Dog Stalk, Part Four

 Vanessa called two hours later. “She keeps going in and out. The doctors don’t think she was attacked, but she fell and hit her head—maybe that’s what caused the stroke, they’re saying. They did X-rays and blood tests, and she’s going to be here a few days, maybe more.” She sighed. 

            “Has she said anything about the dog? Or the man?”

            “She says there was a man, she doesn’t know his name, but it’s all kind of vague. I can’t tell where she saw them. They found her in her room, but I don’t know if he was there or what.”

            “We can check the security cameras, if it comes to that. Are you feeling up to visiting the Sauls?”

            She groaned quietly. “I guess. I’ve got to know what’s going on.”

            “Okay. We’ll pick you up.” I waved a hand at Rachel on her computer. “I’m bringing Rachel. She’s psychic. Did I mention that already? We’ll be there in 30 minutes.”

            Vanessa was waiting at the front entrance to the hospital when we drove up. She looked tired, with shadows under her eyes as she trudged to the car. Rachel sat with her in the back.

I struggled into a tight parking space half a block up the street from the Sauls’ apartment house as a light rain started falling. “So, how would you like to handle this?”

Vanessa looked at Rachel. I’d heard them talking quietly in the back about her mother, dogs, and a little bit about me—”Yeah, he’s a little crazy, but that’s why I’m here.”

“Maybe let’s call him first?” Rachel suggested. “Before we go up to his door?”

Vanessa nodded. “I mean, we could go right there, I suppose, but—” She shook her head. “I’m not up for that unless we have to. Let’s call him”

“Sounds good.” I took out my phone and pressed the digits. One ring, two—”Hello?”

“Mr. Saul? We met briefly outside St. Joseph’s hospital. I’m Tom Jurgen. I’m a private detective working for Vanessa King—you’ve been following her with your dog. We’d like to ask you some questions.” I looked at Vanessa. She nodded.

A long pause. Would he hang up? Tell us to go away? Bring the dog up to the phone to bark at us? Finally he said, “There’s a park down the street. Meet me there in 15 minutes.” He hung up. 

I put my phone away. “You can wait here if you want.”

“No.” Vanessa opened her door. “I want to see him. And this dog.”

The rain started falling more steadily as we walked down the street. We crossed and took seats on a wooden bench under a tree that sheltered us from some of the shower. Bicyclists passed by. Dog walkers too, pulling or being pulled by a wide mix of breeds. The sun was setting behind the clouds. We zipped up our jackets. I wished for coffee.

After 20 minutes we spotted Saul and his wife. And the Yorkie. Saul wore his fisherman’s cap and long raincoat; his wife had a scarf over her head and a cloth coat pulled tight at her throat. She carried a purse and held an umbrella over their heads. 

Peter, the dog, wore a red checkered coat over his back. It was pretty cute.

They crossed and stood in front of us. “What’s this all about?” Saul’s voice was low and guarded.

“That’s what we want to ask you.” I stood up. “You’ve been following my client, Vanessa King. Sending her pictures of your dog Peter, and lately somehow inserting him into her online images. You visited her mother today and now she’s in the hospital. What happened? Why are you stalking her?”

Peter darted forward at Vanessa. Saul yanked him back, but the dog kept pulling on his leash, growling quietly.

Vanessa bent forward, peering at the dog. “Why is he named after my brother?”

“Peter.” Saul was talking to the dog, not Vanessa. “Heel, Peter.”

Peter shook his body, as if annoyed with all of us.

I looked at Rachel. “Anything?”

“I’m not Dr. Dolittle.” She held out a hand. “Maybe if he takes a sniff?”

Saul frowned. “And you are?”

“Rachel. My associate. She, uh—”

“I’m psychic. Sort of.” 

The woman rolled her eyes. “Really?”

Rachel crossed her arms. “You two are mad at each other. You had a big fight right before you came out here. He wants to get rid of Peter, he’s scared of him.” She looked at Saul, then back at Jean. “You said you’d rather divorce him. Or kill him. You don’t mean the first. You might mean the second.” 

Saul glared at Rachel. Then he pointed at the bench. “Could my wife sit down?”

Rachel scooted closer to Vanessa so Jean could fold up her umbrella and sit. Peter stayed near Saul’s feet.

“So, Mr. Saul?” I was six feet away from him—social distancing, but also just cautious. “What’s the story?”

He bent down to pet the dog on his head. “We lost Doc 10 years ago,” he said. “Audrey, she—she loved that dog. Our daughter. She . . .” He sighed. “It was cancer. A few years later. She was only 14.” His voice shook.

“I’m sorry,” Vanessa said. “That’s—terrible. I know. But what does that have to do with the crash? With me and my mother? My brother died—”

Suddenly Peter darted forward, catching Saul off guard, and lunged at Vanessa, snarling. Saul yanked, but the leash slipped from his fingers. “Peter! No!” 

Vanessa jumped up, ready to run. Rachel pushed herself in front of her as Peter leaped, barking at them. Rachel kicked at him, and he got his teeth into her jeans, ripping them. I stumbled toward them, shouting, but Saul got there first and grabbed Peter’s collar, pulling the dog back.

“You okay?” I bent down to check out Rachel’s leg. “Did it break the skin?”

“I’m fine, dummy.” Rachel pushed me away, her face flushed. She glared at Saul. “Somebody owes me a new pair of pants.” 

Peter yapped at us. Saul pulled on the leash, but Peter plopped down in the grass, glaring and growling. At least he wasn’t on the warpath again. For now.

Then Rachel took a deep breath. “Okay, I’m going in.”

I squeezed her shoulder. “Be careful.”

Rachel crouched, holding a hand out. Peter snarled. Rachel waited. 

After 10 seconds or so the dog edged forward cautiously to sniff at Rachel’s fingers. Then he nuzzled her hand, wagging his tail up and down.

Rachel stayed still, breathing slowly. After a moment she pulled her hand away and stood up, blinking.

I stepped next to her. “You okay?”

She nodded, and turned to Vanessa. “It’s Peter. It’s your brother.”

“W-what?” She looked down at the Yorkie. “Peter?”

Again the dog darted forward, barking. Vanessa backed away. Then Peter sank down and rolled over, panting. As if inviting Vanessa to rub his belly.

She glanced at me and Rachel. Rachel nodded. Vanessa leaned down, reaching out tentatively. Peter sniffed her fingers, then licked her, panting harder. After a moment he rolled up and nuzzled her feet, sniffing her ankles.

Saul pulled him back.

Vanessa looked at Rachel. “What did you just say just now? The dog is my brother?”

“Yeah.” Rachel nodded, her eyes on the dog. “I could see you—you as a kid. I guess it was you, I haven’t seen pictures of you that long ago, but it looked like you. And it felt like you. He is your brother.”

“That’s crazy. How could . . .” Vanessa looked down at the Yorkie, huddled against Saul’s legs. “Peter?”

I know a lot about vampires and demons, but I don’t have much experience with reincarnation. But I trusted Rachel. I turned to Jean, since her husband didn’t seem eager to share. “So what’s going on?”

She looked up, her eyes trembling. “We lost Doc. Then Audrey. It almost killed us. We couldn’t have another baby, we tried, but . . . and we couldn’t adopt. We adopted a dog, but he didn’t like us. He died last year. Then we went to adopt Peter—”

“How did you know his name?” I asked.

“He told us.” That was Saul, crouched down to pet the dog. “He—we can hear him. Not with words. But anybody who has a dog will tell you. You can hear them.”

“And he told you to stalk Vanessa? Why?”

Jean answered. “He wants to be with her. He wants . . .”

She stood up, reached into her purse, and raised a long knife with a sharp point and a serrated edge. “We won’t let him go.”

Oh hell.

Peter started barking as Jean lunged at Vanessa, her lips pulled back and her eyes wide with fury—just like a dog on the attack. I grabbed for her arm, but she slashed the knife at me and I instinctively swung sideways. 

Rachel pushed Vanessa out of Jean’s path, then ducked as the older woman thrust the knife at her face. I darted forward and tackled her to the wet ground. She squirmed beneath me, and her husband stomped his foot in the middle of my back.

I grunted with pain, but managed to wrap my hand around Jean’s wrist, holding the knife down. Saul kicked at my ribs, and I lost my grip.

Then Rachel rushed at Saul, slamming her knuckles into his chest. She studies krav maga. Saul staggered back, groaning, and Rachel punched him again in the shoulder. He tumbled to the grass, gasping, and Rachel whirled to help me.

“Help!” Vanessa shouted. She was on the ground from Rachel’s shove, and Peter was on top of her, tearing at the collar of her blouse with his sharp teeth. “Help!”

Rachel glanced down at me, apparently decided I’d survive against a woman in her 60s, and ran to Vanessa.

I grabbed Jean’s wrist again and squeezed until she yelped and dropped the knife. Then I rolled off of her and flung the knife into the bushes behind the bench. She lurched up on her hands and knees. “Goddamn you!” she shouted, her voice hoarse. “Ben! Help Peter!”

I hauled myself up to my feet unsteadily. Rachel was pulling on Peter’s collar until he finally let go of Vanessa’s blouse, and then she lost her balance, stumbling backward. Saul caught her by one shoulder and tried to twist her around, a hand raised to hit her.

Two steps, and I punched him in the side as hard as I could. He roared in angry pain, but Rachel stabbed an elbow into his stomach and he fell down again.

Peter attacked Rachel’s ankles, snarling as she tried to kick him away. “Bad doggie!” she yelled. “Bad dog, Peter!”

I reached down to grab him, and he snapped at my fingers. I looked around for a stick or something to defend Rachel with, and saw Jean’s umbrella leaning against the bench. I snatched it up, turned, and whacked it on Peter’s head. “Get away! Go away!”

“Peter!” Vanessa’s voice shot through the dog’s growls. “Stop it! Come here!”

Peter darted at me, barking loud as I swung the umbrella back to hit him again. Then his ears twitched as Vanessa shouted at him again. With a final growl he turned and walked cautiously over to her.

I kept the umbrella tight in my fist as I took Rachel’s hand. “You okay?”

She shook me away. “Fine.” She glanced down at Saul, moaning in the grass. “I can beat up a senior citizen. Yay for me.”

“Stop it Peter!” Vanessa was on her knees, with Peter barking in her face. She grabbed his collar with both hands. “Stop it! Or—Or—” She shook him. “Or I’m telling mom!”

Abruptly Peter stopped barking. He tossed his head around, trying to get free, and flicked his tongue around as if trying to lick Vanessa’s fingers.

“Okay.” Vanessa let go of him. Her arms and shoulders were trembling as she rose. Peter tried nuzzling her ankles, but she nudged him away. “Go back to those people. Go back!”

She pointed at Ben Saul. Peter looked back at them—Saul was helping Jean to her feet—tilted his face up at Vanessa once, and then trotted over to the couple. 

Rachel took Vanessa’s shoulder. “You okay?”

“I—I think so.” She was shaking. “What was that? I just—talked to him like he was Peter. I just—felt like I was talking to Peter.”

“At least he listened to you,” Rachel said. “Like a little brother should.”

I looked around the park. Surprisingly, no one was watching us, but the rain was falling harder, probably keeping folks moving along. I put my foot on Jean Saul’s knife.  I had her umbrella in my hand.

“All right.” I took a breath to calm my nerves as the rain fell. “We could call the cops and tell them you tried to kill us over a dog, but they’d figure we’re all crazy. Why don’t you just tell us why? Why are you stalking my client, why did you try to kill us? How did you end up with a dog that’s got Vanessa’s brother’s soul—or whatever—inside his cute little head?”

They looked at each other. Then Jean asked, “Could you give us our umbrella?”

I handed it over, handle first. It was wide enough for both of them to stand beneath it, with Peter at their feet. 

“We adopted Peter three months ago,” she said slowly. “He came from a farm in the country, near where we were living when—when it happened. There was something—different about him. He was Peter—that was his name, right from the start. We took him home, and he was good. Really good. Then Ben told me—”

“I’d walk him, but he was leading me,” Saul interrupted. “It was sort of a game. Then one day about two months ago, he spotted you.”

“Me.” Vanessa looked at the dog. “How did you know?”

“He just knew.” Saul shook his head. “We followed you for days. I heard your name in a coffee shop. Looked you up online. Found your—your page.”

Jean scowled, but he ignored her. “Then I—Peter kept telling me what to do. Follow you every day. Send you pictures—”

“How did you insert Peter into the pictures online?” I asked. 

“He did it. I don’t know.” Saul shook his head. “He’d sit in my lap, and reach up, and just touch the screen and, and, then he’d be right there. In the picture. I don’t know.” He shook his head again. 

“We couldn’t let you take him.” Jean’s voice was quiet. “That’s what I thought—what I was afraid of. I love him so much.”

For a moment the only sound was the falling rain. 

Then I looked at Vanessa. “What do you want to do?”

It was a tough question, especially after being attacked. She shivered. “I want to get out of here.” She stared at Peter. “And I want you to stay away from me! Do you hear me? All of you! Stay away!”

The dog whimpered and hid between Saul’s legs. 

“We’ll try.” Jean’s voice was a whisper over the rain. She looked down at Peter. “All right, Peter? Let’s go home.”

He yanked on the leash and put an arm around his wife. They slowly walked away.

Rachel punched my arm. “Can we get out of the rain? I’m soaked to my panties. No smart aleck comments.”

“My socks are squishy.” I held her hand as we trudged to the car.