Occhiolism

(Photo by ozgary on morguefile.com)

Car! Saya’s voice broke through my concentration, and I almost jerked the bandage too tightly around the angel’s wing. Inhaled deeply and steadied my breathing, working with quick fingers to finish the figure eight bandage around the wing. If Saya was alerting to the sound of a car now, that meant they were approximately five miles out. She shouldn’t have been able to hear that far out, but she did.

I’m coming. No entry. I gave her the command through our link. I tightened the wing as securely as I could with the time that I had. It wouldn’t be but a minute for them to be coming up the road, though I had an idea of who it might be. The sour pit in my stomach told me that it wouldn’t be friends.

I stepped out onto the porch just as the headlights swept over the vegetable garden in front of my house. Saya sat in the middle of the driveway, forcing them to decide if they were going to start a war with me by hurting my dog, or pulling over and having to walk a hundred feet down the rough packed dirt of my driveway. They pulled off to the side, their brights shined straight to the front of my house, and into my eyes.

If they were going to try to blind me, I was going to make them walk. I closed the door behind me and leaned back against it. Staring into the bright lights while the three men climbed out of the car; one from the driver, one from the passenger, and one from the bed. They walked with a swagger.

Friend? Saya asked, standing at alert with her jaw closed and her head sightly lowered, muscles primed. Smell friend-man.

No. I paused, trying to determine how to explain the situation to a canine intelligence. Exceptionally smart as she was, she was still a dog. Mostly. I stared at the men casting shadows with the lights behind them. Like Martin. Martin, worse.

Saya growled when the leader of the three men got closer to her. He stopped tilting his head downward, the brim of his stetson shadowing his face on top of the backdrop of his truck lights.

“Why, Saya-girl. Is that any way to treat a friend of your mistress?” He asked reaching out his hand toward her. She snarled louder, I couldn’t see from this vantage but the way he pulled his hand back it told me she showed him her teeth.

“Saya.” I said, “Come.”

Return. I added the mental command so she got the point. She shook her fur and moved in a circle away from him before she turned her back. As much as space as she could before she took her eyes off of the man.

He wasn’t stupid enough to attack one of my animals, though. No. Wyatt Wattson was many things, but stupid wasn’t one of them. Him bringing his less intelligent brothers along with him did not bode well, however.

Saya came and sat by my feet, her posture alert and ready. I reached down and gently brushed my fingertips over her head, settling her just a touch. In the meantime the Wattson brothers closed the distance and stood just outside of the fence that separated my garden from the rest of the farm.

The gate was open, they could walk right in, but they weren’t exactly welcome.

“Hello Miss Sarah.” Wyatt called out. His voice as smooth as whiskey. “I hate to be bothering you so late at night but…”

“Do you?” I asked, tone mild as milk. “And just what is it that you are bothering me for, Sheriff Wattson? I don’t remember committing any crimes today.”

“No.” Wyatt said, a hint of amusement in his tone, “I don’t reckon you would ever commit any crimes, Miss Sarah. Everyone in the county knows that you’re as sweet as those strawberry pies you make.”

I pressed my lips together and made a noncommittal noise. It wasn’t a question and so far he hadn’t told me what he was here for. I’d learned a long time ago to not offer information, don’t banter, and don’t answer if not asked a direction question.

So that left us standing outside in the hot, dry air. Me leaning against the door of my modest home, a pure white dog with brown eyes at my side. Him, standing with his back to the bright lights of his truck. The air had gone still and even the crickets had stopped chirping. Nature had a way to sensing when something bad was about to happen.

I did too.

I just didn’t know what bad thing Wyatt had brought to my door. Unless it was the angel currently wrapped up in my bedroom that had brought Wyatt to my door. Still this was my home and Wyatt wouldn’t be intimidating me into breaking this silence.

He watched me, a shadow cast by headlights, while I waited for him to get to the point. He took his hat off and held it to his chest, but as he did so he wandered to the right. He was walking the line of my fence. He ran free his hand over the pickets and asked, “New fence?”

“Yes.” Was only my only response.

He walked along the fence to where the strawberry patch should have been. My precious, prized strawberries. Now there was just a mound of dirt and fresh fencing. Wyatt leaned over the fence to peer down at the mound of dirt and then back up toward me.

“What happened to your strawberries, Miss Sarah?” Wyatt asked, his voice still friendly and whiskey smooth. “My momma’d weep if there’d be no more pies…”

I tilted my head back, resting it against the door, letting the days labor start to wear me down. Let it leak into my voice, let my sorrow and grief over the lose of those strawberries tinge my voice just a touch, “An angel decided to land in them.”

“An angel.” Wyatt repeated. His tone taking on a more serious note, “Rare to see Skyfolk out here, isn’t it?”

This wasn’t directed at me, it was toward his brothers. Winston piping up to agree, “Real rare.”

“Ok.” I said, letting the weariness drag my shoulders down, “Can we get on with this, Sheriff Watson? My prized strawberries have been destroyed. I had to fill in the hole and build a new fence today. I’m tired, my feet hurt, my back hurts. I’m too old for whatever this is.”

“Now, Miss Sarah you ain’t even a day over twenty five!” Said William, in an outraged voice. “You’re not old at all.”

That startled a laugh out of me and I raised my hand to wipe my palm over my face. I forgot, sometimes, how young I looked. I shook my head and said, “Deputy Wattson, I’m older than I look. I’m closer to the Sheriff in age than you.”

“Stop flirting with Miss Sarah, William.” Wyatt said, a faint bite in his voice, he shook his head, turning back in my direction, “So an angel fell into your strawberry patch. Why would this angel do this? Where did they come from? Where are they now?”

I pushed a heavy breath out from my lungs, a weary sigh that suggested I was getting tired of this conversation. I said, “How would I know what goes on in a skyborn’s head, Sheriff? I no more understand them than I understand why you’re interrogating me. They were gone before I’d even come out to check on the commotion. I only just got a look as they took off.”

I let the bone deep tiredness I felt mask the lie. I wouldn’t be telling the sheriff that the angel was in my bedroom with a broken wing. My gut told me it would be dangerous for Wyatt to know that.

He considered me for several long moments and said, “Alright, Miss Sarah, I wish that you called to let us know when it happened. We would have come help you fix up your fence. But if this skyfolk comes back I’d appreciate it if you’d call me.”

“Of course, Sheriff.” I said, waving my hand. “If we’re finished…?”

I let the words trail off. Wyatt lifted his hat in my direction before placing it back on his head, he made his way back toward his car. William, the youngest of the wave to me before he hopped into the bed of the truck. I waved back and watched as they backed up, turned around, and drove away into the night.

I didn’t go back inside until I could no longer see the lights on the back of Wyatt’s truck.