Page 47 of River Wild

As I ponder the possibilities of paint colors, I watch Buddy over by the fence.

I wrap my arms around myself, shifting restlessly on my feet. “Hurry up, Bud,” I say more to myself than him because what I’ve learned with Buddy is that he’s a dog with his own mind.

He walks down the fence a little further. Stopping and sniffing before he finally takes a leak.

Hallelujah.

“Come on inside now, Bud.” I clap my hands to get his attention. “Time for bed.”

“No!” a voice cries out.

I freeze.

Buddy stops and turns back to the fence. A low growl emits from him.

“Don’t you … fucking touch me!”

My heart drops through the floor at the words and the agony in them.

Is that River?

Buddy’s growling increases.

“Buddy, come here.” My voice is firm.

He looks at me and then back to the fence.

“Buddy.”

Finally, he listens to me and comes back up the deck.

“Good boy.” I reach down and pat him. I open the back door and usher him inside. “Wait here for me,” I tell him before closing the door.

“Stop it, you sick fuck!” another agonized cry comes.

It’s definitely coming from River’s house.

What if he’s in trouble? Or hurt? Or worse?

I have to go help him.

I look around for a weapon. My eyes land on the gardening fork and trowel that I left out here.

Fork or trowel?

What would do the most damage?

The fork is pointy. Meaning it’s stabby. That’ll do.

I grab it and head down the steps into my garden.

I walk quickly through my garden and slip through the gap in the fence, taking me into River’s garden.

I quickly but quietly cross the garden, skirt around the pool, and go up to his house.

The upstairs window directly above me is open. That must be where he is. How I heard him from my place.

I call out his name.