Chapter 26
Chapter Twenty-Six
“Okay buddy,” I said, pulling off to the side of the road right around where I had first found him. “Let’s figure out what you want.”
This was as far south as I knew he had gotten, the beginning of the trail to wherever Rogue kept trying to get back to. And whatever it was that continued to draw him here, Rogue and I were going to get to the bottom of it.
If only so he wouldn’t completely destroy Kenna’s lawn before I could find somewhere more permanent for us to live. Living in her guest bedroom was nice, but it was also strange. The space was cozy, thoughtfully arranged, and far nicer than my studio had been, but it wasn’t mine.
I still caught myself quietly jumping at shadows, looking out the window, and generally trying to keep to myself. Rogue, on the other hand, had no such reservations. And if I didn’t solve his fixation soon, Kenna’s carefully landscaped yard was going to become collateral damage.
A small part of me still bristled at how temporary everything felt—sleeping in borrowed space, living out of a duffel bag, never quite unpacking because I didn’t know how long I’d be welcome.
Maybe solving Rogue’s mystery would help me feel a little more anchored. Or maybe I was just desperate for something in my life to make sense.
“Be a good boy, okay?” I said as I unbuckled him from the seat belt and clipped the leash to him instead. “Don’t pull, you understand me? I’m going to let you go where you want to go, but if you pull too hard, I’m not going to give you treats.”
Rogue stared back at me with a vacant expression, uncomprehending anything aside from the words ‘good boy’ and ‘treats’.
“Okay,” I said, more to myself than to him. As I locked the door and snagged a waste disposal bag from the dispenser I kept in the trunk, I prepared myself for a potentially rigorous trek down the highway.
I had the whole day before my shift. We would get as far as we could and if it wasn’t far enough then tomorrow I would drive him out to the furthest point we’d reached and try again.
At first, the terrain was manageable. Rogue trotted along the gravel shoulder of the road, nose down, tracking something only he could see. The farther South we went, the more confident he became, pulling slightly ahead, setting a pace that made it clear he knew exactly where he was going.
It almost felt like going for a run, except he was the one in charge.
He made that very clear about half a mile down the road where he veered sharply to the right.
“Hey—” I started, but he was already cutting across a stretch of uneven field, tall grass brushing against my legs as I hurried to keep up.
The ground sloped gently downward, the soil soft and uneven beneath my hiking boots, riddled with hidden divots and stones.
Rogue wasn’t slowed down by them, weaving between low shrubs and clusters of wildflowers, dragging me after him with relentless determination.
“Apparently we’re doing this the hard way,” I muttered.
The field gave way to a narrow band of trees, and Rogue plunged straight into it.
Branches snagged my jacket and hair, thorns scraping lightly across my jeans.
The air shifted, cooler and damp, as I ducked under low-hanging limbs, stumbled over exposed roots, and narrowly avoided planting my face in the dirt more than once.
By the time we emerged on the other side, I was already breathing harder than I liked.
The river lay just ahead, wide and glinting in the sunlight.
Rogue angled toward it without slowing, leading us along the riverbank where the earth was packed down by years of fluctuating water levels.
For a while, the terrain evened out, the steady rush of the current providing a strange sort of rhythm to our steps.
Eventually, the river intersected with a more established path, the narrow dirt line widening into the familiar sprawl of an actual trail. And five minutes into walking along the trail I spotted a sign that told me what I already suspected; that we had made our way to the Deschutes River Trail.
If we stayed on it long enough, we’d eventually reach the more popular southern trails, the ones hikers and tourists flocked to. The ones that Lexi had mastered only to vanish from.
Rogue had other plans. He only briefly used the trail before cutting sharply away from the marked path, dragging me back into the trees and brush.
This time the forest thickened, the undergrowth dense enough that I had to pick my way through carefully, lifting my knees high to clear fallen logs and tangles of blackberry vine.
My calves burned. Sweat trickled down my spine.
“Do you ever get tired?” I asked him, breathlessly.
Rogue flicked an ear in acknowledgment but did not slow.
We followed the river more closely now, the trail little more than instinct and broken branches. By the time Rogue finally slowed, my lungs were on fire and my legs felt like they were filled with wet sand.
Finally, he stopped at a bend in the river where the bank widened into a flat, rocky stretch. The water rushed faster here, curling around exposed stones, the sound louder, almost insistent. Rogue stood still, tail lifted, ears pricked forward.
I stared down at him, chest heaving. “This,” I managed, “this is it?”
He turned his head slightly, gaze fixed on the water, then glanced back at me, as if to confirm that yes—this was exactly what he’d been trying to show me.
I bent forward, hands braced on my knees, trying to catch my breath. Everything in me ached. My thighs trembled. My pulse roared in my ears. We had to be miles from the car, miles from anything familiar.
And yet, standing there beside him, watching the river churn past, I couldn’t shake the feeling that we were exactly where Rogue had meant to take me.
“Go on,” I encouraged, and I watched as Rogue went up to the water and sniffed a little, whining before he turned to look back at me like it was my turn to do something. What he wanted me to do, I couldn’t even begin to guess.
“Do you want some water?” I asked, reaching around to pull my backpack off, planning to offer him a drink. Instead of responding to my question, Rogue inched forward, placing his paws in the cold river water before stepping back again with another whine, ears down flat.
Not thirsty, then.
“Do you want to go in?” I asked, and though he couldn’t answer I figured that was as good a theory as any. It was a warm enough day that I decided to wade into the water a little myself. I glanced back at the dog standing anxiously on the shore. I shook my head.
“Come on, Rogue. Come here, boy. It’s okay.” I tugged on the leash a little, not to force him into the water but to encourage him. “Come on, boy, I’ve got you.”
Rogue whined again, his little ears perking up as I pitched my voice higher. He stamped his paws in the soft mud like he was gearing up and then took a tentative step forward. And then another.
“That’s it!” I called. “Come on, boy!”
With all four paws in the water he seemed to gain confidence, trotting another four steps over to me with his tail pointing straight down. Well, as straight as it could be with the kink in it.
I ran a hand across his head, making comforting sounds when I felt the way his body was shaking. The water was freezing, but I had a feeling that his shivering had more to do with fear.
“You are so brave,” I told him, scratching behind his ear. “But we’ve done enough for one day. Come on, let’s get you back on dry land and head home. We’ve got a long walk back.”
I took a step forward, leash in hand as I tried to lead him out of the water. He didn’t budge; all one hundred and ten pounds of muscle refusing to move as he whined at me once more.
“I don’t know what you’re saying, buddy,” I told him, frowning.
He took a step away from me, deeper into the river.
I shook my head, holding fast to the leash but more than a little worried as I was reminded of just how strong and heavy this dog was.
If he wanted to, he could drag me anywhere he pleased, and while the water level was low.
the middle of the river still had a strong current I wasn’t interested in trying to fight.
Rogue didn’t have that concern, though, and kept going, the water becoming deeper as he went.
Thankfully he only walked another few steps, right before the leash became taut between us.
He stopped and looked back at me, tail still down.
I stared back, frustrated and confused. Clearly he wanted something and had wanted it badly enough to come back here over and over.
But he couldn’t tell me what it was he wanted and I didn’t know how to help.
After a few moments of staring at each other, he looked away from me, down at the water rushing around his paws. I took a step forward, curious what had his attention. Perhaps a previous owner had brought him out here and thrown a ball or frisbee that had gotten stuck in the rocks?
I couldn’t think of any other reason for his behavior as I watched him duck his head under the water and then jerk back, clearly not liking the experience. Still, he stayed where he was, agitated but refusing to give up.
I took another few steps forward but before I could reach him, he began digging at the riverbed in the water, letting out a high-pitched whine as he worked.
I rushed to his side, grabbing his collar and trying to haul him back. He was flinging mud and debris everywhere.
“Okay, stop!” I said, but he either didn’t hear me or chose to ignore me as he continued his frenzied digging, water splashing up all around him and soaking my shirt as I continued to pull at the immovable force that was a dog who desperately wanted something.
I could feel the rocks beneath my feet and knew that he was going to hurt himself if he kept digging at them. “Rogue, enough!”
The force of my tone caught his attention, and he stopped digging long enough for me to pull him away from the spot. I let go of his collar and carefully made my way back to where he had been digging.
“I’ll get it,” I told him, hoping whatever it was he wanted was something I could get. He was incredibly focused on this spot, so I doubted it was something as mundane as a bit of food he once saw thrown into the water, but I couldn’t think of anything else that would have a dog this obsessed.
Reaching into the water, I felt around the rocks, hooking my fingers under one, and then another as I slowly shifted them to the side and prayed that whatever he wanted was still there. If it wasn’t, I didn’t know enough about dog training to explain that to him.
As I wondered about the thinking and reasoning capacities of intelligent dogs, I felt my fingers brush against something that wasn’t rock or dirt. It felt rough, but had some give to it, like canvas. A collar, maybe?
Rogue whimpered and I dunked my other hand into the water, feeling around for an edge I could grab onto. It was too big to be a collar, but it was definitely some kind of fabric.
After a few seconds my left hand finally found an edge and I pulled, trying to maneuver it out of the water and into the light of day. It was heavy, though, and bigger than I expected. There were other rocks holding it down, and I slipped a little as I realized pulling it out wasn’t an option.
Throwing my hands forward to catch my balance I managed to keep from falling face first into the water and my hand dipped further under the cloth and tangled in coarse wet strands of vegetation.
Frustrated, I pulled my hands out of the water and reached over to remove the tangle of vegetation only to freeze as I saw the distinct black strands of curly hair wrapped around my fingers instead.
My heart and my stomach both jumped into my throat and I had to close my eyes as I fought the instinct to shake the hair off my skin. Nausea roiled in my gut, and I realized exactly what Rogue had led me to.
He barked as I turned away from the spot and headed back to shore with my left hand outstretched from my body, like if I kept it far enough from my core I might not have to think about how it got there or who it might belong to.
“It’s okay,” I told him, forcing a calm tone that I did not feel. “You did a good job, buddy. I’ve got it from here.”
Pulling one of the doggie bags out of my backpack, I used it to gather up the loose hair on my hand. Tying it, I set it beside my backpack and took a deep, long breath.
Then I retrieved my phone and dialed.