Nettie and the Sheperd

Chapter 1

Summer had been snuffed away a month prior by autumn. October’s chilly evening dampened ideas of a person getting out and enjoying the weather. Once most of Deputy Point’s folks had left work and arrived home, they decided to stay inside, nestled beside a warm fireplace or a furnace that was cranked up, shoving away the cold.

But not Scott who strolled along the sidewalk downtown, very happy.

Nothing, he felt, could pull him away from the happiness in his gut. Hours before he had proposed to Jennifer. The timing was right, and she had accepted. Scott had no idea she had been ready to hear him pop the question for more than six months. Jennifer had tried to act more surprised than she had been because somehow, she knew he was going to ask her.

Perhaps it also helped how everything was arranged on the table, tucked into a back room where mostly parties or business meetings took place, a waiter already present to take their order, and a violinist ready to draw the bow across a string to produce a note.

At the Italian restaurant on Spring Street, a candle on the table, a single rose in a vase half full of water, were all ingredients stirred into a pleasant, romantic scene for Jennifer. Dating for a few years now, both were ready to commit to marriage and pack the house—one they were going to purchase very soon—with many children. Scott and Jennifer loved their nieces and nephews to death. Both of them had been married once before; both marriages ending in terrible divorces. They were ready to start afresh and mold a better life, a better marriage.

The two were definitely soul mates. Each could almost tell what the other was thinking before the first words were spoken. For example, when they would be driving along in the car and Scott would be in deep thought about taking a much-needed vacation Jennifer might mention how nice it would be to fly down south.

It was odd. Nearly haunting.

Scott looked down at his watch: nine-thirty. He needed to get home. Macy, his German shepherd, would need to be walked so she could do her business outside. Thinking of Jennifer, he figured she would be making her rounds at the hospital by now, checking on patients. She said she’d call him after she woke up tomorrow afternoon and they could get some lunch at the coffee shop on the corner of Spring Street and Lloyd. Besides the great coffee, they had great food. Used to be that Jennifer didn’t like coffee very much; working third shift changed that. Caffeine suddenly became a new drug of choice.

Scott flipped up the collar on his coat, warding off the chilly breeze, and walked to his car. He’d already gone three blocks, allowing his mind to project his and Jennifer’s future together. He was ecstatic! This woman he loved was going to be his bride!

As he placed his hand on the handle of the car’s door he heard a dog yelp. Whipping his head around, he saw a dog at the mouth of a dark alley, limping.

Hey, boy, you okay? Scott’s fingers left the handle.

The dog whined.

You okay? Scott clicked his tongue twice. Come here, boy, I won’t hurt you.

The dog whined again and backed away, the limp not making it easy to do so. A sliver of darkness covered its rear end.

Scott, being soft-hearted, had volunteered to work at the Humane Society one day a week, beginning a couple of years ago. Horrible things drifted into the building. Things he would rather not have witnessed. Animals abandoned overnight, deposited by their owners in the small shack out back which had no heat, only four or five cages. Animals who might have a broken leg or, worse, a missing eye because the owners would punish their pet for pissing on the carpet or tearing up something of value or perhaps the owners did it for spite, not liking that their spouse had allowed their child to bring home a family pet. It speared his heart witnessing the abused animals, like they were bags of garbage.

Other things sometimes haunted him in his dreams, things he would rather not recall. Hey, boy, you wanna go get warm and get some food?

The dog cocked his head.

Honest! Scott assured. No funny business. How about some chicken? Like chicken?

The dog’s tail wagged.

Scott kneeled down. "Come here! Come here, boy!" he called.

The dog inched forward, its nose pointed to the ground. Thoughts of abuse ran through Scott’s brain. He had seen it way too many times. If he could get the dog to trust him he could take him through a fast food drive-thru and buy him a few grilled chicken sandwiches.

The dog was ten feet from Scott.

"That’s it. Come on. Let’s go get you something to eat."

And we’ll get you to the doctor tonight.

A twenty-four hour animal hospital was available for animal patients in Hampshire, the next town over. Scott trusted them. The staff had taken exceptional care of Macy when she hurt her leg.

The dog stopped three feet away, raised its head, sniffed.

It’s okay. I’m one of the good guys. Let’s get you some food. Whaddaya say?

Suddenly the dog stopped sniffing, backed away.

Hey. Where you going?

The dog turned and, in a limp-sprint type of movement, bolted into the dark alley.

Crap! Scott cursed. Well… He sighed. I tried. He got up and opened the car door. As soon as his butt touched the seat, he turned the key, heard the engine growl, and a long, guttural dog’s yelp whipped through the air.

Jeez!

Scowling, Panic hauled off and slapped the back of Scott’s head.

Scott turned his car off and allowed the darkness of the alley to swallow him as he ran.

The dog’s yelps became consistent.

Hold on, boy, I’m comin’! Scott prayed he didn’t stumble. The dark could be a joker when it wanted to, throwing obstacles in the way; however, this time it did not. Scott ran through a patch of something dead hanging in the air. The smell of garbage sidled next to it.

The raging yelps were very close.

Scott crossed one street to enter another. Horrid thoughts of the dog being hit by car, left for dead, caressed his mind. Or some kid who liked to abuse animals slid into the picture frame. Scott remembered the time opening the cage door in the Shelter’s shack and noticing a dog’s ears mutilated by someone who thought he could become an artist, cropping a dog’s ears on his own.

The second alley did not have pleasant odors, either. Scott ran five more feet before he saw the dog lying on its side, on the ground.

The yelping abruptly stopped, replaced with a consistent whine.

Scott hurried over. It’ll be okay, boy. Are you bleeding?

The dog’s eyes looked up at Scott. His small body rose and fell with rapid breathing. But there were no visible signs what was causing his pain.

Will you let me pick you up, huh? I can get ya to a doctor. Scott reached out a hand and the dog revealed its teeth and growled. Okay. Guess not. He rubbed his face. Hang on... Tucking his hand inside his jacket, he felt for his cell phone—it wasn’t there. Had he dropped it while running? Could he have left it, back at the restaurant? Could he ha—

The cell was in the car.

Crap!

The dog whined.

All right… Scott said, surveying the area, noticing not a person or a car in sight. I’ll be right back. Hold on, I’m gonna get you some help. I’ll call the animal hospital. They’ll know what to do. Don’t worry, the doctor won’t hurt you.

A tall shadow stepped out of the darkness and the air suddenly grew colder. But I will, lad, a voice said.

Scott glanced a look behind him, but only long enough to capture a picture of a hooded man with a hawkish face, grinning from ear to ear, cloaked in black, standing there. Suddenly Scott felt his body jerk, a pain following along like a stray puppy, as his Inner Child, his very soul, was pulled free of his flesh. His body dropped like a sack full of rocks.

The dog vanished.

* * * *

Two hooded dark figures donning black flesh, stretched taut over skeletal faces, as well as enclosing their slim frames, harboring a lingering odor of burnt flesh and a strong sulfurous smell, stepped out of a room to witness Scott’s soul, now awake from passing out earlier. A wave of drowsiness shrouded him. He sat in a room entitled the Extraction Room; its design being that of a bank vault. A huge combo lock-shaped dial was spun by one of the figures, locking Scott inside.

Dread waved, smiled, and informed Scott he was held captive under leather straps which kept his legs and arms snug against the chair.

Wide awake, he panicked. He began thrashing.

Hullo, Scott Hazel, welcome to my home here inside Purgatory, the hawkish-faced man’s voice crackled through the small speaker on the wall inside the vault. Behind a large window fitted into the wall he held out his arms as if he were embracing the whole room. You have been chosen to join my Family, yes?

Wh-what’s this place? Why am I here? Scott trembled with terror.

Do not worry, lad, you are in a safe place. You will never have to endure pain again. Ever. You will become immortal. You will be one of my children for eternity.

Children? Scott didn’t know what this guy was talking about.

This is a place of rest, lad. You should be happy you are here, yes?

Here…is?

The hawkish-faced man chuckled. Home. You have finally come Home.

Home?

The figure chuckled once more. Come now, Scott, I know you are not that daft. Home, my child, is where the heart is. Home, is a place of…rest.

A lurking fear tapped Scott on the shoulder. Am I…dead?

The hooded figure smiled. "Not in so many syllables, no. Look at it this way: You have been reborn."

Scott’s memory flashed back to the life he and Jennifer were going to start. Now, lost in a maze of confusion and despair. Reborn? I already have a good life! Scott spat.

"I’m sure you had one, lad; but now you have been saved and reborn."

Frustration slid under Scott’s skin and as he thrashed under his bonds, his eyes were catching the fact that he had returned to living in a child’s body. His adult frame was no more.

I see you have noticed your change to a child, yes?

Scott’s mind couldn’t succumb to this possibility. Had his mind cracked? No, that wasn’t it. This was surreal! Anger surfaced. Let me outta here!

"I’m sorry. That, I cannot do. If I returned you to your cold flesh, Jennifer would not be able to bury your husk, yes? There is no room for miracles in your Sector, Scott. That is a thing of the past. The hawkish-faced man signaled with a nod to the dark figure standing beside a large lever with a red handle. Sit tight. This will only hurt for a second; then, you will be rid of your sins forever. Yes. The man’s voice was soaked with delight as he bellowed: Welcome to your newest home in my ward!"

The dark figure grasped the red handle and pulled it down, igniting a spark that was sent to the chair where Scott sat. One second he felt no pain; the very next, Scott could, hearing the guttural scream tearing through his throat.

* * * *

Tucked into another room, a mason jar wobbled once, twice, three times, and fell off a shelf and busted. The entity which escaped wasted no time rocketing out the door, heading down the hall lit by globes sitting flush against the walls, escaping his prison in Purgatory, returning to his own world…

* * * *

Nettie didn’t care for a few things at school. It wasn’t because of the teachers. Some she didn’t care for, but some she did; especially, if it was anyone like the handsome Mr. Bullock whom she had last year for English. His class was solid! That was her first year at Ewing Middle. But that was school, right? You had to grin and bear whatever it threw at you, even if it included studying the entire collection of the Encyclopedia Britannica. As a kid you had an education to obtain. Period.

Nettie never had any qualms about the homework she received; well, maybe during last year’s semester when Mrs. Welsh made the class do a three-page report on Abraham Lincoln. Sure, he had been the sixteenth president of the United States; sure, he had been a hero in America, ending slavery; sure, he had been a great family man… But, having to write about a very bad man named John Wilkes Booth was not fun. It was a steaming pile of poop! Neither was trying to fill three pages about Mr. Lincoln, since writing was not one of her favorite things to do.

Nettie’s problems fell alongside with the infamous bully, Matthew Page; this included his followers, the Company: Lucy Sparks, Desmond Arnold, Richie Walls. Each had their own personality; each had their own way of terrorizing kids. Course, they learned it all from their master Matthew.

In the beginning of the school year the bullying started out harmless when all Matthew and Company would do, while leaning against the rail of the school’s concrete steps, was chant Nettie Pot, Nettie Pot! whenever Nettie would pass. Not to mention chanting names at other kids, too. Calling the kids names I should probably leave as an example like (insert curse word here). They were a bit bad and had a point in the sentences that stabbed them repeatedly.

The Company’s antagonizing name they called Nettie derived from the sinus wash sold at your nearest drug store. They would repeat it over and over in a chorus-like fashion, bursting with guffaws. Especially Richie, the master at guffaws. Nettie did not care for her new name at all.

As this morning’s scene begins to unfold Nettie and her little brother, Nate—short for Nathaniel—only a few years younger than Nettie, steps off their bus, at Ewing Middle School. Now, Nate loved to write short stories. He would always bug Nettie, always wanting to tell her what kind of stuff he was writing. And when he would bug her, she would tell him to bugger-the-heck-off! She had heard this word from her best friend Jordan. Jordan said bugger-off was in the British vocabulary and the definition was piss-off!

Nate’s stories creeped her out. Robotic spiders from other planets living inside the skins of humans, controlling their every move, able to pick long green boogers out of their nose on a whim; monsters who lived in sewers, crawling out at night to feed on a nourishment of only stray cats and dogs instead of taking a bite of human meat, claiming it gave them indigestion; and even little green and blue and yellow men and women from Jupiter who invade planet Earth looking for earth worms, snakes, and cockroaches to add to a stew.

Nettie didn’t want to hear Nate’s idiotic stories of horror and dark sci-fi this morning, or on any other morning for that matter. She just wanted the kid to stay away from her as much as possible. And, as this morning scene picks up speed, unfolding at an alarming rate, Nettie hasn’t had much of an escape from Nate’s fictional words of wisdom.

Nate, stay away from me right now! I’m busy. Nettie strolled toward the twin glass doors of Ewing Middle, books tucked in the crook of her right arm, the strap from the protective case that held her laptop slung over her left shoulder.

Why? I wanted to tell you ’bout this other story I’m working on. It’s about a giant frog who goes on a diet and gets ripped because he wants to start lifting weights to protect a village and—

Shut it, Nate! I do not want to hear it!

Um…why not? Nate’s pudgy face rippled into a frown.

Because I’m going to class! Which is where you need to go! Nettie looked over her shoulder as she said this, noticing the grape jelly stain on Nate’s white shirt. Below it displayed the figure of Marvel’s Moon Knight; Nate’s favorite superhero. Didn’t Mom tell you to change that shirt before you went to school?

"Huh? You mean this shirt?"

Nettie rolled her eyes. No, dummy! The one in your closet at home!

Nate cocked his head. The one with Superman on it?

No!

The one with Captain Marvel on it?

No!

The one with Spiderman fighting a sea monster?

N—

Oh! I know! I know! Nate beamed and he jumped up and down like a pogo stick. "The one with a huge skull on the front of it and the words ‘back off!’ on the back!"

Nettie huffed. She stopped, turned to face her brother. Nate ran into her, knocking her books out of her arm. Luckily not her case holding her new laptop. He smiled, said: Oops!

She drew in a deep breath, her patience thinning, and started picking up her books. One had been bookmarked and the bookmark had fallen out; the page was lost. You know what I mean, right? Mom told you to change that shirt before you stepped a pinky toe outside. She snatched the bookmark off the ground.

Huh? Nate screwed his face up, scratched his dark head.

Ewww! You know exactly what I mean!

Well. Yeah. Nate smiled. You know, you’re funny when you’re mad.

I’m not mad.

Yes you are. Nate grinned.

No. I’m. Not!

Mmmph. Guess you’re right, Nettie. Your face wasn’t that red a minute ago. Nate chuckled. Does it mean you’re furious now?

Just…just…just leave me alone, Nate!

Nettie stormed off, leaving her baby brother standing there, his smile growing wider than before. He knew exactly how to push her buttons, one after the other, and Nettie nearly hated him for it.

Hey! Mom said I’m getting a cell phone!

Nettie stopped in her tracks and faced him. So? Big deal! Doesn’t mean you know how to work it. You broke mine, remember?

I was just kiddin’ around, Nettie.

Thanks a lot!

Nate’s expression held the look of a boy who knew for a fact he did something wrong and was deeply sorry that he had. Or, at least that was what Nettie figured. She didn’t buy it. Perhaps he wasn’t sorry. Maybe her little brother was acting like he cared.

Nettie rolled her eyes. Her brother hadn’t a clue about cell phones. He broke hers two days ago after purposely knocking it out of her hand while she was talking to her friend Jordan. At least Mom saw it and scolded Nate. Nettie hoped Nate would have gotten grounded for a whole month, but the punishment only involved a tongue-lashing.

Nettie began walking away again.

Nate cried out: When I get mine, I’ll let you break it if it’ll make you feel better.

Sure, Nettie thought, that’s the way out. Try and give me a guilt trip, Nate. Two wrongs don’t make a right. If I purposely broke his, Mom would hit the roof. I could see myself getting grounded for a month, then.

As much as she was surprised at what she said next, so was Nate.

Don’t worry about it, Nate.

Why?

I’m getting a new one, too.

Nate cocked his head to the side, absorbing that sentence. He grinned. Oh yeah! That’s right! You get a new one like me!

See ya, Nate. Gotta get inside before the bell. Not paying close attention, she walked by the huge oak tree in the front of the school and tripped over a raised part in the sidewalk.

A target blossomed on her chest.

Well, well, lookee-here who is comin’! Lucy Sparks cackled like the goon she was. Her dark pony tail hung off the back of her thick head. She was tall for her age and Nettie had always thought Lucy could be a clone of Alice the Goon. If it ain’t Bettie! Lucy said.

It’s Nettie Pot, Matthew Page corrected Lucy. Matthew stood there, the tallest of the other bullies, his dark hair parted down the middle, bangs hanging in front of his eyes, a sarcastic grin under his pointed nose, his deep blue eyes watching Nettie’s every move. The rest of the Company was acting like a wall in front of the school, their bullying techniques in full throttle.

"Okay, Nettie-Betttiiie-Pot," Lucy said, stretching the name out.

Matthew chuckled.

Kids were strolling up the steps toward the twin glass doors. Every so often Richie would reach out and shove one. He was a freckled-faced, red-headed purist when it came to enforcing. Most of the time one of the kids being shoved would lose their balance, fall into another child, creating a domino effect. This would enliven the situation.

The Company howled with laughter.

Nettie wondered why no teachers or even Principal Jones were out here, stopping this mayhem. Could none of the teachers see what was happening on the school’s steps? Even the bus drivers paid no business to the problem. Then she thought of Matthew’s father. His name had come up more than once under her roof. Nettie’s father would always have a few choice words for the guy; not a bit nice, either, while making sure he kept a clean vocabulary around his daughter and son. He would always claim that Edward Page was a true politician; a true used-car salesman who was selling the town of Deputy Point down the river; a mischievous, low-down, no-good-for-nothing-wanna-be-mayor who only thought of himself.

Maybe somewhere along the way, Nettie thought, Mayor Page told the school it was fine if his son bullied others. Maybe the Mayor paid them off. There was no law in it; no harm to do so, the Mayor would say. Heck, it might even toughen the children up. Nettie could hear the man now. Nettie didn’t need to be toughened up. Her skin was thick against the curses and name-calling the Company continued to dispense. They were only words. Words couldn’t hurt someone. Luckily she had never—as of yet—been in a fight with them. She didn’t want that. Then, she wouldn’t be so tough. She felt puny and was not into physical activities whether it consisted of a sport or a fight.

On this cool morning, she was attempting to pass through this morning’s issue with the Company.

Think you can pass us without saying hi, yo? Desmond asked, adjusting his jeans that always hung a smidgen low so everyone could see the waist line of his boxers. Nettie could have sworn she could see a cartoon character on them. Think you can just walk up these steps without paying the toll, Nettie Pot from Walgreens?

Lucy heard this word addition and bellowed with laughter.

Other kids were walking by and Lucy mimicked Richie, taking the opportunity to push one of the kids. One of them dropped their cell phone and Lucy snatched it up. Hey! Give it back! a brown-haired boy cried. Lucy held it high over her head, dangling the carrot over the donkey. The boy tried to jump a few times to grab it.

What toll? Nettie asked.

The toll we just posted a second ago, Matthew explained. It’ll be a fifty cents to pass; a dollar after school.

What? Nettie said.

Clean out your ears, Nettie! Lucy barked, though still teasing the kid. You pay fifty cents now; a dollar to pass by when you leave. Eventually Lucy asked the kid if he wanted his cell or not. He said yes, and Lucy launched the phone into the air, from where it went into a nearby shrub.

The kid watched it fly and scrambled after it.

Lucy cackled.

Paying another toll when Nettie left was not good. It sure didn’t help matters that at the end of the day the Company was tucked into one class together, the room smack-dab beside the front twin glass doors. She wondered if Mr. Edward Page had anything to do with that, too. So, the toll would have to be paid each way. Like it or not. Unless Nettie could slip out the side doors, or even out the back doors, which would be a very far walk to the bus. She knew she would have to hoof it pretty fast to catch it.

At times the bus drivers were notorious for leaving kids behind who didn’t make the deadline climbing aboard.

Well? Richie asked impatiently, holding out his hand. We’re waiting.

The crowd of kids had thinned out. Only a few were running behind, a little late, climbing the steps, trudging toward the doors. Lucy