Black Dog

Black Dog

Chapter Eight

Days passed and as the weather brightened so did Jeannie's spirits. Getting up in the morning was no effort when the sun shone and the birds sang and there was a dark, handsome someone waiting to greet her with a flash of white teeth and a furiously wagging tail. Of course, a proper smile, a proffered hand and a softly spoken "Good morning, Jeannie," would have been better still but Dog the man was still extremely shy.

One day she was especially happy, singing quietly to herself as she clipped Dog's lead to his collar then breaking into a jog as she led him up the road for their regular tug of war session on the 'rec'. Dog trotted beside her, tail waving like a banner, and shook his loop of rope with a mock growl.

"There's a big, brave boy," she laughed. "You show it who's boss!"

They played for half an hour, only stopping when Dog, in an excess of enthusiasm, bowled her over.

"Bully," she said, sitting up and tugging his ears. "Hey, want to know a secret?"

Dog indicated with a tilt of his head that he did, and Jeannie slung her arm around his neck and lifted one floppy ear.

"Today's July the twenty fifth. It's my birthday," she whispered. "Shall we have a party? Just you and me?"

She laughed again for she had been joking and took him home. In a spirit of mischief, when she put out a clean pair of denims she added one of her own favourite tee shirts, a stretchy sleeveless black one with "100% Pure" on the front in silver glitter, thinking that Dog would be in party gear whether he knew it or not. Then she put on her overalls and hairnet and went to work.

When Jeannie came home at lunchtime, it was with two carrier bags bulging with food, a sheaf of cards from her friends at work and a large smile that faded as Mrs Arkwright hailed her.

"Jeannie," she called from her doorstep. "I don't want to worry you, but you know that dog of yours...well, I think you must have left the door open, dear. He was trotting up the road an hour or two ago. I tried to catch him but..."

Jeannie made hasty thanks and hurried to her door, transferring both bags into one hand and fumbling for her keys. As she pushed the key into the lock the door swung open and she tumbled inside.

"Dog, Dog," she called then stopped, sniffing suspiciously. From the kitchen was wafting an appetising smell. "Dog?" she repeated and kicked the door shut behind her before walking across to the kitchen. On the threshold she stopped and smiled. There were flowers on the kitchen table. A lot of flowers. Some were rather squashed and damp, and they had been arranged by the simple method of cramming them into vases, but she was touched all the same. She put the bags down by the sink and grinned at the oven where a frozen pizza was just beginning to bubble.

"Come out, come out, wherever you are?" she called.

It was no more than a breath, the softest of whispers in a broken and husky voice, but she clearly heard the words "Happy Birthday, Jeannie," before she whirled around and saw Dog, who had been hiding behind the kitchen door, wagging his tail and laughing at her surprised expression.

It was a happy afternoon. In honour of the day, Jeannie allowed herself a rest from her endless stuffing of envelopes, and after they had eaten took Dog on an especially long walk. They climbed the hill behind the rows of houses and passed the cemetery where Dog had the grace to look the least bit guilty (Jeannie had carefully ignored the card of condolence she found in amongst the flowers) then up onto the moor where she let him off the leash so he could run. After an hour or two they returned along the lanes, winding down along the valley and through the town centre where she paused at the video hire shop to get something mushy and romantic to watch, and then home for Jeannie to change into her 'party frock', a figure-hugging sleeveless t-shirt dress printed across the bosom with "Girls 1 Boys 0" . Then they cooked pork chops and runner beans and mashed potato, which Jeannie ate at the table and Dog under the table despite Jeannie's coaxing that he get up and eat his dinner like a gentleman.

"I would love to share a meal with you properly," she chided him as she popped the ring on a can of lager and poured it into a glass. Dog wagged his tail apologetically and watched her finish her meal with his nose on his paws and his soul in his eyes.

Afterwards, Jeannie took more lager and the cake she had bought herself into the sitting room. She lit a candle, sang 'Happy Birthday' to herself and blew the candle out. Then she cut pieces of cake for each of them and settled down to watch her video. Dog had little interest in this but finished the cake quietly when she wasn't looking and lay beside the couch licking the crumbs from his whiskers. Jeannie drank more lager and sniffed at the sad bits of the video while warming her toes in the thick fur around Dog's neck.

She had just turned the video off to go and get another can of lager when there was a knock at the door and Dog barked.

"What? Who can that be?" Jeannie went to the window and peered out then opened the door to a small man in a raincoat with a badge prominently displayed on his lapel and carrying a clipboard.

"Miss Lawrence, Jeannie Lawrence?" he enquired politely.

"Yes," she replied, "What do you want?"

"Ah, glad to have caught you at home," he said. "My name's Thomas and I'm from the council. We're upgrading the loft insulation in all the houses in this street and I need to know when would be the most convenient time for our workmen to come round and do it." He showed her his identity card and smiled. "Would it be possible for me to come in?"

"Oh," Jeannie looked at him doubtfully. "I haven't heard anything about this," she said, suspiciously.

"No?" Mr Thomas frowned. "But surely you had a letter about it?"

He consulted a list then turned over a few pages on his clipboard.

"A letter like this," he said, extracting a sheet and offering it for her inspection. "It will have been addressed 'To the Occupier', of course," he added. "But with the council stationery and post mark, I wouldn't have thought you would mistake it for junk mail."

"Well, I haven't seen anything about it," Jeannie said, definitely, handing the letter back. "Now, if you'll excuse me..."

"Miss Lawrence, please," Mr Thomas protested. "It will cost you very little. It's a council funded project, you see, and eighty-five percent grants are available. I have all the paperwork here if you could just spare a moment to look it over."

Jeannie peered cautiously up and down the street, remembering what had happened last time she had let a stranger cross her threshold, and Mr Thomas coughed.

"However, if - if it's not convenient," he said quietly, "I could come tomorrow evening. I'm seeing Mr Arkwright at number thirty-three at seven, though it would nice if I could get you scheduled straight away - you'll get to choose when the workmen come then."

He shuffled his papers together and gave her a polite but understanding smile and Jeannie glanced down at Dog.

Dog had checked Mr Thomas out already and found him to be nervous, but many people were when faced almost literally by a dog Dog's size. So Dog had lost interest and was leaning against Jeannie's hip, tail swaying gently, and nudging his head under her hand, hoping to be stroked. Seeing his indifference, Jeannie nodded and let Mr Thomas pass. He sidled past Dog uneasily and settled himself on the edge of a chair with his clipboard on his knees. He sniffed and fished a large white handkerchief from the pocket of his raincoat.

"Now, Miss Lawrence," he began and went into his spiel about savings on fuel bills, grant application procedures and how people were wise to prepare for the winter during the summer. He coughed several times and then paused and blew his nose like a trumpet.

"I'm really sorry," he said apologetically, "but I have this allergy. I wonder if it would be possible...." He paused and looked significantly at Dog.

"You're allergic to dog hair?" Jeannie asked and smiled as he nodded. "See, I told you to stop moulting," she said to Dog and led him into the garden.

"I won't be long, I promise," she said and shut the back door.

Mr Thomas coughed and blew his nose again but smiled and they rapidly agreed upon next Tuesday afternoon as the best time for the job to be done.

"I'd better just check at the office," he said, pulling his mobile from his pocket, "you know, that the workmen will be available then."

Jeannie smiled and nodded then glanced at the clock.

"Isn't it a bit late?" she said. "I mean, not to be offensive but the council isn't exactly renowned for working after hours."

"Oh for something like this it's necessary," he replied airily as he punched the buttons. "The majority of people are either at work or out during the day so coming round in the evening is by far the best time to catch everybody. Oh, hello. I'm with Miss Lawrence, 27, Mafeking Row. Is the team available for p.m. Tuesday next?"

He listened smiled and gave Jeannie the thumbs up. "Thanks. I'll confirm it with her now," he said and rang off.

He stood up immediately and made his farewells.

"Is that it?" Jeannie asked.

"Yes," he nodded and moved towards the door with Jeannie at his heels. "I've done what I came to do. You know, Mrs Matthews," he shook his head and opened the door, "You're a very lucky young woman, to have a husband who cares this much about you."

There were two men patiently waiting on the threshold, both stocky with short blond hair, and one, his arms full of red roses, stepped inside and said, "Happy Birthday, Jeannie. Pleased to see me?"

Jeannie's panic-stricken cry almost drowned out Mr Thomas's quiet farewell.

"You'll get my invoice in a day or two," he said to the man and walked away without a backward glance.

From the garden came the sound of furious barking and a heavy thud against the back door. Jeannie turned to run but the second man kicked the door closed behind him and grabbed her upper arm, spinning her round and overbalancing her to land in a chair.

"Steve," she whimpered, "Darren. Why've you come? I told you, Steve, it's over. Please, sign the papers and just - leave me alone."

Steve smiled and drew several sheets from his pocket.

"These papers?" he asked and carefully tore them in two and tossed the pieces into her lap. "No, darling, you're my wife and I want you back."

He reached out a hand to gently pat her cheek but she flinched away, sliding over the arm of the chair and away across the room.

"No," she protested. "No more, not again. Please, Steve, leave me alone."

"He can't do that," Darren interjected. "Not after spending all that money on a private investigator."

"Shut up, Dar," Steve snapped, shooting him an angry glance. "She's going to be a good girl, aren't you Jeannie?" He lay the roses down and stepped towards her. "Darren saw this a few weeks back on a market stall," he pulled a silver photo frame from his pocket, "and we knew we'd found you. The man who nicked it told us where you were soon enough with a little encouragement and Thomas has been watching you almost ever since. Now, pack your things. You're coming back with me."

Jeannie's lips were trembling too much to speak but she took a deep breath and shook her head.

"Jeannie," Steve's voice dropped to a growl, "don't be stupid. Pack your kit and get ready to go."

She found her voice in a wild scream.

"No, no, I won't."

Steve grabbed her by the arms and slammed her back against the wall at the foot of the stairs.

"You'll do as I say," he spat and slapped her across the cheek, driving her to her knees. She gave a sharp cry, too shocked and pained to scream again and the barking from the garden ceased abruptly.

"Now get up and do as you're told," Steve said quietly. "There's a good girl."

There was a bang as the back door opened.

"Jeannie?" a harsh voice called.

Steve lifted her to her feet and stepped away from her just as the kitchen door opened and a tall man with long dark hair stepped into the room. He said nothing but looked from Steve to Darren then at Jeannie and his face paled.

"Who the hell are you?" Steve demanded derisively, looking at the long boots, skin tight jeans, the sleeveless glittery black t-shirt and long black curls and completely missing the set jaw and blazing eyes.

"Jeannie's friend," came the husky reply. "Who are you?"

"Her husband, now fuck off!"

Jeannie, one hand pressed to her throbbing cheek, pushed herself away from the wall and stepped between them.

"No, Steve," she said, hastily. "He lives next door. He - he's been ill and sometimes I help look after him. Don't hurt him, please."

"Get out, nancy boy," Steve looked past her and met Dog's eyes with a sneer, "or my little brother here will slap you back to where you came from." And Darren stepped forward, grinning pugnaciously.

Dog had come in to rescue Jeannie from whatever had made her cry but had been prepared to let whoever it was get away unharmed. But these men - these men smelled like Colin. Colin who had shut him up and hurt him and made him kill just because he could. These men hurt Jeannie and Dog could smell their excitement and their enjoyment of her pain and fear and knew that they would hurt him and Jeannie both just because they could. Dog lowered his head and raised his lip in a snarl. He knew all about people doing things to other people just because they could. He knew more about pain and fear than these pathetic creatures ever would.

"No," he growled. "Go away."

Steve flushed and he and Darren stepped forward, hands raised, and struck a pose.

"No," Jeannie cried. "Dog, get away. Get out. Run." Then she shrank back for Dog's eyes had sharpened and focussed and his usual bland expression changed to one of eager anticipation. His face was suddenly alive with predatory amusement. He laughed, a rough bark and raised his own hands lazily.

"What are you?" he asked Steve, his voice suddenly strong and sneering. "A martial artist or a piss artist?" and waited calmly for Steve to throw the first punch.

Steve and Darren had perfected a routine over the years and were proud of the skills learned in their youth and since polished in many a brawl. They separated to flank him and launched their attack from each side, expecting to confuse, alarm, terrify and maim. But while they had often fought, it had never before been against an opponent who had killed and was quite prepared to kill again.

Jeannie shrank out of the way and covered her mouth with her hands. She recognised Dog's beautiful dance, the poise and the speed, now increased to the point where Steve and Darren were almost unable to make contact. He accepted blows or blocked them with equal fatalism and gave his coughing laugh when Darren swore and staggered back with blood spurting from his nose. Steve took the opportunity to slam in a low blow and Dog grunted, staggering, and Jeannie cried out.

"What are you squealing about, bitch?" Steve snarled and drew back his fist but Dog was there first, hurling Darren from his path to crash and crumple against the wall and closing his hands around Steve's throat to shake him like a rat.

Jeannie screamed in earnest then, sure that Dog would kill him. The lazy amusement had gone from his face, the pupils of his eyes contracted to pin-points and glinting eerily red, and his breath hissing between bared teeth. Steve, yelling with pain and fright tore at the backs of his hands but his struggles were already growing weaker.

"No, Dog," Jeannie shrieked and, in a panic, did the only thing she could think of, and snatched up a folded Radio Times.

"No! Leave. No!" she screamed and slapped him across the back of the head with the magazine. Dog flinched, his eyes widening and focussing again, then he growled, glancing towards Jeannie.

"Hurt you," Dog said, his voice shaking with hatred. "Deserves to die."

"No, Dog, no," Jeannie laid her hands on his shoulders then stroked his hair back from his face. "Leave him be."

Steve, toes barely touching the ground, struggled again and Dog gave him another shake then slapped him soundly around the ear. With Steve's throat still firmly gripped in one hand, Dog stooped to grip the groaning Darren's collar.

He dragged both men to the door and scowled at it until Jeannie opened it and then tossed them both out into the street.

"Go away," he said. "Jeannie doesn't want to see you. Go." Then he slammed the door and locked it.

"Bastards," he growled at the unresponsive wood and turned to catch Jeannie as she fell sobbing into his arms. He growled again to see her swollen cheek and the trickle of blood from her nose. Sweeping her up into his arms, he carried her up the stairs and into the bathroom. He jerked the ridiculous t-shirt off over his head and soaked it under the tap, then sat on the edge of the bath with her on his lap and was able to hold the cold wet fabric to her hurt face. Jeannie clung to him crying hysterically and murmuring his name over and over. Dog, too was panting and shaking, horrified at the realisation that he had indeed almost killed the man, but he didn't speak. Instead he stroked Jeannie's back and shoulders, resting his cheek against the top of her head, trying to control his own panic and the almost overwhelming impulse to transform.

Eventually she calmed a little and her stormy tears died away to little hiccupping gasps.

"Oh, Dog," she whispered. "We must go. We must get away before they come back."

"Let them come," Dog grunted. "I'm here. He won't touch you. Never again. He's why you got me, isn't he?"

"Yes," Jeannie admitted and moved her head so she could look into his eyes. "Steve started hitting me soon after we married. At first it wasn't bad - or often. He's got this temper, see. And he'd always promise to stop. I'd go home for a week or so and he'd come round and beg me to go back and - and I always believed him. Oh, Dog, I loved him so..." she wailed, then caught her breath and continued, the words spilling out of her as though a dam had burst. "But Mum and Dad died last year in a motorway pile up during that freak storm and after that I had nowhere to go and then he got worse and - and I couldn't stand it, he hurt me so much. He'd take me to the hospital and stand there and tell them I'd fallen downstairs or that I'd walked into a door - and they'd believe him. So, I ran away. There's this women's refuge and they helped me to find this place and my job. It's not much of a job, but with that and the mail shot outwork I can make ends meet. And they found me a solicitor to handle the divorce but Steve won't sign any of the papers. Last time I went to see my brief she read me some letters that Steve had sent her, from our doctor, the local JP, town councillors. Letters that said that he was the one she should feel sorry for - for having been stuck with a hysterical liar for a wife." She buried her face against his neck and tried to control her sobs. "I don't want to run again, Dog, but now he knows where I am he'll never let me have any peace. And now he knows about you he'll hurt you too and I couldn't bear that. Please, Dog, let's pack and go. We'll find a new place to hide. Please, Dog."

She looked up at him, eyes wet and lips trembling scant inches from his own and once again the terrible need struck him like a hammer blow. Hastily he turned his head away, staring up at the dimly lit ceiling and concentrating on his rage and hatred for Steve until the pounding of blood in his ears eased. Then Dog stood up, wincing a little as his bruises pained him and lifted her to her feet. He laid his hand against her cheek, turning her face up to his and wiping the tears away with his t-shirt.

"You can't hide forever, Jeannie," he said, sadly. "Sooner or later you have to face what you fear and deal with it otherwise..." He shrugged and touched her bruised cheek and his face twitched as though the sight of the dark mark on her fair skin hurt him like knives.

Jeannie looked up at him, at the cut on his cheek and the reddening marks on his belly and arms and raised her hands to lay them on his shoulders.

"What are you hiding from?" she asked him earnestly.

He hesitated and lowered his eyes.

"Myself," he replied.

"Oh, Dog," Jeannie took a step and raised herself on the tips of her toes, sliding her arms around his neck, and touched his cheek with her lips. "There's no need to hide, not from me." And this time her lips touched his.

Dog froze for an instant, his hands spread out from his sides, his eyes wide, then he clasped her in his arms, eyes closing as they deepened their kiss. Jeannie gave a little sob, relaxing into the comfort and support of the warmth of his body, the strength of his arms, the excitement of the touch of his tongue against hers.

It was only the soft brush of Jeannie's hand against Dog's belly as she popped the button on the waistband of his jeans that brought him to his senses. He gasped and stepped back, pushing her away.

"Jeannie," he said, his voice very low and aching with regret, "please don't."

"Don't you want me?" she asked in a very small voice, eyes bright with sudden tears.

"Oh, God," he groaned. "You don't know what I am, you don't know what I can become."

"Tell me," she demanded. "Tell me what you are?"

He hesitated and groaned again.

"I - I can't, I don't remember, I won't ....All I know is I've enough on my conscience as it is. If you touch me again I won't be responsible for what happens next."

"No," she said firmly, "but I will. I don't care what you are or what you've done. I don't care why you do what you can do or why it doesn't seem to worry me - I don't understand but I don't care. I trust you, I want you, that's all that matters." She stepped close to him again and ran her hands up across his chest to his face. "Can't you see how much I - care for you?" she asked.

"Jeannie, I don't think we should..." he began to say but she silenced him with a kiss and, after a moment or two, the hands that pressed her body to his said something quite different.

The bedroom was no more than a pace or two away but Jeannie didn't have to walk. She made the journey held high in strong arms, cradled against Dog's chest. He moved as though she was something incredibly precious and fragile. If she had been made from spun glass and cobwebs, he could not have carried her more gently or seated her more carefully upon the edge of her bed. Then he knelt looking at her, his head cocked to one side. The room was darkened, lit only by the reflected glow from the bathroom light which they had both forgotten to switch off. But there was light enough for her to see his face and the conflicting emotions that passed across it. She saw desire, oh yes, he certainly wanted her, but there was confusion too and something that looked a little like fear. Carefully, he set one hand on the coverlet at her side and raised the other to lift her curls away from her neck.

"You are so..." he breathed, and frowned. There were things to be said, he knew, words appropriate to the situation, words that would get him what he wanted but the words eluded him. Instead he drew her face up to his. Jeannie met his kiss with a happy sigh, smoothing her hands over his warm skin, and this time when she undid the next button of his jeans, he accepted her help with a smile. It took only a little coaxing for Jeannie to guide him into helping her out of her clothing and then she leaned back, drawing him down beside her, wrapping him in her arms.

When their lips parted he remained poised on one elbow, looking down at her fleecy hair spilling across the pillow, her honey-brown eyes half-closed, her lips parted in a tender smile and deep within him a memory stirred and he shuddered.

"Jeannie," he said in a very small voice. "I'm - I'm afraid..."

Jeannie shook her head.

"Not of me, I hope," she whispered, laughing a little.

"I'm afraid," he repeated. "Afraid I might hurt you."

Jeannie's lips parted in a soundless 'oh' of exasperated amusement.

"I'm not made of glass," she told him, looking up at him with just a hint of challenge. "I won't break."

As she watched, his worried frown eased. As had happened at the end of his fight with Steve and Darren, his gaze sharpened, an eerie red flicker behind the pupils, and his teeth bared in the mirthless smile of a predator.

"So, you think not?" he hissed, and took her wrist in a grip that, while gentle was quite unbreakable. "Shall we find out?"