For She So Loved the World, She Gave Her Only Begotten Swimmer to the Dogs

Brock’s walk in the park was anything but

Photo by Jr Korpa on Unsplash

His blazer was useless against the cold. If not for the belly full of beer keeping him warm, the walk across the park to the sorority house would have been unpleasant. He dug his hands deeper into his pockets and crossed the four-lane street that would grant him access to the park. In three minutes across the grassy field, he approached the tree line where he would disappear from view for another 100 meters or more. He thought about running into Serena earlier in the day and laughed so hard he snorted.

What a gross bitch.

The night he ran across her in the park, what did the dumb slut think would happen? She was all sniffles and pleading when they were alone in the park that time but ignored him when she met him in the lecture halls and theatres. Another dumb slut. Useless, but satisfying. Thinking about her little whimpers made him hard.

It was the sound of their paws pounding the earth that pulled him from his reverie and clued him to turn around. In the dim light, he could make out two massive dogs. One was easily identifiable as a cane corso, and the other looked like a different sort of mastiff, and they were coming — fast. No barking. No yipping.

The cane corso, the one farthest from Brock, issued a guttural sound from its chest. The black monster’s bared teeth were the only defining feature aside from its imposing dimensions. Before Brock could turn, run, or scream, they were there.

The cane corso moved around the back of him while the mastiff came full-on. In one smooth motion, it rose to its hind legs and used its barrel chest and forward momentum to knock Brock to the ground. It straddled him with its massive jaws around his throat.

Terror seized him and his legs kicked. With each thrust, the powerful jaws tightened, and the intent was made clear.

The cane corso stood over his belly. He could feel the hot panting on his hands that shook feebly over his torso. He started to cry.

Why?

Who?

Part of him guessed but wondered how.

He’d seen her on the campus with her dogs. He may have taken her then if not for the imposing nature of her four-legged companions.

He tried to cry out, but the hell-hounds jaws made him think twice. Then two words, softly spoken into the crisp night air, and he knew at once the next seconds would be his last. “Piáste ton.”

Greek for get him.

***

Another one came in just a week ago. Art, as she was known, noticed Serena Blythe and Jasmine Coates in the halls of the university months before they’d shown up in her office. She considered all the female students her charges. The young women came to her care within a week of each other. However, the telltale signs were visible long before they were referred to her by their guidance counsellors. The shine was gone — the easiest way to put it.

The light had gone out in both of them. She must earn their trust, determine the particulars, and set things right. Although Art had her own way of doing things, she took her responsibilities for her charges seriously.

A knock came on her office door as she finished entering her notes on Jasmine’s last visit.

“Come in,” she said.

Serena Blythe stepped across the threshold and walked with shoulders hunched to the chair across the desk from where Art sat. The girl had bounced into the university months ago, lively, beautiful, and spirited.

Now she skulked. Art could smell the rancid body oils and could see the girl’s unwashed hair. Serena’s hoody was stained and wrinkled, and Art would bet the girl had slept in it. Probably the sweat pants as well, for that matter. Serena kicked off her black crocks and pulled both knees up to her chest.

They were starting on the same foot as the last visit, but this time she’d garnered some insights from her office window.

A brief talk with Serena’s professors last week had confirmed what Art already guessed, the student’s grades were dropping, as was her attendance.

Serena avoided eye contact and chewed compulsively on her nails, leaving angry, raw flesh around her ruined cuticles. The first time Art saw Serena in the halls, she’d been sporting blue polish that matched her blouse. Art noticed things like that. She also noticed the attention both Serena and Jasmine got from the boys. The girls were similar in appearance. Petite with long, dark hair. Much like her.

He had a type.

One night, Art noticed Brock watching her while she walked her dogs. She recognized the cloud of hunger in his watchful, hooded gaze. He had saved himself that night by turning away. Now he’d gone at put himself in harms way. Her jaw clenched.

Because of the narrow time frame between both students’ onset of symptoms, Art suspected a single culprit. Before today she knew only what brought on their change in disposition — but now she knew who.

***

Serena dragged herself from her bed and slipped her feet into her crocks. She’d slept in her clothes again, and she could smell her unwashed hair. In twenty minutes, she needed to be present for her second visit with Miss Florakis, or Art, the girl’s psychologist. She had just enough time to walk the distance to her office if she left now. She quickly brushed her teeth and rinsed the toothpaste down with cold coffee from the day before. She didn’t have time to wait in line in the dorm bathroom. She was a hot mess, all right, and she knew it.

Her guidance counsellor and professors thought she was depressed. Same with Jasmine Coates. Only Jasmine and Serena knew the truth. They’d been talking since meeting in the waiting room outside Art’s office. There was something about Miss Art Florakis that suggested she knew more than she let on. Something in her clear, blue eyes — a knowing Serena couldn’t deny.

Serena set out for the office. None of the other coeds looked her way. She was unkempt, stinky, and stained. Why would they? Just how she wanted it. Yet, she would walk into Miss Art’s office, and something would change. Art, short for something or other, was beautiful with her long, dark hair and pale, blue eyes. It was only in the cramped and oddly decorated space that Serena found comfort and safety. Photos of her dogs, an antique torch, a lance, and a quiver with arrows decorated her walls. She was weird, but Serena felt safe when she was with Art.

It was cool out with a drizzle. Sunlight, ambushed by the impenetrable blanket of cloud shrouding the university, left without a fuss. Serena crossed her arms over the front of her hoody and plodded on.

She was crossing the gardens outside the administration building when she saw them — Brock and his entourage. Her pulse hitched, and she yanked the hood of her hoody up. It was too late he had already seen her. She continued to the entrance walkway, but he stopped in front of her. Evan and Will stood on either side, effectively blocking her progress.

“Serena?” he asked.

He pulled her hood down. “Oh, my fucking God.”

She turned her head away, her breath coming in ragged gasps.

“What the hell happened to you? Did the shower break in that shithole dorm?” A harsh, high-pitched sound erupted from his throat that would pass for a laugh in his circle.

“Let me pass, Brock,” she said.

“Let me pass, Brock,” he said. His mocking tone cut. “Looks like I got it in the nick of time, before your shit hit the fan. Fuck, I can smell you. You’re fucking nasty. I wouldn’t screw you now with Evan’s dick.”

Evan grunted, and Will laughed.

Serena pushed past and rushed down the sidewalk, her hands shaking even though she had them pinned under her tightly crossed arms. Pushing past him had forced her to touch him and the sensation lingered like the sting of a slap.

Tears pricked her eyes, and just before she turned right to head into the admin office building, she looked up and made out the outline of Art looking down from her office window. Serena stopped short in her confusion, looking at the figure in the window. She blinked and shook her head. It must have been the light. The last thing she needed was to start seeing things. It was unlikely her psychologist would dressed up as a Greek goddess. It was the stress.

Serena entered Art’s office and took her seat, kicking off her crocks and pulling her legs up. She knew Art had witnessed what happened as she came in, and she also knew her eyes were red-rimmed and bloodshot from the tears.

Art took her seat behind her desk. The woman was usually intense, but today, more so. There was little hope of avoiding questions about Brock.

It was too much. Only Jasmine understood.

“Are those your dogs?” Serena asked. Art’s eyebrow flicked, but only for a moment.

“They are,” Art said.

She sat forward and turned the picture frames so Serena could see them more clearly.

“What are their names?”

“The cane corso is Zeus, and the mastiff is Leto,” Art said. Her eyes pinned Serena. Art’s voice dripped like honey, low and smooth. “How well do you know your Greek mythology, Serena?”

“Not well.” She paused, a vague recollection of the names Zeus and Leto wrestling in the background of her thoughts. “I saw you in the window as I was coming in,” she blurted.

“You did. Have you known Brock Trainer long?” Art asked.

Serena paused and kept her eyes on the photo of the dogs. She hugged her arms closer to her body. Her face was hot, and she couldn’t look at Art.

“There’s no need to answer, Serena,” Art said. “You’re a medical student so I’ll guess you’re already learning about doctor/patient privilege.”

Art stood and took two bottles of water from the mini-fridge in the corner. She put one on the desk in front of Serena.

“In fact, you don’t need to tell me any of it — unless you want to. I already know. From the time frame, I’m betting it was over Christmas — out for a late-night run in the park?”

Serena felt her features crumple, and a miserable sound escaped her pursed lips. She lifted her gaze from the photos, and once again she beheld Art, not as the beautiful, blue-eyed psychologist, but as a huntress with her quiver on her back, her hair secured back in a thick braid and a golden, crescent moon hairband. Serena’s head swam, and the room closed in around her before it faded to black.

Strong arms caught her, and she floated into the first restful sleep she’d had in over a month.

***

Artemis fed the dogs sparingly. The night’s hunt would provide them adequate nourishment. They were hunters; and as such, must be trained and fit, not fat and leaning to lethargy as so many canines and humans were in this century.

Young Serena and Jasmine were both sleeping. Jasmine was in her room next to where her roommate studied, while Serena was in the medical room where she was under the watchful eyes of the afternoon-shift nurses. Her fainting spell in the office earlier this afternoon provided sufficient reason to admit her. Both her young charges must be alibied in the event their shared plight ever reached the public.

She called out to her dogs and left her house, a smile curling her lips. There was nothing more exhilarating than a hunt.

Artemis whistled to the dogs, who fell in step with her immediately. Their heads level with her hips, neither canine surge ahead nor lose pace. Leto chuffed, and Zeus whimpered. The hunt was on, and they were anxious for their treat.

They covered the few blocks to the strip where the pubs began on one side of the avenue, and benches lined the sidewalk on the other side. It was here she could access the park with the dogs. Artemis sat on one such bench, selected for the broken bulb in the streetlamp, and signaled the dogs to sit. Zeus fell at her feet, his sleek coat bristling against her calf. Leto’s black eyes fell on the two young men across the street outside a pub. “Those are not for you,” Art said, and stroked Leto’s head. She chuffed and settled down, her head resting on her paws.

The wait was not long.

The dogs felt Artemis’ energy shift and her focus sharpen. Together, they stood, their eyes following the young, blonde man leaving the pub.

It was the luck of the draw he was leaving on his own. His head down against the chilled breeze and his collar up, he buried his hands in his pockets. Not a single movement was missed by the three sets of eyes observing from the shadows.

He would no doubt cut through the park and head to the sorority house, Artemis thought. The dogs would have him before he exited the trees.

She continued her watch from the shadows of the failed lamp as Brock disappeared into the tree line. She pulled her cloak tighter against the chill of the night and snapped her fingers at the eager dogs. “Find him,” she said. The dogs charged across the field into the dark and disappeared into the trees without a sound.

She followed. The dogs would hold him without injury until she arrived. Once she gave the signal, they would rend his flesh to liquid and his bones to paste.

Her movements were swift and athletic, and she arrived within moments at the spot where the beasts had him pinned. She glanced around, calibrating the privacy of the location. The dogs had done well.

They were good dogs. Looking into the petrified face, a frozen mask of horror, his mouth gaping in a silent scream and his hands doing staccatos over his midriff, she smiled into the darkness — inside and out.

She stepped back. “Piáste ton,” she said. “Get him, my angels.”

In the same manner the swimmer had stripped the innocence from her two charges, he was now having the skin stripped from his bones. There was nothing but ripping and tearing as blinding pain was rested upon Brock the swimmer.

Apropos he would die in a pool of his own blood.

Brock opened his mouth to scream, and the cane corso took half his face, his tongue, and lower jaw in its powerful jaws and shook them loose in its frenzied bloodlust. The mastiff dragged him across the sodden grass, removing his scrotum and leaving ragged skin in its place.

Aside from maddened grunting and fevered yips as the two massive beasts tore Brock Trainer apart, silence fell over the park. Once again, the cool night enveloped Artemis in serenity. The savagery of the attack had gone unnoticed.

The dogs settled after a single softly uttered command and looked adoringly at their mistress. She looked at the bloody, ruined remains of the swimmer and sighed contentedly.

“Come,” she said, and the dogs moved to her side and sat. She pulled her cloak around her narrow shoulders and left the park the same way they came. The dogs’ gleaming black coats showed wetness but not blood. Even in the streetlights, it would be impossible to make it out. She’d done this enough times. Her efforts sometimes felt futile. But for now, at least, the park was safe for young women once again.

***

Artemis took a deep fortifying breath. She had her way of doing things, and she took her responsibilities for her charges seriously.

Perhaps after this, it would be time to move on again. She’d think on that.