is a reassuring hand on his chest. His heart thunders under my palm. His eyes are narrowed and menacing, his square chin wobbles as he struggles to maintain his composure.
“I know you’re scared. I’m scared, too. But we’ve got to bring him inside. Something is wrong with him.” He just stares straight ahead at the sobbing man.
“Please,” I add softly. He looks down at me, and the anguish in his eyes makes my knees weak.
“Kal, what the fuck is going on?” He grabs my arms; his eyes darken to that unreadable black that they were when I met him.
“I don’t know. But we’ll figure it out, okay?”
I turn back to the crying man and drop to my knee so we’re face-to-face.
“What’s your name?” I ask him gently.
“They call me John.” He darts a nervous glance at Remi, his eyes widen at whatever he sees there and then he looks back at me.
“I didn’t do anything wrong.”
“We don’t think you did. I’m Kal. This is Remington.” I say Remi’s full name because I want to see if there’s a spark of recognition. There isn’t.
“Well, from the looks of that fella, I’m not so sure about that.”
“He’s just surprised to see someone come looking for the dog. He’s had her a while.”
“Oh, yeah. Thank you for that. She’s been with me since she was a pup.”
His face is dirty, his beard is knotted, and hanging in straggly strands almost to his chest. But there’s no mistaking that he looks just like Remi’s grandfather. His nose, the color of his hair. But it’s his eyes, that blue that rivals the cloudless sky behind us, that seals the deal.
“Sir. Will you let us bring you inside?”
“Why?” he stands back up. He adjusts his posture and I can see the same pride that runs through Remi straighten his shoulders.
“How did you find her?” Remi asks. His voice isn’t angry, but its tone is taut and clipped.
The man takes a step back and shrugs slowly. “She must have seen me—she always had the keenest way of knowing when someone was coming. I was walking up that way from town”—he points in the direction of Fredericksburg— “and she just ran up beside me and then turned and came up this way.”
“I see.” Remi’s response is distracted, his voice hollow.
He eyes the house and nods his head. “This place still looks good.”
“You know this house?” I ask and Remi and I share a surprised glance.
“Oh, yeah, I’ve walked this way once a year for decades. Back to the place I was found.”
“Where’s that?”
He slips his baseball cap back on and his eyes disappear from view again. “A ditch near San Antonio,” he says and then starts to cough again. I put an arm around him and have to stifle a gasp when I feel how prominent his bones are.
“Sir, come in. Let me get you something hot to drink for your cough. I just made some turkey sandwiches. Think you’d like one?”
His eyes light up. “Oh, that sounds nice. I can eat out here though. Being in that house. It gives me a headache.”
“You’ve been inside?” I wince at how harsh Remi’s voice is.
“Well, whoever owns it, is always having work done to it. You know renovating. The contractors pick up day workers from outside the Home Depot in Fredericksburg. I always jump on those crews. But I stopped working here about ten years ago. I would get these headaches, so bad they’d end up sending me home, and once, they wouldn’t even pay me for my time.”
“Headaches?”
He reaches to touch the base of his skull. “Bad ones, right here—”
“Tell us about the ditch,” Remi interjects
The man’s eyes widen at the impatience in his voice. I shoot Remi a disapproving look. But inside my heart is racing and impatience is making my pulse race, too. I want to know, too, but I know that the fastest way to get it isn’t to demand it from him like that.
“Take your time, tell us what you can.”
He glances wearily at Remi and then at me.
“Well, that’s why I started crying just then. Just the thought that my girl suffered the same fate as me.”
“What do you mean?” I ask, foreboding crawling up my arms.
Remi hand closes over mine and he squeezes it hard.
“When they found me, I had parts cut off, too.” He holds up his left hand his ring and pinkie finger are gone. Right down to the root.
I gasp in horror.
“What happened?”
“I don’t know. Don’t remember. Never have.