The Last Four Days of Paddy Buckley by Jeremy Massey

to.”
    â€œWhen you puncture the organs, does it take much effort?” said Vincent. He asked as if he’d done it before and was looking to have his procedural style validated.
    â€œYeah, you’ve got to get your back into it,” I said.
    Vincent gently pinched the stubble on his chin while continuing to look at me, along with Sean, both apparently grateful for the candid explanation.
    I watched myself sitting with them from my viewpoint up at the ceiling, and as Vincent seemed to navigate our meeting into another pocket of silence, I let my attention wander.
    Down in a darkened corner at the other end of the room, I noticed a shimmering, like a pair of orange jewels. After another moment, it became clear what it was: a dog curled up like a sleeping fox but with open eyes that glimmered.
    For the first time since I’d been in my dislocated state, I felt enveloped by a rush of fear, not because I’d sighted the dog, but because the dog had sighted me in my suspended, shifted state and appeared to have been looking at me there for quite some time.
    And then, as if I were inhabiting two spaces at once, I felt the disconcerting sensation of shifting uncomfortably in my chair and being slapped back into my body simultaneously. I tried to repeat my dislocating trick but couldn’t. I was locked inside my skin again. The shock of the sudden change brought about the beginnings of a panic attack, which I found almost impossible to mask.
    How could the dog have spotted me, and was there even a dog there in the first place? Compelled to check, I turned around in my seat and looked to the end of the room where I saw the same dog rising to its feet, staring at me now, at my face, in my chair.
    I turned back around to Vincent, who’d noticed the change in me and was quite at home in the silence again. Even though I’d been sitting here all along, being this close to Vincent in the firing line of his stare was a new experience, and a very unsettling one. Sean, too, seemed to be studying me, wondering where my panic had come from.
    The dog, up on all fours now, walked over to my chair. Still looking into my eyes, it began to sniff around my face, its snout twitching from side to side. I’d never seen a dog like it. Its eyes had an almost human aspect to them, only with something stranger still. And its markings were unusual: rusty like a fox, with a white chest and bushy tail, but with an added blackness through its coat. It was bigger than a fox, reminding me more of a wolf, but clearly it was neither. The dog’s nose was now an inch from my cheekbone.
    Even as it invaded my space, I didn’t mind the dog so much; in fact, I’d always had a great affinity with dogs. It was being back in my body with my fear and guilt and pounding heart, and being this close to Vincent with his penetrating gaze, that had brought on the panic.
    I could feel the sweat collecting at the top of my brow and dripping down both sides of my face, which I wanted to wipe off, but didn’t dare.
    â€œWhat’s the story with the dog?” I said, still looking at its ever-watchful eyes.
    Nobody said anything for another minute or so, and I had no more questions to ask.
    â€œShe’s smelling your fear, Paddy,” said Vincent, practically in a whisper. “Dechtire,” he said. “By my side.”
    The dog licked its lips and moved to Vincent’s side.
    My eyes darted from the dog to Vincent, to Sean, and back down to my briefcase. I could hear how irregular my breathing was, and I was squirming in my seat. I took out the coffin catalog, which I held out to Vincent, whose gaze now lowered to my trembling hand. Each moment was getting worse. As I tried to control the shaking in my hand, Sean reached over and took the catalog from me with a slight mocking smile and slowly started leafing through the pages, never once looking down at them, but continuing to stare at me all the