Emily studied at university and worked odd jobs, mostly night shifts, like most students. Her mum couldn’t support her, and bursaries alone weren’t enough to get by in a big city.
After summer exams, she took a break and spent three weeks at her mum’s. She returned refreshed, laden with homegrown vegetables and jars of jam carefully packed by her mum.
Stepping off the bus at the station square, her bag felt twice as heavy. She dragged herself to the bus stop and gratefully set it down on a bench.
Returning to the city felt right. Even though she loved her mum’s, she’d grown used to independence. She missed the city’s noise, her friends. Once she started working, she could afford a tiny flat and leave the dorm behind.
It was cramped, in a sleepy suburb, but affordable. Her windows overlooked an overgrown lot, tangled with wild grass, backed by woods. At night, not a single light flickered, but mornings flooded the flat with sunshine. In winter, the snow-covered lot glowed even in the dark.
A whimper caught her ear. Peering under the bench, she spotted a sharp brown snout. Fear and longing lingered in the dachshund’s large, bulging eyes. Only then did she notice the leash tying it to the bench. Emily crouched. The dog shrank back, trembling.
“Don’t be scared. Come here.” She gently tugged the leash.
Reluctantly, the dachshund crept out, ready to bolt back at any threat. But Emily held firm.
The dog panted, tongue lolling. August had been unusually hot—no wonder it hid in the bench’s shadow.
Emily guessed it was thirsty. A kiosk selling drinks stood nearby.
“Wait here,” she whispered, then hurried over.
“A small bottle of water, please,” she asked the surly vendor. “And, um—do you have an empty tin?”
The woman smirked. “Why not a cup?”
“Dogs can’t drink from cups. That dachshund tied to the bench—do you know how long it’s been there?”
The vendor squinted, sighed. “People can be cruel. Saw a bloke in a posh car tie it up this morning. Never came back. Here—it’s not clean.” She handed Emily a sardine tin.
After paying double the usual price, Emily returned, rinsed the tin, and filled it with water. The dachshund, back under the bench, whined before lapping eagerly.
“What do I do with you? Strays could tear you apart. Or worse.” She shuddered. “Come with me. You’ve got no choice.”
She left her number at the kiosk in case the owner returned. Untying the leash, she dragged the reluctant dog onto the bus, paying for two. No one protested—the dog stayed quiet on her lap.
At home, it cowered in the hallway, sniffing. Emily folded a blanket into a bed. The dachshund flopped onto it, watching her with huge eyes.
“What’s your name?” She listed dog names. “Felix?”
The dog barked.
“Felix it is.” Another bark. “You understand me? Why’d someone leave you?”
That night, claws clicked on laminate. Felix explored until she stirred, then darted back. But soon, he’d greet her eagerly at the door.
Their walks were on the lot—the only open space. Once away from roads, she’d unleash him. He always returned when called, darting through grass on stubby legs.
September brought classes and night shifts. Felix waited impatiently, overjoyed when she returned. She couldn’t imagine life without him.
One Sunday, he bolted toward the woods. Emily called, but tall grass tangled her steps. Silence answered.
Then—a yelp, abruptly cut off.
Heart pounding, she pushed through the trees. On a clearing, teens crouched over something. She demanded, “Where’s Felix?”
They jumped up. Felix lay pinned by a sharpened branch. Blood pooled beneath him.
The tallest yanked the branch free. Felix whimpered, bleeding. The teen stepped forward, branch raised. His empty, dead-eyed stare paralyzed her.
She fled, grass snagging her legs. Behind her, footsteps—close, closer—until something heavy struck her back. She fell, bracing for pain…
But nothing came. A stone, likely. They’d vanished.
A silver car stopped. The driver helped her up. Every breath ached.
“Who attacked you?”
“Teens,” she gasped. “They—they stabbed Felix.”
“Your boyfriend?”
“My dog. Please, help me get him!”
Relieved it wasn’t a person, the man hesitated before rallying another passerby. They vanished into the lot.
When they returned, one carried a bloodied bundle. “He’s alive. Let’s get to the vet.”
Felix died on the way.
Emily left his bed untouched. At night, she’d wake, certain she heard claws. Returning home, she’d pause, hoping for his whine. Only silence greeted her.
Rainy autumn settled in. One evening, exiting a shop, she collided with a teen—and froze. Those same dead eyes.
He bolted. A screech of brakes—then he lay on the asphalt. The driver stammered, “He ran right out!”
An ambulance and police arrived. An officer approached—the same man who’d helped carry Felix. “You again?”
“It’s him,” she whispered. “The one who killed my dog.”
Two weeks later, her doorbell rang incessantly. Groggy, she answered—then slammed it shut, realizing she wore only a long T-shirt. She threw on a robe and reopened it.
A man with a square bag stood there. “Sorry to wake you. I’ve got no one to watch her today.”
Puzzled, Emily took the bag—and nearly dropped it as something squirmed inside. Unzipping it, a brown snout poked out. Big black eyes stared up.
“I thought a boy might remind you of Felix, so I got a girl. Her name’s Fiona.”
“Fiona.” Emily lifted the trembling dachshund, clutching her close. A lick on her chin made her laugh softly.
“Glad you kept it.” He nodded at the untouched bed in the corner.
“Couldn’t bear to toss it,” she admitted. “I don’t even know your name.”
“James,” he said.
Fiona was nothing like Felix—stubborn, shoe-chewing, insisting on the bed. But on walks, Emily never unleashed her.
Some weekends, James drove them to parks. Fiona buried her snout in leaves or raced like her short legs barely touched ground, ears flapping. Her joy was contagious. They chased each other, laughter ringing through the trees.
