Jon Reskind: Caesar comes book I

"But… but… it can't be, Doc? Christ, it can't be…!"

The little man smiled and nodded as he plucked at the end of his mustache. "I know," he said, "I know…"

The fear that hung heavy over the town of Crescent Valley was reflected in the faces of its citizenry the following morning. On the streets, in the shops and within its several bars, men gathered to recount the terrifying rape of little Annie Purcell in solicitous tones punctuated with vile curses, their anger at Deputy Sheriff Mark Blakely for refusing to allow a hunting posse into the hills, an open vent for their concealed inner-panic. Something had to be done and right away! It wasn't just a matter of protecting their livestock any longer, not when a ferocious wild dog dared to slink into town and with incredible beastliness actually force a defenseless young girl to her knees and rape her right on the streets!

"Hunt the bastards down, I say!" a whiskey drinking, sallow faced customer at the bar of the Crescent Inn Tavern exclaimed with fist-thumping emphasis. "Chief Morgan's right! Take a posse into those hills and gun the sonsofbitches…!"

"Easier said than done, Dirk," a second drinker put in. "I was with 'em the other night when Link got the fawn bitch. That pack's as tricky's a bevy of minx. If it hadn't been that she was pregnant, the bitch would've gotten away, too… and she was running alongside the big German Shepherd with the gold medal…"

"You saw that medal… I mean actually saw it with your own eyes?" the first drinker questioned.

"Hell yes, I saw it! Didn't I say so?" the second one proudly insisted. "A big friggin' brute he is too, I'll tell you!"

"The way I hear it, the Purcell girl saw that thing around the dog's neck last night when it… it attacked her!" the first drinker said, his liquored eyes growing slanted, a certain lewd glint mingled with uneasiness mirrored in them.

"I hadn't heard that," the other replied; then, lowering his voice and leaning closer, he added with an obscene little grin: "But if it was that big bastard, she sure got that tight young pussy of hers full up with cock, I'll tell you…!"

"Watch it, here comes Link," the first drinker warned. "Morning, Chief. How's little Annie?"

"As well's can be expected," the big man glowered, accepting the space at the middle of the bar the group quickly made for him. "Poor kid's still half scared to death. Sits in a corner staring out the window when she ain't crying. Goddamnit, I'll tell you straight out, I'm going to get that fucking brute, and when I do it'll wish it'd never been born!"

"What do you mean, Link, a posse…?"

"That's the only way, and you all know it as well as I do!" the burly police chief snapped.

"What about Mark Blakely, Chief?" someone questioned.

"He's got twenty-four hours to do whatever he's going to!" Link authoritatively replied. "And if he ain't brought in that beast and its raping pack by then, I'm getting together a bunch of guns to go up into those hills with me, and I guarantee you that I'll bring the fucking bastard back!"

"You're right, Link… ain't he, boys?" someone loudly prompted, raising an enthusiastic clamor of approvals… as if in numbers they had lessened the uncanny menace they shared in fear…

While in kitchens throughout the town, and over backyard fences, women spoke in whispering, apprehensive tones, their unhideable anxiety causing their voices to tremble, as did those of the children and teenagers walking in groups toward the schools, their young faces ashen with frightened expressions. No one of the small town's populace had seemed to have been spared their share of the spectral horror, Jean thought, hurrying toward the Obert's down the street, determined to learn what she could from the withered, pipe-smoking old lady who stared blindly from her rocking-chair and spoke in an aged, cackly voice.

Jean had fitfully slept without Mark beside her the remainder of the night, and at dawn when he'd finally arrived home, his haggard face had frightened her. In reluctant bits and pieces while she'd prepared his breakfast, he'd choked out scraps of the abominable rape, leaving her to piece them together and stare at her young husband in shocked awe. Then, before she could question him further, he was on his feet and moving toward the door.

"You're not leaving now, Mark? Darling, you haven't slept all night. You must be exhausted…"

"I'm fine, baby," he'd replied forcing a smile as he bent down to kiss her. "I've got some things to do… should be back in a few hours."

"Mark… please… there's something terribly weird and unreal about all of this, and I'm not exactly an educated scaredy-cat… but why don't you talk to Granny Obert…?"

"Please, Jean!" he had snapped her up short. "I've got enough to contend with this morning without listening to a conglomeration of stupid myths. Why don't you bake a pie, or something? I won't be too long…"

And with that, he was gone, his patrol car "laying rubber" as the teenagers said, when he'd sped away from the curb. She'd been angry, but that, too, had soon passed once she had reviewed what he'd told her, the terrifying story bringing her to sit on the edge of a chair before the wrinkled, parchment-like skinned woman who puffed incessantly at a corn-cob pipe.

"Heh…!" the old woman grunted, her mouth spreading wide in a display of toothless gums. "I futured you coming Jean Blakely. Saw you in this old brain o' mine… an' I know why, too! It's him, Caesar, the wild one, ain't it, girl?"

"Th-the dog… the leader… yes. Is that his name?" Jean heard herself question, her voice trembling at the aged woman's revelations and tone, watching the other rhythmically rock her chair in tempo to her puffing at the pipe.

"Yes… that was his name then… and that's it now," she cackled. "You can see it on the medallion… the eagle, the symbol of the Roman battle standard… and the name… Caesar! Near… near a century ago, girl, when… when I was just a squallin' child, he came with his pack… but I remember… remember well! Yes… I remember well!"

"He… they… the pack came last night, Granny," Jean said, fighting the dryness of her throat. "A girl… a young girl was raped… actually raped by him, or one of them…!"

"It was him! He did it! Caesar… and I can tell you why!" the little wizened woman said, momentarily leaning forward. "They killed his mate! Link Morgan, that filthy brute killed Caesar's mate! Revenge, girl! That's what he come for, revenge!"

"But… but… my God, Granny, you're talking about… a… a dog!"

For a long moment, the aged woman didn't answer, only puffed unseeingly at her pipe as she rocked. Then: "Thinking, young lady… that's what I been doing. Tryin' to decipher the most positive way to make you understand." She doubtingly shook her head. "It ain't the same anymore… young folk just don't listen…"

"Please, Granny, tell me!" Jean pleaded.

Again, the old woman sat in silence, letting spurts of bluish, tobacco smoke out with colorless lip-popping sounds. Then: "All right, little golden girl, I'll tell you! But don't question me… just accept, or forget what I tell you. Understand…?"

"Y-yes, Granny… I understand…"

"Well then, he ain't just a dog… oh, he's a dog now, and has been that for a century or more… but he ain't just a dog!"

"Wh-What…?"

"Hush up and listen, girl, 'cause I'm only going to tell you this once!" the small, shriveled woman exclaimed. "What he was before, or what he'll be again, ain't important either. What he is right now is what counts! And he's a beautiful animal, wearing the medallion he once earned 2,000 years ago in battle! Yes, he raped the Purcell girl, and there may well be more! They won't catch him, stop him, shoot him… and neither will they drive him off! This was his valley a hundred years ago, and well do I remember that! A handful of people lived in the settlement, and my own daddy was the lawman! Posses went out to hunt the raiders when the sheep were killed, and time after time they rode in exhausted, and empty-handed. There was no catching the wild-pack, let alone its leader… a great German Shepherd with a medallion around its neck…!"