Winter Rose

XX. Spelling it Out

The whole truth...

In my former life, my name was Sheldon, and I was a drunk—I was also a psychotic serial killer with a taste for young women who sought to fix broken people.

For thirty-two years I lived my life without anyone having so much as a suspicion or doubt that I was anything but a average guy. I never got caught. I got away scot free. I was a master at playing the game.

That's why I was so surprised to see him that day, even more surprised when he shot me and left me to die on those tracks...

The written words projected in my head, scrolling down like the opening of Star Wars.

Delusional! I pushed the nonsensical thoughts out of my head. I was drunk when I stepped on the tracks, but surely I'd remember if I'd been shot first. The pain killers they kept giving me were causing all sorts of images to flood my mind—none of them pretty.

Focus...

I'd heard them say that I was going back to the refuge soon. I was leaving Winnie behind. Her thoughts were faint as she lay next to me, like fuzzy images on a movie screen. She was teetering between the earth and the spirit realm, desperately trying to cling to her fading canine body.

Please! Please stop Sheldon! The distant thought repeated over and over again, little more than an urgent whisper in a large room.

I turned to her, her mouth was held open by a tube, eyes pressed tightly shut. Gently, I licked her face, then placed a black paw on her outstretched arm. I inched myself close enough that my nose touched hers. 

Anger boiled over in my chest. He'd tried to kill her. He was going to try to kill Winter next. I will stop him. I promised.

A few minutes later, they came and carried me away from her.

***

Most of the ride home was a blur. The medication was still cluttering my thoughts, reminding me of the days I'd spent in a drunken stupor. Those must've been good memories, ones I was able to keep, where I wasn't a threat to anyone but myself. If only all of my days had been that way, I wouldn't be in the mess I was in.

Winter came running to greet Dawson as he lifted me out of his truck and set me on the ground. Perched dutifully on her shoulder, Sparky nodded to me.

"Good as new." Dawson patted her arm, his cheeks rosy like Santa Claus. He surveyed the group of officers milling about. " Boy, you've got quite a gathering going on here."

He wrenched his cap from his balding head and wiped the sweat away with the back of his hand. "It's a hot one today. Gotta get that air fixed in the truck."

Winter smiled, still eyeing the truck hopefully. "And Winnie?"

He sighed, fumbling with the keys in his big, calloused hands. "She'll have surgery soon. Her lungs are pretty bad off. Poor little thing."

Winter's lip trembled and her dark eyes glazed over. Bringing a hand to her mouth, her face twisted as she looked off into the woods.

"Is that the little bird you mentioned?" Dawson quickly changed the subject.

"Yes." Winter reached a hand up to her shoulder. Sparky obediently hopped onto it. "Do you think you can fix his wing?"

Dawson's eyes wrinkled as he squinted at the bird. "My—he is tame." He straightened up and adjusted his belt over his large belly. "This will be the second injured bird of the week. I'll take 'em on over to my place and see what I can do."