Since Adam never specifically told us to stay, I see no problem with Dawg and me heading outside when the screen door just happens to bounce open with the nudge of my nose. It’s a perfect night and I can hear the scurry of woodland creatures beckoning us to the chase. We hit on the scent of something I’ve always wanted to pursue and off we go, avoiding the man-made trail with its human scent obscuring the mammal, pushing ourselves through the underbrush, the sound of our passage no doubt alerting our prey to our presence, but the sheer joy of pursuit is really our goal. We head away from the confinement of our cottage, our place. Away from our better natures. We revert to our wild side, if just for this moment. Being civilized is wonderful, but sometimes it feels good just to be an animal.
* * *
It’s almost ten o’clock. Skye told Cody that she can go back to the cottage at ten, as long as things are quiet. There have been a couple of problems. The couple in room 3 accidentally locked themselves out. Another call was from the lady with the Cairn terrier, wondering if it’s safe to walk around in the dark. Cody assured her that there were no bears this close to the hotel, and that the motion-sensitive lights on the front of the building would come on to frighten off anything else. Other than that, Cody hasn’t seen anyone. She reaches for the CLOSED sign.
Outside, there is just the sound of peepers and crickets, the whisk of car tires climbing the hill. A million billion stars speckle the sky without casting light on this as-yet-moonless and soft night. Skye forgot to leave a light on in the cottage. Only Adam’s cabin is illuminated, the soft glow of a table lamp warming the interior beyond the screen door. There are no motion-sensitive lights on the back of the building, so Cody’s left to pick her way carefully in the dark.
It is so quiet that she hears his breath moments before she feels his hand around her mouth.
Johnny Mervin shoves a wad of something into Cody’s mouth and manages to one-hand a strip of duct tape across it even as Cody struggles, twisting and ramming her sneaker-shod heels against his shins. He’s silent, and in the dark it’s like she’s being assaulted by a phantom, except that she can smell his overpowering cologne. No phantom ever stank of cheap aftershave. She tries to slither out of his grasp, dropping to the grass in an effort to wriggle free, but Johnny is twice her size and has no intention of letting his prey get loose. He picks her up, hikes her a short distance from the cottage to where he’s got his car. He forces her facedown into the backseat, shuts the door with a gentle push, disturbing no one in the hotel with the slam of a car door.
He hasn’t bound her hands, so Cody reaches for the door latch.
“Childproof. Don’t bother.” Johnny climbs into the driver’s seat. “It’s a short ride.”
Cody tries the door anyway. It won’t open. She pulls the tape off her face, spits out the gag. “Please, I never told. Why are you doing this?”
“Things changed. Sorry. Got to tidy up some loose ends, and that’s you.” He’s driving slowly, well within the speed limit, around the unpredictable curves of the mountain road. A car approaches from the other direction. Cody pounds on the window, but the car doesn’t slow. She’s invisible in the dark. Inaudible.
She sits back against the seat. Curiously, she’s not crying, or even breathing hard. It’s as if a switch has been turned off in her brain, the one that has dictated that she agonize about this very moment, the anxiety that has controlled her dreams, and her waking nightmare of Johnny Mervin’s threat. She has lived for more than a year in fear of this very moment. She’s used it all up. She’s not afraid. She’s angry.
Johnny suddenly flips off the headlights and makes a hard left turn. Cody knows where they are, in the parking lot of Lake Hartnett State Park. Within walking distance of the LakeView. Within walking distance of Black Molly’s trailer. She waits as Johnny gets out of the car and comes around to let her out of the backseat. “Let’s go for a walk.” She doesn’t move, and he reaches in to grab her, yanking her out of the car and into his arms. The momentum ensures that the sharpened number 2 pencil she’s pulled out of her pocket digs deep into Johnny Mervin’s face.
* * *
I hear an animal in pain but quickly forget about it as Dawg and I latch onto a new scent. This one I know is rodent, and within the realm of capture. Not far away, I can smell the water of the lake where Adam has tried to convince me that immersion is a good thing. Sorry, not my cup of tea, but I’m happy to wade in, inspect for tiny fish. Snap at them. Dawg pauses, making me stop short in my tracks. He cocks his head and gives the air a listen. I follow suit. We are definitely not alone in these woods. The sounds travel; others are hunting, breaking through the brush, ducking the low-hanging branches. Panting. The faintest of breezes carries a new scent. Human.
* * *
She runs, cursing the sound of her footfalls against the summer-dry leaf detritus and rocks. She might as well be leaving a trail of bread crumbs by making this much noise. Cody stops, touches her face where she’s been sliced by brambles. It is so dark, so impenetrable, but only for a little while longer. Already the moonrise over the mountains is easing the darkness. Cody needs to find a hiding place, someplace that even if the moon lightens the scene, she’ll be hidden from Johnny. Cody leans against the trunk of a pine tree, listening for him even as he’s listening for her. It catches her eye; the sharp, bright light of his phone’s flashlight app is a miniature beacon. She has to keep moving. He’s making as much noise as she is, but he has no reason to remain quiet. Every few minutes, he actually calls to her, as if expecting she’ll give up this game of tag and submit to him. Cody slows to a crawl, begins to work her way through the mountain laurel and sweetbriar, carefully moving foliage out of her way, treading gently on the leaf fall. Either her eyes have fully adjusted to the darkness or the late moon is taking some of the depth out of it. In either case, she can discern the darker weight of the bigger trees, and goes from one to the other, depending on that pinpoint of flashlight to keep herself oriented. As long as it’s behind her, she’s safe.
“Come on, Cody. You should just give it up. Come to me.” Johnny Mervin’s voice is sweet, seductive, a lover’s cajoling voice.
Another tree, and another. The pinpoint of light is higher than she is, and Cody realizes that she’s descending the hillside, that she’s worked her way to Black Molly’s side of the hill. The half-moon has risen, and although its light is muted, nothing like the strong light of the full moon, Cody can see not just the darker shapes of the tree, but also the intermediary branches and the lichen-covered humps of boulders strewn by the volatile upheaval of ancient geology. Suddenly, she knows where in this forest she is.
It blends in with the brambles and deadfall of storm-wrecked trees—the fairy house, the shelter Molly built, where they came so often to share their contraband. You have to know that it’s there to see it. Cody crawls under the hodgepodge of beech and pine branches, tucks her knees to her chest, and prays that Johnny doesn’t recognize the shelter as anything other than a pile of branches. Not a bolt-hole. She looks up, and through the porous roof of Molly’s play fort she can see the pinpoint of light as Johnny descends the slope. She hears a mutter of cursing as he stumbles, slips a little. The flashlight’s bright spot reminds her of that tool the optician uses to examine her eyes. Cody closes her eyes, afraid that they will reflect his light like an animal’s.
“Cody. Cody. You come to me, or your mother dies first.”
Her mother. She’s got to get back and warn Skye. There’s no more hiding this secret.
* * *
It’s much later than I intended when we get back home. In the backseat is the triptych, safe, not damaged, although Adam had suggested that I could take a box cutter to it if I felt I wanted to. He’s given it to me. A present, he says, for kindness and going with him to the event. I’m out of practice, and have no witty reply. I don’t even pretend to refuse the gift. I tell him maybe I’ll hang it on that blank wall in his cottage.
He walks me to my cottage, which is totally dark. Cody has forgotten to turn on the porch light, or maybe deliberately chosen not to. He waits to see if she’s also locked the door against me, but it’s open. I flip on the light. “Well, thank you.” I mean for the evening away from here, for listening to my sorry story about Cody’s transgression against Mingo, for buying the painting.
Adam leans in and kisses me. Touches my face. Bids me good night.
“Wait. Would you like to come in?” It’s not all that late. Then I worry that I’ve become one of those women he’s here avoiding. “I can offer coffee.”
Adam smiles, nods. “Let me go let the boys out. Why don’t you come to my place. We can have a nightcap.”
“Okay, and at the risk of sounding like a bad B movie, I am going to get out of this outfit and into something way more comfortable. And check on Cody.”
Except that Cody isn’t there. And neither are the dogs.
* * *
Dawg and I both freeze in mid-step. We’re dogs, so we don’t look at each other to corroborate our impressions. We both know what that whistle means. Back here. Judging from the faintness of the sound, we’ve gotten a bit farther afield than we’ve ever done before. But the lure of night life has been intoxicating to us. We’ve run to ground moles and voles and even a mouse or two. Dawg came closest to achieving capture, but the truth is, neither one of us actually would know what to do with a mouse in the mouth.
Game’s up. The whistling continues, and I know that my stellar reputation for obedience is in jeopardy. Dawg is scratching, his hind leg going at it and his chin in the air, his jowls stretched back in a weird show of ecstasy. I’ll give him a moment; then we head home. I put my nose to the air, suck in a snootful of luscious night air. And that’s when my ears pick up on another sound, and my hackles go up.
* * *
“I’m losing my patience, little girl. Show yourself, or you’ll be an orphan.” As if to illustrate his point, Johnny casts one last sweep of his flashlight, coming within twenty feet of Cody’s hiding place. He turns around and starts up the hill, pauses. “Don’t think I won’t find you wherever they put you. An orphanage, maybe a foster home? Your grandmother’s? Whatever, no matter to me. I found you before and I’ll find you again. In the meantime, bye-bye Mommy.”
Cody can’t hold back the involuntary sob, and he hears it. Johnny grabs fistfuls of branches, tearing away the hiding place, reaching in and grabbing Cody by the arm. He slaps her, twists her arms around, clutching both wrists in his one hand, wrenching her to her feet. “I’m done here.” He pulls his gun out of its holster, frog-marches Cody a few feet, then presses on her wrists until she drops to her knees.
Cody screams. And screams. Terror deafens her even to the sound of her own voice pleading for her life. She feels the muzzle of the gun press against the back of her neck right in the place her mother used to call her “sweet spot,” and would then kiss it. Mommy will be her last word.
* * *
I had never before set teeth to human, but I had no hesitation in doing so and doing it with the same ferocity I once used in the pit, in the time before I knew peace. Dawg was beside me, doing the same. We knew the right places to subdue, the right places to make this a win that would take this opponent out of the pit forever. I could hear the girl’s screaming, encouraging us, inciting us to further leave our marks on this singularly dangerous human being. There was also screaming coming from him, the tongue language clear: Get them off me! As I bit deeper and deeper into his forearm, Dawg stood on his chest, threatening, but not quite ready to go in for the kill. Behind us, the girl, Cody, wept, and even over the pungent scent of blood, I could smell the agony of her fear. At that moment, I understood Adam much better. The anger and rage that he struggled so to keep, with my help, under control; I suddenly understood what anger is. I had never been angry at my canine opponents all those years ago in the fight ring, but this time I felt a rage that reddened my vision. This stinking man would hurt this girl of whom I had grown fond. I would not have it. Dawg pushed his face into the face of the man on the ground, and I knew that he, my dear companion, felt exactly as I did.
* * *
Johnny’s phone, the flashlight app still on, is on the ground, well out of his reach, as is the gun. Cody watches as the dogs keep him from moving, from escaping. In fact, he is very still, but she can see the life in his eyes, the fear that these dogs, arriving out of nowhere, will tear him limb from limb.
Cody picks up both the gun and the phone. Holding the weapon’s muzzle down, she speaks to the dogs. “Don’t let him up. Good dogs.” She thumbs 911 into the phone.