Chapter 6: The Neon Sign of Oak Creek Veterinary Services
The gravel in the parking lot of Oak Creek Veterinary Services crunched loudly beneath the tires of Julian’s SUV as he pulled up beside a rusted pickup truck. The building itself was a modest, single-story brick structure with a faded blue shingle roof and a crooked neon sign buzzing in the damp evening air, casting a sickly green glow over the wet asphalt. A single amber light burned above the heavy wooden side door, while the front windows were dark, shrouded behind drawn vertical blinds.
Julian killed the engine, but the warmth of the cabin lingered for a moment before the heater died down. He turned to me, his dark eyes steady in the dashboard light, his tattooed fingers resting lightly on the steering wheel. "Stay in the truck if you want," he said quietly, his voice carrying that low, resonant gravity that had anchored me since we left the mansion. "It might get ugly."
"I didn't come this far to sit in the parking lot," I replied, opening my door before he could argue. The damp night air hit my face immediately, carrying the sharp scent of pine and wet earth mixed with the faint, unmistakable disinfectant smell of a rural animal clinic.
We walked side by side toward the heavy wooden door. Julian didn't bother knocking politely; he raised his fist and struck the thick wood with three heavy, deliberate thuds that echoed across the empty clearing. Inside, the muffled sound of a dog barking once and then falling silent answered our summons. A few moments later, the scrape of a deadbolt sliding back broke the quiet, and the door creaked open an inch. A balding man in a rumpled blue lab coat peered out, his eyes darting nervously from Julian’s bearded face to my anxious posture.
"We're closed," the man said, his voice clipped and defensive as he tried to push the door shut. "Emergency appointments only after five, and you don't look like you have an emergency."
Julian jammed his heavy boot against the bottom edge of the door, stopping it cold. The man in the lab coat gasped, stumbling back a step as Julian pushed the heavy oak panel wide open, stepping into the harshly lit linoleum hallway.
"Dr. Thomas," Julian said, his voice dropping into a dangerous, controlled register that made the hair on my arms stand up. "Remember me? I'm the guy who paid twelve hundred dollars cash to have his best friend put down two months ago."
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Dr. Thomas swallowed hard, his Adam's apple bobbing sharply against his frayed white collar. He backed away until the back of his knees hit a stainless steel examination table. "Mr. Vance. I... I didn't expect you back here. Especially not tonight."
"Obviously," Julian stepped further into the clinic, his broad shoulders filling the narrow corridor. "And yet, here I am. And I brought the dog you swore you buried."
