Page 50 of So Alone

Doctor Parvati stood her ground, but she wasn’t entirely blameless because she let him leave with Honey. He begged and pleaded to be allowed to take Honey home himself, but Doctor Parvati wouldn’t do that. She insisted that it was against the law, and they had done everything they could for her.

Well, they hadn’t. They hadn’t protected her. They had sent Friese home with his poor old dog, and both of them had blood on their hands.

He had tried, though. He got Friese’s address from the receptionist and headed to his place immediately after work, intending to buy Honey and take her home. He would pay whatever Mr. Friese asked, just would he please let him give Honey a good home for her final years.

He was too late.

He got to the house and saw Gus in his backyard digging a hole. Honey’s body lay next to him, her head caved in by the same shovel that now dug her grave.

His fingers tightened again, and he did a few more breathing exercises to calm himself. He turned down the street where the new criminal lived and breathed slowly, willing himself to be calm.

He had been calm the first time, too. After the initial shock of seeing Honey's mutilated, lifeless body, he felt that calm settle over him.

He was a small man, not strong, and not violent. He couldn't hope to overpower even an old and fat man like Friese. He abhorred guns, and he was of no use with a knife.

But he had dogs. He had rescued a few dogs already, and with the help of Dr. Vanheusen’s pheromones, he could use the dogs to do what he couldn’t do. They could avenge their fallen sister.

It took him three weeks to figure out a way to reverse the effects of the pheromone, or rather to create the anti-pheromone to Vanheusen’s pheromone. He had always been smart. He was quiet and shy around others. That had always been his downfall, but that was all right. He didn’t need to be a doctor or a scientist. He realized now that he could do good in the world in his own way.

He found Gus Friese walking alone in the park behind his house. He was terrified that he would make a mistake, but things went smoothly. He sneaked up behind him, injected him with barbiturates to make him fall asleep, then took him out to the desert. He smiled as he recalled the recognition in Gus Friese’s eyes just before his dogs tore him to pieces.

That was the first time in his life he felt he had done anything that mattered. He had given justice to the memory of a poor old dog who only wanted to be loved. He had avenged an animal that had no one to defend it.

And he didn’t stop there. Over the past five years, he had served justice to over twenty different dogs whose owners abused and neglected them. He had rescued the dogs and given them a good life and a purpose—to be his instrument to avenge and to rescue their brothers and sisters from cruelty.

He turned down the next street, a cul-de-sac, and drove to the end, parking along the bulbous tip of the street. He thought idly that the design was oddly phallic. Then again, he shouldn’t be surprised. Humanity was in love with itself and created homages to their perceived greatness in everything.

He walked up the steps to the new target’s house. The sedative he now used was far more sophisticated than the barbiturates he used when he started. It would leave the victim conscious but extremely suggestible for the first five minutes before putting them to sleep. That would allow him to walk his victim to the truck without alerting suspicion from the neighbors.

He knocked on the door, and when there was no answer, he knocked again. The door opened, and the sour-faced man from earlier stepped forward. “What—”

"Careful, man!" he interrupted, putting his hand out as though to stop his victim from stumbling. The victim didn't see the needle in his hand, and by the time he thought to wonder what that prick in his neck was, his conscious mind had taken a back seat.

“What--?” he repeated, his words slurring.

“Careful, buddy,” he repeated with a chuckle. “Let’s get out of here and get some drinks.”

“Drinks?”

“Yeah, man, I’m taking you to that new bar on seventh street.”

“Okay.”

He helped the man into the truck and looked around to make sure he hadn’t been seen. There were lights on in a few windows, but the curtains were drawn and no shadows were visible.

That was the lovely thing about Goldwood. People minded their own business.

CHAPTER NINETEEN

“Faith, relax. It’s not the end of the world. We’ve been in this situation before.”

"Really? Where, through our own incompetence, we've endangered lives?"

“Yes,” Michael replied without hesitation. “We’ve fucked up before. A lot, actually, and everything’s worked out. It’s like you always say, everything in a case goes wrong until something goes right.”

“When have I ever said that?”

“Well, that’s not exactly what you say, but it’s close enough. You get the point.”

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