He Called Him Useless and Kicked the Blind K9 Into the Freezing Mud

Chapter 2: The Weight of Ghosts

The rain refused to let up. If anything, it fell harder, turning the banks of the Blackwood River into a slick, treacherous mess of clay and dead leaves.

I stood waist-deep in the icy current, arms shaking—not from the cold, but from the surge of adrenaline flooding my body. The metal box in my hands was small, yet it felt impossibly heavy, as if it carried the weight of a gravestone.

“Give it to me, Mason,” Sheriff Briggs said.

His voice was low now, stripped of the authority he’d used moments earlier. This was a different tone. Dangerous. Cornered.

“That’s evidence in an active investigation,” he continued, stepping into the water. His hand hovered close to the Glock on his hip. “Hand it over, and maybe I forget you assaulted an officer.”

I laughed bitterly.

“Evidence?” I spat. “You called off the search for Cindy Baker twenty years ago because you said there was no evidence. You signed the report yourself.”

“I was following orders,” he snapped.

“You were the one who searched this riverbank,” I shot back. “And now a blind dog finds what you didn’t? Or what you didn’t want found?”

His composure cracked.

“Mason!” he barked, lunging forward and grabbing the handle of the box.

We struggled in the freezing water. He was strong, driven by panic, but I was fueled by something colder. I twisted, using the slick riverbed for leverage, and shoved him back. He went under with a splash, resurfacing sputtering and furious.

“Officer needs assistance!” Briggs screamed into his radio. “Suspect resisting!”

But the crowd on the bank had already turned.

Phones were out. Red recording lights glowed through the rain. This wasn’t 2004 anymore. He couldn’t bury this.

“Let him go!” someone shouted.

“He found something!”

Briggs looked around, calculating. Drawing his weapon here would end him.

“You’re stealing evidence,” he hissed. “That’s a felony.”

“I’m securing it,” I said. “And I’m taking it to the State Police.”

I turned and climbed the bank.

Rusty was waiting.

The old dog trembled violently, soaked to the bone. His cloudy eyes tracked sound instead of sight, but when I approached, his tail thumped weakly.

“I’ve got you, buddy,” I whispered.

I lifted the box under one arm and scooped Rusty with the other. The crowd parted as I passed. Faces I’d known my whole life stared at the tarp-covered box like it was radioactive.

I drove.

Not home. Home was compromised.

I headed for the abandoned mill.

Chapter 3: What the River Kept

Inside the mill’s maintenance shed, I wrapped Rusty in a blanket and cleaned his torn paws. Only when he slept did I turn to the box.

The padlock resisted until the hacksaw finally snapped through.

Inside was a sealed plastic bag.

A navy hoodie.

Blackwood High Athletics.

Bloodstained.

My stomach turned.

Beneath it lay a diary. And photographs.

I dropped one.

Two men arguing in the woods.

One was Judge Harlan.

The diary’s final entry stopped my breath.

They know I saw them. Briggs told me to stay quiet. I’m meeting Miller by the river. He says he can help me get this to the Staties.

Miller.

Sarah Miller had vanished three days ago.

This wasn’t history.

It was a cycle.

Gravel crunched outside.

I killed the lantern.

Voices.

“GPS says he’s here.”

They weren’t arresting me.

They were erasing me.

I grabbed the diary and photos, shoved them inside my jacket, and dove into the truck.

Gunfire shattered the back window as I smashed through the shed doors and vanished into the woods.

Chapter 4: The Broken and the Damned

I abandoned the truck deep in the forest and moved on foot.

Rusty limped but refused to stop.

We reached the old deer shack at dawn. There, I read the ledger.

Dates. Amounts. Initials.

And then:

1/05/24 – $100K – S.M. (Holding at The Lodge)

Sarah was alive.

Judge Harlan had lied.

Rusty froze suddenly.

They’d found us.

I triggered a landslide to break pursuit and ran for the Miller farm.

Old Man Miller met me with a shotgun.

When he saw the hoodie, his knees buckled.

“She’s alive,” I said. “But not for long.”

He armed up without hesitation.

Chapter 5: The Rescue

The Lodge was a fortress.

We breached through a drainage culvert.

They were loading Sarah into a van.

Miller disabled the engine.

Smoke filled the air.

“Go, Rusty!” I shouted.

The blind dog charged straight through chaos.

A guard raised his rifle at Sarah.

Rusty launched.

Old. Blind. Unstoppable.

Then Briggs appeared.

He raised his shotgun.

I dove.

The blast tore through my shoulder.

I hit the ground.

Then—
CRACK.

Briggs dropped.

Miller never missed.

Chapter 6: The Good Boy

I woke in a hospital.

Sarah was safe.

Harlan was in federal custody.

Cindy Baker had been recovered.

But Rusty…

The vet room was quiet.

Rusty lay on a blanket, breathing shallowly.

“He’s been waiting for you,” the vet whispered.

I held him as the sun set.

“You’re the best boy,” I told him.

He wagged once.

Then he was gone.

Epilogue: The Eyes of Blackwood

Six months later, a plaque stood by the river.

RUSTY
The Eyes of Blackwood
He saw the truth when we were all blind

Tennis balls rested at its base.

I still feel him sometimes—
running free, nose to the wind.

I wasn’t the hero.

He was.