730 Days, Part IV

He woke as the last echoes of the shrill scream faded in the dark. For three nights, that fish in the cell with Killingsworth had mewled pathetically. Tonight he mustn't have been able to muffle his own cries. For that, he'd be lucky to see another morning. Another nameless stranger come and gone; no one to mourn his passing.

Jonah looked at Marisa's photo for a moment, but that only reminded him her birthday was soon. He rolled to face the cinderblock wall, the hard steel bunk cold through the thin mattress. Javier - who could sleep through a riot, Jonah was convinced - slept soundlessly.

As he resettled, he saw flashes of the dream he'd been having before the screaming tore him from sleep's embrace. Mike and Becca, Memorial Day at Stinson, and the retriever they'd had since they were kids. It was one of those rare, really hot days where the fog had burned off by dawn. Mike's farmer's tan made him look like he was wearing a dingy white t-shirt, at least until he started to fry. Becca's hair was like the waves - smooth, deep, black, flecked with white. He always thought it was funny how black-haired girls had grey, no matter how young.

Munson was old by this time. They got him - Mike got him - from Mrs. Pearsall Memorial Day of '77. The Memorial Day in Cali would be his last. Jonah would have to bring him to the vet that August while Mike was on a cross-country run. Mike never got a chance to say goodbye.