Authors: Alexa Grace
"Yes, no school for a week. Once the snow stopped, we built a snowman, went sledding, and came inside for hot chocolate."
Tim opened the front door, ushering in a flurry of snowflakes. When he returned, he stomped his feet on the rug. Carrying an armful of logs, he set them in the rack by the fireplace. He removed his coat, brushed the snow out of his hair, and asked, "What are you two talking about?"
Megan smiled and said, "We were just reminiscing about building snowmen and going sledding. I'm headed to the kitchen to make us some hot chocolate." She patted Jennifer's hand, then left the room.
Grinning, Tim looked at his daughter and said, "Do you think I should remind your mother that we have no electricity to make hot cocoa?" Impulsively, he hugged Jennifer and kissed the top of her head, and then went to the kitchen.
With both parents out of the room, Jennifer pulled back the covers and crept past her parents' Christmas tree to get to the front window. The falling snow blasted the window, and was so thick she could barely see the end of the driveway at times. The wreath that had once graced the neighbor's door rolled past like a tumbleweed. It was not fit weather for anyone to be out, but Blake was out there, looking for their son.
The baby kicked and Jennifer placed her hand on her baby bump. Tears welled up in her eyes when she felt another kick, and said aloud, "I know, sweetheart. I'm worried, too, baby, about your daddy and your big brother out alone in this storm."
Blake was out there somewhere, exposed to the cutting wind, drifting snow, and treacherous road conditions. Jennifer hugged herself, not from the cold, but from the thought of Blake not finding Shawn. Even worse, the thought of Blake not returning home to her at all was unbearable. She'd seen so little of him the past few days. He'd come home only to eat and sleep a couple of hours before he headed out to continue his search for the little boy who would become their son. If only Blake could find him.
There were maybe two hours left before the dark of night enveloped the area. Her dad told her that Blake promised to come home to her, with or without Shawn, before dark. Jennifer's stomach clenched, for she knew if Blake arrived without the little boy, they might never find him alive.
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Lane searched their property on foot, calling for Hunter, but there was no sign of him. Thanks to the wind and snow obliterating any tracks Hunter might have made, the search was that much more difficult. He had absolutely no idea where the big dog was headed.
Running away was not in the dog's character. Neither he nor Frankie had to use a leash with Hunter in ages. There was no need; the dog clung to them, seemingly having no desire to bound away. Lane didn't understand it. Why would Hunter have left the warmth of their home to run away in this treacherous weather? What was so important for him to leave Ashley's side?
Lane made his way back to the side of the house, boots crunching as he trudged through the drifted snow. He'd decided to use the ATV to search further down the road, but wanted to give Frankie a heads-up before starting out.
After stomping his boots on the outside mat, Lane entered the house where Frankie and Ashley's eyes searched his expression for an answer.
"I haven't found him yet," he began, as disappointment crossed their faces. "Hey, I'm not giving up. I just came in to tell you I'm taking the ATV out to look for him."
Filled with emotion, Frankie flew to Lane, throwing her arms around his neck, and kissed him hard. "I love you so much, Lane. You come back to me, you hear? And bring that stupid dog with you." She managed a weak smile.
Tightening his arms around her, he whispered, "Baby, everything is going to be okay." Lane loosened his grip on Frankie and bent down to pick Ashley up, then hugged the two of them. Swallowing hard, he held them silently against his body.
After a moment, Lane relinquished his wife and daughter to open the door, returning to the snowy cold as he fished the ATV keys out of his pocket. There was maybe an hour and a half of light remaining in the day, he thought, as he turned the ignition and flipped on the vehicle's headlights. The winds had picked up, making steering the ATV difficult, and his arms began to ache as he struggled to keep it on the road. Lane stopped frequently, calling out Hunter's name.
It hit him again how odd it was that Hunter took off like he did. Hunter was not just any dog. He was a certified search and rescue dog who'd undergone hours of training to perfect his special skills. If Hunter was begging Ashley to let him out, he had to have a good reason to want to leave their home. But what was it?
When Lane realized he'd driven at least half a mile, he braked again to call for Hunter and look around. Looking back, he couldn't see the lights of his house. Looking ahead, he saw nothing but huge flakes of snow that scooted across his ski goggles, now blowing in powerful gusts that threatened to knock him off the ATV.
Lane drove ahead until he unexpectedly saw something big and black crossing the road ahead. Hunter? He slammed on the accelerator to pick up speed, when suddenly the ATV crashed against something hard enough to propel Lane into the air, until he landed hard on his back in a snowdrift. He lay there stunned for a moment, the wind knocked out of him.
Sucking in the cold air was painful, but he had to fill his lungs. Lane struggled to sit, and then stand up. He looked in every direction. A thick, white cloud surrounded him, blinding him to everything. He could see nothing. Lane had no idea which direction to take. Where was the ATV? He took a deep breath to calm himself. By his estimation, he was thrown maybe four or five feet. But in which direction?
Fighting the violent gust of wind, he trudged through the snow toward what he hoped was the road. Minutes later, which seemed like hours, Lane found the ATV slammed against a fence, lying on its side. He pushed on the vehicle as hard as he could until he could upright it. He leapt onto the snow-covered seat and turned the ignition. Nothing. It wouldn't start.
Lane cursed and kicked the side of the vehicle. He then headed down the road in a direction that he prayed would lead him home. After a long, cold and exhausting walk, Lane saw the lights of his house, and prepared himself to tell Frankie and Ashley he had not found Hunter, and the weather had turned too bad to go out again to search for him, at least until tomorrow.
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Blake drove the ATV down Elm Street, passing a couple of houses that could have been Billy Collins' house. He stopped at each, but unsure he had the right address, moved forward. The reduced visibility spawned by the storm made it increasingly difficult to identify the right house. He had Billy's address with his house number written on a piece of paper in a file that now lay on his desk back at his office.
The front porch at the next house looked familiar. With its porch light blazing, there were red and green twinkling holiday lights hung in the large front picture window that lay beneath a transom window made of etched and leaded glass. This was the Collins' home. Blake had admired that transom window from his car, he'd know it anywhere.
He stopped the ATV, turned off the ignition, and trudged through snowdrifts, at times reaching his knees, as he made his way to the house. Blake had made it to the front porch and was about to ring the doorbell, when he noticed a large, dark, furry mass lying against the side of the house. Approaching it, he pulled his flashlight from his pocket, shining it into the face of a huge, black dog that wore glistening flakes of snow all over his body. Stroking the dog's head, he pulled at its collar until he found the identification tag that read "Hunter." It was Frankie and Lane's search-and-rescue dog.
"What the hell are you doing this far from home, Hunter?" Blake asked, as he brushed the snow from Hunter's coat. The dog leaned into him for warmth and whined as Blake pulled him closer. Blake fished out his cell phone from his pocket to call Lane, but soon discovered there was no service. He had no choice but to keep the big dog with him until he could interview Billy Collins again. Then he'd take Hunter home to the Brennan's house with him in the ATV.
Blake moved to the front door to ring the doorbell, with Hunter pressed against his leg. No one answered, but that did not deter Blake. He opened the screen door and pounded on the front door.
Soon he heard footfalls, the twist of the knob, and the door opened to reveal a surprised Tom Collins. "What in the world are you doing out in this storm, detective?" he asked.
Tom had barely asked the question when Hunter bounded inside, with Blake calling after him. "Hunter, stop."
"Is that your dog?"
"No, he belongs to my boss and his wife."
The men followed the Giant Schnauzer, who was sniffing the sofa, chair, then rug, racing from one to the other.
"What's he doing?" asked Tom as he watched.
"Not sure. He's a search-and-rescue dog. This is the way he behaves when he's on the job."
Hunter sat on his haunches and barked as if to communicate his frustration. He then ran down a short hall into the kitchen, where Blake could hear a woman and a small boy scream in alarm.
"Hunter, come back here," Blake shouted as he raced toward the room. Terrified that a strange and huge dog had entered their kitchen, both Cheryl and Billy Collins were standing on kitchen chairs when Blake and Tom arrived.
"It's okay," Blake began. "You can get down. This is Hunter. As soon as I can catch him, I'll put him outside."
Tom helped his wife and son down from the chairs, as Hunter, still sniffing wildly, headed back toward the front of the house. By the time Blake reached him, Hunter sat before a door in the hallway in an alert position that Blake had seen many times when the dog found the person they were looking for.
Quietly, Blake moved toward the dog, then bent down and whispered, "What is it, Hunter?"
Suddenly, Billy Collins rounded the corner and bolted down the hallway until he came to a stop and wedged himself between the door and the dog.
"Bad dog," he screamed at Hunter. "Bad dog, go away!"
Hunter ignored the boy's pleas and remained frozen in his alert position.
Losing the fear he had of the dog just moments before in the kitchen, Billy pushed at Hunter, crying out, "Go away! Go away!"
At that moment, Billy's parents reached them. Tom grabbed his son's arm and said, "Billy Collins. Stop it. What's gotten into you?"
Billy burst into loud, hysterical tears, and struggled to get out of his father's grip. "Daddy, make the bad dog leave. Make him leave."
Blake straightened, looking directly into the eyes of the confused father, and asked, "Where does this door lead?"
"It goes to the stairs that lead to our attic," answered Tom.
"Nooooooo," screamed Billy, tears flowing from his eyes and down his face. "You can't go up there."
Unmoved by his sobs, Blake bent down to the boy's eye level and asked, "Who's in the attic, Billy? Who are you hiding?"
Panic-stricken, Billy implored Blake, "If you're really Shawn's friend like you said you were, you'd take this dog and go away. Please, just leave him alone."