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Authors: John Hardy Bell
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say that twenty-four hours ago. But twenty-four hours ago, her best friend was still in Washington D.C. Now that she was home, everything was going to be different. The thought made her smile.
When she glanced at her alarm clock it read 1:28. It had been nearly an hour since she was awakened by the music. Now nothing moved around her. Even George and Gracie had settled down. Julia looked toward the foot of her bed to see if Gracie had come back up undetected and taken her usual resting spot, but she hadn’t. George, ever the charmer, must have convinced her to stay downstairs.
Julia felt a deep sense of calm as she rested her head on the pillow, and within moments she was fast asleep.
She heard echoes of the dogs barking in her dreams. The barks were weak, pleading, and distant. In her dream, she and Gracie were running through Congress Park, the same as they did every morning, when a man wearing a black hooded sweatshirt suddenly came up behind them and kicked Gracie in the ribs, sending her hurling to the ground. As she fell, she made the most horrendous sound that Julia had ever heard come out of a living being.
The man stood over Julia as she cradled Gracie’s limp body in her arms.
“Look at me,” he said in a voice that didn’t sound human.
When Julia refused to divert her eyes away from her injured dog, the man kicked Gracie again. “I said look at me!”
Julia screamed as she leapt to her feet and turned to face him. But he wasn’t there. She was instead looking directly into a narrow beam of light so bright that it instantly blinded her. Julia shut her eyes in an effort to fight off the glare, but she couldn’t escape it.
There was a hard yank on her shoulder and for an instant she thought it was Gracie trying to pull her to safety. But Gracie was lying motionless at her feet.
The sight of her dead dog instantly pulled her out of the dream.
The light that she woke up to wasn’t nearly as bright as the one had been in her dream. But it blinded her just the same. She felt a throbbing in her shoulder and realized that something had indeed yanked at it. She instinctively called out to Gracie, then to George.
But when the circular beam of light that had been shining in her face suddenly shut off to reveal a massive silhouette standing directly above her, she realized that ne ither one of them were coming.
CHAPTER 10
I f Dale Rooney had his way, he would live in a two room cabin cloistered deep in the Sangre de Cristo Mountains of southern Colorado; so far removed from anything resembling civilization that even the world’s most sophisticated GPS wouldn’t be able to find him. He imagined a simple life of living off the land, surrounded by trout-filled lakes, lush evergreen trees, and limitless space for his German Sheppard Ike.
But in sixty-seven years of life, Dale rarely got his way. He knew there would be no frontier living with Ike the German Sheppard. Dale didn’t even have a German Sheppard. What he did have was a house in the city that he wished he had sold fifteen years ago, a wife who somehow convinced him not to sell it, and a little runt of a Pomeranian that she seemed to love a hell of a lot more than she loved him.
Fifteen years ago, when he had considered selling, the neighborhood was much different than it is now. There were no uppity neighbors who were young enough to be his children yet treated him with the reverence of a garden tool; no inflated property taxes because misguided parents insisted that their children’s schools have state-of-the-art everything; and no cars driving up and down his street all times of the night blaring that jungle thump that passed for music.
What Dale wouldn’t have done for the opportunity to go back, to act when he still had the chance. He would certainly have had that cabin by now – with his wife and Pomeranian or without them.
But now he was stuck here. And as much as he may have fantasized about it, there would be no escaping
When she glanced at her alarm clock it read 1:28. It had been nearly an hour since she was awakened by the music. Now nothing moved around her. Even George and Gracie had settled down. Julia looked toward the foot of her bed to see if Gracie had come back up undetected and taken her usual resting spot, but she hadn’t. George, ever the charmer, must have convinced her to stay downstairs.
Julia felt a deep sense of calm as she rested her head on the pillow, and within moments she was fast asleep.
She heard echoes of the dogs barking in her dreams. The barks were weak, pleading, and distant. In her dream, she and Gracie were running through Congress Park, the same as they did every morning, when a man wearing a black hooded sweatshirt suddenly came up behind them and kicked Gracie in the ribs, sending her hurling to the ground. As she fell, she made the most horrendous sound that Julia had ever heard come out of a living being.
The man stood over Julia as she cradled Gracie’s limp body in her arms.
“Look at me,” he said in a voice that didn’t sound human.
When Julia refused to divert her eyes away from her injured dog, the man kicked Gracie again. “I said look at me!”
Julia screamed as she leapt to her feet and turned to face him. But he wasn’t there. She was instead looking directly into a narrow beam of light so bright that it instantly blinded her. Julia shut her eyes in an effort to fight off the glare, but she couldn’t escape it.
There was a hard yank on her shoulder and for an instant she thought it was Gracie trying to pull her to safety. But Gracie was lying motionless at her feet.
The sight of her dead dog instantly pulled her out of the dream.
The light that she woke up to wasn’t nearly as bright as the one had been in her dream. But it blinded her just the same. She felt a throbbing in her shoulder and realized that something had indeed yanked at it. She instinctively called out to Gracie, then to George.
But when the circular beam of light that had been shining in her face suddenly shut off to reveal a massive silhouette standing directly above her, she realized that ne ither one of them were coming.
CHAPTER 10
I f Dale Rooney had his way, he would live in a two room cabin cloistered deep in the Sangre de Cristo Mountains of southern Colorado; so far removed from anything resembling civilization that even the world’s most sophisticated GPS wouldn’t be able to find him. He imagined a simple life of living off the land, surrounded by trout-filled lakes, lush evergreen trees, and limitless space for his German Sheppard Ike.
But in sixty-seven years of life, Dale rarely got his way. He knew there would be no frontier living with Ike the German Sheppard. Dale didn’t even have a German Sheppard. What he did have was a house in the city that he wished he had sold fifteen years ago, a wife who somehow convinced him not to sell it, and a little runt of a Pomeranian that she seemed to love a hell of a lot more than she loved him.
Fifteen years ago, when he had considered selling, the neighborhood was much different than it is now. There were no uppity neighbors who were young enough to be his children yet treated him with the reverence of a garden tool; no inflated property taxes because misguided parents insisted that their children’s schools have state-of-the-art everything; and no cars driving up and down his street all times of the night blaring that jungle thump that passed for music.
What Dale wouldn’t have done for the opportunity to go back, to act when he still had the chance. He would certainly have had that cabin by now – with his wife and Pomeranian or without them.
But now he was stuck here. And as much as he may have fantasized about it, there would be no escaping
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