The Return of Sebastian Leveque

By Nelson Piludu

In the tumultuous world of freelance journalism, where headlines scream tragedy and stories unfold in relentless pursuit of truth, one man stands at the center of it all. Meet the protagonist of The Return of Sebastian Leveque, a seasoned journalist who has borne witness to more heartache than most. Amidst the chaos, there exists a steadfast companion—a loyal Labrador—who has been his unwavering solace.

But life is unpredictable, and when the beloved pet breathes its last, the journalist is thrust into a profound solitude. Grief wraps around him like a shroud, threatening to consume his spirit. Yet, from the depths of sorrow emerges an unexpected revelation: the memories of his faithful dog hold the key to something greater.

In the quietude of remembrance, the journalist discovers a unique purpose. He realizes that he can channel the joy he once shared with his canine companion toward a noble cause. Orphaned children, their lives marked by hardship and loss, could find solace and delight through the same unconditional love that once bound man and dog.

Nelson Piludu weaves a poignant narrative—one that transcends personal grief and touches the universal chords of compassion. The Return of Sebastian Leveque is a testament to resilience, a beacon of hope even in the darkest hours. For it is precisely when we feel most adrift, most lost, that we have the power to reshape our world, one act of kindness at a time.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Outskirts Press
• Release date: Mar 29, 2024
• ISBN: 9781977274007

Nelson Piludu

Nelson Piludu, a scientist by day, delves into the intersection of science and the human condition, and his novels resonate with palpable history and a fervent commitment to social justice. When clinical work recedes, he retreats to his writing nook, weaving words into vivid tapestries where characters’ struggles mirror our own inner battles.

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The Return of Sebastian Leveque

All Rights Reserved.

Copyright © 2024 Nelson Piludu

v2.0

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, locales, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

The opinions expressed in this manuscript are solely the opinions of the author and do not represent the opinions or thoughts of the publisher. The author has represented and warranted full ownership and/or legal right to publish all the materials in this book.

This book may not be reproduced, transmitted, or stored in whole or in part by any means, including graphic, electronic, or mechanical without the express written consent of the publisher except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

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PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA

TABLE OF CONTENTS

1: DEATH OF A FRIEND GENTLENESS

2: RIP SAMUEL MURAT LEVEQUE LOVE

3: LONELY HOMES CURIOSITY

4: MID-ATLANTIC-CENTRAL AMERICA PROTECTIVENESS

5: ATTEMPTS AND FAILURES LOYALTY

6: RELEVANCE OF WRITING QUIETNESS

7: OPEN SPACES FRIENDLINESS

8: DISMANTLING A LIFE BRAVERY

9: DOGS AND ORPHANS VIGILANCE

10: ALL THE THINGS WE LEARN FROM DOGS PEACE - AFFECTION

1

DEATH OF A FRIEND GENTLENESS

It was the cold, wet sensation creeping up his leg what woke him that morning. As if his leg was suddenly made of cloth, of cotton. The wetness was expanding on his skin, much as a drop of water begins as a pinpoint on a dress shirt and slowly and inevitably grows and one ends up looking sloppy. The people in the meeting notice, try not to look at the shirt, look down to their notes but the image is already imprinted, the thought not formulated but ready to surface at the least expected moment.

Sebastian? Oh yeah, that slob!

He moved his leg on the bed, towards the left and felt the edge perilously close. Refused to open his eyes waiting for rational thought to creep in. He had surely been woken up from the rainwater making it into his tent, somehow, deep in the Calanques woods east of Marseille where he had been planning to go camping one day, someday, if he ever got the nerve to book a flight, make arrangements and defy his indifference. He pictured the sentence he had barely just thought of and instinctively highlighted the last word that came into conflict with the word nerve. Drowsily he argued, lack of nerve implied cowardice, whereas indifference denoted reality. His reality.

Drifting back into sweet oblivion he felt the darkness in his room and he knew it was early still.

A minute or an hour passed before the wetness reached his leg again. And the smell overpowered him. Thick, viscous, downright nasty.

Sam! Come on, buddy! Your farts stink!

He waited for Sam’s tail to begin pounding the bed, as it did every time Sam felt Sebastian was awake and conscious.

Sebastian waited, opened his eyes slowly. Dread, unbearable dread washing over him, pinning him down to the bed, immobilizing him. Early morning light filtered into the room with no compassion.

He forced himself to look.

There, using most of the bed as he always did, with his paws that smelled of chips and wood and grass folded slightly, his brown fur still not distinguishable in all its color, not wagging, not moving, not breathing anymore was his friend, his companion, his Sam.

Samuel Murat Leveque. A dog with three names, he used to joke around when people looked at him as if he was crazy. It happened often enough.

Sam, for short he would add, ignoring the cautious looks of the young kids that always wanted to pet Sam as he walked him around the neighborhood. Walk being a strong word. It was more a couple of pals strolling along each other. It’s ok he would tell the kids. Sam loves to be petted.

Sam loved the area around the new house from the moment he jumped out of the car.

When Sebastian was finally able to buy the house, after seven years of rebuilding his credit-a shitty deal he would tell his friends, meaning after the divorce one’s credit worthiness went to shit- he waited until he had the keys to show the place to Sam.

His realtor was probably about to drop him as a client when they finally found the place. They had been searching for over six months. Prices had steadied after the crash of ’08 but for his price range the options ranged from horrendous to barely habitable, especially in the area where he wanted to remain which was close to the beach but closer yet to the airport and I-95. In other words, in Hollywood.

Go west, young man Trevor would tell him, eyeing him suspiciously but never saying what he was really thinking. He didn’t need to. All he had to do was tilt that big head of his and cock his eyebrows. Trevor’s very British way of saying you need to get laid, my friend or some other English crap like that. Have yourself a tea and a biscuit or find yourself a nice looking wench.

There were nicer houses, more modern ones the further west one looked but the idea of dealing with traffic terrified Sebastian. After all he was firmly convinced sitting in traffic was a sure way of losing your sweet disposition and inclining you towards a life of crime and debauchery. They had even made a film about that and everyone knew if something was portrayed in the big screen it was the indisputable truth.

Trevor would shake his head.

You work from home he would say, to no avail.

That this house would be the one was clear the moment they pulled into the driveway. It was a corner house and there were four black olive trees in the front yard and a single oak towards the alley. There was an alley for crying out loud. An L shaped, fenced in back yard.

The interior had been redone by the sellers. Cheap but modern tiles covered the entire floor. No carpet and that meant no dealing with Sam’s hair even for breakfast. The garage was made into an office and Sebastian took one look and already arranged in his mind the bookshelves and he began pondering the position he would put his desk in, the angle of light coming in.

There were two other rooms. A master with its bathroom, a tiny shower with room barely for one. Another bathroom and another room that had two sets of windows, a corner room with plenty of light, ideal for Ann Marie to study or for visitors. That no one ever came down to visit him since his divorce was not something he thought about at the moment.

Built in 1963, the year of his brother’s birth, the house only had had two owners. The original owners had rented the place out for the last couple of years and that explained the worn down grass, the trees not trimmed, the missing screen door of the terrace but these seemed like insignificant details one could deal with later. The sellers, house flippers, had probably sought the older owners, made them an offer they couldn’t refuse and fixed the place up spending the least amount of money they could. They did replace the roof, installed new appliances and gave the kitchen a modern, airy look. Sebastian figured they would easily make a hundred grand by selling the place to the first sucker that came along. That he was this sucker was not something he decided to dwell too deeply upon.

There was a fireplace in the living room. It was a brick contraption that covered the wall as soon as one entered the house. Lazily he thought the incongruity had to go. It was hard to imagine sitting in the living room, bundled up with a good book with the fire going as snow fell over the unprepared Hollywood streets on a cold, wet December.

There was a terrace in the back, screened except for the lacking door. There was an old shed in the backyard and the grass of the patio needed some serious maintenance. But Sam would love having his own open space.

It was a quiet neighborhood. He walked around the fence in the back, into the alley and met a couple from the house behind him. They spoke briefly and he was given a condensed history of the house he intended to purchase. There was a dog in their backyard, a yellow lab who came over to the fence to sniff Sebastian and must have determined this man was an acceptable human because he lost interest right away.

On the north side of the street there was a sports complex, swimming pools and indoor courts. As it was Saturday he saw and greeted a few people, young mothers mainly, walking their dogs and little kids. They were friendly. The dogs and the people. This was important.

If he had been confronted by a snarling, mean looking, teeth baring Rottweiler who could jump onto your neck and bite off your carotid his overall impression of the house and the area would have been seriously compromised.

When he climbed back on Elisa’s truck she seemed relieved. Her lips had what Sebastian would call a job well done smile. Her cheeks, habitually pale had a slight color and she had not bothered putting on her oversized sunglasses that hid her light green eyes. She didn’t ask him what he thought as she had during these last six months every time they saw a place. She saw him looking back as they drove towards his apartment. They still had another three houses they had planned to look at but all of them were beyond 441 and houses that far west they barely looked at just so they could feel they had at least tried. Sebastian felt like kissing her. She did hug him tightly when she dropped him off and she came off the truck to say good bye.

I’ll send you the paperwork when I get home she said, climbing back in. He came to close her door and thought stupidly how good she looked in dress pants and top but wearing wedge flip flops or whatever those things were called.

Sam barely lifted his head when Sebastian walked into the apartment. He was laying on the black sofa he had chewed on playfully until he ripped its guts out but this time there was no white fluffy stuff all over the carpet. Sensing there was something special upon his human’s return he jumped off and came over to Sebastian, wagging his tail tentatively.

Hey buddy Sebastian told Sam, kneeling on the carpet so Sam could place his head closer to Sebastian’s and they could look in each other’s eyes. I think I found ourselves a home. Sam began wagging harder and harder and fast as lighting his big wet tongue licked Sebastian’s face.

Sebastian Leveque was not one to believe firmly in destiny. The concept that things were preordained by some supreme entity seemed to be a load of crap higher powers used throughout history to keep the common folk subdued. It also negated the idea of randomness. Although he was no physicist and had no particular love for science he imagined there had to be formulas that could explain what people called coincidences. Like his finding the house when he had secretly began looking at listings for townhouses and condos. Without telling Elisa. Like him, she detested the idea of sharing a wall with strangers. He had had more than his fair share of that during his apartment living era.

That afternoon, in the apartment, as he waited for the contract to go through, he examined the squalidness of his current place. Not that it was in bad shape or the place was decrepit. As a matter of fact, he lived within walking distance to the beach, east of US1, close enough to the Hollywood Boardwalk. It was considered by his friends as a suitable place for an inveterate bachelor. But as he paced back and forth under Sam’s ironic gaze he realized how constricted he felt, how the words he wrote had to have the same feeling of being trapped, caged, imprisoned.

As a writer he did his best work when there was a view from his window. Not the parking lot of a south Florida apartment complex.

True, he had seen his fair share of characters. Like the one armed ex Mossad operative who laughed loudly and claimed to be from New York although he had a heavy accent and pronounced all h as if he was clearing his throat. The man did know his guns and was always talking about shooting looters in the face. What looters Sebastian never asked but he figured Robert –if that was his real name- was talking about a possible post-apocalyptic world when the ocean had made it all the way to the stairs and instead of a parking lot there would be a marina for all the small vessels needed then for navigating the South Florida canals. Sebastian wanted to ask Robert if his suspicions were right but the man never gave him a chance.

Then there was the older lady who had so many facials done and owed so much money to plastic surgeons that she had to live in a rental place. She was sweet to Sam every time Sebastian took him out for a walk. It was almost as she had been spying out the window and she came out the moment she saw them.

Oh she would croon patting Sam in the head who let her do her stuff patiently, about to roll his eyes where’s the sweetest puppy in the world? Who’s the sweetest puppy in the whole wide world?

Sebastian always found it hard to restrain himself from telling her that in dog years Sam and her were probably contemporaries. But she loved Sam and in his book anyone who loved Sam was an ok human being.

And Marina. He always thought of her with her full name: Marina Tramonti. It added to the Italian flavor, if that was even a thing. Joachim, his brother, always said Sebastian had a habit of calling people by their full name. But that was an exaggeration. He only did that to a select few. And Sam. When he had to scold Sam.

He hadn’t seen Marina much after she finally found a boyfriend. They used to go bike riding, even after she had moved from the apartments and was living with two gay guys. At times Sebastian had fantasized about having something more with Marina but she was much younger, more European. She had recently moved to south Florida from some town in the Abbruzzo. Blonde, a bit chubby, with deep brown eyes that seemed to read even your most secret thoughts and made you blush, she had her fair amount of complexes and insecurities.

Sebastian always wondered what did she really think of him. Why the phone number exchange one day in the parking lot? Why the calls to go out for a drink or dinner? Why the unexpected deep kiss one night before she shut the door in his face?

All women are mysteries, he would mutter. Sam would wag his tail placidly, once, sensing his mood was about to turn dark.

Sebastian looked at Sam now, as Elisa called him to tell him the sellers had accepted the offer. Sam climbed off the couch and walked towards Sebastian, his tail moving slowly but decisively. How does he know? Sebastian asked himself as Sam rolled onto his back, exposing his big brown belly to be petted. Sam closed his eyes and made satisfied noises.

Elisa called him once more and gave him the code for the front door lock. The owners said they didn’t have any problem letting him see the house when he wanted to. No one lived there and the only thing they asked is that Sebastian let them know when he was gone. There were still people that trusted others, Sebastian mumbled thinking they must have done a quick Google search, seen his age and determined a mature man like himself posed no risk of setting up camp inside their newly remodeled house, bring in some wild friends to consume drugs and adult beverages and party until the break of day. Any other day the thought might have brought his spirits tumbling down. Not today.

Sam waited by the door, sitting on his hind legs patiently, from time to time glancing over in Sebastian’s direction, a quiet reprimand for getting him all excited and bothered and then taking all the time in the world.

Come on, you know I have to put the leash on you. Sebastian told him.

It was one of the few apartment complexes he knew in South Florida that accepted pets. There were clear limitations of size but the manager and the office personnel didn’t have any issues with Sam who was a few pounds above the upper limit. He wasn’t overweight. He was just old and walked now with a heavy gait and that gave him the impression of being bigger than he really was.

The leash was something Sebastian hated but he had to, ever since that crazy, skinny woman from another building took one look at Sam ambling on the sidewalk one afternoon, half a pace before Sebastian and started yelling at the top of her lungs to restrain that beast. Sam heard the commotion, took one look at Sebastian and sat placidly on his hind legs, his tail wagging once, twice, full stop then once more before stopping completely.

Oh my God!’ the woman kept wailing. That dog is too big!" That was untrue. There was a much bigger German Shepherd living in her same building but that one too was gentle and quiet. The woman was hysterical. Anybody looking out the window would have thought she was being chased by a hippopotamus or was about to be impaled by a ferocious rhinoceros near a Serengeti waterhole. Sebastian ran his hand over Sam’s head and felt Sam lean against his leg, hurt. The woman would simply not shut up. She kept going on and on saying she would complain to the apartment complex management, that she would make them kick Sebastian and his wolf out. Sam had obviously morphed into a wild, wild thing. That the dog had scared her and she was about to have a heart attack.

You should stop smoking then Sebastian heard himself say. The woman had nervously lit a cigarette and she kept screaming with it between her lips. The woman opened her eyes wide, incredulous that this old man was talking back to her.

What did you say? she yelled.

I said you might be having a heart attack because you smoke too much. You know? Cigarette smoke causes your arteries to thicken and before you know it, puff! You’re dead!

You asshole! the woman screamed, outraged.

Sebastian patted Sam and started turning around to go back upstairs. He moved his head from side to side, pointing at his chest. Not me. You. He gestured towards the woman who was, this time, in case she wasn’t before, he thought, for sure having a conniption.

Sam walked ahead of him into the hallway. He passed the stairs and headed straight to the elevators. The apartment was on the second floor but Sebastian would not make Sam climb if he didn’t need to. Sam had his head low, like he did when he had done something wrong and Sebastian had called him out on it.

Hey buddy Sebastian told Sam. That wasn’t your fault. She just forgot to take her meds today.

Sam looked up at Sebastian, relieved. Wagged his tail.

Since then, every time they went out Sebastian put on the leash. He could not wait to have his own place. He was sure Sam felt the same way.

Sam needed a little push on the rump to climb the Jeep now. He sat in the back seat, his cold nose almost pressed against the window, waiting impatiently for Sebastian to roll it down. Sam loved puppy rides. It was what Sebastian called them -puppy rides- although neither one of them was a puppy anymore.

When Sam was still a puppy he took possession of the back seat right away. He looked at the window Sebastian didn’t dare open too much in case the little guy decided to take a leap and start chasing a squirrel or something that had caught his eye. He looked at the window and then at Sebastian. Like saying, hello! I’m waiting here. The routine had thus been established.

That time on the way to see the house he stuck his nose out the window, as he always did, not panting yet. He reserved his panting when the Jeep was going faster. Not a second before hitting 40 miles per hour. Sebastian had paid close attention to that single fact. Not a single second or mile per hour before. The moment the Jeep hit forty out came his tongue, pink and long. His ears and his tongue flapping comically.

Sebastian could see little kids in cars next to him point at Sam and wave hello and Sam glanced at them majestically. It wasn’t hard to imagine Sam waving with his right paw. Softly. Like Sebastian had seen the royals do when they peeked out the windows of Buckingham Palace and waved at the adoring crowds.

What’s wrong with the Royals? Trevor would ask, amused.

That’s what’s wrong Sebastian would tell his friend, to pique him. I bet when you said that word you actually capitalized the R. Sebastian inclined his head like Trevor always did and rolled out the word ‘royals’ again, the R long and impossibly English.

So? Trevor said. He did like his arguments. She will always be my Queen.

Sam loved to watch them banter. He would sit comfortably between them on the carpet, his head between his paws and he would glance up at them when he heard them laugh. Often he would sit between Trevor’s long legs and rest his head on Trevor’s knee, watching Sebastian as Trevor ran his hand over his head, grabbed his ears and touched Sam’s cold nose.

Trevor used to say he was the one that invented the phrase of feeling the warmth of a cold nose. Sebastian would roll his eyes and sip at his drink.

That afternoon Sam stuck his head out even more convincingly, looking at the people on the streets, with renewed energy, playfully. Sebastian heard a couple of people call out to Sam. Standing on the back seat Sam wagged, happy for the attention.

Sam was a retriever mix. Brown with Pointer legs and snout but with the body of a retriever. Smaller than a golden. Retrievers had to be the most beloved dog breed in America Sebastian was convinced. They never looked menacing, were always playful and they loved people. Gentle, beautiful dogs.

Sebastian would not manage to go over forty miles an hour this time since the house was only a couple of miles from the apartment. A bit further west than he would have liked but he could easily take Sheridan Street, turn on 26 or he could take US1 down to Taft, make a right and drive over the railroad tracks and be there in under ten minutes.

If pressed, he would not be able to say if Sam knew what was going on or if he was just feeding off Sebastian’s good vibe. He seemed to be looking at everything, at each patio, at each house, looking up at the few trees that lined Taft Street, at the water under the bridge over the canal.

A pickup truck with a couple of dogs in the back passed heading in opposite direction and Sebastian would have sworn they communicated somehow. No barking but he saw in the rearview mirror Sam look back at the two dogs and when he faced forward again he almost seemed to be smiling. Not aggressively. More as if he had told the other two dogs he was riding in the back seat of a comfortable vehicle, with air conditioning while they had their asses sitting on the cold metal of the back of a country styled pickup truck. Not only that but he was on his way to check out and give his approval to their new place. Where are you mutts headed to? Sam could be an ass that way.

When Sebastian turned onto their street Sam stood very still. When he pulled into the small driveway Sam sat on his hind legs, his head still out the window. He waited patiently for Sebastian to turn off the Jeep, get out and open the door for him. Sam panted softly and his big brown eyes looked straight into Sebastian’s.

We’re here buddy Sebastian told him.

Sam jumped out of the Jeep like if he was twenty-one dog years younger, took one look around and began sniffing.

There had to be a method to Sam’s sniffing. He sniffed first the small area between the houses, his nose pressed against the grass of the front yard, on some ornamental plants that seemed to mark the boundary between the two houses. With his snout against the ground he sniffed his way to the street, smelled the driveway, decided it was not interesting and headed to the largest black olive tree. He circled it, lifted his back paw and marked his territory with a smugness that made Sebastian smile. He ambled very casually to the middle tree, much smaller, it’s higher branches nestled between the bigger tree and the one on the outside edge of the sidewalk. Repeated his routine and headed placidly towards Sebastian who struggled with the padlock until he had it open.

Sam was the first one in the house. He looked at everything, sniffed every corner, went from room to room as if it was he who was showing the house to Sebastian and not the other way around.

He didn’t pay much attention to the old garage but did look up at Sebastian like saying, here, this one can be yours. Sam paid particular attention to the kitchen, at the brand new refrigerator, oven and dishwasher. He didn’t find any traces of food but he must have realized this was the area where Sebastian would prepare himself his meals and probably stock up on Sam’s food because he raised slightly one eye, as he did sometimes, stating emphatically the place would do.

Sam ignored the fireplace, went into the guest bedroom, to the guest bathroom and as if he knew the layout of the land headed straight to the master bedroom. He sniffed at the closets, decided it was safe and grunting his approval took possession of a corner of the room, laying down noisily satisfied.

What do you say, buddy? You like it? Sam wagged, tolerant of Sebastian’s ignorance. Come on Sebastian urged Sam. I have to show you the best part. I think you’ll like it more.

When Sebastian opened the sliding door that led to the terrace and the patio Sam hesitated, lifting his snout into the air as if the aroma of the patio was overwhelming him. He took one step onto the terrace, paid it no mind and headed straight out the missing door into the derelict backyard. He sniffed the few strands of grass that remained and began exploring, not quite running but walking at a brisk pace, towards the fence, along the edges, onto the back yard oak tree and into the L shaped, sand covered portion of the patio. He marked his territory a couple of times and began a victory trot.

Sebastian had to call Sam a couple of times so he could come back in. Sam