Tilly.
I woke to emptiness beside me.
The bed was still warm. The quilt was tangled around my legs. But Chase was gone. Probably off for a midnight snack or something.
I sat up, blinking. The cottage was quiet. Except for the storm outside.
Then I heard it. A sound, coming from the corner of the room. It was soft. Animal like. Wounded. But mostly terrified.
Poor Bark. He must have been scared by the storm.
"Bark?"
No answer.
"Bark. It's just sound. It won't hurt you. Come and we can find your father. Bark?"
I threw off the quilt and walked across the cold floor to the corner and froze.
It wasn't Bark. It was Chase.
He was huddled in the corner—curled into himself, knees to his chest, arms wrapped around his head. His fingers were clawing at his forearms, his hair, his neck.
Scratch. Scratch. Scratch.
"Chase?" I dropped to my knees beside him. "Chase, look at me."
He didn't. It was like he couldn't hear me. His eyes were wide and fixed on something I couldn't see.
