Inheritance

Chapter 7, The Offer

Soft moonlight from a slightly larger crescent moon woke me. It must have been 9 at night, at least. I sat up, groggily, and shiny plastic wrappers and toaster pastry crumbs rolled off my chest. I just felt gross. A little sweaty, my arm itched a little more, and my knee was dangerously close to one of the piddle pads. Would the shower work? I wondered. I stood now, coming to full consciousness and realizing there was a bigger problem... Where was my new dog? I realized I hadn't even given her a name yet, so what would I call out to make her come to me? I shouted toward the kitchen and family room

"Puppy? Come here puppy!"

Silence.

I started up the creaking staircase calling to her through kissy noises and snaps, seeing if anything like that would work either.

Still nothing. The slight rustling of curtains from one of the broken windows in the master bedroom was the only noise that caught my attention. I walked to the only bedroom that was open. Luckily puppies couldn't open doors, I laughed to myself, thinking I'd have found her for certain. I said

"Here, puppy!"

And heard little whines coming from the open closet in the master bedroom. Through the large windows, moonlight poured into the room, illuminating the shape of a bed, chair and dresser which were shrouded by even more white sheets. I'd only removed the sheets from downstairs, and knew that upstairs was a task for another day.

Puppy squeaks and rustling came from the closet, and I found her behind a large painting leaned against the wall. I giggled

"Found you! Come here, girly!"

She ran to me, excitedly, but then back to the painting. She was obsessed with sniffing it. I took the painting out of the closet, and the moonlight illuminated an oil on canvas painting of a large black wolf, standing at the lake's dock. The one with the fiery eyes. I shuddered. It was terrifying. Its gaze commanded mine, and its fur appeared so real, blowing in an imaginary wind that I had simultaneous urges to run, and to stop, and admire its presence.

The memory of my wolf bite re-ignited a twinge of pain in my left forearm, and I decided that my father had for whatever reason lied. The scratches had not been from the neighbor's dog. They had been from this exact wolf. The one my grandfather had a painting of. I shivered, setting the painting down on the bed, and lifting my puppy to take her out to the dock to sit with me and stare out at the water. Before leaving the house, I applied a generous amount of name-brand scar cream.

...

My morning was a combination of sweeping, mopping, shaking out blankets, vacuuming any creepy crawlies out of the corners, taping up the broken windows, and realizing that there was a water generator outside of the house that filtered lake water and would allow for indoor plumbing! The electricity just had to be turned on as well. I felt like I was on a home-improvement channel or something, and my random sick-days spent watching home-renovation shows as a kid really paid off. All the while, I tried to pick out a name for the puppy.

In the kitchen I picked up the wall-phone and called the number for the vet that Fox had recommended. The call picked up on the first ring

"Hello?"

I had expected a few more rings to plan out what I was going to say, and began fumbling

"Um hi, I'm Summer... Summer Wolfe. I just moved into town and I have a new puppy. I was hoping to bring her to wherever you're located and see what kinds of shots she would need. Also, her back leg seems lame. She doesn't walk on it."
The man on the other side said