Bloody hell, that dog again! Paul Irving muttered, slamming the receiver down, the ancient rotary phone clattering in protest. Sergeant Emily Clarke, weve got another call about a dog in the woods. Third one this morning, mind you!
Emily looked up from her paperwork, eyebrows knitting. What dog now?
Its the third time theyve rang. Folks say theres a stray pooch roaming the edge of the forest, barking like mad, tugging at peoples coats and whining like its lost its mind. Its driving everyone round the bend!
Emilys gut tightened. After fifteen years on the force she trusted her instincts, and something told her this wasnt a simple case.
Simon, she called to her rookie partner, you up for a look?
Simon waved a hand. Come off it, Emily! Its just a dog. Maybe its rabid, maybe its just scared of people.
Maybe its more than that, she replied.
She remembered a case from twenty years ago, when her younger brother Tom vanished on the way home from school. The whole department, dogs and volunteers, searched for three days before they found himfar too late.
Lets go, she said firmly. Well see for ourselves.
Twenty minutes later their battered Ford Escort chugged to a halt at the forests edge, kicking up a cloud of dust on the cracked track. The place gave her the creepsgnarled oaks with twisted limbs reaching to the sky like knotted fingers.
Deadwood lay thick, its blackened trunks rotting, while thorny brambles cast shadows even in the bright afternoon. Locals avoided this patch; even the most daring foragers steered clear.
Wheres your dog? Simon asked, scanning the underbrush skeptically.
From behind the trees a bark echoed, and a hefty, shaggy mutt bounded into a clearing. He was muddy and scruffy, but you could tell hed once lived in a house. He froze when he saw them, then lunged forward, tail wagging wildly.
Easy, boy, Emily crouched, her voice gentle. Whats up?
The dog yelped, clutched her jacket sleeve, and hauled her toward the woods.
Emily, you cant
Im going, she said, stepping forward. Hes trying to show us something.
Understanding her resolve, the dog barked happily and trotted ahead, never getting far enough to lose sight of them.
They walked for about twenty minutes. The forest grew denser, mud squelching under their boots. Simon stumbled over roots a couple of times, swearing low, but kept up.
Suddenly the dog stopped and let out a low growl.
What now? Emily whispered.
Ahead, among the trees, a structure loomedan old shed, half swallowed by moss and grass, hard to spot unless you were right on it.
Stay here, Emily ordered, edging forward carefully. The dog stayed glued to her side.
Closer, she saw a massive padlock on the door and heard a faint thump from inside.
Simon! Get over here, quick!
Together they pried the door openits hinges were rusted through. A stale, dank smell hit them. When their eyes adjusted, Emily gasped.
In the far corner, on a sagging mattress covered in filthy rags, a teenage boy lay. He was gaunt, cheeks hollow, eyes sunken, covered in grimy dirt. Rough rope cut into his hands, bleeding. He squinted at the light, blinking as if it were a miracle. Fear and a flicker of hope danced in his gaze. He tried to speak, but only a hoarse cough escaped.
Who are you? Emily rushed forward, pulling a knife to cut the rope.
Art Artm, the boy croaked, voice barely audible. Arthur Arthur Sloane.
Emily froze. Arthur Sloane? The same lad who vanished three days ago?
He gave a weak nod.
Three days earlier, the station had received a report about a missing fifteenyearold. His mother, a single parent juggling two jobs, hadnt heard from him since school.
Simon, call for backup and an ambulance! Emily barked, helping Arthur sit up. You hold on, kid. Well get you out of here.
The dog, whod been watching silently, suddenly tensed, fur on his neck standing up, a low snarl escaping his throat.
A branch snappedsomeone was fleeing through the bushes.
Get down! Emily shouted, pulling her pistol.
The dog bolted ahead. They heard a scream, a body hitting the ground, then a string of curses.
When Emily and Simon, stumbling through the thicket, finally reached the source of the commotion, they saw a burly man in a black leather jacketone of those types youd rather avoid on the streetlying facedown in a pile of last years leaves. A massive dog sat on his back, fur puffed, emitting a guttural growl that sent chills down even seasoned Detective Klyrovas spine. It was as if the friendly stray had turned into a guardian wolf.
Easy, Jack, Emily said, thinking of the dogs name. Well handle this.
Miraculously, the dog obeyed, stepping back but never taking his eyes off the man.
The rest unfolded in a blur. An ambulance, a police squad, and investigators arrived. The man, identified as Victor Samuels, immediately confessed. He turned out to be a professional kidnapper, hunting children for ransomthough what he expected from a single mothers modest means was a mystery.
A week later, Emily was sipping lukewarm tea from her beloved chipped mug in her tiny kitchen, its walls plastered with faded yellow wallpaper, scrolling through the news on her phone.
The front page of the local paper blared in bold type: Heroic Dog Helps Solve Crime! Below, a photo of Jack, now looking cleaner and more composed, stared back.
Well, hero, she whispered, scratching behind Jacks scruffy ear as he lounged on the sofa. Hows the new life treating you?
Jack licked her hand and rested his head on her knee.
They say coincidences dont exist. Maybe this meeting was meant to befor a woman who, fifteen years ago, couldnt save her brother, and a wandering dog who ended up saving another boy.
You know, Emily said, stroking the warm, shaggy head, miracles do happen.
Jack gave a contented sigh. Hed known that long before anyone else.
