with some effort, force enough courage to turn toward the feet. I see them again, along with the source of the thud—a bloody raccoon, which I assume from the angle of its neck is dead. It lies by the feet. Then, this thing—creature—somehow bends in a way that, though the feet remain where they stand, a face peeks under the fog directly at me, just enough for me to see huge eyes and nothing else.
Shit!
At this point, with all my might, I move as quickly as I can through the mist and back toward my office. I feel breath at my neck just as I slam my door shut. My panting is heavy, and I shake uncontrollably, as if I’ve run a marathon—or at least this is what I imagine it would feel like.
I run to my phone and sit in my chair. There is a soft knock at the door, and I hold my breath for what seems like minutes.
“Kailey, is everything okay?” It’s Evan’s voice. The door slowly opens, and I see his head peek in. “You slammed your door pretty hard there.” I see another coworker standing behind him, attempting to peek in my office. No fog. “You know the open door policy here.”
I think fast. “I just had to make a personal call—woman issues,” I whisper. “Sorry.”
“Uh, okay... Just checking,” he squeaks, in an embarrassed sort of way. “Hey, get some air freshener for your office. It smells like rotten eggs in here.”
He leaves and I sit straight, looking forward, wondering if I should tell anyone what’s happening to me. I choose to keep it to myself. Lunacy is not taken lightly with employers.
Chapter 6
Excited
After a swift walk past the gangbangers, who are still lingering on the corner—and a snide remark about me being as white as they come, despite Joe’s blonde hair and blue eyes—I get home from work, and my Kioto waits open-eyed for me. She’s a big comfort, especially after the nightmare I had at my desk today. That’s gotta be what happened . Note to self: No more food before work naps—especially stale office doughnuts.
I hug her for a good five minutes, gathering from her stiff body that the hugs aren ’t going to do it. “I know, your bladder’s going to explode, isn’t it, girl?” I say. “Let’s go for a walk—” Her ears perk at the word, “—before I leave again.”
So we walk to South Lakeview Park and I let her empty her bladder. The guilt of leaving Kioto alone this evening gets the best of me, so I take a quick glance around, and then let her off the leash to chase squirrels, thinking that maybe the exercise will tire her out and she’ll sleep soundly tonight while I’m gone. Stupid move on my part. I should know better. She’s an Akita—a prey-driven animal originally bred to hunt bear, and protective to a fault.
I never see the man and his dog, a beautiful Irish setter, enter through the gates. The moment Kioto makes eye contact with them, I scream at her as loud as my lungs will let me. I know the possible outcome all too well after a fight with a Rottweiler last summer. Kioto won, but I suffered for months after paying both dogs’ vet bills. She does not get along with other dogs.
She takes off with the speed of a jet and runs toward the slim and graceful Irish setter. I run after her, yelling again for Kioto to stop.
The man steps in front of his dog and says some word to Kioto I barely hear. Instantly, to my surprise, Kioto stops and turns to me. I stop running and start walking briskly toward her before she changes her mind and attacks. I grab her collar and put her leash back on, apologizing up and down to this stranger while, reveling in the fact that my dog did not shred his like a piece of chicken jerky. Dog-fights are the worst ever. You don’t know what to do because you fear for your own safety, but want to stop the snarling and squealing and the madness you can feel overtake them. It’s so raw and feral.
“It’s okay,” says the stranger with a bit of an Irish brogue. At least I think it is. “Nothing happened.
Shit!
At this point, with all my might, I move as quickly as I can through the mist and back toward my office. I feel breath at my neck just as I slam my door shut. My panting is heavy, and I shake uncontrollably, as if I’ve run a marathon—or at least this is what I imagine it would feel like.
I run to my phone and sit in my chair. There is a soft knock at the door, and I hold my breath for what seems like minutes.
“Kailey, is everything okay?” It’s Evan’s voice. The door slowly opens, and I see his head peek in. “You slammed your door pretty hard there.” I see another coworker standing behind him, attempting to peek in my office. No fog. “You know the open door policy here.”
I think fast. “I just had to make a personal call—woman issues,” I whisper. “Sorry.”
“Uh, okay... Just checking,” he squeaks, in an embarrassed sort of way. “Hey, get some air freshener for your office. It smells like rotten eggs in here.”
He leaves and I sit straight, looking forward, wondering if I should tell anyone what’s happening to me. I choose to keep it to myself. Lunacy is not taken lightly with employers.
Chapter 6
Excited
After a swift walk past the gangbangers, who are still lingering on the corner—and a snide remark about me being as white as they come, despite Joe’s blonde hair and blue eyes—I get home from work, and my Kioto waits open-eyed for me. She’s a big comfort, especially after the nightmare I had at my desk today. That’s gotta be what happened . Note to self: No more food before work naps—especially stale office doughnuts.
I hug her for a good five minutes, gathering from her stiff body that the hugs aren ’t going to do it. “I know, your bladder’s going to explode, isn’t it, girl?” I say. “Let’s go for a walk—” Her ears perk at the word, “—before I leave again.”
So we walk to South Lakeview Park and I let her empty her bladder. The guilt of leaving Kioto alone this evening gets the best of me, so I take a quick glance around, and then let her off the leash to chase squirrels, thinking that maybe the exercise will tire her out and she’ll sleep soundly tonight while I’m gone. Stupid move on my part. I should know better. She’s an Akita—a prey-driven animal originally bred to hunt bear, and protective to a fault.
I never see the man and his dog, a beautiful Irish setter, enter through the gates. The moment Kioto makes eye contact with them, I scream at her as loud as my lungs will let me. I know the possible outcome all too well after a fight with a Rottweiler last summer. Kioto won, but I suffered for months after paying both dogs’ vet bills. She does not get along with other dogs.
She takes off with the speed of a jet and runs toward the slim and graceful Irish setter. I run after her, yelling again for Kioto to stop.
The man steps in front of his dog and says some word to Kioto I barely hear. Instantly, to my surprise, Kioto stops and turns to me. I stop running and start walking briskly toward her before she changes her mind and attacks. I grab her collar and put her leash back on, apologizing up and down to this stranger while, reveling in the fact that my dog did not shred his like a piece of chicken jerky. Dog-fights are the worst ever. You don’t know what to do because you fear for your own safety, but want to stop the snarling and squealing and the madness you can feel overtake them. It’s so raw and feral.
“It’s okay,” says the stranger with a bit of an Irish brogue. At least I think it is. “Nothing happened.
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