The Hardest Thing

For a moment they only stared at each other, each wondering what the other was going to do. Alison would have screamed if the panic in her chest hadn't squeezed out every bit of breath she had left. Sirius Black looked down at her, his gray eyes troubled. Gradually the moment passed, and Alison could breathe again. She wobbled dizzily, and his hand clamped onto her wrist again.

"Sit down," he said, steering her to a chair. Alison could barely comprehend the strangeness of the situation. An escaped mass murderer, in her office, leading her to a chair as though he was the host and she the intruder. "Breathe," he said, pushing on her shoulders so that she sat down. He stood over her, taller than she would have thought, and stronger than his thin frame would have suggested, especially after twelve years in prison and a year on the run. The hands on her shoulders were painful enough to bruise, holding her down in the chair.

After a moment, he released her. "What am I doing here?" He asked her, gray eyes boring into hers. Alison looked up at him, puzzled.

"Shouldn't I be the one asking that question? After all, you are the one who broke into my office."

"I didn't break into anywhere. Not this time, at least." A wry grin broke out over his face, transforming him for a moment into a shadow of that laughing, handsome man from the second picture. Almost, Alison returned the smile, but stopped herself. He's a deranged murderer, she told herself. You can't trust him. "I woke up," Sirius continued, starting to pace, limping on the leg with the bandage, "and I found myself here. Now why, I ask myself, would a pretty young vet kidnap an escaped convict and keep him in her office? Who are you working for? Why are you keeping me here?"

Thoroughly confused now, Alison closed her eyes for a moment, trying to stop the pounding in her head. Nothing this man said made any sense at all. "You woke up-here? In my office?"

"That's what I said, isn't it? I woke up this morning, and I was laying here on the floor. I have no memory of coming here, so you must have brought me here, for whatever reason. Now explain yourself, please."

Alison felt like crying. The man was insane. "I didn't bring you here. I brought a dog in here last night. A big, black dog. It had been hit by a car at the end of the street, and it had a wounded leg, so I dragged him back here on a stretcher and fixed him up. When I left earlier to go home for a minute, he was asleep on the floor next to the exam table. I came back half an hour later, and he was gone. You, however, were here. Therefore, you are the one who needs to explain himself."

"A dog? There was no dog." Something in his voice made her look up again. He was staring intently at her, as though trying to read her mind. He's insane enough, he probably thinks he can, she thought. It occurred to her then that he'd been adamant that there was no dog the first time she'd mentioned Snuffles. Why does he care so much that there was no dog? What could Snuffles possibly matter to this man? Aloud, Alison said, "Yes, there was. He was here half an hour ago, I saw him myself. What did you do to him?" Cold fear crept over her at the thought of an insane criminal alone with a helpless animal.

"There was no dog," Sirius said again, pacing agitatedly. He ran his hands through his hair. The bandage on his leg still hindered his pacing, but he didn't seem to be in pain, just unable to bend his leg because of the splint.

"Okay, let's say I imagined the dog," Alison said, deciding to humor him. "That still doesn't explain why you're here."

"None of this makes any sense," he said, apparently having forgotten her presence. Now would be the time to call the police, Alison thought, but didn't move. Something was holding her back-some curiosity or pity. At last, impatiently, Sirius reached down and tore the bandage and splint off his leg. Alison gasped. "What are you doing? You're hurt, you can't just-". He cut her off with a growl.

"I'm fine. Whatever may have been wrong with my leg, it's fine now. Look, I'm sorry to have bothered you. I'll just be going." He turned to leave, and Alison felt some sort of curious emptiness filling her.

"Wait!" Sirius turned around to face her again.

"You can't just leave! I mean, you're hurt! And, I mean, you're a wanted criminal! You can't just go wandering around London, they'll catch you." Not even to herself could Alison explain why that suddenly seemed like a bad thing. The man was a raving lunatic, of course, but something in his chilly gray eyes had touched her, and she couldn't stand the idea of abandoning him to the police.

"I'll be fine," he said. "Don't worry about me. I know where I'm going. Besides, it's better for you if you never met me." He turned to leave once more, preparing to climb out the window into the alley behind the building, but there was a knock at the door. Jules opened the door and stuck her head in the room.

“Al? Everything okay in here? I heard voices. You’re not talking to Snuffles, are you?”

“Snuffles? But, Snuffles is gone! Jules, Sirius Black-that man from the telly-he’s here!”

Jules looked worriedly at Alison. “Al, are you okay? Snuffles is right there.” She pointed, and Alison turned-where Sirius Black had been standing moments before, the shaggy black dog sat, watching them. Alison rubbed a hand over her eyes and looked again. He was still there.

“Al, maybe you need to get some sleep. You don’t seem like yourself today.”

“No, I’m fine, really. I’m just a little tired, that’s all. I must have been daydreaming.”

“Are you sure? You don’t have any appointments for a couple hours-you could go home and take a nap or something.”

“No, really, Jules, I’m fine. Just-could you maybe go get another cup of coffee. I might have dozed off for a minute.”

Alison turned to the dog the minute Jules was gone. She screamed. It was Sirius Black standing there once more. “Oh my God,” she gasped, backing away. “You ARE the dog!”