Hands grabbed me from behind and I realised Carol was trying to tug me away, obviously afraid I would kill the man. I hung on; she didn’t understand the danger she was in.
For a few snap seconds I found myself eye-to-eye with him and his face seemed so familiar. And strangely — perhaps I imagined it — there seemed to be some recognition in his eyes too. The moment soon passed and we became a frenzied heap again. Carol had her arms around my throat and was squeezing and pulling at the same time; my victim had his free hand around my nose, fingers curled into my upper jaw, and was trying to prise my grip loose. Their combined strength had its effect: I was forced to let go.
Instantly, the man slammed me in my under-belly with a clenched fist and I yelped at the pain, choking and trying to draw in breath immediately afterwards. I went straight back into the attack, but he’d had a chance to close both hands around my jaws, clamping my mouth tightly shut. I tried to rake him with my nails, but they had little effect against the suit he was wearing.
Pushing myself into him was no use either; Carol’s restraining arms around my neck held me back. I called out to her to let me go, but all that emerged from my clenched jaws was a muted growling noise.
‘Hang on to it, Carol!’ the man gasped. ‘Let’s get it out the door!’
Keeping one hand tight around my mouth, he grabbed my collar between Carol’s arms and began to drag me into the hall. Carol helped by releasing one arm from my neck and grasping my tail. They propelled me forward and tears of frustration formed in my eyes. Why was Carol helping him?
As I was dragged towards the front door, I caught a glimpse of Polly at the top of the stairs, tears streaming down her face.
‘Stay there!’ Carol called out when she, too, saw her. ‘Don’t comedown!’
‘What are you doing with Fluke, Mummy?’ she wailed. ‘Where are you taking him?’
‘It’s all right, Gillian,’ the man answered her between grunts. ‘We’ve got to get it outside.’
‘Why, why? What’s he done?’
They ignored her for, realising I was losing, I had become frantic. I squirmed my body, twisting my neck, dug my paws into the carpet. It was no use, they were too strong.
When we reached the front door he told Carol to open it, afraid to let go himself. She did and I felt the breeze rush in and ruffle my hair. With one last desperate effort I wrenched my head free and cried out, ‘Carol, it’s me, Nigel! I’ve come back to you! Don’t let him do this to me!’
But of course all she heard was a mad dog barking.
I managed to tear the sleeve of the man’s coat and draw blood from his wrist before being thrust out and having the door slammed in my face.
I jumped up and down outside, throwing myself at the door and howling. Carol’s voice came to me through the wood; she was trying to soothe Polly. Then I heard the man’s voice. The words ‘mad dog’ and ‘attacker’ reached my ears and I realised he was speaking to someone on the phone.
‘No! Don’t let him, Carol! Please, it’s me!’ I knew he was calling the police.
And sure enough, not more than five minutes later, headlights appeared at the end of the lane and a car bumped its way towards the house. I was underneath the ground floor window by now, running backwards and forwards, screaming and ranting, while Carol, Polly and the man watched me, white-faced. To my dismay, the man had his arms around both Carol’s and Polly’s shoulders.
The little blue-and-white Panda car lurched to a halt and doors flew open as though it had suddenly sprouted butterfly wings. Two dark figures leapt from it, one carrying a long pole with a loop attached to it. I knew what that was for and decided not to give them a chance to use it. I fled into the night; but not too far into it.
Later when the police had given up thrashing around in the dark in search of me, I crept back. I’d heard voices coming from the house, car doors slam, an engine start, then tyres crunching their way back down the lane. No doubt they’d be back tomorrow to give the area a thorough going over in the daylight, but for tonight I knew I’d be safe. I’d wait for the man to come out of the house and then I’d do my best to follow him — or maybe get him there and then. No, that would be foolish — it would only frighten Carol and Polly again, and Carol would probably call the police back. Besides, the man was a little too strong for me. That would be the best bet: follow him somehow — maybe I could even track his car’s scent (even cars have their own distinct smell) — then attack him, the element of surprise on my side. It was a harebrained scheme, but then I was a pretty hare-brained dog. So I settled down to wait. And I waited. And waited.
The shock of it hit me a few hours later: he wasn’t coming out that night. His car was still in the drive so I knew he hadn’t already left, and there would have been no reason for him to have gone with the police. He was staying the night!
How could you, Carol? All right, I’d obviously been cold in my grave at least a couple of years, but how could you with him?
The man who had murdered me? How could you with anyone after all we’d shared? Had it meant so little that you’d forget so soon?
My howl filled the night and seconds later curtains moved in the bedroom window. My bedroom window!
How could such evil exist? He’s killed me, then taken my wife! He’d pay — oh, I’d make him pay!
I ran from the house then, unable to bear the pain of looking at it, imagining what was going on inside. I crashed around in the dark, frightening night creatures, disturbing those who were sleeping, and finally fell limp and weeping into a hollow covered with brambles. There I stayed till dawn.
Nineteen
Have patience now, my story’s nearly done.
Do you still disbelieve all I’ve told you? I don’t blame you — I’m not sure I believe it myself. Maybe I’m a dog who’s just had hallucinations. How is it you understand me, though? You do understand me, don’t you?
How’s the pain? You’ll forget it later; memories of pain are always insubstantial unless you actually feel the pain again. How’s the fear? Are you less afraid now, or more afraid? Anyway, let me go on: you’re not going anywhere, and I’ve got all the time in the world. Where was I? Oh yes…
Dawn found me, full of self-pity again, confused and disappointed. But, as I keep telling you, dogs are born optimists; I decided to be constructive about my plight. First I would find out a little more about myself — like exactly when I died — and then the circumstances of my death. The first would be easy, for I had a good idea of where I would find myself. You see, now I was in familiar surroundings, memories had started to soak through. Well, perhaps not memories, but — how can I put it? — recognitions were soaking through. I was on home ground. I knew where I was. Hopefully, memories of events would soon follow.
The second part — the circumstances of my death — was more difficult, and because I felt familiar places would begin to open memory valves, a visit to my plastics factory might help.
First, though: When did I die?
The graveyard was easy to find, since I knew the location of the dominating church (although the inside wasn’t too familiar to me). What was hard to locate, was my own grave. Reading had become difficult by now and many of these gravestones were poorly marked anyway. I found mine after two hours of squinting and concentrating, and was pleased to see it was still neat and tidy in appearance. I suppose to you it would seem a macabre kind of search, but I promise you, being dead is the most natural thing in the world, and it disturbed me not in the least to be mooching around for my own epitaph.