The Dog

I know that dog.

It seemed impossible at first. I thought that, well, all beagles look kind of alike. This had to be a coincidence. But there are no coincidences around this woman. I look at it, and now I am sure. That was my brother’s dog.

He gave it away years ago, long before he embarked on his doomed mission to destroy Mary Worth. He wanted to protect him from the twisted duty that had consumed our lives. I remember that around the time of my brother’s death, the family that adopted it called me, and told me the dog had escaped. They had looked everywhere for him, posted advertisements in local newspapers, everything, but it never appeared. The dog had vanished from the surface of the earth.

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Now, nearly a year later, the dog just suddenly appears casually being walked by its master’s murderer? I do not know what is the meaning of this, but I am not going to idly sit while that monster parades my brother’s dog around the city as a trophy of her victory. I may have let her crimes go unpunished, not I am not about to let her continue to mock my brother even after his death.

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