Blood on My Hands

off his forehead. I press my finger to my lips and feel joyous. Slade looks to the left and the right and then begins to walk down the sideline toward the goal, as if he’s coming around the field to me. He’s a little gimpy and I can tell his knee is still bothering him.
    That’s when a police car shoots past the front of the school at pursuit speed, but once again with its lights and siren off. It’s headed toward the entrance to the parking lot. Then tires screech to my left as another police car races up the footpath that connects the school grounds to the park next door. They’re headed for the soccer field, and they’ve blocked both avenues of escape.

Chapter 23
    Monday 6:09 P.M.
    MOST OF THE people on the sidelines are still cheering the soccer players, but a few are watching as the police officers get out of their cruisers and start looking around. Near the goal, Slade stops, his head turning from the police to me and back again. Meanwhile, I’ve backed slowly away from the crowd, toward the reeds. Everyone’s so busy watching either the game or the police that no one notices that as soon as I feel the reeds at my back, I turn and step into them.
    The ground turns soft and muddy. My feet sink and my shoes stick. No matter how slowly and carefully I try to go, the reeds scratch and rattle as I weave through them. As soon as I think I’m out of sight, I stop and listen, but all I hear is the crowd cheering. To the west the sun is beginning to set. Golden red light catches the cattails overhead. In the stillness of the reeds, I wonder whether the police will search the marsh and, if they do, whether I’ll be able to hear them coming first.
    Or will it be Slade who comes? My shoes sinking into the mud, and chilly water seeping against my feet, I wonder if he saw me go into the reeds. If the police leave before the soccer game ends, will he come in here and find me?
    I hear a rustle and my heart leaps. It’s him! I swivel my head around anxiously, trying to peer through the reeds, searching for a glimpse.
    And then I hear a growl.
    Every muscle in my body goes rigid. I can’t breathe. Now more rustling and another growl. My heart’s racing.
    Now a snarl so close that I don’t understand why I can’t see the animal making it. I turn my head in every direction. Where is it?
    The fear is so intense I feel light-headed. Oh God, Callie, whatever you do, don’t faint!
    Then I see movement through the reeds.
    Bared white fangs and yellow wolflike eyes.
    The snarling dog with bared teeth has a brown-and-black face; the fur on its back is raised. A German shepherd. I can hardly breathe. They’ve brought a police dog!
    I am frozen with fear and clench my hands so tight that for a moment I don’t realize that the pain I’m feeling is from my own fingernails digging into my palms. Big dogs have always terrified me. And no big dog scares me more than a German shepherd. This one probably weighs more than I do. Its long teeth and ferocious growl make me want to cry out for help. Suddenly I can’t wait for the police to get here and arrest me. Anything as long as they take this dog away. Please!
    The dog has stopped four feet from me. As our eyes lock I wait for the crash of the police officers through the reeds.
    But all I hear are parents yelling and cheering for their children. The dog snarls but doesn’t come closer. I stay frozen, my feet now icy cold and soaked in muddy water. The sun is still setting, the light grayish and filtered. Where are the police? Why aren’t they coming?
    But wait. Does Soundview even have a K9 unit? I don’t remember ever seeing one before. Is it possible this isn’t a police dog?
    I’ve hardly completed the thought when a woman calls, “Franklin! Here boy! Franklin!”
    Without taking its yellow eyes off me, the shepherd perks up its ears.
    “Come on, Franklin!”
    Franklin’s fur relaxes. The teeth disappear under the snout. He turns and trots away. A rushing wave of relief leaves me feeling light-headed. Instinctively I squat down and close my hands tightly around the base of some stalks to steady myself.
    “Shrimp?” A voice, hardly more than a whisper, comes through the reeds.
    Except for that one time when Slade excitedly announced that he wanted to become a commercial fisherman, our video chats were gloomy and depressing, with Slade going on and on about how much he hated being at Fort Benning, how lonely he was, and how worried he was about being sent