Chapter 2 - THE WOMAN WHO CALLED HERSELF ANNA
I had spent the last year learning how to recognize danger.
Sometimes danger shouted.
Sometimes it slammed doors.
Sometimes it apologized afterward.
Jared Kensington’s danger was different.
He became quieter.
“You’re certain you never met Evelyn?”
“Yes.”
“Think carefully.”
“I am thinking carefully.”
Nero remained pressed against my knee.
Jared stared at me long enough to make Miles uncomfortable.
Then I remembered a woman.
Not Evelyn Kensington.
At least, not by that name.
“Wait.”
Jared’s attention sharpened.
“About six months ago, a woman came into the clinic late.”
“What woman?”
“She called herself Anna.”
I closed my eyes, trying to reconstruct the evening.
She had arrived fifteen minutes before closing with a gigantic gray Mastiff.
Nero.
I hadn’t recognized him because he had been thirty pounds heavier and full of life.
The woman wore jeans, a baseball cap, and no makeup.
She had seemed nervous.
Not frightened of the dog.
Frightened of being recognized.
“She said Nero belonged to a friend.”
Jared’s face changed.
“What did she want?”
“He’d become anxious around elevators and parking garages. She asked whether trauma could change an animal’s behavior.”
Dominic, still standing near the doorway, said, “Evelyn never mentioned this.”
Nero growled again.
I looked at him.
“Could you please leave?”
Dominic’s eyes narrowed.
Jared didn’t hesitate.
“Go.”
“Jared—”
“Now.”
Dominic left.
Nero immediately put his head back down.
That was not subtle.
Jared noticed too.
I continued.
“Anna came three times.”
“What did you do?”
“Nothing medical. Mostly behavior work. Breathing, distance, familiar cues.”
“What cues?”
I thought about it.
Then the memory landed.
“Home.”
Jared stared.
“She used that word?”
“No. I did.”
I explained that I often used ordinary words to redirect frightened dogs toward something emotionally safe.
I had told Anna to choose a word Nero associated with calm.
But when she couldn’t think of one, I had crouched beside him and whispered, “Home.”
Nero had immediately relaxed.
Exactly as he had tonight.
Jared looked down at him.
“So he remembered you.”
“Maybe.”
“No.”
Jared’s voice softened.
“He remembered what happened while you were there.”
I looked at him.
“What happened?”
He didn’t answer.
Instead, he asked Miles to bring a laptop.
Minutes later, security footage from the clinic appeared on the screen.
I hadn’t even known our ancient cameras kept archives that long.
There I was.
Mopping.
Talking to Anna.
Nero lying beside my chair.
The woman removed her cap for only a second.
Jared froze the image.
Evelyn Kensington.
His missing sister.
I watched my past self hand her a paper cup of water.
Then Evelyn leaned close to me and said something.
There was no audio.
“What was she saying?” Jared asked.
“I don’t remember.”
Miles enlarged the image.
Evelyn’s expression was serious.
She slipped something across the counter.
My stomach tightened.
“I do remember.”
“What?”
“She asked me to hold an envelope.”
Jared stood.
“Where is it?”
“I didn’t keep it.”
His face hardened.
“She told me if anything happened to her, someone would come asking.”
“Who?”
I looked at him.
“She said I would know the person because Nero would choose them.”
Jared looked at the dog lying against me.
I suddenly understood.
“She wasn’t waiting for someone to find the envelope.”
Jared’s voice dropped.
“No.”
“She was waiting for Nero to identify somebody.”
A cold sensation moved along my spine.
Because there was one more thing Anna—Evelyn—had said that night.
Something I had forgotten until now.
May you like
She had looked toward the clinic window and whispered:
“If Nero ever refuses food, it means he saw the man again.”
