Page 18 of Chasing Creed

Sara dug her phone out of her pocket. Again, she opened the app and tapped. A click and clack, and the locks on the back door disengaged. She pushed two more. An overhead porch light turned on at the same time as a light inside the house. More taps and the carefully placed cameras inside gave her a variety of live shots of the interior.

She gathered the backpack and groceries and entered the kitchen, setting everything down as her eyes examined the small traps she’d left to tell her if anyone had been here while she’d been gone.

Hairline threads, invisible unless you were looking for them, were still in place. One stretched between the doorway to the living room, about a foot off the floor. Others in strategic areas were still intact.

She opened a drawer at the far end of the counter. Granny El called it her “junk” drawer, and it used to include anything from packing tape and batteries to a roll of antacids. All the sharp items like pocketknives and ballpoint pens had been removed after Granny had been removed.

Otherwise, everything else remained where she’d left it. Her clothes were still in the bedroom dresser and closet. Dishes in the cupboard. And all her precious Christmas decorations stayed where she had carefully placed them, because the bastards took her out before she could enjoy one last Christmas in her home.

Sara’s fingers found a dog leash rolled up. She was relieved to find it there. Sara had never owned a dog, and she didn’t know the one Granny loved to talk about. But she knew the leash was here, stuffed safely all the way to the back of the drawer because the old woman couldn’t bare even the thought of discarding it.

She hesitated on the back porch, sweeping her eyes across the sky and then scanning the woods again. Satisfied, she returned to the truck.

Turned out she didn’t need the leash. The dog stayed close, so close that she knocked against Sara’s leg a couple of times. Her eyes were a bit wild now, taking in the unfamiliar smells. Tail tucked, the dog was too drained to do anything but follow along. She reminded Sara so much of herself that an unfamiliar twinge strummed inside her chest. And she did not like it.

Once inside the kitchen, Sara spread the blanket from the truck’s seat for the dog to lie down again. That’s when she noticed there was too much blood on the blanket.

“You’re still bleeding.” That twinge in her chest tightened as the dog curled up on the damp bedding.

Iris would put the dog down. She'd say, It’s nature’s way. Only the strong survive.

Sara could hear the woman’s words as if she were standing in the corner of the kitchen giving her instructions.

Look. It’s in pain. Put it out of its misery.

It was hard to believe Granny and Iris were related, let alone mother and daughter. The two women were polar opposites in every way, including physical stature. Maybe that’s what made it easier for Iris to disconnect. After all, Iris was used to discarding people who didn't live up to her expectations. For years, she tried to recreate her own daughter over and over, because the original hadn’t been strong enough to survive.

How many girls had Iris gotten rid of? Sara had no idea. A woman who could do that wouldn’t hesitate to get rid of her own mother.

As soon as Granny El started showing signs of weakness, that she might just need some extra help, Iris must have plucked the woman from her own house. She wouldn't tell Sara what had happened to her.

All Iris would say was, it had to be done.

It was the same thing she said when she came back from “taking care of” a wounded animal.

And so, Sara had learned from the master. Had a front-row seat. Hard lessons on how to deal with life. She had the scars to remind her if she didn’t agree. Instinctively, she rubbed at the notch on the bridge of her nose. The crack still echoed in her head. The pain had blinded her for a few minutes, so that she couldn’t see and could barely hear Iris tell her, It had to be done. How else will you learn?

It took a while for Sara to learn. There would be more instructive hits, cuts, bruises, even a broken arm. Lessons literally knocked into her. Her elbow still ached every time the weather changed. Iris didn’t know how to set it correctly, and of course, she wouldn’t take Sara to a doctor. The woman had been determined to break Sara and put her back together again, so that she would better resemble her mentor.

The dog was watching her. Waiting. Weak. And yes, in pain.

Sara knew what that felt like. So many nights she had tried to sleep, every inch of her body hurting. At one point, she would have begged someone to just put her out of her misery.

Now here was a living being waiting, hoping, expecting her to stop the pain.

Sara pulled a small case and a water bottle from her backpack. She grabbed a bowl from the cupboard and filled it halfway with water. She presented it to the dog, holding it steady as the dog lapped it up, slowly at first then gulping.

Sara put the bowl aside without refilling it, though she knew the dog wanted more.

“We need to go slow,” she told the mismatched eyes that wouldn’t leave her. They followed her, holding on, not wanting to let her out of sight.

From another cupboard, she grabbed hand towels and began laying out what she needed. Inside the case was an assortment of first-aid items she’d collected to take care of herself, including ointments, gauze, a needle-nose hemostat, and sutures. Though these days she had no patience for sewing up wounds anymore and had moved on to super glue.

Also, in the case was a variety of medicines she’d pilfered, like the ones she’d taken from the dresser top earlier in the day. She was picky about what she added. Only ones that looked like genuine doctor-prescribed and ones that were beneficial to her. She didn’t need uppers or downers or feel-good junk. Instead, she hoarded antibiotics, sedatives, ointments and pain relievers.

She pulled out her phone and did some searches for pain relievers for dogs, along with dosages. She examined the labels, pleased to find two on the recommended list.

Then she sat down next to the dog.