Shepherd barked at school painting — what he found shocked everyone

Maybe I have, Daniels replied, holding up the photo. Ever heard of Subject 10? Beach took the folder, scanned the contents, and exhaled slowly. We didn’t think there were more, but if this is legit, she’s still out there.

Or was never found, Daniels said. Either way, it wasn’t just Maggie. Beach sat beside him, glancing at Dante, who was lying quietly under the desk, alert as always.

You ever think maybe these dogs remember something? She asked. Like they were trained for more than what we know? Daniels looked down, at Dante. He remembered their first mission together.

A warehouse raid in San Jose. Dante had pulled him out of the path of a collapsing beam by the collar. No prior training for that kind of response.

Just instinct. Or something deeper. Let’s say they do, Daniels said.

Then the real question is, what are we still not seeing? That Friday, Mrs. Carroll visited the school for the first time since the incident. Not to teach, she had taken an indefinite leave. But to leave a painting.

It was abstract again, but warmer. Soft blues and whites. Swirls of yellow and green.

It didn’t hide anything. It didn’t encode a memory. It simply invited peace.

She asked for it to be hung in the cafeteria. For the kids, she said. When Daniels met her afterwards, she seemed lighter.

Not healed. No one could heal that fast. But more whole.

As if naming the truth had stopped it from festering in silence. I’ve been dreaming of her, she told him unprompted. The girl in the second file.

I don’t know how or why, but I see her in these dreams. She’s always hiding. Always afraid.

And there’s always a dog nearby. Not Dante. A different one.

Black and white. Border collie, maybe. Daniels felt the hair on his arms stand up.

She might be real, he said. We found a file. No record of her after 1982.

Mrs. Carroll didn’t flinch. Instead, she looked toward the edge of the field behind the school, where a group of students played soccer. We should look for her, she said quietly.

Daniels nodded. We will. That night he returned to his patrol route.

Fairhaven was quiet again, but it didn’t feel the same. Every alley, every warehouse, every old abandoned house. It all felt different now.

As if history was still watching. Waiting. Dante.

Road shotgun as usual, but halfway down Main Street he sat up ears forward. What is it? Daniels asked. Dante let out a low whine.

They were passing the old Southfield lot. The place where the had once stood. It had burned down years ago, replaced by a strip mall that never quite took off.

Daniels pulled over. Dante jumped out before the door fully opened, nose to the ground, zigzagging through the cracked pavement like he was following something invisible. Then he stopped, sat down, and stared at a manhole cover near the corner of the lot…