Hey, guys. Here's my new chapter, I hope you enjoy it. For the record, I own nothing but the dog.
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Visions From Afar
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Johnny tried not to glance at Walt as he led them into the house. His head was aching horribly, as if he had just woken up in bed with a hang-over and a strange woman in the other bed. Now, he though wryly as he set into the kitchen, that's only happened once.
"I hope you're treating the dog well," Walt said loudly as Johnny came to a rest besides the sliding door.
"Oh, he's a pampered prince," Johnny said sarcastically, "when's he's trying to kill me."
"Johnny, dogs don't hold grudges," Walt said, smiling tensely at Johnny. "He must smell your fear."
"I don't think I'm going to do this. I think I'll kick you out now and you can find your own killer."
Walt didn't reply; Bruce coughed a little cough and started to examine the pictures adorning the kitchen's walls. The clock on the wall ticked loudly a minute farther into time. The refrigerator hummed loudly, and the ice in the ice maker crashed down. The air conditioner came to life and cool air drafted from the grille above toward the trio who stood poised as if in limbo.
Finally Johnny said angrily, "Fine! I'll touch the dog!"
Walt's eyes carefully slid away from Johnny to Bruce's face. "You know, he's all so noble, it's endearing."
"Yes," Bruce agreed. "It's very."
"Stop it!" Agitatedly, Johnny flicked the lock of the door up and slid it back gently. Resting on his cane, trying to ignore the pain in his head and the throb of fear in his heart, he cracked it open another notch. The dog was nowhere in view, but Johnny didn't trust first glances. The dog could be waiting just on the other side of the brambly plants his mother had planted, or just beyond the huge flower pot that he had broken as a child and his mother had been too attached to throw it away; instead, she had restored it, and now the dog was probably lurking just out of his eye's reach, claws and teeth ready to rip, tear, strip away flesh. . .
"I'll go first."
From the corner of his eye, Johnny could see Walt watching him studiously, as if his face would hold some sort of answer to whatever question Walt had in mind. Maybe this was what they looked like every time they suspected he had a vision; he didn't know, he had never bothered to ask. Maybe now was a good time for asking. Yes, now was a very nice time. . . .
You're wasting time, Johnny told himself as Walt gracefully sidled between Johnny's hand and the door. You're wasting time and you know it. You're being a coward because you're afraid.
Wanting to scream from the lack of fairness, he pushed Walt none too gently aside. "No," he said heavily, "I need to touch the dog."
"At least let us hold him," Walt protested.
"Yeah," Bruce chimed in. "You're scared sick of the dog, Johnny; it's all over you face."
Johnny desperately wanted to grab hold of the life raft that Walt held over his head. He wanted desperately to listen to Bruce and admit that he was scared to his stomach. The fear was a phobia, it wasn't just fear. It had to be a phobia, just had to be. He never felt fear so strongly like this before.
"Alright, I'll get Apollo."
There was a gentle sound as the door opened and Walt stepped boldly out.
Startled, Johnny made a grab for him. "Walt, wait!"
But Walt had already gone. He bent low at the knees, his uniform puckering at the edges. He whistled lowly and called, "Here, Apollo! Here, boy!" He clapped his hands energetically.
"I'm going to hurt him," Johnny muttered silkily, dousing the small flame of anger inside him. "I am going to hurt him so bad he's not going to be able to walk . . ."
"Johnny," Bruce said, his voice gentle, as if Johnny would break if he spoke too loud. "We're trying to help you."
Johnny didn't answer him; his eyes were trained on the brown and black fur bundle that bounded up enthusiastically from behind Johnny's flower bed. At the sight, he started to feel the fear that had become reacquainted with during the past day; it slithered up through his veins, choking his throat, his head starting to swirl dangerously. It was a deadly, violent snake that had lain dormant for years, yet to be reawakened with the thing known only as vengeance.
Walt grasped the dog's neck and collar, holding firmly. The dog was trying to lick at Walt's face, as he turned over his shoulder and called, "Alright, John. Come on and let's see what happens."
The snake twisted around his legs and held him in a vise.
"Go on, Johnny," Bruce said from his side, and suddenly gave him a light push forward, but enough for him to stumble forward. Johnny looked back at him murderously, but he shrugged, almost noncommittally. "Hey, we tried to help you."
"Oh, just shut up."
The snake tightened, scales clicking against his legs, cool and wet skin that was vile and disgusting and danger.
"Hurry up, John, he's not going to stay up like this forever." Clucking his tongue and cooing, Walt barely constricted the dog from jumping up and pawing at his face.
Move. Just go forward and touch him.
Holding the cane out protectively, but making a show as if he were only tired, Johnny took a step forward. His shoes clicked softly on the red brick carpet that made up the patio. Gritting his teeth, fighting off the snake that was cutting off his airways, he took another tentative step forward. The dog, five feet away, was busy jumping at Walt, his tongue flicking the air, his tail swishing so fast that Johnny feared that if he came into contact with it, it would send him flying.
He took another step.
The dog stiffened for a moment.
Johnny stiffened.
"DOWN, Apollo! DOWN!"
Apollo rigidly looked up at Walt, his dark eyes peering up at Walt's face. Johnny could see the muscles bulging beneath the skin. Compared to that, Johnny might as well be a Chihuahua. He might as well be a flea. He might as well be a cat: a ginger skinned cat, a cat whose leg was maimed, easy prey for a dog so strong and large. .
"Johnny!" Bruce's voice was a harsh whisper. "Go on already!"
Ginger skinned cat, alright, move like a cat. Eat the snake.
He covered the distance between himself and the dog in a headlong lurch. His cane dragged along the brick patio, producing a loud, grating sound. Instantly the dog stiffened. His magnificent head drew up, and his perfectly shaped triangular ears moved forward. Black lips drew back to revel sharp, white cones of perfect deadliness.
Walt's hand tightened.
"Now, Johnny!"
The snake reared, opened its fanning mouth, and bit.
The ginger skinned cat shriveled, hissed, failed.
"JOHNNY!"
The dog lunged.
Johnny felt frozen, and for a moment, a rhyme he had heard long ago floated into his memory:oh kitty kitty cat, my darling little kitty kat, can't you just look at me? My darling kitty kat, won't you go and chase that little rat and put him to bed? Won't you go and make him dead, my little kitty
"JOHNNY!"
A hand clasped on Johnny's wrist.
------"Maybe we should just chuck the dog into the pound," Roscoe said doubtfully, his eyes still on the chained monster in the corner, who was watching them with intelligent eyes.
"His owner's just been killed," Walt said, and Johnny felt the surrealism that came with every vision. Awkwardly, he gazed around. He was in a small house. A narrow hallway led into what looked like a living area or a bedroom. A kitchen stood immediately to his left, while a stairway to his right led up to a second floor. The kitchen was crowded with people, as well as the hallway further along. Only Deputies Fisher and Roscoe, and Sheriff Bannerman stood in the landing of the stairs. The front door was taped off by yellow police tape and there were more people racing around outside. The dog lay chained in the corner of the stairs, chained firmly to the banister, tethered by a steel chain.
Johnny glanced up the stairs, and saw nothing but emptiness. Apparently Walt had not taken the time to head up the stairs quite yet.
"We can at least show a little compassion," Walt said, and motioned outside. "Go and head off the reporters, Roscoe. We have to hurry. I want the body taken immediately into custody. You know the drill. Dust, do the usual stuff. Clean here, and then I want you to head upstairs. But dust here first."
There was a collective sigh from Roscoe and Fisher, and then they both headed out into the crowd. Walt remained for a moment, his eyes troubled as he gazed upon the watching dog in the corner. "It's okay, fella," he said quietly. "Everything's okay." Massaging his temples, he stepped into the kitchen.
Vainly, Johnny looked around. He peered up the stairs. Without realizing why he was doing it, he stepped around the dog. He felt no fear, and had few moments to contemplate why. He headed up the stairs quickly, gazing upon the blue wallpaper. Pictures lined the walls. They were pictures that had been bought, pictures that were filled with a dog and a young woman. There was one picture that contained what Johnny could guess was a family, but most of the frames were filled with the pictures a store had already put in them. It was as if the murdered woman had simply bought the picture frames, hadn't bothered to fill them with her own life memories, and put them up on the walls.
Johnny continued his trek swiftly. He stopped on the landing that lead up to the top floor. There were more store bought pictures here, stiffly placed on the wall, reflecting paid memories of life and happiness. Whatever this woman had been, it seemed she had had only her dog and her small house. There was one picture of the family, but it was old and tarnished, as if it was a picture that had been stung by water and restored; its edges had been hued with red.
The pictures here were not different. Children smiling for the camera, in stiff polo shirts, hugged by a man and woman, wearing the same kind of shirts; a woman in a field of tall grass, smiling as though she wished she were dead, a light breeze picking the tops of the grass; up-standing trees, beautiful trees, tall and red, in which a man wearing green stood, smiling lazily at the camera, holding up two fingers in the universal peace sign.
The picture of the man.
It startled Johnny. Glancing once more up the stairs, he scrutinized the picture, trying vainly to see in the dim light that filled the house. The man in the picture was veiled in shadows, veiled by the awning branches of the tall trees that filled the whole of the picture. The man seemed blended in with the green of the forest. There were darker splotches on the clothes he wore. This picture seemed store bought as well: it was made to perfection, white lining the edges, restored to its fullness, in a cheap frame.
But for some reason, Johnny sensed it was not.----
"JOHNNY!"
RAR! RARR! RAR!
Gasping, Johnny stumbled back as the dog leapt viciously, barely restrained by Walt's arm. The hand that had loosely grasped Johnny's wrist fell off as Walt restrained the dog by both arms, yanking him back, yelling, "OFF, APOLLO!"
"Johnny!"
Another hand grabbed Johnny, pulled him back toward the sliding door and the house. Bruce pulled him back by the collar of his jacket, yanking him through the door and into the kitchen. Once inside, Bruce threw Johnny to the side and slid the door shut. Panting, he told Johnny, "John, that dog really does not like you."
Johnny ignored him and gazed outside. No ginger skinned cat this time; that cat hadn't fallen prey yet to the vicious dog. But he'd seen enough. The sharp suspicion the vision had set on him rose. It wasn't the dog that had provided this crucial clue; he hadn't even had to touch the monstrous canine.
Sweet relief came first, followed closely by a wave of guilt.
The snake had coiled him, trapped him, and he had let it. He had fallen into the fear and had not been able to claw out of the coils. He had not been able to touch the dog.
Suddenly the sliding door slammed shut and Walt turned to Johnny, his face angry. "What the hell were you thinking, Johnny? You could've touched him right then and it would have been over with!"
"Walt, listen, Johnny's afraid of him," Bruce broke in. "Don't give him a hard time."
Walt still seethed. "But there's a killer out there, and Johnny can help! Just because he's a dog doesn't mean he's different from anything else."
"Walt," Johnny interrupted, and both Bruce and Walt looked at him. "Walt, I need to go to the house."
"What?" Walt clearly misunderstood. "No, you're touching that damn dog if I have to cut him up and feed him to you . . ."
"That's cruelty to animals, Walt."
"Shut up, Bruce, Johnny, please-"
"No, Walt, I had a vision when you touched me."
There a skip of silence.
"Oh."
"So can we go now?" Suddenly he started talk, determined to turn the subject away from the fear cast that had snaked around him when he had been outside on the patio. "I mean, you're right, we're wasting time, we can go and get the killer now. I just have to get to that house and see. I have to go and see something. Maybe I can touch-"
"What did you see, Johnny?" Walt asked.
"I'm not sure. I'm not sure, but I can find out."
Walt doubtfully looked outside, at the dog who was sitting delicately by the door, looking up at them. There was only a twinge of sunlight left. The sky had been painted purple and gold, but now it was a bare black.
"It's late," he said finally. "I don't know if we should now, and besides, you look tired, Johnny. I think we should wait for tomorrow. You get some rest, Johnny."
Frustration welled inside Johnny. "Come on, Walt, there's a killer-"
"He's right, John," Bruce jumped in. "You looked pretty bad. You're limping pretty bad. Why don't you get some sleep and then tomorrow we go?"
"But-"
"No buts," Walt said sternly. "Get some sleep, have a beer, relax. I'll feed the dog and then you rest. Bruce, you stay with him until later."
"I don't need a baby-sitter!" Johnny lashed.
"No," Walt said, raising an eyebrow at him as he stepped away. "But you probably do need to rest and Bruce will see to that."
"I do expect to be paid overtime," Bruce said, smiling at him as he headed away with Walt.
Growling, Johnny looked down at the dog, who was still sitting by the door, gazing up at Johnny. The snake which had briefly fallen dormant rose inside again. Shivering as he gazed into the two pupils of black, Johnny quelled his frustration with Walt and followed his two friends.