Seraphina
Butter hissed softly against the hot cast-iron pan, turning the edges of the thick sourdough a deep, blistered golden brown.
The smell of rosemary drifted up from the fresh butter I'd mixed earlier that morning, warm, rich, and earthy enough to make the whole kitchen feel smaller and safer than it really was.
I liked cooking. Recipes made promises. Follow the steps.
Stir.
Wait.
Taste.
Unlike people, ingredients rarely lied. If you gave them the proper heat, they became exactly what they were supposed to be.
They didn't wake up one morning and decided to become strangers.
They didn't look at you with kindness one day and cruelty the next.
They simply became bread. Soup. Butter. Comfort.
I set the plate down on the wooden table beside a bowl of thick tomato soup, little bubbles still breaking lazily around the edges.
"You're burning it."
Gerald muttered from his place beside the salt cellar; his painted eyes fixed on the dark crust of the bread.
"She's browning it."
Frank corrected from the windowsill, his voice carrying that familiar, disappointed sigh.
"There's a structural difference, Gerald. One is heat. The other is neglect."
"Only to people who alphabetize their spice rack."
Gerald snapped.
"The moisture is leaving the center. It'll be dry."
"Let her eat."
I rolled my eyes faintly while smiling to myself.
I tucked one foot beneath the chair and reached automatically for the sleeve that wasn't there anymore.
Funny how the body remembered comfort long after the mind decided it wasn't allowed to.
I settled for wrapping both hands around my bowl instead, stealing warmth from the soup while pretending that was all I'd been looking for.
Something had felt… Wrong. Not dangerous. Not the sharp, clinical instinct that usually whispered before something terrible happened.
Just...
Off.
Like hanging a picture perfectly straight only to realize the whole house had been built crooked. The light filtering through the trees looked frozen somehow. Even the birds seemed quieter than usual, as though they were waiting for something I couldn't hear.
I ignored it. People who listened to every strange feeling would never get anything done.
I picked up my sandwich.
Crunch.
Warm butter melted across my tongue. Halfway through the bite, I stopped chewing.
A sound drifted through the open kitchen window. I held perfectly still.
Nothing.
Only branches rubbing together high above the roof. Wind. Probably. I swallowed.
Crunch.
A bark. Max.
A small smile found its way onto my face.
"Probably chasing squirrels again."
"He's terrible at it," Gerald observed immediately.
"He lacks stealth."
"He's enthusiastic," Frank defended.
"He's unemployed."
A tiny laugh escaped before I could stop it. I reached for another bite.
Crack.
The third bite never reached my mouth.
Another bark. Different. Not playful. Not excited. Short. Sharp.
It wasn't even really a bark. It sounded...
Interrupted. As though whatever had started it had ended before Max could finish.
Silence. Not peaceful silence. The wrong silence. The kind that presses against your ears until you realize something that should be making noise...
Isn't.
The sandwich suddenly tasted like dust. I lowered it onto the plate without taking my eyes off the open window and stood up slowly.
I pushed the screen door open and stepped onto the porch. The weathered timber felt cold beneath my bare feet. Wind moved gently through the trees, turning thousands of leaves silver before letting them settle again. Everything looked exactly as it always did.
The herb beds. The old stone well. The swing beneath the oak. Nothing had changed.
Crack
The sound came further than before. I turned my face towards the sound.
Movement. Far beyond the edge of my property. Someone. Running. Not toward me. Away. The distance and the fog stole every detail. I couldn't tell if it was a man or a woman. Couldn't make out clothing or hair or even height.
Just...
Movement. Fast. Purposeful. Gone.
My stomach tightened. The strange feeling I'd carried all morning wasn't strange anymore.
It was fear.
"Max?"
My voice sounded smaller than I meant it to. No answer. I stepped off the porch. The damp earth immediately soaked through my socks.
"Max?"
Still nothing. Then I saw him. Near the old stone well. Curled strangely in the long grass.
Too still…
"Silly boy..."
The words left my mouth automatically. Maybe he was asleep. Maybe he'd been chasing something until he exhausted himself. Dogs slept in strange positions all the time.
Didn't they?
I walked faster.
"Come on, sweetheart."
Nothing. His ears didn't lift. His tail didn't wag. He didn't even open one eye. My walk became a jog. Then a run. I dropped onto my knees beside him so hard the impact shot pain through both legs.
"Max?"
My hands found his shoulders. They were trembling so violently I could barely hold onto his fur. I shook him gently. His head rolled limply against my arm. Far too easily. Far too heavily.
"No..."
There wasn't any blood. No obvious wound. No torn fur. Nothing. But something was terribly wrong. His body didn't feel asleep. It felt...
Empty.
"Max..."
My voice broke.
"Sweetheart..."
I pressed both hands against his ribs, desperate to feel something. Anything. A heartbeat. Movement. Life. Nothing answered me. Only the faintest whistle escaped between his lips, his tongue pale and beginning to darken. The world narrowed into a single, blinding point.
No.
No.
No.
I stumbled to my feet and ran. I barely remembered reaching the porch. One foot caught on an exposed root, sending me crashing against the wooden railing, but I didn't stop. The screen door slammed against the frame as I threw it open.
"Where is it?"
My voice cracked.
"Where is it.?"
The kitchen blurred around me. The table. The soup. The untouched sandwich. My phone. I'd left it somewhere after finishing my edit.
"I can't find it! My phone!"
I spun in frantic circles, searching every surface.
"Desk!"
Gerald shouted from the mantelpiece, his ceramic voice cracking with an uncharacteristic panic.
"Bedroom!"
Frank yelled from somewhere down the corridor.
"You left it on the nightstand after the nightmare!"
"I SAID DESK!"
Gerald bellowed back, stamping his tiny painted feet against the mantle.
"Because she had it next to the source material!"
My eyes landed on the small wooden side table beneath the window. There. I lunged for it. Running back outside I ran to Max dropping beside him looking to make sure if it was real. My hands in his fur I still can’t feel anything. He still wasn’t moving.
The screen was smeared with dirt and streaks of Max's fur as my trembling fingers fumbled to unlock it. Buried beneath the contacts was the number I'd quietly saved after Tuesday night, copied from the battered business card Elias had left on my kitchen counter before the rain. I pressed his name.
Call.
One ring.
“Come On!” I screamed.
Two.
“Answer the phone, Reed!”
Three.
The line clicked. A familiar, gravel-rough voice answered.
"Reed."
The sound of it shattered something inside me. I opened my mouth, but no words came. Only a broken sob. A raw, helpless sound that scraped its way out of my throat before I could stop it.
"Elias..."
Silence. Then his voice changed immediately. The detective disappeared.
"Seraphina?"
Another beat.
"Seraphina…"
His breathing sharpened.
"Talk to me, baby."
My heart shatters further. Come on, stop crying, it's not the time.
"Please, talk to me."
I tried. I tried to tell him about Max. About the man running into the woods. About the awful feeling that had been sitting in my chest all morning. But before a single word escaped…
The screen went black.
No warning. No low-battery notification. Nothing. Just darkness. The battery had died. I stared at my own reflection in the dead screen for one long second. Then another.
"No..."
My whisper cracked.
"No... no, no..."
I slapped the side of the phone.
"Please..."
Again.
"Please don't do this!"
Nothing.
The screen remained black. People always talk about mother strength. They tell stories about women lifting cars off their children or running through burning buildings without feeling the flames. I don't know if any of those stories are true.
But I do know this.
When someone you love stops breathing…
Something takes over. Something that doesn't ask permission. Something that doesn't care how much you weigh. Or how much they do. Sliding my arms beneath his chest and hindquarters. He was far too heavy. Ninety pounds of muscle. Bone. Warmth. My knees trembled before I even lifted.
Lift.
Pain exploded across my back. The edges of my vision turned black as I hauled him against my chest, every muscle screaming beneath the strain. My teeth ground together so hard I thought they might crack. His weight crushed the air from my lungs. Still...
I stood.
One shaking step.
Then another.
Mud soaked into my dress, staining the pale fabric dark brown as I staggered toward the sedan.
The rear door flew open beneath my foot.
Using every ounce of leverage I had left, I managed to slide his body across the back seat.
His head rolled sideways onto the upholstery.
A tiny, bubbling breath escaped him. Still breathing.
Barely.
I ran back inside. Paper. Pen. Anything. My hands shook so violently the words barely resembled letters. I taped the first note to my front door.
Phone died.
Max is hurt.
Taking him to Blackridge Veterinary Clinic.
Please.
Then I ran. The gravel tore into the bottoms of my feet as I sprinted the quarter mile to Elias's cottage. I slapped the second note onto his screen door.
Phone died.
Max.
Vet.
No explanations. No apologies. Just enough.
He'd understand. I prayed he would. The sedan coughed violently before the engine finally caught.
I slammed it into gear. The tyres spun through the mud before finding the road.
Branches whipped past the windows as I flew down the mountain, the steering wheel vibrating beneath my white-knuckled grip.
Fog rolled across the highway in long ribbons, swallowing the pines until they became little more than blurred shadows. I could barely see through the tears.
"Stay with me..."
My voice broke. I looked into the rearview mirror. Max lay exactly where I'd left him. Still.
Too still.
I reached back with one hand, blindly searching until my fingertips disappeared into the thick fur around his neck. Warm. Still warm.
"Come on, buddy..."
Another sob escaped me.
"You can do this."
The words dissolved into tears. I swallowed hard. I never said I needed him. I didn't tell him I couldn't imagine walking back into that cottage alone. I only knew one thing. Elias needed him. Elias already carried ten names in his ribs. If Max disappeared too...
Something inside that stubborn, guarded man would break in a way that could never be repaired.
"Please..."
My voice was barely audible now. The tires screamed as I hit the highway, the valley rushing past in streaks of green and grey. I reached back one last time, burying my fingers deeper into his fur.
"Come on, boy..."
A tear slid onto the steering wheel.
"Elias needs you."
Another sob caught in my throat.
"Please..."
"Don't leave him."
“I need you."
"Don't leave me too."