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CHAPTER ONE
Piper
I climb as quietly as I can over my neighbor’s fence.
The poor dog has been barking nonstop for two hours. Mom told me to call the proper authorities, but I already have called them countless times.
There are forms and procedures and so much red tape it’s starting to look like the poor pooch is never going to catch a break.
So I’m handling it myself.
Ever since our neighbor got a dog, he’s been treating the poor animal terribly. I’ve seen glimpses of him in the yard, my belly churning when I think about the things I’ve witnessed. The worst is the whining noise the innocent animal makes.
I couldn't take it anymore.
My neighbor, Chris, is a steroid freak, spending his days working out in the yard. But every now and then he’ll leave, speeding away from his house in his fancy Mustang. He takes so much better care of that car than he does of his dog.
Bones is a unique-looking little Jack Russell terrier with white bone-shaped spots around his eyes.
I’d been watching the little dog from my bedroom window pace the yard when he stopped and stared up at me, eyes full of innocence, mouth open in what looked like a cry of desperation.
That was it. That was when I decided. No freaking more.
I was not going to let Chris get away with it anymore. I waited for him to bring the dog in and as soon as he took off in his car I was on the move.
Climbing the fence is no easy task. It’s not like I’m some super athlete or anything. Eventually, I manage to clamber over, the chain wire catching on my shirt.
It tears with an audible rip noise, my T-shirt flapping at the bottom.
I set my mouth in what my mom would call my determined face, and I press on.
Walking past Chris’s workout bench and dumbbells, I carefully approach the house. Bones’ barking grows louder the closer I get. I walk up the wooden steps and stop at the exterior door, peering through into Chris’s house. It’s a wreck, every surface covered in dirty dishes, dog crap all over the floor.
My heart gives a tug when I spot Bones, a chain around his neck, standing next to two empty bowls. He spots me and barks with even more vigor, spit flying everywhere, his legs trembling.
“Poor baby,” I whisper, testing the door handle.
The screen door is unlocked, swinging open freely, but the main door feels solid and immovable when I give it a firm shove. Peering through the large glass of the door – covered in grime and filth – I try to project a supportive expression.
“It’s going to be okay.”
I can’t let myself think about what I’m doing, otherwise, I’ll lose my nerve.
Chris could be home at any minute.
But I can’t think about that either.
Leaving the door, I walk around to the window. It overlooks the kitchen and gives me a better look at how filthy the house is. Dishes are piled up in the sink, overflowing on the counter, with protein shake containers and plastic wrappers scattered everywhere.
My chest tightens when I spot the can of dog food, the easy-pull lid open, flies buzzing around it.
Some people don’t deserve to have pets.
Moving my hands along the window, I realize it’s open, cracked just a little. Maybe it’s a way for Chris to try and get rid of some of the stench. Even out here, I can smell it, sharp and rancid.
I pull the window open the rest of the way, creating a gap just about big enough for a girl to get through. A girl, not necessarily me.
I’m built on the curvier side and I’m not sure I’m going to fit. But I have to try.
My mom’s voice rises in my mind.
“You’re going to ruin your life,” I imagine her saying. “Twenty years old, your whole future ahead of you, and you’re going to give it all away for a dog.”
I push her phantom voice away. It doesn’t matter what happens to me, as long as I can get Bones out of here. My mind pulses violently when I recall the mistreatment I’ve witnessed.
I climb through the window, gripping the sill and pulling myself onto the kitchen counter. Plates and glasses fall from the counter as I slide across it.
They land with a crash, shattering.
Bones yaps louder, his barking getting high-pitched now. The poor little guy thinks I’m going to hurt him. It’s all he knows.
I walk over the shattered plates, footsteps crunching, softly lowering myself to one knee.
Bones’ spittle flies into the air, clinging to his lips. His eyes are crusty. His tongue looks cracked and dry.
“It’s okay, boy,” I whisper, slowly extending my hand. “I promise I won’t hurt you.”
I pause when he lunges forward, pulling on his chain, barking at me. I’m not sure what to do. He needs to know I’m not here to cause him harm, but it’s all he’s experienced. His living conditions have made him wary.
