What Lurks In Luther Woods - Chapter 1 - Part 3

Part 3

“Coyotes got him. I’m so sorry Sam.” Jim says.

“Yea.” Sam lies though bursts of labored breathing and tears. He chooses a spot around the backside of the house, away from where the monster had landed. The hole is already plenty big enough for Ralph’s head to be buried, but Sam keeps digging. He doesn’t bother to hold his tears back anymore. They blend in with the rain that falls harder and thicker by the second. He feels the blisters on his soft hands break and weep as he pounds angrily at the soaked ground with his square point shovel. The rain won’t stop long enough for him to dig Ralph’s grave in relative peace, it only falls harder and thicker and he won’t let his dad help. His shovel strikes against a stubborn rock in increasing bursts of anger and pain. “Why did he have to get him!” Sam screams. Jim assumes he means a coyote, but Jim is wrong. Sam’s legs give out and he sits in a puddle, no longer caring one bit if he is cold or wet to the bone. His puppy’s head is wrapped in a blanketed bundle next him and his hand seems to find its way to resting on it.

 “Thing don’t always work out right son, the way we want them to. But knowing that, doesn’t mean it hurts any less, does it?” Jim huddles down next to Sam, takes off his own jacket and throws it over Sam’s back. “That is the problem with dogs, and life. Eventually, they end. Every day we get to spend with people we love, it’s a gift. And even though you didn’t get as many days as you should have, as many as you wanted, you got a lot of good days with Ralph. He’s a good dog.” Sam is perfectly still, listening, hoping one of his dad’s words will make him feel better. “I think he taught you some things too didn’t he?” Jim says thoughtfully after a brief pause.

“Like what?” Sam asks through snot and the cold rain that soaks his face.

“Well, like how to be brave at night.” Jim says. He’s smiling kindly and his hand is unconsciously patting Sam, rubbing his shoulders, trying to imbue him with healing only a proud father can provide to a son.

“I guess so. But, I was brave because he was with me,” stuttered Sam. “Now he’s gone,” and his crying is fueled with new pain and sadness from having to actually speak the words.

“Yea, he is son. But you’re still here. And as long as you are, you have to keep pushing on. I was a kid with a dog once too you know.”

“What was his name?”

“Buster. He was my best friend too. I had him from when I was about seven till I was twenty, going into the service. When I came home from the army, Buster was gone. I was away when he died. So, grandpa buried him for me and put a stone marker on his grave, so I could visit when I got home.”

“Can we put a marker on Ralph’s grave?” Sam asks. It’s the first time he stops crying.

“Sure son. That way, you know where he is and you can come back and visit him if you want to. But I’ll tell you a secret.”

“What?” Sam asks.

“All dogs go to heaven. If Disney says so, it’s true.” Jim says with a smile.

“Thanks dad.” Sam wraps his arms around him and they huddle together in the rain until the wet starts to get through even his jacket, draped over Sam and Jim can feel him shaking.

“Come on son. We need to get this hole dug and find a good rock before we drown out here.”

“Jim!” Susan yells from the back porch. “Nancy from dispatch is on the phone! She says its an emergency!”

“What is it?” Jim hollers back.

“She said it’s the Marshal farm. She didn’t say what’s happened, but Mac is already on the way.”

“Tell her I’m coming!” Jim hollers. “Son,” Sam can see he’s torn, but he doesn’t mind waiting. He always does what he says he will when he can.

“I know dad. We can finish tomorrow.” Says Sam. His demeanor already improving.

“No, lets finish burying him first. But, we have to go fast. Let me help. Tomorrow you and I will find a perfect marker rock.” Sam silently places the bundle down in the hole and scoops dirt over the top. They stand together in the rain, and Jim admires how big and grown up his son has become as he fills the hole and gently pats the ground down. Sam sees him watching him and smiles back through wet eyes. For a moment, he is just working with his dad and he almost forgets that he is burying his dog. “Come on inside” Jim says, a hand around Sam’s shoulders and he and Sam trot to the house.

Jim grabs his keys, his sidearm and his sheriff’s jacket. He kisses Susan and hugs Sam. “Tomorrow son.” Jim says.

“Tomorrow dad.” Sam says back. The tears he shed while digging leave him lighter and he’s as good as he can feel given the situation. Jim winks and then gives Sam a playful thumbs-up that lingers in the crack of their closing front door as he leaves. His thumbs-up slides through the diminishing space just in time for the door to close and miss his fingers and then, Jim is gone. Sam Jumps up on the sofa and watches him get into his police car. Jim drives off down the driveway. His lights flash briefly and he hits his siren just once, just for a moment to say goodbye. Sam never sees him again. A few hours later, Sam is watching cartoons and laughs as he makes pretend battles with his army men. The phone rings. The scents of cherry pie waft out of the kitchen with Susan as she briskly walks towards the phone, drink in hand.

“Hello?” Susan says, and for a long time she is silent. Sam sees her eyes go blank and then wild as tears run down her face. She gasps and clutches at her mouth. She throws the phone as hard as she can and the receiver reaches the end of its curly cord and bounces back as it skips of the ground towards her. he’s screaming. It’s a terrible sound of anger that drifts slowly to sadness, emptiness, and agony. She takes a breath when her lungs are completely devoid of air and howls again. No anger is in her last wail, just pain. Her scream in Sam’s mind blends with the sound of the ringing phone at his desk and then Sam is back in his body, out of his memories.

…

“Sam!” Mac said again. He had been calling his name three times now and Sam had been staring at the wall, completely ignoring Mac and his incessantly ringing phone. Sam was suddenly twelve years older than he just was, a moment ago in his memories. “Hey are you going to answer that damn phone or what?” Mac asked again. His face a clear and unmistakable picture of “what the fuck”. Mac went back to his note pad and scribble furiously, trying to keep up with whatever the voice on the other side of the line was saying to him. His ear pressed firmly against his own phones receiver.

“Sorry Mac.” Sam said, as he finally picked up the phone. He dug his fingers into his eyes and tried to push the images away, deep down back into his memories where they belonged and out of the waking world. His coffee spilled on his shirt when he grabbed the phone and he absently wiped the splotch away with his finger. “Officer Maybeck, how can I assist?” Sam’s tired voice asked into the plastic headset.