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ONE
crash and burn
My eyes open to a flurry of movement and sound, drawing me from the only sleep I’ve gotten in weeks. Between work and school, my sleeping habits have been nonexistent. I peek through the blinds of my second-story bedroom, hoping to find a clue of where the sound came from.
The full moon illuminates the snow-covered ground, giving me a view of the area around my cottage. Nothing looks different from any other night. “What was that, Bob?” I ask my half-blind, half-deaf basset hound.
He doesn’t stop snoring long enough to answer. I check the doors and windows downstairs, finding everything secure and in place. Must have been a stress dream. With everything that’s going on, I don’t doubt it.
Upstairs, Bob is still sleeping, blissfully unaware of the insanity of my life. I crawl back into bed and think about all the stupid things I’ve said and done throughout my life for the rest of the night instead of sleeping. The moment the sun peeks over the horizon, Bob is wide awake, like he has a job to do.
Fat feet prop on the side of my mattress at the same time a droopy eyeball glares over the top at me. “I’m up, bud. Are you hungry?” He snorts, answering my question. I follow him downstairs, Bob moving as quickly as his short legs will go.
“Go potty, and I’ll make your breakfast.”
He follows directions, shimmying through the doggy door to the backyard. I glance over at the table I’ve taken over as a desk. My laptop is still open, ready to continue working on the thesis that has become my arch-enemy. Why did I choose to complete my Ph.D. in religious beliefs throughout history? What the hell was I thinking? “You were thinking it would be easy, Lucy. That’s what you were thinking,” I answer my question out loud. “You were dumb.”
It doesn’t take long to prepare Bob’s breakfast. The vet has him on a strict diet, which he’s been on for most of the ten years of his life. No matter how little he eats, he’s still “morbidly obese” according to his chart. I carefully measure the exact amount of food in his bowl, mixing it with his vitamins. “You’re expensive, Bob,” I call toward the doggy door.
Usually, he’s back in the house in ten seconds flat. He’s not the exercise type of dog. Opening the door, I’m surprised he’s not standing there, staring at me. “Bob!” I call toward his usual spot. “Where are you, boy?” Several minutes pass.
“Robert Dewayne Williams!” I call again. “Where are you?”
A faint bark grabs my attention. Bob has never been a barking sort of dog, but I recognize his yelp from here. Panic fills me. The only time he barks is when he’s in trouble or can’t reach his food.
I grab my heavy coat from the rack and throw on a pair of snow boots before running outside. His tracks are easy to follow as I move away from the house. His normal bathroom spot is yellow, telling me he’s been here. “Bob?” I call again.
He barks, drawing me further away from the cottage. I follow the sounds through the backyard to a large pine tree that is broken in half and lying on its side.
“What the hell? Bob?” He runs to my side, trying to get me to follow. “What happened to the tree?”
He moves behind me, herding me forward. I find what he’s bringing me to on the other side of the tree. Something large is on the ground, not far behind the broken branches. I can’t see anything except a mass of what looks like feathers.
“Is that a bird?” I ask Bob like he can answer.
He barks, moving closer to the creature. “Stay back, boy.”
He moves behind me, pushing me even closer to the mass. It’s not until I get closer that I realize there’s a body underneath.
“Oh, my god. There’s someone under here.” I move quickly, pulling the feathers away.
Between the broken feathers, I see what’s underneath—a man, wearing nothing but a pair of pants.
“Hello?” I call, continuing to move the feathers.
He moans, and I work to turn him over. Lifting his shoulder off the snow, I realize the feathers are attached to his shoulders. “Oh, my God!” I jump back. “Bob! Move away.”
“Those aren’t attached…are they? Are those his wings?”
Bob continues to nudge the man's unconscious face, trying to wake him. “Stop, boy. I don’t know what that is.”
Deep moans come from the creature. I can’t leave him out here. He’ll freeze to death. I sit, staring at whatever is in front of me. Do I leave him out here to die or bring him into my cottage only to save him so he can kill me later?
“Dammit, Lucy. Why do you always have to be the Girl Scout?” I stand, moving behind the man, and lift his torso enough to wrap my arms behind him and pull.
Bob continues to bark as I slowly work my way toward the shed. I’m not going to let him die outside, but I’m certainly not bringing him into my home.
The door to the shed creaks open as I shove the hand-hewn logs. In the corner is a platform that will work as a bed. Whatever I’m dragging weighs at least two hundred pounds. Rock-hard muscles cover his chest and arms, making me even more confused about what Bob found.
