Part 12 - Revenge

The "burial" of Michael's dog, Sasha.

   I called my mother's cell phone as I waited for Michael to get back with the tools we'd need to rip down the dog house. She didn't answer. Frowning, I tucked the phone away again. Maybe she'd been called in to stay late at the office. I couldn't call dad -- the last time I'd done that one of the other doctors at the hospital had chewed me out. My father had already said if it was an emergency to do it anyway, of course, but I wasn't sure a dead canine counted as an emergency.
         Michael came back with saws and hammers, dropping them on the ground beside the dog house. We had covered Sasha's body with a white bed sheet -- respect for the dead and to keep Michael grounded. I didn't like the look in his eyes every time he looked at that shroud and so I tried to keep him focused on the task at hand instead.
         "Did you find any matches?"
         He shook his head.
         "Do you want me to go buy some?"
         He shook his head again. "Stay."
         Without another word, I picked up a hammer and got down on my knees beside the dog house, working on prying loose one of the nails already jutting dangerously from the side. Michael took up a saw and set to work on the roof. It was tiring work that didn't look as if it was promising any results any time soon. By the time Michael had finally managed to remove the roof, the phone in my pocket vibrated. I hadn't been expecting it and the shock caused me to slip and cut my finger. Hissing through the pain, I reached into my pocket with my good hand and yanked out the phone.
         "Mom?"
         "You called earlier. Go ahead and start dinner, I have to stay in late. Tell Kendall --"
         "I'm not at home. I'm with a friend." I stood up and moved away from the dog house so that Michael couldn't hear what I was saying. He continued working as if there had been no interruption. I could understand -- he just needed to keep his hands busy.
         "A friend? Is it that boy again?"
         I smiled in spite of the situation. "Yeah. He...something's happened and I really need to be with him. Do you mind if I get in late?"
         "What do you mean something's happened? Are you hurt?" Already I could hear the over-protective voice overpowering the professional tone she normally used.
         "I'm fine, really. Someone...killed his dog."
         My mother didn't say anything for a minute and when she did I could hear the anger in her voice. Not at me, I knew, and being a woman who'd once aspired to be a lawyer I knew she was already forming an attack in her head.
         "Who did it? I'll have their asses in court so fast it'll make their heads spin."
         I shrugged my shoulders. "We don't know...right now we're getting ready to bury her. He really needs me here, mom."
         Her earrings rattled against the phone as she nodded. "Of course. Take as much time as you need, but if it gets dark before you're done just stay there or we can come get you. Whichever you think is best."
         Shocked, I nodded. It was the first time she'd ever just given me permission to stay at someone's house she didn't know. I found it ironic that the first time she did it was with an adult in the house who was an alcoholic and a boy who'd just seen me naked. "Thank you. I better get going now."
         "Wait, Janet." I heard her shuffling around with things on her desk. "I want you to look out for clues. If they left anything at the crime scene, put it somewhere safe."
         "Alright, I know." I smiled. "I love you, I'll call to let you know what I'm going to do."
         "Love you, too. I'll tell your father. Be safe."
         Snapping the phone shut, I rejoined Michael as he managed to yank down one of the four walls. He was sweating but I could tell it wasn't the usual type from having done hard labor. He was in a cold sweat from fear, from heartache, and I wasn't quite sure if I should try to mend it or keep my distance.
         Michael didn't speak until we'd torn down the rest of the walls and were ripping the nails out of the boards with our hammers. At first I didn't hear him and he had to raise his voice to get my attention.
         "What did she say, Janet?"
         It took me a minute to realize he meant my mom. "She said I could stay the night."
         Even he looked surprised.
         "Is...that okay?" I asked him, feeling a slight blush rise in my face.
         Apparently he was still in too much shock to be embarrassed at the idea. "It's fine. As long as you're okay with the idea, then I don't mind." He went back to work on a particularly stubborn nail, bent over and rusted from years of rain. "I'll have to put you in a warmer place. No...maybe you can take over the basement and I'll stay in the garage. Mother rarely goes in the basement."
         I shook my head, "I want to be with you."
         "I'm not so sure that's a good idea."
         "Good idea or not, I'm not leaving you alone." I set down the hammer, taking his out of his hand and trying to get his attention. I couldn't help feeling slightly angry that he wouldn't even look at me. "You told me to stay, so that's what I'm doing. Alright?"
         If you've ever been to the pound with all those small puppies and kittens making all those sad mews and yips as they try to reach through the bars then you've also noticed their large, sad eyes. When Michael finally looked up at me he had that same expression.
         He picked his hammer back up and nodded once, going back to what he'd been doing. At the very least, he understood now when I said I was a friend that I meant it. I found myself constantly glancing over at the white bed sheet, noticing the blood that had dried where her head laid. Soon it'd be too dark to notice that was what it was, but of course we both knew.
         It ended up being that I had to go to the store alone to buy matches. An old woman in the line in front of me was doing the typical old lady thing -- pulling a ziplock bag out of her purse filled to the brim with all sorts of change. Just my luck, she seemed partial to pennies. The clerk, a girl not much older than myself, kept bopping up and down on the balls of her feet and popping her gum far too loudly. I took the chance to call mom's cell again but it was off so I instantly tried dad's.
         "Janet? I was hoping you'd call. Do you need a ride home?"
         As always, dad was worried about his little girl. He'd be less understanding about the idea of me staying the night at Michael's house but wouldn't go to the lengths of overriding mom's authority when she'd already given her consent.
         "No, I'm at the store. Going back to his house in a few."
         The old woman was in the process of counting out fifty pennies and each time she got to ten she'd stop to scratch between her breasts and lose count. The girl behind the register looked ready to spit fire but instead she chewed her gum a little harder -- just enough to make my own teeth ache watching her.
         "What did they use? Did they just kick her around or run her over?"
         "Crowbar."
         I heard the sharp intake of breath on both ends. One came from my father who was obviously disgusted at the idea that any human could be that heartless, and the other was from the young girl behind the cash register as the old woman got to twenty and then dropped half of her change on the floor.
         The girl was quick to point out the obvious solution, "You have two quarters right there, ma'am."
         The old woman clucked her tongue, shaking her head. "Yes, but I want to get rid of these pennies, young lady."
         I took my chance to move to a new line while the girl looked longingly after me, wishing she could escape just as easily. As I passed by, I saw that the old woman was only buying a gallon of milk.
         "Janet, that doesn't sound safe. If they'd kill an animal, then..."
         "Dad, please. They're not going to come after me." It took less than thirty seconds to have the matches rung up and paid for, the receipt in my hand as I went out the door listening to dad go on about crazy axe murderers who practiced on animals before going out for the larger game.
         "I'm getting in the car now -- no cellphones on the road. I just wanted to call and let you know I was alive and I'll be staying the night with him. Okay?"
         The internal battle in his head was all too audible but he finally gave a grudging, "Alright. Love you." He hung up before I could say it back.
         When I pulled back up into the garage, I made sure to park the exact same way that it had been before I'd borrowed it. Michael had said his mother would never notice because she never used it but I didn't want to take any chances. I grabbed a can of gasoline as I exited the garage and met Michael beside the ruins of what once had been Sasha's dog house.
         "Are you okay, Michael?"
         He answered with a shrug.
         I wasn't sure if I should ask before acting, so I opened the can of gas and poured it over the the wood and corpse, feeling Michael's eyes on me the whole time. The smell was gagging -- I'd never liked the smell of gas and sometimes it even made me dizzy. I tossed the can in direction of the house so that it wouldn't attract any unwanted flames when we finally started the fire.
         "Are you ready?"
         At this question, a very twisted smile crossed his lips. "Would you be ready to watch your closest friend burn away to ashes?"
         I felt terrible for having asked and quickly looked away, passing the matches over to him without a word. He took them but didn't make a move to open the pack. I wondered how long after I'd left to go to the store he'd waited before moving Sasha's body on top of the demolished dog house.
         "Can...you light it?" he asked at last. "My hands are shaking."
         I took the matches back and ripped off the plastic covering, marveling at how steady my own hands were compared to the way my thoughts were bouncing around inside my brain. When I passed over the first lit match, Michael's hands were trembling so violently that it shook out the flame. The second match would be the last, closing my hand over his and throwing it onto the sodden and stained bed sheet together.
         It ignited much faster than I had thought, the flames catching on the dark fur and choking me with a very distinct smell. I could almost say it was comparable to being to close to a match or candle when you blow it out and inhaling too much of the smoke, only a hundred times worse. Already my eyes were watering from the smoke and it would soon be dark enough that the flames would be like a lighthouse beacon. It had only just crossed my mind that Michael may not have a burning permit.
         Soon, the smell changed over to something much more nauseating. My grip tightened on Michael's hand and I covered my nose and mouth with the other, the smell turning sickly sweet and so thick that it was more of a taste than an actual scent. I felt Michael's hand trembling in mine and I pulled him against me, but his eyes wouldn't look away from the flames. They danced in his eyes and instead of looking lost he looked tormented. I wondered, if I wasn't there with him, would he cast himself into the fire with Sasha and bid the world goodbye? As this crossed my mind, I held him tighter, burying my face into his shoulder in a feeble attempt to keep the smell away.
         "This...must be like hell." Michael said softly, and I felt his arms slip around me. His head was still turned in the direction of the fire. "I won't be able to get this smell or this sight out of my thoughts for a while...no matter how long I live, I won't forget this..."
         He broke off and before I could speak he finished his thought.
         "I'll get them back for this."

Author's Note

Let me know if there are any mistakes you catch that I overlooked. Please comment. ^^