98. My Private Place

The sun comes up.

The skies open up.

The new year arrives.

It’s midday and I’ve asked Mom if I can borrow the car to go into town.

She has no idea, not a clue about the hell I’ve walked through.

I don’t want her to know.

I can’t let her know.

They threatened me, and I didn’t believe it.

I believe now.

I park alongside the tracks and then walk down them until I reach the old railroad signal.

I walk through woods and get to where the growth subsides.

I see the old barn.

Perhaps I should know better—perhaps I should do something—perhaps I should do nothing. I don’t know. All I know is that I’m here and I’m doing this.

Not for answers.

But for myself.

As I walk on the dirt road that leads to the barn, I see a creature standing there as if guarding the building.

It’s a wolf.

It’s the same wolf that I saw that day in the woods by the creek.

It’s gray and tall and beautiful.

It stands there, and part of me wants it to attack me.

I wouldn’t fight it. Not today. And not tomorrow.

I’d let it slash my throat and my wrists. Almost gladly.

Instead, it stares me down for a moment, then it bolts off into the woods.

I continue down the path, reaching the opening to the barn.

Part of me is afraid of what I’ll find.

Then again, I’ll never be afraid again.

When you lose something so close and personal, there’s nothing left to worry about losing.

I reach the stall and see that the door is shut.

As I look inside, I don’t see or hear anything.

I check out the hay, but don’t find anything in it.

The little puppy is gone.

I curse, and I wish there was a god above me to hear it. Because it’s Him I’m talking to.

Not even the puppy.

Not even this little, tiny creature named Midnight that made Jocelyn happy.

Why?

I don’t get it.

Why?

Then I hear a shuffling sound. There’s something behind the wood of the stall I’m standing in.

And I see it.

A little black face. Bold black eyes. A wagging tongue. A flat little nose.

Midnight bolts out of an opening in the wood and rushes toward me, wagging her tail.

I pick her up and hold her in my hands. The dog feels like it weighs two pounds. She’s shivering. I know that she’s sick—I don’t have to be a doctor to tell.

“I’m here, it’s okay,” I say as I hold her. I sit down in the stall and gently rub Midnight’s fur. I feel her body shaking.

That’s when I start to cry.

It’s the first time all day that I’ve done so.

Maybe it’s just that I wanted to be alone—to be far alone in my own private place.

I weep tears I didn’t think I had in me as I think about Jocelyn.

Midnight licks my hands.

I look toward an open window that peers out past the woods into the open sky.

“Why?”

I don’t need to address the one I’m talking to. If He’s there, He can hear me.

“Why?” is all I ask.

I just want to know.

I want to know why I got so close to saving someone and yet …

And yet.

Midnight looks up at me.

“I’m going to take good care of you, got that? Nothing’s going to happen to you. Nothing at all.”

I wipe my eyes and look at the four walls surrounding me.

Then I see something at the edge of the stall. Something dark—a book.

It’s the Bible that I gave to Jocelyn.

Inside is a letter.

I keep the Bible shut and pick up Midnight, then leave.

I already feel watched.

Now that I know that Midnight is here and alive, I want to take her to get her warm and to get some food in her.

Then I’ll look at the Bible and what’s inside it.

Maybe.