Total pages in book: 46
Estimated words: 45371 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 227(@200wpm)___ 181(@250wpm)___ 151(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 45371 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 227(@200wpm)___ 181(@250wpm)___ 151(@300wpm)
Archie whines, staring up at me. “Sorry, boy, I’ll give you your walkies soon.”
I return to the bedroom and unwrap the gift. It’s a box, not small, not large. As I tear the paper away, revealing the art set, a smile lifts my lips, pushing away the pain, the doubt, and the stress.
He’s left a note too.
Bonnie,
I know we didn’t leave things on the best of terms, but I saw how your face lit up when you mentioned your art. I want you to spend the day with Archie, not worrying, not obsessing, just doing what you love. If I’m lucky, you’ll have a gift for me later—a picture, before you let your mind fall into the gutter, but I don’t expect that.
I just want you, for today at least, to be happy.
With warmth,
Blake
I read the note several times, struggling to believe this is the same Blake from last night. The Blake who growls savagely when he claims me. The Blake who angrily left my room without giving me answers.
The set must’ve been expensive. It has sketching and painting materials.
Archie yaps, head tilted, staring at me as if to say, Hey, human, what’s taking so long?
I walk Archie around the rear grounds. They’re far larger than I thought, with two rows of well-tended plants sitting on either side of a large green area. There’s a stone fountain at the end. This is where I thought the garden ended from the window, but it goes on. There’s more greenery and then a small pond.
Archie whines and pulls when we get to the pond. The walls of the estate sit a few dozen feet away, tall, imposing walls I wouldn’t be able to climb in a million years. I’m trapped in paradise.
“Okay, boy, chill out.” Leaning down, I unclip Archie from the leash. He immediately lopes over to the pond, sniffing around the edges, looking back at me with a big grin on his face.
It fills my heart with light to see him like that. I sit on the greenery, wishing I had my art set with me. I could sketch the pond and see if my old skills still exist. I can’t deny the tickling in my mind, the temptation to try my skills again.
It’s what Mom would’ve preferred, I know, pursuing art instead of the private detective stuff. Blake seems to think I don’t want to be a private detective, and maybe there’s some truth in that. Perhaps if life had been different and Mom hadn’t died, I might choose a different path.
Splash.
I leap up as the pond water ripples. Archie has jumped in. I rush to the edge, looking down at the stagnant water and the algae. It doesn’t look clean enough for swimming.
“Archie, come here, boy.”
He yaps as he floats to the middle. I can’t really call it swimming. It’s more like his body takes him there, and then he starts yapping and going under, then yapping again. My heart pounds as I realize my mistake. He can’t swim.
“Wait there, boy,” I yell, not thinking as I run to the edge.
I leap into the water. It stinks as it rushes around me, way deeper than I thought. It flows up and around my head, submerging me as I kick my legs and wave my arms, focusing on Archie. What if he gets hurt because of me?
I manage to find him in the mayhem of my kicking limbs and wrap an arm around his body. My arm strains as I paddle for shore, gasping and holding Archie tightly because he’s flopping about in my grip as if trying to escape.
“Wait, boy,” I gasp and then drag him onto shore, my body cold and thick with sticky pond water.
I roll onto my side, coughing up a mouthful of water, chest straining.
Archie laps at my face, his tail wagging. At least he’s okay, but then he turns, wretches, and coughs. He coughs again, and bile spatters onto the grass. Then he whines and slumps down.
“Help!” I scream, jumping to my feet and rushing over to the wall of the estate.
There’s a guard at a booth on the other side. I cup my hands around my mouth and scream even louder. A man comes rushing out, tall and lean. It’s the same one who gave me the gift earlier.
“What is it?” he asks frantically.
“It’s Archie. He’s swallowed pond water. He’s sick. We need to take him to the vet.”
“Show me.”
I run through the grass, my breath coming way too fast. I’d never be able to live with myself if I was responsible for… I can’t even think about it. I can’t even bring myself to picture it for one second about this innocent doggie if this turns out badly.
Archie is squatting when we return to him, forcing out a poo, gagging, and retching at the same time.