He’d carefully planned the escape.

Only when he heard the sputter and backfire of his uncle’s truck fade to a distant rumble did Dominic push off the rough blanket and spring from his cot. Adrenaline pumping, he opened the door of the mud room; the airless hole which doubled as his bedroom reeked of diesel from the jackets hanging like dead things on the wall. He hated the room almost as much as he hated his uncle.

Almost.

The door thudded behind him as he left for the last time. His uncle had made no pretense about his hate for Dominic, resenting that the only inheritance he’d gained from the untimely death of his younger sister was a rough-edged teen. Uncle Jim only tolerated his orphaned nephew for the monthly government checks.

Although Dominic knew enough not to expect a loving home, he hadn’t been prepared for his uncle’s drinking, bad temper, and cruel hand. But bitter lessons quickly taught him how to hide on Saturday nights and never to argue when his uncle’s whip was within reach.

His only solace was Volcano, his uncle’s hunting dog. Volcano was about eight years old, some kind of shepherd-lab mix, and starved for attention. Together they shivered outside on bitter nights, hiding from drunken anger and the whip. It was during these trembling times that an odd thing happened. Boy and dog communicated—not in words but in mental picture messages. A warm blanket, a bowl of food, a scratch behind the ears—Dominic always knew what Volcano needed, and the dog understood him, too.

But last night Uncle Jim’s cruelty ignited the beginning of the end.

Sounds of yelping and swishing leather bled in the night. Dominic, hiding high in a tree, heard the cruel attack but was unable to do anything but cringe and burn with helpless rage. He lacked fighting strength—his painful wounds from recent beatings left him too weak to do more than huddle in the dark. When the brutal sounds died away and the house door slammed, Dominic made his way back to Volcano, cradling the whimpering dog and vowing “never again.”

All that night he cradled his only friend, crooning words of comfort, unable to sleep as he stared up at the ceiling, planning.

Escape was the only way out.

He’d take Volcano far away, to someplace without anger and whips—if such a place existed. His mother had believed in the good in people, and made excuses for her older brother even after he attacked their father and stole money before leaving home. As she breathed her last breath, she’d still believed in impossible things like heaven, forgiveness, and love.

Now hate was the only reality for Dominic; it was the driving force that pushed him. If he stayed any longer, his simmering violence would erupt and things might happen that would make him no better than his uncle.

“Come on, boy,” he whispered to Volcano as he gently lifted off the spiked collar and released the dog. Blood-slashed stripes lay across the dog’s back, and Dominic’s anger seethed. He found a cloth, dampened it, and gently rubbed Volcano’s silky brown fur, brushing away dried blood and untangling mats.

Holding tight to his self-control, Dominic watched the soothing images Volcano sent to him, of wagging tails and a soft bed in a safe house. Volcano held no hate; there was only hope shining from his liquid dark eyes.

Dominic had already decided that the only way to protect Volcano was to find him a new home: a house with a big yard, kids, and a soft doggy bed where he could safely sleep at night. So he packed a small knapsack of clothes and pictures of his lost life, also taking along a black pen and square of cardboard.

They trudged miles to the nearest town, through a forest of uneven ground and then down a long winding highway. As morning heated to humid afternoon, Volcano whined and sent a mind image of a big bowl of water.

“Sorry, boy,” Dominic said in a hoarse, dry-mouth voice. “But soon.”

River Crest was too small to be considered a city, with its one church, two bars, post office, and small store. The wooden bench in front of the store provided rest and shade. Dominic longed to buy water for Volcano and a Coke for himself, but he had no money. There was nothing to do but wait, and cling to a remote hope that his mother’s belief in the deep-down goodness of people was true.

On the cardboard, he wrote a simple message: Free dog to good home.

Then they both waited; the dog thumped his tail hopefully whenever little kids walked by, but Dominic kept his face averted, emotionless. He didn’t care if he was sweaty and dirty in hard-worn clothes. He didn’t care about the hunger that gnawed at his gut. He only cared about the dog, faithful and trusting and deserving of a better life.

But there didn’t seem to be a morsel of goodness from people who passed by—only curiosity and suspicion. When a little girl asked if she could pet the dog, her mother slapped her hand and hustled her inside the store.

After several long, hot hours, the store owner strode out, his thinning head dripping with sweat and his mustache drooping in a perpetual scowl. “Customers have been complaining,” he told Dominic with no heart in his words. “You and your mutt will have to move on.”

His mother was wrong about there being some good in everyone, Dominic thought.

Holding himself proud, he stood to leave, sending comforting thoughts to Volcano.

“Wait!” a woman’s voice rang out. “Young man, please come here.”

Dominic turned. He noticed how the store owner tensed, as if the woman—with her graying blond hair upswept under a wide-brimmed straw hat and her long flowered skirt sweeping dust out of her way—possessed some kind of power. There was something commanding in the lift of her chin, the soft and wise wrinkles around her eyes, and the forceful arch of her brows. And Dominic stopped.

Instead of speaking to Dominic, the woman waved a scolding finger at the store owner. “Ron, have you offered this weary young man and his dog something to drink?”

“What?” He wiped his damp forehead, shaking his head. “No, ma’am.”

She frowned. “Well, why in heaven not? I can’t imagine a church-going man like you allowing an animal and a boy to suffer on such a hot day.”

Sweat dripped from the store owner’s brow as he looked uneasily at Dominic, then back to the woman. “I have a business to run, ma’am.”

“Which includes good customer relations.” She swiveled back to Dominic. “Young man, what do you like to drink?”

Dominic hesitated, afraid this was a trick question. He wasn’t sure what was going on and was poised to run if things went bad.

“Aren’t you thirsty?” the woman insisted.

“Don’t matter about me.” Dominic kept his gaze low. “But my dog could use water.”

“Go on, Ron, you heard the boy. And why not bring out two Cokes while you’re at it? If that’s a problem for you, add them to my bill.”

“It’s not a problem.” With a frown, the store owner headed back inside.

The woman bent over to read Dominic’s sign. “So you’re selling this fine dog?”

“Not selling.” He shook his head. “I don’t own him.”

“So who does?”

“Volcano owns himself.”

“Wise answer,” she said, with a smile that softened her wrinkles. “You have an intriguing aura, young man. And it’s clear you have a real bond with your dog. So why aren’t you keeping him?”

“My uncle is allergic to dogs.”

“What a shame. This must be hard on you.”

“I’ll be fine. But Volcano deserves kids to play with and a big yard for running. He needs a good home.”

“Looks like you do, too.”

Dominic didn’t answer, cautious.

“You live around here?” she asked.

“No.” This would be true enough, soon.

The store owner came out, his scowl deepening as he handed the woman two Cokes and set out a bowl of water for the dog. Abruptly, he strode back into the store.

“Ron isn’t usually so gracious,” the woman said with a laugh.

Dominic cracked a small smile, relaxing for the first time all day.

“So would your dog like to go home with me?”

“Do you have a big yard?”

“Is ten acres big enough?”

Dominic nodded, knowing his mother would have liked this unusual woman with her wide hat and bossy attitude. Dominic sent a message to Volcano, showing a doggy bed and the woman feeding him meaty bones. But Volcano whined, sending back a vision of himself beside Dominic.

“He’d doesn’t care about bones or a dog bed,” the woman said. “He’d rather stay with you.”

Dominic jumped back, staring suspiciously. “How do you know that?”

“Sometimes I just know things.”

“How?”

“The same way you do.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“You will when we meet again. Someday,” she said with a look that reached deep inside him. “But until then all I can do is take care of what you need now. So I will be honored to give your dog a good home.”

“You will?” Suspicion shifted to something close to happiness.

“I live on a farm where there’s plenty of room for your dog. My husband is an artist and he recently lost his dog of eighteen years. Volcano will be great company for him, and will have the run of our fields, then come inside every night and sleep in his own dog bed. Also, my granddaughter Sabine visits often and is a big animal lover.”

Dominic didn’t know what to say; somehow this strange woman had said it all.

Then came the hardest part—letting go of his only friend. He wished he could go, too, but Volcano would be safer starting over completely, with no ties to his former life. And Volcano seemed to understand this. After lapping up every drop of water, he calmly walked over to the woman and sat under the shade of her wide hat.

The huge weight of worry lifted from Dominic.

Volcano would be safe.

“Contact me if you need anything,” she said, handing him a small card.

He nodded, thanking her again and walking away before he lost the courage to leave. Only after he was a mile away, too far to run back, did he stop to read the business card. First he memorized the address, then slowly he read the woman’s name:

~ Nona Wintersong ~

Psychic Medium

* * *

Dominic trudged down a seemingly endless highway, his thumb out. He hoped a trucker would pick him up so he could travel far away to another state. But when nightfall came, his thumb was still out and a hole was worn through his right boot. Shivering with cold, he ached with a hunger so deep it stole his strength. Wearily, he turned from pavement and rushing vehicles toward the woods.

When Dominic was little, he and his mother lived high on a wooded hill, his playground nature’s wild forests. His mother trusted him to roam outside, respecting his unusual rapport with animals: squirrels, raccoons, and even the shyest deer would nuzzle up to him. The woods had sheltered him the way his uncle should have.

Once again he found refuge in nature. His night vision had always been unusually sharp, and with the help of a faint moon and the stars shining on the animal trails, he found bushes with ripe berries and a hollowed grassy spot perfect for sleeping. A doe and her fawn rested nearby, and although he didn’t know how to share mind images with them like he could with Volcano, their closeness calmed him.

When morning brightened, he found a stream and drank cool water. Splashing his face, he felt more alive than ever, now that he was no longer chained to an uncle who despised him. He could live here, if he chose. Maybe he would … but somehow that felt wrong, as if he had a different destiny.

He spent hours by the river trying to catch fish, but his rough stick-spear missed its mark. Berries and nuts eased his hunger, but only temporarily. As much as he longed to stay with his furred friends, he’d need to get a job. He could do odd jobs like mucking out stalls or mowing lawns, but who would hire someone not yet thirteen? He’d have to lie about his age and completely recreate his identity, or risk being returned to his uncle.

High above, a dark bird flew free as the sky, its red-brown wings spanning out as if in joyous celebration. A falcon, Dominic realized, admiring the beauty and grace of the bird and longing to fly free, too. It would be so wonderful if he—

A sharp blast exploded.

The majestic falcon dropped like stone.

“NO!” Dominic cried, taking off running.

Visions of gun-toting poachers fueled Dominic’s anger and pushed him to run faster. As he neared a meadow, he spotted a middle-aged man, outfitted in camouflage, pointing a shiny rifle skyward. The hunter took one look at Dominic, whose hard-boiled anger exploded with each pounding footstep, and blanched like he was scared enough to wet his pants. He fled in the opposite direction.

Ignoring the man, Dominic kept going—and a short while later he found the falcon. The tangle of feathers lay in a dense thicket of brush, unmoving. Dominic’s heart sank as if he’d been shot, too. A wind-blown creature flying free one moment, then gone in a blast of stupidity.

“Goddamned hunter,” Dominic swore.

There was nothing he could do, so he turned to leave—but then heard a faint wing flutter. With a start, he turned back. Taking off his shirt and wrapping it around his hand for protection, he carefully picked tangled branches away from the bird. Dominic gently lifted up the near-dead creature, joyful to feel a faint pulse of life—there was no blood or bullet hole, only ripped tail features. But the bird was limp, probably stunned by the blast.

For hours, Dominic kept the bird warm, rewarded at last by a flutter of wings and opening eyes. The bird started to panic at the restricting shirt around his feathers, but Dominic instinctively cast out a mental message of trust and safety, just as he had done with Volcano. To his amazement, this calmed the bird. And by that nightfall, boy and bird shared a deep bond, which is how Dominic knew it was time to let go.

The falcon spread its wings, rising into the sky and disappearing in one sharp screech of good-bye. Staring at the empty sky, Dominic thought about his mother, about Volcano, and now about the falcon: all gone.

He was completely alone.

* * *

The next morning brought rain and chills worse than anything he’d ever experienced. Dominic’s skin burned, yet he shivered from cold. He couldn’t think clearly, and wanted only to return to his wooded childhood home. But he couldn’t—even fevered, he knew this was impossible. All that was left was Uncle Jim’s ramshackle house.

He would never go back there.

The woods, which had seemed friendly, now poked and shoved and pushed him away. He couldn’t find food and hunger gnawed him painfully. He kept on walking, imagining once that he saw his mother waving at him, beckoning him to follow her on a trail. But the vision faded and the trail dead-ended at a paved road. Feverish chills gripped him and he collapsed to the ground, wrapping his arms around his burning skin.

He didn’t even hear the car until the blue and red lights were flashing around him. He couldn’t resist, and sagged into the arms that lifted him. A blanket was wrapped around his shivering shoulders, and he was bundled into a police car.

Sick, beyond rational thought, he felt the world spiral into blackness.

When he opened his eyes, Dominic hoped this was a bad dream. But the cot and diesel smells were real. He was back at Uncle Jim’s.

It was no surprise that the door was locked.

He kicked and pounded, but the door remained a sturdy jailer. There was nothing else to do but sink back into sleep … and hope to never wake up.

* * *

His mother’s ebony eyes regarded him lovingly as she looked at him.

“Fight, Nicky,” she said, in that soft voice he’d almost forgotten and now missed with an ache worse than hunger. “I’m sorry I couldn’t protect you. I thought my brother would care for you, but I was wrong.”

“I hate him.” Dominic snapped up on the cot, not sure whether he was speaking to a ghost or a memory.

“Hate destroys all that is good.”

“Nothing is good anymore. I tried to get away and look where I am again. Only this time I don’t even have Volcano.”

“You did a good thing for your dog, but now you need to take care of yourself. Hurry and leave before it’s too late.” Her voice rose with urgency. “Hurry!”

There was a jingle of keys, causing Dominic to jerk his head toward the door. When he looked back for his mother, she was gone. But the door was opening, filling with the large-boned, scowling face of Uncle Jim.

“You’re awake?” he snorted.

Dominic glared.

“Stupid little bastard, where the hell is my dog?”

Dominic pursed his lips tightly.

Uncle Jim stomped over to the cot and grabbed Dominic by the shoulder. “Speak to me when I talk to you, boy. I asked where you hid my dog.”

Still Dominic said nothing.

The brutal hand across his head sent him reeling backward, rolling off the cot and falling dazed onto the floor. Already weakened from fever, Dominic couldn’t even lift his hand to cover his face when the second round came. Pain was almost a friend by now, its blackness sending him away.

When he awoke again, rain was falling, soaking his clothes and dripping into his parched mouth. He was lying on the ground, outside by the dog house, trapped by a long chain to the same metal stake that had trapped Volcano. A steel shackle circled his ankle, the attached chain only allowing him to move a few feet in any direction. The only thing within his reach was a bowl of dog food.

A glance toward the driveway showed that his uncle’s car was gone, but the taunting words stayed behind: “You stole my dog, so take his place. You’re my dog now.”

At least his fever was gone, Dominic thought, with a small sense of relief. His thoughts were clearer, too, and he remembered the dream about his mother. It felt so real, as if she’d been there trying to protect him. She’d wanted him to leave—only her warning came too late. How could he leave now, with a shackle trapping him like a dog? And what would happen when his uncle returned? Would he be forgiven and released—or suffer more beatings?

Fight back, he could hear his mother saying.

But to fight, he’d need to gain strength.

“I won’t eat dog food,” he swore.

The rain stopped, replaced by sun that burned his skin and made him thirsty. He found rainwater in a dirt-crusted dish. As he drank, both disgusted and refreshed, he tried to think of a way out. But there was none. His uncle would never let him go, not unless he gave Volcano’s location away … which he’d never do.

That evening, his uncle returned and pointed to the dog dish.

“Not hungry?” Uncle Jim snorted. “Get used to dog food, unless you’re ready to tell me where that mutt of mine is.”

Dominic turned away.

“Fine. Let’s see how you hold out for one more day.”

Then Uncle Jim went inside the house and didn’t come out until he left for work the next morning.

Dominic stared at the dog food, which now resembled mud soup. He was so hungry, he could eat mud—but not dog food. The indignity of it would be a defeat far worse than hunger. How long could he hold out?

Hours later, as he came close to giving in, he heard a shrill shriek above him. Looking up, he saw red-brown feathers, and a sharp beak curved around something silvery.

When the falcon dropped the fish into Dominic’s lap, he thought he must be dreaming. But the fish was wet and real and the first solid food he’d had in days.

“Thank you,” he told the bird, who was already flying away.

A few hours later the bird returned, with something pulpy and bloody that reminded Dominic of road kill. Yet it was a gift, and he was hungry.

When Uncle Jim returned home that night to find the dog food still in the dish, he swore and stomped over to Dominic. His fist flew, but Dominic refused to cry out. Instead, he focused on the damp earth where he’d buried the food’s bones, smiling secretly to himself, flying in his mind on red-brown wings.

The next day, sultry sun shifted into warm rain. Even with visits from the bird (whom Dominic had named Dagger because of the way he dove to the ground, slicing the sky with sharp knife-claws), the damp discomfort of being chained had weakened him. Dominic doubted he could last much longer like this, and wondered if letting go, to be with his mother, was the only way out.

But hope returned when he saw that the metal post holding his chain in place could wiggle. The combination of soggy ground and his continued tugging at it was loosening the post. If he could just lift it, the chain would slip off to freedom.

While he gnawed on a fish, feeling more animal than human, he kept working at the post. Back and forth, back and forth, pushing, pulling. Thinking of beatings and the blood on Volcano’s fur, Dominic gave the post a vicious shove—and it twisted out of the ground.

After days of exposure, abuse, and chains, he could leave the yard. And once he was inside the house, he’d find tools to cut the shackle.

The chain dragged behind his foot as he started toward the house—but a sudden noise stopped him. The familiar grind and rumble of his uncle’s car. Damn! Why now, when he was so close? With the chain still on his ankle, he couldn’t outrun his uncle.

But he could fool him—he could pretend to still be chained to the post, then escape later. Quickly, he shoved the steel post back into the ground, careful not to topple it. Then he settled back on the ground, his head hung down like the sorry dog he was supposed to be.

His uncle kicked at the untouched dog dish. “Stupid boy, why don’t you eat?” he demanded. “You’d rather starve?”

“As if you care,” he muttered, staying close to the post and hoping his uncle didn’t notice the telltale lean.

“When I get my dog back, I’ll let you go, even let you sleep and eat in the house.”

“I don’t know where he is,” Dominic said.

“Liar!” His uncle reared back with his hand, ready to strike, when a sharp cry from overhead caught his attention.

Dominic glanced up at red-tipped wings and a beak full of fish. Not now! he thought, sending a message for Dagger to go away. But the falcon had already opened its beak, and a silvery fish plopped at Dominic’s feet.

“What the crap?” Uncle Jim bellowed. He looked up at the bird, then down at the fish. “What kind of freaky bird feeds people?”

Dominic backed up, stopping only when he noticed the stake that once confined him slipping sideways. He moved closer, grasping it to hold it in place.

“Damned bird ain’t natural. I’ll take care of it for good,” Uncle Jim said angrily. He rushed into the house and came out moments later with a rifle.

“NO!” Dominic shouted. “You can’t shoot him!”

“Can’t I?” Uncle Jim lifted the gun, his teeth gleaming in an ugly smile as he released the safety. “Just watch. Then I’ll get my whip and take care of you.”

Dominic shouted again, jerking the chain so that the post flew out of the soggy ground. Uncle Jim turned angrily, lowering the gun so that instead of pointing at the bird, it was aimed at Dominic. A sadistic sneer carved hatred on the older man’s face. His trigger finger moved.

Dominic moved faster. He reached down and grabbed the long chain dangling from his ankle, then flung it like a whip. The chain lashed out at his uncle’s face. The rifle fell from Uncle Jim’s fingers, and he cried out as the chain wrapped around his neck like a metal snake. As he reeled backward, his head made an awful cracking sound and he fell to the ground, his neck twisted at an odd angle.

Dominic stared for several long seconds, certain his uncle was dead. He had no doubt his uncle would have shot him with no remorse. He’d acted in self defense, saving the bird, saving himself. But who would believe him?

He cut off his shackles, packed a bag, and placed an anonymous call to 911.

Then he shut the door behind him as he walked into a new life, with a new name, in a new place. High above, in the sky, a red-winged bird soared.

Only when he was miles away did he pull out a small paper from his pocket.

Reading the address where Volcano now lived in peace, Dominic considered going there—then decided to wait. Dominic-the-Boy wanted a family, but Dominic-the-Man knew he had to make it on his own. Then he could seek out old friends.

The woman in the wide hat had told him that they would meet again.

Yes, they would.

Someday.