Chapter 5 5

The dog isn't in the driveway, it's closer.Its shadow from the asphalt almost reaches the front bumper of the Mercedes, which means it's on the rear porch.She hated the long, tail-dragging shadow that looked as if it belonged to some monstrosity dog ​​exhibited in some freak-animal exhibit. Stop being so neurotic, she scolded herself.Dog Shadow looks weird because the sun is going down.Now, open your mouth and make some noise, girl—maybe it might not be a stray dog. Real enough.Maybe this scene has an owner somewhere.But she doesn't hold out much hope for the idea.She guessed that the dog was led to the back of the house by the wire-covered litter box outside the door.Jerrod sometimes referred to the dumpsters as neat little buildings with cedar plank tops and double-latched lids, which was their attraction to the alkanes.This time, instead of attracting a bear, it attracted a dog.That's it - it's almost certainly a stray dog.An unfed, unlucky wild dog.

She still has to try. "Hi!" she screamed, "Hi, is there anyone there? If there is, I need help. Is there anyone there?" The dog stopped barking immediately.The slender, twisted figure jerked, turned, moved...and stopped.She and Gerald ate sandwiches on the drive here from Portland, big greasy salami-and-cheese concoctions.The first thing she does when she gets here is pick up the scraps and wrappings and dump them in the bin.That strong smell of oil and meat may also have attracted dogs in the first place.It was also the smell that stopped the dog from rushing back into the woods after hearing her voice.This smell is stronger than its wild impulse.

"Help!" Jesse yelled.Part of her mind tried to warn her that shouting might be a mistake, she would only make her throat thirstier.But that admonishing voice of reason had no chance at all.She could already smell her own fear, which had the same strong appeal to dogs as sandwich crumbs.It quickly sent her into a state that wasn't just panic, but a temporary madness. "Help me, someone help me! Help! Help! Help!" Her voice finally died down, she turned her head to the right as much as possible, her hair was sticking to her cheeks and forehead, sweaty locks were mingled together, her eyes were bulging, and she was worried that someone would find her whole body Naked and bound to the bed, with her husband lying dead under the bed, that question was out of her mind now.This newfound fear was like some weird spiritual eclipse—it filtered out the bright rays of reason and hope, and made her see the worst of all things that could happen: hunger, thirst-induced madness, Convulsions, death.She's not Heather Locklear, or Victoria's Principal, which was made up for CNN's gripping film.There were no cameras, no lighting, no director calling to stop filming.This is what is happening.If no one comes to the rescue, this will likely continue until she ceases to be a life form.She thought that if someone came to rescue her, she would not worry about her being detained. If possible, she would be grateful to Dade and welcome Maury Povich and the entire crew of "The Latest Event" with tears in her eyes.

And yet, no one answered her barking—no janitor came here to inspect his lot by the lake, no curious local took his dog out to hang out (perhaps trying to spot which of his neighbors might be in the whispering pine forest interspersed with marijuana).And of course no Maury Povich.Only that long, odd, uncomfortable shadow that made her think of some monstrously large spider balancing itself on four thin, hot legs.Jessie took a deep, shuddering breath, trying to regain control of her unruly thoughts.Her throat was hot and dry, and her nose was wet and clogged with tears, making her uncomfortable.

What now? she does not know.Disappointment throbbed in her head, too strong for any constructive thought at the moment.All she was absolutely sure of was that the dog was harmless to her, that it would just hang out on the back porch a little while, and go away when it realized it couldn't reach the thing that had attracted it.Jessie gave a low cry of sorrow, and closed his eyes.Tears oozed from under her lashes and trickled down her cheeks, looking like golden beads in the afternoon sun. What now? she asked again.Outside, the wind was blowing, making the pine trees whisper and the loose doors whistling.

What to do, Mrs. Burlingame?Ruth?What to do with all the various UFO sounds and their entourage?Any of you - any of us - have any ideas?I'm thirsty, I need to pee, and my husband is dead.The only company I had was a wild wood dog whose conception of heaven was the scraps of a cheese and salami sandwich from Emmedo's.Soon it will decide that the smell of it is approaching heaven, and it will leave in a hurry.So... now what? no answer.All the voices in my head were silenced.It wasn't good—at least they were company—but the fear was gone, too, leaving her with a strong aftertaste.That's great.

I need to sleep for a while. She thought, to her amazement, that if she wanted to, she could. I need to sleep for a while.Maybe I'll have an idea when I wake up.At least, I can escape the fear for a while. The tight wrinkles at the corners of her closed eyes and the two or three lines that can be seen between her brows began to unwind.She could feel herself getting confused.With relief, gratitude, she lets herself avoid self-concern.This time, when the wind blows, it seems far away.The constant sound of the door was even more distant: bang bang, bang bang, bang. She was drowsy, her breathing slowed and deep.Suddenly, she stopped breathing.Her eyes snapped open.In the initial bewilderment of being sleep-deprived, the only feeling she was aware of was an inexplicable irritation: she was almost asleep, damn it, this nasty door—

The nasty door didn't pop twice as usual, that's how it was.Jessie could clearly hear the paws on the hallway floor now.The wild dog came in through the unbarred door.It's in the house. She responded quickly and unambiguously. "Get out!" she yelled at it, unaware that her overwrought voice had grown hoarse and shrill. "Get the fuck out of here! Do you hear me? Get the hell out of my house!" She stopped, short of breath, her eyes wide open.Her skin seemed to be woven of copper wire carrying a low current, and two or three layers on her face buzzed and gave goosebumps.She faintly felt the hairs on the nape of her neck stand up like pig thorns, and the idea of ​​sleepiness immediately came to Java.

She heard the first scratch of the dog's paws in the hallway...then there was silence. I must have scared it off.Or maybe it ran out the door again.I mean, a wild dog like that, he's afraid of people and houses. I don't know, baby.said Ruth's voice.The voice sounded featureless and suspicious.I didn't see the shadow it made in the aisle. Of course you can't see it.Maybe it went around the other side of the house and back into the woods, or to the lake, and got scared to death and ran away. Ruth's voice did not answer.Neither did Mrs. Burlingame's.Although Jesse would welcome any of them at this point.

"I really scared it off," she said, "I'm sure it is." And then, still lying there, listening as hard as she could, she couldn't hear anything but the whirring of blood in her ears, at least temporarily.