"I..." he started,
then trailed off. Krishna was watching from his porch, grinning
ferociously, holding a cordless phone.
The creature that had howled at Krishna before scrambled for purchase in
Alan's chest. Alan averted his eyes from Krishna's shit-eating,
911-calling grin. He focused on the cap of the officer in front of him,
shrouded in a clear plastic shower cap to keep its crown dry. "I'm
sorry," he said. "It was a -- a dog. A stray, or maybe a runaway. A
little Scottie dog, it jumped down the center of the fountain there and
disappeared. I looked down and thought it had found a tunnel that caved
in on it."
The officer peered at him from under the brim of his hat, dubiousness
writ plain on his young, good-looking face. "A tunnel?"
Alan wiped the rain from his eyes, tried to regain his composure, tried
to find his charm. It wasn't to be found. Instead, every time he reached
for something witty and calming, he saw the streaks of blood and torn
clothing, dark on the loose soil of the fountain's center, and no sooner
had he dispelled those images than they were replaced with Krishna,
sneering, saying, "Lost another one, huh?" He trembled and swallowed a
sob.
"I think I need to sit down," he said, as calmly as he could, and he
sank slowly to his knees. The hands on his biceps let him descend.
"Sir, do you live nearby?" one of the cops asked, close in to his
ear.
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