“Follow the light, Mr. Fowler. Please just follow the light.”
Harmon lifted out of his dream. In his dream, he ran across a great field, green beyond the horizon in every direction he might gaze. He moved low to the ground, quickened by an urge to hunt and to feed, pushed to follow the scent which filled his heart with craving. Howling filled his ears. He was so fast, so strong and so young. And all the other dogs who appeared before his path whimpered their respects before hurrying away so that Harmon hunted alone, the alpha dog Harmon always dreamed to be.
“Listen to the doctor, Harmon. Open your eyes and follow the light.”
Sheriff Miller’s voice made Harmon wince, and Harmon scowled at the flashlight directed into his eyes. Harmon discovered his hands to be bound when attempted to swat that light out of his tormentor’s grip.
“Where am I?”
“You’re in the back of my squad car.”
“I can’t move my hands.”
“That’s because I’ve zip-tied them together. Just stay calm and follow the light. The doctor wants to make sure you didn’t suffer a concussion when your head hit the floor.”
“You think I don’t know if I have a concussion?” Harmon grumbled. “I’ve been hit harder than that.”
“Please, Harmon, just do as the doctor asks.”
He relented, though his anger once more swelled for being addressed like some child, but he knew he wouldn’t leave the squad car until his did as the sheriff asked, and so he relented. Finally, the doctor pulled the light out of his eyes, nodded at the sheriff and then simply walked away.
Harmon frowned at Sheriff Miller. “Takes a coward to fight like that. The third man just choked me.”
The sheriff sighed. “Or some other man who knows his way around the martial arts. Harmon, did you attack those men in the supermarket?”
A fire returned behind Harmon’s good eye. “I did. They were the strangers sent to put me in the ground. I would’ve taken them if their third man hadn’t arrived and jumped on my back while I went at the other two. I should’ve known better. I should’ve kept my head. But it’s been a while since I had to defend myself from the streets. I’m lucky to be alive. The third men are killers, and they usually don’t waste any time before sending you away from this world.”
“Harmon, the man who put you asleep was no killer. That was Kenny Melchor, one of the supermarket’s butchers. Kenny’s takes Judo listens three times a week a little further down the highway. He ran out to see what was wrong when he heard all those women screaming, and he grabbed you when he saw you throwing all those punches.”
“He wasn’t with the strangers?”
“Strangers?” The sheriff shook his head. “Harmon, you assaulted Luke Swanson and Mark Brock. They’ve lived here for years.”
“My gut told me different.”
“Your gut told you wrong. You’re lucky you didn’t pull your blade, Harmon. Hate to think how it would’ve played out had you flashed that straight-blade. Luke and Mark don’t want to press charges. They probably think you’re too old to go to jail. But you would’ve had to pay had you pulled out your blade.”
“You planning to release me hands?”
“Not until I get you home.”
Harmon worked his breath all the ride home so that the temper didn’t overpower better sense. He would have no outlet for any of that rage should it surface in the back of Sheriff Miller’s car. So he kept quiet, and Harmon tried to imagine how much money might still be held in the plastic bags he long ago buried beneath the dog kennel. He estimated how much money he might raise by selling his tools and pawning the last of the heirlooms that followed Harmon into that small community of his hiding. He hoped he still had the means and the time to move on to another spot in the country. The dogs would be Harmon’s greatest expense. That pack would make it more difficult for Harmon to find a new home. He only needed a little time to research his options. He would keep a low profile. He wouldn’t stray from his property if he could avoid doing so. Perhaps his senses were only out of practice. Perhaps they only gathered a bit of dust and rust that would soon enough fall away so that Harmon had a better sense of how his enemies drew nearer. He would hustle to find a new place to hide, and in the meanwhile, Harmon would train his dogs hard to know that they would be ready to protect him.
The dogs howled madly within their kennel as the police car pulled up Harmon’s lane. Sheriff Miller escorted Harmon to his kennel’s door before finally removing the zip-tie from Harmon’s hands.
“Aren’t you going to return my blade?
The sheriff frowned. “I suppose I have no right to keep it. I don’t trust you with it, and I suspect you have weapons enough. I suppose this is my fault.”
“What are you talking about?”
“John’s gone, isn’t he?”
Harmon bristled. What business did that sheriff have to ask about his family? “He’s just gone back to his mother. After all I did for that boy, he went back to that bitch.”
“When was the last time you had a decent meal, Harmon? When was the last time you bathed? When was the last time you got any sleep?”
“Are you saying I can’t take care of myself?”
“Maybe,” the sheriff didn’t blink. “Maybe I’m saying you’ve lost control. You’re on edge. You look terrible. You look like a wild animal. It’s because I mentioned I saw strangers like the kind you always told me to look for. You’ve let your imagination go wild.”
“It’s instinct, not imagination.”
“Let me tell you who I think those strangers were, Harmon. I don’t believe they’re killers from your old city, and I don’t think there’s any third man on your heels. I don’t think your old city even remembers you. Now hearing that might hurt your ego, but I don’t think there’s any street boss looking to put you in the ground. I don’t think you’re so important. Maybe once. Not now. I think those strangers were only seasonal workers looking for a job, maybe opiate traffickers peddling pills, or maybe they didn’t have any reason at all to stop in our slow, flat town. You’re taking a real big leap of imagination and fear in thinking those strangers are at all on your trail, Harmon Fowler, and I think you’re unraveling because of it. Be careful, friend. Don’t let yourself go feral. Don’t let the wild get the better of your judgment again.”
Sheriff Miller didn’t give Harmon the chance to reply before tossing that straight-blade back to that haggard trainer of dogs, for he was in no mood to argue with a stubborn man. Harmon scowled as he watched that squad car retreat down his lane. Harmon wondered why he felt a little disappointed. Hadn’t he always known that a patriotic and free man could depend on no one? That was why Harmon always preferred the company of dogs.
And those ebony dogs howled as Harmon entered their kennel and closed that door on the outer world.