The Nine Lives of Felicia Miller

by Joe Augustyn

  She pulled the Halloween mask out from under the bed and stared at it in disbelief. Her stomach knotted tightly and her head felt dizzy. She wasn’t sure if she’d throw up or pass out first.

  The mask stared back at her, an evil taunting grin on its bizarrely lifelike face. An evil grin she recognized from her night at Devils Point.

  Bolting to her feet she dropped the mask and kicked it swiftly under the bed. She closed her eyes, but the image of the mask stayed fresh in her mind, moving towards her through a haze of thick white fog.

  Nelson returned as she was working her feet into her boots, anxious to flee the love nest turned nightmare. He took a sip of his beer and offered her a second can he’d already opened for her. “Come on, Felicia. Give me another chance. You know you want to stay. We have plenty of time before you have to be home. Just have one beer with me so I know you’re not still pissed.” Drink up, bitch. Let’s see how fast you can leave when the roofie kicks in. My boys are waiting with the videocamera to come over here and party. We’ll make you an internet star.

  But Felicia didn’t even look at him. She couldn’t, for fear she’d explode in anger and tip her hand that she knew. Knew that despite his pretty face and carefully groomed persona and classy German car, he was a two-faced piece of trash.

  A liar and a rapist.

  One of Wally’s boys.

  But now that she knew, she had to be careful not to tip her hand. If she did he might panic and leave town. Or warn Wally and Sparrow that she was onto them. Then they too might disappear. Before she could get her revenge.

  It’s on now, motherfucker.

  She grabbed her coat and left without saying a word.

  “Hey, wait!” Nelson ran after her as she ran down the stairs. “Felicia, wait! Give me a minute to get dressed. I’ll drive you home.”

  The front door slammed and he knew it was over.

  Fuck. Stupid goddamn bitch. Blowing her effin cork over a line of fucking blow.

  He took a long sip of his beer, angry that he’d wasted a perfectly good roofie.

  Good riddance.

  I don’t need that fucking noise.

  Bitch.

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  The Nine Lives of Felicia Miller

  45

  Even with her thick wool gloves on, the cold air nipped at Felicia’s fingertips. She pulled her scarf over her head and stuffed her hands into her pockets as she started the long walk home.

  The snow was lovely, a clean dry snow swirling slowly down in the golden light of the streetlamps. A two inch deep carpet already covered the ground, cushioning her steps, crunching softly under her feet. But she wasn’t enjoying the magical spectacle. She was too busy reliving the torment of that miserable night at the Point. Trying to match the indignities she’d suffered that night with the mask found under the bed.

  Her blood raced hot through her veins. She raked over every moment she’d shared with Nelson since that night. Her anger a boiling kettle. She thought of how he had delayed her trip to Villani’s, which led to Granny’s sudden disappearance.

  How he lied. How he used her.

  Like a rag. A dirty rag.

  Her eyes clouded with tears of humiliation that turned icy on her cheeks. Her mind was dizzy with grief. She could barely walk straight. The sidewalk felt much too slippery.

  She heard the motor of a car drawing close but ignored it. The brief toot of a horn followed. She didn’t recognize it but knew it wasn’t Nelson’s Audi, or her parents’ car.

  “You alright?” a male voice asked.

  Felicia finally stopped and turned, but not before wiping the tears from her face with her mittens. Sheriff Sutter was there in his big SUV, creeping along beside her. “You alright, Felicia?” he asked again, with genuine concern in his voice.

  “I’m fine,” she answered. But Owen recognized the hollow eyes of someone who’d just had a good long cry. His wife had passed away years before, but he still remembered the dark nights when she’d had that same look on her face. A look that still pained him when he remembered it.

  “Get in. I’ll drive you home.”

  “No. Thank you, Sheriff. I like the snow. Really. I want to walk. It’s not that far.”

  “Not that far? It’s clear across town. This ain’t no weather for a stroll.”

  “I’m good. Really. I need to clear my head. Thanks for the offer. You’re sweet.” She flashed a tentative smile.

  Owen wasn’t convinced, but finally relented and rolled up his window. I guess sometimes they just need to be alone. But what did she mean by clear her head? Clear it of what? And why has she been so concerned about old lady Dola? What has that old witch got to do with that little girl?

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  The Nine Lives of Felicia Miller

  46

  Felicia found her parents waiting in the living room. She smiled and pretended that everything was normal. It was clear they were waiting for her, obviously suspicious about her activities. They had a TV in their bedroom, and normally by this time they were snuggled in bed, watching some salacious cable show until they either dozed off or got worked up enough to jump each other’s bones.

  “Hey,” Felicia greeted them cheerfully, pausing to steal a handful of popcorn from the bowl on the coffee table.

  “Well, she’s alive,” her father quipped sarcastically.

  What? Felicia said with a look.

  “You never returned my call,” her mother said coolly. “Crystal said you were in the bathroom when I called. But you never called back.”

  Felicia thought quickly. “Sorry. She told me you called but your line was busy when I tried to call you back. Then we started playing Legend of Zelda and I just spaced and forgot to call again. So go ahead and crucify me. Mea culpa.”

  “Nobody’s out to crucify you, Miss Martyr. We just wish you were more considerate of our feelings.” Laurie spoke without looking at her daughter. A telltale sign she was pissed. “For all we know you might have gone out to the woods looking for your friend Mrs. Dola and been eaten by a grizzly bear.”

  “It’s funny,” her father chimed in, “That we have.call waiting but you said the line was busy.”

  “What? Are you saying you don’t believe me?”

  “We want to believe you, Felicia,” he responded. “I just can’t figure out how it could have happened.”

  “In case you haven’t noticed there’s a storm outside,” Felicia said hotly. “It wouldn’t be the first time the phones in this hick town got bent out of whack by a snowstorm, would it? Or maybe you were on the phone and your stupid TV show was blasting in the background and you didn’t hear the call-waiting click when I called. But it’s nice to know what you really think about me. I’m sorry I’m such a burden.”

  Her parents didn’t answer. Felicia’s reaction had aroused enough plausible doubt to make them worry that maybe she was indeed telling the truth and they’d wrongly accused her. Her disparaging pronouncement “this hick town” especially gave them pause. Their greatest fear was that she was outgrowing their pleasant little homestead, and would run off as soon as she was of age.

  Felicia sensed that she’d gained the upper hand and decided to twist the knife. “I did try to call and the line was busy. I’m not a technician so I can’t explain why call waiting didn’t work, and if you choose not to believe me that’s on you. You never promised me life would be fair, did you?”

  “Okay, Felicia, enough,” her father crumbled first. “If you say you called, you called. I apologize for doubting you.”

  “No one is trying to oppress you, Felicia,” her mother added. “We love you. If we didn’t, we wouldn’t give a hoot what you did, would we?”

  “Okay,” Felicia said in a conciliatory tone. “I’m sorry. Maybe I overreacted. But it’s hard not to when your parents don’t trust you.”

  “We do trust you.”

  “Crystal says hi, by the way.”

  “How is Crystal doing these days?” asked her mother lightly, eager to let
the argument die.

  Felicia smiled inside. Cat girl one, parents zero. “You know how Crystal is,” she answered. “Crystal is Crystal. I tried to get her to play one of the exercise games on the Wii but she’s more interested in scarfing down Pepperidge Farms and playing Legend of Zelda. ”

  Felicia’s mother smiled. Her father was already tuned back into the show on TV. Satisfied that she dodged their ambush, Felicia gave them a peck on the cheek and headed up to her room.

  ***

  Upstairs in her room, Felicia buried her face in her pillow and cried for nearly an hour. Her shoulder muscles ached by the time she stopped her sobbing.

  At last all cried out, she rose and crossed to her mirror. It was well past sundown. She wasn’t planning to transform. She just wanted to remember who she was. To add up how much of her was still left, after giving so much away to Nelson.

  She sat staring numbly at her reflection.

  The girl staring back was a wreck. Despite the power that Granny Dola had bestowed on her, Felicia looked weaker than ever. Her flesh was fuller due to her increased intake of protein, but she looked pale and wan and drained of her lifeforce.

  She wondered if it was her feline nature draining her lifeforce, or her human side? Is this the devil’s price I must pay for dabbling in the Black Arts? Or the result of Nelson and his own devilish cruelty?

  She gazed listlessly at her bloodshot eyes. Ringed by dark weary circles, they looked like the eyes of a zombie. As she continued staring, the image in the mirror slowly turned black, and suddenly the glass was filled with images of Nelson. Felicia saw him kissing her softly and stroking her with seemingly genuine love.

  Then the mirror fogged over and she was back at the Point, cold and hurting as Nelson in his Halloween mask moved in for his cheap stolen thrill, his eyes glazed in a druggy stupor, blazing in demonic triumph as he forced himself on her. Into her.

  A sharp spike of pain exploded in her loins like a devilish reminder, then suddenly she was back. Staring at her own reflection again.

  But the eyes she saw staring back were not human eyes. They were the eyes of a cat.

  And the feelings she was feeling were not the rational thoughts of a human. They were the angry heat of an injured animal. Anxious to strike back. To destroy the cause of her pain.

  Her fingernails dug into her vanity and scratched deep into the wood. As she realized what she was doing she was shocked to see long talons extending from her fingertips.

  The sight of the strange animal claws on her fingers sent an emotional shock through her nervous system.

  In an instant her fingers were normal again. And when she looked up at the mirror her eyes were human eyes again.

  She sat staring quietly at herself. The girl she saw looking back would never be free from her private hell until her enemies were dead and gone. But right now there was nothing she could do about that.

  Until the winter weather clears, I can’t risk going out at night and leaving my bedroom window open. My folks’ll notice the cold draft blowing in and discover I’m missing.

  She considered other options, but finally gave up. As frustrating as it was to postpone her revenge, she couldn’t do otherwise.

  Emotionally exhausted she dragged herself to bed. And collapsed in a death-like sleep.

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  The Nine Lives of Felicia Miller

  47

  “Witchcraft. Who can tell me something about witchcraft?”

  Felicia was surprised by the question. The class seemed surprised as well, for no answer was forthcoming. Finally one smart-ass piped up from the back of the class.

  “Witches are ugly old crones with warts on their gigundous noses.”

  The class laughed. Felicia didn’t.

  “Thank you, Gerald. An astute observation as always.” Mrs. Hadley crossed to the blackboard and pulled down the world map. Witchcraft wasn’t in her study plan but she thought the provocative subject might inspire her less enthusiastic pupils. Most seemed to think history began with the invention of the cell phone and youtube. “There’s been a lot of talk around town lately about the disappearance of one of our more colorful residents. I was hoping we might use this opportunity to examine the social and political aspects of witchcraft. Does anyone have any thoughts on that?”

  “Witches were persecuted as a form of political terrorism,” said Gina Campbell. “The male chauvinist rulers of Europe and America needed to suppress it because they were threatened by the power it allegedly gave its practitioners. Who were usually women. So witchcraft threatened the male dominated fabric of society.”

  “Very good, Gina,” Mrs. Hadley said, “Since you used the word allegedly I assume you don’t believe that witchcraft is real.”

  “Of course it was real, in the sense that people practiced it,” Gina answered. “But that doesn’t mean there was any real magic involved. With the oppression of women and gays being the official policy of Medieval states and the Church, I would bet that most witches were just lesbians sneaking around, poking each other with their broomsticks.”

  The classroom exploded in laughter. Mrs. Hadley was speechless.

  Felicia finally felt compelled to speak up. “I wouldn’t be so quick to dismiss it as a hoax. ‘There are more things in heaven and earth, Horatio, than are dreamt of in your philosophy’.”

  Mrs. Hadley was happy to have the discussion back on a productive track. “You quote Shakespeare, Felicia. Do you think the Great Bard believed in witches? He wasn’t exactly a rube by any stretch of the imagination.”

  “Witches. And ghosts,” Felicia said. “I think he believed in them all. Otherwise he wouldn’t have used them in so many plays.”

  “Shakespeare lived in the Dark Ages,” said Gina. “People were idiots then.”

  “No,” Felicia corrected her. “Shakespeare lived in the Renaissance. A time when mankind had reached a very high level of development. Some might even argue it was when we peaked as a species. And that today we have devolved. I wouldn’t disagree.”

  “I guess Shakespeare believed in fairies too,” smirked Gina. “Have you read Midsummer Nights Dream?”

  “I guess he did,” Felicia said calmly.

  “Well,” Mrs. Hadley said, “Felicia is right that he lived in the Renaissance. However, that period is more renowned for its arts than its science. So we can safely assume that Shakespeare, like his fellow citizens, did believe in the supernatural. Things which we know today are bunk.”

  Felicia bristled inside. But bit her tongue. Most of the town already thought she was loonie.

  “Witchcraft is an abomination,” blurted Helen Blanton self-righteously. “It says in the Bible that witches should be burned. They’re followers of the devil.”

  Laughter and catcalls erupted throughout the room.

  “Well” said Mrs. Hadley, “It seems skepticism is our societal norm.”

  “No. Sanity is,” someone called out.

  Helen’s voice rose, shaky with anger. “Go ahead and laugh. But the older folks in this town know all about old Granny Dola. And the stories they tell are all true. People who crossed her were cursed and died. And she never sets foot in the shadow of any church. When she used to come to town she’d always cross to the other side of the street.”

  The skeptics laughed again. But some kids were getting edgy.

  “Helen, you can’t really believe that,” said Mrs. Hadley. “We live in an age of science and reason.”

  “I believe it because it’s God’s word. If you don’t believe it I feel sorry for you. You need to read your Bible. You all do. Before it’s too late. Before Satan takes your souls.”

  The bell rang. The kids hurrying out laughed at Helen and made mocking spooky noises. Felicia remained seated, emotionally riled.

  “Hold on a minute, class. For homework I want you all to write a two hundred word essay on a belief from the past that has since been debunked and which we no longer believe in. Choose whatever subject you want, from Bigfoot
to flying saucers.”

  As Helen walked past on her way out she looked down at Felicia… and her eyes went wide.

  Felicia gazed up at her. Her slitted cat eyes gleaming.

  Helen turned abruptly and stumbled anxiously towards the door, losing herself in the crowd.

  Felicia lowered her head, not sure but strongly suspecting what the frightened girl had seen.

  “Felicia?” Mrs. Hadley walked over and stood before her.

  Felicia drew a deep breath and finally looked up.

  Mrs. Hadley calmly handed her a file. “I’m running late, dear. Would you mind dropping this at the principal’s office?”

  “Sure,” Felicia replied, relieved when the teacher just smiled at her. “No problem at all.”

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  48

  “Don’t worry about it,” said Ruta. “Really. It’s just your body and mind trying to find the balance between your human and animal selves. I went through a similar phase in my first few months. Remember how much school I missed last winter? I had a hard time stepping out of the house in cold weather without my blood freezing up and making me all sluggish.”

  “How did you fix it?”

  “I didn’t. I just bundled up when I had to go out, and after a month or two it passed on its own. I guess my system finally adapted. When I asked Granny she told me it’s a phase that everyone goes through. So stop worrying. It’ll be over before you know it.”

  “Stop worrying? I know Helen Blanton saw something already that freaked her out. I’m not sure how I’d explain away having cats eyes to anyone who mattered.”

  “Well, you said it happened when you got pissed off, right? Maybe you should get some xanax or something. At least for the next few months.”

  “Did you take them?”

  “No, but…”