Total pages in book: 80
Estimated words: 74548 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 373(@200wpm)___ 298(@250wpm)___ 248(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 74548 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 373(@200wpm)___ 298(@250wpm)___ 248(@300wpm)
We were greeted by a small, brownish black spiky mess of fur with big sharp teeth and a tremendous underbite. It growled and lunged and snapped viciously. “My God, what is that?” Dante asked, slipping into the kitchen and closing the door behind us. He really did stay behind me, using me as a human shield. Chicken.
“That’s Peaches.”
“But…what is it?”
“It’s a dog.”
“That’s not a dog,” Dante said as he leapt back a few inches, out of snapping underbite range.
“Sure it is. What else would it be?” I asked as I carefully eased around the crazed canine.
“A rabid, reanimated Muppet, maybe? What the hell kind of dog is it?”
“He’s an Affenpinscher. Mostly.”
“That’s not a real breed,” Dante said, hugging the wall behind me as I guided us through the kitchen and down the hall.
“Of course it is.”
The dog continued to snarl and jump at us. The fact that he was only a foot tall was made up for by his hell-bent determination to kill us.
“Wait! You lived here, up until a week ago. Why is it attacking you?”
“Peaches has always hated me.” We’d finally reached the front door, and I swung it open carefully, holding the dog back with my foot. “Actually, he hates everyone, except for my mom and dad.”
The dog growled and latched onto the cuff of my jeans, shaking his head violently, as if he was trying to kill my foot like a rat. “Oh shit,” Dante exclaimed. “It’s got you. Want me to shoot it?”
“Hell no, I don’t want you to shoot my parents’ dog! Though if you’d remembered the hamburgers, that would have been helpful.”
“You didn’t remember them either.”
“You were carrying the bag. It was your responsibility,” I said as I hopped up and down on one foot, the eleven pound dog trying his damndest to pull me off balance, and reached outside the door and grabbed the white paper bag.
I thrust the bag at Dante. “Throw him a hamburger. That’ll distract him.” The dog was still shaking my pant leg violently, and Dante grabbed a burger out of the bag, pulled off the paper, and started to throw it to Peaches. “Not the bun,” I told him, holding onto the doorframe with both hands to keep from tipping over.
“Why not?” he asked as he shook the patty out onto the floor. Immediately, the dog let go of my leg and started scarfing down the meat.
I stood upright and pushed my hair off my forehead as I said, “Because Peaches has a gluten allergy. If he eats bread, he’ll have diarrhea for a week.”
Dante stared at me for a long moment with one eyebrow raised, as if I was totally insane. And then, while still maintaining eye contact with me, he tossed the bun to the dog. Peaches caught it and wolfed it down.
“Shame on you,” I said, crossing my arms and frowning at Dante.
“That thing deserves some intestinal distress. Hell, it deserves a bullet in the cranium. Shooting it would be a public service.”
The dog started to growl again, and I said, “Quick, throw him another burger. No bun this time.”
He rolled his eyes and did as I asked. I locked the front door and turned to head up the stairs. But something caught my eye, and I paused for a moment. “What’s wrong?” Dante wanted to know.
“Um…nothing. There just…well, there used to be pictures of me all along the wall here, going up the staircase, from when I was growing up. My parents took them all down. But whatever.” I felt like I’d just been kicked in the gut, but no way was I going to make a big deal out of this in front of my date. It was already embarrassing enough that I was involving him in my little family drama.
“Shit. I’m sorry.”
“It’s fine,” I lied, and jogged up the stairs. Dante was right behind me, but had to pause long enough to throw more beef at Peaches when the dog started to growl and follow us.
I got to my room at the end of the hall, and opened the door and flipped the light switch. And totally froze in my tracks.
The room was bare, the only things left in it the stripped down mattress and an empty desk. The closet was open across the room, and that was empty, too. It looked small and stark and barren, blank rectangles on the faded blue walls where my posters had once been. “Damn it,” I murmured. “We’re too late.”
Dante threw another patty to the dog, then stepped into the empty room with me and shut the door behind us. “Fuck, that sucks. I’m so sorry, Charlie.”
I started to tell him it was fine, but the words wouldn’t form in my mouth. I looked around at my former home, at the room that had been mine for twenty three years. I swallowed hard against the lump in my throat, the pain raw, searing, and took a few deep breaths. Dante took my hand and held on tight, wordlessly, just giving me a minute. Eventually I said, “We have to get out of here. My parents will be home soon. And this is all bad enough without also getting hauled to jail for breaking and entering.”