Giving each room a quick once over, Catherine couldn’t see that anything was out of place. If the thief had come in, they hadn’t moved one item out of its assigned spot. Satisfied all was well, the officer drove off.
* * * * *
The Chow didn’t like her. Walking home from school each day, the animal would push its weight against the rickety fence, desperately attempting to reach its prey. Even when she’d walk on the opposite side of the street, its snarls and barks followed her until she was able to escape into her house.
Her foster parents had contacted the owner weeks before, but nothing had changed. The dog was a friendly pet, vicious to no one that didn’t tease it—to hear them tell it. If the girl would leave it alone then it would leave her alone. No need to change a thing.
The dog’s constant pushing against the rotten pickets worked several of the nails loose. It charged across the street toward her, wanting to maim or kill the one there. Suddenly, its head jerked back, halting its attack. The dog rose high upon its rear legs, the front being lifted by some unseen force. The mouth, filled with the teeth it would use to commit its savage act, opened wide, straining the muscles and ligaments with unspeakable pain until they popped, rendering them useless. The animal lay in the street choking from the blood it inhaled with every breath.
The police arrived at her house later but left quickly. She showed no signs of an attack and wasn’t big enough to have done that type of injury to the dog. One officer remembered her uncle’s death as they drove away. That girl seems to have a habit of being around strange and violent events—ones without viable answers. There’s something weird about her.
* * * * *
“I didn't think he'd ever leave.”
Catherine's stomach jumped to her throat. Turning, she saw a fellow church member’s daughter. “You're Fred Hamilton's girl, aren't you?”
“Yeah, I'm Heather, the bad one of the bunch. I took off a few years ago and just got back. Been a while since I saw you. You're still as ugly as I remember. You got a lot of nice stuff. Not much that can be hocked, though. When you gonna get a decent television, anyway?”
“You've really grown up since I saw you last. What are you now, twenty-seven or twenty-eight? We went over the whole house—where were you hiding? And, Peanut Butter wasn't barking … why?”
“Cops are such dummies. You've got all those empty boxes from online shopping stacked in the basement. I arranged a few and sat down in the middle with one over me. He walked right by me without even glancing over. The dog? No big deal. I always carry pet treats when I rob a place. Makes me a friend and keeps them quiet. Dogs are like men—feed 'em and they're happy.”
“Got it all figured out, don't you? So, what now? You know I can identify you.”
“You're gonna die, that's what,” the girl replied without a hint of emotion. “I can't have you blabbing to everyone, so, there's really not much choice, is there?”
Catherine stared at Heather. I can take this girl. She's small so she can't be that strong.
“Oh, by the way, go ahead and turn around. Let me introduce you to Jackie. People tend to die around her. She likes to stick them with knives and lick the blood off the blade. It's a fetish she has. Kind of turns me on to watch her do it. She was hiding between the quilts you have on that monster display rack in the spare room. Like I said, that cop was a real dumbass.”
A tall, muscular woman comically bowed, her outstretched hand loosely holding a fisherman’s skinning knife with an eight-inch blade. The chromed steel tilted, catching the sun's rays through the window and reflecting a glint in her eyes.
* * * * *
There were those who were wary of her quiet manner and those who openly teased her. She didn’t fit in with the popular clique in high school, but her new foster parents had too much money to be a part of the other crowds. Devoting herself to her studies only separated her more from the norm.
She’d been surprised when a boy had asked her out. Even more surprised when he’d taken her to an out of the way forest spot and parked the car, expecting more than she was willing to give. She left him there, cooling her temper during the long walk home. She had controlled herself and was proud.
School turned into a nightmare for her the next week. Comments, like “I hear you’re a great lay” and “C’mon baby, give me some of what you gave him” flooded her ears from the guys. The girls were as bad, presenting her looks and more slurs that shamed her.
After school, she sought out the boy that had spread the lies and found him riding a mower along a steep bank. The speed in which it flipped sideways and rolled over him was only surpassed by his instant dive into the spinning blades. Rolling in the grass, his arms, now stubs, shot blood wherever he aimed until the pressure slowed it to a weak flow.
Again, she was questioned, but witnesses had already stated she was far from the accident and couldn’t have caused it. The officer on the scene had his doubts but had no way of proving it. He heard she was later taken in by another foster family. He hoped they lived far from his jurisdiction.
* * * * *
“Now, we can do this one of two ways. I know you've got to have some cash stashed around the house. So, you can tell us where it's at and we'll kill you fast, or you can make us search for it and we'll kill you slow—you know, skinning you to the bone bit by bit. Now, Jackie is hoping you don't tell us a thing. She really gets into the causing pain thing. But, I'd like to get out of this place, so talk!”
“Heather, you don't want to do this,” Catherine blurted out, but was cut off.
“Shut up, bitch. You don't know what I want. You're not getting out of this. Now, tell me where your cash is or Jackie's gonna have some fun.”
“I don't keep cash in the house. I never did. Jim used to, but I always told him it was dangerous. I do everything by credit or debit card.”
Pain shot through the back of her upper left arm as the steel blade sunk to the bone. Catherine's right hand shot up to hold in the blood and saw Jackie licking the long blade.
“Oh, look, you got some on your shirt,” Catherine blurted out.
By instinct, Jackie's head tilted down. Ramming forward, Catherine knocked her off balance and sent her tumbling over the arm of the couch. Running to the door, a hand clutched at her shoulder, but Catherine’s flying elbow met Heather's face, stunning her. Wasting no time, Catherine flew through the door and escaped the confines of the house.
Damn, my keys are in my purse. Got to get to the barn. I can find weapons in there. Reaching the barn, she hopped inside and looked for a place to make a stand. Before climbing the ladder to the loft, she took hold of an old, rusty machete used years before to cut down some bamboo she'd thought would provide a windbreak. Up the rungs and behind a couple of bales of hay, she watched as the two attackers entered.
“You got me, old woman,” Jackie's voice rang out. “Damn good job—I have to congratulate you. Been a long time since someone got the best of me. Of course, you've only delayed the inevitable, but what the hell, you know that. You're gonna die. Might as well say your last prayers.”
“Jackie's right,” Heather's voice rang out. “I'm gonna get you just like I got your husband years ago. Why do you think he walked out on you, anyway? He couldn't get enough of it. I hated him but knew I could get his money if he got away from you. He bled good. I got him during sex one night with a butcher knife just before he came. His face was so funny.”
Her giggles echoed in Catherine's head. So, this slut was the reason Jim left me. I'll be damned. Well, she may have got him, but she’s not going to get me. No way in Hell is that going to happen!
She listened as the two searched the bottom. Finding nothing, Catherine saw the ladder shift as one of their feet contacted the bottom rung. Silently, stepping over the hay bale, Catherine gently rolled toward it—machete in hand.
Rung after rung, the climber grew closer. As Heather’s came into sight, Catherine sprang into action. Swinging the machete down with all
her might, the splitting of a skull crunching broke the silence. Jackie screamed below as Heather’s lifeless body thudded on the concrete floor and the machete clattered as it was thrown from the crevice it had created.
“You fucking bitch! I'm gonna make you pay, God am I gonna make you pay!”
Searching the loft, Catherine couldn’t find any type of a weapon to use for protection. It was down to breaking a promise or dying.
Closing her eyes, Catherine concentrated on seeing through her mind instead of her eyes. She envisioned Jackie rushing up the rungs, reaching the top, and about to climb off the ladder. But, the ladder swayed backward, pulling far away from the loft, and rising almost to the tin roof far above. Thirty feet in the air, the ladder began to spin, slow at first and then faster. Jackie held on the best she could, knowing a drop would bring either death or paralysis.
Catherine imagined the ladder bucking as it spun—like a mechanical bull—causing Jackie to lose her hold. Flying through the air, Jackie bounced against the wall, her feet flailing, as her back slid down upon the steel tines of a pitchfork hanging on its wall hooks. Jackie struggled as they entered her back, sinking deeper with each move. It seemed as if the screams would never stop.
Opening her eyes, Catherine looked across the way to where Jackie’s body hung. No more threats, no more violence upon the innocent, and no more screams—she was dead. “Damn, Bitch, I thought you enjoyed pain! All talk, weren’t you?”
Her last foster mother had called it the Devil’s Gift and made her promise to never call upon it. This had been the first time she had done so since the promise was made. It was necessary this time. It had saved her.
Having telekinetic powers and not being able to call upon them had been difficult. She could have pulled Jim away from the car and talked to him more, maybe even kept him from leaving. Farm work could be easier if she used her powers to move heavy items with it instead of muscles. But, she had promised.
Well, since my promise has been broken, I might as well start using my powers again. I’ve got two bodies to move and bury—one hanging on the wall. The gift would make getting it down much easier. Besides, no sense in bringing back the police. This mess would be too hard to explain. Maybe God will forgive me and maybe he won't. Can't worry about that right now. I gotta get down out of this loft. Let’s see if I can make the ladder come back up here.
* * * * *
Gabriela lies atop the loveseat arm at my side. Her snores, though not as loud as she had told me mine were, present a distraction to my writing. I reach out and stroke her fur—not wanting to awaken and upset the demon—only wishing to quiet by comforting. Her last two tales have been impressive. I want to hear others but have no desire to face her wrath. We have reached a stage of acceptance.
Stretching, Gabriela arches her back. A yawn displays the razor-sharp incisors she knows how to use only too well. An orange glow appears from the slits of her eyes, but gradually darkens to the standard beady black. I’m in a danger zone. She is usually not friendly upon awakening.
“You're lucky I had finished my dream,” she whispers in my brain. “Otherwise, I might be tempted to slash your arm off at the shoulder.”
“I thought you could use a little loving,” I replied, rubbing her under the chin and around the ears. “You were snoring so loud I thought a nightmare might be taking you away.”
“Good intentions will save you this time. But, in the future, I warn you to be careful. The ferocity of a bear awakened in mid-winter can be deadly. I resemble that remark.”
“Well, now that you're awake, feel like telling me about your third life?”
“You’ve become a masochistic bastard, haven’t you? A real glutton for tales of my life of misery. Gluttony is why I went back to Hell after my second life. I was judged a glutton for all the mice I'd eaten while living in the barn. It’s one of the Seven Deadly Sins. Well, you caught me in a good mood. I was just dreaming about that life and remembering the good times I had—before it went bad. Give me a few minutes to get myself together and I'll tell you about it.”
Getting to her feet, Gabriela jumped down from the loveseat and took off toward the kitchen. I heard her crunching a few bites of dry food and then the unmistakable sounds of cat litter hitting the side of the litter box. She returned to the arm of the loveseat and smiled. “A girl's gotta do what a girl's gotta do. Get ready.”
Peace, Love, Death?
My second wait for rebirth taught me to learn how to read a person’s mind. Previously, I had understood their actions and words, but to actually travel inside of a human mind is very complicated. Weeding through your fantasies and actual thoughts, and determining which is which, is exceptionally difficult. To make it worse, the recreational drugs many experimented with in the early '70's added to the complexities.
For a second time, I was born in a dirty alley. Soon after finishing with my nursing phase, I wandered upon a young girl sleeping in a large refrigerator box. By her side was an open box of cereal, some sort of sugar coated brand. Figuring she must be done with it, I scooted into the box and started eating. I’d only taken my second mouthful when the box caved in, coming close to sending me to life Number Four. I struggled to scoot out, but the slippery wax paper inside made it impossible to get a foothold. About to pass out under the pressure, I felt my tail being pulled as the weight atop my body lightened.
“Hey, you're not a rat. You're a little kitty. Aw, you're cute. Wow, like you're all black. I bet you have magical powers.”
Hands wrapped around my body, pulled me free, and lifted me away from the box of sugary delights. Immediately in front of me was the smiling face of a girl in her teens. Leaning over, she rubbed her forehead against mine, cooing at the softness of my fur, and giggling as my tail brushed her nose.
I'm glad she liked it—I didn't. In the cat world, rubbing foreheads is a sign of making one their own. We’d just met, and I accepted no such bond. Before bowing to her demands, I would need to know more about her.
Reading her thoughts, I found she meant no harm. Ignorant of the ways of felines, she was only doing what most stupid humans do—displaying their affection without caring if it’s desired or not. In honesty, I've never been one to want the scent of humans rubbed all over my body, but curious as to what she'd do next, I let her get away with it.
“You're such a sweetie. I'm gonna call you Moon Magic. We'll be Moon Magic and Moonglow Meg—the double “M's”, twice as good as the candy.” Chuckling, she cradled me in her arms and began rubbing my tummy. God, it was amazing!
We stayed like that for over an hour—me milking Meg for all the loving absent in my previous life in the barn. Thinking back, it was one of the most enjoyable times I've ever had.
By mid-morning, Meg gathered her things from the box, stuffed them in a huge burlap bag type of purse, and we left the alley behind. After a few blocks, we came upon a huge group of people, dressed like Meg—jeans, T-shirts, and sandals. Many carried signs and banners that read “Stop the War” and “Peace, Love, Dove” and chanted the phrase “United We Stand, Divided We Fall.” Before I knew it, we were all marching down the center of the street.
There were people on the sidewalk screaming at those in the street. I was almost hit by a beer bottle thrown at Meg and watched a marcher behind us take a rock to the ear. The violence against us escalated when the police arrived. Wearing riot helmets and protective vests, they indiscriminately swung their Billy clubs at the marchers and beat many to the ground. As if that wasn’t enough, my natural enemy, dogs, were released and viciously attacked all attempting to escape. I was terrified!
Meg, recognizing my plight, put me in her bag. Although hidden from sight, I knew the dogs could still smell me. Trembling at the thought of being gobbled up in one bite, I noticed a horrible, burning smell—like sulfur but worse. I heard someone holler, “Tear gas.” Whatever it was, it made breathing almost impossible and burned my eyes without mercy.
Though I couldn’t see or smell,
I could hear Meg screaming. I was bruised as the bag banged against her hip as she fought to escape. Miles had to have been traveled before we came to a halt. Wheezing for breath, I could make out her blurred face seeking a hiding place from those still in pursuit. I felt it time to remind her of my presence and let out a few meows. I wasn't happy about my new bruises and longed to be back in the safety of the alley.
“Oh, you poor thing,” lifting me out of my cloth prison. The fresh air refreshed my lungs and cleared my vision. My sense of smell returned. We were back to normal—and then she pulled the damn rubbing foreheads trick, again. “I won't let those mean pigs hurt you. I promise.”
Yeah, you do that. And, get your damn face out of mine. You're all sweaty and you stink!
We ended up hiding in some bushes in a small city park. In the distance, sirens blared and a few gunshots could be heard. We were joined by a few more protesters, also hiding from the police cruisers. I kept hearing “it was supposed to be a peaceful march” by the new arrivals. Obviously, they didn’t realize the Deep South was not the place to hold a protest march.
“Those bastards should all be shot. They had no reason to attack us that way. We weren't doing anything wrong. The pigs just wanted an excuse to hurt us. If these are people of God, I’m proud to worship Satan.”
At the mention of the Dark One, I looked up to see if I might recognize the one speaking. He was unfamiliar to me and much older than any of the others. His hair, shorter than most, was as black as my fur. With the wrinkles showing deep on his face, I guessed it to be dyed to give him a younger look.
Listening to him talk, it wasn’t hard to see many weren’t impressed by his words. “The establishment isn’t Satan, they are the representatives of God. This is the same God that has sent men to kill others for years so that the rich can profit. He’s an evil being, one that cares not for the common man. If you protest the killing of humans, you must protest this God and turn to Satan. Only he can save you.”
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