Rx rewards me for my troubles with a generous poop. It’s appropriate timing, since I now feel like shit.

That could not have gone worse. Why don’t I think before I speak? Why did I think that sharing that tidbit about a missing boy would be interesting?

At least I didn’t mention that Etan Patz was eventually found murdered. His killer had lured him into a basement and kidnapped him, eventually killing him. Probably a good thing that I left that part out.

Head hung in shame, I retrieve Rx and exit the dog park, headed back up the hill towards my home in Highland Falls, a sleepy town in the suburbs of Chicago. I didn’t grow up too far from here, and Highland Falls is just far enough away from my hometown. I don’t love being reminded of where I come from. For me, home is not where the heart is. It’s where the shame is. I prefer to leave as much distance between me and my family as possible. That’s another reason why this mandated social distance hasn’t been too terrible for me. I don’t mind having to stay away from people. And that includes the people I’m closest to.

Rx yips, doing an excited little jig. He knows we’re going home, and he’s relieved. Dinner awaits. He’s like one of those shy little kids who doesn’t talk to strangers but becomes an extrovert the moment it’s just the two of us. I love him so much.

I lean down and scratch the top of his head. He sighs with pleasure, revealing his slight underbite.

I remember the Zoom session with Jenny where she recommended I adopt a service animal. I automatically became defensive. I didn’t need a service animal, I shot back. Service animals were for people who struggle with a physical or mental disability, and I was reluctant to admit I had either of those. And why did I need to get a dog? Couldn’t she just up my prescription? Having a dog was like having a kid. It was a huge responsibility and sacrifice. How was I supposed to make time for it?

“What better time is there to get a dog?” Jenny had responded, calmly.

She had a point. At the time, we were all pretty much housebound, aside for the occasional walk outside just to keep ourselves from going completely insane. During that time, I listened to probably one hundred podcasts. And when I ran out of new ones, I listened to the old ones again. I was working remotely, so I’d be around all the time. The dog would never get lonely or sad that I was away from home too long. I could definitely afford the expense of having a dog. And I didn’t dislike dogs… I always just saw myself as too selfish to care for another living being.

Aside from the whole selfish piece of shit thing, I didn’t have a strong argument. Sometimes I did feel lonely. But that didn’t mean I wanted to jump into a relationship or have someone living with me. A dog could be a happy medium.

“What am I supposed to call a dog who’s really a prescription, anyway? Rx?” I’d growled.

Jenny had laughed. “I’ve never heard that one before. That’s not bad. I’d write you a note stating that you need a support animal, obviously. It wouldn’t hurt to have the words ‘Rx’ on the dog’s collar.”

And so the name was chosen even before I went to the shelter and found my beloved little turd dumpling.

It was love at first sight. All the other dogs ran up to the front of their cages to try and say hi to me, but Rx was shy. It took some coaxing to get him to approach me. Once he did, he took to me instantly. He settled in my lap and fell asleep. The volunteer was shocked. She said she’d never seen him do that before.

And the rest, as they say, is history.

The name had seemed funny at the time. But that hot dad had looked horrified once I’d explained it to him and his kid.

I make a mental note to tell Jenny to shove it the next time she assigns me homework.

Screw talking to people. I don’t need friends. I have Rx. If Jenny wanted me to have a conversation with someone, she should’ve encouraged me to get a talking parrot.

I shove my hands into my pockets and find my earbuds, popping them in my ears.

The sounds of my latest favorite podcast drown out everything else, including my self-effacing thoughts. Only thoughts of crime and punishment fill the space between my ears. I just want to be conscious enough to get Rx and me back home safely. I’m good at doing multiple things at once. It’s what’s made me so good at my past jobs.

The light is really fading. It gets dark so early now.

Seasonal depression, here we come.

A streetlight flickers above us as we pass by, but it doesn’t fully turn on.

Weird.

I pick up the pace, dragging Rx a bit. I feel bad, ‘cause the guy’s got short legs. But I don’t like entering my home when it’s fully dark. It makes me feel like someone can jump out and grab me.

I pass by an empty bus stop and turn onto my street as the sky darkens. Thankfully, the streetlights are turned on, lighting our way.

This neighborhood has comparatively large front lawns. That was one of the biggest selling points my father had emphasized. It’s a nice place to live. A nice place to raise a family.

Welp. Or an anxious terrier mix.

The house is an old post-war home with creaky floors and a shelf for an old-timey phone. It came with old floral wallpaper that I refused to change. I like that it feels like a throwback to the seventies inside. I even bought an old radio from an antique shop. It doesn’t work, but sometimes I like to pretend my mystery podcasts are coming out of the radio, like back in the day when George Orwell’s War of the Worlds kept people rapt with fear and intrigue.

The house looms large in the distance as I approach. I’m fully aware that it’s too big for just one person. I definitely couldn’t have afforded to live here without my parents’ help. Or, rather, their insistence. They wanted to see me settled somewhere. So they wouldn’t have to worry about me.

God forbid they actually take a second to look out for my well-being instead of just throwing their money at every little problem.

I frown. That’s enough thoughts about my family for now. I don’t want to have an unpleasant evening. I want to continue listening to my podcast with a cup of hot tea, curled up in my love seat with a blanket, Rx nestled beside me.

I reach my front door and let myself in, fastening all three locks I had installed before settling in for the evening.

The extra security was at my insistence. I told my parents that if I was going to live here, I was going to make sure that this house was a fortress.

I go to set the code for the alarm, and freeze.

I must’ve forgot to set it earlier before I left the house. That never happens. I must really be out of it today. I probably got carried away by my new favorite podcast. I’m usually good at multitasking, but every once in a while I’ll do something stupid like almost brush my teeth with zit cream or stick my phone in the fridge.

I never forget my house keys, though. It’s like I have a built-in reminder. I’m terrified of locking myself out. I don’t mind locking myself in, however.

I try to shake it off before washing my hands. I still sing the “Row, Row, Row Your Boat” song in my head while washing my hands. Call me paranoid, but I really don’t want to get sick. I’m mistrustful of doctors and hospitals. Jenny is a rare exception. I like her. And I found her all on my own, without my parents’ help or insistence.

I glance out the window above my kitchen sink and notice the giant FOR SALE sign slapped onto my neighbor’s front lawn.

There’s been a lot of changes in the neighborhood over the past two years. I wonder who my new neighbors will be. Hopefully they’ll be less noisy than the young happy family who’d lived there before. They were always celebrating their love and happiness out in the open with all sorts of loud, joyous bullshit. Healthy communication and parenting. Words of affirmation. Communal activities. It was gross. I pray that my new neighbor is single and miserable.

I finish washing my hands and head for the stairs.

Just then, I see the flicker of a shadow flash across the hallway.

I freeze, my blood turning cold.