Don looked it over. “I’m no expert, but it’s probably hungry and scared. We need to take it to a vet. Oh, poor thing – it only has three legs.”
“What? What did those monsters do?!”
“Chill, Jake. It looks like he was born this way. That’s probably why those creeps decided to pick on it.”
“Gosh,” said the lumberyard guy – I looked, but he wasn’t wearing a nametag or one of those shirts with his name on it. “You found this little guy? In that bag?”
“Yeah,” Don said, cradling the kitten against his chest. “We think some kids put it in that bag and then tied it to the bridge.”
“Damn. That’s sick.”
“Yeah!” I said. “Someone should –”
“Jake,” Don cut me off. “Let’s get going. I want to get him to a vet.”
“Oh. Sure.”
We thanked the lumberyard guy – whose name turned out to be Jake, too – and went back out to the bike trail.
“Should we walk back home and get your car?” Don asked. “Or walk?”
“Walk?”
“Yeah – if we take the trail it takes us to the shopping center where there’s one of those big pet stores with a clinic.”
“Let’s just walk. I don’t need to go to class today.”
“What about your appointment with Miss Nancy?”
“I’ll cancel. It’s cool. I can see her tomorrow.”
We walked, and it was nice, actually. Early March in Houston was a good time to be outside and the sunshine was cheering me up. Don was still cradling the kitten, stroking it and murmuring to it, and I had a feeling he was going to keep it.
❧
While Don took the kitten to the back of the store to see the vet, I grabbed a cart and flagged down one of the workers to find out what I needed to get to set up housekeeping for a kitten. I piled a bunch of stuff in the cart – a litter box, some litter, a scooper. I looked at the dishes, but there were too many to decide between, so I decided Don could use his own dishes and get fancy cat dishes on his own later. The toys were cute, though, so I bought some catnip mice, and a feathery thing, and something on a string that it could chase. I wasn’t sure how well it would be able to run on three legs, but Don could worry about that. I got a cardboard scratcher thing, too. Don’s furniture was pretty shabby, but it didn’t deserve to get ripped to shreds. I knew enough about cats to know they had a reputation in that area.
I took a turn down the food aisle, but decided I’d better wait and see what the vet said. I pushed the cart back to the clinic area, but Don was nowhere to be seen.
“Are you looking for the man with the kitten?” the girl behind the desk asked.
“Yeah. Is he in with the vet?”
“Yes. He’s been in there for a while, so it shouldn’t be too much longer.”
I sat on a bench to wait for Don and pulled out my phone. I wished I had brought something to study – midterms really were coming up soon. I checked my email, but nothing new there. I had just started a Sudoku puzzle when Don came out, still cradling the kitten. He was totally keeping it.
“So, what did the vet say?” I asked as Don sat down next to me.
“Dehydrated, hungry, but mostly okay. He wasn’t out there long enough to cause any lasting harm. We found him pretty quick...”
We both sat there for a minute, not saying anything. I was thinking about how we had found him. Why we had found him.
“Dude...”
“Yeah.” I said. Don must have been thinking similar thoughts.
“Dude, you knew he was there. That’s...”
“Something we can talk about when we get home, okay?”
“Okay.” Don turned his attention back to the kitten. I had to admit it was pretty cute. It – he – had brown and black stripes and a white chin. The skin around his big round eyes was black, which made him look like he was wearing eyeliner. A little goth kitty – so cute. Don started rubbing his belly with a couple of fingers and he closed his eyes and started purring. Even if Don hadn’t already decided, I had. He was keeping the kitten. Don needed the kitten.
“What are you going to name him, then?”
“Huh?”
“Your kitten. What are you naming him?”
“Oh, I can’t keep – Jake, what is all that stuff?”
“Cat stuff. You are so keeping the kitten.”
“Jake, I can’t afford a pet. I’m trying to save up to go back to school.”
“Then we’ll share the kitten. I’ll buy this stuff, and we’ll figure out the rest as we go along, but he has to stay at your place. I don’t think my squirrel would like him.”
Don turned back to the kitten, but I knew it was partly to hide behind his long, dark bangs. “Okay.” That was easy. I knew he wanted to keep it.
“Great. So what are you naming him, and what kind of food do we need to get?”
❧
It was a testament to the power of our friendship that I helped him schlep all that stuff home. It was only about a mile, but it was heavy, and I carried most of it because he was carrying Bridger. Yeah, we were walking back across the bridge where we found him when Don got that brilliant idea. Whatever – it was his cat. I guess if it had been a girl cat he would have named her Bridget.
Don was rattling on about follow-up appointments and getting Bridger neutered and making sure he stayed inside and yakity yakity I lost track by the time we got home.
Bridger pussy-footed around Don’s apartment, sticking his little nose into every corner, while we set up his litter box and Don put some food and water down for him. We showed him where everything was, and then hoped for the best. He seemed to be settling in okay, and Don was totally captivated, so I headed back to my own place to get some studying done.
I curled up on the sofa to review some of my notes, but I couldn’t concentrate. I started thinking about my dream, and about how I had heard the kitten in my dream, and then we found him. Either I was a werewolf (or whatever), or I had been sleepwalking and seen something, or this was the craziest coincidence ever, or... I didn’t know what. I put my head back, closed my eyes, and for the first time in days I managed to get some sleep.
Jake Discovers Something Unpleasant
Don was too busy having a love fest with Bridger to worry about heavy discussions. And then he woke me from the first decent sleep I’d had in days to go kitten-sit the little terror while he went to work, so I didn’t really talk to him again until the next morning.
I had to admit he was cute. Bridger, not Don. He was fluffy, and his eyes were still kind of blue – I remember Don saying something earlier about them not being their permanent color yet. He hopped around the room okay, bouncing a little like a rabbit with that one back leg. I could tell he wanted up on the sofa with me but hadn’t figured out how to do that yet, so I took pity on him and scooped him up.
“Okay, pest. But if you need to pee you have to get down. Do not pee on me. Got it?”
He looked up at me, tilted his head, flopped onto my belly and started to purr. I took that as a yes and cracked open my books.
I must have fallen asleep and Don just left me there, because I woke up early the next morning on Don’s sofa, covered with a blanket, and Don and Bridger were sacked out on Don’s futon mattress. It was nice of him to let me sleep – lord knows I needed it – but my neck hurt and I had a sour taste in my mouth. But it was what woke me up that had me rushing to toss my cookies in Don’s toilet.
Bridger came trotting into the bathroom and watched me from a safe distance.
“It’s okay, kitty,” I told him, wiping my chin with a piece of toilet paper and turning to rinse my mouth in the sink. “It’s not, but it’s okay.”
“Jake?” Don was in the doorway, rubbing his eyes. He was wearing a ratty pair of plaid sleep pants and an old white t-shirt with a frayed hem. “You okay?”
“Dream.” I rinsed my mouth again and washed my hands.
“A dream, like about Bridger?”
>
“Yeah.”
“What was it? Should we... Is it something we should check out?”
“So you believe me now?”
“Not that you’re a werewolf.” Don turned and headed for his tiny kitchen. I really hoped he was making coffee. “But your dreams... I can’t believe I’m saying this... but your dreams mean something. When I think of Bridger, hanging there, and maybe no one would ever have found him if you hadn’t had that dream.”
He put a plate of food down for the fuzzball and finally turned his attention to making coffee.
“It was pretty awful this time.” I said after a minute.
“Like, how bad? Too bad to talk about?”
“No.” I leaned against the doorframe and watched the coffee drip into the pot. “But give me a minute to process. It’s barely six o’clock.”
I went back into the bathroom to take care of some personal business then let Don have his turn. I helped myself to a cup of coffee and sat on the sofa to wait. When Don came back he had dressed and had a mug of his own. “Okay. Lay it on me.”
“It was like the night before. I was walking along the bayou, on one of the trails. I was having a great time, smelling things and stopping to piss on things.”
“Ew.”
“Shut up. Anyway, I was really happy, and that was because I wasn’t alone.”
“Who – or what – was with you?”
“I don’t know. I didn’t get a good look. But I could tell it was someone I... that I adored. Like the sun rose and set on whoever – or whatever – I was with. And then there was this... this noise that startled me.”
“What kind of noise?”
“I don’t know. A squeaking sound. And whoever I was with got upset, I could sense it, and that made me upset. And then someone else was there – a person – yes, it was people. Two people. And they were arguing and I was getting upset. And then I smelled – well, I didn’t, but in my dream I did – I smelled what in my dream I knew was fear. And then I smelled blood and I started to run, but I got caught on something. Whoever I was with – it was their blood – and I’ve never felt so sad and, and helpless. It was horrible.”
“Wh – what happened then?”
“I kept trying to get away – I was afraid that I would get hurt, too. I kept pulling, and something finally gave way and I ran for cover. I don’t remember much after that. I kept waking up and going back to sleep, but every time I’d really get to sleep I’d wake up again because I was so scared.”
“It sounds like... gosh...”
“Yeah. I know what it sounds like.”
“Hell’s bells, Jake. What if we go down to the bayou and there’s been, like... like...”
“Yeah.”
“I think we need to go, though. Don’t you?”
I looked down at my coffee. “Yeah. You’re right. Give me a few minutes.”
I gathered my books and went across the hall to my apartment where I set a new land speed record for showering and brushing my teeth. The dream and its aftermath had left me feeling dirty and gross.
I met Don on the landing. “Not bringing Bridger with us?” I asked.
“He’s young and impressionable. He doesn’t need to see this kind of thing.”
“Geez, dude. Whatever, come on.”
It was barely six-thirty, and the sun wasn’t quite up yet. We were only a few blocks from Stude Park, and the bayou trails, so we were there in a few minutes. We took the trail between the ball fields and down towards the water.
“So,” Don said, as we stood on the trail near the top of the concrete slope leading down to the brown water below us. “Which way?”
I looked back and forth, then pointed to our left. “That way. Near the trees.”
We followed the trail as it hugged the top of the slope. This stretch always made me nervous – I could see myself slipping and rolling down the bank to the dirty water below. I relaxed as the trail veered left, away from the water and towards the trees. As we approached the footbridge that spanned one of the little gullies that led into the bayou I slowed, looking around.
“What?” Don asked.
“I think it was around here.”
“Okay. Let’s stay on the trail, in case, I don’t know, there’s evidence or something in the grass.”
“Yeah.”
We walked on until we were standing on the bridge, and I knew I needed to look down, but I just couldn’t bring myself to do it.
“Dude...”
“What? What is it?”
I heard the sound of Don dialing on his phone. Only three digits, so I knew what that must be. I looked down, and there he was, in the gully and almost into the bayou itself. He was face down, so I don’t know what he looked like, but he was wearing what looked to be a pretty expensive overcoat and loafers. He didn’t have much hair, and what he had was grey, so he wasn’t young. His arms were spread wide, and in his right hand he held a plastic bag. His left hand looked red and rough, like it had been hurt. Maybe he tried to defend himself. Or maybe it got banged up when he went down the embankment. Whoever did it must have pushed him over.
“You okay?” Don was asking. He must have finished his phone call.
I shook my head.
“You gonna throw up again?”
I shook my head again.
“The police are on their way.”
“Okay.” My voice sounded broken and weak. I did not want this to be real. At first I thought it might be kind of cool, but now Don had a cat, a man was dead, and I didn’t know what I was anymore.
“Dude. Jake. Listen to me. We were out for a walk, okay? You can’t tell the police that you dreamed this. Got it?”
I nodded. “We went for a walk.” I looked across the bayou to the far bank and the highway, and the skyline beyond. Behind us the ground sloped up towards White Oak Drive. I turned to look. The trees would block the view from the houses there, and it would have been dark at night. Anyone looking out from up there would probably be looking at the skyline, anyway.
I could hear sirens in the distance, and Don’s voice seemed to be coming from far away, reminding me not to tell the police I had dreamed about this. I nodded, but I was trying to concentrate on what I remembered from the dream, and how it fit in with what I was seeing.
“The dog,” I said.
“What?” The sirens were closer, and I could see red and blue flashing lights in the distance.
“Where did the dog go?” I knew now that that’s what I had sensed - the consciousness of a dog, this man’s dog, terrified and gutted by the death of its master and fleeing in fear of the attacker. What was I missing? I - it - wouldn’t have gone far.
“What are you talking about?”
“The bushes.” I walked back to the west end of the bridge and looked around. The sirens had stopped, and I could see red and blue flashing lights through the trees. Voices carried down to where I was - I had left the trail and crossed to the small stand of trees, crouching down to peer into the bushes there.
I could hear Don calling to me, telling me to come back to the bridge. I could hear other voices, some of them were probably shouting at me, but I couldn’t stop. That’s when I spotted him, pressed back against a tree, as far up under a bush as he could get - a fluffy white West Highland terrier, looking a little worse for wear after spending a night in the dirt. He whined when he saw me, but he didn’t growl, so I held my hand out for him to sniff. I talked nonsense to him, and he started inching forward. I could see he was wearing a collar, and a leash was still attached to it.
When he got close enough, I reached forward and hooked my fingers through his collar so he couldn’t make a break for it. I got my other hand underneath him, and finally stepped back, lifting him up and holding him against my chest. I turned around to a scene out of a TV show. Police officers were putting up yellow tape and there were crime scene people searching the ground. Don was talking to one of the police officers, and an angry woman in a suit was bearing down on me.
“Who are you, and what are you doing over there?” She had a head full of tiny corkscrew curls, and I’d bet she was pretty when she wasn’t scowling. She was just a little shorter than me, and I looked down to see that she was wearing Dr. Martens boots, not high heels like the lady detectives on TV. I guessed that made sense, but it brought home again that this was real life, and had to be dealt with.
“Uh – Jake Hillebrand. I was getting this dog... from under the bushes.’
“Is that your dog?” Her light brown eyes narrowed.
“No, ma’am.” I shook my head.
She reached out a hand - I guess to look at the dog’s tag - and he growled, pressing back against me. I held him close and bounced him a little, which seemed to calm him. She pulled her hand back and scowled some more.
“Can you read his tag?”
I fumbled with his collar, and turned the little bone-shaped tag so I could see the engraving. “Murphy, and there’s a phone number.”
“What is it?” she asked, pulling out a notepad and writing it down as I read the number out loud. “Don’t go anywhere, Jake Hillebrand. And don’t let that dog out of your sight. Go stand over there – with that guy,” she pointed to Don and I nodded.
“Yes, ma’am.”
I made my way over to where Don was standing on the bridge.
“I told you to stay on the trail,” Don scolded me.
“He was scared and hiding. I couldn’t just leave him there.”
A buzzing came from below us and one of the crime scene people called out, “the victim’s phone is ringing!”
“What’s the number?” the curly-haired detective called from the top of the slope.
“713-555-8389.”
“That’s me. Let it ring.” The ringing stopped and she cursed before taking her phone from her ear and disconnecting. “You find a wallet or ID on him?”
“Not yet.”
“What’s in that bag he’s holding?”
“Dog poop.”
She sighed and turned to where we stood. “Stay there!”
Not a Werewolf Page 2
