothers. I’m happy that Thor was loved so much. The least we can do is offer him a decent burial and put all his favorite things in there with him.
“I want to bury him under my window,” I suddenly say.
I have no idea what Dex’s reply to this will be. Honestly, I don’t even care. I’m the one who saved him and I want him to rest under my window. In a way, it'll be like he is still watching over me. To my surprise, Dex agrees.
“Weston will dig the hole,” Dex instructs. “You get his blanket and anything you want to put with him. Zarael, there is a wooden box in the kitchen to the right, you’ll see it. It should be big enough for him to fit.”
Slowly, Weston and Zarael go on their business and I head over to Thor’s little house, to the entrance. It’s old and worn out, with the coating of brown paint peeling on all sides. The roof is still fine, but it could do with some brushing up. We got him a new house last year and took this one away, putting it in storage and planned on getting rid of it. Thor sniffed the new place once and refused to go in. Dex rolled his eyes, saying to just leave him, that he’d eventually stop pouting and go in. Thor slept out for three nights. One night there was a storm. He still didn’t go in. So, on the fourth day, I brought his old house back. He got in, turned in a circle a few times, then nestled down and fell asleep immediately. I smiled at the sight. Even an animal knows what it means to call a place truly your home.
I get his blanket from there and his two squeaky toys. I bring it back to where Weston is still digging a hole, his strong back bending underneath the pressure of the earth he’s digging and the shovel in his hands. Isabel’s face suddenly peeps from the window. Sickly pale and almost scared, her eyes are wider than usual. She takes a look at us, but doesn’t say anything. She knows what we’re doing. I pretend I haven’t noticed her. A few moments later, she is gone.
The burial is a solemn moment. A brief, passing moment. We bury Thor lovingly, quietly, each of us saying goodbye in silence, in our own way.
Chapter 15
I find Dex in the makeshift gym, exercising. When I couldn’t find him anywhere outside, I knew this was the place to go next. At first, he doesn’t notice me there. I’m in the doorway and somehow, I can’t walk in. Like a vampire who can’t cross in
to someone’s home without being invited. So, I just look at him, waiting for the moment when our eyes would meet and he’d start talking first. It takes him a few seconds to turn my way, as he adjusts the heavy weights he was just lifting.
“Why are you just standing there, like a beggar child?” he asks me, with a grin. His sense of humor is weird. Definitely not my kind.
Still, I do as he says. I take a few steps, silently, without glancing his way. When I look up, he’s staring me down. His t-shirt is clinging to his body, moist and transparent. I can see the bulging outlines of his muscular body, as his veins palpitate with strain. A few drops of sweat are glistening on his forehead, as he reaches to grab a bottle of water and drinks the whole thing in one go.
“I’m sorry to interrupt you,” I start. “I just wanted to ask if I can talk to my mom again.”
“Of course,” he nods. “You don’t need to ask; you know where my phone is.”
He did say that I can go into his shack any time and use his phone whenever I please, but it’s not something I feel comfortable with. It’s difficult enough always having to ask something of him, but taking something without asking would be the pinnacle.
“I know, but,” I reply, shrugging my shoulders. Hopefully he gets what I’m trying to say.
“You’re too nice to take stuff without asking?” he grins, eyeing me askew. I hate that I’m feeling like a teenager again, talking with her crush for the first time.
“Something like that,” I try to be calm. It’s amazing how someone can make you feel alright and then not so alright at the same time.
“Maybe you just wanted to see me?” he asks and I blush a blazing red. I shift the weight of my entire body from one foot to the other, but I still feel wobbly. What he’s implying is crazy, just crazy. “It’s OK.” he stands up and walks over to me. “We’ll make it our little secret.”
Now, he is standing so close to me that I can feel the fiery nature of his aura. His energy is overwhelming, all-consuming and I feel that it’s threatening to swallow me whole. And yet, I stay. I don’t run away. The corners of his lips are fighting a full-fledged smile, his eyebrows look like they’re questioning everything before him, slightly raised. That mischievous look in his eyes is unbeatable. I wonder if it’s contagious. Trouble usually is. Especially when it comes in this form. But, it’s too late to run away, too late not to get involved. I’m already deep in and I know it.
“Come, let’s get you that phone,” he brushes his shoulder against mine as he walks past me and goes out of the shack. I follow him. Once in his shack, he quickly finds the phone and hands it over to me. “Talk as much as you’d like.”
“Thank you,” I reply. “I’ll keep it short. I’ll be going home soon anyway, no?”
It takes him a moment to reply, as if he needs to remember the exact answer.
“The day after tomorrow,” he answers openly, but the sound of his voice has changed. “You can arrange the meeting for the afternoon, somewhere around 2 or 3 pm.”
“Great,” I smile broadly, my heart filled with joy.
“You know where to find me if you need me,” he says again, sounding a bit standoffish and leaves before I can reply anything.
I dial Vanessa’s number immediately. During these last two weeks, I called my mother and Vanessa interchangeably. Occasionally, Vanessa wasn’t picking up, so I’d call my mother instead. Vanessa sometimes works double shifts, that plus her boyfriend, which means that she sometimes spends the whole day out and ends up spending the night at her boyfriend’s, too. It rings a few times and I sigh disappointed. She’s out. I hang up and dial my mother instead. She picks up after the second ring.
“Yes?” I hear her worried voice.
“Hi, mom,” I greet her with a smile.
“Isabel!” she exclaims in that sweet, motherly tone that only an overworked, overstressed mother has. “You have no idea how it feels to hear your voice again.”
“Strangely enough, I missed my own voice, too. I never knew how much I’d miss talking,” I joke, but she continues in the same manner she started.
“How are you? Has your jaw healed well? Did they treat you well there?”
“I’m fine, mom,” I chuckle, rolling my eyes a little at her excess of worry, but then I remember, that’s what moms do. They worry. They can’t help it. “I’m coming home the day after tomorrow. I was thinking of just telling them to drop me off at Vanessa’s.”
“When? I’ll come to meet you.”
“You don’t have to,” I try to dissuade her. She’s an elderly lady and she usually gets car sick on buses.
“I want to,” she continues to contradict me. Or, is it me who continues to contradict her?
“I’ll just stay with Vanessa until the following morning and then I’ll catch the first bus home.” My plan sounds reasonable. There is no need for her to travel all the way there and then back on the following day. It seems silly.
“I’m coming and that’s that,” she finally tells me and I know there’s no point in trying to convince her of anything. So, I agree.
“Alright,” I nod. “I’ll be happy to see you both there.”
The next few minutes are spent in cheerful chatter, as I can’t escape her questions. For a brief moment, my memories are all positive. I don’t think of what happened to me, I’m too focused on the here and now and I’m gushing about the guys who took such good care of me.
“Well, we must invite them all for lunch some time,” my mother tells me and I can’t hide how I feel about it. “What’s so funny?” she continues, hearing me laugh. “I didn’t raise you to be ungrateful, did I?”
“Of course not,” I try to get serious, imagining Theron, Dex and Zarael, followed by the rest of the guys, seated at a table in my mom’s yard is just too much. “They’re just on the road all the time. I doubt they can fit it in.”
“They eat, don’t they?” she asks me again and I’m surprised at the reasoning behind it. Of course, they eat. My silence convinces her that she’s won this war. “Then, it’s settled. When they bring you here, we’ll arrange something.”
“Alright,” I nod at myself more than at her.
“Can you text me when you start?”
“Of course,” I assure her. “I love you. Take care.”
“Love you, too, mom. Bye.”
I hang up, placing the phone carefully on a small table in the corner of the room. I’ve only seen two sleeping shacks so far. Theron’s and Dex’s. And, they couldn’t be more different. Theron’s room is a thinker’s room. Things are neatly arranged and organized, following a certain order. There are books and papers, pens and notebooks. His style is minimalistic. I think it’s because he doesn’t like to be bothered with irrelevant things. Also, a cluttered place can kill someone’s curiosity. I can understand that, even though I prefer creative chaos myself. Then, Dex. There is no order. He puts things where he feels like and it shows. It’s a total anarchy of disalignment in there, even for me. I haven’t seen a single book there. A few magazines maybe, scattered about. His windows are devoid of any curtains. His bed is always unmade. And that bear rug carpet looks like something from a 70s adult movie and I bet he knows that.
I tip toe out of Dex’s shack, but I don’t want to go back to Theron’s place. I feel like I’ve been imposing on his personal space. I’ve occupied his home and forced him to sleep on other couches and maybe even carpets. But, he’s so nice he’d never say a thing about it. So, I decide to let him have his place for the rest of the afternoon and I head over to the lake.
Chapter 16
Zarael
When I hear a noise behind me, I jump and quickly turn around. The nature is so calm and soothing here and any noise outside of it makes you feel like a cornered animal. I half-expect to see one of Leo’s guys, when I see Isabel fighting through some bushes, emerging a little scratched, but victorious. Her hair is all wild, floating in the wind. She looks like a totally diffe
rent person now and it’s difficult to connect her voice to her face. She comes to me with a thoughtful look on her face. I doubt she’s noticed me yet. She takes a few more steps, the plain white t-shirt loose on her, falling off her left shoulder, leaving it bare. Soon enough, she sees me standing there and she waves.
“Funny seeing you here again,” she tells me, as she steps out of her flip flops and presses her feet against the soft grass.
“Yeah,” I smile back. Seriously, what are the odds?
“I really love this place,” she keeps on talking, walking towards the edge of the grass, which stretches into a patch of earth and pebbles, until it is finally swallowed by cool lake water. “I think it’ll be the place I’ll miss the most.”
“You could always come back for a visit,” I tell her, watching her back and the moment I say it, I regret it. Why would she come back? Only bad memories are here. She almost got sold into white slavery, she got beaten up, she was almost maimed for life. I doubt I’d be coming back if I was her.