The Nine Lives of Felicia Miller

by Joe Augustyn

  “I hope you’re right.”

  “Of course I’m right. She’s been at this game a lot longer than we have. I’ll bet she’s been at it a lot longer than we suspect.”

  “But it’s my fault that she’s missing.”

  “No, it’s not your fault. You’re just a kid. And you said no one knows what happened to her. So don’t jump to any conclusions. Granny might have simply packed up and left.”

  “God I wish you hadn’t moved away.”

  “Tell me about it. I’m living in the land of nerds and turds.”

  “Can’t be any worse than this place.”

  “Wanna bet? I asked our neighbor if it ever stops raining here and he said ‘how should I know? I just moved here two years ago.’ And I already had my bicycle stolen. Twice.”

  “I guess there are creeps everywhere these days.”

  “Yeah. Too bad I didn’t catch the culprit… in my fangs. Listen, you just hang in there. Soon we’ll be heading off to college. Let’s apply to the same schools. We could be roomies. How cool would that be?”

  “Yeah. If I make it that far.”

  “Stop talking like that, grinch. You think Granny’d be happy to hear you pissing and moaning like a little bitch?”

  “I guess not.”

  “Damn straight. She gave you a powerful gift. And told you to use it wisely.”

  “You’re right again. I’m sorry.”

  “Don’t be sorry. Just get your head on straight so I don’t have to worry about you. Take a breather until the stupid hunt is over. Spend time with your hot new BF. Catch up on your school work. You need to keep your grades up so you can get into a decent school.”

  “You’re right. As always, Ruta. What would I do without you?”

  217

  The Nine Lives of Felicia Miller

  38

  “Yah! You scared me, goddammit,” Wally blurted. Whacked on a cocktail of drugs and booze, he almost dropped a load when he saw his father’s shadowy figure seated in the dark living room. “What the hell are you doing sitting in the dark like that anyway?”

  “Sit down, boy. We need to talk.”

  “What? Just because I came in a little late and—”

  “I said sit down!”

  Wally was stunned. His old man sometimes snapped at him, but this was clearly different. There was an edge in his voice that the boy had never heard before. He hesitated just long enough to let the old man know that he wasn’t totally being bullied into submission. Then he plopped onto the sofa across from his father. Even in the dark, he could make out the shape of his father’s favorite drinking glass on the end table next to his armchair.

  “You remember that old boy Haley Joe who used to bust up Corrigan’s roadhouse every Friday night?”

  “Vaguely,” Wally answered.

  “Vaguely? You don’t remember how he suddenly disappeared, a day after he was found with his head all busted open and covered with bruises, lying in the road like a beaten sack of shit?”

  “Yeah. I remember that.”

  Suddenly Wally took notice of his father’s hands, silhouetted in the darkness. He realized he was holding granddad’s old blackjack. Slapping it softly against the palm of his hand.

  “You remember that, do you? Good. Then you know that son of a bitch never set foot in this town again, did he?”

  Wally was silent. He didn’t like where this was going. Not at all.

  “Somebody beat that bastard so hard he just took up and left town for good. And we ain’t had no trouble with him since. Ain’t seen hide nor hair of him ever again. Ain’t that right?”

  “Yeah. He disappeared. I get the picture. So what’s your point?”

  “The point is… you’re goddam lucky you’re my son.” The Sheriff paused to take a sip of whiskey, rattling the ice cubes angrily before setting the glass down. “I was out at old lady Dola’s this afternoon.”

  Wally swallowed hard, but said nothing.

  His father held his silence for a minute, gauging his son’s reaction. Finally he continued, “Some assholes vandalized that poor old woman’s home. Left quite a mess out there.”

  “Is that right?” Wally tried to play it cool.

  “Stupid shits left clues all over the place.”

  Wally felt sick to his stomach. Get to the point already, old man.

  “Fingerprints… DNA,” his father continued. “The kind of clues that could get someone locked up in prison for a good long stretch… or worse… if anything happened to that old lady.”

  “Why are you telling me that? That has nothing to do with—”

  “Don’t play dumb with me, boy. I been covering your ass for way too long. I know I helped create this problem. But I’ll end it if I have to.”

  “I don’t know nothing about what happened to that old crone. Yeah, me and my boys were out there partying. But she was long gone before we ever got there. The place was empty. We just did a little partying, that’s all. We didn’t hurt nobody. And that’s the god’s honest truth.”

  “It better be, boy. Cause if she turns up dead or banged up somewhere there’s going to be hell to pay.”

  “Okay, I get the picture.”

  “Well good. I’m glad you get the picture. I was beginning to think you were too fucking stupid to get anything. You be sure to pass the word on to your buddies about this too.”

  “Right.” Wally started to get up.

  “Sit down! You haven’t been excused.”

  Wally dropped back into his seat. Fighting the temptation to argue. To regain some shred of his farcical dignity.

  “There’s some changes coming to this town. Big changes. Development. That means new people. Powerful new interests. New people to answer to. If I want to keep my position I’m gonna have to play by their rules. And I will. The fun and games is over. No more free ride.”

  “Ten four, Sheriff. Got you, loud and clear. Can I go to my room now? I’m tired.”

  “The Sutters have had a long proud history in this town. We came up from nothin’ and we made ourselves a place of respect. But as long as I’m alive, I’m going to make sure I go out with my head held high. You got that?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Git.”

  Wally rose and headed upstairs, detouring to the kitchen to grab a coke for his dry mouth.

  Changes, huh? We’ll see how much things change around here, you stupid old fuck.

  I’m just getting started with this town.

  217

  The Nine Lives of Felicia Miller

  39

  Owen sat in his SUV gazing at the frozen lake. The ice was too thin for skaters, the air too cold for hikers. The Sheriff had the winter bleakness all to himself.

  The gray sky matched his mood perfectly. He sat thinking of his many years of service, reflecting on his legacy with a troubling new perspective. Pondering the way his actions impacted the future of his family. Weighing his minor triumphs against what now seemed like major failures.

  His thoughts drifted back to his formative years. Boyhood impressions of his granddad and his father. Their big Colt revolvers and shiny tin stars. Their gritty voices and surly machismo. Always gruff but calm and relaxed, even when spinning tales of dangerous run-ins with outlaws and lunatic trash.

  They’d survived dramatic shoot-outs and knife attacks and high speed car chases and neither ended up the worse for wear.

  They’d both been men’s men, plain and simple. Heroes to every law-abiding citizen in the county, most of all to Owen.

  But not all his memories of them were so golden. He remembered his father in his later years, seated at the dinner table, proudly boasting about his secret one-man campaign to rid the town of its newest immigrants.

  The Johnsons were the first black family to attempt to settle in Greenville since a few hungry stragglers arrived during the Great Depression. It was the 1970s when the Johnsons showed up. A time when the civil rights movement was gaining significant ground across the nation.
But Greenville was ten years behind the times. White folks still threw the N word around freely in the local taverns, and espoused the belief that all blacks were welfare loafers or whore-beating pimps.

  It didn’t matter that the handful of black families already living in the county were responsible tax-paying citizens who kept largely to themselves. Or that Mr. Johnson was a hardworking, God-fearing middle class businessman. A Korean war vet who came to set up a competitively priced auto repair shop from which the townsfolk of Greenville surely would have benefited.

  Even at the time, Owen had mixed feelings about his father’s racist campaign. He’d been raised to respect his elders, and felt obligated to honor his father’s decisions. He knew the tough old man had the town’s best interests at heart, and figured he had a more complete awareness of the threat the “big city niggers” posed.

  But Owen was also uniquely situated to appreciate their new neighbors.

  The Johnson’s oldest son Darnell was a likable, easygoing, straight A student who also had the fleetest feet and best ball handling skills of any high school athlete the town had ever seen. And since Owen was the school’s starting quarterback, he quickly grew to appreciate what the Johnson boy brought to the team. After years of falling short in the high school play-offs, the team was finally on its way to an undefeated season and its first ever shot at a state championship trophy.

  But thanks to Daddy Sutter’s interference, Mr. Johnson packed up his brood and headed off in search of a friendlier community.

  With their best receiver gone, the Greenville football team imploded in the final stretch.

  Owen’s athletic career ended with that season. He skipped college to apprentice under his old man, and later inherited the sacred duty of upholding the law in the county.

  Darnell Johnson went on to become a college star, and then on to play in the NFL. He never made the Hall of Fame, but Owen saw him play a few times on Monday Night Football, and spent many sleepless nights wondering how far he himself might have gone had he not been deprived of his star receiver.

  His father learned of the Johnson boy’s success—Owen made sure of that—but if the old man had any regrets for running the family out of town and dashing his son’s only hope of playing college ball on a scholarship, he never let on.

  Owen, however, was now filled with regrets. He sat in his SUV, mulling over the years of unfair treatment he himself had heaped on those sorry snitches who dared file official complaints about his son.

  How many tickets had he written, driving up the insurance rates of those poor bastards? How much grief and anxiety had he caused them by stalking them outside their homes and businesses? Making their lives miserable on behalf of his worthless son.

  This must be what the hippies call karma. I let that boy shit all over this town, and now he is nothing. Nothing I can be proud of. Nothing I can look forward to. Nothing to carry on the Sutter family name. Nothing but the evil pile of shit that he’s become.

  I should have whacked the little bastard the first time he acted up. Given him a good hard kick in the pants like my daddy did to me when I got caught lying or stealing two cents worth of candy.

  Thunder grumbled in the distance. The sky turned darker still. A mountain of charcoal clouds rolled over the lake, like a bloated black vulture searching for a meal.

  Owen started the ignition and headed back to town.

  Happy hour would come early tonight.

  217

  The Nine Lives of Felicia Miller

  40

  “And just where do you think you’re going, young lady?”

  Felicia stopped in her tracks, surprised by her mother’s challenging tone. “Out.”

  “Out? Is that supposed to be an answer?”

  Felicia considered lying, but realized it might backfire if her parents decided to snoop after her or offered to drive her to her destination. No sense complicating matters.

  “I’m going to check on Granny Dola,” she said blithely, as if it was the most natural thing in the world for her to go visit the town witch.

  “Granny Dola? The old—” Laurie caught herself. “The old woman who lives in the woods?”

  “The old witch. That’s what you were going to say, isn’t it?”

  “Don’t get smart with me, Felicia. What business do you have with Mrs. Dola?”

  “She’s missing, in case you haven’t heard, and I’m worried about her.”

  “No, I hadn’t heard. But why is that your concern? You don’t even know her, yet you were going to hike out there into the woods where those boys were attacked?”

  “Yes, as a matter I do know her and her cabin is only a mile off the main road.”

  “You know her? That’s the first I’ve heard about it. How exactly is it that you know her?”

  “I don’t know. I just ran into her one day. She’s a sweet old lady. And I heard in town recently that she’s missing. I just want to see if she’s back and is okay, since none of the haters in this selfish town seems to give a damn about her. Can I go now please?”

  “No, young lady, you’re not going anywhere. If you’re really that concerned I’ll be happy to phone the Sheriff and have him check up on her. That’s his job.”

  “I already spoke to the Sheriff. And the state social workers. And anyone else in the government who I thought might be able to help. But they haven’t. I just waste my time listening to automated recordings and punching in numbers on the phone and when I finally do get a real live person on the line, they’re just some dumb-ass lazy bureaucratic moron who acts like I’m disrupting their siesta. So I’m just going out there to see for myself if she’s turned up and is safe.”

  “You’re not going out of this house.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because every idiot with a gun is out there trying to bag a thousand dollar prize. I’ve been watching them drive past all morning, with guns in one hand and six-packs in the other. Some unfortunate soul’s going to get their head blown off out there and it’s not going to be you.”

  “But—”

  “But nothing, Felicia. I’ll speak to the Sheriff. If this woman is missing as you say then it’s his sworn duty to find her. Not some teenage girl with a Nancy Drew complex.”

  “Nancy who?”

  “Uh. Go do your homework.”

  “It’s done.”

  “Then go watch TV.”

  “If you’re that concerned about my safety why don’t you just drive me out there?”

  “So we can both get our heads blown off? No thank you. As delightful as that sounds I’ll have to pass.”

  “But—”

  “But nothing. I’m your mother. Case closed.”

  217

  The Nine Lives of Felicia Miller

  41

  “I’m here to see Oogie Joslin.”

  “The Joslin boy? Something must be in the air. Today’s the first time since he was admitted that he’s had a visitor other than his immediate family.” The duty nurse slid a clipboard across the counter. “And today he’s already had two. Sign in please.”

  “I brought him a cake,” Felicia raised a homemade cake into view.

  The duty nurse did a double-take as she glanced at the cake. It was slathered with dark chocolate icing. The outline of a grinning tail-wagging kittycat was drawn in white frosting. A maraschino cherry marked its tongue, flanked by two white frosting fangs.

  Big fangs.

  “Oh how nice,” she said uncertainly, wondering how the girl could be so callous. Then she remembered that the boy wouldn’t see it. He had no eyes to see with. Still… “Room two. Right down the hall, you can’t miss it.”

  It didn’t take Felicia long to find the room. The hospital was as nominal a structure as could bear the name. As she approached she heard soft voices in the room, and had second thoughts about her visit. She had drawn the fanged cat as a private joke, but realized now how embarrassing it could be. What if it’s his mother?

  She wasn’t t
here on a mission of mercy. But she wasn’t there to finish off Oogie either. The cake she brought contained no poison, only the relatively harmless crap that came in a box of instant cake mix and a can of packaged icing.

  Her purpose was simply to check on Oogie’s mood, and darken it by subtly reminding him of all the good things in life he was missing out on. She knew it was mean and spiteful, and it certainly wasn’t the kind of thing she would have ever conceived of doing in what she now considered her past life. But her new feline spirit had a wicked streak that impelled her to indulge her cruelty. Like a cat batting a captured bird around, until at last it lay limp and lifeless.

  She hesitated outside the room, not sure how another visitor might interfere with her mission, or would react to the mocking cake. But looking back down the hall at the woman manning the front desk, she knew it would be awkward to turn tail and back out now. Taking a breath she stepped into the room, and almost gasped aloud as she saw who Oogie’s other visitor was.

  “Nelson?”

  Nelson had the same befuddled look on his face that he did when she’d joked about suing him. But he quickly turned it into a smile.

  “Felicia. What a pleasant surprise.” His phony smile barely distracted her from the lump bobbing in his throat.

  In the hospital bed behind him, Oogie shifted anxiously at the mention of her name, and made a strange gurgling noise in his throat that sounded like a wounded animal.

  Felicia wasn’t sure if it was because he felt guilty for participating in the attack on her, or did he sense something in her that was hauntingly familiar?

  Something predatory in nature?

  Nelson hurried over to greet her near the door, forcing a big tight smile that made his dimples rise like shark fins.

  “Hey, babe,” he whispered softly, and kissed her discreetly.

  “What are you doing here?” Felicia asked quietly.