She watched.

 

       She listened.

 

       The river running under the yellow bridge was angry. Its waters bashed contemptuously at the pylons supporting the old structure. The bridge creaked and groaned against the onslaught but she stayed poised on the yellow bridge minutes longer, before descending the steep bank to enter the dark forest. She stopped, listened once again, her eyes scrutinizing the trees. Nocturnal creatures rustled leaves that carpeted the ground and above her head, ghost wings brushed the still night air. Time passed, and except for the noise of the raging river and the stirring night creatures, the world was eerily silent.

 

       She moved deeper into the trees. When she came to a small clearing, she sat. Evil was here. She felt it. It drenched the night. Fear is evil’s companion. She sensed its strong presence. Not long did she have to wait before a cry of terror shattered the quiet. It was a sharp cry coming from a young voice. The cry quickly dissolved into sobbing pleas. Innocence was in grave danger. She raced to the sound.

 

       The child was a small, thin boy, clothed only in white underwear. His outer clothing lay scattered on the ground as if they had been viciously ripped from his body. Terror filled his eyes and shook his small frame, and she could see bruises already beginning to discolor his face. Her rage intensified. 

 

       A large man had a hand clamped around the child’s neck. The man’s eyes were sadistic, and aroused. He murmured words to the boy as his other hand grappled with the zipper of his pants. She knew his diabolical intent and attacked, taking the unsuspecting man to the ground. His own terror satisfied her, fueled her, and her attacks became more brutal, more ferocious, even as the deviant screamed and fought to get away. Her objective was to kill the monster but the child was crying uncontrollably. He needed her. She allowed the monster his life and observed him crawl away into the night. She’d find him again, of that there was no doubt.

 

       She returned to the terrified boy. His thin arms were wrapped around his bare chest, as if trying desperately to keep himself together. He was trembling, violently. Her heart went out to him.

 

       “He won’t hurt you, I promise. I won’t hurt you. I came to find you and to take you to your mommy and daddy.”

 

       Gulping back his fears, the boy ran to embrace his savior. He held fiercely onto her and she comforted him.

 

       “Let’s get your clothes on, Michael, and go find your mom and dad. It’s cold out here and they have  been looking for you.”

 

       “You know my name?”

 

       “Lots of people have been looking for you. We all know your name.”

 

       The boy held tight to her as she pulled him up the steep slope. When they reached the yellow bridge and the road, they began their walk in silence. The child’s hand remained fastened on to her. They walked a good distance before the lights of the search party came into view.

 

       “The policemen are coming for you. They will take you to your mom and dad. Stand here on the side of the road where it is safe. Wave your arms until they see you. You are going home now.”

 

       When the boy became concerned and asked if she would wait with him, she replied, “No, child. I must go now. You are safe. Wave your arms now so they will see you.”

 

       “I don’t know your name,” the boy said.

 

       “I am a Seeker. My name is not important, only your life.”

 

       The boy waved his arms up and down as the headlights of police cruisers and other vehicles and flashlights grew brighter and brighter. The Seeker left and the boy again became fearful. When he heard his name being shouted, his fears eased, and he ran to lights and to the people who had come for him. 

 

     The Seeker raced through the trees to a house which she entered through a back door. A man in a crimson robe and holding a steaming cup of tea, looked at her. “Were you successful?” He asked, and when she nodded her reply, he said, “Good. Very good.” He disappeared into another room.

 

       The Seeker returned to the outside to listen to the night. If the police were competent, they would find the vile monster who stalked the little ones. She had made sure that his wounds were severe enough that he must seek medical help.

 

       Back on the lonely stretch of highway, the boy, now wrapped in a blanket and surrounded by a jubilant crowd, spoke with the officers as they waited for the paramedics to arrive. Sergeant Sunday was the officer in charge. He lowered down to the boy’s level and asked, “How did you get here, son? Did you get lost? Tell me what happened to you.”

 

       “A bad man grabbed me from my mommy and brought me here. I was scared but she came and saved me.”

 

       All heads whipped up and turned to Sergeant Sunday who appeared just as stunned as the rest of them to hear that a woman was somehow involved.

 

       “A lady found you? Did she tell you her name? Where is she now, son?”

 

       The child shook his head. “Not a lady lady. It was a police dog. She bit the monster and chased him away. The monster was bleeding.”

 

       Sunday’s head jerked back in shock. “A police dog?”

 

       “Yes. A police dog saved me.”

 

       Sunday stared down at the little boy, as did the others. The boy looked backed at him with wide, innocent eyes. Sunday called on his radio. “John, your canine with you?”

 

       A voice came back. “He’s in the car. Why? You need him?”

 

       “No…no, that’s fine.” The Sergeant’s attention went back to the boy. “A police dog, huh?” 

 

       “She came to save me but she had to go,” the boy said, before leaving with the paramedics. Sunday and the people gathered around him remained perplexed and mystified, and skeptical. They scoured the trees and roadway with beams of light but saw nothing out of the ordinary.

 

     Another policeman approached the Sergeant. “What’d you think, Sir? You think a woman is involved here? The kid looked sincere.”

 

       Sergeant Sunday ran a hand over his weary face. “I don’t see a woman and I don’t see a dog neither, but twenty years at this job, hell I’ve witnessed many strange things. So maybe there is, maybe there isn’t. Maybe it’s all in that poor kid’s head. His way of coping, you know?”

 

       “We gotta find that sick son of a bitch, Sarge, before he hurts another child.”

 

       Sergeant Sunday nodded. “We will. But tonight we can all return to our homes and families and give thanks to the Almighty that little Mikey was found safe and alive.”

 

***Because someone asked. I blog every three Sundays. Well, I try to anyway.