Here's my chapter and thanks to all my friends on the USA
boards and shondie and DeadZoneRaven. You need to update
your fic, man!
~*~*~*~*Visions From Afar~*~*~*~* ~*~*~*~*Chapter Two~*~*~*~*~*
As Johnny pulled up to his formidable, mansion-sized home, he spotted Bruce standing next to his PT Cruiser. He gave a short wave, and saw his friend's confusion at Walt riding next to him. Sensing his friend's confusion, Johnny gave a short nod. Bruce would understand. One way or another.
"You got my bowl?" Bruce shouted as Johnny placed the car in park and nodded at Walt.
"Yeah," Johnny said patiently. "The pieces are in my leg."
"Hey Walt," Bruce said to Walt shortly, and then turned his attention back to Johnny. "Stop it! Where's my bowl?"
"I told you, my leg." He got down from the Jeep and looked at Walt, who was standing around, looking uncertain of what he should do.
"Johnny!"
"Hi Bruce," Walt interrupted, "How have you been?"
"Fine," Bruce told him, then shot a dirty look at Johnny. "But a certain person is denying my fortune."
"Give it up," Johnny informed him. "Okay, Bruce. I'm going to have company for a bit."
"We found a dog," Walt took over, explaining. "The owner was murdered. We figure that he was just stuck in the house all the time. I would keep him, but Sarah won't let him near her son and she's getting nasty about it. Johnny volunteered his services while getting your bowl, which, I believe, is in the backseat."
"Walt!"
"I'm a sheriff," Walt said wickedly, and Johnny was surprised at the change in his demeanor. "It's my duty to tell the truth."
"Why, thank you Sheriff Bannerman," Bruce said immediately, sounding as if the sky had turned to gold. "I have to report a theft-"
"Yeah, yeah. Everybody's a critic." Johnny started to the back of his Jeep. "Well, guys, let's get the dog."
"When does this concern me?" Bruce asked, raising an eyebrow.
"Since your bowl pieces got stuck in my leg." He met Walt at the back and put the back of his Jeep down. Johnny saw the black mask of a face and shuddered, remembering his reason for taking the shepherd in the first place. Suddenly he was tempted to tell Walt about his vision, but when he looked at Walt, and at Bruce, his face drawn in exasperation, he unexpectedly felt a wave of anxiety. He had never held back on his visions-except, of course, for one-, but now felt different. How would they respond if he told them that he had become the dog?
"Hey Apollo," Walt said coaxingly, unlatching the cage door. Apollo's head stuck out the cage door instantly and Walt clipped his steel leash to the dog's collar. The dog turned its head sideways, to peer at Johnny, and then growled at him. "Gee, Johnny, he doesn't like you. Are you sure you want to do this?"
"I'm positive," Johnny answered, trying to sound convinced, but inside his stomach was doing flips. "Come on Bruce, help."
"My only duty is to my sacred bowl," Bruce pouted, coming forward. When he saw the monster head of the dog, he froze. "Jeez, that's one big dog!"
"Yeah," Walt said, sounding unhappy. "I don't know if you should do this, Johnny. He doesn't like you and your leg . . ."
"My leg's fine," Johnny declared, determinedly limping towards the side of his house. "Positively beautiful. We can put it in my back yard."
"Apollo," Walt corrected. "His name is Apollo."
"Fine." Johnny reached the gate and reached over to unlatch it. "He'll have a grand time digging up my backyard." He stepped lightly out of the way as Walt, holding the leash, walked into the backyard, unclipped the dog from his leash, gave him a final pat on the head, and came back out. Johnny slammed the gate shut.
"You sure you're okay with this?" Walt repeated.
"Yes, Walt, I'm positive," Johnny said again, watching as the dog put his nose between a gap in the gate and whined. "We'll get along just fine."
"There a reason you're doing this Johnny?" Walt suddenly asked and when Johnny turned his head away, Walt's eyes were hard fires. "Sarah said you hated dogs."
"And I said that I used to," Johnny said easily, starting back towards his Jeep. "You two just sounded torn up about everything and I thought I could help."
"Haven't you helped enough lately?"
Johnny turned his head at the sharpness in Walt's tone. Walt was eyeing him coldly and Johnny's mind turned at the thought. What did he mean? They stood for a moment, staring at each other.
"What do you mean, Walt?" Johnny finally asked carefully.
For a moment, Walt seemed to be on the verge of blurting something out, but then his eyes cooled, and he straightened. "Nothing, Johnny. Nothing."
"Hey you guys." Bruce was yelling at them from the driveway. "You coming or what?"
"Yes." Johnny started forward, his heart beating faster than usual. "Yes, we're coming." He looked back at Walt, who was telling the dog good-bye through the gate. This was becoming too edgy. Walt was coming dangerously close to a truth that didn't need dredging up. Johnny went to his Jeep, Walt bringing up his heels, and the dog watching them from his prison of walls.
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"So why the dog, John?" Bruce asked carefully once they were inside the house. Johnny was drinking water and watching the dog from his window as Apollo sniffed the yard in interest. "Any special reasons? Visions?"
"Why, Bruce, you know me too well." Johnny turned away from the dog to his friend. He summed up Bruce in his mind quickly, and then sighed. "I guess I can tell you. You know me well enough not to laugh."
"I always laugh at you Johnny," Bruce said dutifully. "It's what I do."
"Jerk." Sighing again, Johnny's cool blue eyes went to Bruce's. "Well, here I go. To make it short and sweet, I touched the dog and had a vision."
"Well, isn't that unusual?" Bruce muttered, but Johnny appeared not to notice.
"And . . . Bruce, that dog saw the murder of his owner. He wasn't in the house all the time. He saw somebody murdering the lady." Johnny stopped and drew in his breath. Bruce was staring at him. Frustrated, Johnny threw up his hands. "Go ahead and laugh. It's stupid. I mean, a dog? What kind of vision can come from a dog?"
"Zen, my man," Bruce responded.
"That's it?" Johnny practically shouted. "I tell you about a murder and all you can say is "Zen?" What the hell is Zen anyway?"
"Calm down, Johnny," Bruce soothed. "You're getting way ahead of yourself here. You see, Johnny, I'm not sure, but I think Zen preaches that all life is capable of thinking and processing thoughts. So, really, it's not that funny, Johnny. It's really serious. You should tell Walt."
"Yeah, but Walt isn't a Zen wacko like you."
"I'm hurt," Bruce mocked, clutching at his heart. "You hit me straight in the heart with that one, Johnny. Why haven't you told Walt? He's the sheriff for heaven's sake. He's the one that gave you the dog. Did you see who murdered her?"
"No," Johnny answered truthfully, "but that's not the point. What would Walt say if I told him that the dog had told me who murdered her? Would he listen?"
"Knowing Walt, yes," Bruce said promptly, coming over to stand next to Johnny's chair. "You're being overcritical, Johnny. I know I don't have to tell you how important it is that we tell Walt who killed the lady. He could kill again. Come on, say it with me, man: tell Walt. We catch the bad guy. We all live happily ever after. See, it works out nicely. Now what's the problem?"
"I don't know," Johnny said listlessly. "Honestly, I don't know. It was just so freaky. How strange is it to tell another person, gee, you know what? Your dog doesn't like you because you don't exercise him enough. Better yet, your dog has a sudden urge to run off with the poodle next door, I suggest you keep him penned for the next couple of day."
"You're worried about becoming a pet psychic?"
"No . . ." Johnny was grasping at straws that were being pulled barely out of reach. "You don't know, Bruce. Nobody knows. It was just so strange to be . . . something considered inferior to a human."
"I still don't get your problem, Johnny," Bruce said, allowing a touch of frustration to color his voice. "I really don't. It's cut and dried. Touch the dog and find out who murdered the lady. Nobody will question your methods afterwards because, as usual, you did something that benefited all. I don't get it."
"I don't either." Johnny suddenly stood straight up and walked to the sliding glass door. "You good with dogs, Bruce?"
"I guess." Bruce went over with him.
"Can you hold him for me?"
"Are you going to touch him?"
"I'll see what I can do." Johnny unlocked the door and slid it open a fraction of an inch. "But I need you to hold him for me. He . . . hasn't taken to me much." He slid the door open another inch, very quietly.
The dog's head came up from deep within Johnny's magnolias and his face went straight to the door. He immediately began to jog over. Johnny shut the door hard. When he looked up, Bruce was staring at him.
"Okay, so it's official, I've grown another eye."
"Are you afraid of dogs, Johnny?" Bruce was watching him closely.
Johnny coughed and backed up as the dog stopped three feet from the door and started to bare his fangs. "No. ."
The dog barked and Johnny scrambled back, almost tripping over his feet, dropping his cane.
"Okay, you are seriously afraid of dogs," Bruce said, laughing. "You almost fell over."
"So what? So I'm afraid of dogs. They scare me, okay. My dad's Lab almost bit off my foot, have I ever told you that? Since then, dogs don't really ring too nice a bell." Johnny slowly came forward again. "Just hold him for me, okay Bruce?"
"Sure thing, Johnny," Bruce said, grinning at Johnny's discomfort. He slid the door open easily. "Watch me."
"Ha ha," Johnny said resentfully as Bruce went out the door, holding out his hand and cajoling the dog.
"That's a good boy. Come here, Apollo. You're a nice boy, aren't you? Good dog, come here." The dog immediately went forward to him after sniffing his hand. The bushy tail started to wag faster and faster and he was shaking his head playfully. "Nothing to it!" he shouted back at Johnny as the dog playfully started to scurry around. "He's a sweetheart, Johnny."
"Sure he is. Hold him for me. I'm right out." Johnny quietly slipped out the door, Apollo still preoccupied with Bruce's lavishing attention. He held his cane as a defense weapon. Let him get through me now. I'll whack him across the head.
Somehow, however, he doubted that his cane would do little to match 160 pounds of fur and teeth flying at him.
"I've got him, John." Bruce's hand was clasped tightly around the steel collar around the dog's neck. Apollo's tail was still wagging and he was licking Bruce's hands energetically. "Come up slowly and touch him. Just do it lightly."
His heart suddenly began to beat faster. His mouth went dry and he felt his legs seize up prematurely, and then he fought off the paralysis. Bruce had the dog's muzzle down, his eyes averted to the ground, his tail still furiously wagging.
He was little less than two feet away from the monster. His breath was starting to catch in his throat and his legs felt ready to seize up again at any moment. He felt sweat break out on his forehead, cold and hot. He realized that he was slightly trembling.
"C'mon, Johnny!" Bruce was urging loudly. "Hurry up, Johnny, just touch him! He won't hurt you!"
The dog's head started to creep up and suddenly his tail stopped wagging and his ears pricked and his black masked face leapt up.
Johnny threw out his hand and touched the dog's neck.
*****His jaws closed around something soft and fleshy and the snarl in his throat was muted. Rain was pounding in his ears and so were loud screams. This human was attacking his own. This human was violating his property. He was not allowed to let earthly harm come to his human.
He threw his weight up and against the attacker's body, his fangs going from the soft, fleshy arm and to the swollen abdomen. Something scraped against his fur, he felt sorrowing pain, and then he bit down again. More pain bit against him, but he continued to bite.
Nothing stood between this man and his human.
Something else plunged into his leg and he howled. *****
Johnny stumbled back, reaching at his leg, holding it. The dog was starting to furiously leap at him, barking madly, his fangs bared, as Bruce threw him against the wall and held on.
His world was colliding around him. His leg was in sharp, wicked pain and he could almost feel blood trickling from it. Two worlds were colliding into one: one of precise color, and one of dull, blurry black and gray. His world and the dog's were melding into one and spots broke into Johnny's vision as he still stumbled back, towards the door.
Suddenly he felt himself falling again, and he connected with the tile of his richly furnished home. He groaned in pain and clutched at his leg, remembering agony and primitive need to protect. He pushed himself across the tile floor, on his hands and the leg that was not burning in hurt.
He couldn't find the strength to lift himself up and off the floor. Dimly he heard Bruce come in and slam the glass door shut. All he could do was lie on the floor and breathe.
~*~*~*~*Visions From Afar~*~*~*~* ~*~*~*~*Chapter Two~*~*~*~*~*
As Johnny pulled up to his formidable, mansion-sized home, he spotted Bruce standing next to his PT Cruiser. He gave a short wave, and saw his friend's confusion at Walt riding next to him. Sensing his friend's confusion, Johnny gave a short nod. Bruce would understand. One way or another.
"You got my bowl?" Bruce shouted as Johnny placed the car in park and nodded at Walt.
"Yeah," Johnny said patiently. "The pieces are in my leg."
"Hey Walt," Bruce said to Walt shortly, and then turned his attention back to Johnny. "Stop it! Where's my bowl?"
"I told you, my leg." He got down from the Jeep and looked at Walt, who was standing around, looking uncertain of what he should do.
"Johnny!"
"Hi Bruce," Walt interrupted, "How have you been?"
"Fine," Bruce told him, then shot a dirty look at Johnny. "But a certain person is denying my fortune."
"Give it up," Johnny informed him. "Okay, Bruce. I'm going to have company for a bit."
"We found a dog," Walt took over, explaining. "The owner was murdered. We figure that he was just stuck in the house all the time. I would keep him, but Sarah won't let him near her son and she's getting nasty about it. Johnny volunteered his services while getting your bowl, which, I believe, is in the backseat."
"Walt!"
"I'm a sheriff," Walt said wickedly, and Johnny was surprised at the change in his demeanor. "It's my duty to tell the truth."
"Why, thank you Sheriff Bannerman," Bruce said immediately, sounding as if the sky had turned to gold. "I have to report a theft-"
"Yeah, yeah. Everybody's a critic." Johnny started to the back of his Jeep. "Well, guys, let's get the dog."
"When does this concern me?" Bruce asked, raising an eyebrow.
"Since your bowl pieces got stuck in my leg." He met Walt at the back and put the back of his Jeep down. Johnny saw the black mask of a face and shuddered, remembering his reason for taking the shepherd in the first place. Suddenly he was tempted to tell Walt about his vision, but when he looked at Walt, and at Bruce, his face drawn in exasperation, he unexpectedly felt a wave of anxiety. He had never held back on his visions-except, of course, for one-, but now felt different. How would they respond if he told them that he had become the dog?
"Hey Apollo," Walt said coaxingly, unlatching the cage door. Apollo's head stuck out the cage door instantly and Walt clipped his steel leash to the dog's collar. The dog turned its head sideways, to peer at Johnny, and then growled at him. "Gee, Johnny, he doesn't like you. Are you sure you want to do this?"
"I'm positive," Johnny answered, trying to sound convinced, but inside his stomach was doing flips. "Come on Bruce, help."
"My only duty is to my sacred bowl," Bruce pouted, coming forward. When he saw the monster head of the dog, he froze. "Jeez, that's one big dog!"
"Yeah," Walt said, sounding unhappy. "I don't know if you should do this, Johnny. He doesn't like you and your leg . . ."
"My leg's fine," Johnny declared, determinedly limping towards the side of his house. "Positively beautiful. We can put it in my back yard."
"Apollo," Walt corrected. "His name is Apollo."
"Fine." Johnny reached the gate and reached over to unlatch it. "He'll have a grand time digging up my backyard." He stepped lightly out of the way as Walt, holding the leash, walked into the backyard, unclipped the dog from his leash, gave him a final pat on the head, and came back out. Johnny slammed the gate shut.
"You sure you're okay with this?" Walt repeated.
"Yes, Walt, I'm positive," Johnny said again, watching as the dog put his nose between a gap in the gate and whined. "We'll get along just fine."
"There a reason you're doing this Johnny?" Walt suddenly asked and when Johnny turned his head away, Walt's eyes were hard fires. "Sarah said you hated dogs."
"And I said that I used to," Johnny said easily, starting back towards his Jeep. "You two just sounded torn up about everything and I thought I could help."
"Haven't you helped enough lately?"
Johnny turned his head at the sharpness in Walt's tone. Walt was eyeing him coldly and Johnny's mind turned at the thought. What did he mean? They stood for a moment, staring at each other.
"What do you mean, Walt?" Johnny finally asked carefully.
For a moment, Walt seemed to be on the verge of blurting something out, but then his eyes cooled, and he straightened. "Nothing, Johnny. Nothing."
"Hey you guys." Bruce was yelling at them from the driveway. "You coming or what?"
"Yes." Johnny started forward, his heart beating faster than usual. "Yes, we're coming." He looked back at Walt, who was telling the dog good-bye through the gate. This was becoming too edgy. Walt was coming dangerously close to a truth that didn't need dredging up. Johnny went to his Jeep, Walt bringing up his heels, and the dog watching them from his prison of walls.
~*~*~*
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"So why the dog, John?" Bruce asked carefully once they were inside the house. Johnny was drinking water and watching the dog from his window as Apollo sniffed the yard in interest. "Any special reasons? Visions?"
"Why, Bruce, you know me too well." Johnny turned away from the dog to his friend. He summed up Bruce in his mind quickly, and then sighed. "I guess I can tell you. You know me well enough not to laugh."
"I always laugh at you Johnny," Bruce said dutifully. "It's what I do."
"Jerk." Sighing again, Johnny's cool blue eyes went to Bruce's. "Well, here I go. To make it short and sweet, I touched the dog and had a vision."
"Well, isn't that unusual?" Bruce muttered, but Johnny appeared not to notice.
"And . . . Bruce, that dog saw the murder of his owner. He wasn't in the house all the time. He saw somebody murdering the lady." Johnny stopped and drew in his breath. Bruce was staring at him. Frustrated, Johnny threw up his hands. "Go ahead and laugh. It's stupid. I mean, a dog? What kind of vision can come from a dog?"
"Zen, my man," Bruce responded.
"That's it?" Johnny practically shouted. "I tell you about a murder and all you can say is "Zen?" What the hell is Zen anyway?"
"Calm down, Johnny," Bruce soothed. "You're getting way ahead of yourself here. You see, Johnny, I'm not sure, but I think Zen preaches that all life is capable of thinking and processing thoughts. So, really, it's not that funny, Johnny. It's really serious. You should tell Walt."
"Yeah, but Walt isn't a Zen wacko like you."
"I'm hurt," Bruce mocked, clutching at his heart. "You hit me straight in the heart with that one, Johnny. Why haven't you told Walt? He's the sheriff for heaven's sake. He's the one that gave you the dog. Did you see who murdered her?"
"No," Johnny answered truthfully, "but that's not the point. What would Walt say if I told him that the dog had told me who murdered her? Would he listen?"
"Knowing Walt, yes," Bruce said promptly, coming over to stand next to Johnny's chair. "You're being overcritical, Johnny. I know I don't have to tell you how important it is that we tell Walt who killed the lady. He could kill again. Come on, say it with me, man: tell Walt. We catch the bad guy. We all live happily ever after. See, it works out nicely. Now what's the problem?"
"I don't know," Johnny said listlessly. "Honestly, I don't know. It was just so freaky. How strange is it to tell another person, gee, you know what? Your dog doesn't like you because you don't exercise him enough. Better yet, your dog has a sudden urge to run off with the poodle next door, I suggest you keep him penned for the next couple of day."
"You're worried about becoming a pet psychic?"
"No . . ." Johnny was grasping at straws that were being pulled barely out of reach. "You don't know, Bruce. Nobody knows. It was just so strange to be . . . something considered inferior to a human."
"I still don't get your problem, Johnny," Bruce said, allowing a touch of frustration to color his voice. "I really don't. It's cut and dried. Touch the dog and find out who murdered the lady. Nobody will question your methods afterwards because, as usual, you did something that benefited all. I don't get it."
"I don't either." Johnny suddenly stood straight up and walked to the sliding glass door. "You good with dogs, Bruce?"
"I guess." Bruce went over with him.
"Can you hold him for me?"
"Are you going to touch him?"
"I'll see what I can do." Johnny unlocked the door and slid it open a fraction of an inch. "But I need you to hold him for me. He . . . hasn't taken to me much." He slid the door open another inch, very quietly.
The dog's head came up from deep within Johnny's magnolias and his face went straight to the door. He immediately began to jog over. Johnny shut the door hard. When he looked up, Bruce was staring at him.
"Okay, so it's official, I've grown another eye."
"Are you afraid of dogs, Johnny?" Bruce was watching him closely.
Johnny coughed and backed up as the dog stopped three feet from the door and started to bare his fangs. "No. ."
The dog barked and Johnny scrambled back, almost tripping over his feet, dropping his cane.
"Okay, you are seriously afraid of dogs," Bruce said, laughing. "You almost fell over."
"So what? So I'm afraid of dogs. They scare me, okay. My dad's Lab almost bit off my foot, have I ever told you that? Since then, dogs don't really ring too nice a bell." Johnny slowly came forward again. "Just hold him for me, okay Bruce?"
"Sure thing, Johnny," Bruce said, grinning at Johnny's discomfort. He slid the door open easily. "Watch me."
"Ha ha," Johnny said resentfully as Bruce went out the door, holding out his hand and cajoling the dog.
"That's a good boy. Come here, Apollo. You're a nice boy, aren't you? Good dog, come here." The dog immediately went forward to him after sniffing his hand. The bushy tail started to wag faster and faster and he was shaking his head playfully. "Nothing to it!" he shouted back at Johnny as the dog playfully started to scurry around. "He's a sweetheart, Johnny."
"Sure he is. Hold him for me. I'm right out." Johnny quietly slipped out the door, Apollo still preoccupied with Bruce's lavishing attention. He held his cane as a defense weapon. Let him get through me now. I'll whack him across the head.
Somehow, however, he doubted that his cane would do little to match 160 pounds of fur and teeth flying at him.
"I've got him, John." Bruce's hand was clasped tightly around the steel collar around the dog's neck. Apollo's tail was still wagging and he was licking Bruce's hands energetically. "Come up slowly and touch him. Just do it lightly."
His heart suddenly began to beat faster. His mouth went dry and he felt his legs seize up prematurely, and then he fought off the paralysis. Bruce had the dog's muzzle down, his eyes averted to the ground, his tail still furiously wagging.
He was little less than two feet away from the monster. His breath was starting to catch in his throat and his legs felt ready to seize up again at any moment. He felt sweat break out on his forehead, cold and hot. He realized that he was slightly trembling.
"C'mon, Johnny!" Bruce was urging loudly. "Hurry up, Johnny, just touch him! He won't hurt you!"
The dog's head started to creep up and suddenly his tail stopped wagging and his ears pricked and his black masked face leapt up.
Johnny threw out his hand and touched the dog's neck.
*****His jaws closed around something soft and fleshy and the snarl in his throat was muted. Rain was pounding in his ears and so were loud screams. This human was attacking his own. This human was violating his property. He was not allowed to let earthly harm come to his human.
He threw his weight up and against the attacker's body, his fangs going from the soft, fleshy arm and to the swollen abdomen. Something scraped against his fur, he felt sorrowing pain, and then he bit down again. More pain bit against him, but he continued to bite.
Nothing stood between this man and his human.
Something else plunged into his leg and he howled. *****
Johnny stumbled back, reaching at his leg, holding it. The dog was starting to furiously leap at him, barking madly, his fangs bared, as Bruce threw him against the wall and held on.
His world was colliding around him. His leg was in sharp, wicked pain and he could almost feel blood trickling from it. Two worlds were colliding into one: one of precise color, and one of dull, blurry black and gray. His world and the dog's were melding into one and spots broke into Johnny's vision as he still stumbled back, towards the door.
Suddenly he felt himself falling again, and he connected with the tile of his richly furnished home. He groaned in pain and clutched at his leg, remembering agony and primitive need to protect. He pushed himself across the tile floor, on his hands and the leg that was not burning in hurt.
He couldn't find the strength to lift himself up and off the floor. Dimly he heard Bruce come in and slam the glass door shut. All he could do was lie on the floor and breathe.