Beyond The Tether: Birds Of A Feather

Prologue: Slick In The City Streets

Dream Of Mickey Mantle—Bleachers
0:00————————————————3:10

There were few creatures that escaped Jesse's wary eye. He knew the barber down Blossom Street had a small pekingese named Betty. He knew a friendly saint Bernard named Benny and an incredibly shifty little chihuahua named Charlie lived a block away and escaped every night when their owners fell asleep. He knew the names of each alley cat and knew the schedules of the retired police dogs Greg and Annie, two German Shepherds who would walk down Crooked Road every Wednesday and Thursday morning, every Friday evening, and every Saturday night with their owners Polly and Adel, two nice elderly ladies who'd recently gotten married and moved to town only a few weeks ago. Jesse knew everyone in the small town of Salem's Fish—or, at least, he'd thought he'd known everyone.

Around seven 'o clock, two nights ago, he'd been patrolling along his usual route, unable to sleep. He'd tipped over a small crate of garbage or two and had eaten some leftover chicken and some sort of fishsticks, and he'd even spoken with the elusive scrawny tabby named Molly L. (he had no idea what that stood for, his standing guess was Lemon because she was such a sourpuss sometimes) Wormwood just around the corner from the box where he usually slept (though, when it rained, he slept under the bench at the bus stop, and sometimes little kids would wake him up by petting him while their parents weren't looking).

       Jesse had seen all the usual night owls—Frankie the alley cat, Molly (as mentioned before), Charlie and Benny, and he'd even seen Annie and Greg looking out the window and had said a quick hello. He didn't mind them knowing he was around—they were too old to really see much of him anyway—but otherwise, excluding Molly, he was invisible to the creatures on the streets. But they weren't invisible to him. At least. . . not all of them were.

       He'd just passed Jeremy's Barber Shop and was heading to pass the alley when, out of  nowhere, a flash of white and possibly gray (it was hard to see in the dim light, and it was moving faster than he'd seen anything go in a long time) had darted in front of him, causing him to stumble backwards and land on his tail with a muffled huff. "Hey! Watch where you're going!" He'd shouted after them, understandably annoyed and a little bit frazzled. The figure, to his utmost surprise, had paused mid-stride, and threw a look over his shoulder, a rather smug smirk placed upon his face. From what Jesse could make out, it was a male dog, about his height, with long gray and white fur and floppy ears. "Sorry, dear, I'm not from 'round these parts!" The dog had called back with a laugh, turning and running once more. The distinct southern dialect had left Jesse utterly confused, because who else other than Annie and Greg were from the south? He'd just barely caught it, too, and it was far more dulled down than the retired police dogs' near-indecipherable accents. Jesse didn't know anyone else who spoke like that. . . and that made him suspicious, especially thanks to what had happened three nights prior. Disembodied voices had been heard, Molly had told him, and dogs and cats alike were disappearing out of thin air—she sounded worried, as if she'd be next. . . she'd made Jesse promise that he'd protect her, and he grumbled in agreement just to settle the frantic cat.

       Jesse hadn't seen the strange newcomer since, and he'd even thought about speaking to Molly about it—if he was to trust anyone, at all, ever, it would definitely be her—but then had decided that the encounter was probably a one-off. . . just a stray passing through at a bad time. . . but he couldn't help it that his mind wandered a lot.

       In fact, his mind was wandering so far tonight that his paws couldn't help but to follow, dragging him mindlessly through the streets until he was almost lost—up until he'd reached a familiar spot. . . the spot where he'd nearly been bowled over two night ago. He slowed down a little, and sat, staying as silent as possible. His reddish-brown fur was buffeted by the strong wind that graced the alleys, almost knocking him over after a moment. He stared ahead of him at the sidewalk, as if having a staring contest (one that he'd eventually lose, given his troublingly-short-at-times attention span), and let himself relax. He had to admit that he'd had a tiring week, what, with all Molly's ranting about the disappearances and the strange voices coupled with the thought of a sneaky newcomer in town, and letting himself relax once in a while couldn't hurt, could it. . . ? Apparently, it could, because problem number two snuck up on him again.