My Daughter, Audrey [ON HOLD]

The Man and the Dog

Peter’s body shuddered and he woke up with a start.   The room was dark and cold.  Peter’s clothes clung to his body and his skin reeked of thick sweat.  His cheek, which had received the knife wound, was swollen and oozing with sticky blood.   Peter groaned as he sagged in the chair.   His mind was swirling with a numbing pain and, no matter how many times he blinked his eyes could not stay focused on one object.  He wobbled to his feet with an arm outstretched for balance.  He tried locking onto an object such as the vase on the table, but his view kept shifting and contorting, making each step he took impossible.  

               “Jennie,” Peter whimpered as he finally made it to the table.  He collapsed in a chair and pinched the bony bridge between his eyes in exhaustion.   He body trembled against the icy air.   It was still raining viciously outside and it didn’t occur to Peter that he needed a doctor for his cut.   All he could think of was Jennie and Audrey.  Everything that had happened to him before was all fuzzy and mixed up with his life as a nineteen year old.   Peter’s breath came out in stutters and grunts, his face twitching against the throbbing pain in his left cheek.  He tried to distract from the pain by digging his nails into his palms, but nothing could take his mind off the growing agony.  Peter pushed himself from the chair and staggered to the bathroom.

               He went over to the sink and placed all his weight on the rim.  He looked up at his reflection and his heart jumped at the disfigured face in the mirror.   His blond hair was pressed against his forehead, the ends curled around his neck, reminding him that he hadn’t had a trim in awhile.  His eyes were sagging in exhaustion and stress and his lips were parched and shriveled from lack of hydration.   Peter turned his shredded cheek slightly so that he could get a better view.   It was indeed cut deep, but the outer flesh made it more gruesome than it really was.   Peter turned on the facet and dabbed his wounded cheek lightly, grimacing and whimpering at the startling pain.   He took the corner of his sleeve and wiped away the crusted blood, revealing the clean cut.   He knew it would leave a scar, but perhaps with some ointment, it would fade in time.

               Peter found some strength to walk over to the shower and turn on a warm torrent.   He sighed in contentment—he hadn’t had a shower in weeks.  He stripped off his damp clothes and stepped in, being greeted by a gentle stream on his sore and dry face.   His thoughts naturally wandered to Jennie.  Had she landed safely in America?  Was she still in the air?  How he missed her—how he wished he could have bid her farewell with a warm kiss and a long embrace.   He wondered how he had made it alone so long without her!  And then there was his Audrey, his dear daughter in the clutches of a monster.  His jaw clenched at the remembrance of his hatred for the woman.   He hated how she controlled his life through extortion, but what could he have done?  He had nothing of value to her except Audrey—perhaps he should have made a deal with her instead.  

               Peter turned the water off and stepped out.  He dried himself off and dressed in fresh clothes.   He knew he couldn’t live his life in depression—too many people threw their cares away when someone they loved stepped out of their lives.  He couldn’t let himself go to waste.  He couldn’t do that because he loved Audrey and Jennie more than his own personal sorrows. 

               “Alright, Pete, me lad, we’re gonna shape up, and git them back,” Peter encouraged himself as he took a comb to his lengthy hair.   He went to the full length mirror in the bedroom and studied his facial appearance.  He could use a close shave and a short trim.   Having no barber skills, Peter was wary to take the shears to his scalp, but he chanced it—it should be easier than it looked.   Peter grabbed a pair of his favorite tailor scissors and began carefully snipping, making sure to take a look at himself between clips.   He soon had his fringe shortened and two inches off the back.   When he was done, he threw the clippers aside and smiled at his achievement.   He examined his cheek as well, which was still red and seeped of clear fluid.  He knew he should have gotten antibiotics on it straight away, but he assumed the proper cleaning he had given it would keep it free from infections.

               “Alright, laddie, 'ow ya look?  Not bad, look quite fit, if I do think so meself!”  Peter turned his face from side to side, taking a moment to admire his own profile.   “Jennie’s a lucky lass!”  Peter said, laughing afterwards at his own narcissism.   “Oh, how I miss her, though.”   He paused to remember her absence.   “I should write to her—if only I ‘ad her address!”  Peter snapped his fingers and left the room.   His legs were weak from fatigue, and he almost tripped more than twice, but he caught himself and continued to the kitchen where he was to indulge himself.     

               He yanked the icebox open and snatched all that appealed to him.   He scattered the sealed packages on the stove and began opening them up one by one, taking turns to steal a taste from each of them.   As he chomped through a delicious biscuit, he heard a bark outside.   He stopped his chewing and listened.  The bark came again.  It was frantic and desperate.  Peter crammed the rest of the biscuit in his mouth, clapped his hands together, ridding the crumbs, and made for the entrance.   He went over to the door and opened it.   A strong gust of wind met his slim frame, and if it wasn’t for his firm grip on the door, he would’ve been knocked over.   Peter gained his footing and looked out through the streaks of rain.   His eyes traveled down to the doorstep, and to his happiness, he saw the yellow dog.

               “Aye, mate, wot ya doin’ out ‘ere?”  Peter reached out and pulled the dog inside by the soaked scruff of the neck.   He closed the door and stared at the large mutt.   “Now, shake off all that water, I took ya in to git away from the rain!”

               The dog gave out a sharp bark and then shook violently, sprinkling Peter with rainwater.  The yellow dog sat down and whimpered, licking his chops.

               “Ya ‘ungry?  Course ya are!”  Peter walked to the kitchen and searched through the assorted food.  He came across a chicken leg Jennie and he had two nights ago.  He sniffed the mean, and, finding it still fresh, threw it to the dog.  “Eat up.  I’m gonna look through the papes and see if there ain’t a job for me.”  Peter tried to keep his optimism up, even though he knew it would be hard to find a solid job that paid him well.   He flipped through the papers, browsed through the columns, but nothing seemed available.   Peter frowned and flipped to the front page, he eyed the date.

                “Blimey.  This is month old!  Oh well, I’ll start searchin’ in the mornin’.   Not feelin’ quite bright either.”   Peter felt his head swell with dizziness and his arm that had suffered the knife wound was also aching.   He stumbled to the bedroom and threw himself onto the bed.   The clicking of the dog’s toenails was heard entering the room.  Peter, upon hearing the visitor, opened an eye and smiled.  He patted the bed, inviting the dog to join him.  Gladly, the dog hopped in and curled up on top of Jennie's pillow.   Peter closed his eyes and sighed.  His last thoughts were of Jennie’s comforting smile and Audrey’s soft voice whispering, “Be brave!”