O Mally's New Friends: A Narrative Fiction

Abby had “gotten into trouble,” and needed to be bailed out. Something where her new friends were squatting, throwing a party in some old lady’s vacation house, when the neighbors called the police.
Danny,
I hope I’m doing this right. I know it’s been a long time since we’ve talked, but I’m in Minneapolis and I think we should catch up. I miss you. It’s probably best if Dad doesn’t come, at least not at this time. I don’t think I can see him just yet. I want to see you first.
Meet me at O’Malley’s, noon, Saturday. I’m staying down the street from there.
~Abby
…
“Dad, Danger and I are going for a walk,” I yelled from the base of the stairs.
He called down from his recliner where he sat reading the Saturday paper, “Alright, be safe. Will you at least call me this time when you get lost?”

“See you in a bit,” I said as I closed the front door over his disappointed grumble.

He asked me to stop using that phrase because it made people uncomfortable. Now I use it as much as possible. I took hold of the handle on Danger’s harness and directed myself towards Downtown. I knew O’Malley’s was on 15th, Mom and I had been there, and I was on 4th, so I had a bit of a trek. The sidewalks were difficult to traverse because the tree roots had lifted and jacked each slab of concrete. I would have much rather walked the line of parked cars in the street where the ground was steady, but when a blind guy walks into the street people tend to get nervous. So Danger and I made our way methodically through the neighborhood, taking care to walk with a much too high, pseudo-goose-step of a stride to avoid tripping on the raised sidewalk. I could hear the birds singing along to the music from the windows of passing cars. I could hear the children playing in their front yards. The sun felt warm against my skin, and Danger panted quietly next to me. Today was the first day of summer

vacation.
As I turned and made my way down 15th, Danger began pulling harder on the harness, urging me forward. He pulled harder, whined, and his claws scratched against the concrete as he swam in the air, trying to break free as he lost traction with each step. With one last jerk the smooth leather handle was torn from my hand. He sprinted off, and heard him run into the adjacent yard and up the wooden stairs of the porch. His nails clicked on the old boards as he jumped against the front door, barking the entire time. He finally pushed his way through the door and the hinges silently obliged as he made his way inside.
Following his barks, I found the worn banister with cracked paint and splintering finish, and walked up towards the house. The smell immediately made me gag. I felt like I was underwater, drowning on the putridness. I had run straight into a solid mass of stench. It was like someone had microwaved shit and pennies. Each step closer I thought I would get used to it, but it only got worse, more potent. Yelling for Danger, I found the front door and pushed my way inside. I walked into a room full of T.V.’s with their static turned up all the way, until I felt the static start to crawl across my arms and into my nose. The swarm of flies battered my face, filled my mouth so I couldn’t call for Danger, and covered my ears. Swatting wildly, I half-ran with outstretched arms, in an effort to stop from running head first into a wall, deeper into the house. As I look back on it, a blind man, half shuffle running around a stranger’s house, shouting the word “Danger,” probably isn’t the best way to go about an emergency situation.
“Hello? Is anyone there? My dog ran in here. Danger? Danger where are you?” I tried shouting through the flies. I had found the far wall and was guiding my way along it, one hand on the wall, the other in front of me.