by Cy Wyss
She sat at the table and finished her coffee, her mind filled with all kinds of terrifying scenarios. Her cat sense seemed to be warning her of something big coming, something overwhelming and horrible. She dearly hoped she was overreacting, but what if she wasn’t?
— 4 —
Ravine-ous River
It rained heavily for the rest of Wednesday as well as Thursday. Friday the rain seemed to let up, and at dusk the sky was streaked with purple and orange amid tall clouds that didn’t seem as threatening as ones previously. PJ was restless. She wanted to get outside. At sunset precisely, her change occurred, and she became small, furry, and black with gray stripes. She shimmied into her cat-pack and checked to make sure her camera was primed and ready. She expected it to be a boring, ordinary night, but one never knew.
PJ emerged outdoors and saw Mutt, who was chained to a stake outside his doghouse.
Hey, Mutt. What’s new? she asked him.
He was licking his haunches. He was in an awkward position due to having his chain wound around his doghouse until he could hardly move. Nothin’. What’s new with you?
I see you’re tied up like a hog on picking day.
“Woof!”
PJ sat delicately and proceeded to wash behind her ears. You know, it’s a breakaway collar. If you just pull hard, you’ll get out of it when you need to.
I know. But you were really mad last time I did that.
Well, those things are expensive. But, come on, follow me.
PJ led Mutt around and around the doghouse, unwinding the chain and giving him his relative freedom back. He raised his chin toward the sky and barked two short, gruff syllables.
PJ said, There you go thanking the moon again. But it was me who freed you.
I like the moon.
PJ looked up and stared at the sky. Where is it? I can’t even see it behind the clouds. And isn’t it almost a new moon tonight?
Mutt shook his head in an easterly direction. Bit of brightness behind that cloud over there.
PJ looked. Oh, yeah. I see it now. Maybe. Well, anyway, I’m off adventuring. Call if you need me.
Sure. Have fun.
* * *
An hour later, it was fully dark, and PJ had been sniffing around Stoker Hills. She was only about a hundred yards from her trailer when she heard something that sounded like a goat bleating. Her ears pricked up. She followed the sound north, along the ravine behind the trailer park. All the recent rain had turned the normally docile creek at the bottom of the ravine into a raging river. She had to strain to hear over the rushing water.
PJ slowed and went into stalking mode. She knew she was near Chip Greene’s trailer at the other end of the park from hers. She remembered how Chip had shot pellets at her and Mutt the previous weekend, and she was wary. She crept amid the underbrush, not making a sound.
“Baaa!”
There it was again. PJ saw two dark figures standing by the ravine behind Chip’s trailer. She recognized them immediately. One was Alex, the Tates’ autistic boy. The other was mean old Chip Greene himself. Chip was saying something to Alex, and it seemed like Alex didn’t like it since he was bleating like a goat at whatever Chip was suggesting.
PJ crept closer so she could hear what they were saying.
“… was you, wasn’t it, boy? Don’t give me that helpless act. I know you’re just putting one over on all of us.”
“Noo, noo.”
“You’re a liar and thief just like your mom and your brother. Come here to try to sell me some cock-and-bull story about fundraising for your found-aysh-ion. I know that’s a crock of lies.”
“Foun-da-tion. For au-autism.”
PJ saw that Alex was holding a large tote bag covered with candy bar logos. She recalled that every springtime the boy came around the Hills to sell candy for the benefit of some foundation for autism that was helping him with school. But usually Alex was with his mom when he was selling the candy. And usually it was during the day. Perhaps Alex hadn’t been able to find Chip earlier. Or, more likely, Chip was avoiding the boy, and now Alex had finally cornered him. It served him right.
“You buy?” Alex asked hopefully. PJ was sure it wasn’t the first time he’d asked.
Chip pushed Alex backward with both arms. “No! Get away from me.”
PJ’s ears flattened along her head. Alex stumbled backward. Chip was standing right on the edge of the ravine, and the reaction of his shove had him sliding backward. His arms flailed, and he almost slid into the ravine. PJ found herself hoping he’d fall in. A dunk in the dark water would probably do the old crank well.
Alex saw Chip sliding and jumped forward to grab him. Chip resisted the boy’s advance.
“Get off me, you faker.”
Chip’s poorly timed backward motion had him sliding farther into the ravine. PJ heard a splash as Chip’s back leg slid all the way into the water.
“Damn you,” Chip yelled.
“Help,” Alex said. He reached once again for Chip.
This time Chip grabbed Alex’s hoodie sleeve. PJ guessed the old man realized he was in danger of going butt-first into the cold water.
Crack!
PJ jumped. What was that? It had sounded like a shot!
Chip’s head rolled back, and he started falling into the ravine. Alex grabbed at him. Then Alex lost his footing and slid forward. Chip fell into the cold water, pulling Alex with him.
No! PJ yelled.
She ran from her hiding spot toward the men. Chip had lost his grip on Alex and was floating limp in the water. Alex was splashing and flailing, trying to keep hold of Chip with one hand and pull himself out with the other.
PJ ran in circles along the edge of the water where they were.
Help! Mutt! Someone!
Alex lost his grip on Chip, and the old man floated away quickly, dropping over a dip in the terrain and heading south. Alex splashed and splashed, becoming tied up in his large tote bag. He was moving out toward the center of the water where it was deeper. It was clear he was having trouble reaching the bottom.
PJ jumped in circles screeching and yelling at the top of her lungs. She dipped a paw in the water but quickly pulled it out.
Meanwhile, Alex was losing his battle with the rushing water, and Chip was nowhere to be seen.
“Baaa! Help!” Alex’s voice was shrill, and PJ wondered why no one heard him. Chip’s trailer was at the far edge of the Hills, and perhaps no one was home in the closest trailer.
Help! Mutt! Help us!
PJ wondered about the fabled dog hearing. Where was Mutt? Would he hear her cries all the way at the other end of the trailer park?
Alex lost what was left of his footing and was swept southward with the water. PJ yowled as loudly as she could and ran along the side of the raging river. Alex seemed to pick up momentum as he went; he was right in the middle of the river. He slid down the dip and picked up even more speed. He was bleating like a goat the whole way, and PJ was screaming as she followed along the bank.
Mutt! For the love of life, Mutt! Hear me! Help!
Alex was flailing his arms and kicking his legs to no avail. He came to an eddy near a rock. It looked like a disturbingly large whirlpool. PJ couldn’t believe their tiny creek had turned into this in the last few days of rain and spring runoff. She ran in circles as Alex tried to grab at the slimy rock at one side of the eddy.
PJ was torn. What should she do? Should she run and try to get help? What human would help her? She would never be able to make them understand. What about Mutt? He was big, but would he be strong enough to swim in the raging water and pull out a big boy like Alex? And what was happening to Chip Greene, who had seemed to faint with that shot-like noise?
Alex’s wet arms clung to the rock. PJ ran in small, tight circles howling and howling. Above Alex, a branch extended over the water. Alex’s arm reached out, and he gripped the branch. He grabbed it with his other arm as well and started pulling himself up, sliding along the rock.
&
nbsp; Oh, thank God, thought PJ. He’s going to make it.
Then the branch broke. It splintered in Alex’s hands, plunging him once more into the raging whirlpool. Alex screamed. PJ screamed. Alex was sucked down into the water and disappeared.
No! No! Help!
PJ had no idea how far they’d come from Chip’s trailer. Were they even in the Hills anymore? Darkness had fallen, and there didn’t seem to be any moonlight to help her eyes recognize the dim shapes around her. PJ would have been crying if she could. Alex was going to die right in front of her, and there was absolutely nothing—
“Woof!”
A lumbering black shape closed in from the south, crashing through underbrush and trees. He came to PJ, and PJ saw he had no collar. He must have finally taken her advice and broken out of the dang thing.
Mutt! Mutt! Help Alex! He’s in that whirlpool!
Before the stunned animals, Alex was spit out of the whirlpool and continued southward. The water seemed to become shallower, and Alex tried to get his footing. He was half-drowned and fell over quickly. Mutt jumped into the water without hesitation and swam toward the soggy figure. Alex bleated pitifully. Mutt closed the distance in record time and grabbed a mouthful of Alex’s hoodie.
“Who? Help?”
Mutt released the hoodie long enough to bark loudly, then he gripped it again in his powerful jaws.
Alex seemed to recognize Mutt. “Doggie! Good boy! Doggie!”
Alex threw his arms around the big dog’s neck. Mutt’s powerful limbs fought the current, and he slowly made progress toward the shore, back to PJ.
There’s someone else, Mutt! Chip is down the river too!
Go get him PJ, I got this one!
PJ saw that Mutt and Alex had made it to shallow water and Alex was struggling to get his footing. Mutt dragged him farther ashore, and the pair flopped down in the mud.
“Yowl!” PJ said and ran along the bank. She had no idea where Chip was or what she’d do if she found him. She thought, why couldn’t I have been a doberman? Or a Saint Bernard like Mutt? I’m just a stupid little cat.
She ran, crashing along in the mud and the leaves. Finally, downhill, she saw Chip Greene. The old man had washed up on the opposite shore. He was deathly pale in contrast to the black mud around him.
Mr. Greene! Mr. Greene! PJ yelled. Then she stopped herself. He wouldn’t have recognized her yowling anyway, and would probably have wanted to shoot her for it.
Chip wasn’t moving. And between them, the waters raged. PJ dipped a paw in.
Ugh, no way.
She hated water. Besides, if the current could sweep away grown men and give a strong Saint Bernard a problem, what could she do?
Mutt! Mutt! Come here, I found him! she yelled.
Curiosity and fear were coursing through PJ. Was Chip Greene dead? Had he been shot? Could she lick his face and revive him with her sandpaper tongue? She so desperately wanted to get across the water. She looked above her and saw that there was a way. Downstream, two branches nearly touched above the dark water. She ran over to the tree on her side and scaled it, then tiptoed across the first branch. It dipped with her weight.
Oh, nuts.
She almost fell. Spray had wet the branch, making the path slippery and even more dangerous. She inched her way to the tip and—
—slipped!
She clawed at the tip and managed to grasp it with a couple claws of one paw.
“Rawr!” she yelled, pain thundering through her arm.
Mutt! Help me!
Her arm stretched out until she was almost touching the water with her hindquarters. The roaring foam drowned out her cries, and the darkness seemed to laugh at her effort.
Noo—
—and she was down. Her claws took a chunk of the branch with her, and she slid into the black water and was immediately washed downstream.
Help!
She gurgled between meows and thrashed and thrashed, trying to fight the current or even just steer herself toward shore. But she didn’t know where the shore was. At least she was light enough that she mostly floated through the rushing darkness. Then tragedy: A rock loomed, a black amorphous shape she saw only briefly before crashing into it headlong. She was sucked under the water then. There was water in her mouth and ears—water everywhere. She couldn’t fight anymore. Her arms and legs were made of thickening concrete. She reeled slowly in her mind, and darkness overcame her.
— 5 —
Bedraggled
By dawn the raging river had calmed significantly, seemingly having spent its wrath. A golden mist filled the woods behind Stoker Hills, and the gathering sunlight cast long shadows on the trees, the rocks, the leaves, and the naked female body lying in the mud on the shore beside the emptying waters.
A short, chubby girl stood beside PJ and poked her with a stick.
“Ow!”
The girl jumped backward, dropping her stick. PJ raised her bedraggled head.
“That hurts.”
“S-sorry.”
PJ looked around. A thin white fog shrouded the houses around them.
“Where am I?”
The girl pointed into the fog. “That’s my house up there.”
“Okay.” That told PJ only that she must have washed outside of the Stoker Hills area since she didn’t recognize the girl.
“Were you attacked?” The girl’s eyes were wide, bright blue in the morning light.
“No. No, I wasn’t. I just, uh, fell.”
“My mom says whenever a naked woman is found somewhere, it means some man attacked her.”
PJ still lay flat on her stomach, unwilling to raise her head more than a few inches. The last thing she wanted to do was flash this child her muddy nakedness. The stretchy collar with the big purple gem was tight around her neck. At least it hadn’t fallen off in the water. PJ didn’t know where her cat-pack was; it wasn’t on her back like it was supposed to be.
“In this case, no. I wasn’t attacked. I just fell into the water. I didn’t realize how dangerous it was. I’m glad you stayed away.”
“I was in my room last night.”
“Good for you.”
“Mommy said I couldn’t go anywhere near the ravine because of the dam that broke.”
“A dam broke?”
“Yeah, upstream. It was just a small one. Otherwise maybe we all would have been washed away.”
“Oh.” PJ glanced behind her at the tame waters. A dam breaking on top of all the rain they’d had lately would certainly explain how their peaceful creek became a raging, person-eating river.
“Are you sure you weren’t attacked? Maybe someone pushed you.”
“No, I just slipped, sweetie. And now I have to get back home. Do you think your mom might have a robe or something I could borrow for a bit? I’ll bring it right back.”
“She does have a bathrobe. It’s warm and pink and fuzzy.”
“That would be great. Why are you out here so early anyway?”
“I couldn’t sleep. I wanted to see the water. It’s really high. But I’m not stupid. I waited until light and kept my distance.”
“Good girl.”
“Okay, I’ll go get you the robe.” The girl turned toward the dissipating fog, her motion tossing her long blond hair over her shoulders. “I’ll be right back.”
* * *
When PJ made it back to the Hills barefoot and in a too long bathrobe that dragged along the pine needles and leaves, she saw a county cruiser parked outside the Tate house. In fact, Vicky herself was behind the car, pacing. PJ trotted over.
“Vicky! What’s happened?”
Vicky looked PJ up and down. “Just got up? That robe’s a bit too big for you, isn’t it? But I like your collar. That’s a nice purple gem.”
“Thanks.” PJ blushed. She was sure she looked strange in her muddy collar and ill-fitting bathrobe. She just hoped Vicky didn’t make too much of her appearance. “What happened, Vicky?”
Vicky sighed. She ran her l
ong fingers through her ponytailed hair, then replaced her hat. “We’re not entirely sure at the moment.”
PJ saw Jake Tipton’s SUV was squeezed into the driveway as well. Harry was eyeing the women from the back. PJ waved at the dog, and he put his ears back and forth in greeting.
“Is Jake here?” PJ asked.
Vicky eyed PJ curiously. “Detective Tipton’s inside trying to make sense of what Alex Tate is saying. Or, rather, attempting to say. That boy is hard to understand. Do you understand him?”
“Well, sometimes when he’s upset, he bleats like a goat. Then you have to calm him down before he can talk again. Is his mom with him?”
“She’s MIA at the moment. I need to get back in there. Did you hear or see anything last night?”
A jolt of fear ran down PJ’s spine. Of course she had seen something. But she knew she had to be careful what she said. For starters, she wasn’t even supposed to be outside in the dark according to her “affliction.” PJ swallowed, her mind racing. What could she say that was helpful but noncommittal?
“I heard a shot, I think.”
“A shot? Really?”
“I think so. It was around midnight.”
“Did you call the police?”
“Well, no.”
“No? Why not? No one ever seems to call us. The whole neighborhood could be up in arms, and we’d be the last to know.” Vicky chuckled and hooked her thumbs into her belt.
PJ smiled. “It might have just been a branch breaking. Or, you know, there’s that old man down at the end of the park with his air pistol. He’s always shooting at some poor animal or other. I thought it might just be him.”
“You mean Chip Greene?”
“Yeah, him.”
Something seemed to spark a recognition in Vicky, and she was silent for a moment.
“Penny for your thoughts,” PJ said.
“It’s just that Alex keeps saying ‘green’, over and over. Do you think he means Mr. Greene?”
“Wow. I don’t know. Maybe?”
“And you think Chip Greene might have shot at something in the night?”
