Winter Rose

XVII. Rekindled

As Winnie and I reached the house, I spotted Winter, her father and Lance in the lighted kitchen window. The officer stood guard outside the door, smoking a cigarette. His voice carried over to us, half singing, half humming a barely recognizable rendition of Dixie. He cast a long shadow in the glow of the outdoor light.

It was close to midnight. My head was fogging over with exhaustion. My stomach turned and growled, reminding me that my one meal that day had been lost on the forest ground next to the corpse. Winnie's stomach rumbled in unison next to me.

She paused and sat on the gravel road, bringing a paw to her face to study the scraped padding beneath it. Nothing more will happen tonight. She turned to head back towards the animal refuge. We'll need our strength for tomorrow.

Pausing, she took in my sullen stance. She sighed, her eyes softening. I'm sorry you had to find out that way. I wish things were different. I wish—. Her thoughts stopped abruptly, as if she'd suddenly realized the direction of her words.

With a twinge of hurt I realized she didn't want to feel sorry for me. After all, I was a murderer. I might be the good side of Sheldon's spirit, but I was still part of Sheldon. She hadn't let me in on her master plan, but I suspected it did not involve becoming attached to me.

I can't remember the last time I've eaten a real meal, she projected, changing the subject.

My stomach growled in response. I winced as I felt a string of drool involuntary slide out of the side of my mouth. Juicy steak, sloppy joes, greasy pizza—despite all of the horrible things that had taken place, the memories of these delightful dishes flooded my mind.

Nothing that elaborate, she assured me, once again stealing my thoughts. But I know where there's a stash of some fabulous jerky.

She started off towards the refuge again. We worked together to climb back into the window, stealthily enough to avoid alerting the officer, who was now humming a lively tune of Davy Crockett, between the puffs of his cigarette.

My dog mother and siblings were waiting to greet us with big wondering eyes. They circled around Winnie and me, sniffing the fragmented scents of the forest, dirt, and rot on our matted coats. Boon, still the biggest of us pups, and perhaps the most bullheaded, pounced playfully on my back. I shook him off, far from a playful mood. Hank ran his tongue along Winnie's dirt smudged fur, trying unsuccessfully to clean her. She bent and licked his nose.

My mother cocked her head. You should stay inside, she warned. Bad things are outside.

It was a good bit of advice, especially on that night.

Winnie turned to me, her eyes gleaming mysteriously. I'll get the jerky, but it looks like we'll need to share.

She disappeared up the stairs to Sheldon's room, which immediately set my nerves in action. I knew Sheldon was still in the forest, but he could be back at any moment. Wait. A sudden realization knocked me over the head and I sat back, reveling in it. I was scared of myself.