The Man with the White Dog


The fifty-year-old Lauren; single mother of the twenty five-year-old Trevor, A rebel who had spent his life in and out of jail since he was ten years old. Thief and a rapist, who never held a job in his life, just finished unpacking the last box when Trevor walks in the house.

“So this is our new pad?” ask as he looks around the small two-bedroom house.

“My room is too small, Mother.” Lauren looks at him.

“You should be out there looking for work instead constantly complaining about everything.”

“Mother! I provide my share, don’t I?”

“Yes, you bring enough to bail you out of jail, and pay the attorney fees. If only your father was here”

“Mother I’m tired of hearing about my father. Your father and your father. The son of a bitch left you for a whore, not only you, both of us. What else is there to know about him?”

“No matter our differences, he’s your father, and you should be grateful. If…”

“I know mother. I know. If it wasn’t for him, I wouldn’t be alive. You know what? That would probably be the best. What did he ever do for me? Nothing. He wasn’t even there when I needed a father. So don’t tell me that I need to be grateful, because the only thing he did was to have some fun with you, and now I’m paying the price.” Lauren slaps him.

“How dare you.” Trevor opens the door, stops and looks at his mother for a moment, then leaving the door wide open disappears in the foggy evening. Lauren devastated by Tyron’s behavior, slowly walks to the door wiping the tears from her eyes. She looks out on the street hopping that he is still there. The neighbor’s kids across the street saw her and yelled hello. Lauren waved back at them.

“Get back in the house kids, it’s freezing out here.” Say and walk back in the house as softly closes the door behind her. Two days later, the Police knock on the door at 75 Dover Street. Which, frankly, it’s an alley, in San Francisco’s Bay View district. Home of every scam bag, junkie, drug dealer, and con artist of the beautiful city by the bay.

Lauren opens the door and looks at the cop in the eyes.

“What did he do this time?” The Policeman looks at Lauren. “Miss Jefferson? How are you today?”

“Depends of the bail.”

“Miss Jefferson, your son, Trevor Jefferson, have been charged with strong-arm robbery. He’s held at the hall of justice.”

“Who did he try to rob?”

“A 7 11.”

Lauren disappointed walks back in the house, takes her purse and asks.

“Officer, would you be kind to take me to the Hall of Justice please?”

“Yes of course Miss Jefferson. That’s why I’m here.”

`Lauren’s silent plea for sanity is the only sound in the Police cruiser during the ten-minute drive to the Police station. Lauren unable to pay one thousand dollars bail asks to see Trevor.

“What are you doing? I can’t pay that much money. Trevor please you’re…”

“Trevor please you’re twenty-five-year-old.  If your father was here, blah blah blah. I know the line mother. I hear it every time, and I am sorry. This is who I am. We both know it well. I know you what to hear that this is the last time. Mother, I can’t promise that. You’ll find the money in my backpack, in my room. And, please don’t ask questions.”

Late that afternoon Lauren and Trevor standing at the bus stop about a block away from the Hall of Justice. A brief shadow of guilt crossed Trevor’s face the one and only time he looked at Lauren during the half hour, bus ride.

About eleven o’clock in the morning the next day, Trevor, pulls the pillow off his head. “Strange, by this time, she screams. Trevor, get out of the bed, and try to find a job. I’m cleaning other people’s toilets to put food on the table and pay the bills, and you’re still sleeping?” He mumbles as he walks in the quiet living room. Looks in the kitchen and dining room, he then looks at his mother’s closed bedroom door and knocks.

“Mother, mother.”

No one answers, opens the door and sees his mother on the bed, with her eyes open staring at the ceiling. Trevor checks her pulse and calls for an ambulance. In the hospital, the doctor determines that Lauren died from a heart failure.

That was the first-time Trevor felt sorrow, and responsible for the pain he caused to his mother. At that moment, realized that he wasn’t as tough as he pretended to be.

Devastated and hurt for the first time in his life. After the funeral return’s home, sits on the couch with his elbows on his lap’s and his head between his hands.

“Yea! That’s the only way; I just can’t do this anymore.” Whispers.

Few hours later, the neighbors report a fire at 75 Dover Street.  It was late afternoon when the fire departments extinguish the fire. With only the kitchen and a small part of the house damaged, investigators found a letter and a rope in the dining room.

On the letter, Trevor explains that his guilt for his mother’s death was greater than his will to live, and he decided to hang himself. However, it appears; he had changed his mind, and he had disconnected the stove gas line, sat on the kitchen table where his body was found, and light up a cigarette.

Late that night, a little after midnight, the police dispatchers receive several calls of witnesses reporting a man with a white dog stopping crime in multiple locations at the Bay View district. Several days later, the Police still have no answers to, whom; the man with the white dog is.

Within two months, the forgotten district became  the center of attention. Speculations about the mysterious man with the white dog that is been seen at every crime scene kept feeding the newspapers with outrage headlines.  

‘The mysterious ghost helps the Police to solve another murder…’ 

‘Police officials announced that the man with the white dog led them to an undisclosed location where a large quantity Opium, street value of over ten million dollars was discovered…’

A few blocks away, from 75 Dover Street, the headquarters of Bay viewers. A gang that under the leadership of Trevor, declared  ownership of the Bay View district, now under the leadership of Mathew, Trevor’s childhood friend, planning to hit several ATM’s in San Francisco area.

Unlike Trevor, Mathew is more contempt, and is not as aggressive as Trevor, been next in the hierarchy became the leader. He could of course, deny and let the next person take his place, but he accepted the position, only to prove himself, to himself.

Mathew hesitant about the ATM job decides to follow through as planned. The first target is a bank across town. Mathew being the only one who knowledge of the area, it was a homophony decision to be the getaway driver.

Mathew casually drives through the almost empty city streets, following at a short distance the rest of the gang. Suddenly, in front him; the man with the white dog appears. Mathew, horrified stops the car and recognizes Trevor and his dog Fuzzy, a dog who, both had tortured and kill several years ago. Mathew speechless staring Trevor as he hears his voice.

“Are you sure you want to do this Matt? Look at me. I’ve killed my dog. I’ve killed my mother. I’ve killed myself. I’ve chosen my own hell. You are still young; you have plenty of time to restart your life. You have the opportunity to live. You know what you need to do Matt. Live, live.” His voice echoed as his figure slowly disappeared in the fog.

As soon as the ghost disappeared, Mathew calls the Police and reports the ATM job. Few hours later, the entire gang was arrested.

It was early in the morning. The sun slowly begins to creep out of the horizon. The noise from the early-morning traffic slowly awakes the city. The few Police officers at the Hall of Justice, looking at the clock wishing for their shift to end, as they see a man with the white lab walking in the jailhouse. He walked through the doors, and disappeared down the long hallway. No one ever seen him again since.

Mathew, was released few months earlier for good behavior, graduated as a car mechanic and after his marriage, moved at 75 Dover Street, he still lives there with his wife, his son Trevor, and a white lab, he named fuzzy.

About Dean Steven Nichols

Fantasy Writer

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