by Ria Voros
I know, finally, as I try to clear my vision, rub my face with my hands. It was a dog. A black dog in the road, and I couldn’t warn him in time. He didn’t believe me. The screech of tires fills my head, the smell of burning rubber on dry pavement —
But the road was wet when we crashed.
I look up as the sound of Chilko’s yelp-scream cuts through the night air.
Where. Where is he? The road. The road is empty. Find him, find that dog. He’s my dog. I brought him here.
For a second, two cars pause — one red, one dirty white. Dirty white pulls around red and screeches off. Red stays, door opens.
I fade back to tires and windshield wipers, clicking metal and someone’s moan. It’s coming from my throat.
Someone’s trying to talk to me — they’ve gotten out of their car and they’re looking into my face. It’s an old man. He says things that fall apart as soon as they leave his mouth. I try to focus. It feels important.
The old man points to a spot in front of his car. I finally hear him say, “That other car clipped him. Did you see? The car took off and your dog ran into the woods.” He points down the road at the tail lights getting smaller and smaller.
“Clipped him?”
“Yeah, caught him on the side. He didn’t go under. Damn stupid kids don’t stop for anything. I didn’t get their licence plate, did you?”
I shake my head.
“Are you okay, son? Your dog was hobbling, but going at some speed. I’m no vet, but that might be a good sign.” The man looks hopefully at me, then at the woods.
Dogs run from pain.
They hide somewhere because they feel safer, even if they’re badly injured.
“Should you be out this time of night?” he asks. “Are your parents around?”
“They’re —” I start to say it, but realize it will only make things worse. “I’ve got to find him.” I start to back away, my mind already listing all the horrible injuries Chilko could have.
“I’ll help you look for him.” The old man holds up his hand. “I can call animal services.”
“No. Please don’t call anyone. I have to go,” I call, jogging to the edge of the road. But I need help. I need all the help I can get. My throat starts to close as I think of him lying somewhere, dying. It can’t be. It can’t.
A voice is shouting from far away. I don’t know if it’s J or me or someone else. Stupid! Look what happens when you take it too far. This is all your fault. Now the voice gets more familiar, but the words are harder to take. This is why we never let you have a dog. This is what happens when you can’t be responsible.
I thrash through small trees and bushes, shining my flashlight, calling Chilko’s name. I stop to listen for whining, howling, anything dog-like. Silence.
I gulp air and look around, smelling dirt — the same dirt as that night. Somewhere around here is where our car stopped. Plants have grown up again, hiding the evidence. It couldn’t be worse: I’m back where it happened, but for a completely different reason. How could I have been so stupid? “I’m sorry!” I yell. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry!”
Nothing answers me, and I’m not sure who I’m yelling at, but another chunk of sound comes up from somewhere and I yell and yell, burning my throat with how loud it is. Every yell empties me a little more. The trees swallow it up.
Finally I lean on a tree, put my head back and cry.
A branch scratches my cheek. The woods seem to go on forever. I don’t even know how far it is until I reach the river. No moon, no stars tonight. In this darkness, I might just end up in the water. Every snap of twig and rustle of leaf could be Chilko, but it’s not. He’s used to the forest, being alone in it. Huskies are pretty close to wolves as far as dogs go. He could be anywhere.
“Chilko!” I let out the biggest, loudest call I can. It bounces off the trees then disappears. The far-off drone of a car on the road.
I search for what feels like forever, trying to use a system so I don’t search around a tree twice, but this is impossible, I realize, as I come to the same short stump. I can’t even see any tracks in the dark. My flashlight’s getting weaker. My head feels like it weighs fifty kilos.
I’m about to give up, although I still haven’t thought about what that means, when my phone rings and makes me jump against a tree. Rubbing my shoulder, I pull the phone out. It could only be Mason. Unless — my mouth goes dry — Aunt Laura discovered I’m not at home.
But it’s neither of their numbers. It’s Soleil’s number. The one taped to the fridge in case I need help when Aunt Laura’s not home. But I know it’s not Soleil.
I press talk.
“Oh, you are up,” Libby says. This seems a little dumb because I’d have to be up to answer the call.
“Yeah, I am,” I say, and feel so completely alone that my eyes start prickling again.
“But you’re not upstairs.”
What’s the point in lying now? “No, I’m not.”
“What’s going on, Jakob? Everyone’s worried.”
“Who?”
“My mom and your aunt. And me.”
“Do they know I’m out?”
“No, but can’t you just tell me where you are?”
“I’m in the woods.”
“Why?”
“It’s a really long story.” I push off from the tree, holding the flashlight out until I find a narrow trail that seems to go in the direction of the road.
“Are you in trouble, Jakob? Do you want someone to come and get you?”
God, yes. “God, no,” I say. “I’m coming home now.”
“But you’re going to tell me what’s going on. You have to.” Her voice is quiet but so sure. It’s the most solid thing I have right now.
“Is your mom awake?”
“No. She sleeps like a log. Don’t worry. I don’t care how long the story is.”
Up ahead, I think I can make out the faint light of a street lamp at the top of a bank. I aim for it. “Good,” I say, wiping my nose on my sleeve. “Because it’ll take me all the way home to tell it.”
Chapter 12
Somehow it’s close to dawn by the time I reach the house. I feel completely empty, like my insides have been scooped out and I’m a walking shell. There’s an echo inside me that repeats my fault, my fault.
I talked until my tongue got tired and my eyes dried up. The weirdest thing happened — I actually felt lighter. As I told Libby the truth, some of the heaviness left. When I turned the corner onto our street, I almost thought it was gone — that everything would be okay. But then I saw the dark house, remembered that Aunt Laura and Soleil and Patrick didn’t know, but that I’d have to tell them, and that Chilko was still missing. The heaviness dropped on me like a piano.
Libby sits on the wall beside the back steps in her yellow pyjamas and a black hoodie. She looks so small but I know that’s misleading. There’s more there than you think. She smiles as I walk up, the smile of someone who feels happy and sad at the same time.
She holds up a finger. “First, I’ll help you look for him, call the pound, whatever you want to do. Second, I won’t tell my mom or Patrick — but you have to.”
I look at my dirty shoes, her bare feet.
“Third, do you need a hug?”
I start to say no, that’s the last thing I need, but she comes at me and I find myself hugging her anyway.
“I think you win the most-in-need-of-human-contact award,” she says.
“What?” I ask, stepping back and picking up my bag.
“It’s what my mom says when I’m upset. It’s pretty stupid, I guess. So what’s your plan?”
“We need someone with a car.”
“Who?”
I pull out my phone. “My friend Mason.”
“Does he know?”
I shake my head, already dialling. It rings, rings and I start to panic. Goes to voicemail.
Libby’s looking at me.
“I’ll try again,” I say. He has to pick up.
He has to.
“Why don’t you go upstairs, relax, get a drink or something. He’s probably just asleep like everyone else in town.”
A day ago, Libby’s attitude would have made me want to strangle her. But she’s right. We agree to meet back here in ten minutes.
In the time it takes me to get a glass of water and change my shirt, which stinks of sweat, only four minutes pass. I can’t wait anymore. I sneak back down the steps and hit redial. It rings on and on. I hit redial again. I’m starting to wonder if Mason’s phone is at the bottom of a pool when he picks up, fumbling for a second before he says, “Grrph?”
“Mason? Are you up?” I sit down I’m so relieved.
“What the — no. I’m not.”
“It’s Jakob.”
“What freakin’ time is it?”
“Uh, early. Look, I know you’re tired, but —”
“More like mostly dead. I’m not a morning person.”
I cringe. “But this is such a big emergency I can’t even explain everything right now. I just really need your help.”
“What — you need money? More skunk shampoo? What else is there?”
“I need you to drive us — me and a friend — to a place.”
There’s a pause, then muffled groaning. “What is this, some kind of drug handover? Can we talk about this later?”
“No,” I say, trying to keep my voice down, but find it rising anyway. “Mason, you helped me out with Chilko before and I need your help again. It’s so much more serious this time. Life or death serious.”
“This is a lot for my brain right now.”
“I just need you to come and pick me up at the corner of West Sixth and Mahon. I’ll tell you where to go. I promise I’ll never ask you anything like this again. And I’ll work your shifts at the store for a year. Or something else — you name it.”
“Listen, I don’t want to be involved in some drug lord’s plans for your dead body.”
“I promise there’s nothing like that going on. But Chilko might die. Please say you’ll come.” I want to grovel, but I’m not sure how to do that over the phone.
Mason pauses. “I’m totally going to get into trouble, aren’t I?”
I let out my breath. “Me, actually. You’ll just be an accomplice.”
I have a terrible vision of us sneaking out the gate only to find Aunt Laura or Patrick on the sidewalk waiting for us. They ask us where we’re going but we don’t say — we just keep walking. They follow, asking us again and again, begging us to say something. Mason’s car idles on the corner and we get in, Aunt Laura and Patrick pleading with us through the window. I feel like the smallest speck of dirt.
But as we close the real gate behind us, there’s only the empty street and the sun coming up over the far mountains. The clouds have disappeared. Another perfect July day.
“Is that your friend?” Libby asks, pointing down the street as a brown station wagon pulls along the sidewalk.
“How old is he?” Libby asks as Mason gets out.
I’m so relieved it’s him, I just start running.
Mason leans against the car. Other than his eyes being half-open, he looks asleep. “You better have a good story.”
“Oh, we do,” says Libby before I can say anything. “I’m Libby, by the way.”
“Hi, Libby?” Mason looks at me with the question on his face.
“Let’s get out of here,” I say to them both. “I’ll explain on the way.”
Mason’s car smells like roses and candy.
Libby takes one sniff in the back seat and says, “Are you a florist or something?”
Mason gives me a look again, but I haven’t had time to explain Libby to him. “My parents own a corner store. They sell flowers.”
“It’s nice,” Libby says, picking up a few rose petals from the floor and dropping them in our laps.
“Okay, so Libby’s my neighbour from downstairs,” I say. “I thought the more people to search for Chilko, the better.”
Mason’s eyes fly open. “Wait a minute. Chilko’s missing? Didn’t you tell your aunt?”
“Yeah, well he’s not exactly my dog, remember? He belongs to a guy called Patrick. He’s dating Libby’s mom.”
Mason leans his head on the headrest. “How come every time I see you, things get way complicated?”
Thanks to Mason’s crazy-fast driving, we’re at the intersection in no time. It’s the same and completely different in daylight. For one thing, it’s friendlier. You’d never know a dog got hit here last night. Or that two people died in a car accident here six months ago.
“I brought some dog treats,” Libby says, already jumping out of the back seat.
We start in the same area I did a few hours ago, but it’s a hundred times easier in the day. Things I thought were logs and bushes must have just been shadows — the woods are more open than it seemed last night. Libby goes off in the direction of the river. I’m not sure if we should organize a system, but by the looks of the other two, they’re just trying their luck everywhere. We call Chilko’s name, three voices in different pitches saying it over and over. The woods seem to swallow it up like it did last night.
I scan under every bush, hoping for a flash of grey fur or white tail. Every so often I think I hear the shout of one of the others, but it always turns out they tripped on a root or walked through a spider’s web. An hour passes and all we find are squirrels and candy wrappers.
The sun is up over the trees now and it’s getting hot. I pull aside another bunch of branches to peer into a bush.
“How far could he have run, Jakob?” Mason says behind me, sounding exhausted. “I’m pretty sure we’ve searched every inch of this place.”
I throw a stick into the empty bush. “I’m not sure how hurt he is. It was dark. He could have run all the way home for all I know.”
“Then we should check there,” Libby says from behind me. “Patrick will either be worried sick or at the vet’s with him.”
I sit on a log that lies across the path. This is what I was hoping wouldn’t happen. If there was a chance we could find him this morning, by ourselves, at least when I took him back to Patrick, it would have been me that found him. Now I have to show up empty-handed and tell him everything. Who knows what he’ll say. Or do.
Mason pats my shoulder.
“What?” I mutter.
“You sure love that dog, I guess.” He sits on the log beside me. “I know you’re going to get a whipping, but at least you’re doing this because you care. Right?”
“Whatever. Thanks.”
“Let’s go home,” Libby says. “There’s nothing else to do.”
I put my head in my hands. “This is so messed up.”
“Hey, man. This is one of those times.”
“What times?”
Mason winks at Libby. She blushes. “A time you’re glad you only have to live through once. Like when I dropped a jar of molasses on my foot. Terrible.”
I get up. “Mason, he could be dead right now. It’s not funny.”
“I know it’s not funny, Jakob. That’s when humour is good. Don’t you think so, Libby?”
Libby looks like she can’t decide whose side to take.
“Listen, my grandpa died last year and his last request was that everyone at his funeral tell one joke. Preferably about him.” Mason shrugs and starts walking down the trail toward the road. “I’m just saying. As the one who was rudely woken up at five in the morning, that’s my advice. Now are we going back or what?”
“Let’s go, Jakob,” Libby says beside me. “Maybe it won’t be that bad.”
I look around me, wondering if I can make a home for myself in the woods. Just live here for the rest of my life and survive on bugs and leaves. Being a hermit might make up for everything.
I let her go ahead. She walks fast and soon disappears around the curve. I know I should be hurrying — Chilko’s still injured somewhere. I only wish I knew where. I take all the air I can into my
lungs and let out the loudest, longest shout I can. “Chilko!”
Birds sing back. Nothing else.
Chapter 13
“And where have you been?” Aunt Laura says as we walk through the gate. She’s standing, arms crossed, on the deck. Waiting.
Libby touches my arm. “Good luck.”
“Thanks a lot,” I mutter, wishing she wouldn’t leave me, but this isn’t her mess. It’s mine.
I drop onto the couch and wish I could sleep for five days before I have to tell her the truth. I’ve never been so tired in my life, even after all the other nights roaming.
“What’s going on, Jakob? I thought we were being straight with each other.” Aunt Laura sits opposite me, trying to look calm, but failing.
“I’m sorry.”
“What does that mean? What aren’t you telling me?”
“It’s nothing illegal,” I say.
“Well, thank god for that,” she rolls her eyes, then stops. She leans in closer and takes a breath. “Is it about your parents?”
I’ve forgotten about that part. It was about the accident, only now it’s about so much more. I nod. “I went to find the intersection where the accident happened.”
Aunt Laura’s mouth hangs open.
“I kept having these flashes of the car and Mom and Dad, but I couldn’t remember enough. I went looking for the spot and I found it. Somehow it triggered the memories. I saw it all.”
“My god. Why?”
I tell her about the dreams, the pieces that wouldn’t fit together.
She shakes her head. “I could have taken you. You should have said something.”
“But I’ve been having the dreams for months and I couldn’t tell you,” I say. “I needed to go back there one more time to know for sure. A dog was in the road and Dad swerved and we spun around. It wasn’t his fault.”
“Did you think it was?”
“I didn’t know, but now I do. It was mine.”
