Eyeshine

by Cy Wyss

  “Maybe. He hates animals. He’s always hassling the squirrels and dogs that come into the park. He’s a mean old man.”

  “Okay, I’ll go check it out after we finish with Alex. Why don’t you go get dressed? Fire up some coffee. I’ll come talk to you afterward.”

  * * *

  When PJ got back to her trailer she found Mutt shivering in his doghouse, still damp from his nighttime swim. She whined at him and brought him inside. He whined back and sat near the heating vent and licked himself. She got her dog brush, set her hair dryer on low, and knelt next to him to help him groom.

  “Oh, how I wish you spoke English,” she said to him.

  He looked at her with wide brown eyes, sympathy and frustration evident in their dark depths.

  As a cat, PJ had animal languages in her mind. She didn’t know how her understanding got there any more than she knew how her power happened in the first place. But she could passably speak with most sentient members of the animal kingdom, domesticated specimens especially. Cows and owls, in particular, seemed to have a lot to say. As a person, however, PJ retained scant memories of only the basics. She could warn an animal or praise them or generally communicate about as well as any sensitive human could, but she couldn’t converse about what was in their minds or anything specific about what they saw or felt. That meant she would have to wait until nightfall to find out what happened with Mutt and Alex after she’d left.

  In the meantime, she groomed and fed Mutt. He slept on his back on his cozy dog bed in the corner with his ears twitching and his legs in the air.

  After Mutt was taken care of, PJ headed to her bedroom, which also functioned as her study and workshop. She carefully removed her collar and popped the gem from its setting. Inside was her camera. Water had penetrated the setting and dribbled from it as PJ extracted the camera. She held it up to the light. It looked all right, but she knew it had been for quite a ride. She wanted to let it dry out thoroughly before she tried to extract any information from it. She opened up the camera and placed the pieces delicately onto a paper towel. She didn’t know how long she should wait, perhaps a day or two. She was itching to see what the camera had captured, but she didn’t want to plug it in prematurely and cause even more damage.

  PJ was dressed and the coffee had fully percolated by the time Vicky knocked on her screen door. The main door was open, and PJ saw Jake’s SUV drive away behind Vicky.

  “Come on in, Vicky. Coffee’s hot and ready.”

  Vicky removed her hat when she came in and placed it on PJ’s dining booth. She helped herself to a mug and some coffee, then sat opposite PJ in the booth and sipped her coffee, black.

  “Thanks, PJ. You’re a lifesaver. You can never have too much caffeine in the morning, especially on a morning like this.”

  “So what happened? Did you get ahold of Chip Greene?”

  Vicky pulled at her ear. “No one answered at his trailer.”

  PJ frowned. Had Chip survived his travel through the water like she had? Or was he somewhere downstream needing help? PJ had a decision to make. Either she had to pretend to know nothing more than what she could detect from her trailer, or she had to tell Vicky that she saw Chip fall into the water. She didn’t think she could keep her mouth shut for several reasons. First of all, how could she leave a man lying in danger? She had to say something. Also, she was by nature a forthcoming person. She hated lying, even though she had to do it constantly because of her odd transformation. Finally, she thought the truth would have to come out eventually. Once Alex calmed down he’d speak of Chip falling in the water. PJ had already gotten herself involved by claiming to have heard the shot. She might as well own up now, to her friend, and tell what she could of the whole story.

  “Vicky, I have to tell you something.”

  At PJ’s serious tone, Vicky raised her face from the coffee cup. Vicky’s bright blue eyes watched PJ carefully. “All right”

  “I went to investigate when I heard the shot.”

  “I thought you were afraid of the dark.”

  PJ shook her head. She hated having to explain this part. She knew it was a hole in all of her stories a mile wide. “I am afraid. But I’ve been trying to get better. I took light goggles and a bright flashlight.”

  “Light goggles?”

  “They’re like ordinary plastic goggles, but I’ve put LEDs around them. I think it tricks my mind into thinking it’s light out. Anyway, I can’t be out that long, and it is very scary for me. But I’m working on trying to overcome my phobia little by little.”

  “Well, land’s sake, PJ. That’s good. So you investigated when you heard the shot. What did you see?”

  “Not much. Having all that light right on my face means I can hardly see anything.”

  Vicky laughed. “I can imagine you with Christmas tree lights all over your face. Bet you’d give anyone who saw you a heart attack.”

  “Which is another reason I try to avoid everyone.”

  “Okay. So you went outside. Where’d you go? What’d you see?”

  “I walked toward Chip’s trailer. I think I saw Chip and Alex by the ravine.”

  Vicky’s brow lowered, making her look very intent. “You saw Chip and Alex? Together?”

  “I think so. It was in the distance. But, Vicky, here’s the part I need to tell you. I think Chip fell in the water.”

  “What?!” Vicky put both hands on the table and leaned forward.

  “I didn’t see that well because of the goggles and the distance, but I really think I saw Chip fall in the water.”

  “What about Alex?”

  “I don’t know. They were just two muddled shapes at the edge of the ravine. Honestly, at the time, I almost thought they were just trees or bushes, but they moved.”

  “What did you do?”

  “I was frustrated with myself because I couldn’t see properly. I tried to take the light goggles off, but then I had a panic attack and had to come back here. I didn’t see anything else.”

  Vicky rubbed her chin. “You really saw Chip Greene fall into the river last night?”

  “I saw a figure that might have been a skinny man fall over and disappear. Then I couldn’t see anything.”

  Vicky stood up. “We need to find Chip Greene. If you’re right, we might need to start by dredging the water. This is big, PJ. I wish you’d come to me sooner.”

  “I’m sorry, Vicky. I wasn’t sure what I’d seen. But when you said Alex was saying ‘green’, I remembered what I thought I saw.”

  Vicky was already on her radio calling for backup. After talking to the dispatcher, she said to PJ, “I hope you’re wrong, PJ. I hope you’re wrong.”

  — 6 —

  What Mutt Smelled

  When evening came, PJ transformed as always. She felt naked without her cat-pack and camera collar. She nosed her way through her cat door. Mutt was nowhere to be seen. She yowled in frustration.

  Dang it, where is that canine?

  She sniffed the air, but she knew she didn’t have half the sensitivity of Mutt’s nose. He could be nearby, and she wouldn’t know it. She decided to set off in the direction of Chip Greene’s trailer. When she got there, the area seemed deserted. In back, behind the trailer near the ravine, an area of mud was cordoned off by police tape. No humans were in evidence, but PJ found Mutt sniffing around in the cordoned-off section.

  Mutt! You are wrecking their crime scene with your pawprints.

  Mutt raised his head to look at her. Huh?

  Oh, never mind. Do you smell anything?

  Mutt returned to sniffing the ground. PJ stepped lightly past the tape and started sniffing around. She saw that the area they’d cordoned off included a lot of footprints.

  I just smell humans. Alex and Chip stood here.

  Well, we already know that, you big galoot.

  “Woof!”

  For a while, both animals were silent while they sniffed and sniffed. PJ got a feel for the layout of the area. The footprints did
seem to tell the story. Alex’s footprints were big sneakers with wavy treads. Chip’s were flat-footed indentations of worn-out loafers. Both sets of footprints came into the area from the direction of Chip’s trailer. There were deep footprints, a lot of them, in the space where Chip and Alex had stood talking. Then there were one or two very deep loafer prints; PJ was thinking those were from when Chip stepped into the water by accident and fell. The water had receded greatly so it was difficult to tell where the waterline had been when the very deep prints were made. Alex had also made very deep prints in the soft mud, more of them as he shuffled and struggled with Chip. PJ wondered how much of the story the police had garnered from these telltale footprints.

  After sniffing to her heart’s content, she stopped to rest at the edge of the area. Mutt was still energetically sniffing around. He seemed to be mostly sniffing his own paw prints. PJ saw that the ones he’d made the previous night were deeper than any he was making now. The story continued in Mutt’s paw prints, which entered the area to the south in broad strides and raced right into the deep, dark mud at what used to be the water’s edge. PJ recalled how Mutt had brought Alex out of the water. Mutt was a hero in her estimation.

  Good job last night, Mutt.

  Huh?

  With saving Alex. I think he might have drowned if you hadn’t pulled him out.

  Oh, that. Thanks.

  What happened after I left to find Chip?

  Nothing much. Alex walked from the water toward his trailer. I followed you but couldn’t find you in the dark. I smelled you for a while, but then your scent disappeared.

  That must have been when she fell into the water, PJ thought. She walked south along the now sedate creek and found signs of Alex’s egress from the water, along with Mutt’s prints. These new prints weren’t in a taped-off area, and PJ wondered if the humans had found them properly. They told the story of Mutt saving Alex. PJ’s chest puffed out with pride in her friend.

  Did you find Chip? she asked Mutt.

  Nope.

  But he was there. I saw him before I fell in the water.

  Show me.

  PJ led Mutt downstream to the slight bend where she’d seen Chip lying on the opposite bank of the water. She looked up at the branches nearly touching above the stream and nodded at them.

  Those branches are where I fell from.

  Mutt shook his head. His whole body followed. I’m really glad you weren’t hurt.

  Me too.

  PJ noticed the absence of police tape around the scene across the creek. The water was shallow enough that a line of rocks spread across to the other side.

  Let’s try to cross.

  Be careful, PJ.

  PJ gingerly stepped onto the first rock. Water rushed past. She got her front feet wet jumping onto the second rock and howled in complaint.

  Careful, Mutt said. He was simply fording the stream, getting the bottom half of himself wet and dirty.

  PJ cautiously leapt to the last stone, then to the mud on the other side of the water.

  Ugh. Now I have mud on my paws, she said, flicking first one front paw, then the other, in a vain effort to get the icky material off.

  It happens.

  PJ noticed that in spite of Mutt having been bathed that day, he was shaggy and dirty again. She sighed. Then she turned her attention to sniffing the imprints around the area.

  This is where I saw Chip lying. I wonder if the others found him?

  PJ expected to see the faint outline of a prone human in the mud. Instead, there were great streaks and whorls.

  That’s weird.

  What?

  He was lying right here, but there’s no sign of it.

  Mutt sniffed the area PJ indicated carefully. I do smell Chip here, but it is very faint. Perhaps the water washed it away?

  But the water didn’t come up here. I’m sure of it.

  Mutt was still sniffing avidly. Usually when scents are this faint, there’s been water. It washes everything away.

  Hm. I suppose you could be right. And there are no footprints.

  Yes, there are.

  What?

  Come. Mutt led PJ into the underbrush. Amid leaves and pine needles were a couple of small human footprints. They had flat bottoms and pointy toes. There were only two that PJ could find.

  Who made these? They’re too small to be Chip’s, PJ said.

  Mutt vigorously sniffed the two offerings. I can’t tell. But they’re human.

  Thanks a lot, Mutt. I could figure that out on my own.

  Suddenly Mutt’s head perked up. He sniffed the air. There it is again.

  What? PJ smelled nothing other than the damp fecundity of the surrounding forest and the musty scent of drying mud.

  Cigarette smoke.

  Where?

  Follow me.

  Mutt led PJ back across the stream. He waited on the other side while she carefully navigated the rocks. Then the two of them scampered up the side of the ravine toward the trailer park. They came up near the Tate trailer.

  There, Mutt said, indicating the trailer.

  Someone’s smoking in the Tate trailer?

  Outside, I think. Let’s be quiet.

  The animals snuck around the trailer and peeked into the front yard. Maija Tate had fenced off a small area of grass around her front stoop, and there were yellow flowers in a bed near the white picket fence. Outside the fence, leaning against Maija’s brown hatchback, was the short boy from the robbery, smoking a cigarette. Trent was with him, also smoking.

  Yup, Mutt said. That’s what I smelled.

  Cigarette smoke is yucky, PJ said.

  Uh-huh. Do you know who that short boy is?

  No. My brother probably knows, but he wouldn’t tell me. He ignored me when I asked.

  Your brother should question him about last night.

  What? Why?

  Because I smelled the same cigarette smell.

  You did? When?

  Before I jumped in the water to save Alex, on my way down. I passed an area that smelled like leftover smoke.

  So somebody smoking had been nearby?

  Not just somebody—that short boy.

  How do you know? A lot of humans smoke.

  Yes, but that short boy smokes cigarettes that smell different. Like right now. There is a difference between what Trent is smoking and what the short boy is smoking. Can’t you tell?

  PJ sniffed the night air carefully. I can’t tell anything but smoke.

  Mutt chuffed. Both boys looked over to where the animals were watching. PJ and Mutt quickly retracted their heads before being seen.

  Shh, PJ said.

  They had been talking with their ears, noses, and paws instead of their mouths, so they had made very little noise until Mutt’s ill-timed chuffing.

  Oops, Mutt said.

  The animals retreated to the area behind the Tate trailer. The boys didn’t follow or show any sign of investigating the noise they’d heard.

  Why aren’t they in jail, anyway? PJ said.

  You published the footage of the break-in, didn’t you?

  Yes. But nobody seems to have done anything about it.

  Mutt shook his head. Humans.

  — 7 —

  Oh, Brother

  The next morning PJ visited the laundromat to wash the bathrobe she’d borrowed. Hardly anyone was there in the early hours of this Sunday morning. She put the robe in the washer and decided to check out what the newspapers were saying across the street at the gas station.

  There it was, front and center in the Alameda Sentinel. PJ was very annoyed that her rivals had gotten the news before the Mayhap Mirror. Alameda was rival to Mayhap in more than one way, mostly through high school sports rivalries and proximity. The Indiana town pronounced its name Alameda to rhyme with Andromeda to distinguish it from that town way out West. PJ was immediately embarrassed she hadn’t broken the scoop for the Mirror before the Sentinel got ahold of it.

  The article had a picture of the
concrete bridge over Mayhap Creek. Around the base of the bridge was a team of crime scene investigators working behind crime scene tape. PJ could make out a couple of people she recognized, as well as Jake Tipton, who seemed to be supervising. The man beside Jake was very familiar; it was her brother, Robert. He had his arms akimbo, and beneath his blazer, his badge and gun stood out. PJ wondered why the FBI was interested in the scene.

  She thought she knew before she even read the article what might have happened. The text confirmed it. Chip Greene had washed up there, dead, at the foot of the bridge, and had been found the previous morning by an early jogger on the trails near the bridge. PJ’s scalp tingled as she read, an effect she knew would have been confined to her whiskers if she were a cat. It signaled some kind of prescience or other predictive emotion.

  Why was Chip found so far south? He had washed up where PJ fell into the river, a good half mile north. PJ tried to remember the exact scene. Could the water have dragged Chip back in? PJ didn’t think so. He seemed very stable there, far enough from the rushing water not to be in danger. The larger question was, why had he died? PJ thought back very carefully. She was almost certain she remembered Chip’s chest rising and falling in the dim night. Her cat eyes were perceptive enough to see that. She didn’t think she had imagined it. So Chip was alive and upstream when PJ started her ignominious trip down the river. And, in spite of hitting her head and knocking herself out, she had washed up not far from where she originally went in, by the girl’s house in the fog. How far had it been? PJ decided, when she dropped the bathrobe off, she’d better investigate back there.

  * * *

  It was almost two hours before the robe was washed and dried and PJ headed out to the blond girl’s house. She didn’t have a great excuse for having the robe and simply hoped no one would ask too many questions.

  Their house was a typical American two-story in gray siding and white trim. The porch was large and surrounded with a white balustrade. PJ climbed the steps and rang the doorbell. She saw the front curtain move as someone quickly peeked out, then a dark figure showed through the frosted glass of the front door. The door opened.

  It was the same girl who had found PJ.