The night sighed and Bethany felt the chilled touch of her dead mother’s hands on her shoulders. This cannot go on, Mireille whispered, the words a moth’s wing passage against her daughter’s cheek. Ethereal fingers brushed aside long wisps of Bethany’s dark hair, raised fine hairs on the back of her neck. You cannot stay.

“No,” Bethany said, voice so soft it barely escaped her lips. Her gaze never left the darkness of the trees just beyond the pool of light that surrounded her. The caress of her mother’s hands raised gooseflesh on Bethany’s thin body. “Angus needs me; we’re a team. I can’t… He’d be alone. I’d be alone. I miss you.”

I know, ma amour petit. Soon you will understand what I say is true. Mireille’s voice faded. Her touch left Bethany’s shoulders. Carried like a mist on the gentle wind, Bethany heard, Be strong, ma chéri. This is not what I wanted for you, ever wanted for you. I love you…

As much as she needed her mother to remain with her, Bethany learned long ago not to call for Mireille to come back. A ghost’s stay can never be measured by more than moments or summoned at will. Even by a lonely daughter.

The sound of a car pulling into the park knotted Bethany’s stomach. “Don’t stop,” she whispered to the wind. “Turn around, dar la vuelta. Just keep going. please.”

Among the shadowed cathedral pillars of old oaks, headlight beams bobbed in the night air. The car stopped in the lot at the far end of the walkway where she stood. “No, don’t stay here, por favor….”

Blue, white, red lights like enraged fireflies flashed through the trees.

“Not now. Go away I can’t stop…it.”

Bethany Lonergan studied the broad-shouldered cop coming up the walk behind a bobbing blue-tinged flashlight beam. Gooseflesh rose on Bethany’s body. Let him help you, ma chéri. The whisper came and left on a soft breeze. There was no point in looking for a source. Mireille was not there.

Bethany focused on what Angus always told her to do when a stranger approached, “Be careful what you say.”

“Hi,” the cop said, turning off his flashlight. A tall man, he squatted like a baseball catcher next to her in the yellow bubble of light dripping from the antiquish lamppost. He looked young, like Angus, though not as big. “What’s your name?”

The gold name pin on his breast pocket read Jonathan Kuttner, Bethany noted. It was shiny new. His tight shirt, black and slick looking, bulged funny. A bullet-proof vest, she thought. It might help.

“Bethany.”

She passed a looped chain leash and collar from hand to hand, the metal links clunking together tonelessly. Her bluest of eyes shifted their gaze from the darkness of the trees marching along the path’s flank to Kuttner’s face.

“What can I do for you…officer? I’m fine, you know. You can just go back to your car.” She shook her head. “I don’t need any assistance, really I don’t. Thank you very much.” She wanted to shout, “Leave, por favor,” but did not. For Angus’ sake, she did not tell the cop to run. Stay calm, she told herself.

Kuttner touched the mic clipped to his shirt. “Talking to the girl; assessing situation.” He paused to listen. “No. I don’t need back up.”

Bethany watched him closely. She shivered—her clothes a thin windbreaker, stained, over worn sweatshirt a size too big, tattered jeans, and dirty sneakers with duct tape repairs.

“I don’t need assessing. You should go, really you should.”

“You cold?”

The night hinted at an early fall. She was cold but would not admit it. “No.” She wiped strings of black hair off her face.

“Bethany’s a lovely name.”

Bethany sighed. “I know.”  She turned her attention back to the woods with its nervous shadows, deeply dark, sheltered from a crescent moon glowing above the treetops. The breeze fomented whispers from the foliage.

“Bethany, how old you are? What, fifteen, sixteen?”

“Something like that.”

“This park’s closed.”

“I know. It’s quiet. I like that. Nobody around to worry about…except you now.”

“Curfew is eleven. It’s almost one. Why are you in the park so late? Alone.”

“I’m not alone.”

Kuttner stood and looked around. “Who’s here with you, Bethany?”

“I was walking Dog.” Her voice was as placid as a lobotomy patient’s. Bethany noticed his hand rested on the black gun strapped to his belt. She was afraid for the cop, but more afraid for Angus.

“Where’s your dog now?”

She pointed to the dark trees. “He needed to run so I came here to let him.”

The radio on the cop’s shoulder chirped, “Status.”

Kuttner touched his shoulder mike and turned his head. “Juvenile female lost her dog. I’ve got it.”

“I’ll send a squad.”

“No,” the cop said with emphasis. “Not needed. I’ve got this.”

“Sure about that? Back up’s available.”

“They’re busy with that traffic mess on thirty-three. I got this. Routine, it’s just a kid and her dog.”

There was a pause before the voice responded. “Roger that.”

“Not lost,” Bethany said.

“What?”

“You said Dog’s lost. He’s not lost. Dad’s out there, too.”

Kuttner glanced at the woods and flicked on his flashlight. “So you and your father were walking your dog and came into the park after curfew.”

Bethany slowly nodded. “Didn’t know about the curfew, sorry. We’ll leave in a minute, promise.” She crossed her heart. “You can go. We’re fine, igracia.”

The cop scanned the woods with his flashlight. “What’s your father’s name?”

“Angus.”

“How long have you been alone, since your father left?”

She shrugged. “Not long, just before you parked your car back there.” She waved a leash-free hand in the direction of the lot where the cop left the squad car.

Kuttner looked over his shoulder at the mostly dark path weaving through stout trees to the parking lot.

“I saw your headlights,” Bethany said.

“Pets aren’t supposed to run loose. You and your dad and your dog aren’t supposed to be here at all this time of night.”

Bethany shrugged. Her gaze never left the shadow-blotted woods. “Dog wanted to run. We like woods at night. We don’t bother folks.”

“You and your father live near here?”

“Nope.”

“Where do you live? Can you tell me, Bethany?”

She focused on him again. Careful what you say. “Our car, mostly. We’re just passing through.” She pointed in the direction of a not so near street in the opposite direction from the parking lot. “Campgrounds sometimes, truck stops. We move a lot. Dad doesn’t like to be in any one place too long. Staying put’s not good for you, he says. ‘Got to see the world,’ he says.”

“And you stopped in our park here in Lake Cedars?”

Bethany shrugged. “Guess so. Didn’t know the name of this place, we were just driving through. Dog doesn’t follow any clock. When he’s got to run he just…runs.”

“You and your dad have a last name, Bethany?”

She stared into the shrouded woods. “Not really. Angus says it isn’t anybody’s business but ours. Angus and Bethany is enough.”

“Where’s your mother?”

“Dead.” Bethany sighed. “Long time now.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Me, too.”

Kuttner aimed his flashlight into the woods.  “Your dad’s in those trees.”

Bethany nodded. This was a mistake. She thought this park would be isolated enough. That nobody would be around. That Dog would finish quickly, find some animal, a cat, a stray dog, a deer maybe. So she stopped the car on the edge of this little town, in this park. She should have kept going, should have found a woods among all the farms they has passed to let Dog out. But Angus gave her no choice. Dog had to be released, he said, agony staining his voice. Dog had to run. Bethany had no doubt about that.

“He left you here to chase after the dog.”

She hesitated, and nodded.

Kuttner peered into the dark woods. Wind-motivated leaves chattered just above their heads. He didn’t speak for a long moment.

Bethany watched as his hand hovered above the radio mike clipped to his shirt. She was relieved when he lowered his arm.

A branch snapped.

“Angus? This is the police, Officer Kuttner from the Lake Cedars Police Department. I’m with your daughter. She’s okay but we need to talk, Angus. I’m not looking for any trouble, but you have to leave. This park’s closed.”

Movement rippled within the shadow-stained darkness. Something heavy loped through the underbrush with a growl, low and gurglely. The cop’s body tightened. Bethany did not react.

“What’s your dog’s name?” He popped open the strap securing his gun in its holster.

“Dog. We just call him Dog. Angus didn’t want to give him any real name.”

They heard another growl, deep-throated, primeval. Kuttner’s fingers curled around his gun’s grip. His hand hovered near the mic for a moment, then dropped to his side.

“Bethany, how big is your dog?”

“Big.”

“Big enough it could hurt people?”

“Muy grande—damn big. You should go, really. Dog doesn’t like strangers. He’ll come back to me soon. He listens to me. He likes me. And—and we’ll leave…the park, your city. Promise. We’re passing through. Just need a couple minutes. Por favor—I mean, please officer.”

“What breed of dog is it?”

She shrugged. “Don’t know. Dad’s with him. I’m sure. He’s got him.”

“I’m not so sure about that.” Kuttner stepped closer to the woods. “Angus? If you hear me, respond please. I just want to know you’re all right. Your daughter’s worried about you.” He glanced at Bethany.

As much as she wanted to warn him, her face remained unreadable. “You should go now. We’ll leave, promise. Go away, far away. Just let us alone—please.”

Kuttner ignored her. “Angus, do you have control of your dog? Do you need assistance? Are you injured?”

Something shuffled in the leaf litter buried in the night twenty or so yards ahead of him.

“Angus?” A heartbeat later, Kuttner turned to Bethany and jabbed a finger at her. “You stay there, right here in the light. Understand? Don’t move.”

She lowered her head, the leash gripped in both hands. “Stay with me. You—”

“Don’t be afraid. I’ll be back with your father.”

“No! Don’t go….”

The cop followed the bluish beam of his flashlight through the brush and into the woods.

“Stay here. With me,” Bethany shouted. But Kuttner did not respond.

“Por favor,” she muttered.

“Angus, I’m coming to help you control your dog. If you don’t need my help come out now where I can see you. Angus?” Kuttner did not wait for an answer. Pulling out his gun and chambering a round, he stepped deeper into the woods. Bethany, in the lamplight on the walk, lost sight of him.

A cold shiver passed through Bethany as Mireille’s whispered voice returned. Ma chéri, run away. Just run, now. You can’t help him, either of them. My sweet chéri, leave him while you can.

“I can’t. He needs me.” Bethany thought she heard a crystalline sob as Mireille faded away.

Bethany bit her lip. She saw the glow of the cop’s flashlight here and there among the trees, heard his heavy footsteps in the leaf litter. She stared into the shadows. Her eyes watered and she squeezed them shut. Tears curled down her cheeks.

The cop called out once…a second time.

Bethany heard a thing big and fast crash through the brush. She held her breath.

She heard the thing slam against what could only be the cop. A grunt ended with a garbled cough, a gurgle cut short like a hose severed.

In the dark a heavy thing crashed into the leaf litter. Dog growled. Bethany gasped.

It would not be rabbits or deer or some stray pet that satiated Dog tonight.

Things ripped, other things snapped. Bethany covered her ears, the dangling chain in her hand clinking as it swayed. Dog was such a messy eater.

She felt sorry for Officer Kuttner. But she was more grateful Angus would be safe, or would be as soon as they left this place. And that would have to be quickly.

Siren calls caught her attention, distant but each wail noticeably louder.

“Dog? Dog? Come to me…por favor. Rapido.”

She wiped her eyes with the back of a hand and waited. She knew what she’d soon have to do. And that, too, knotted her stomach.