The Seal's Return

Jubal nodded.

“Thought so. Just wanted to say welcome. I’m Cody Terrell if you need anything. Have a good run.” Then he sped ahead.

No questions about running half-naked in the middle of the night. News did get around fast. Of course, Clint was chief and probably spread the word. Jubal didn’t know whether he should be irritated or amused. He continued to run and hit the business district—if it could be called that.

He noted the doctor’s and veterinarian’s offices. There was a light on the second floor of the vet’s office. He passed a grocery and hardware store, then headed back toward the cabin. When he was four houses away, he noted movement on his dock. Not his dock, but the dock where he was currently staying. He glanced around. No parked cars. No lights in any of the nearby dwellings.

His training and instinct kept Jubal close to the trees as he approached the dock. He saw a flicker of light. A match. The figure was kneeling, and now he saw whoever it was kneeling over a pile of what looked like broken branches. The intruder was so involved in what he was doing he obviously didn’t see Jubal.

Jubal looked around. He sensed more than saw the slightest movement among the trees behind him. It was a skill that had saved his life more than once. He turned and spotted a second figure who wouldn’t make first grade in surveillance school.

Jubal heard a warning whistle from the lookout behind him before the figure took off down Lake Road.

Jubal didn’t wait any longer. The wood on the dock was dry. And as long as he was staying here, he was responsible. He ran toward the dock as the figure stood up. Tall. Slender. Young.

The figure on the dock was silhouetted against the lake like a deer in headlights. There was no place for him to go except the water, and Jubal knew how cold it was.

“Don’t even think about jumping in,” he shouted as he started down the dock. “I can swim better than you. And put out that damn fire. Kick the wood in the water.”

The boy—Jubal was sure he was a boy now—froze.

Jubal moved down the dock until he faced the culprit. “Do it,” he said.

“Do it yourself,” the boy replied heatedly. “No one lives here. None of your damn business.”

“I live here,” Jubal corrected him. “Now put out the fire.”

Defiance and bravado oozed from the boy as he stood his ground. “You gonna make me?”

Jubal noted the boy was probably sixteen or seventeen. And he was really pissing Jubal off now. He knew he probably didn’t look that threatening. He hadn’t regained the weight he once carried.

“You need to cool off, kid.” He flipped him into the water, then kicked the kindling off the other side of the dock, stomping out the few remaining sparks. The flames had never really caught. The kid knew nothing about starting fires. Nor, obviously, when to take a threat seriously.

The water came up to the kid’s nose even as his feet found the bottom. He struggled to breathe, lost his footing and went under. Jubal jumped in, lifted the kid onto his shoulders and carried him out of the water. The kid was shivering when he regained his footing.

“What’s your name?” Jubal demanded.

The kid hesitated and Jubal gave him a look that usually silenced arguments.

“Gordon,” the boy finally said.

“Well, Gordon, we are going to have a little discussion, unless you want me to call the cops right now.”

“No...no.”

Jubal marched the boy to the cabin and forced him inside. Both of them were dripping.

“Let go of me,” Gordon demanded.

“Will you run?”

There was no answer.

“At least you don’t lie,” Jubal said. He steered the kid into the bathroom. “There’s towels in the cabinet. Take a hot shower.”

“Then what?” Gordon asked.

“I’m not sure yet. Depends on whether you do as I tell you.”

“Who the hell are you, anyway? They said nobody lived here.”

“So that makes it okay to burn someone’s property?”

“It’s only a stupid dock.”

“Which cost money to build and maintain. What right do you have to destroy it?”

The kid looked down at the floor. “Whatever,” he mumbled.

“Take a hot shower,” Jubal said.

“You some kind of pervert?”

Jubal gave him a look that had cowed a hell of a lot meaner adversaries. “I’ll lend you some dry clothes. I’ll expect them back. Clean.”

“You aren’t going to call the cops?”

“Did I say I wasn’t?” Jubal closed the door and went to hunt for something the boy could wear. He finally picked a pair of sweatpants with a stretch waist and an old T-shirt. The kid would probably drown in them, but there wasn’t any help for that. Jubal changed into a pair of jeans and a sleeveless sweatshirt.

He would sit the kid down and read him the riot act. Scare the hell out of him. Like someone had scared the hell out of him years ago.

Why would he start a fire on a dock? What in the hell did the dock ever do to him? It might be interesting to find out. Then he would take the kid to his parents.

He planted himself outside the bathroom. He wasn’t going to give the kid a chance to escape. There were consequences to actions.

The sound of running water stopped.

Jubal opened the door and threw in the clothes. “Dress and then we’ll have a little chat about arson.”

He closed the door and took up his post. The door didn’t open. He would give the kid five minutes. No longer.

The door opened after four and a half minutes. Gordon was indeed swallowed in Jubal’s clothes. He was maybe five foot nine to Jubal’s six-three. He was lean, had an athlete’s supple frame but not the muscles. He was holding his wet clothes at arm’s length.

“Into the living room,” Jubal said.

“Why?” Gordon said with attitude. The shower apparently gave him courage.

“Okay,” Jubal said. “If you’re going to play it that way, I’ll call the cops now. Let them sort things out. Your parents know you’re out this late?”