Page 21 of Ripple Effect: Ep. 1

The shelter is about four and a half miles from the Conservatory on Western Avenue—about a fifteen-minute drive if I had a car, but walking will take about an hour, at least. I make my way down Homans Avenue, crossing the overpass, where cars zip along the freeway below me. I can’t even deny the prospect of climbing out onto the lip of the bridge and falling onto the pavement is far too tempting on a night like this. In one single moment, one stupid decision, my whole world turned upside down. I shuffle quickly along the sidewalk, my feet commandeering my body, steering my mind away from those thoughts.

The man from earlier pops into my head and I cringe at the visual of climbing inside that Malibu. What if I hadn’t? What if I’d gotten a sense about him and backed away? I’d always given myself credit for having some street smarts, but unfortunately, realization struck too late this time. The second we hit two blocks from the club, red flags went up, and when he didn’t let me out after I’d told him I’d changed my mind, I knew I was in deep shit.

If the stranger hadn’t shown up and disemboweled him, I might’ve been left to die in that abandoned factory instead.

My thoughts kill the time and I finally reach the Animal Control building. The area is far safer than Garfield Park, evidenced in the nicer homes and manicured lawns. Tulips stick up from a small circular garden where a half circle drive makes up the front entrance. A four-foot brick retainer wall sits along the sidewalk and I toss my belongings on the other side of it, plopping down next to a bushy tree on the grass.

I set out my blanket, scanning it over with my flashlight for any bugs. I can’t deal with the bugs. Not tonight. Satisfied, I tug the second blanket and do the same, before pulling it over top of me. I tuck my hair into the hoodie of my coat, gathering up the strands and tying it closed so nothing crawls along my scalp. The thought casts a shiver down my spine. I’m assuming it’s sometime after five o’clock. My body is worn down and exhausted, but I can’t sleep.

For the first time in a long time, I’m afraid to close my eyes.

7

Dylan

I lean into the counter, trying to catch the eye of the Animal Control clerk who ignores me as he staples a stack of papers together. “I’m here to pick up my dog.”

“What breed?” Still doesn’t look at me.

“Dogo. She was picked up earlier this evening.”

“Ah yeah.” He finally glances up and the corner of his lip crimps into something that looks like disappointment. “Bastard likes to bite, I understand. Almost took one of my officer’s fingers.”

“She’s just scared. I left her … but I meant to come back and get her. So can I have her back?”

“Sure. Just let me give you a total amount due and we’ll arrange her release.” He shuffles over to a nearby computer and his fingers dance across the keyboard in harsh clicks that tell me I’m in for bad news.

“I’m sorry. Total amount due?”

“Got spooked and ran straight into traffic, so we had to dip into emergency funds to get her stitched up properly. With the fifty due for impound, animal bite fee, rabies vaccine, vet exam, and license. Plus surgical, anesthesia, and after care.” He shakes his head and rubs his jaw, still staring at the screen. “You’re looking at a few hundred bucks.”

“What?” My lungs lock up at that, stealing the next breath. I lodge my fingers through my hair, trying to make sense of how the hell he could possibly say that with a straight face. “Is she okay?”

“Yeah, she’s recovering just fine.”

“I can’t … I don’t have a few hundred dollars lying around. I’ve got fifty.” It’s the fifty the stranger tossed me in the factory. The same fifty I’d planned to use for food and another bottle of Oxy to get me through the week.

“Fifty doesn’t cut it. Retrieval is more than fifty bucks, not to mention your dog was starving when we picked her up. She’ll probably eat half a bag of kibble when she’s up and around again.”

Letting out a huff, I tap the countertop to the beat of the nervous pulses that are shooting through my muscles. “I just want my dog back.”

“I’m afraid I can’t just let a large dog like that roam the streets without being properly licensed and vaccinated at the very least. See if you can get the cash and I’ll release her. Some programs help with financial aid. Otherwise, there’s nothing I can do.”

Financial aid? Like an application and credit check, asking for things I don’t currently have—such as an address?

“And what happens if I can’t pay?” I regret the words the moment they tumble from my mouth, because I know damn well what happens to big dogs like that. Ones that are deemed too dangerous.

“She’ll be kept here for five days until ownership is claimed and fees are paid. After that, she’ll be transferred to another shelter, where they’ll attempt to adopt her out. Assuming she passes a temperament test.”

“I … I can’t. Look, I need her. She’s my dog. I take care of her and she looks out for me.”

“I’m sorry.” He licks his lips, giving me a once over. “Unless you can pay the fees and register the dog, she stays.”

“You’re an asshole, you know that? A heartless bastard.”

“Yeah? Well, I ain’t the one who up and left my dog, now am I?”

I slide my hand down from the counter and take one step toward the exit, pausing beside the steel door with a small square window that lets me see rows of cages in the back.