Chapter 7 - The Empty Leash
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The police arrived an hour later. Two tired, overworked officers walked through the shattered door, took down some notes on a stained notepad, and looked at the damage with complete apathy.
"It's just a dog, ma'am," the older officer sighed, rubbing his eyes. "We'll file a report, but honestly, stolen pets end up out of state by morning. You shouldn't hold your breath."
"He wasn't just a pet," Brier pleaded, holding an ice pack to her swelling cheek. "He was her eyes. He was her mobility."
The cops offered empty apologies and left.
The morning sun rose, cold and unforgiving. The apartment felt impossibly, suffocatingly empty. There was no heavy breathing in the hallway. There was no massive head resting on the edge of the bed.
Posie sat in her wheelchair, her small hands gripping the armrests so tightly her knuckles were white.
"Is he coming back, Mama?" Posie asked, her voice a hollow, broken whisper.
Brier knelt in front of her daughter, her heart shattering into a million jagged pieces. She wrapped her arms around the little girl's legs.
"I'm going to find him, baby," Brier promised, though she had absolutely no idea how. "I swear to you."
She had to go to work. She couldn't afford to lose the shift, not when she now needed money to buy a new door and somehow find a way to track down a violent criminal ring. She dressed Posie, relying purely on her own strength to guide the wheelchair down the three flights of stairs.
The walk to the diner was agonizing. Posie didn't reach her left hand out. She kept it tucked tightly against her chest, refusing to hold onto empty air. When Mrs. Yun offered the morning apple, Posie didn't say thank you. She just cried silently, the tears falling onto her lap.
When Brier pushed the wheelchair into the diner, Mrs. Fam took one look at Brier's bruised face, the shattered expression on the little girl, and the empty space beside the chair.
"They took him," Mrs. Fam stated, her voice dropping to a harsh whisper.
Brier nodded, unable to speak around the lump in her throat.
May you like
Mrs. Fam untied her grease-stained apron and threw it onto the counter. She walked over to Brier, her eyes burning with an unexpected, fierce intensity.
"The police won't do anything for people like us," Mrs. Fam said, her voice hard. "But there's someone in the back booth who owes me a favor. And he hates men who smile too much."
