Chapter 2: The Name Buried in the Records
Chapter 2: The Name Buried in the Records
Ava did not sleep that night.
She sat at her kitchen table beneath a single yellow light, surrounded by old folders, missing-dog flyers, police reports, and a faded photograph of Ranger lying on the porch of the apartment she had fled years ago.
In the picture, Ranger was young.
His ears were too big for his head.
His tongue hung out in a ridiculous smile.
Ava remembered the night she left.
She had packed one bag.
She had waited until her former boyfriend was asleep.
She had opened the door quietly.
But Ranger had been locked in the garage.
She had promised herself she would come back before sunrise.
She did.
The apartment was empty.
The garage was empty.
And Ranger was gone.
For years, that guilt had lived inside her like a stone.
Now, Red Hollow Canine Academy appeared on a puppy’s microchip.
Ava called Deputy Sloane Ramirez from county animal services before the sun came up.
By noon, Sloane had reviewed the store video, the veterinary report, the intake paperwork, and the microchip registration.
The paperwork from Willow & Paws listed the puppy as a “private consignment” from a broker.
But the broker had used a business address connected to Red Hollow.
A business that should not have existed anymore.
Grant Hollis came to the shelter that afternoon.
He stood outside the kennel room holding Mason’s hand.
He looked different without the loud voice and the store lights around him.
Smaller.
Ashamed.
“I came to see the puppy,” he said.
Ava stepped in front of the kennel door.
“You don’t get to take him home.”
“I know.”
Mason held a folded drawing in his hands.
It showed a little brown-and-white dog sitting under a bright yellow sun.
At the top, in crooked letters, Mason had written:
I AM SORRY.
Grant looked at Ava.
“My father used a belt,” he said quietly. “Not on dogs. On me.”
Ava’s face stayed still.
Grant swallowed.
“When that puppy started screaming… I don’t know. Something in me snapped.”
“That is not an excuse,” Ava said.
“No,” Grant replied. “It isn’t.”
For a moment, neither of them spoke.
Then Grant handed her the drawing.
“I’m starting counseling,” he said. “Parenting classes too. Mason deserves better than what I gave him yesterday.”
Ava looked at the paper.
Then at Mason.
“You did the right thing by speaking up,” she told him.
Mason nodded, tears in his eyes.
Before leaving, Grant gave Deputy Ramirez one more thing: the receipt from Willow & Paws.
It showed that the puppy had been delivered by a man named Wade Mercer.
Wade Mercer.
The former owner of Red Hollow Canine Academy.
Two days later, a judge approved a warrant for the abandoned training property outside town.
Ava stood beside Deputy Ramirez near the old chain-link gate as animal welfare officers entered the property.
The buildings looked empty from the road.
Broken windows.
Rusting signs.
Tall grass swallowing the driveway.
But Ava could hear barking from somewhere behind the main structure.
Not loud barking.
Not excited barking.
The uncertain, careful sound of dogs who had learned not to make too much noise.
Inside, officers found frightened animals in makeshift pens, old training equipment, falsified transfer records, and stacks of files marked with numbers instead of names.
The puppy from Willow & Paws was listed as Case 17.
His original name was not even written down.
Just a code.
Ava kept searching the records.
Her hands shook as she turned page after page.
Then she found a folder stamped with a date from six years earlier.
Inside was a photo.
A black-and-tan shepherd.
Older now.
One ear bent slightly at the tip.
A small white mark on his chest.
Ava’s knees nearly gave out.
“Ranger,” she whispered.
Deputy Ramirez looked over her shoulder.
The paperwork said Ranger had been transferred between several facilities after Ava’s former boyfriend surrendered him.
But the final note was handwritten in red ink.
Retained on-site. Back building.
Before Ava could move, a sound came from behind a closed metal door.
A slow scrape of nails against concrete.
Then one low bark.
A bark Ava had not heard in six years.
Her throat closed.
She stepped toward the door.
“Ranger?” she whispered.
For a second, there was silence.
Then the bark came again.
May you like
This time, closer.
This time, answering her.
