client’s face. He was tall and skinny, rather than slim. Every inch a geek, but a sweet one. I tried to build a mental image. Charles standing in the living room. Charles as he would appear from Lily’s crate. His curly hair, a little too long, backlit by the sun coming in through the big back window. I imagined his jeans, worn at the knee. The MIT sweatshirt—and suddenly I remembered it as I’d last seen it, black and sticky with blood. Lily started, and I grabbed her collar, whispering to her to calm us both down.
“I’m sorry, girl. I’m sorry.”
But my blunder had done the trick. Memories came flooding out now, the hungry fish forgotten. Charles. His hands, again, on her collar. Gentle. Then his voice, loud. Was he yelling in anger or fear? What were his words? But the memories were coming too fast for me to examine. Charles’ hands raised, fingers spread. Bloody. Charles on the floor. That smell, that smell—sweet and acrid and hypnotically strong. A feeling like longing, like desperation, like despair. Hope draining away. Charles, Charles, Charles.
I couldn’t take it. I pulled my hand from the dog’s back and stood up. I walked away, stumbling. I felt sick, woozy. Sweaty again, even as the afternoon turned raw. No wonder Lily had blocked this out, let an eternal present take over. This was too much, too strong. I leaned forward, hands on knees, to breathe, and as I did, a thought took me. Where was Lily during all this? Why hadn’t she defended her person?
“Lily?” She wasn’t responding. Frozen there, shivering now, her open eyes staring into space. I returned back to her and prepared myself for the shock. “Where were you, Lily? Where were you when all this happened?”
Nothing, and so I gingerly reached over. Her back was shaking, the short fur along her neck on edge, like a cat’s. I repeated my question and leaned over, placing my face against her warm body.
The rush of images continued, joined now by her silent cry
: Let go! Let go! Let go!
But something was different. I closed my eyes, breathing in the warm dog scent, rich and musty, trying not to let that sweet death stench overwhelm me. What was it?
Then I saw, through Lily’s eyes. She had focused entirely on Charles. Had watched him yell, had watched him pushed back. Had watched him fall, had watched him bleed. But some of the scent—some element of that horrible sweet stench—had been there from the start. Before the fall, before the blood. And the scene that played through Lily’s mind, like some infernal tape loop—was drenched in longing. A yearning for—what? I focused in, but all I could see was framed through bars. Lily had been in her crate, helpless to stop tragedy. Helpless as she lost the only home she knew.
Chapter Nine
“And so that’s your big breakthrough? The dog’s homesick?”
I’d woken Wallis on my return. I hadn’t meant to, but she’s a light sleeper for a cat, and I’d figured I might as well get her feedback. I should have expected her to be pissed off as she stretched to her full length along the back of my sofa.
I shrugged. “I guess not. I did get confirmation that she was crated when it happened.”
“Wonderful guard dog he had there.” She jumped down to the seat and began kneading. I realized I had only about five minutes before she resumed her nap, so I didn’t try to explain the intensity of what I’d felt. The horrible, sad ache. Lily whining, a low despairing sound.
Home, home, home
, she’d cried. It didn’t matter. I couldn’t give that to her, not anymore.
Wallis must have picked up on some of that. “By the way, that infant you brought home?” She glanced up at me to make sure she had my attention again. “I think she’s retarded.”
The kitten. I’d get to her later. “She’s very young, Wallis. I’m sorry to dump her on you like that. And, well, Wallis, I’m wondering if you can help me here?” A blatant appeal to her vanity, but she cocked an ear, so I
“I’m sorry, girl. I’m sorry.”
But my blunder had done the trick. Memories came flooding out now, the hungry fish forgotten. Charles. His hands, again, on her collar. Gentle. Then his voice, loud. Was he yelling in anger or fear? What were his words? But the memories were coming too fast for me to examine. Charles’ hands raised, fingers spread. Bloody. Charles on the floor. That smell, that smell—sweet and acrid and hypnotically strong. A feeling like longing, like desperation, like despair. Hope draining away. Charles, Charles, Charles.
I couldn’t take it. I pulled my hand from the dog’s back and stood up. I walked away, stumbling. I felt sick, woozy. Sweaty again, even as the afternoon turned raw. No wonder Lily had blocked this out, let an eternal present take over. This was too much, too strong. I leaned forward, hands on knees, to breathe, and as I did, a thought took me. Where was Lily during all this? Why hadn’t she defended her person?
“Lily?” She wasn’t responding. Frozen there, shivering now, her open eyes staring into space. I returned back to her and prepared myself for the shock. “Where were you, Lily? Where were you when all this happened?”
Nothing, and so I gingerly reached over. Her back was shaking, the short fur along her neck on edge, like a cat’s. I repeated my question and leaned over, placing my face against her warm body.
The rush of images continued, joined now by her silent cry
: Let go! Let go! Let go!
But something was different. I closed my eyes, breathing in the warm dog scent, rich and musty, trying not to let that sweet death stench overwhelm me. What was it?
Then I saw, through Lily’s eyes. She had focused entirely on Charles. Had watched him yell, had watched him pushed back. Had watched him fall, had watched him bleed. But some of the scent—some element of that horrible sweet stench—had been there from the start. Before the fall, before the blood. And the scene that played through Lily’s mind, like some infernal tape loop—was drenched in longing. A yearning for—what? I focused in, but all I could see was framed through bars. Lily had been in her crate, helpless to stop tragedy. Helpless as she lost the only home she knew.
Chapter Nine
“And so that’s your big breakthrough? The dog’s homesick?”
I’d woken Wallis on my return. I hadn’t meant to, but she’s a light sleeper for a cat, and I’d figured I might as well get her feedback. I should have expected her to be pissed off as she stretched to her full length along the back of my sofa.
I shrugged. “I guess not. I did get confirmation that she was crated when it happened.”
“Wonderful guard dog he had there.” She jumped down to the seat and began kneading. I realized I had only about five minutes before she resumed her nap, so I didn’t try to explain the intensity of what I’d felt. The horrible, sad ache. Lily whining, a low despairing sound.
Home, home, home
, she’d cried. It didn’t matter. I couldn’t give that to her, not anymore.
Wallis must have picked up on some of that. “By the way, that infant you brought home?” She glanced up at me to make sure she had my attention again. “I think she’s retarded.”
The kitten. I’d get to her later. “She’s very young, Wallis. I’m sorry to dump her on you like that. And, well, Wallis, I’m wondering if you can help me here?” A blatant appeal to her vanity, but she cocked an ear, so I
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