Page 40 of Outside the Veil
Diego fidgeted and glanced at the clock again. Six-fifteen. Five minutes later than the last time he’d checked. Finn would stay out longer without someone tagging along to worry about, of course. Still, his impatience grew as the sun came to rest atop the conifer tips and then penetrated them.
He turned on the television, channel surfed, turned it off. He opened the front door to check outside, then came back in to fuss with the table for the hundredth time.
After eight, a gripping anxiety lodged in his stomach. What if something had happened? What if some hunter had mistaken Finn for a wolf and shot him? Was it hunting season up here? Were they allowed to shoot wolves?
Flashlight in hand, he trudged out into the woods to check the familiar trails. He didn’t dare go too far. No moon shone and the woods were an inky black so thick it crawled on his skin.
“Finn!”
He called until his throat was raw but no one called back in greeting or distress. Only the owl shrieked at him from her tree, but whether she tried to tell him something or warn him off, he couldn’t decipher. He didn’t speak owl.
Over an hour later, he trudged back to the house. Finn must have stayed out to enjoy the night air. He loved nighttime here.Probably counting the stars.
Diego told himself these things, stubbornly avoiding the one thought he could not face. Finn would be back. Soon. In the morning.
Do I lock the door? But what if he comes back and can’t get in? Will he think I’ve locked him out on purpose? Though if I leave the door open, who knows what’s out there.
Axe murderers came to mind. He compromised and locked the door but stayed downstairs to sleep on the oversized ottoman in case Finn knocked.
The ottoman held traces of Finn’s scent. He supposed it was as close to sleeping with Finn as he would get that evening. The whole thing was his fault, though, so he tried to shove his disappointment into a dark corner. He should have told Finn he was making dinner, should have sent him off with a kiss and a promise if he expected him back by dinnertime.
He woke with the sun to the uncomfortable sensation of having slept in his clothes. Oh, no. I must not have heard him when he came back.
“Finn?” He flung open the front door, expecting, hoping to find Finn on the grass. Nothing. No long, lean body stretched out near the house, no muddy footprints on the veranda, no sign he had been home at all. “Finn!”
Only the crickets and birds answered.
Diego slumped in one of the porch chairs and scrubbed his hands over his face. “Where are you, damn it?”
He retraced their usual trails again in daylight. If Finn lay hurt somewhere, he would have missed him in the dark. Again he called and called with no response. He had just come back out of the trees when his cell vibrated in his jacket pocket.
“Hello?”
“Mr. Sandoval?”
“Yes?”
“This is Tara McHenry with the Park Service at Fundy. Are you somewhere near the park?”
“Yes,” he answered when he could breathe again. “Yes, I’m staying at Miriam Thorpe’s house on the northwest side. Is everything all right? Did you find my dog?”
The moment’s hesitation made his stomach sink to his feet.
“We…we found his collar, Mr. Sandoval. On the bank of the Pointe Wolf. By some class five rapids. I’m sorry, sir, it doesn’t look good.”
“No sign of him?” he whispered.
“What does your dog look like? We’ll keep an eye out for him.”
“He’s big. Black. Pointed ears. Like a Shepherd. Bigger. Thicker coat.” He swallowed against the cracks in his voice.
“I’m so sorry.”
Diego knees buckled. “He’s gone to join his wild cousins.”
“Pardon?”
“The vet warned me. I let him get away from me. And now he’s gone.”
