Found & Lost
by Jarret Liotta
The big man stood in my doorway effortlessly holding Buddy—poor Buddy, slumped and lifeless, patched with blood.
“Oh … no,” I whispered.
“I’m very sorry,” he said. “You must be very sad.” His voice was low. His soft blue eyes sought to feel my pain, searched my reaction with unwavering eyes.
“I’m … Oh, I’m …” I sobbed twice, steadied myself, then said, “Please come in.”
He carried Buddy into the living room. Without speaking, he asked where to put him, and I gestured to the blanket spread on part of the couch. He laid him carefully down.
I sat beside him and pet his fur. He still felt warm, though the man said he’d probably been hit the day before. The blood still seemed wet, too, and a bit even dripped onto the blanket.
“I had him in my barn last night. As I said on the phone, I didn’t want to call late.”
“Thank you,” I murmured.
“I saw your signs on North Avenue , and then … He was just down the road from me, on Perry Street .”
“You found him on Perry?”
He thought about this for a moment. “It was near Perry, kind of, but off the road, in the woods … on Frasier, actually. That’s what I meant.”
“And he was dead?”
“Of course,” he said seriously, his eyes unblinking, still searching my eyes. “I’m sorry.”
He stood respectfully still, watching as I softly pet my Buddy again. I lost myself in a moment, then looked up to see him still there, unmoving, his eyes fixed on mine.
“I’m sorry,” I said. “I want to give you a reward. I … I had that on the poster, and—”
“No,” he said, stepping closer. “No,” he said with eyes locked on mine.
I got up and moved past him to the other side of the room. “No,” I said, “I want to, please.”
“It’s not necessary. I feel bad about this.” He took two steps toward me. “I don’t want anything,” and he took another step, his eyes forever locked on mine.
“Well,” I said, holding his eyes firmly, “at least I can give you a-a drink or something, please. Okay?” I moved carefully toward the kitchen.
“No, please.”
“Please. Just have a seat, okay, and I’ll be right back. Okay? I’ll be right back.”
I slipped into the kitchen before he could reply. Something didn’t feel right, and all at once I knew I had to get out of the house.
I skipped to the back door. Holding my breath, I turned the lock.
“Where are you going?” he said, gliding into the room.
I jumped. Speechless, I held my breath and stammered silently. He came closer, his piercing eyes never leaving mine.
“P-please,” I gasped. “Don’t.”
He grabbed my wrist in a brutal lock. Slowly, he leaned in close to me and whispered, “Come on. Let’s go and pet the dog …”
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JARRET LIOTTA’s essays and articles have appeared in numerous publications, including The New York Times, Brill’s Content, California Arts & Living, Los Angeles Times, Connecticut magazine, Hartford Courant, Pasadena Star-News, and the Connecticut Post. He maintains an under-read blog (jarretliotta.blogspot.com), and has been writing fiction since he was a kid, priding two yet-to-be-published novels and a wealth of short stories. Jarret’s also a great lover of horror in all its fictional forms, and considers October 31st the best day of the year!
