Mind Blind What-If: The Dog Ate It

                “Allow me to ascertain that I have this straight,” Ambrose says, pinching the bridge of his nose in effort to ward off a migraine. “A member of Vengeance gave you a flash drive.”

                “Correct,” you confirm.

                “A flash drive which, according to this same Vengeance member, contained information about Justice.”

                You nod.

                “Yet somehow, in a stunning display of gross incompetence, you’ve lost it.”

                “In my defense,” you retort, angrier with yourself than Ambrose could ever be, “I gave it to Kent for safekeeping before I was kidnapped.”

                Ambrose’s glare slides several inches to your right, where Kent has begun slowly backing his way towards The Station’s elevator.

                “I see,” Ambrose says coldly. “Nox?”

                Kent mutters something, and Ambrose’s expression chills from icy to glacial. “Where is the usb drive?” he demands. “I must have misheard you.”

                Kent shoots you a pleading look, but you cross your arms, not about to jump to your partner’s defense after he lost something that could’ve potentially helped rescue Nick. You expected that Kent would have spent the half hour that Andy abducted you in a frantic search. But no. Instead of desperately trying to get you back, Kent had casually popped back to his house in order to take out his dogs.

                “Repeat your statement, Nox,” Ambrose orders when Kent remains silent.

                Your gaze locks with Kent’s before he looks guiltily away. He mutters something once more, and Ambrose takes a menacing step forward.

                “Which dog?” Ambrose asks with a thunderous frown.

                “Cassandra,” Kent replies. “The vet said that it should pass naturally. I gave her a teaspoon of fish oil, which should help—”

                Ambrose holds up a hand to cut him off. “And where is this dog now?”

                “Talia is watching her back at my place, sir.”

                “How long until we can . . . recover the usb?”

                “Likely within a few hours, sir,” Kent says. “Cassandra’s a small dog.”

* * * *

                Six hours later, the flashdrive is still within the belly of the beast. Ambrose banished you and Kent from The Station, ordering that neither of you return until the usb had been . . . recovered.

                “And send Parker back,” Ambrose had crankily ordered. “I need her running voice recognition on Vengeance, not . . .” He pinched the bridge of his nose once again and sighed. “Just tell Parker to return.”

                With Glitch having left for Aeon, it falls to you and Kent to keep vigil. Cassandra, alas, has proven disinclined to cooperate with your schedule. She and Antigone are laying between you and Kent on the couch, both on their backs, their paws jutting straight into the air as if being held up by a Wild West sheriff. Antigone’s legs move as if running—maybe in her dreams, she’s finally able to get to the ball before her sister.

                “I’m sorry,” Kent says, his voice heavy with regret. “I know how important your brother is to you.”

                “It’s not as if you ate it yourself.” You try to keep your tone lighthearted, but worry shades your jest. “Dogs are gonna dog. Nothing we can do about it.”

                “Even so, I’m sorry.”

                Cassandra lets out a sound that’s half-snore, half-whimper, and Kent rests a placating hand on her exposed belly. Still asleep, she curls her paws around his hand in an awkward hug.

                Despite her actions having potentially jeopardized Nick’s life, it’s impossible for you to be angry at an animal that’s so utterly adorable.

* * * *

                Eight hours later, and it’s now three am. The sun has long since set, and Antigone is still curled up in her bed fast asleep.

                You and Kent stand in his backyard, waiting for Cassandra to stop sniffing her own posterior. Impatiently waiting because, to reiterate, it’s three am in the goddamn morning.

                Kent squats down beside Cassandra. He snaps his fingers in front of her, his pale skin even paler in the bluish lighting of your cellphone’s flashlight.

                “Focus, girl!” he encourages. “Do your business!”

                Cassandra stares at him, blinks slowly, then resumes sniffing her backside.

                “Please do your business?” Kent asks.

                Cassandra doesn’t even dignify his request with a sideways glance.

                Kent stands back up with a defeated sigh. “We’ll try again in another hour.”

                Nine hours later, at four am, you and Kent attempt to coax Cassandra from her bed to the backyard. She refuses to budge and snaps at Kent’s hands when he attempts to pick her up.

* * * *

                Eleven hours later, at six am, you and Kent celebrate as Cassandra’s back hunches.

                She farts, loudly, but the key to Nick’s salvation remains unrecoverable.

* * * *

                Twelve hours later. Seven am. Your eyes burn from staying awake all night, and your neck aches from looking downwards at a dog who is indifferent to your suffering.

                Cassandra cares naught for your brother’s life. Her cruel whims snatched away Caleb’s gift, and now she refuses to return it. You have never hated something so adorable before, but Cassandra?

                Initially, you were deceived by the cheery yellow hairbow and cutely lolling tongue. No longer.

                This beast is the spawn of Cerberus.

                “Come on, Cassie,” Kent begs. “Do your business.”

                Cassandra trots back inside the house with the indifference of a cruel god ignoring the prayers of her supplicants. She paws at her food bowl and shoots Kent an expectant look, demanding that he appease her with an offering of kibble.

                Kent complies, seasoning her food with another half-teaspoon of salmon oil.

* * * *

                After thirteen hours at Kent’s house, you have determined that no, all dogs do NOT go to heaven. Cassandra has already dragged you down to the pits of hell.

                You and Kent take her for a walk around the neighborhood (“to get things moving,” Kent says). Annie is still sleeping, which is what you also desperately yearn to be doing after having gone over twenty-four hours without so much as a cat nap.

                You and Kent circle the block once, to no avail. You didn’t think that you could ever hate an adorable little animal, but Cass is no longer adorable in your eyes. She is evil personified, the most disagreeable mutt in existence. The world would’ve been a better place had her mother been spayed.

                (Maybe you’re being melodramatic, but it’s been over a day since you slept. And that’s after having been carnapped by a member of Vengeance.)

                Cassandra pauses her trot to look back up at you, her expression wary and her upper lip slowly curling to showcase tiny white fangs. She senses your resentment.

                You force yourself to smile at her.

                “Come on, Cassie,” Kent coos. “Who’s my pretty princess? Do your business, baby girl.” His voice cracks with frustrated exhaustion. “Please.”

                You’re in front of your house once more, standing before the very driveway at the end of which Nick has so often greeted you. But Nick isn’t home right now. He might never come home again, unless Cassandra cooperates. Your emotions catch in your throat, sharp and choking, the reality of Nick’s disappearance slicing through you like a molten knife.

                You miss your brother.

                Something wet licks the back of your hand. You look down to see Cassandra standing on her hind legs, meerkat-style, gazing up at your tear-streaked face as if she only now comprehends the depth of your sorrow.

                You pat the top of her head. None of this is the dog’s fault, after all, and it’s not really her that you’re upset with. Cassandra licks your hand once more, then falls back onto all four legs. She trots a few steps away, glancing back at you and Kent warily before letting out a “god, this is embarrassing!” huff through her nose. Her back arches.

                There, in the middle of Nick’s driveway, Cassandra leaves behind the greatest gift of all. She returns the usb shared by Caleb, within which is your best chance of finding out what Vengeance has done to your brother.

                This dog is the best dog. The smartest girl. The most beautiful, benevolent pup to ever graced earth with her cutey-patootie presence. You take Cassandra’s leash from Kent, gracing him with a wan smile as you detach the bag holder from the leash handle.

                “Your dog,” you tell him, handing over a small plastic baggie. “Your job.”

*Disclaimer: If your dog eats a flashdrive, please consult with a veterinarian immediately. This story is intended for humorous purposes only, written in an idealized world where no puppy ever has to deal with dangerous consequences for their actions.